Guidebook to Murder (19 page)

I didn't miss the gleam in Todd's eyes. What was it with stories of pirates that made grown men act like little boys? “I'm sure it's just a story.”

“You might want to get that fence done sooner than later. Once the rumor gets out, I'd be on the watch for fortune hunters. You don't want your lawn dug up in the middle of the night.”

I sighed. I knew Todd was right. I'd already had to lock up the shed to keep the art thief out. Now I needed to know—and soon—if those coins Greg and I found in the play chest were real or fake. If they were real and word got out, I'd have people all over this property. I was never going to get the house up to code for the council meeting at this rate. I needed to talk to Jimmy Marcum—now.

I waved good-bye to Todd, headed back to the house, and picked up my cell. Maybe I should put the coins in a safety deposit box at the bank. I hadn't thought much about them since I'd shoved them into a kitchen drawer yesterday. I glanced at the clock. Ten to five. No answer at the law office and the bank would be closed before I could get there. Two more items for tomorrow's to-do list.

I climbed the stairs to shower and change before Greg arrived with dinner. It might just be take-out on the porch, but I didn't have to look like I worked on his brother's painting crew.

M
y hair was still wet when the doorbell rang. But at least I wasn't covered in blue polka dots from my painting. I'd be glad when the house was finished and I could concentrate on other disaster areas in my life, like my business and nonexistent love life. I felt totally pathetic for leaning on Greg the way I'd been, but like Scarlett, I'd think about that tomorrow. Tonight, he was bringing me dinner.

“Hey, you're early.” I swung open the door. And stopped. Greg wasn't standing in front of me.

Sabrina Jones filled my porch in a hot pink pantsuit that strained at the buttons. She barreled through the open door. “Well, it looks like you've been busy.”

“Why don't you come in?” I said to her back as I closed the door. Gritting my teeth, I decided to find out why she had appeared on my doorstep. Maybe I'd even be able to trick her into saying she took the paintings. Sabrina had to be the fat woman John Paul Hunter had described. Too bad Greg would believe that he needed actual proof to arrest her.

Sabrina gazed around the room and then stuck her head into my new study. “What have you done with her furniture? You know most of those items were antiques. Valuable pieces that have been in the family for years. Please tell me you haven't destroyed them.”

“I'm not sure it's any of your business since Miss Emily gave them to me, not you or your husband, but no, I'm waiting for an antiques dealer to come and appraise the furniture I'm not keeping.”
Stay calm, Jill. Keep her talking until Greg gets here.

“I still don't understand why she left everything to you. After all George and I did for that old bat. All the times I made her tea. He's devastated that his aunt treated him so shabbily.” Sabrina nodded to the study. “I see you're keeping her old desk. Is there any paperwork in there about the history of the house and the property? George should keep that kind of family heirloom, and you'd see that if you had any sort of decency at all.”

I wanted to strangle the woman in front of me, but I was pretty sure my hands wouldn't fit around her neck. “After I look through the papers, I'll be glad to give any family keepsakes to your husband.”

“We'll see.” Sabrina's beady eyes glanced toward the kitchen. “Aren't you going to offer me a drink? It's very warm in here. You should invest in some fans.”

“Sure, what would you like?” I pointed to the kitchen. “We can sit in there, away from the paint fumes.”

“Pepsi, if you have it.” Sabrina barely fit through the arched door frame leading to the kitchen. She plopped down into one of the chairs at the table. “I think we have some business to discuss.”

“Really? I can't think of anything we need to talk about.” I opened the fridge door and grabbed two Cokes, nudging the lone can of Pepsi farther back in the fridge. “All I have is this, unless you want some ice water.”

“I guess it will have to do.” Sabrina sighed. She flicked the pop tab with a long, polished nail and drank down half the can.

I opened my soda and waited. Sabrina's eyes kept glancing at the painting by Miss Emily that I had hung in the breakfast nook. I decided to jump in the fray. “Nice painting, isn't it? Did you know Miss Emily was such an artist?”

Sabrina's cheeks turned as pink as her jacket. “I didn't know. The painting is beautiful.”

“She even had a studio back in the shed. Of course, some paintings were stolen before we moved them to a more secure location.” I watched her face. “I'm surprised with all the times you came over, Miss Emily never mentioned she painted.”

