Killers of a Feather, page 15
“I agree completely.” I glanced at my watch. “I suppose I’d better get back out there and rescue Iris. I’m sure my mother has talked her ear off about antique glassware by now.”
I reached for the curtain, but Sue caught my arm. Her gaze was troubled as she looked at me. “My brother can’t let himself get sidetracked, Shell. He has to find the real killer. You’ll help him stay on course, won’t you? I know he values your opinion.”
I somehow doubted that applied to murder cases, but I raised my chin and gave Sue a smile. “I’ll do my best.”
“Your best is generally pretty good.” She swiped at her brow with the back of her hand. “I’m feeling better already. With you on the job, Rita’s as good as cleared.”
I smiled, wishing I shared Sue’s optimism. I figured Sue was one of the two people Quentin Watson had mentioned as seeing Rita with Draco. Now I needed to track down the other informant. But who could it be?
Fourteen
Gary was sitting at the table reading the paper when my mother and I returned from our afternoon shopping excursion. We’d barely gotten through the door when he tossed the paper aside and jumped up to relieve my mother of her burden. “Looks like your little venture into the Fox Hollow merchant district was successful,” he remarked.
“It was extremely successful. I found the most beautiful glassware, Murano stemware, to be exact.” Her eyebrows bounced as she added, “I got it for a steal, let me tell you.”
Gary set her two large brown bags carefully on the counter then turned to relieve me of my burden. “Geez, these are even heavier,” he proclaimed, pretending to stagger under the weight. “Don’t tell me you bought glassware too?”
“I didn’t buy a thing,” I said loftily. “Those are mother’s. She bought the entire shelf. Three dozen glasses.”
Both his eyebrows lifted. “Did I hear right? Three dozen?”
I spread my hands. “Once she got going, there was no stopping her.”
“It’s true. I know it seems a bit extravagant but I simply couldn’t resist,” my mother gushed. “They are genuine Italian Murano Venetian Green Art glasses. Let me show you.” She reached into one bag and pulled out a hunk of tissue paper. She sat down on one of the stools beside the counter and unwrapped the glass carefully, then held it up for inspection. “See how beautiful? And it’s in near perfect condition.”
I’m not much on kitchen items, let alone antique kitchen items, but I had to admit the stemware was beautiful. The goblet was about five inches in height with a twisted stem. It was made of emerald green glass with a gold overlay on which was etched a beautiful butterfly design. They were indeed in excellent condition. There were no chips or cracks as far as I could see.
“A dozen of those for eighty-five dollars is a steal, trust me,” my mother told Gary. “I almost felt bad, like I should have offered her more money.”
My mother bent her head to examine the glass, and Gary winked at me. “But you didn’t.”
Her head jerked up and she let out a loud laugh. “Heck, no. I’m no fool.”
“They are pretty,” I admitted. “Too pretty to drink out of.”
The expression on my mother’s face was one of abject horror. “I’m not going to drink out of these, Crishell! Are you mad! No, these are going in my display case. I have two vintage Murano bud vases that these will complement nicely.”
“You must really like them, to buy three dozen all the same,” Gary remarked.
“Oh, they’re not all this style. I bought a dozen of these, and a dozen tall stemware glasses in varying colors. I’ve see the same kind sell for over three hundred in an antique shop in LA. These were only ninety-nine fifty. The rest are a mixed bag. There’s a few tall green stemware, a few blue optic, and a couple Millefiori wine goblets.” She rubbed her hands together. “All in all, I got about five hundred dollars’ worth of stemware for less than two hundred. I’d call that a bargain day, wouldn’t you?”
“If you say so. I’m glad your trip was so successful.” He turned to me with a meaningful look. “It was, right?”
I knew he wasn’t talking about the stemware and nodded. “Oh, yes.”
My mother started to gather up her bags. “I’ll just take these up to my room, and then I think I’ll take a little nap. Shopping, especially successful shopping, has a way of tiring me out. And I’m not as young as I used to be, although that nice salesgirl—Iris, right? She told me that I didn’t look a day over forty, can you believe it?”
