A Stab in the Dark, page 2
part #2 of Whodunit Antiques Series
Grandma did manage to start the movie, but she nodded off on Abigail’s shoulder before the end of the opening credits. Abigail watched the whole thing. She didn’t quite love it on account of the movie’s slow pace, but she did get a kick out of rewinding the tape.
*
The next morning, Abigail was still thinking about James Wilson’s sudden appearance as she started out on her run with Thor. After a few agonized steps, she decided the run would be more of a walk.
Walking gave her more time to take a look around her. The sun was rising later these days, and the sky was more gray than blue. Birds called to each other from tree to tree, creating a terrible racket that Abigail was gradually coming to appreciate.
She took a deep breath of the crisp morning air, then relaxed her body to allow her mind to muse over James’s sudden arrival. Grandma didn’t seem to see anything amiss about James Wilson’s timing, and, to be honest, Abigail couldn’t come up with a solid reason to be suspicious. And yet she was.
If James’s own business was booming, why drop everything to come back to work on a random small town crime? Why hadn’t he showed up when Reginald Grimes’s body washed up on shore? That had been a big case, perhaps bigger than this motel stabbing.
Then again, if the recent stabbing wasn’t a big deal, why hadn’t it been closed yet? A month without an arrest seemed like a long time for a murder case.
Abigail groaned. She had lots of questions, but no answers.
Just then, Abigail spotted an unusually large hat in a garden full of unusually large vegetables. The hat hid the face, neck, and shoulders of whoever was wearing it. All Abigail could see was a hint of a pink dress amidst the immense foliage.
Beneath the hat, a woman’s voice cooed, “There you go, sweet thing, that’s it. Unfurl those lovely leaves. Show the other gourds who’s the boss.”
Abigail paused at the garden gate. An archway curved over the gate, and it was covered in enormous yellow roses. Their scent was sweet and strong.
The voice under the hat continued, “Now what is this pesky thing doing here? We’ll just yank that right out, won’t we? There. Better? Lovely roses, aren’t they?”
It took Abigail a second to realize that last sentence was meant for her. “Uh, yeah. Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”
The hat picked itself up off the ground and unfolded into a willowy woman. Her pink dress reached her knees, and both knees and garment were stained with dirt. “You didn’t sneak up on me. If anything, I sneaked up on you. You seemed pretty lost in thought.”
“I was trying to come up with answers to questions I don’t have yet.”
“Ah, that makes you the second person this morning.”
Abigail froze. “Who was the first?”
“James. Nice surprise. I hadn’t seen him since graduation. Speaking of losing oneself, you seem to know your way around better than that one time you got lost.”
Abigail was still trying to absorb the tidbit about James. “How do you know about that?”
“Well, you hobbled past my garden about five times.”
“Oh. I guess that makes sense.”
“I’m always out here early to chat with my plants, and I saw you huffing and puffing. I’ve seen enough runners to know what a newbie looks like.”
“Ah. Well, I’m Abigail. Nice to meet you.”
“I’m Camille. Camille Bellerose. You’re Granny Lane’s granddaughter, right?”
“Yes.” Abigail studied the woman. She looked a few years older than Abigail. Her face was open and seemed honest, and she met Abigail’s gaze steadily. She looked like a no-nonsense individual, like a teacher a kid would both like and respect. “It’s nice to meet you, Camille. You have a beautiful garden. Everything is so… big.”
For the first time, Camille’s face broke into a grin. “Thank you! My pumpkins have beaten world records.” Camille looked up and down the empty street, as if scouting for spies. “Want to know the secret?”
“Uh, sure.”
“You have to keep them company. They hate being alone all the time. Plants are quite extroverted, you see.”
Okay. This woman was either crazy or pulling Abigail’s leg. She had to be. But the longer Abigail stared at Camille, the more she felt convinced Camille wasn’t crazy or joking, but perfectly serious.
“Yep, that’s me. Child wrangler by day, gardener extraordinaire by dawn.”
