A Deadly Encounter (A Seagrove Cozy Mystery Book 3) (7 page)

“How long did you know him before you got married?” Zack asked.

“I don’t know. Six months maybe. It was long, long ago. I was only twenty-seven. And clearly not a very mature twenty-seven.” She took his hand. “Let’s go back and dance. They’ll be leaving for the honeymoon soon.”

They danced the final slow dance and watched the happy couple drive off in a horse-drawn carriage. Apparently the honeymoon hotel was only a mile down the road. Zack took Sadie’s hand and walked her back to the jeep.

“Back to the real world tomorrow,” he said.

“Yes. And we have a murderer to catch.” Sadie grinned. “One of my favorite things to do. Especially when they dare use one of my best finds to do it with.”

The next morning, Sadie woke up feeling flat. She went next door to get breakfast and coffee, but it was busy in the bakery so she brought it home and ate it at her kitchen table. The weather was cloudy and cool. It wasn’t a good day for breakfast on the balcony.

On their walk in the park, Sadie and Mr. Bradshaw spotted Lance Brownside pacing in the distance. Mr. Bradshaw growled, and Sadie looked down in surprise. Mr. B was staring intently at the mortician with his hackles up and his lip curled up. His pointed little canines looked positively dangerous.

“Mr. Bradshaw,” she said, “what has gotten into you?” She turned to walk away, but Mr. B wouldn’t budge, leaning into his collar and growling even more fiercely. In the end she had to pick him up and carry him back to the shop, because dragging him on the end of the leash wasn’t something she was prepared to do.

Yesterday had been jam-packed, and today stretched out in front of her with no end and nothing to do but shop business until the wake that night. She puttered around the shop but couldn’t focus. After Betty came in, Sadie called to see if Lucy was around.

Lucy wandered over around noon with three sandwiches, pickles and chips from the deli farther down Main Street. The three women ate at Sadie’s work table at the back of the shop, pushing aside the scattering of things that needed to be fixed or polished.

“I loved that potato peeler,” Sadie said. “It had such a good story. I hate that someone ruined it.”

“It has a gruesome story attached to it now,” Betty said. “I bet it makes it more valuable that it was before. The tool that killed Victor Rumsfeld.”

“I’m not sure I can benefit from a man’s death that way,” Sadie said.

“Not even a despicable old fart like Rumsfeld?” Lucy asked.

“Not even him,” Sadie said. “It doesn’t feel right.”

“It wouldn’t bother me,” Betty said. “I’ll sell it for you. I can imagine a grisly story to tell of Victor’s demise. I bet you can get five thousand dollars for it.”

Sadie looked at Betty with surprise. “That much?” she asked.

“I don’t see why not,” Lucy added. “Betty’s right. When the story gets out that you owned the weapon used in a heinous murder, people will flock to the store. You should probably thank the killer when we find out who it is.”

“I will not!” Sadie said. “How can you suggest such a thing?”

“I’m a realist,” Lucy said around a bite of sandwich. “I wouldn’t wish anyone killed like that, but I see nothing wrong with exploiting it after it’s already done. Someone’s going to benefit, and it may as well be you.”

“The way I think of it,” Betty said, “is that whoever did this ruined something special for you. You traveled to some god-forsaken place, stayed in a camper, made friends with a woman and bought something she was using. That’s a lot of time and energy expended. Selling it just recoups a little of the loss is all. And you don’t have to be the one to do it. I’ll sell it for you. In fact,” her face lit up with an idea, “that’s even better. You are so upset that you can’t deal with the thing and I have to sell it to get it out of your sight.”

Betty stood up, looking for all the world like a tour guide, and said, “And so you see, after risking life, limb and contacting some nasty, third world disease to obtain this little beauty…”

“You do realize that Ireland is not a third world country, don’t you?” Sadie asked.

“Oh. Ireland, is it?” Betty was now speaking in a heavy Irish brogue. “She was living with the Irish Roma, traveling about, risking arrest at every turn.”

Sadie couldn’t help it, she burst out laughing. “Where did you learn to do an Irish accent?” she asked.

“College,” Betty said in her normal New England American accent. “I was in theater. I can do a bunch. Do you want to hear?”

“Yes,” Lucy said.

“No. My sides hurt bad enough already,” Sadie said.

“Well I’ll just do a couple then,” Betty said in broad Scottish. “This is how David Tennant and Kelly McDonald speak,” she said, “because they are from Scotland. And if I was from Wales, like Christian Bale and Anthony Hopkins”—her accent had changed again—“I would talk like this.”

Betty sat back down and bit into her sandwich. “I can do more,” she said around her sandwich, “but I’ll leave those for another day.”

“Betty, I had no idea how talented you are,” Lucy said. “I’m sure we are going to find a use for this talent before long.”

“Beyond amateur theater, you mean,” Sadie said. “Just wait until the Seagrove Players find out about her.”

“Oh, they already know,” Betty said. “I’m a member.”

“You’ll have to tell us when you are in a performance,” Lucy said, “so we can come see you act.”

“Will do,” Betty said. “It’s nice to have friends in the audience.”

“I don’t think you have to wait until Betty is in a play to see her act,” Sadie said. “Just hang out here and watch her greet people. I’ve come to realize Betty could sell sunscreen to vampires. I’ve never had such a talented assistant.”

