A Stab in the Dark, page 9
part #2 of Whodunit Antiques Series
Abigail grinned. “That’s more like it. Much better than me going out on a date with him.” She pretended to gag.
“Oh, hush with that. I’m just trying to be helpful. Anyways, we’ve gone to the lighthouse to see Lee. We tracked Rachel down and picked her brain. And we’ve come up with a plan to ensnare James. Now can we please go get some cinnamon rolls?”
“Okay, Grandma. But only if you promise me that you’re done with sugar tonight after the rolls. You’re starting to worry me.”
Grandma narrowed her eyes at Abigail, but Abigail held her ground. She figured it was only a matter of time before Grandma’s sugar high turned into a sugar low. Hopefully a cinnamon roll would provide just the right amount of energy to get her home.
“Fine,” Grandma finally grumbled. “You’d think at my age I’d get to have a bit of fun.”
Chapter 16
The next morning, Abigail went on her morning run with Thor. The cold stung her cheeks and numbed her hands. Although the sun shone bright in the clear sky, it did nothing to warm her up; she had to run faster just to maintain a comfortable body temperature.
“You’re lucky I love you so much, Thor, otherwise I would have just slept in,” she wheezed. Thor shot her a grin. His tongue lolled out of one side of his mouth, and his eyes showed just enough white around the irises to make him look crazed.
Grandma wasn’t anywhere to be found downstairs when Abigail came through the house, so she trotted up to the old woman’s room and knocked on the door.
“Humph!” came the reply.
“Grandma! We’ve got work to do!”
“I can’t get out of bed.”
“What?” Panic flashed through Abigail’s chest. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“I’ve got a stomach ache from all that sugar last night. Come on in and gloat if you must.”
Abigail opened the door and saw that the bed was a pile of tangled blankets. Somewhere underneath that mountain of chenille and flannel was Grandma, curled up into an aching ball.
“I won’t gloat. Much. Aren’t you happy I didn’t let you have that third cinnamon roll?”
“I’m not happy about anything just now. I feel like Humpty Dumpty when he fell off the wall.”
Abigail laughed. “My poor, sweet grandma. What can I do to make you feel all better?”
The pile of blankets bulged and swelled, like earth shifting over a burrowing animal. White hair and bright eyes emerged from the cloth cocoon. “A bath?”
“Okay. I’ll run you a hot bath then.”
“And some tea?”
“Fresh tea coming right up.”
Grandma sighed and wriggled the rest of her body out from underneath the blankets. “Thanks, dear. Your little old granny just needs a bit of babying this morning.”
“No problem.” Abigail went to Grandma’s bathroom and started the hot water in the antique claw foot tub. She sprinkled a small handful of lavender Epsom salt in the water to add a soothing fragrance, and she lit a couple of small pillar candles for ambiance. Then she kissed her pouty grandmother on the forehead before heading downstairs.
Before long, the tea kettle was whistling as Grandma floated down the stairs. “That hot bath was just the thing!” she exclaimed as she waltzed into the kitchen. “I feel all put together again.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Abigail poured them both a cup of the steaming liquid.
Grandma grabbed her cup, filled it with milk but skipped the sugar, and made her way into the store. “Let’s see,” she said, walking in and around her collection of antique odds and ends. “If I were James, what would I want?”
“To catch a killer.”
“I can’t sell him that.”
“To star in a black and white detective movie.”
“I can’t sell him that either. Now, if you aren’t going to be helpful, go stand by the counter.”
Abigail did as she was told. She had no desire to shop for James Wilson. After a few minutes, Grandma joined her empty-handed.
“This is a lot harder than I thought.” Grandma leaned on the counter and propped her cheek on her hand. “Usually I can find the perfect little knickknack to entice someone to come over when I need them to, but I’m at a loss for what James might like.”
“Maybe the guy has no interests.”
“Of course he has interests. He’s just very discreet. Too discreet for a town like this. That’s probably why he moved away, come to think of it. Did he mention any of his interests to you on the drive to meet the collector?”