“Child wrangler?”
“I teach at the elementary school. Not surprised at all, are you? No one ever is. In high school, I was voted most likely to become a teacher. Now, you know what I tell my kids when they can’t figure out answers to questions they don’t have?”
Abigail perked up. “What’s that?”
“Go to the library.”
*
It was another slow day for the store, so Grandma encouraged Abigail to take the afternoon off. It was such a beautiful day outside that Abigail couldn’t say no. Besides, she knew exactly where she wanted to go.
The Wallace Point Public Library was breathtaking. The vaulted ceilings were beautifully painted with scenes from ancient fairytales. The rooms had shelves of books stacked to the ceilings, with sliding ladders positioned everywhere to help patrons reach the top. Rows of tables were lined with lamps for studying. The place was so unexpectedly immense that Abigail didn’t know where to start.
She decided to begin with the librarian.
The woman’s wrinkled skin hung off her bony frame. A neat bun pulled her salt and pepper hair tightly away from her long face. She peered at Abigail over her perfectly round glasses. “Let me get this straight. You’re looking for answers to questions you don’t have yet.”
Abigail wondered for a moment if this librarian was a psychic. “Exactly. How did you know?”
“You’re at a library.”
“Oh. Well, I guess I’m thinking there’s something up with the stabbings that happened at the motel a month ago.”
“Aha! Lucky you, we have an archive of every local newspaper printing, going all the way back to the 1800s. But as for this motel murder, I only recall it being covered in a few recent reports written in the Wallace Point Beacon.”
Abigail shook her head. “I think I read those when they came out.”
“Try an online search. Other towns may have printed their own version of events. Follow me.” The librarian escorted Abigail to a boxy old computer, where she pulled up a database. “Enter your search terms here, and you should find what you’re looking for.”
Abigail took a seat and watched the librarian return to the front desk. Abigail knew her phone’s internet browser was probably faster than this old machine, but she felt it’d be a bit rude and awkward to pull it out now, after the librarian seemed so pleased with herself.
She sighed and typed in the appropriate search terms. Many nearby towns had picked up the story, but none of them had done any investigative journalism. The articles only repeated what Abigail had originally read in The Wallace Point Beacon.
This investigation wasn’t turning out to be very productive… Then Abigail thought of something.
She punched into the old computer the search term: James Wilson Private Investigator.
She had to scroll all the way down the results page before she found a link to his website. Abigail snorted. The page was simple and dated. It advertised services such as Spousal Surveillance and Background Checks. Every page had a tacky animated image of a dog detective holding a magnifying glass while he followed some obvious footprints.
If business was booming, James certainly wasn’t investing any of it into his online presence.
Crummy website, yes, but did it mean James was up to something? Not really. Reluctantly, Abigail decided to call it a day and head home for dinner with Grandma.
Just as she was about to walk out of the grand double doors, the librarian caught up with her. “Young lady, this just arrived at my front desk.”
“What is it?”
“Today’s newspaper.” She pressed the roll of pages into Abigail’s hands.
One headline jumped out at her as she unfolded the paper: Reporter Apologizes for Sensationalizing Motel Murder.
“Keep it,” the librarian said, smiling triumphantly for helping a patron in need. “That was my personal copy anyway.”
“Thanks!” Abigail started to flip to the story when a thought popped into her head. “Has anyone else come in today asking about the murders?”
The librarian paused at the door. “Yes, actually. Dear old James. I hadn’t seen that child in years!”
Chapter 3
“Something wrong with the meatloaf, honey?” Grandma asked from across the table. Abigail looked up, realizing she hadn’t said a word to her grandmother for minutes, instead pushing her meal around her plate.
“No, Grandma. This meatloaf is the best I ever had.”
She wasn’t kidding. She had always thought meatloaf was gray, bland, and boring. This meatloaf wasn’t the case by a long shot. It was juicy and savory yet somehow lightly sweet. Just taking a bite made Abigail happier.
