Shadow of a Spout (12 page)

Laverne, just entering the coffee shop, passed Nora and watched her stride off, then joined Rose at the table.

As Laverne had her coffee and cinnamon roll, Rose filled her in on what she had just learned. “It made me wonder . . . if Zunia demanded that Walter leave Nora, would that be reason enough for him to kill her?”

“Try this; it’s so good.” Laverne cut a quarter of her cinnamon roll and put it on a napkin in front of Rose. “I don’t know; what do you think? You’re the one who just talked to her.”

“Maybe Nora got sick and tired of his flings.” Rose thought about it, but it just didn’t seem likely. “No, that just doesn’t fit. She sounded resigned and tolerant. Amused, even. And what would be the point? Killing Zunia wouldn’t stop him. If he’s a serial cheater, he’ll just move on to the next one. Now, if
he
had died, I might think she was the guilty party. She did say ’til death do they part.”

“Still, I think we ought to find out where those two were at the anointed hour.”

Rose gazed at her and smiled. “Maybe your sweet nephew could help out two old biddies in search of a murderer?”

Laverne chuckled. “Well, there’s no harm in asking, though I doubt it. Eli takes his position in the police department very seriously. He’s coming by later to take his granddad and auntie to lunch. I’ll tackle him then.”

*   *   *

I
t was still early, just a little after nine. Sophie sat on the foldaway bed, staring out the window to the street below. Sunday traffic was sparse, but Butterhill, like Gracious Grove, was a town where folks walked for fun and exercise, so there were lots of people coming to the coffee shop at the inn while on their Sunday-morning stroll. Her grandmother and godmother had come back to the room after breakfast with coffee and a muffin for her, then they had gone back downstairs to the morning’s rescheduled lecture, which was on silver hallmarks.

Sophie was into teapots but didn’t think a whole lecture on hallmarks would be bearable, and she wasn’t an official ITCS member anyway. She was free to snoop, but where to start? Josh’s suggestion that she ask Jason if he could find out if Dahlia Pettigrew was at the college overnight was still rolling around in her brain. She had replayed the conversation a hundred ways, and every time it ended with her asking him if he was at all interested in rekindling their abruptly shortened romance from a dozen years before. Until she could be sure she wouldn’t embarrass herself, she didn’t want to call him.

Her cell phone buzzed and she picked it up. Josh sent her a text with a selfie of him cross-eyed—he was at the lecture, but like most kids, could do several things at once—briefly telling her that he had talked to Emma again that morning, and her mother was indeed staying at Cruickshank. He had not been able to establish where the mom was that night and, even stranger, where Emma had been. He had expected her to say that she was in bed, asleep, or explain where she was, but she shrugged off his roundabout question about seeing her come in early in the morning. She also, according to Josh in his next text, had not seemed overly upset that her stepmother was murdered. When asked who could have done it she pretty much said any one of a number of people, given how her stepmother couldn’t talk without offending someone.

Sophie was able to glean all of that from Josh’s cryptically abbreviated texts.

The suspect list was growing, and no one had yet been knocked off it. Her phone chimed again, but this time the text was from Cissy. She and Dana were on their way to Butterhill in response to a confusing phone call from Cissy’s grandmother, who claimed that everyone in the Silver Spouts hated her and they all thought she had killed Zunia Pettigrew out of spite.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Sophie exclaimed. Who knew there were octogenarian drama queens? She swiftly texted back that everything was actually fine and no one suspected Thelma, but Cissy messaged back that they were on the road anyway, so they’d come to at least check in with Cissy’s grandmother, and stay for brunch. Sophie texted SuLinn to tell her if she wasn’t interested in the hallmarks lecture and wanted to sneak out, they could all join up and have brunch and discuss what was going on.

Before they arrived Sophie decided she’d better get herself organized. Someone had targeted her beloved nana, trying to pin the blame on her by using her teapot to kill the ITCS chapter president. There seemed to be enough folks who disliked Zunia Pettigrew that finding the actual culprit would be daunting but not impossible. If it wasn’t for her fear that the police would actually believe her grandmother did it, she’d probably just leave it alone.

But
no
one messed with Nana and got away with it. She got out the notebook she had bought with the rest of the stuff at the drugstore the previous evening and scribbled a list of suspects and her own thoughts.

Orlando Pettigrew—the husband is always the first suspect, right? And according to what Nana discovered from Mrs. Sommer, Zunia was cheating on her hubby with Walter. They’ve only been married a year or so!

And on that note . . . Walter Sommer—the boyfriend is always the next suspect, at least on all the true crime shows I’ve watched. He could have been tired of Zunia. According to Mrs. Earnshaw’s overheard phone conversation, Orlando Pettigrew had supposedly claimed that his wandering wife was afraid of her love interest, and not serious about him, but there was no independent verification of that.