“Not really. On the way up, he talked about you a little, but then he fell asleep. And again, on the way back, we talked about the case before he fell asleep. Maybe you could give him a pillow?”
“Oh, you’re killing me, Abigail. Listen, to sell antiques successfully, you have to figure out what every person’s catnip is.”
“Catnip?”
“That thing they can’t get enough of. Some people like classic cars, Russian novels, unicorns—anything unique to the individual. And once you’ve learned what someone’s catnip is, you can use it as bait.”
Abigail thought for a minute. “Like when I knew Sally liked coffee, so I convinced Bobby Kent to buy that wall-mounted grinder for her?”
“Exactly like that!”
Abigail thought some more. “Grandma, what’s my catnip?”
“Easy,” Grandma said absently. Her thoughts were still on James. “A good mystery, book or otherwise. A cozy blanket. A dusty photo album.”
Abigail thought a little more before suddenly straightening up. “Hey, wait! So all those times we sat together by the fireplace, you were taking advantage of my catnip? You were getting me exactly where you wanted me—”
“Oh!” Grandma interrupted. “I’ve just thought of something. I’ve got this compact antique monocular. Wouldn’t that be useful for a private investigator?”
“I guess,” Abigail said sullenly. Grandma had conveniently changed the subject and apparently had no intention of going back to it.
“I’ll call him right away.” Grandma picked up the phone, while Abigail sulked, only to catch herself longing for the embrace of a warm blanket.
*
The monocular was made of polished brass. It looked like a metal flask, only instead of a round mouth, it had an eyepiece. The lens itself remained hidden inside until the body was opened up like a clam. Then the lens moved from a flat, horizontal position to a vertical one that magnified faraway objects.
“Wow, Granny Lane,” James said as he peered through the eyepiece. “You want me to have this?”
“Of course, dear! How long has it been since you had anything from my store? Cookies don’t count.”
James ran a hand through his disheveled hair. As always, he wore a trench coat over pants and a shirt that desperately needed pressing. “I don’t know. I guess it must have been before I moved to the city.”
“Well, now you’re back. And if you run off again, I want you to have something to remember me by.”
“Thanks, Granny Lane. This thing will definitely come in handy.”
“Don’t mention it. Now, I want you to be straight with me. Has that reporter been harassing you? I’ll give her a stern talking to if she is!”
“Erm.” James cast a searching look at Abigail. She didn’t let her face betray a thing. “Well, I’ve never liked journalist types, but nobody’s been harassing me.”
Abigail and Grandma caught each other’s eyes. Was he avoiding the subject? Abigail decided to find out. “We ask because last night, during the festival, Grandma and I were visiting the lighthouse. While we were inside, we could hear you and Rachel having a bit of a disagreement.”
“To put it kindly,” added Grandma.
“Oh, that.” James sighed. “She’s obsessed with the Ripper. She was asking me things I just didn’t want to talk about. Not to her, not to anyone.”
Uh oh. This was the complete opposite of what Rachel had told them the night before. She claimed he had approached her, not the other way around. Who was making what up? Abigail kept pushing. “What’s her deal anyway?”
“Her piece about the return of the Wallace Point Ripper sold a lot of papers. I mean a lot. Even people out of town bought it. I think she’s been chasing that high ever since. The problem is, there hasn’t been any more big breaks in the story, so she’s just been digging and digging, doing anything she can to make a new story happen.” James shook his head, and, for once, Abigail caught a flicker of pain in his eyes. “It’s just grotesque. She’s making a career out of glorifying my mother’s killer.”
Abigail’s stomach turned. The grief James displayed seemed genuine. And it made sense to her why he would have lost his temper with Rachel the night before.
His version of events made more sense than Rachel’s. Abigail could easily see Rachel asking a few too many crude questions. She could also see James reacting as dramatically as he had.
But that would mean Rachel lied, which could only mean one thing: Rachel was hiding something.
