Lie of the Needle (A Deadly Notions Mystery) (21 page)

“Absolutely. I’d love to see it.”

“Claire’s school is closed that day for the Thanksgiving break, and I was going to have her stay with my sister, but she tortured me until I agreed to let her come. So I’d love your eagle eyes on the place, but perhaps you could keep an eye on Claire, too? Daisy, this is the biggest purchase I’ll probably ever make in my life. I want to make sure I do it right.”

“I know what you mean, and don’t worry, I’ll keep her occupied while you talk to the home inspector. Text me the address and I’ll meet you there.”

As requested, on Monday morning, I drove to the address Patsy had provided. It wasn’t the grand country mansion of Claire’s painting, but it was a pretty Victorian duplex on a side street just off Hemlock Lane, not far from where Martha lived. It was set a good distance back from the road, and I glimpsed a nice backyard with a tire swing hanging off a majestic oak tree.

Angus pulled up right after me. “This one’s got good bones, don’t it, Daisy?” he yelled as he got out of the truck.

“Well, I’m interested to see the interior, but yes, it looks like it has a lot of possibilities.”

He nodded. “A house is like a woman. You can tell right off the bat whether you want to put up with her crap or not. As long as she looks good underneath all the froufrou when she wakes up in the morning, you’ve got yourself a winner.”

I shook my head at him. “You’re such a guy.”

Patsy and Claire arrived next, followed by the home inspector and the real estate agent.

Claire rushed up to me and gave me her usual enthusiastic hug, which I returned and savored for as long as I could.

“Is this a duplex, Pats?” I asked.

“Yeah, that’s why it’s such a great investment. The price is a bit of a stretch, but there’s already a tenant whose rent will pay more than half the mortgage.”

“What a great idea. Let’s go take a look.”

As we walked up to the house with the agent, I heard Patsy murmur to her, “If someone died here, for God’s sake, don’t tell Claire.”

“No, it’s okay, I think they went to a senior community because they needed a one-level home.”

While everyone else started in the basement, Claire dragged me upstairs to a bedroom that was painted a pale lilac. Her favorite color. Even though it wasn’t the grand place of her dreams, I could see she was already sold.

“Look at this!” I said. “It doesn’t even need painting, does it?”

She grinned at me. “I know, Daisy, isn’t it so cool? But I told Mommy I would help her paint the other rooms.”

The bedroom was a good size, set at the back of the house with two huge windows, one with a window seat that looked out over the yard and the oak tree with the tire swing.

“I think I’m going to put my dollhouse in this corner.” Claire made a circle with her arms in the corner next to the window seat.

“Perfect.” I stared at it and remembered all the work Cyril and I had done on the Victorian dollhouse only a month ago. Actually, he’d done most of it, painstakingly gluing on the tiny wooden shingles, one by one, restoring the floors, and attaching new balustrades and gingerbread trim. My heart ached all over again.

“Mommy said you and Uncle Cyril spoiled me with the dollhouse,” she said, slipping a hand into mine.

“Ah, how could anyone ever spoil you enough?”

“Do you think he’s ever going to come home?”

I sucked in a breath and held her hand tighter. I didn’t have it in me to lie to a child, but I didn’t want to upset her either. “I truly hope so, Claire. I know that he loves all of us very much, and if there’s a way, I’m sure he’ll figure it out.”

She sat on the floor and pulled a little book out of her pocket. “I’m keeping a diary of our house hunting adventure.”

I smiled at her. “I have a good feeling that this story is going to have a happy ending.”

“Can you keep a secret, Daisy?”

I laid a hand on my heart. “My dear Claire, I am the soul of discretion.”

She giggled. “Well, I was watching this show on TV about money management and how you need to make goals for yourself. You need to plan ahead. So I made a five-year plan for me and my mom. Some of it has already come true.”

She showed me the diary. One of the goals was for her mom to quit the diner. There was a big red check mark next to that item.