Emma Pettigrew—given how foul Zunia Pettigrew seemed to have been, Emma may have gotten sick and tired of her stepmom. But would a teenager be devious enough to steal Nana’s teapot and use it? Get Josh’s opinion. He knows her better than I do.

Dahlia Pettigrew—the ex-wife. There was certainly hatred there, and what a coincidence that she just
happened
to be in the area.

Sophie thought for a few seconds, then jotted a note to try to find out if Dahlia Pettigrew’s trip to Cruickshank was long planned or spur-of-the-moment.

And she hated to even think it, but she had to consider something she didn’t want to.

Rhiannon Galway
, she wrote, then sat tapping the notepad with her pen.

Poor Rhi. Sophie refused to believe it, but the cops would certainly be looking at her, given what had apparently happened last year. Zunia had destroyed her chances of running for the presidency of their division of the ITCS, and Rhi had suffered, in more ways than one. Had there been any other fallout, Sophie wondered? Had she lost business or standing in the community from gossip? Maybe it was time to have a serious talk with her and find out where she was at the important time. In all the true crime shows, which Sophie had been watching obsessively on sleepless summer nights over the last two months, finding out where the suspect was at the time of the murder was the first line of inquiry.

Was Rhiannon at the morning lecture or not? Sophie texted Josh and he responded immediately; she was not at the lecture. Sophie texted Rhiannon to ask if she was at the shop. One way or another, Rhi was going to have to talk.
Please don’t let it be Rhiannon
, Sophie thought. She looked around the room. Missing was the blue tapestry bag her grandmother carried her knitting and books in. The police had confiscated it when they were searching the room. “And please don’t let the police think Nana did it,” she said out loud, looking up to the ceiling. As ridiculous as it seemed to her, the police couldn’t rule out Nana just because she was an octogenarian. Weird things had happened, like the grandmother who had hired her grandson to kill her husband, or the silver-haired Oklahoma granny who was the local drug kingpin.

She
really
had to stop watching true crime shows.

Chapter 13

T
helma sat behind the other Silver Spouts as the hallmark woman yammered on and on and on. Who cared that silver hallmarking in Britain dated back to the year 1300, and was intended to protect the public against fraud? Or that it was a symbol ’cause no one could read back then? So they were a bunch of ignoramuses . . . so what?

Bertie Handler bustled into the lecture room and went right up to Nora Sommer and whispered in her ear. There! Proof of what she was saying; the woman was
clearly
carrying on with the inn owner, but no one would listen to her! Now, if Rose said it, everyone would be all agog and crowding around her asking her questions.

Brooding, she glared at Rose Freemont’s back and curly silver hair. Why did everyone love the woman so much?

She supposed, if she had to admit it, Rose was usually smiling and greeted everyone with a sincere question about their day, their health or what their week had been like. And she always seemed to be doing something for someone else. Rose donated extra baked goods to the food pantry at Laverne’s church. Gilda made sure Thelma heard all about it.

The woman was just too . . . Something was buzzing.
What the heck was that?
She peered around and spied SuLinn looking at her infernal cell phone again. Her roomie quietly got up and sidled out of the row of chairs, then left the room. May as well have that thing glued to her ear, her and Josh both.
And
Sophie.
And
Cissy. Whole lot of them, a lost generation that could only communicate by some device, rather than face-to-face. The art of communication was gonna be lost forever.

Though it sure would be handy to have one of those thingamajigs for times when you got yourself in a spot of trouble, Thelma thought, screwing up her mouth and staring up at the ceiling. Like the time Thelma got locked in the storeroom at La Belle Époque after Gilda had gone home for the day and had to bust the door handle with a can of tomatoes. Or the time she got wedged into a parking space at the MediMart in Ithaca and had to wait until a skinny fellow came along to help her out.

Maybe she’d have to get her one of those blasted things after all. Then she’d be able to call Cissy whenever she wanted! She nodded. That’s what she was going to do, and then she’d be one step up on Rose Freemont, a senior pioneer in a brave new world!

*   *   *

S
ophie was just adding another name to her notes because it had occurred to her that the pastor’s weird obsession with Zunia, combined with his apparent lack of success with her despite his delusion that she was about to run away with him, made him a prime candidate for murderer as a spurned lover. Just as Pastor Frank took his place on her suspect list, there was a tap at the door. Sophie got up, flung the door open and Cissy threw herself into Sophie’s arms.

“Soph, oh, Soph, is Grandma okay? Are you
sure
she’s not a suspect? I’d feel just awful if she had done something stupid.”

