Dearly Depotted (22 page)

I moved away from the men, then hurried across the lawn toward the front steps. Melanie was standing inside the screen door, the baby in her arms, watching the proceedings. When she saw me approaching, she backed away. By the time I got to the door she was out of sight.

“Melanie?” I said through the screen. I could see straight up the hallway to a room at the back that had to be the kitchen, judging by the old-fashioned black stove against the wall.

“Please go away,” I heard her say from somewhere close by.

“What were you going to tell us?”

“I can’t talk to you.”

“Don’t worry about your father. Marco has him under control.”

I didn’t hear anything, so I cupped my hands around my eyes and looked through the screen. On my right was a doorway that probably led to a parlor. I was guessing Melanie was just inside the doorway.

“I’m going to put my card inside the door,” I told her. “Take it, please, and when you get a chance, call me, okay? I just want to find out who killed Jack.”

I opened the screen door and tossed my business card inside. “I’m leaving now, Melanie. You might want to pick that up before your father returns.”

I walked down the steps and turned to look back in time to see her dash to the door, snatch the card, tuck it in the pocket of her dress, then dart away.

“Let’s go,” Marco called.

I looked around to see him striding toward his car, so I hurried after him. Josiah was standing where Marco had left him, glaring at us as if he’d love nothing better than to shoot us both. As soon as I was buckled in, Marco backed the car onto the road and took off, wheels digging into the gravel, kicking up a cloud of dust.

“Did Josiah tell you anything more?” I asked.

“Not much. He swears he didn’t see Jack after the fight. He took his daughter home because the baby was sick. What did you find out?”

“Melanie wouldn’t talk to me. I finally slipped my business card in the door. She knows more, Marco. She was on the verge of telling us when her father showed up.”

“What do you say we pay a visit to the babysitter?”

“Do you have time?”

He glanced at his watch. “I have until four o’clock.”

“Let’s do it.”

We had to drive uphill to reach Mrs. Walsh’s house. Her home was similar to that of the Turners—a narrow two-story with a wide front porch, a patch of lawn on one side, and several outbuildings in back. As we walked up the porch steps, a middle-aged woman came to the door. She had on a pair of jeans and a blue denim blouse, with an old-fashioned apron tied at her waist. She appeared to be older than Lottie but younger than Grace.

“May I help you?” she asked with a curious smile.

“Mrs. Walsh, I’m Abby Knight, and this is Marco Salvare. I’m related to your neighbors, the Turners. Well, actually, it’s my cousin Jillian who’s related”—I glanced over at Marco to see him giving me a
get on with it
look, so I finished with—“but that’s not why we’re here.”

“Is there a problem with Josie? Is she sick?”

“No problem with the baby.” Marco held up his PI license for her to read. “I’d like to ask you some questions. You babysit for Josie sometimes, don’t you?”

Mrs. Walsh stepped out onto the porch, obviously deciding we weren’t dangerous. “Yes, I do.”

“Did you babysit Monday night?”

“Yes, why? Is this about the murder?”

Marco fixed those sexy eyes on her, a hard thing for any female to resist. “We’re trying to verify a few facts. Would you mind helping?”

“Not at all.”

I pulled out my notebook as Marco asked, “What time did they bring the baby here?”

“It was just about seven o’clock.”

“What time did they return?”

“Let me think.” She looked down at the wooden boards of her porch, one hand on her chin. “I had the TV on. There was a show on PBS I wanted to see at ten o’clock, but the baby was fussing, so I played with her instead. They came shortly after that.”

“Was the baby fussing because she was sick?” I asked.

“No. Just the normal fussing of a sleepy baby.”

“She wasn’t ill?” I asked, glancing at Marco to see if he’d caught it.

“Not that I could see. I’m sure Melanie would have told me if Josie wasn’t feeling well.”

“Did you know Jack Snyder?” Marco asked.

“I knew him through his mother. We were in Women’s Club together for years, until she got cancer.” Mrs. Walsh clucked her tongue in disgust. “Poor Melanie was heart-broken when Jack took off. Personally, I was glad he left. He would have dragged her right down into that cesspool of his life.”

“Had you seen Jack in the area recently?” Marco asked.

“He came by here a few weeks ago, but Josiah chased him away. He stands guard over that poor girl like she’s his prisoner. I’m not saying I’d want to see Melanie with Jack, but it’s not right of her father to keep her and the baby locked up like he does. I told Melanie she needed to get a job and get out of that house. I even volunteered to watch the baby until she could get on her feet, but she won’t even entertain the idea.”

“Do you think she’s afraid to leave?” I asked.

“It wouldn’t surprise me, although she says it’s because she can’t abandon her father. Sometimes, when I see Josiah drive away, I’ll hurry over to the house to give her a little female companionship. That’s the advantage of living up on this hill. I can see him come and go.”

Marco glanced at me to make sure I was getting it all down. “How did Melanie appear to you on Monday when she came back for the baby?” he asked.

“Nervous. Kind of flushed in the face, too. While I was packing up the baby’s things in the diaper bag, she kept glancing at the screen door like she expected her father to come barging in after her.”

“When they left,” Marco asked, “did they turn toward their house or go back the other way?”

“They went home.” Mrs. Walsh pointed down the road. “See that rooftop? That’s their house. I can see their lights come on at night, so I always know when they’re home. That cheapskate won’t leave a light burning otherwise. It might cost him a few nickels.”

“That’s all I have,” Marco said. “Thanks for your help.”

I pulled out my business card and handed it to her. “If you think of anything else, please give me a call.”

“You own Bloomers?” she asked, reading my card. “I bought this wreath at Bloomers years ago.” She pointed to a very faded grapevine wreath hanging on her front door. “Didn’t Lottie Dombowski own the store at one time?”

