A Stab in the Dark, page 5
part #2 of Whodunit Antiques Series
“That’s a good start.”
“Yeah. And when I get back, maybe we could go to that motel, see if we can find out anything there. After what Bobby said, I’m starting to think this wedding drama might be relevant to the murder case.”
“That’s a great place to start. I know the motel owner, Mary Chang. She’s an odd one, but she’ll talk to me.” Grandma paused, nodding as she plotted their next steps. “How’s this for a plan? I’ll man the store on the off-chance we get a sale this afternoon, while you go to the library and read everything you can about the Ripper murders. It’s time you knew the history. Goodness knows the rest of this town can’t forget it. When you’re done, meet me here and we’ll go see Mary.”
“Brilliant, Grandma. I’ll see you then.” Abigail gave her a quick peck on her soft cheek and grabbed her coat before heading out.
This time, Abigail walked with a spring in her step. It felt surprisingly good to start on another case, despite the dark details. It felt especially good to join forces with Grandma. Grandma was a wealth of information, but, more than that, Abigail treasured going on any kind of adventure with her grandmother.
Chapter 8
Abigail squirmed in the hard wooden chair at the cubicle in the library. When she had asked the librarian for help accessing older newspaper articles from the Ripper’s heyday, she had expected to be taken to a lonely basement filled with old filing cabinets. Instead, the librarian had parked her at the same bulky desktop computer she had used last time.
Scrolling on the computer might not have been as fun as flipping through crumbling pages, but it sure was faster. After a few hours, Abigail had read all there was to read from the local newspapers about the Ripper’s original murders, dating all the way back to 1990.
Abigail logged off the computer, stood up, and stretched. The library was as quiet as a graveyard; the librarian drifted from shelf to shelf like a ghost. With a silent wave, Abigail stepped out of the musty building into the sun and fresh air.
After spending hours pent up indoors, Abigail appreciated the walk home. The day was gorgeous, and the light exercise revived her body and her mind.
Two months ago she had been a claims adjuster, walking around a crowded, noisy city as she chased after potential fraudsters. Her interactions with both customers and management were often less than pleasant, and her reward at the end of the day was the traffic of the big city.
Now, she knew most of her customers by name, her grandmother was her manager, and she never had to deal with traffic. She couldn’t believe her good luck and felt grateful about living in such a nice, quiet town. She also tried her best to ignore the approaching tourist season.
Grandma was ready and waiting by the time Abigail made it home. “Good, you’re early,” she said. “I packed us some sandwiches. Oh, and I’ve called Mary to let her know we’re coming. She likes to be warned, you know. If we just showed up, she would tell us she was too busy.”
“Great! I learned a lot at the library. I don’t know if any of it will be useful for this case, but it certainly can’t hurt. By the way…” Abigail stopped, reaching out to touch Grandma’s shoulder. “I’m sorry about everything you and the town had to go through with the Ripper.”
Grandma took in a sharp breath, caught off guard by the turn in conversation. To Abigail’s surprise, Grandma’s eyes misted over briefly. “Thank you, dear. That was a terrible time for everybody, something we thought we had put behind us. Now this case pops up, dragging all of those old memories back up.” She shook her head. The tears disappeared just as quickly as they came. A look of determination took their place. “Let’s catch ourselves a murderer, shall we?”
Abigail nodded and gave Grandma a big, loving hug.
*
They ate their sandwiches in the car. Grandma had really gone all out with them: crusty sourdough bread spread with an olive salad, layers of extra sharp cheese, and thin slices of salty salami. To complement it, they drank hot black tea out of thermoses.
The drive to the motel was a little over fifteen minutes, and Abigail found it vaguely familiar. Soon, she figured out why.
“Grandma, I’ve checked into this motel before.”
“When?”
“When you were in a coma in the hospital. I booked this place and checked in before I came to see you. Then I met Sally in your hospital room, and she said I shouldn’t stay here. She called it a ‘roach motel.’ So I checked out quickly after that.”