Sophie held up under the assault and exchanged a wry look with Dana Saunders, who entered behind Cissy and shrugged.

“I’ve been trying to tell her on the whole drive here that it is just her grandmother dramatizing herself again, but Cissy is convinced the woman is in trouble. I never knew that ‘drama queenism’ was a gene mutation.”

“What does
that
mean?” Cissy asked, looking over her shoulder at her friend and employee.

“Nothing! Nothing at all.” Dana rolled her eyes.

“First, no, Cissy, your grandmother is not a suspect. Nana kinda is, kinda isn’t, which is why it’s important they get the right person.” Sophie hugged Cissy, then released her. “I’m so glad to see you guys. Have I got a lot to tell you!”

Just then SuLinn poked her head in the open door. “Is this a private party, or can anyone join?” she said, with a shy smile, her straight black hair swinging down over her shoulders.

“SuLinn! So you
did
sneak out of the lecture.”

The young woman sighed, dramatically. “Oh my word, boooring! The woman knows her stuff, but I swear she could tell me the most interesting piece of gossip and I’d still fall sleep. I don’t care about silver hallmarks anyway.” Her tone changed subtly, as did her expression. She eyed Sophie and murmured, “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“We know when we’re not wanted,” Dana said, tossing her streaked dark hair and widening her eyes. “We came prepared to stay overnight, but the inn owner says he’s got no rooms, so Cissy and I will drop our bags in your room, SuLinn. Then we’ll go get into some trouble downstairs. Meet us down there and we’ll find a place to eat.”

“Not here,” Sophie said. “The dining room dinner was awful last night.”

“Someplace else, then,” Dana agreed. “Meet us in the lobby, you two. After brunch I have something to show you.”

When the other two had gone, Sophie drew SuLinn over to her folding bed and sat down cross-legged opposite her. “So is rooming with Mrs. Earnshaw as much of a drag as I’m afraid it would be?” she asked as they settled.

SuLinn shrugged. “She’s okay, I guess, but she kind of scares me. She’s like my grandmother, always watching to see what I’m doing, trying to find something else she can criticize.”

“But that’s not what you wanted to talk to me about,” Sophie guessed.

“No. It frightens me, the murder happening so close. It was right outside our rooms.” She wrapped her arms around herself, like a big hug.

“And?”

SuLinn looked down for a moment, then released herself from the hug and looked into Sophie’s eyes. “I can’t keep this to myself. I thought I could, but I have to tell someone. Rhiannon Galway and Zunia Pettigrew had a nasty fight the evening before Zunia died, and Rhiannon said that the other woman had ruined her life and she wished she was dead.”

“
What?
” Sophie goggled at the news, stunned.

“I hate this so much!” SuLinn said, hugging herself again, her voice trembling. “Telling on her, I mean. She’s a nice person, but . . .” She sighed and shook her head. “When I saw her yesterday for just a moment I asked her about where she was that evening, and managed to work in the time I know I saw her. She told me she was home, but she
wasn’t
. She was here in the inn, fighting with Zunia.”

“Did you confront her?”

SuLinn’s eyes widened. “No, of course not! I’d
never
do that.”

“Maybe she mistook the time.”

But SuLinn was already shaking her head. “I was pretty specific about the time because I had just checked my watch before I saw her. And anyway, how could she mistake where she was in the evening, when there was no reason for her to be at the inn? I came down to the lobby to call Randy. There was no way I was going to call my husband with Mrs. Earnshaw in the room.” She blushed, a beautiful rosy tinge on her tan cheeks. “She listens to everything!”

Sophie was silent, trying to digest the news. She could think of a hundred reasons why Rhiannon might be at the inn in the evening, but not why she would lie about it.

Anxiously, SuLinn said, “I wouldn’t have told you about Rhi lying about where she was, and about the argument, but if they’re accusing Rose . . . we can’t have that. And I wanted to tell
someone
the truth.”

“You didn’t tell the police?”

Her dark eyes wide, she lifted one shoulder. “They never asked me about Rhiannon. It probably doesn’t mean anything, right? She was just mad.”

Sophie reached out and touched SuLinn’s arm, patting it. “I appreciate you telling me. I was going to go talk to Rhi anyway, but now I know what to ask.”

“You won’t tell her what I told you, will you?”

“If I do I won’t say it was you who told me, okay? Anyone could have overheard them or seen them arguing.”

She nodded, a relieved look on her face. “I’m so glad you’re here, Sophie! It’s good to have friends.” She hesitated, but then with an earnest look on her oval face, she said, “It’s weird, but in the year that I’ve lived in Gracious Grove I feel like I’ve lost my identity. You wouldn’t have recognized me in New York. I was the assistant manager for advertising at a food and lifestyle magazine. I was so decisive, so take-charge, with staff answering to me.”

