Last Wool and Testament: A Haunted Yarn Shop Mystery (34 page)

The contents of Emmett’s envelope were straightforward enough. So was my opinion of him after reading through them. He slithered on his belly like a reptile. He’d snooped and pried until he was convinced Granny had a sideline in hexing her neighbors. He offered no proof of ill will or of a hex succeeding. But he collected “evidence” consisting of rumors, no doubt the inklings and quiet understandings Granny had mentioned. He had photographs of plants in her garden and pages he somehow got hold of from one of her dye journals. These were some of her dye recipes using foxglove and aconite, both of which are poisonous, and both of which she grew. He was especially shrill in noting that, historically, aconite was used by witches in their “flying ointments.” What baloney. Except she did say in her letter,
I’m a bit of what some people might call a witch
. Oh, Granny, you silly old thing.

But surely she hadn’t worried that Emmett could destroy her business or her life in Blue Plum with talk of flying ointments. She was wiser than that, even if there
were people who believed every tabloid report of devil worship or an Elvis sighting. So why had she caved when he demanded her house? Why hadn’t she hooted with laughter? Or, if he thought she knew how to hex someone, why wasn’t he afraid she’d hex
him
? Or why, if he wanted the house, had he agreed to let her live there as long as she wanted? In fact, there was no mention of the rent Max claimed was past due—just that the house became Emmett’s upon her death or when she chose to leave it. What kind of blackmail demand was that? Were they both crazy?

“Damn,” Mel said, looking up from the binder. “Who knew Emmett was such a…”

“Bastard?” I interrupted.

“Bloody genius,” Thea said.

“Well, and a bastard, too,” Mel agreed, “but the whole blackmail scheme was about creating a retirement plan.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s all here. He wasn’t shy about putting down the details. Says he lost his pension from the Westman plant when the plant and the pension fund went belly-up and Social Security wasn’t going to let him live as comfortably as he wanted. That’s why he was working at the Homeplace and living here, making ends meet for the time being. But he was also looking ahead to a time when he couldn’t work, and he came up with this scheme to create his own enhanced Social Security by inviting certain community members to make private contributions.”

“That’s what he called it, an invitation to contribute?”

“Yeah. He makes it sound almost friendly. Says Ivy practically insisted he take her house, telling him, ‘Cash is fine but you can’t beat a mortgage-free roof over your head.’”

“They were both crazy,” I said faintly. “But that’s exactly what she would do. A cockeyed blackmailer and
a cockeyed act of charity. Are the, um, the secrets, whatever he blackmailed people for, listed in the binder?”

“No, this is more or less a narrative and record of contributions,” Mel said. “If all you read is the binder, you’d have no idea he was threatening anyone. He kept the secrets and corroborating evidence in the envelopes. And, although this is him telling it, it doesn’t sound as though he was even particularly greedy. Fifty dollars a month from some, a hundred from others.”

“Until he tapped Homer,” Ardis said. “That’s when he made his mistake.”

“You’re sure?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Thea said. “Emmett’s stupid started showing when he hit on Homer. Homer’s contributions were twice as much as the other contributions combined and Emmett said they’d make the difference between getting by in Blue Plum and living high in Hilton Head.”

Rain drummed on the cottage’s tin roof and I heard Geneva singing her murk-and-gloom lullaby in the kitchen. It might have been a cozy evening in with friends.

“Homer’s secret is worth killing for?” I asked.

“Homer isn’t even Homer,” Ardis said. “He’s Dewey Tarwid. He’s from Pikeville, Kentucky. Here’s a picture Emmett took of Dewey Junior, who works at a gas station in Pikeville and has a child of his own. Homer’s daddy died in jail. Homer barely graduated high school.”

“Max got back from Kentucky the morning he was killed,” I said.

“Checking out Emmett’s story for himself?” Debbie asked.

“Sounds like,” Thea said.

“But law school?” I asked. “The accent?”

“Dewey shook off the dust of Pikeville and never looked back,” Ardis said. “Took himself to Atlanta, worked days, applied himself nights, made his way through law school, and the first thing he did after graduating was legally
change his name. Only thing is, he never divorced his first wife.”

“Do you think Ruth knows?” Mel asked.

“No and that’s what made it an even better secret,” Ardis said. “She thinks she married Homer Leroy Wood, Esquire. A regular Jimmy Carter or Atticus Finch.”