“You seem lost in your thoughts.”
“Apparently that’s me today.”
“What’s on your mind?”
“That reporter who covered the motel stabbings. Did you know she issued an apology?”
“Why, that’s old news.” Grandma grinned wickedly, and Abigail was once again reminded never to underestimate her grandmother.
“Do you know more than today’s paper?”
“Of course.”
“Grandma, spill the beans!”
“The newspaper said the reporter admitted to sensationalizing her story on purpose. The newspaper also said the reporter issued a public apology for this.”
“Right.”
Grandma delicately dabbed a napkin against her lips. “Well, what the newspaper didn’t say was why. The reporter claims she did it to help the newspaper itself. Reginald’s murder, the theft of the Lafayette, and all those stories caused a significant boost in sales. She wanted to keep that going.”
Abigail leaned back in her chair. “You don’t seem convinced.”
“I never knew Rachel Cuthbert to be so selfless.”
“Wait, you know the reporter?”
“Yes. Rachel grew up here. You know how small Wallace Point is, and how old I am, so of course I’ve had my run-ins with her. Oh, and I should probably mention that she was a friend of your mother’s as well.”
Somehow Abigail wasn’t surprised. A disgraced journalist did seem like the type of person her mother would have associated with. “But you think Rachel didn’t mean to sensationalize those stories?”
“No, I believe she did. What I don’t believe is that she did it to help the newspaper. And there’s something else the paper didn’t report: She’s on hiatus.”
“Is that important?”
“It could be, because it wasn’t her choice. The paper forced her to take leave. That makes me wonder just how sorry she really is if she’s on hiatus involuntarily.”
“How do you know all this? Did the Granny Gang tell you?”
“You know, Abigail, they are just tickled to death that you nicknamed them that. A couple of them are talking about getting leather vests and tattoos. But no, it wasn’t the Granny Gang who told me. James came by today.”
Abigail just about choked. She had been everywhere James Wilson had gone today, yet she still hadn’t managed to catch up to him.
“Honey, are you all right? I don’t think the girls are entirely serious about getting tattoos. Although, I wouldn’t put it past a few of them.”
“No, Grandma, it’s not that. I mean, tattoos at their age would be pretty funny, but I’m surprised James came by. It seems we keep just missing each other.”
“James was always good about keeping up with his neighbors. He’s probably popping in on everyone, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he kept visiting people right up until he left to return to the city. Though who knows when that will be.”
Abigail decided to forget James for now. She had a more suspicious person of interest she wanted to speak to. “Grandma, do you know where I can find Rachel Cuthbert?”
“Last I knew she was living in an apartment above Kirby’s Candlepin Alley.”
“That must be a noisy place to live above.”
Grandma interlaced her fingers. “Sure, but I get the feeling that, for Rachel, home is just a place to crash for the night. Now, finish up your meatloaf. I made apple pie.”
*
Piper Fischer was a welcome distraction during yet another quiet morning at the store. Her fiery hair floated in soft curls around her face, and her wide eyes sparkled with excitement. She greeted them with her usual, “How are you two lovely ladies today?”
“We’re great,” Grandma responded, setting down her ledger. “But you seem even better. What’s got you so excited?”
“I just saw James! It’s so good to see him again. The town feels complete with him here.”
Grandma grinned. “I noticed. The whole town can’t talk about much else. Well, besides the murder. But I’m afraid we’re making Abigail feel neglected now that she’s not the main focus of the town gossip.”
Abigail froze as the two looked at her. “Not at all,” she finally said. “I’m just wondering why he came here to help with this case but not with the murder of Reginald.”
“Well, this case is quite different,” Piper began as she picked up one of Grandma’s cookies. “It has brought back the name of the Ripper, who Sheriff Wilson has quite a terrible history with.” She stopped to look over at Grandma. “She knows about what happened, right?”
Grandma shook her head. “I told her a little bit, but… Oh, it’s such an awful situation.” She looked away.
