Renewed for Murder, page 14
“It’s just the new sidewalks in this part of town. They’re historically appropriate, but you do have to watch your step.” I indicated the brick pavers Sunny had finally convinced the town council to install in the main part of town. Looking up, I noticed Kurt examining the façade of the new shop that had replaced Ruth “Rainbow” Lee’s antique store.
“Pity everything’s so bourgeois these days. I preferred Rainbow’s eclectic collection of curiosities.”
“It’s actually not bad—mostly garden stuff, but with some trendy clothing and décor thrown into the mix,” I said. “Not the worst option.”
“I suppose not. It could’ve been turned into one of those dreadful shops that sell sofa-sized paintings.” Kurt’s smile twisted into something closer to a snarl. “As if one should choose art based on the size of a couch.”
“I know that’s anathema to you, but not everyone has your high standards,” I replied mildly. “Where are we headed, anyway? I have to back at the library by six.”
“Right here.” Kurt pointed toward a narrow lane flanking the side of Bethany Virts’s diner, the Heapin’ Plate. “There a garden in the back, with a bench.”
I frowned. “Bethany’s kitchen garden? I’m not sure if we should be using it for dining al fresco.”
“It’s fine. I have an arrangement with Beth—she allows me to sit in her garden sometimes, and I supply her with exotic spices I pick up at gourmet shops in D.C.”
“Always working the angles, aren’t you?” I followed Kurt to the open space behind the diner, a small square of grass surrounded by flower and vegetable beds.
The wooden bench placed at the edge of one of the beds was weathered as gray as driftwood. Kurt took a seat on one end of the bench and motioned for me to sit at the other end. “We’ll spread out our feast between us,” he said.
After extracting a white linen napkin from the bag and draping it across the center section of the bench, Kurt pulled out several small plastic containers. “Sushi, made by my Georgetown chef, who’s quite an expert in the cuisine.” He looked up at me, his blue eyes gleaming. “I hope you like this sort of thing.”
“I do, actually,” I said, taking the black enameled chopsticks he handed me.
“Good, I thought you might.” Kurt popped open the containers to display a variety of glossy rolls. “It’s all vegetarian or cooked fish, in case you were wondering. I was a little leery of bringing sashimi when I had to haul it in the car for an hour or so.” He pointed his chopsticks at two small containers, one filled with a neon green paste and the other with thin magenta strips. “There’s wasabi and pickled daikon if you want it.”
“Richard will be terribly jealous.” I plucked up a slice of white rice tightly rolled around a rainbow of ingredients. “He’s quite the sushi fan.”
“Really? Well, I’ll have to bring some by your house one day.” Kurt finished off a piece of the sushi before speaking again. “Now—getting to the real point of this meeting, why did you want to speak to me? I also have information to share, but I’d like to hear from you first.”
I grabbed another slice of sushi. “It concerns your friend, Gwen Ohlson.”
“Oh? What about her?” Kurt’s tone was mild, but his eyes narrowed.
Between nibbles, I detailed what had happened at the poetry reading. “The weirdest thing is, Gwen first told me she’d been pushed by some stranger but then didn’t want me to tell anyone else that version of events.”
“Interesting.” Kurt scissored his chopsticks in the air. “Let’s cut to the chase. She actually told you she suspected it was retaliation from someone she’d wronged?”
“Yeah, like you,” I said, noticing his face had gone still as stone. “What exactly did she do to you, anyway? Obviously not something that made you cut her off, since I saw you being friendly at the performance the other night.”
“She made a backdoor deal with an artist I’d introduced her to, cutting me out of a commission.” Kurt stabbed a piece of daikon with the end of his chopstick. “She got a better price that way, of course, so I have to applaud her chutzpah. But”—he flicked the chopstick, allowing the pickled radish to flutter down over a slice of sushi—“I wasn’t too thrilled about her going behind my back.”
“I guess not.” I studied him for a moment. “You’re still friends, or was the other night an act?”