“You are very attractive, Clarissa,” Gary said. “And you always dress so beautifully.”
My mother ran her hand down the sides of her lemon-yellow pants and then adjusted the collar of her simple, three-quarter sleeve ivory V-necked top. “Thank you, Gary.” She bent to retrieve one bag from the floor, and I gave Gary a sharp poke in the ribs.
“Allow me,” he said. He reached out to take one of the bags.
“Be very careful,” my mother said. She glanced at me over one shoulder and wagged a finger in the air in a playful gesture. “You break it, you buy it.”
No sooner had they disappeared to take the bags to my mother’s room than Purrday and Kahlua emerged from underneath the sink. “Oh, ho, let me guess. You heard us coming and hid in there.”
Both cats let out loud meows. I gave them some extra kibble as a reward for their good sense and had just seated myself at the table when Gary returned. “I didn’t know Clarissa was such an expert on antique glass,” he said. “Were you aware Murano glass is made on the Venetian island of Murano? Or that Murano’s glassmakers led Europe for centuries in the refining and development of technologies such as crystalline glass?”
“She was going on about that in the car, but I tuned her out. I had other things to think about.” I shot him an impish grin. “Don’t you wish you could hide from her as easily as the cats? They were under the sink.”
He shook his head and eyed the narrow cabinet. “I wish I could fit under there,” he said. “Did I mention that glassmaking in Murano originated in eighth-century Rome, under considerable Asian and Muslin influence?”
“No. And while all that is fascinating, to be sure, I’m more interested in how successful your afternoon was.”
He eased into the chair opposite mine and laced his fingers behind his neck. “All in all, not bad. I got hold of Kathleen Power. Turns out she has about two dozen sweaters on hand, so I called Robbie and asked him if he could pick them up. He’s got a dental appointment tomorrow morning, so he said he’d drop them off here later today.”
“That works. Remind me, I have to put one aside for Iris. Now, how about your detective work?”
“I’m afraid I was a little less successful in that area,” he said with a grimace. “Well, first I tried Arnold’s number and got voicemail. I left a message for him to give me a call. Then I checked with the Fox Hollow Inn. It just so happens Lester Babcock’s been out of town the past ten days, visiting relatives in California. He only just got back last night, so we can cross him off our list. Then I called several other hotels within a twenty-mile radius. No one named Johnny Draco or Ira Draco registered at any of them.”
“I didn’t think there would be, although that’s not conclusive. He could have used an assumed name.”
“I thought of that too, so I also emailed each of them that photo you took. No one recognized him.” He chuckled. “Maybe he did pitch a tent in the woods after all. Anyway, next I ran a search on Adrian Arnold. That came up a dead end too. There’s absolutely nothing about his ever being involved in banking or investments, just bird and small animal training.”
“That’s odd. I suppose Buck could have been mistaken. He didn’t seem too sure about it.” I let out a breath. “How about the photographer?”
“No luck there either. I spent quality time online. There are a ton of William Wests, but none of them photographers from around this area.”
“I told you that.”
“Never hurts to double-check. Anyway, then I went over to Bottoms Up and checked with a few people there. No one noticed any professional photographer other than Watson snapping away with his Nikon.”
“I greatly doubt this guy used an iPhone to take those photos,” I said. “They looked professional grade to me.”
“Apparently he knows how to blend in with a crowd and not be noticed. Fits in with what Watson told you about him liking his privacy.”
“Figures.” Suddenly I snapped my fingers. “Wait. Olivia told me that one of the mothers took a video of the dance performance. Maybe he was there, taking photos, and we can spot him in it.” I whipped out my phone. “She was going to visit her cousin, but I invited her for dinner later. I’ll just ask her if she’s gotten the video, and if so, to bring it along.” I tapped out a quick text. “Maybe we’ll get lucky. Of course, it would help if we knew what this William West looks like.”
“Didn’t you ask Quentin?”
“He was very vague on the subject. I doubt he even knows himself. He hired the guy on a freelance site and he emails the photos in.”
“Pretty mysterious. I suppose if we spot some guy with a Nikon around his neck that isn’t Quentin, that’s our guy.”