“So we have to hurt her in order to finish this?” Thea asked.

“Homer,” Mel said. “Homer hurt her. And he killed Emmett to keep his secret. And Max to plug the new hole. And, wait, did he kill Nicki, too?”

“That was an accident,” I said. “Homer was right. The snakes were a warning to me so I’d forget blackmail, forget murder, and stop asking questions. Nicki was in the wrong place and completely unlucky.”

“Sweet Jesus,” Mel said. “Call the cops, Kath.”

“But don’t bother the 911 operator, dear,” Ernestine said. “I have Cole Dunbar’s personal number.”

Chapter 37

C
lod, of course, was overjoyed to hear from me. I was calm and polite and explained clearly and objectively what we’d decided it was safe to tell him—that we’d stumbled across important evidence in Emmett Cobb’s murder and it was essential that he hop in his car and drive through the storm to see it for himself. We’d decided not to say we knew
who
killed Emmett. Just in case. The “just in case” covered a number of worries ranging from legal to paranoid. I thought I put it all rather well. But Clod was still having trouble getting past the nose thing, even though we’d interacted without further damage just the evening before. Ernestine heard the way it was going and took the phone from me.

“Cole Dunbar. This is Ms. O’Dell. You come on over here. Yes, now. Thank you, dear.” She handed the phone back to me. “He was in my Sunday school class for more years than he’d like to remember, bless his heart.”

“I think we should put everything but the binder and Homer’s envelope back in the newel post,” Ardis said. “In case Cole wants to search the place or search us. He won’t think to look there.”

“He wanted to know where we were stumbling around when we stumbled across the evidence, though,” I said. “What should we tell him?”

“Under the window seat,” Geneva said. “Emmett kept jigsaw puzzles there.”

“Really? He did jigsaw puzzles?”

Strange looks from the others. Dang. I kept forgetting my friend wasn’t their friend.

“Ha-ha,” I laughed lamely. “I mean, can you imagine a jigsaw-puzzle-doing blackmailer? Anyway, he kept puzzles in the window seat. We can say we found the binder and envelope there.”

We slipped the other envelopes back into the newel. The cap went on more easily than it had come off, taking only a few good thumps from Mel’s and Thea’s fists.

“I’ll burn them or shred them tomorrow,” I said.

“But don’t you wonder what’s in Joe’s envelope?” Thea asked.

“No,” Ardis said. “Lead us not into temptation. Shred them, then burn the shreds.” She gave the cap a final thump.

“And to deliver us from evil,” Geneva called from the kitchen, “here comes Emmett’s card friend.”

This time I remembered to wait for the knock before going to open the door. Then I hurried to let Clod in out of a renewed onslaught of rain and wind. Except it wasn’t Clod on the doorstep. It was Homer.

“Now
that’s
what I call a gun,” Geneva said.

Chapter 38

“C
ole didn’t say there were so many busybodies involved,” Homer said when he had the six of us standing at gunpoint in front of the fireplace. He looked less like a hawk then, and more like a vulture or a carrion crow. “This is more awkward than shooting only one or two, but never mind. We’ll make do. No, Kath, keep your hands where I can see them. It’s too late for the 911 call you should have made instead of calling Cole. That decision was good luck for me and stupid of you. He and I were playing our Saturday night poker game and I overheard the gist of your call. He told me the rest. Then he received a call about downed wires, which trumped yours, and here I am. It’s somewhat ironic, too, as we used to play our games here with the idiot Emmett.”

“Oh, you’re in a fine mess, now,” Geneva said. She floated back and forth behind Homer. “And he called darling Em an idiot. How rude.”

I almost said, “Shhh,” but changed my mind. “You thought Emmett was an idiot, Dewey? Really?”

“Blithering. And you’re no better. I want you all to know, you can thank Kath for the predicament you’re in. I told her to have no further contact with Cole Dunbar. She didn’t listen. I told her not to involve herself, not to mention blackmail to anyone else. Now you’ll all pay the price because she did not listen. And that poor young
woman. Was her name Nicki? That was unnecessary, Kath. The snakes were a warning for you. If you had listened, if you had been smart and listened to me, your friend Nicki would still be alive.”

“But, Dewey, getting back to Emmett, how stupid was he if he found out you’re a complete fraud?”

“Kath, what are you doing?” Ardis whispered.

