Victoria Hamilton - Vintage Kitchen 04 - No Mallets Intended (18 page)

“Is it possible, though, that Jane Dumpe
did
leave her estate to Prentiss?” Jaymie persisted. “Given what you say about her getting a little odd?”

Mrs. Stubbs shook her head. “She changed her will; I know that for sure. She had intended to leave him
some
of the estate, but then she cut him out entirely. She talked about it openly with her close friends, and I was one of those.”

“But maybe she decided she’d been too harsh and rewrote it, or maybe she got suspicious of Hazel Frump.”

“You didn’t know Jane. She never changed her mind once it was made up.”

Jaymie sighed. “Well, I’ll ask Haskell Lockland to talk to you, if you don’t mind. He needs to know what you’ve told me.”

She didn’t answer, and appeared lost in thought, staring toward the window. The drapes were drawn back, giving a view of the gardens behind the inn. Evergreen shrubs had been wrapped in burlap to protect them from the harsh Michigan winter, but there were still some wrought-iron patio tables and chair sets, and pots of late-blooming mums in vibrant bronze and yellow shades. A beam of sunlight lit up the yellow mums, then a gust of wind blew dried brown leaves across the flagstone patio, and the sunlight died as if someone had flicked a light switch.

Jaymie just waited, accustomed to her grandmother’s long silences when she was remembering something or thinking something over. She used the time to organize her thoughts and ponder the murder of Theo Carson. There were niggling details that plagued her. People kept talking about Isolde’s ambition; Cynthia had called her a barracuda, and even Nan had been bothered by her persistence, when that was generally an attribute the editor respected. Was it true that Isolde was only with Theo out of ambition? And if that was so, could that ambition lead to murder?

That didn’t make any sense. What had she gained by the writer’s death? It hadn’t furthered her own ambitions at all, and in fact had likely spoiled her plans to benefit from the author’s infatuation. If he had told his mother about her, he must have been serious in a way he was not with Cynthia. She could perhaps have finagled a byline on his book eventually. No, however Jaymie framed it, Isolde could not be Theo’s murderer, and that lent authenticity to her tale of being shoved in the car trunk.

But the missing cell phone… that was still bothering Jaymie. Who had it, and why had they texted her to come out to the house? Was she going to be the fall guy, or was she going to be another victim? Or both?

Suddenly Mrs. Stubbs said, “What did you say was the date on that will?”

“Uh… the date? July fifth, 1993. Why?”

A slow smile crinkled the woman’s mouth. “That will could be real, I suppose,
if
you can explain to me how Jane wrote it on July fifth of that year while she was still in a coma in intensive care at Wolverhampton General from an accident that happened when she fell off a float in the Wolverhampton Fourth of July parade.” She chuckled, a congested rumble of sound. “Prentiss wouldn’t even have known about her accident, since he was in jail on a fraud charge, after which he almost lost his license. Jane never spoke to him again, and she
certainly
never wrote a will leaving him everything. She
despised
a cheater.”

Seventeen

J
AYMIE
HUMMED
A
tune while she made dinner for herself and Valetta. She had called Haskell Lockland from Mrs. Stubbs’s room and the gentleman came right over, asked Mrs. Stubbs all about it and was able, with the help of a collections assistant at the
Wolverhampton Howler
, to verify her story about Mrs. Dumpe’s July 4, 1993, accident. He called the court secretary to add a protest to the will he had filed and said he would be coming in the very next day with the society’s lawyer to file a challenge with proof why the will could not be valid.

Given the flimsy nature of the will itself, Haskell postulated that Prentiss had drafted and hidden the will in the kitchen. He probably did not expect it to stand up to a court review; Jaymie suggested that this was his attempt to put pressure on the heritage society. Given the deep pockets the heritage society now had from the sale of the valuable letter Jaymie had discovered in the spring, he likely thought the heritage society would try to buy him off. It was a reasonable assumption, given the time and money the society had already put into the historic house.

Why would he date it that exact date? Mrs. Stubbs grumbled that he probably figured that his being in jail would be an alibi proving that he could not have influenced the new will or had anything to do with it. Though conjecture, that made as much sense as anything.

He would find himself under investigation for forgery and fraud the next day. As she had a couple of other times when she had fresh information, Jaymie had left a message for Chief Ledbetter telling him all about it. Then she tacked on a question: Did the news change the investigation into the attack on her? Though she had pretty much written it off as a random house break-in, it was just possible that Prentiss had been in the house trying to hide the will and had panicked when he heard her in the kitchen.

She was making turkey roulettes from an old Betty Crocker recipe, but she thought instead of using minced raw onion and peppers, she’d sauté them before adding them. Also, she’d improve the dish by adding some cranberry sauce and a hint of poultry seasoning. She made the dough, rolled it out, chopped the leftover turkey from a breast she had roasted and sprinkled it thickly over the square of rolled dough. She then added some cranberry sauce, the sautéed onions and peppers, and lightly sprinkled it with poultry seasoning. She curled the sheet of dough into a long roll, cut it crosswise into thick slices and arranged them on a baking sheet, giving each a little space so they would brown on the sides. She decided she didn’t want them softer, or she would have crowded them on the sheet to keep them together.