“Lottie’s still there,” I told her, pulling out a coupon, “as feisty as ever. Here you go. Twenty percent off a new wreath.”

“My goodness. Thank you so much.”

“What do you know?” I said as I climbed into Marco’s car. “The baby wasn’t sick after all. Maybe Josiah saw Jack at the banquet center, killed him in a fit of rage, then rushed Melanie home. And she’s too frightened to say anything.”

“It’s a possibility,” Marco said as we headed back to town. “But that doesn’t answer the question of why Jack returned. Another thing to consider is that maybe Melanie killed Jack and her father is protecting
her
.”

“It couldn’t have been Melanie. She’s too meek. And her father wouldn’t have allowed her a moment alone with Jack anyway. If one of them is the killer, it has to be Josiah.” I wiped a smudge off the side window with my fingertip, thinking it through. “Mrs. Walsh said Jack came around here a few weeks ago but Josiah chased him away. Maybe Jack disguised himself as a waiter so he could talk to Melanie during the reception without her father seeing him.”

“For what reason? He dumped her.”

“So you’re saying it’s not possible for a man to have a change of heart about a woman?” I was thinking specifically about Pryce’s renewed interest in me.

“Do you honestly believe Jack would take up with her even though he was doing his best to avoid paying child support?”

I slumped against the seat. “Then you come up with a reason.”

“Don’t get your hackles up,” Marco said. “I think Josiah is a strong suspect, and I’m going to have a little talk with Reilly to tell him why. But what we need is a more realistic scenario.”

“Well, we still have Vince Vogel,” I reminded him. “And don’t forget there’s always the dishwasher, Gunther, to consider. Did you ever run either of them past Reilly?”

“I’ve been a little busy,” he said vaguely. “I’ll get to it tomorrow. Where do you stand with Vince?”

“I still need to talk to his wife to verify his alibi. You wouldn’t happen to be available around six o’clock this evening, would you?”

“No.”

I blinked in astonishment. No? Just like that? Had I called him my hero?

The look on my face must have tipped him off that I was feeling a tad bit wounded, so he gave me an apologetic glance. “Sorry, sunshine. I can’t say any more than that. It’s a private matter.”

A
private
matter. I turned to stare out the window, imagining steamy meetings between Marco and the mystery woman. So he’d been a little busy, huh?

“Let’s see if the White Sox won today.” Marco punched a button and the radio came on.

The insensitive oaf. There I was, stewing in an emotional turmoil that Marco had caused, and he was thinking about baseball. Mars and Venus at their worst.

As soon as he pulled up in front of Bloomers to let me off, I got out and said in a not-so-friendly voice, “Thanks for going with me. I’ll see you around.”

“Hey,” he said before I could walk away, “I know you’re stressed about this, but take it easy, okay? We’ll figure it out.”

I wished I could figure him out.

 

Back at Bloomers, Grace and Lottie were waiting eagerly to hear what had happened at the Turner farm. Since there were customers having beverages in the parlor, we huddled on the other side of the curtain, where I gave them a quick account and assured Grace that once Marco had discussed the situation with Reilly, Josiah was almost certain to be the focus of the police investigation.

Grace put her arms around me and gave me a hug. “Thank you, dear. I can’t tell you how relieved I am.”

Lottie waited until Grace left, then she said quietly, “Do you really believe the police will go after Josiah and leave Richard alone, or are you just trying to make Grace feel better?”

“A little of both.”

Lottie was putting together a swag made from grapevine, deep and pale pink miniroses, and ivy, a perfect accent to hang above a door. “I’m worried about Grace. All this fretting is taking its toll on her nerves. She couldn’t even eat her lunch today. She said her stomach wouldn’t hold it.”

I didn’t like hearing that. Grace had been a good friend and mentor during the year I worked at Dave Hammond’s law office. When I got the word that I’d been booted out of law school, Grace had been there for me, always ready to lend a shoulder—or a quote—to help me get on with my life. I owed her the same opportunity.

The phone rang and we heard Grace answer it from the front. A moment later she brought in an order on which she’d written
Rush
. “I’ll take this one,” I told Lottie.

The flowers were for a hospital patient, so I chose vibrant colors for their cheery effect: hot pink carnations, purple asters, orange gerbera daisies, yellow sunflowers, and white mums, then I arranged them in a white wicker basket with a handle, perched a little bluebird on the edge, tied on a bright orange bow, and stuck in a get-well card.

“It’s lovely, dear,” Grace said, coming in with another piece of paper. “This lady would like her order by five. She said to call if it would be a problem.”

And have her go elsewhere? I checked the clock on the wall. “It’s only four. I’ve got time.”

The bell jingled, so Grace went up front. She was back almost immediately, or at least her head was. She poked it through the curtain to say in a low voice, “Pryce is here to see you.”

I glanced at Lottie and she lifted her eyebrows. I slid off the stool—being short, I never could make a smooth transition—and stepped through the curtain, with Lottie on my heels. Pryce was walking around the shop, hands clasped behind his back as he studied the various flower arrangements on display.

“Hi,” I said, heading toward him. “What’s up?”

He didn’t smile—not that I expected it—but he did seem relieved to see me. I hadn’t expected that, either. “Do you know where my grandmother is?”

“
Should
I know where she is?”

He held out a slip of paper on which had been written in a spidery hand,
Went to Abby’s place for ice cream. I’ll be home when I feel like it.

 

 

 

 

I
showed the note to Lottie, who was trying her best to maneuver herself around so she could read it over my shoulder.

“Your granny hasn’t been here,” Lottie told Pryce. “We don’t even serve ice cream.”