I wasn’t sure, but Geneva became more agitated every time Homer maligned Emmett.

“He called himself a reformed alcoholic,” Homer said, “but he wasn’t reformed enough to resist the doctored bottle of gin I left for him. How smart was that? He was weak and he was stupid. He could have poured that bottle down the drain.”

Geneva billowed behind him. If the others could have seen her they would have been impressed and trembly in the knees instead of looking at me like I might be crazy.

“So it’s Emmett’s fault he died that horrible way? Gasping, eyes bugging out, retching, vomiting, right up there in his own bed? You killed Emmett, but it’s his fault? Dang, Dewey, I thought darling Em was your friend.”

“Emmett Cobb was shit.”

Geneva looked like a thunderhead. Lightning flashed, making her glow.

“Sorry, Dewey, I didn’t hear you over the thunder.”

“He was stinking mule shit.”

I waited two heartbeats. “But still better than you, right?”

“Emmett Cobb was…”

He might have howled the rest of that sentiment, but I didn’t hear anything beyond my pounding heart. Geneva heard him, though, and she’d heard enough. Lightning struck again, thunder crashed, and she, a pulsing tornado green, surrounded Homer. He couldn’t see her to know what was happening, but he must have felt her intense chill. Confused, he took his eyes from me for
just an instant too long. I grabbed the poker, swung it wide and connected with the side of his head like the wrath of God and Hammerin’ Hank Aaron.

The gun went off as he fell and shot a hole in the newel post.

Chapter 39

I
t wasn’t completely hunky-dory after that.

Clod arrived about the same time as the ambulance. The others clamored to tell him what they had heard and seen happen. They weren’t entirely sure why Homer had suddenly lost his concentration, but they were willing to believe I’d done something clever. They repeated Homer’s confession and his intent to kill us. Ardis and Ernestine gave Clod the envelope and the binder. Joe wandered in at some point with a nod to his brother. Mel and Thea asked if I’d join their softball team. I stood by feeling sick and watching without contributing. None of that was really unexpected. Debbie’s reaction surprised me, though.

“You deliberately egged him on,” she said, jabbing her finger at me, then turning to Clod. “She used us as bait. It’s a wonder he didn’t shoot us all where we stood. It was unforgivable behavior. She should be arrested for endangerment.”

“Good for you, Ms. Rutledge,” Clod said, “making friends left and right.”

Mel purposely stepped on Clod’s foot as she and Thea gathered Debbie, her purse, and her coat, and took her home. There was an awkward silence after they left. Ardis filled it.

“Darling Em?”

I shrugged. “Bit of ad-lib. Deputy Dunbar, do you have any more questions? If not, and if you all don’t mind, I’d like to call it a night.”

Dunbar was looking through the binder. That created another awkward moment when Ardis, Ernestine, and I looked at one another, simultaneously realizing there was a hole in our story and one of the characters in that hole was standing there with us. We looked at Joe. He caught the uneasy vibe showing plainly on our faces.

“What’ve you got there, Cole?” he asked.

“Record Emmett kept.” Clod turned pages, nodded, didn’t look up. “Makes interesting reading. All these names. People he was taking money from. Had himself a regular industry. But you didn’t find any other envelopes? Just the one with Homer’s name on it?” He looked up then. Glanced at Joe. Looked at us. We shook our heads. “Well, I’m guessing old Emmett was smart enough to get rid of any other information he collected after he dug up Homer’s dirt. Probably burned it in the fireplace there. That’s what I’d do.” He closed the binder and tucked it and the envelope under his arm. “So, no, Ms. Rutledge, there might be more questions later, in a day or two, but I believe that’s all for now. Ms. O’Dell, do you need a ride home?”

They left together. Before I shut the door I heard Ernestine asking Clod if he’d like her to drive. Thunder rumbling and echoing between the mountains kept me from hearing his response. I’d hoped Ardis and Joe would follow them out the door, but they’d invited themselves into the parlor. Ardis was laying wood for a fire. Joe admired the bullet hole in the newel post.

“No time like the present,” Ardis said.

“You’re right.” I picked up the shovel. Joe backed away. I sighed. “I’m really not a violent or angry person,” I said to no one in particular. No one commented. And then I wondered. Where was Geneva? Not in the parlor. I
handed the shovel to Joe and went back to the kitchen. Then up the stairs at a trot. Nowhere.