Chapter 17
Rachel was on Abigail’s mind the next day as she walked downtown. It was a breezy Sunday, and both Abigail and Grandma were determined to enjoy their day off.
Earlier that morning, Grandma made plans with the Granny Gang, while Abigail made plans to hang out with Sally and Dag. A little while before Abigail set out, Grandma peeled out of the parking lot with a toot of her horn while Missy hung on for dear life in the passenger seat.
Missy was so well-bundled against the chill air that the poor dog couldn’t move even if she had wanted to. As they left, Missy looked back at Abigail with wide eyes that said, “The things I do for my human.”
Now, Thor loped alongside Abigail, his big feet padding quietly on the sidewalk. Frequently he stopped to sniff a patch of grass or a fire hydrant. Every so often, he’d touch his cold wet nose to Abigail’s hand and smile contentedly up at her.
Abigail kept wondering what Rachel was trying to hide. What had she hoped to learn from James? Had she discovered something about the case that she didn’t want anyone to know about?
“Hey there, frowny face!” Sally Kent’s jovial voice broke into her reverie. “What’s on your mind?”
Abigail looked up and realized she had made it to the Book Cafe without even noticing. Sally stood in front of the door wearing blue jeans and a light blue sweater that brought out her eyes. Slung over her shoulder was a canvas bag.
“Just something unpleasant, that’s all. Are you ready?”
“All set!”
Sally and Abigail walked down to the Lafayette, where Dag was waiting for them on the ship’s deck. He wore a bright smile on his tanned face as his baby blue eyes watched Sally bounce up the gangway. Abigail was a little more cautious during her ascent, even though it wasn’t the first time she had been on the ship. Thor seemed to pay no heed to the water below in his excitement to sniff all the new odd scents the ship had to offer him.
The ship rocked gently, almost imperceptibly, with the little waves that lapped against it. Above them, the sun shone bright and warm, vainly doing its best to fight back the cold. The breeze whipped their faces, teasing Sally’s ponytail into a billowing mass of gold.
Abigail inhaled the salty air of the sea. When she exhaled, the Lafayette seemed to exhale with her, creaks and groans escaping from its old wooden joints.
“Thanks for letting us do this, Dag,” Sally said, grinning at the stout, muscular keeper sporting a ponytail of his own.
“My pleasure, Sally. I patronize the arts every chance I get. Though, it does help that there aren’t any tourists about.”
“That’s kinda surprising,” Abigail said. “Considering that not long ago, the Lafayette was the key to a buried treasure.”
“We did get a big influx of visitors right up until last week, mostly people within a few hours drive. I expect we’ll get a lot more once the Christmas season is in full swing.”
Dag followed Abigail as she followed Sally, who was looking for the perfect bit of detail on the ship to sketch. She settled into a spot at the bow where she had a good view of the figurehead. Then she put down her canvas bag and pulled out a sketch pad and a leather pouch of pencils.
The figurehead was a wooden carving of a mermaid. She was bare-chested, stripped even of the customary seashells. Her tail curled up behind her, and she eagerly looked out to sea with sightless eyes.
Abigail frowned. “She’s kinda creepy.”
“I think she’s beautiful,” Sally said. “But then again, I’ve always had a thing for mermaids. Hey, do you know the difference between a mermaid and a siren?”
Abigail sat on the faded wooden floor, its color bleached by its years at sea. She stretched out onto her back and let the sun warm her bones as Thor flopped down next to her. “Um, aren’t they the same thing?”
Sally shook her head, though her eyes didn’t stray from her work. “Sirens were what tempted Odysseus on his voyage home. They are half-birds, half-women with ethereal voices who could sing a sailor to his death. Mermaids, on the other hand, are half-fish, half-women. Over time, people confused the two.”
“The Norse had a different idea of mermaids,” Dag contributed. Standing there, facing the sea, with tendrils of hair dancing in the wind, he looked every bit like his Viking ancestors.
“Selkies?” Sally guessed.
