Threads of Deceit (Vineyard Quilt Mysteries Book 1) (16 page)

Julie jumped when a hand rested on her shoulder. Daniel’s deep voice cut through the muttering. “I’m not a murderer. The man who died was my best friend in the world, and I’m grieving for him. I would never have hurt George, and I don’t know who killed him.” The muttering began again, and Daniel raised a finger, asking for one more moment. “But it certainly seems that his death might be related to our work on the excavation. And since I’m also part of that work, I wouldn’t want the killer coming here looking for me. I don’t want to endanger anyone. I simply hadn’t considered that
possibility. I’ll pay up and leave right now.”

“Good!” the hipster snapped. No one else joined her vindictive response. In fact, some of the other quilters looked duly chagrinned.

Julie didn’t like giving in to the imaginary fears of the demanding group, but Daniel clearly wasn’t going to be talked out of leaving. As he trudged upstairs to pack, Julie turned back to the group.

The leader demanded to know if the inn would be secure after he left. “Maybe you could get the newspaper to print an announcement that he’s not here anymore,” she suggested.

“I don’t think that will be necessary.” To Julie’s relief, the other women dropped that idea. Her entourage didn’t seem to feel Julie had to go that far, though they were clearly a little nervous.

One tiny elderly woman touched Julie’s arm. “I really don’t believe that young man hurt anyone,” she said in a near whisper. “But do you think the murderer might come here looking for him?”

“I don’t believe you have anything to worry about,” Julie assured her. “The death happened on the Winkler farm, many miles from here.”

The woman blinked at her but seemed mollified. Julie calmed everyone’s fears and encouraged the ladies to have a complimentary cup of tea in the tea shop. The group dutifully followed Shirley like a flock of fretful ducks. Julie barely had a chance to catch her breath before Daniel was back, ready to check out.

Julie frowned over the paperwork. “I don’t like giving in to this kind of thing.”

He dropped his battered duffle bag on the floor. “They’re scared. That’s understandable.”

Julie disagreed, but she didn’t bother arguing. “Will you tell me where you end up staying?”

“I already know. I called Joe Winkler when I was upstairs. I’ll be staying at the farm.”

“Even though the excavation is still a crime scene?”

“It won’t always be. And I’d like to be close enough to keep an eye on it.” He rubbed his face. “This excavation was supposed to be a big adventure. And now my big adventure …” He laughed without mirth. “
The Grand Adventure
has gotten my best friend killed.”

“The only person to blame for this is the murderer,” Julie said.

“I know that intellectually. But I don’t feel it.”

Julie didn’t have any words for that. She made him promise to be careful. When he left, she snuck off to the kitchen to get a quiet cup of coffee. She wanted to give Hannah the basket she’d bought and see
someone
be happy with her. She found her friend rummaging through her spice rack and making a list.

“Cooking something special?”

“Not with these,” Hannah said. “You’ve hunted antiques that were younger than some of these spices. I’m replacing them a little at a time; spices are expensive, especially the more exotic ones.”

“Well, I have something to take your mind off them.” Julie set the beautiful basket on the counter. “Lila Huff is a basket maker, not a killer.”

Hannah was delighted with the basket as she turned it over and enthused about the craftsmanship. Then she looked up at Julie. “How come you look so down? You couldn’t expect to find the killer on your first attempt to rattle the suspects.”

“It would have been nice,” Julie said as she brewed a cup of coffee. “But the real problem is that apparently the guests
here feel they’ve discovered the murderer, and it’s Daniel.” She went on to describe the scene she’d come back to.

Hannah was properly consoling about Daniel. “Once this group checks out at the end of the week, you can always let him come back.”

Julie looked down into her coffee mug where the coffee reminded her of her mood, dark and swirling. “You know, it’s weird … I thought I recognized the voice of one of the shouters in the group.”

“I imagine you’ve heard them all talk since you checked them in,” Hannah said mildly as she slipped a cloth into the basket and set it with the other containers she used for morning muffins.

Julie shook her head. “No, somehow it felt out of place.”

“You have a vivid imagination.”

“Thanks, pal.”

“You’ll be thanking me for sure in a moment.” Hannah walked back to the desk in the far corner of the kitchen and brought back a thick handful of papers. She gave them to Julie. “I felt a little bit bad about not helping you research your suspects. So when I finished up with breakfast, I spent some time tracking down information.”

Julie leafed through the papers. “Anything jump out at you?”

“No, sorry. There’s nothing I could find that ties any of them to the Straussberg area in any significant way. Also, no ties to treasure hunting or the steamboat captain’s family. You know, I actually found a family tree for the captain online. Apparently his descendants are very proud to have a steamship captain in the family.”

“And none of our suspects are his descendants?”

“Definitely not. So I can’t point you to the most likely
suspect, but I can point you to the
least
likely.”

Julie looked up. “Who’s that?”

“Cantor’s uncle,” Hannah said. “He lives in a pricey assisted-living facility in Jefferson City. The place specializes in Alzheimer’s care. Since Alzheimer’s patients tend to be wanderers, I imagine they keep close track of their old folks. I doubt the old man was wandering around Winkler Farm.”

“Maybe not,” Julie said. “But the frustration from the disease has led to some violent behavior when the patients are in good physical shape. Do you know how old the man is?”

“In his early seventies. He’s apparently the younger brother to Cantor’s father.”

“A man that age wouldn’t have to be feeble, especially if he was active all his life.”

“Still, they’re also not going to let him gallivant around loose. That place is pricey. They don’t want upset relatives with lost residents.”

“You’re probably right. He’s not a very likely suspect.” Julie tapped the papers against her hand. “I’m confident in clearing the two we talked with today too. So that leaves the senators.”

“I called their offices.”