“Are you looking for a job in GiGi? Someone with your skills could probably find something good.”

“Randy and I have been trying to start a family, but it’s not happening yet. I think I am going to look for a job. He didn’t want me to start something just to have to quit if I got pregnant, but there’s no sense in waiting.”

“It’ll happen,” Sophie said, hoping it was true.

“Right this minute I’m glad you and Dana and Cissy are here. You all make me feel happier to be in GiGi,” she said, calling their town what all locals called it.

“Let’s go down and meet them.”

Once they gathered in the lobby, where Dana was looking at the postcards, they decided to give the coffee shop a chance and Sophie was pleasantly surprised. The French toast she ordered was thick, properly soaked in the egg mixture with a hint of cinnamon, and seared on the flattop to a golden brown crust with a creamy interior. It was served with real butter and blueberry coulis. As they enthusiastically ate, they discussed what had happened. Sophie told them her theories.

“We’ve decided we’re staying until tomorrow morning,” Dana said, stirring sweetener into her coffee. There was mischief in her eyes. “I want to be in on the case again. I’m starting to think I missed my calling in life. I should have been a detective.”

“Speaking of which, I saw the one my grandmother was interviewed by,” Sophie said. “He was talking to the inn owner and the poor guy looked like he was going to have a heart attack!”

“That’s Bertie Handler,” SuLinn told the other two. “He’s a real sweetheart, but kind of nervous.
Terrified
of storms. There was an awful one that evening right into the night. I was sitting in the lobby trying to call Randy, and I heard him telling one of the waitresses that he was going to hide out in the cellar if it got bad.”

“That’s where the kitchen is, in the cellar,” Sophie said. “Su, was that before or after the . . . the other thing?” she asked, obliquely referring to the argument between Rhiannon and Zunia. “Not that it matters.”

“Uh, just after.”

“Okay.”

Dana raised her brows but didn’t ask about the exchange.

“About the cellar,” Sophie said, returning to the topic. “I came through there from the parking lot when I arrived, guided by one of the staff. There’s a lot more than just the kitchen down there.”

Cissy roused herself out of her abstraction and said, “I stayed here once in high school when we came to Butterhill for a swim meet. A bunch of us were doing a scavenger hunt and I was looking for . . . I can’t remember what. I went downstairs and got lost, ended up in this little tiny room, no windows at all. I got locked in and it took
hours
before anyone found me!” She shot a side glance at Sophie. “We didn’t all have cell phones back then. That was just for rich kids.”

Like me
, Sophie thought. She’d had a cool red Nokia phone the summer she was sixteen that had been the envy of them all, but she only ever used it to call her mom, because no one else she wanted to talk to had a cell phone.

“Enough about murder, as fascinating as I find the topic. I have someplace to show you girls, but you have to promise not to tell a soul,” Dana said, standing and stretching.

She was gorgeously attired in an off-the-shoulder top with a peacock feather design and white walking shorts, her feet clad in gold Roman sandals. Her long dark hair was now streaked with gold and it lay in perfect loose curls caressing her heck. Peacock feather earrings dangled from her perfect lobes. She was flawless, as usual, Sophie thought, watching her.

“What is it you want to show us?” SuLinn asked as Cissy grabbed her taupe bucket purse off the bench seat.

“Shopping! It’s a consignment shop with to-
die
-for fashions. I called and made sure they’re open on Sundays, and they are!”

“You buy your clothes there?” Sophie asked. “I’m in!”

They all laughed together and headed out to the lobby, but were arrested by the sight of a tall, dark, good-looking man in a chocolate-brown suit jacket and tan slacks. He was at the check-in desk, his profile showing close-cropped hair, a clean-shaven sharp jawline and full lips. Bertie Handler bustled out of his office up to the desk and the man asked in a rich, carrying voice, “Could you tell me when the teapot society meeting is going to end?”

“Hubba hubba,” Dana murmured, eyes wide.

Sophie approached and said, “My grandmother is a society member. Can I help you with something?”

His gaze moved from Sophie to the cluster of young women and settled on Dana, who eyed him back.
Definite sparks
, Sophie thought, her gaze flicking between the two.

“I’m Detective Elihu Hodge,” he said, putting out his hand. “My aunt, Laverne Hodge, is also a member. And you are . . . ?”

“Sophie Freemont Taylor,” she said, taking his hand. It was warm but not damp, and his clasp was firm. “I’m Rose Freemont’s granddaughter.”