“We are, but with the caveat that I no longer entirely trust her. I’ll be watching her carefully if I broker any more deals for her.” Kurt bared his large white teeth. “Of course, I doubt she entirely trusts me, either, so I suppose we’re on the same page.”
“You really didn’t know her years ago, when you were Karl Klass?”
“No, like I said, she was just a child when I was in high school.” Kurt expertly lifted the daikon-draped slice of sushi and chewed on it for a minute, his gaze never leaving my face. “I didn’t even remember she’d participated in the community theater production of Brigadoon in 1970 until I saw that photo. I did attend one performance, since Andrew had painted the sets, but she was simply part of the chorus and didn’t make a big impression.”
“The thing is, I suspect something must’ve happened around that time, or at least later that year, when Gwen, Zelda, and our murder victim, Claudia Everhart, were part of a choral competition. You told me Uncle Andrew was also involved with that event, so I thought maybe you’d attended those performances as well.”
“He was only a judge for the visual art portion, so no.” Kurt shrugged. “If it wasn’t Andrew’s work on display, I wasn’t really interested.”
I swallowed a tasty bite of rice, seaweed, and avocado before speaking again. “I was told Claudia Everhart accused Zelda of inappropriate behavior, which got Zelda kicked out of the Leeland chamber choir. Did you ever hear that rumor? Then, or”—I pointed a chopstick at him—“more recently? Because I’m sure you’ve sent out your little birds to pluck up any juicy tidbits.”
“Sorry, no. Though you are correct—I have been attempting to glean whatever information I can to aid Ms. Shoemaker’s cause.”
I twiddled my chopsticks between my fingers. “Gwen intimated you’d put up Zelda’s bail. Is that true?”
“It is, although I wish she’d kept that to herself.” Kurt sighed. “She seems to be very free with sharing information on my activities. Another reason to watch myself around her, I suppose.”
“Can I ask why you’d help Zelda in such a magnanimous way? I didn’t think you knew her very well.” Shifting my position on the hard bench, a flash of pain twisted my lips.
“Perhaps I simply hate injustice?” Kurt examined me more closely. “Judging by your face, you apparently find that hard to believe.”
“It isn’t that. I’m just a little sore from my tumble on the stairs. But I admit to being surprised by your generous gesture. Bail can’t have been cheap.”
Kurt squared his broad shoulders. “Honestly, I do like the lady, despite her tendency to chatter, but I must admit my main motivation was …”
“To help Aunt Lydia? I know you care about her more than you’ll ever let on. My guess is, being aware of how close she is to Zelda and Walter Adams, you decided to do something to help alleviate her unhappiness.” I jabbed my chopstick at him. “Admit it.”
“Guilty as charged,” Kurt said, with a wry smile. “I also know how fond you are of Ms. Shoemaker. So, having the spare cash, I thought I should offer my assistance.”
“It is appreciated, believe me.”
Kurt’s smile broadened. “Good. Now, what I wanted to share is related to this.” He slid something from his shirt pocket and held it out to me.
It was the photograph that had fallen from the Oscar Wilde book. After staring at it for a moment, I tapped the edge and looked up. “Your information has to do with this production of Brigadoon?”
“Yes, it’s something I remembered the other day, when I examined the photo again. I was reminded of an anecdote Andrew told me over a bottle of wine. He made an amusing story out of it, but now that I think of the ramifications …” Kurt laid down his chopsticks. “It has to do with the young ladies in that photo. A couple of them, anyway.”
I stared at the picture again. Gwen and Olivia were posed in front of Andrew’s beautifully painted depiction of the Scottish countryside, along with another girl. Squinting, I tried to see if the third girl resembled a teenaged Zelda. Or Claudia Everhart, I thought, remembering how closely she and Zelda had supposedly resembled one another.
But the third girl was willowy and dark-haired. No stretch of my imagination could turn her into either Zelda or Claudia. “Exactly what was this story Uncle Andrew told you?”
“A rivalry between a few of the high school girls in the cast,” Kurt said. “Apparently, there was a fight that escalated when a couple of the girls were helping Andrew finish some of the scenery. It ended with them tossing paint on each other. The director was furious, but Andrew thought it was hilarious. ‘Like a scene out of a Shakespearean comedy,’ he said. ‘Helena and Hermia trading barbs and blows.’”