Next up was to find a house and to have a housewarming party.

“Guess you might be able to check those two off the list soon, as long as everything goes well with the inspection today. I’ll have a chat with Martha about the party. Shouldn’t be a problem. What’s next?”

Claire flipped the page, and there were already two items planned for next year. First was to get a dog, and then to find a husband for her mom. I chuckled at the requirements that any suitor would have to fill.
Must like cheese pizza, but not with any toppings. Must like to read. Must love animals. Must have a nice car.

It went on and on, but then there was a list of possible matches. Given that Claire and her mother lived in a sleepy little village like Millbury, it was not that long. Two of the candidates caught my eye: Serrano and Chris Paxson, who owned the bicycle store.

“How come Detective Serrano has a question mark after his name?”

Claire pondered it thoughtfully for a minute and then shook her head. “He’s very nice, but I don’t think it would work out.”

“Can I ask why you think that?” I held my breath. Could a nine-year-old really give me an insight into the dark, complex creature that none of the women in our village had been able to figure out thus far?

“He’s very bossy, and so is my mom. I think they’d fight all the time.”

I laughed out loud.

“Plus I just don’t see why he can’t go to the grocery store himself.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

Claire sighed and closed her diary. “He stops over
all
the time because he’s forgotten to buy tea bags, or he needs a roll of paper towels, or jeez, one time he even asked her for shampoo!”

Patsy and Claire lived at Quarry Ridge, which was the same development as Serrano. And from my experience with the anal detective, he never forgot a thing.

Interesting.

Although I didn’t think he was Patsy’s type. She’d certainly never oohed and aahed over him like the rest of the village’s female population.

I bit my lip to stop from smiling. “What’s so wrong about asking for shampoo?”

“Oh, Daisy,” she said, as if explaining to a four-year-old, “girls and boys use
totally
different kinds. Besides, the boys I know wouldn’t even care
about shampoo.”

I had to admit she was right. If there was none available in our shower, Joe would just lather up with the bar of soap.

“Plus, I think that Chris Paxson might want to impress his new girlfriend, so he’d give her
adorable
daughter a really nice bike.” She gave me an impish grin.

Even as I shook my head, I felt a pang at how quickly she would pass this sweet stage of innocence. Too soon would come the disappointments, the hurts, the heartache. I wished I could keep her this way always, full of fun and hope for the future.

“You little wheeler and dealer!” I arched an eyebrow at her, and she giggled. “Come on, why don’t you show me the rest of the house?”

As we walked around the second floor, I could see what Angus meant about good bones. Some of the house was a bit dated, true, and there was certainly plenty of wallpaper to strip away, but it was obvious it had been well-maintained. The changes Patsy would have to make were mostly cosmetic. I sighed in satisfaction.

We met up with the rest of the gang in the kitchen.

“I’m not a fan of these cabinets,” Patsy said. “Daisy, what do you think?”

They were oak, and not in a contemporary style, but plentiful and still in good condition. I opened up one. “The important thing is that they’re well-made. Solid wood inside instead of that pressed board stuff. You can always reface them, or just paint the doors, which is a relatively cheap fix.”

“You can help me with things like that, right?” she said to me and Angus. “And with moving?”

I nudged Angus. “Hey, Angus, isn’t there some kind of rule that you don’t have to help people move house once you turn fifty?”

Patsy snorted with laughter. “Don’t be spoilsports, youse guys! Besides, there won’t be much. All we have is our clothes, our beds, and a couple of dressers. We probably don’t even need a moving van. It can all fit in the back of your pickup, Angus.”

“Don’t forget my art easel, and my desk, and my toys,” Claire piped up. “And my dollhouse.”

Angus ruffled her hair. “Sounds like we’re gonna need another truck, missy.”

T
here was another zoning meeting scheduled for Thursday night, but when I woke up that morning, a freezing rain had formed a crisp, hard crust over the snow. Angus’s words echoed in my brain about contentious motions being pushed through on inclement days with poor attendance, and I resolved to spend as much time as I could between customers at the store to make some calls and try to ensure a good turnout.