They pulled up to the motel. Several two-story buildings encircled around an empty parking lot. The exteriors of the buildings had been painted a soft white, blooming shrubs hugged the clean sidewalks, and the pavement had been recently resurfaced.
“It doesn’t look too roachy on the outside,” Grandma commented. “Let’s see about the inside.”
The lobby was just as neat and welcoming. The room looked fresh and clean, with plants decorating the corners. The checkin desk was simple and unobtrusive. There were even a couple of miniature fountains tucked around the guest waiting chairs. The place felt more like a living room than a lobby.
A small, dark haired woman bustled up behind the checkin desk. She had piercing eyes which she cast sharply at Abigail and Grandma, giving no indication that she had ever seen either. “Yes?”
“Hello, Mary.” Grandma stepped forward. “How are you?”
“Fine. How are you?”
“Well, I’m just fine. This is my granddaughter, Abigail. She was a guest here not too long ago. Or, almost a guest.”
Mary squinted at Abigail. “Yes. You checked in and one hour later checked out. You didn’t pay.”
Abigail froze. “Er, I thought… I mean, I was told I didn’t have to pay.”
“That’s right.”
“Oh. Well, good.” Abigail found little Mary Chang rather intimidating. She was surprised anyone would even consider committing a crime under her roof, much less actually commit it.
Grandma took over the conversation again. “Thank you for taking the time to talk to us about the murder, Mary.”
Mary’s face turned from sour to threatening. “Murder. In my motel. As if I wasn’t having a hard enough time with this place.”
“What do you mean?” Abigail dared to ask.
“What do you mean what do I mean? Do you know what people called this place before the murder?”
“Oh, um, no. No, I don’t think so.”
“A roach motel! Roaches! As if I would ever stand roaches. There hasn’t been a roach in this motel for over five years, ever since I took it over from the previous owner. I bought it. I cleaned it. I had a bug man spray it. In fact, the bug man still sprays it every month. Did anyone notice? No. They still called it a roach motel.”
“What about since the murder?”
“Since? Ha! Even worse. Now they call it a murder motel. It’s bad for business!”
“You’re telling me!” Grandma said, seeing her opportunity and taking it. “Business at my antique store has been next to nothing lately. So please, Mary, tell us anything you can, and we’ll try to put an end to this mess.”
Mary glared at Grandma and Abigail. Finally she sighed, and her tense face relaxed. “I’ve told the police everything and they still haven’t caught the Ripper. Might as well try something new.”
“Miss Chang,” Abigail began. She didn’t feel comfortable calling Mary by her first name. “You think the Ripper did this?”
Mary nodded. “Yes. Absolutely.”
Abigail and Grandma glanced at each other. “May I ask why you think it was the Ripper?”
“Yes, of course, ask whatever you like. I know it’s the Ripper because he dressed like the Ripper. And I overheard the police say it’s the same knife used in the original murders. Who else could it be?”
“Wait, he dressed like him? You mean you saw him?”
“Yes. I have surveillance cameras around the buildings. The police took the tapes as evidence, but trust me, I saw him with my own eyes.”
Grandma asked, “How exactly did he dress, Mary?”
“Like the grim reaper. Black hoodie, pants, everything.”
Grandma looked at Abigail. “Does that match what the newspapers said about the original murders?”
Abigail recalled what she had read, “He wasn’t caught on camera back then, but some people reported seeing a figure dressed in black near the crime scenes.” Abigail turned to Mary. “Miss Chang, did the cameras catch where he came from? Or, could he have been a guest here?”
Mary shook her head. “The cameras can see the guest room doors, the parking lot, and some of the woods behind the buildings. The video showed him coming out of the woods. He came on foot, so there’s no way to know what car he might have been driving.”
Grandma tried a different line of questioning, “What can you tell us about the guest who was murdered?”