Kurt’s expression had softened, as it always did when he talked about my late uncle, who’d died over forty years ago. But the love hasn’t died, I thought, with a little pang of sadness. “Did he name the culprits?”
“He did, although I didn’t pay much attention to it at the time. That photo, and my own investigation into Ms. Shoemaker’s case, brought it back.” Kurt tapped his temple with one finger. “It takes a bit more effort these days, but the memories eventually resurface.”
“Like you’re mentally challenged in any way,” I said, with a sniff of derision. “So spill—what were the names?”
“One was Olivia Bell, and her antagonist was Claudia,” Kurt said, with obvious relish. “Ah, now I have your attention. You see why I wanted to speak with you, as well as give you the photo.”
“Did Uncle Andrew know why they were fighting?”
“He thought it had to do with another young woman who was also part of the quarrel. Apparently, she was cast in a major role instead of either Olivia or Claudia.” He leaned forward to touch the dark-haired girl’s image with his fingertip. “I think it must be this one. I vaguely recall her playing one of the leads, but I’m afraid I don’t recall her name.”
“Gwen wasn’t involved?” I asked, with a lift of my eyebrows.
“Come to think of it, she may have been,” Kurt said dryly. “Andrew did mention her name. But he said she stayed on the sidelines, although she was backing her friend.”
“Olivia,” I said, my mind spinning with this new information. If Gwen and Olivia had fought with Claudia Everhart, as well as some other, unknown girl during the summer before the choral competition …
“Anyway, you can keep that photo to aid your research. I thought it might be useful to find out who the other girl was, and if she was involved in the recent choral group reunions.”
I slipped the photo into the pocket of my tunic. “She could be another suspect.”
“Along with that Olivia woman,” Kurt said. “It occurred to me that it would help take the spotlight off Ms. Shoemaker if you could suggest a few other suspects to Brad Tucker and his team.”
“Absolutely.” I added Olivia and the unknown actress to my mental list. Along with Earl Blair and Gwen, I thought, but decided to keep that last name to myself.
“My other suggestion is for you to talk with Mary Gardner. She used to work for the school system, presenting special programs about area folklore. She might know something about any rumors or odd occurrences connected to Leeland High in the seventies.”
I nodded. Mary Gardner was a woman in her nineties, but still sharp as a tack. She’d grown close to Kurt while working in the orphanage where he spent time as a boy, and was a great collector of local history and stories connected to the area. “You think she might know something related to Claudia, Olivia, or Zelda, or even this mysterious dark-haired girl?”
“It’s possible. And if there’s any truth to the story that Ms. Shoemaker was forced out of the choir instead of dropping out on her own accord, Mary is likely to have heard it.” Kurt motioned toward the plastic containers. “If you’re done, I’ll pack this up.” As he held up his wrist, light flashed off his gold watch. “Time’s marching on, and I know you need to be back by six.”
“Thanks, and yes, I’m done.” I laid my chopsticks across the napkin.
Kurt covered all the containers and placed them back in the bag. “Come to think of it, you should take this with you. Share it with Richard. I’m sure he’ll be happy to help finish it off.”
“He’s always happy to eat,” I replied with a smile. “Of course, with all his physical activity, he actually needs the calories. Unlike me.”
Looking me over, Kurt winked. “You look fine to me. Honestly, artists in the past would’ve loved you as a model.”
“Come on now, no point in trying to charm me.” I wrinkled my nose at him. “You know I’m not going to be swayed by such behavior.”
“Alas, I’ve always known that, my dear.” As he stood up, Kurt offered me another of his wolfish grins. “But you’re right, I shouldn’t try any of my tricks on you. For one thing, you’re family. At least as far as I’m concerned.”
I rose slowly to my feet, ignoring the complaints from my hip. “Found family, anyway.”
“Often the best kind,” he said.
Chapter Sixteen
Karla had already left before I got home, so she missed the lecture Richard delivered as soon as I walked into the kitchen.