Sabrina stared down at the soda can. “That's terrible about the break-in. South Cove seems such a quiet place to live, not like the bigger cities.” She twirled the can. “Where did you move the paintings?”

Sure, like I would tell her. I'd wake up one night with my throat slashed and she'd have the paintings ready to sell to the Hunter Gallery or some other willing dealer. I didn't trust John Paul as far as I could swing him by his carefully tied sweater. “Somewhere safe. So, why did you stop by?”

Sabrina's eyes scanned the kitchen. I swear she was counting the amount of money I'd spent on the remodel. “Just wanted to see how you were getting along. The contractors must be costing you a fortune. Are you sure this old house is worth the money? You probably could have bought a nice little condo in Bakerstown for half of what you are spending just to get this house up to code.”

I wanted to say it was my money and I'd spend it any way I saw fit, but that would have been rubbing her nose in the fact that Miss Emily left it to me, rather than her and her creepy husband. Several answers crossed my mind, and I filtered them out for good taste. “But I love this house,” was what I finally came up with. Tears came unbidden when I added, “and it reminds me of Miss Emily.”

“I would have sold it to that developer and gone on with my life.” Sabrina sniffed.

Had Eric approached her, as well? “So, you've met Eric and Bambi?”

“They might have stopped by the house to pay their respects to George after Miss Emily passed. Most people thought she would have left this dump to family, not some stranger.”

Now we were getting down to the reason Sabrina had come by. I glanced at the clock, five-thirty. Greg would be showing up in thirty minutes. No reason to get her ticked off too soon. “Bambi's working at City Hall, helping out since Amy's disappearance.”

“I heard about that. You and Amy were friends, right?” Sabrina finished off her soda.

“We are friends.” I corrected her tense. Man, this woman knew how to push buttons. I felt like I was in a boxing ring, dodging punches.

“Yes, of course. Have the police come up with any leads on where the poor girl might be?” Now Sabrina twirled the soda can.

Like she gave a rat's butt. “Not yet, but it's early.”

“I read somewhere that if you don't find the missing person in forty-eight hours, you're more likely to find a body.”

Okay, that was just mean. I was done. “What do you want, Sabrina?”

She grinned at me. “So we're done playing nice, huh? Okay then, I want you to split the inheritance with George. He deserves that money. You'll walk away with more than you deserve.”

“And why would I do that?” The nerve of this woman.

“Let's just say it's good karma. The little roadblocks you've been running into may all suddenly disappear. Maybe your friend will even show back up.”

“If you did anything to Amy—” My voice rose as I stood up.

“Who said I did anything to Amy? I might just know where she is, though.” Sabrina leaned forward. “Maybe we can make a deal. You give George half of the inheritance money, before you went on the spending spree. And we'll call it even.”

“Seriously, if you know where Amy is, you'd better tell me.” My voice got louder.

“Or what? You'll throw that can of soda at me?” Sabrina laughed. “Sit down, girl, and think about this. You don't need all that money anyway. George was related to Miss Emily. That old bat never once listened when I'd explain why it would be better for estate taxes to give the money to us before she croaked. Even when I told her—”

“Told her what?” Greg's voice came through the open screen door. His body filled the space and I was never more glad to see anyone in my life.

“Hey, Greg, come in.” I stood to unlock the screen. Taking the bags of take-out from his hands, I put them on the counter. “You know Sabrina, right?”

Greg's look told me all I needed to know. I was in big trouble. No matter that she came to see me, this was another one of my investigative shenanigans in his mind.

“What did you tell Miss Emily when you visited? And when was this? If I recall, when I talked to you, you said you hadn't seen her in months. Too busy with your own life to cater to some dried-up prune of an aunt? Wasn't that the answer?” Greg eased into a chair next to Sabrina and spun his cell phone on the table. “So, let's start over. When did you see your aunt last?”

“I don't like what you're implying, Detective King. I'm sure if I forgot to tell you anything, it was due to the shock and grief we went through when Miss Emily passed.” Sabrina struggled to get out of her chair.

“You didn't answer my question. What did you tell her?” Greg leaned back, watching the woman struggle. He picked up the cell and seemed to be searching through his messages.

Sabrina's face turned redder than her jacket this time. “I told her that she owed it to George to pass on some of the family money. It was his grandfather's, and George had every right to it.”