“That’s it. Difference was, they were seals, not fish, and they could shed their skin and come to land. A man who found a selkie’s skin and hid it would have her as his wife. They would raise children and live happily ever after… unless she found her skin. Then she’d throw it back on, say goodbye to the kids, and go home.”
“What if a woman found a male selkie’s skin?” Abigail pondered.
“It could happen, but usually it went the other way around. More often, when a woman disappeared at sea, people would say she had gone off to be with her selkie lover.”
“Well, that’s not very fair,” Sally commented.
Dag grinned. “If it makes you feel any better, sailors feared mermaids for ages. But then they developed another superstition—that nude or half-nude women could calm the sea. So ship captains started using mermaid figureheads, hoping they would bring them home safely.”
Abigail tried to imagine what it must have been like, working on the Lafayette back in the ship’s prime. She imagined being out in the open ocean, at the mercy of the weather, trying to catch a whale of all things. No wonder the poor sailors hoped a half-naked fish woman would help them.
Dag found a comfortable seat amidst some crates and netting that Abigail suspected were purely decorative. He stared dreamily toward the ocean. “So, what did you think of The Last Hurrah, Abigail?”
“I thought it was fun. We visited Lee at the lighthouse. Grandma gorged on sugar. We had a ball.”
“Did I see you talking to that reporter?” Dag asked. “What was her name? The one who claimed the Ripper was behind the motel murder.”
“You mean Rachel Cuthbert. Yeah, we said hello.”
Sally sighed. “I hope she’s okay.”
Abigail laughed. “Well, it’s not like we gave her a black eye or anything. Just asked a few questions.”
Sally stopped sketching and turned to Abigail. “You didn’t hear the news?”
Abigail sat up. “Uh. What news?”
“She went missing late last night. I thought you knew. It was in the paper this morning.”
“I guess I forgot to look at it. What happened?”
“No one really knows,” Dag said. “The door to her apartment was open. Her place was a mess. Apparently one of the other reporters from the paper discovered it after she had failed to send in the photos she took at The Last Hurrah.”
Abigail didn’t respond. She was too busy thinking.
Maybe Rachel hadn’t been lying after all.
Maybe this entire time the liar had been James.
He had motive. He even admitted that himself just yesterday. In no uncertain words, James said he wanted Rachel off the case. Would he have been capable of doing something to her? It had been pretty clear that night that Rachel had no intentions of leaving the case alone.
Abigail’s chest grew taut as she recalled James’s temper with the collector several days back. When it came to burying the pain caused by his mother’s murderer, the use of physical force didn’t seem to be beneath him.
Abigail whipped out her phone. She still didn’t know much about the motel murder, but she knew who she should question about Rachel’s disappearance.
As she composed a text to James, she tried to think of a public place to approach him, a place he’d willingly meet up with her without getting suspicious. If she was going to confront the guy on her own, she wanted to have a few witnesses nearby, just in case.
She looked up at Sally and Dag. “Sorry, but I gotta cut this short.”
Sally lowered her sketchbook. “You’ve got a lead, don’t you?”
“Not sure. But if something happens to me, you tell Grandma that I had left to go meet James at the park.” With that, Abigail grabbed Thor’s leash and the two hurried off.
Chapter 18
Abigail found her way to the local park. James had answered her text immediately, telling her he’d meet her at the swings. The park was a wide open space, with plenty of room for running around and shouting, which was exactly what a horde of children were doing. Abigail wasn’t sure any of them were even playing a cohesive game. They just looked like they enjoyed chaos.
She found James sitting on a swing alone, eating an ice cream. Strawberry. Abigail was sure of it. She eyed the cone suspiciously as she closed in on her target.
“Hey there, Cupcake,” James called when he spotted her. “Want to give me a push?”
“Not really.” Abigail stopped in front of him, her back to the screaming kids. Thor sat at her side, and the two of them equally eyed James.
“All right,” he began. “What did you want to talk to me about?”