Jasper and I walked down slippery Main Street, where it didn’t take long before I was chilled to the bone in the rain that was still coming down.

“Stop pulling, Jasper,” I said sharply, as he tugged me toward the next tree and I skidded on the glassy surface of the sidewalk.

My wet gloves were proving worse than useless in keeping my hands warm. I slipped the leash around my wrist, peeled off the sodden wool and blew on my close-to-frostbitten fingers. I wasn’t really paying attention when Jasper made another lunge.

I landed on my behind with an excruciating thump. “Aargh! You silly dog!” I yelled. I lay there for a minute, gasping in agony while he stood over me, his tongue hanging out, panting. The scene outside the church when Grace Vreeland had broken her ankle on the ice flashed into my mind. I couldn’t afford to be out of commission at this time of the year. I had way too much to do.

As the frigid wet seeped into my jeans, I realized I’d better try to get up. I rolled painfully to my knees and eventually to my feet. Jasper looked up at me with an anxious look on his face as I huffed and puffed and limped home, but he walked obediently now at my side.

Joe had already left the house early, off to sell another consignment of his handmade rocking chairs to Jeanne’s Dollhouses and Miniatures in Sheepville.

I got showered and dressed with difficulty, wishing he was still home, but when I got to Sometimes a Great Notion, I saw that he’d already cleaned the slush off the sidewalk and put down some pet-safe ice melt.
Thank you, my darling.
I thanked the heavens again for blessing me with such a man. I swiped my boots on the heavy-duty mat inside the entrance to the store, hobbled over to the counter, and started the coffee brewing.

Thinking about Grace had reminded me of Althea. I wondered if she was still in a coma. I’d heard that Grace was recuperating with her daughter in Florida, and I doubted if anyone from the church had visited our head bell ringer and secretary. I wouldn’t bet any money on it.

Even though I was sure Althea was the killer, I resolved to pay her a visit after work and before the zoning meeting. Innocent until proven guilty, as Serrano would say. Perhaps she might feel my presence and it would give her some comfort. It wasn’t good enough to show up in church and pat yourself on the back. It was a person’s actions that spoke louder than words.

Plus you hope that you can pry some information out of the poor, defenseless soul if she’s awake.

I glared at my mannequin.

“You know, that kind of snarky comment is quite unbecoming, Alice.” I turned my back to her and did my best to drag a box from behind the counter and pull out some fresh items to display. I was still moaning when Martha and Eleanor came in, although I did cheer up at the sight of a foil-covered platter in Martha’s hands.

Eleanor shivered. “Mother Nature needs a boot up her behind. Just think, we have months left of this crap before spring.”

“What’s the matter with you?” Martha asked. “You look pale.”

“My back is killing me. Jasper pulled me down on the ice this morning,” I murmured. “But I yelled at him, and now I feel so bad. I never yell at him.”

“It’s okay,” Eleanor said. “He won’t hold a grudge. That’s why I like dogs better than most people.”

“Have one of my millionaire shortbreads, Daisy.” Martha peeled back the foil to reveal one of her best creations. “These treats will cure what ails you.”

“Oh, wow, these are my favorite! Thank you, Martha.” I reached for one of the bars of rich shortbread laden with a layer of caramel and topped with chocolate, but I winced as the motion pulled at my sore muscles.

“Here, sit down. At least until a customer comes in.” She fussed around, settling me into a chair with a cushion against my back and bringing me a mug of coffee.

“But I have merchandise to display.”

“Eleanor and I can do it. Just tell us where to put everything.”

I breathed a sigh of relief as my friends brought down the last of my stock from upstairs. Eleanor filled a Soap Box Derby car with some children’s alphabet books from the 1940s, a couple of Victorian lace petticoats, and a Raggedy Ann doll. Martha arranged a small primitive armoire, painted in a sugar-pink wash and filled with dolls’ clothes, next to an old Pepsi cooler. She placed a vintage red painted coffee grinder and a Dazey butter churn on top of the cooler.