“You did?”

“I told you, I felt guilty. I said I was doing a feature piece on them and on their ties to the state—family ties, history, etc. I asked about places that were special.”

“And?”

“I didn’t get to speak to the actual senators, but the staff that answered my questions didn’t bring up Straussberg. And they didn’t give me anything that tied into this area specifically, other than the fact that Senator Lucas North’s brother owns a vineyard and winery in the Missouri wine
country. But it’s not in Straussberg. It’s in Hermann.”

Julie sighed. “So North could be tied to the general wine country, but Parson’s wife specifically came here to discuss booking a fundraiser.”

“You still think she was scoping out the treasure hunting?”

Julie shrugged. “I don’t know; it’s a reach. And she didn’t
seem
to be, but it’s awfully coincidental.”

“Sometimes a fundraiser is just a fundraiser.”

Before Julie could reply, Hannah’s phone rang. She held up a finger at Julie and answered the phone. Her expression immediately turned odd, somewhere between annoyance and alarm. She finally put the phone on speaker as a deep, gravelly voice intoned, “Mind your own business, Miss Marks, if you don’t want to end up floating down the Missouri without a boat.”

A
chill slipped through her despite the warmth of the kitchen, and Julie shuddered. Then she heard soft static, and the voice repeated the message.

“A recording.”

“And a cheery one,” Hannah said as she shut off the message. “I finally got my very own death threat. I was feeling left out.”

Julie smiled. “Actually, getting a death threat means someone you reached out to is probably connected to the killer! If it were either of the two Daniel and I visited, the death threat would have been to me.” Julie rubbed her hands together excitedly. “We’re making progress.”

“I’m so glad my death threat is the highlight of your day, but keep in mind that I called the nursing home and both senators’ offices,” Hannah said. “That doesn’t narrow it down much.
Are
you ruling out the uncle?”

“Not completely, but he’s definitely on the back burner. We have two front-runners—the senators.”

“Unless the killer is the lawyer,” Hannah said. “The nursing home could have clued him in to my calls about his uncle.”

Julie tapped her nails against the counter as she thought about that. “I think we’ll start with the senators, but it’s possible we’ll need to pay a visit to the nursing home. If it is the lawyer, that should shake him up.”

“Wonderful,” Hannah said flatly. She tapped the pile of pages she’d given Julie. “You should read this stuff. You might find something I’ve missed. You might even want to have Daniel read them.”

Julie gulped the last of her coffee and gathered up the papers. “I’ll take them to the front desk and spend a few hours reading.”

Unfortunately, she found Inga waiting for her at the front desk. “I was cleaning the blue suite, and I noticed there is a problem in the bathroom.”

“What kind of problem?”

“With the …” Inga dropped her voice to a whisper, “ … commode.”

“What kind of problem?”

The older woman looked as if any discussion of bathroom fixtures were almost too distasteful to stand, but she finally managed to whisper, “It’s running.”

“Did you jiggle the handle?”

Inga managed to look both offended and scandalized at the same time. “Of course, but I don’t think we should be discussing this out here. I clean the rooms, but I’m not a plumber. You should go look at it.”

Julie sighed and dumped the printouts at the front desk. She grabbed the small toolbox she kept there and followed Inga’s stiff figure up the stairs. The plumbing problem proved to be well within her skill set, but it seemed to be the beginning of a chain reaction of issues that kept her busy all the way until it was time to lock up for the night. Having missed supper, Julie made herself a sandwich in the empty kitchen—even Hannah had gotten to bed before her—and carried it up to the third floor.

Julie sat in her favorite chair by the gas fireplace and put her feet up with a contented sigh. She took a bite of the sandwich made with Hannah’s amazing chicken salad. The tender chicken and crisp bites of celery blended perfectly with the sweet dried cranberries Hannah always added for color.
It almost made up for the tough afternoon.

When her phone rang, she glared at it for a moment. She hated to set the sandwich aside, but she glanced at the I.D. and saw it was Daniel. She spoke through a mouth half-full of chicken. “How’s the farm?”

“It’s good. I’m staying in the old farmhand quarters, which seems to be where all the stuff that the Winklers aren’t sure what to do with ends up. It’s crowded but not uncomfortable—a little like sleeping in the middle of a yard sale. But your voice sounds funny. You’re not coming down sick, are you?”

“No, sorry. I’m eating.” She set her sandwich aside and told him about the information Hannah had dug up—and about the phone threat.

“I don’t like this,” Daniel said.

“I do. It means Hannah is on the right track.
We’re
on the right track. I’m thinking it’s one of the senators. Though we can’t rule out Cantor. He might have heard about Hannah’s call to his uncle’s nursing home. Still, I think that’s a long shot.”

“I’m not sure I’d consider Cantor a long shot. He seems like exactly the type who would threaten a woman, but I don’t like that threats are coming in at the inn, and I’m stuck way out here.”

“I think we can look after ourselves,” Julie said.
It’s not like we’ve never been threatened before
. Julie didn’t say the last bit aloud since it would bring up questions she didn’t want to answer.

Daniel huffed, but he didn’t argue. “Did Hannah dig up a connection between
any
of our suspects and
The Grand Adventure
?”

“No, though I haven’t read everything she printed out.” She glanced around her room, then realized she’d left the
printouts downstairs on the front desk. She yawned and wondered if it was worth going down to get them.

“There must be some kind of connection, although I can’t imagine how a pre–Civil War shipwreck could provoke a twenty-first–century murder.”

Murder
, Julie thought. What kinds of things normally provoked murder? Money, of course, but also secrets. “What if someone is trying to cover up a secret that has nothing to do with the ship? What if it has to do with Winkler Farm?”

“The farm? They grow organic food. How could that incite someone to commit murder?”