“Really, I’m just a little stiff and sore,” I told him, after allowing him to thoroughly express his displeasure over me going to work while I was still in pain. I held up the white bag as a peace offering. “I have leftover sushi. Kurt’s chef made it.”
Richard frowned. “You met with Kurt today too?”
I mentally slapped myself for having dropped Kurt’s name into the conversation so soon. “Don’t get bent out of shape. He simply wanted to share some information he thought might aid my research. You know, to help Zelda.”
“I thought you understood I wanted to give him a talking to before you got tangled up in any more of his schemes.” Richard plucked the bag from my hand and opened it. “Sushi, you say?” he asked, in a mollified tone.
“It’s really good.” I glanced at the white board on our refrigerator. “What’s this about dinner Friday night?”
Richard moved to the other side of the island and began pulling the plastic containers out of the bag. “Oh, right. I hope you don’t mind, but I accepted an invitation for dinner with the Stovers for Friday evening. Marty’s wife called earlier and asked if we could come, and since Karla was here to confirm she could make it, I went ahead and said yes.” Richard looked up to meet my questioning gaze. “We’re going to meet up at that new restaurant in Smithsburg, the Italian one we wanted to try.”
“That’s fine. One less meal we have to cook.” I cast him a smile before grabbing a paper plate from one of the cupboards behind me. “Honestly, I didn’t think you’d mind me meeting with Kurt if it could possibly help Zelda.”
Richard popped open the top of one of the containers. “I suppose there’s no harm in it, if it was just to give you information.” He fished a pair of chopsticks out of one of the oak island’s shallow drawers. “Do you want to save this, or can I have some now? Never had dinner.”
“And you worry about me.” I clucked my tongue and slid the paper plate over to him. “I bet Karla didn’t eat either.”
“She said she had leftovers waiting at home.” Richard extracted several slices of sushi and placed them on the plate. “Any condiments?”
“There should be some small containers of wasabi and pickled daikon.” I stepped back and leaned against the soapstone counter topping our whitewashed lower cabinets. “Anyway, Kurt suggested I talk to Mary Gardner. I thought I might call and see if I could stop by to see her Sunday afternoon. Or both of us, if you’d like to go.”
“Sure, I always enjoy talking with Mary. Her recorded stories have been a great help with the folklore project.”
“She definitely knows all the old stories.” I cleared my throat. “The other thing Kurt shared was his knowledge of some sort of rivalry between Olivia Rader and Claudia Everhart. Back when they were teens, I mean. Apparently, Uncle Andrew witnessed a fight break out between them during that summer theater production I told you about.”
Halting his hand halfway to his mouth, Richard arched his dark brows. “Gwen Ohlson wasn’t involved?”
“Kurt says she was on the sidelines, but”—I shrugged—“I’m not sure if that’s true of if he’s covering for her.”
Richard chewed and swallowed before replying. “You think he’s fond of her? I didn’t get that vibe when we saw them together.”
“I don’t know. It’s hard to tell how much Kurt cares about anyone, don’t you think? But it does seem like he’s reluctant to support my theory that she could be a suspect in Claudia’s death.”
“Interesting,” Richard said, before eating another piece of sushi. “This really is good. Hits the spot tonight.”
“Finish if off if you want.” I winced as I straightened and stepped away from the counter. “I think I’ll head upstairs and take another one of those warm Epson salt baths. It seemed to help last night.”
“You do that,” Richard said, as he plucked a couple more slices from the containers. “I’ll be up before too long, if you need me to rub on any muscle ointment or anything.”
I headed for the hall, but paused in the doorway to look back at him. “Thanks for worrying about me, by the way. I know it just shows how much you care.”
He flashed one of those smiles that always melted my heart. “Always do. Always will.”
“I know.” I blew him a kiss before leaving the room.
* * *
I felt much better on Thursday, which was a blessing because the library was flooded with teenagers in the late afternoon, all working on the same English project. After thirty aching minutes spent kneeling down and jumping up again to point out books, I finally gave in and filled a cart with every title I thought could be of use.