Together they hung a Rising Sun patchwork quilt from Lancaster County in the bare space on the wall where another had just sold. I sat in my chair and folded some linen tea towels and a pair of hand-embroidered floral silk curtain panels.

“Everything looks great, guys. Thanks so much.” Now that I’d sucked down some caffeine and gobbled one of the bars, I did feel a bit more like myself. “So, how was your date the other night, Eleanor?”

“What’s this?” Martha planted her hands on her hips. “A date? With whom, may I ask?”

I grinned. “Tony Z and Eleanor, sitting in a tree. Actually, it wasn’t a tree, but a very romantic horse-drawn sleigh.”

“Really?”

Eleanor shrugged as if it was no big deal, although her mouth curved in a self-satisfied smile. “As you said, at our age, what are we waiting for?”

“Did he kiss you good night?” Martha demanded.

“Yes, he did. It was a very good one, as a matter of fact.”

I was about to press for more details, but the doorbell jangled, and I set my coffee down with a sigh, ready to wait on a customer.

Serrano strode into the store, looking especially dashing in his weathered black leather jacket and jeans. His eyes lit up at the sight of the shortbread bars, and if I thought Martha had fussed over me, it was nothing compared to the way she hovered over the detective.

At this rate, there wouldn’t be many treats left for any customers, but I didn’t mind. I was more concerned about how I could stash some away for myself.

“Ladies, I missed you,” he said.

“The feeling is mutual, Detective,” Eleanor murmured.

“So, what’s up?” he asked.

Martha heaved a sigh. “Well, there’s still no sign of my dear Cyril. Although it’s funny; when I was working at the soup kitchen the other day, I could have
sworn
I saw someone who looked exactly like him.”

Eleanor and I exchanged glances.

“But it was probably just a hallucination, brought on by so much stress. I must admit I do enjoy helping those poor people, but it will be a blue, blue Christmas this year. Oh, and the gala. I don’t suppose I’ll be able to attend now. I’m so sorry about all the work you put into fixing the gown for me, Eleanor.”

Eleanor licked the caramel out of the side of her shortbread bar. “I could go with you. I could be your date. I have a nice dinner jacket.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re too short. Never mind the wrong sex.”

“Ah, yes, but sometimes when sex is wrong, it can be so right.” Eleanor winked at Serrano, who cleared his throat.

“I would be honored to take you to the ball, Martha,” he offered.

She beamed at him. “Now
that’s
more like it. But I wouldn’t feel right going with anyone other than my dear Cyril. Thank you for offering, though, Detective. It was very gallant of you. “

I narrowed my eyes as I observed Serrano in action. I thought I was starting to figure him out. He went for the unattainable, like Patsy, who wasn’t interested in him, or the safe option, like Eleanor or Martha, knowing that nothing romantic would ever happen.

“Patsy found a house,” I said, watching carefully for his reaction.

“Yeah, uh, I heard. I’m going to help with the move.”

Martha gasped. “We must plan a celebration for her. Sort of a combo Christmas and housewarming party. I’ll take care of everything. I need to surround myself with friends at this sad time in my life.”

My phone beeped with a text, and I struggled out of the chair to grab my cell phone off the counter. It was a photo from PJ. I enlarged it to see a scene outside a mine shaft. I recognized the imposing figure standing in the foreground, captioned here as
Randall Willensky, foreman of the Bonny Castle Mine
.

Three seconds later, the phone rang.

“You’re never going to believe this.” PJ sounded like she’d been living on nothing but coffee and cigarettes for days. “See that photo? It wasn’t in the newspapers, or on the Internet. Found a journalist here who had the image in his computer files. There was a bad accident at the local mine, and the foreman was blamed for negligence and run out of town. Did ya recognize the dude?”