“Well, he was never supposed to stay here. He came with a group of others who had been invited to a wedding. The hotel the wedding party had reserved, the Turtle Heights, overbooked.” Mary rolled her eyes. “Can you believe that name? It’s a one-story motel! And they overbook all the time too. Anyway, he was part of that crowd. I remember him, actually. He was a rude, rude man.”
“What did he look like?”
“Middle-aged. Used to be a resident of Wallace Point. He mentioned that all his ‘good old days’ happened in this town when he was younger. A lot of those guests came from regions around Wallace Point.”
“Where are these guests now?” Grandma asked.
“Long gone. Well, since the wedding was canceled, they only stuck around for as long as the police made them stay.”
“Do you have any of their names, Miss Chang? It might be helpful to talk to a couple of them.”
Mary frowned. “I gave their names to the police. I’d rather keep them confidential from anyone else. It’s bad for business, disrespecting my guests’ privacy.”
“I understand completely, Mary.” Grandma put on her charming old lady voice. “Is there anything else you think we should know?”
“Did I already mention the wedding was canceled?”
“Yes, Miss Chang.”
“Then, no, I don’t think so. Oh! Wait. There was an odd man who wanted to buy anything the victim left in his room.”
Both Grandma and Abigail started, and Abigail pressed further, “Any idea who he is?”
Mary shrugged. “No, he was very pushy. I didn’t like him one bit. I told him to get out.”
Abigail sighed. “Well, did you tell the police about him?”
“Why would I? I don’t bother them with every weirdo who propositions me. You meet lots of weirdos in the hospitality business. Just part of the job. He left an email address though, in case I change my mind. Which I won’t.”
“Mary,” Grandma said gently, “would you give us that email? He might know something.”
*
Abigail and Grandma piled into the car fairly satisfied with their afternoon’s work.
Abigail began, “So, we confirmed that Bobby’s story about the canceled wedding was spot on.”
“I knew you were eavesdropping!”
“Of course I was, Grandma,” Abigail said with a grin. “I wouldn’t be a proper Wallace Point resident if I wasn’t an expert eavesdropper, now would I? Anyhow, we’ve also confirmed what Rachel Cuthbert told me about the injuries. As Miss Chang overheard, the police were saying it’s possible the killer used the very same knife as the Ripper. I don’t know how that’s possible unless it really is the Ripper.”
Grandma shuddered. “Abigail, I have a feeling you’re not going to like this, but we need to tell James about the guy who wanted the victim’s belongings.”
“What? Grandma, no way!”
“Now dear, just hear me out.”
Abigail tightened her grip on the steering wheel. There was no way she was going to let that rude PI get his hands on her hard work. Not even Grandma could convince her!
Chapter 9
It didn’t take long for Grandma to convince Abigail, and by the time they were home, it had been decided. In the battle of wills between Grandma and Abigail, Grandma always won. Abigail knew her tricks better than anyone, and still she wasn’t immune to them. Her granny was just too darn adorable.
Besides, Abigail had to admit that the police might’ve been able to use the information. If they talked to James first, he could decide whether the email address should be phoned in to Sheriff Wilson.
Back at the store, Grandma handed Abigail a folded scrap of paper.
“What’s this?” Abigail asked.
“It’s James’s phone number. He gave it to me when I went to visit him just after he came back to town. Be a dear and call him over.”
“No way! You should be the one to call him. He knows you better.”
“Oh, honey.” Grandma’s voice became inexplicably shaky, as if she had suddenly aged twenty years. She reached down gingerly to pet Thor and Missy. “I’m just so worn out from today. I need to sit and rest for a minute. Be a sweetheart and help your grandmother out.”
“But Grandma,” Abigail complained. Grandma blinked up at her, sudden fatigue all over her sweet face. Abigail sighed. “Oh, all right.”
“Thank you, darling, thank you. I’ll just rest right here.” Grandma perched herself behind the checkout counter. She propped her elbows up on the smooth surface, cradled her angelic face in her hands, and stared at Abigail expectantly.
Abigail whipped out her phone and punched in James’s phone number. The phone rang. Then it rang again. Then it kept on ringing until Abigail was sure the line was disconnected or out of range.