Betty put her hand to her heart. “I’ve never had such high praise,” she said. “Does this mean I get a raise?”

“Yes,” Sadie and Lucy said together.

Sadie took a swig of soda to wash down the sandwich. “After what you’ve sold in the last two weeks, I’m thinking I can afford fifteen percent. But let me do the math and I’ll give you a number tomorrow.”

Betty looked surprised. “Fifteen percent,” she choked. “That’s very generous.”

“I’m telling you, you’ve earned it.” Sadie wiped her mouth with her napkin. “Now let me tell you about what Mr. B did today. It’s very strange.”

“Fire away,” Lucy said, and Betty nodded.

“Here’s the thing,” Sadie said. “When I went to see Lance Brownside at the funeral home yesterday, Mr. Bradshaw totally ignored him. His hackles didn’t go up, he didn’t give Lance his death stare and when Lance was at his weirdest, Mr. B was scratching himself. No reaction whatsoever. But this morning, when we were walking in the park, we saw Lance in the distance and Mr. Bradshaw went berserk. His hackles were up, he had his teeth bared and he was growling to beat the band. I had to pick him up and carry him back to the shop because he wouldn’t budge. What do you make of that?”

“Maybe he was distracted at the funeral home yesterday,” Betty said. “A flea could have jumped on him. Or maybe they use something on the carpet that irritated him.”

“I agree,” Lucy said. “I think today’s reaction was the right one. That guy gives me the heebie jeebies.”

“But that’s just because he’s a mortician, don’t you think?” Sadie asked. “Morticians give everyone the heebie jeebies.”

“And maybe the smell of the funeral home put him off,” Betty said. “It can’t smell right to a dog in there. All those chemicals.”

Sadie nodded. It was true. The funeral home did have a distinctive and somewhat overpowering odor. Maybe that’s what threw Mr. B off. It just was so unlike him to have two reactions that were so far apart.

The bell over the entry door rang, and Betty wiped her face.

“No,” Sadie said. “You stay and finish your lunch. I’ll take this one.”

“If you think you can handle it, boss,” Betty said, grinning.

“Watch it, you,” Sadie said. “I was selling junk while you were still in diapers.” She went to greet her customer.

She was surprised to see Tony Benetti standing just inside the door, looking around, bemused.

“Tony,” she said. What can I do to help you? Did you need some junk?”

“There is a small ceramic box with flowers on it in the window,” Tony said. “I’d like to buy that.”

“Is it for your best friend’s mother?” she asked, walking to the window display and plucking the box from its stand.

“Yes. And I have to thank you. Bolo’s mom was so grateful that I came to see her,” he said, his voice catching a little. “She’s been missing him, and seeing me seemed to make it better. It made me feel better, too. I probably wouldn’t have gone if you hadn’t suggested it.”

“I’m glad,” Sadie said. “Here,” she said, handing the box to Tony. “A gift.”

“No,” Tony said. “I want it to be from me. I have to pay for it for that to be true.”

Sadie hesitated. She’d wanted to reward him for doing the right thing.

“Please,” he said. “I want it to be right.”

She gave in and rang up the purchase. She was tempted to discount it, but he’d already seen the price tag and she didn’t want to insult him.

“Wait,” she said as he headed toward the door. “May I shake your hand? It’s not every day I meet someone who inspires me the way you have.”

Tony stopped and held out his hand to her. She took it and they clasped hands for a moment. Then he pulled her gently to him and gave her a hug. He was so much taller than her that her head only reached his chest and he had to bend over to give her a proper hug. Tears stung her eyes.

“Thank you,” he said. “You helped me more than I can say. I think I’m finally free of the guilt. Bolo has stopped haunting me.”

Sadie kissed him on the cheek and let him go. Then she went into the office to blow her nose and wipe her eyes before joining Lucy and Betty in the back of the shop.

“Did you make the sale?” Betty asked. “Or did you give something away again? I swear, I don’t know how you stayed in business before you hired me.”

“I made the sale,” Sadie said indignantly. “I sold the ceramic box from the window to a nice soldier who is in town for Victor’s funeral.”

“The one with the delicate flowers on it?” Lucy asked.

Sadie nodded.

“I always liked that. He’s got good taste.” Lucy crumpled the sandwich paper and tossed it into the trash can. “Now,” she said. “Let’s see what trouble we can get into before you go off to the viewing.”

Sadie left Mr. Bradshaw home when she drove to Hyattsville for Victor Rumsfeld’s viewing. A funeral home was no place for a dog, not even an excellent and well-behaved dog like Mr. B. She arrived early and found parking out front, right behind the chief’s jeep.

The chief was outside on the porch, waiting for her.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said. “I thought we could wait out here until people start to arrive. I don’t much like hanging out with dead people as my only companions.”

“I hear they are very peaceful,” Sadie said, holding back a smile.

“I’m not much for peaceful,” he said. “I prefer a companion who can talk. Have a seat.” He gestured to a bench near the door.

Sadie sat next to Zack on the bench and took his hand. She knew it was technically work, and she’d worked really hard to keep the two separate, but it was so calm waiting here on the bench together. It seemed unlikely that anything would happen at Victor’s viewing. They’d probably just sit together the whole evening.