“Probably,” I agreed. “In the getting lucky category, Sue did admit that she’s one of the people who told Josh about seeing Rita. She said that she saw Rita tailing someone in a black hoodie, but she couldn’t say positively it was Draco.”
“Everyone just assumes it was Draco because he was wearing a black hoodie,” mused Gary. “But lots of people had similar garb on.”
“Mae Barker swears it was Draco, but she attributes that more to a psychic premonition than observation. Sue says Mae’s always been jealous of Rita and could be lying. Now, I know you don’t want to hear this, but my money’s still on Adrian Arnold having something to do with it. Remember, he left early and no one’s seen him since. He’d have had time to do the deed and take off.”
“I might buy that theory, except for one thing. He’d have to have had the parrot with him. He wouldn’t have had time to bring the bird back home and return in that time frame. I think if Arnold were involved, there would have been some sort of evidence that the bird was there.”
“You mean feathers.” My brow furrowed as I tried to visualize the crime scene. “I don’t recall seeing any,” I said at last. “That doesn’t mean there weren’t any, though. Aah.” I grabbed a stray lock of hair and twisted it. “I get the feeling we’re missing something important, but I can’t figure out what it might be.”
Gary put up a hand to massage his temple. “I agree. This puzzle is giving me a headache too. It’s worse than Amelia’s murder.” He paused in his rubbing to shoot me a lopsided grin. “At least you’re not the number-one suspect this time out.”
“Yeah, thank goodness for small favors. Once was quite enough, thank you very much.”
The doorbell rang. Gary looked up. “That’s probably Robbie. I’ll get it.” He jumped up, went out to the foyer and returned a few minutes later, Robbie in tow. The lad had a huge box in his arms. He set it on the kitchen island and smiled at me.
“Hey, Ms. McMillan. I got those sweaters from Ms. Power.”
“Thanks, Robbie, I appreciate it. Would you like a cup of coffee? Or some iced tea or lemonade?”
He smacked his lips. “Lemonade would be great, thanks.”
“I’m up, I’ll get it. Want some, Shell?” Gary asked.
“I think I will.” As Gary moved over to the refrigerator, I looked at Robbie. “Yesterday went well,” I said. “Did you hear any feedback from any of your friends about it?”
“Oh, sure. Everyone I talked to raved about it. A few of ’em came in the store. Some of them even bought stuff for their pets.”
I smiled. “That’s good to hear. I never asked, did you manage to get out and take in some of the entertainment on your break?”
“Sure thing. I caught a bit of the parrot act before they split. I thought it was pretty cool, and so did Buster.”
Gary came over with a tray on which rested three glasses and a pitcher of lemonade. “Buster?” he asked as he sat down. “That’s someone’s name?”
Robbie laughed as I poured him a glass of lemonade. “Nah, that’s my friend Billy’s nickname. When he was little his mom used to cut his hair in one of those Dutch Boy styles, it made him look like Buster Brown on those old shoe ads.” He chuckled. “He’s sure changed a lot since then. He’s older than me, in his early twenties, but now he’s got a crew cut and he keeps himself real trim. In his line of work he has to look good.”
“What does Buster do?” I asked as I took a sip of lemonade.
“Well, he went to school for photography but he got roped into modeling. He’s appeared in some national ads. The latest one was for Jockey underwear.” Robbie pulled a face. “He likes to keep a low profile on account of the modeling. You wouldn’t believe how some women go nuts when they see him.” He shook his head as if the whole idea were insane.
Things were starting to click inside my head, though. Billy. Photography. Low profile. I leaned forward. “What’s your friend’s name?”
“Well, his professional name is Billy Van Sant. I think his agent dreamed up the last name. Said it sounded romantic.” Robbie rolled his eyes. “But he’ll always be Billy ‘Buster’ Weston to me.”
I looked at Gary and raised an eyebrow. “His real name is Billy Weston?”
“He likes to be called William Weston. Sometimes, though, he shortens his last name to West, like if he’s doing a photography gig. He does that on the side, because as he once told me, his looks aren’t gonna last forever.”