Just when she was about to hang up, the other line picked up. James gasped into her ear as if someone had just socked him in the stomach. “Hello?”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes.” More strangled breaths for air. “Yes, I’m fine.”
“Jeez, what are you doing? Chasing down a paramour?”
The gasping paused. “Paramour? Who is this?”
“Abigail Lane. Grandma wants you to come to the store.”
“Ah, Cupcake!” James’s voice sounded pleased, though still just as winded. “Nope, I’m not chasing down any soon-to-be divorcées. I’m just going for a jog. Speaking of which, we should run together sometime. Camille tells me you’re quite the athlete.”
Abigail could hear the teasing tone in his voice. She gripped the phone tighter, trying to keep her cool in front of Grandma. “My name is not Cupcake. Grandma requests your presence at the store. Should we be expecting you?”
“I feel like I’m being invited to a ball. Sure, I’ll come. Give me twenty minutes. Will there be cookies?”
“I guess you’ll have to see for yourself.” Abigail hung up, not about to ask her exhausted grandmother to go bake something right now… “He’s coming.”
“Oh! Lovely!” Grandma sprang up. “I’ll go make some cookies. Why don’t you go freshen up?”
“What? Why? James was on a run. He’s probably going to show up super sweaty. And don’t trouble yourself with cooking. We don’t need to feed everyone who comes by.”
“Now, Abigail, you know I take care of my guests. I’ll bake the cookies while you go on upstairs and get cleaned up. I can’t have you possibly seeing my secret recipe anyhow.” With that, Grandma all but danced her way into the kitchen.
Abigail shook her head as she and Thor headed upstairs. She had known, of course she had known, that Grandma’s sudden fatigue had been an act. Just like she knew all about Grandma’s secret cookie recipe.
Not long after moving in, Abigail had discovered Grandma pulling out a tub of store-bought cookie dough from the fridge. They had both decided to pretend it never happened, and since then, Abigail had been keeping the terrible secret locked deep down in her heart, never to be known by another Wallace Point citizen.
*
When Abigail came back down the stairs, her skin smelled like soap, the house smelled like cookies, and Grandma was whistling a happy little tune.
Someone knocked on the door just then. Grandma was still in the kitchen, and Abigail was closer anyways. She sighed, motioned for Thor to come with her, and went to unlock the door.
James stood there, his drab gray shirt clinging to his skin, and tendrils of wet brown hair clinging to his face. “Hey, Cupcake!” Catching sight of the Great Dane standing stoically at Abigail’s side, he added, “Good boy, Thor.”
Thor woofed in response as Abigail stepped back to let James inside. “Why do you insist on calling me that?”
“What?”
“Cupcake.”
“I don’t know.” James flashed her a bright smile. “Once I get into a habit, it’s hard to break.”
Abigail rolled her eyes. “It’s a day-old habit. I think you can break it.” She then led the way to the kitchen.
“James!” Grandma exclaimed as they entered the kitchen. “Thank you so much for coming. Sit down and have a cookie.”
Grandma had set three places at the table. Each place had a mug of steaming hot cocoa topped with giant marshmallows. There were also heaping bowls of shepherd’s pie and small plates of salad. In the center of the table was a platter piled high with fresh cookies.
“Grandma!” Abigail said, her mouth watering just at the sight of the food. “When did you make all this? I was upstairs for fifteen minutes!”
“I made it this afternoon, while you were at the library. Today has just been the longest day, hasn’t it? Anyhow, all I had to do was reheat the pie, throw some greens on a plate, and whip up hot cocoa. It’s elementary, really.”
James eased himself into a chair. “Granny Lane, I can’t tell you how excited I am about this meal. My dad isn’t exactly a genius in the kitchen.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Grandma sank down next to him and pinched his arm. “Now, we’re going to have to make this quick. I’m just about ready for bed. Go ahead, Abigail. Tell him what we’ve learned.”