“Yes, it’s Randy, Beau Cassell’s new foreman.” I clicked the phone on speaker so everyone could hear. “I read about that mine accident, but I never knew Randy’s last name and there were no pictures of him, so I didn’t put two and two together.”

I quickly told PJ and the trio in my store about my encounters with Randy Willensky outside the zoning meeting and again at the town hall, but as I did, I realized that Beau Cassell had always referred to his foreman as “little.” The old man from the development had called him a pip-squeak, too.

“But I’ve seen Randy up close, and no one would describe him as small. He’s not Beau Cassell’s foreman after all, is he? But why would Frank Fowler lie about who he is? What the heck is going on?”

Serrano didn’t comment, but I could tell he was taking it all in.

“I might have the answer to that,” came PJ’s rasp. “According to local gossip, the owner of the mine had a real wild child daughter called Mandy who disappeared right after she turned sixteen. I’ve seen an old photo, and I’d be willing to bet any money it’s Nancy Fowler, even though she’s changed her name and her hair color. Her criminal record was expunged because she was under eighteen, but it wouldn’t contain the kind of details she’d want made public, especially when running for higher office. I’m not just talking
pots
and pans here, if you catch my drift, but some serious shit.”

Martha raised her hands in puzzlement. “Pots and pans?”

“You know, grass, weed, reefer, herb,” Eleanor explained, although Martha still looked a little confused.

PJ chuckled. “
And
a DUI, shoplifting, you name it, this chick did it all before she was even out of her teens. In a small town like this, people have long memories. Buy ’em a shot and a beer and they remember a lot.”

I chewed on my bottom lip. “So Willensky has tracked Nancy down, perhaps to blackmail her about keeping the story quiet? It certainly wouldn’t look good for the future governor to be exposed as a former drugged-up alcoholic criminal.”

I remembered how protective Frank was of Nancy.
What a magnificent woman she is. I’d do anything to protect her, you know.

Outside the town hall after the zoning meeting, Randy had been saying to Fowler that he owed him. I’d assumed it was something to do with Cassell and the land, but perhaps it was for extortion payments.

“Oh my God, did Frank try to get rid of his blackmailer, only to run down the wrong person?” I exclaimed. “Althea’s very tall for a woman, and she wore a man’s hat most of the time. Both Randy and she wore long black down coats. They may have looked the same from the back.”

“She was probably a dead ringer for him,” Eleanor said.

PJ snickered on the other end of the line.

I tried to keep a straight face as I scolded Eleanor. “That’s very inappropriate. And PJ? Good work. Now come on home. But drive carefully.”

After I hung up, Serrano said he was going to bring Fowler in for questioning, Eleanor mumbled something about opening her store, and Martha wrapped her coat around herself and said she had a slew of errands to run. I reminded them about the meeting that night, and urged them to try to drum up as much support as possible.

I made as many phone calls as I could between customers, although I reached a lot of answering machines and voice mail systems.

A couple of hours later, Serrano called. “Yeah, so I brought Frank Fowler in. It didn’t take long to crack him. He’s confessed that he was the one who ran Althea down, mistaking her for the guy who was blackmailing him and his wife.”

“Ah! So I was right!”

“Daisy, you know, a broken watch is right at least once a day.”

“Jeez, Serrano, give me a little credit. What’s going to happen to Fowler?”

“He’s under arrest. Felony hit-and-run, plus attempted murder, even though he hit the wrong person, the gavoon. He’d better be praying that Althea Gunn doesn’t snuff it. It doesn’t look like the old bird is ever going to wake up, though, and chances are she’ll be brain damaged if she ever does.”

“Poor Althea. What about her cat?”

“I stopped by his foster home to see him the other day. He’s as fat and happy as ever.”

Seeing as Serrano was on the phone and not standing in front of me, I didn’t have to hide my smile. I’d always known there was a soft heart under that tough-guy bravado.