Piper chose not to elaborate, for Grandma’s sake. “Anyway, I think it’s sweet of James to visit, at least to give poor Willy some moral support.”
Abigail paused, reevaluating her initial suspicions about James. “Yeah,” she finally admitted. “Grandma told me about how the Ripper got away with several murders, so I can see how Sheriff Wilson feels partially responsible. I guess I hadn’t thought about that.” She changed the subject. “So Piper, do you know Rachel Cuthbert?”
“The reporter? Enough to say hello.”
“Do you happen to know where she likes to hang out after work?”
“No, sorry. She and I don’t really keep up.”
Yet another dead lead. Abigail waved it off. “That’s okay. Grandma, mind if I duck out? I’m having that coffee party with Sally today.”
Piper tilted her head. “Isn’t every day a coffee party at Sally’s cafe?”
Grandma took a bite of a cookie. “Actually this is a very special coffee party. More like a tea party, with all the fancy sandwiches and cookies. Go ahead, dear. I’ll keep Piper company while she picks out what she wants to buy.” Piper looked like she was about to protest, but Grandma cut her off. “Now, Piper, you know the rules. One cookie means one purchase.”
Abigail grinned as she made her way out of the store and into the late morning sunshine. Grandma knew that Piper, heiress of the Fischer whaling family estate and lover of fine antiquities, could afford a trinket or two.
*
The sign in Sally Kent’s cafe window said “Closed” but Abigail walked right in. Sally had discovered a few rare books on the fine art of hosting proper tea parties and she had asked Abigail to be her guinea pig. They wouldn’t be having tea, of course.
Abigail wasn’t about to complain. Sally made the finest coffee Abigail had ever tasted. If she had to choose one word to describe it, the word was divine.
Sally bounced toward her. She had curled her blond hair so her ponytail tumbled in glossy locks over her shoulders, and she wore a pastel blue dress that fell to her calves. Abigail suddenly felt underdressed in her jeans and top, but Sally didn’t seem to mind. “Abigail!” she squeaked. “What do you think?”
Gentle piano music played in the background. One of the customer tables was draped with a white tablecloth and set with fine china, cloth napkins, teacups, tiny spoons, sugar cubes, and on and on. In the center of the table, a three-tiered tower displayed finger sandwiches, cuts of fruits, and bite-sized desserts.
It all looked quite pretty, not to mention delicious. Abigail’s stomach growled. If she had known how elaborate this coffee party was going to be, she would have volunteered to help.
“It looks great, Sally. I can’t believe you did all this!”
“I know.” Sally giggled. “It’s a bit much. But you should read these books. Tea time has such a rich tradition. And all those rules about what goes where evolved from trying to make everyone as comfortable as possible. Then I got to thinking how coffee doesn’t really have a tradition like that, and I thought: Why not have a coffee party? I got so excited, I went all out!”
Abigail laughed. “Well, thanks for inviting me. Show me everything.”
The little bell above the door jingled and Bobby Kent, Sally’s dad, made his usual grand entrance. Bobby had once hosted a popular game show in California. Now he hosted “Bobby’s Big Bingo” on Saturday nights in Wallace Point. It was a smaller gig, but he hadn’t lost his flair.
Today, he wore a rust-colored one piece jumpsuit, with an oversized zipper that ran all the way down the front. He flashed them a huge smile and gave them his trademark double finger-guns point. “How’s my little girl?”
“Your little girl is throwing a coffee party. How’s it look?”
“Well, honey, I think it looks lovely,” Bobby said, his voice undulating as if he were announcing a huge prize. “Am I invited?”
“Not this time. Ladies only. You know, the whole girls rule, boys drool thing. But don’t worry. Next time, you and I will have a coffee party all to ourselves. Then I’ll debut my new little tradition to the public.”
“Sure thing, sweetheart. I’ll get out of your way!”
“Wait!” Abigail said before Bobby Kent could make his grand exit. “Quick question. Do either of you know Rachel Cuthbert?”