“He sounds like a smart young man,” said Gary. “I heard that Quentin Watson hired someone by that name to take photos of the grand opening. Would that be your friend?”
Robbie hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. He swore me to secrecy, but I guess it’s all right to tell you.”
“I saw some of his photos when I went down to the newspaper office today,” I said. “They’re very good. There was one I especially liked, of the storefront. I wanted to get a copy of it to hang in Urban Tails, and maybe some others. Make a montage. Do you think your friend could get me some copies of the photos he took?”
“I don’t see why not, just so long as you promise not to tell anyone who he really is.”
“Oh, we won’t.” I made a crossing motion over my heart, and Gary did the same. “Do you think you could get in touch with him today?” I asked, trying not to sound too eager, but it was hard not to let my face fall at Robbie’s next words.
“He’s on a plane to Hawaii right now,” Robbie said. “He’s got a photo shoot the next few days. I think he’ll be back Wednesday. I can text him, though.”
“Would you? The sooner the better.” At Robbie’s inquiring look, I added, “I’m sorry to sound so impatient, it’s just I can’t wait to display that photo. It was so good.”
Robbie beamed. “Buster sure will love to hear that.” He pushed his chair back. “I’ve got to get going. I’ll be in right after my dentist appointment tomorrow.”
Gary rose as well. “I’ll walk you out, Robbie. I just remembered there are a few things I need to pick up at the market for dinner.” He turned to me and closed one eye in a wink. “Your mother was very specific about wanting shitake mushrooms with her steak.”
No sooner had Gary and Robbie left than my phone pinged with a text message. I picked it up from the counter and looked at it. Sorry I won’t be able to make it over tonite. My cousin asked me to go to dinner and the movies over in Hastings. Here’s the video of the girls’ performance for you to enjoy. Let me know how you like it. Tell Gary I want a rain check on dinner!
I knew Gary would want to watch the video too, but I couldn’t wait. I settled back and opened the file. Olivia’s girls were in excellent dance form, and the girl who performed the musical number had an especially good voice. As she sang the last stanza of the song, there was a sudden jerky movement, and the video camera swung off to the left.
“Mrs. Fein must have tripped,” I murmured, then gasped as a fleeting image caught my eye. I sat stunned for a second, wondering if I’d seen correctly. The clip stopped, and I hit the button to replay it, then fast-forwarded to the part that interested me. When the camera dipped, I froze the frame and stared at the image displayed on the screen.
The image wasn’t all that clear, but I could make out two figures standing behind the pagoda. They were standing in approximately the same position as the photograph I’d seen in the paper. One was Draco. There could be no mistaking that shock of flame red hair. It was the other man I wasn’t too sure of.
I’d only met him once, but I was almost positive the man with Draco was Rita’s husband, Wesley Sakowski.
I set my phone down and sat for a few moments, contemplating what I’d just witnessed. Had that been why Wesley Sakowski, who never came down to Sweet Perks, decided to pay a visit? Had he intended to track down Draco, maybe give him a piece of his mind? Or had Draco contacted Wesley directly for a meeting?
I jumped up and went over to the kitchen counter. I rummaged in the drawer, found a pad of paper and hastily scribbled a note:
Went to check out something. Back before dinner. After a moment I added another line. Entertain Mother till I get back.
I propped it up where Gary would be certain to see it, then grabbed my jacket and tote. It was time to pay a little visit to the Sakowskis.
Fifteen
Rita and her husband lived over on the north end of Fox Hollow in what was known as the Mayfair section. The first time I’d gone to Rita’s house I’d fallen in love with it. Built to resemble an old-time English cottage, it was set far back from the street, surrounded by a wrought iron fence and beautiful shrubbery. The house boasted a sharply pitched roof, cross gables and bow windows. A stone chimney and a corner turret on the second floor added to its charm. I’d gone to England several years ago and toured Anne Hathaway’s cottage. This house could be its twin. The mere sight of it brought back memories of hours spent devouring not only Shakespeare but also of reading books like Anne of Green Gables and Little Women.