“According to Jimmy, George's dad got his share of his grandfather's estate and blew it before he died. So, how did you think that you had any right to Miss Emily's share?”

By this time Sabrina had managed to stand up. She adjusted her jacket. “She didn't have any kids—the money should have passed to George. If that's all, I'm sure my husband is expecting me.”

“One more thing. I've been trying to reach you all day. I stopped by the house, but George said you were shopping.” Greg didn't even look at the woman, staring at something on his cell phone screen instead. I couldn't read his expression. “How do you know John Paul Hunter?”

Sabrina's beet-red face lost all color at the mention of the gallery owner's name. “I don't. What makes you think I know this man?”

“Because he described a woman resembling you as the person who sold several paintings to the gallery. Miss Emily's paintings.” Greg sounded cool.

“I didn't even know she painted until today. Maybe you should be asking your girlfriend about Mr. Hunter.”

“Actually, Mr. Hunter met Jill this afternoon. He categorically stated she was not the person he bought the pictures from.” Greg grinned up at me. If he mentioned the mayor thinking I was fat, I would slap him.

“Well, I don't know the man. I have to go.” Sabrina headed out of the kitchen to the front door.

“I'll walk you to the door.” Greg winked at me. “By the way, do me a favor and don't leave the area for a while. I might have some more questions for you.”

Shaking, I sank down at the table. What was Greg thinking? Now Sabrina knew she was under investigation. I laid my head down and tried to focus. Sabrina had offered me Amy back if I transferred the money she wanted. Did she have Amy held somewhere? Or was she just playing with an emotion she knew would work?

“Ready for dinner?” Greg's voice brought me out of my funk. Startled, I jerked my head up to see him opening the cabinet drawers, looking for silverware.

“To the left of the dishwasher.” I leaned back into the chair. It had been a long day, and I felt exhausted. When Greg didn't answer, I turned and pointed. “Right there, the next drawer.”

“You're keeping these here, in the house? Are you crazy?” Greg held up the bag that held the pirate coins, his face hard, waiting for my answer.

“They were in the shed for years. Why is keeping them in the junk drawer an issue?” The smell of Lille's fish and chips was perking me up. All I wanted was to eat dinner and drink a couple of beers.

“The guy from the college called me back today. These are real, Jill. Real silver colonial coins from the mint in Mexico. He estimated if they were all in the same condition, you could probably get two to three hundred apiece, or more from the right collector.” He threw the sack at me.

Catching it with two hands, the bag slipped almost to the floor. I hauled the bag to the table. Reaching in, I pulled out one of the coins. Turning it over, I whistled. “There must be over a hundred thousand dollars here, if he's right.”

“He's right. So, please, move those to the bank tomorrow first thing. Too many rumors are floating around town about the mission for you to keep these here. While I was waiting at Lille's, three people asked me if the story about finding the mission was true.” Greg pulled out forks from the silverware drawer and brought the bag of food over to the table.

I dropped the coin back into the sack. Laughter bubbled out of me. I tried to control the giggles. I started laughing out loud as I opened the Styrofoam container filled with fish and chips.

“Okay, I give. What's so funny?” Greg watched me as I tried to catch my breath.

“Sabrina would have died if she knew she sat that close to something worth that much money. She drooled over the painting I'd hung, and I don't think she was getting anywhere close to that for the ones she sold.”

Greg shook his head. “That's what concerns me. I'm going to have Toby parked outside tonight, just in case. She doesn't seem like the type that gives up easy.”

I pulled out the container from the bag with Greg's dinner and pushed it toward him. “Quit worrying and eat.”

Greg's cell phone buzzed. He glanced at it and opened a text. “That's what I thought.”

“What?” I didn't want to glance over at the phone. Okay, so I did. Shoot me.

“I sent a picture of Sabrina over to the gallery owner. He's just identified her as the one he bought the paintings from.” Greg contemplated the food sitting in front of him.

“So, that's why you were playing with your phone.”

“Yep.” He sighed and closed up the container.

“You have to leave?”

“I need to get this over to the judge so I can get a search warrant for her house. Maybe this will be over sooner than we thought.” He stuffed a couple of French fries in his mouth as he stood up.

“Do you think she killed Miss Emily?” My appetite was gone. Could this be finally over?