She looked at the clock. Valetta would be there soon, so she popped the roulettes in the oven and made a salad and some turkey gravy. By the time her friend tapped on the back door the whole kitchen smelled like Thanksgiving. If it tasted as good as it smelled, it was going to be the perfect recipe to use in her Vintage Eats pre-Thanksgiving column for the
Howler
! Ways to use up turkey were always favorites with thrifty cooks.

Hoppy went nuts, of course, as Valetta entered, and Denver even got up out of his basket, stretched and sauntered over to greet the newcomer. Jaymie took the baking sheet out of the oven as Valetta slung her coat and purse over the doorknob and sat down.

“Honey, I’m home,” she joked. “Your kitchen always smells so good!” Valetta took her glasses off and set them aside until the fogginess from coming in out of the cold cleared. She sighed. “When I’m a very old lady I want you to come live with me so you can cook and I can eat. I won’t care if I get fat then.”

Jaymie laughed. “Maybe I’ll turn this place into a home for elderly gourmands.” She poured a light Riesling into two crystal wineglasses and they sat across the kitchen table from each other, scarfing down the roulettes and salad, then finishing with a piece of apple crisp. It was a good and satisfying dinner, but she had made a lot. Jaymie hoped she could find a home for the leftovers.

“So what is so sensitive you couldn’t talk about it on the phone?” Valetta said. “I’ve been dying of curiosity ever since last night.”

Jaymie piled the dishes in the sink with dish detergent, then ran hot water over them. “Let’s go sit in the parlor.”

“Wow, like real company?” she joked.

Jaymie rolled her eyes. “Come on, you two,” she said to the animals.

Once settled and with a fire burning, Jaymie curled up in a wing chair, while Valetta took the settee. Her home was a source of joy to Jaymie, and after a long day, walking through her front door to be welcomed by a home that felt like a family member was a singular comfort. It was important to her that her home was also a warm and welcoming place for friends, and so they seemed to find it. Valetta looked completely comfortable, with Hoppy curled up next to her.

Jaymie ordered her thoughts, then said, “You’re not going to believe this.” She told her friend about the confession Cynthia had made.

“I didn’t know she was an alcoholic,” Valetta said, gazing at her glass of wine. “That’s bad, to have blackouts.”

“I know. I think I’ll check on her tomorrow, after I work at the Emporium. But it’s the blood on her sweater that freaks me out. What could it be from?”

“And you say she doesn’t know where she went after the Cozy Inn?”

“She says she doesn’t remember at all, but she apparently wound up on a side road down near Algonac.”

“Quite a distance from Dumpe Manor,” Valetta said.

“That’s one reassuring fact. But I’d still prefer to know where the blood came from.”

Valetta stared at her glass of wine for a long minute. “Can I use your phone?” She talked for a few minutes, a disjointed conversation, then gave the person Jaymie’s number. She clicked the off button. “He’s going to call back.”

“Who is ‘he’?” Jaymie asked.

“Johnny Stanko,” she said, referring to a fellow who was briefly arrested in the summer for the murder of Jaymie’s one-time friend Kathy Cooper. He had been released when the real culprit was determined, after that man almost killed Jaymie.

“Johnny Stanko? Why him?”

“He’s been working as a cook and cleaner and busing tables at a bar on the highway. There aren’t too many that way, and it’s probably the same one Cynthia was at that night.”

“I couldn’t hear everything you said. You didn’t say anything about Cynthia, did you?” Jaymie asked, anxiously.

“Of course not! I just asked about that night, what went on.”

“I heard that part, but then you mumbled.”

Valetta gave her a look. “I never mumble.”

“Then maybe my hearing’s going,” Jaymie said, with a smile.

“Anyway, Johnny couldn’t talk because he’s working. He’ll call back on his break. I left it vague. I just said a friend had told me there was some trouble at his bar, and I was wondering what he had heard.”

“Okay.”

“You should know me better than to think I’d spill any details!” Valetta said.

They talked about other stuff for a while, then the phone rang. Valetta answered it, and there was a lot of “Uh-huh,” “Really?” and that sort of thing. After she said good-bye and hit the off button, her eyes held a worried look.

“So… what did you find out?”

“Johnny was there working that night, and he remembers a pretty, older woman wearing… guess what?”

“A soft pink sweater,” Jaymie filled in.

Valetta nodded. “She was tight when she walked in, but the bartender served her anyway, and she was drinking doubles, Johnnie Walker Red. Johnny remembers the booze because of the name. He cleared her table, and she flirted with him. In fact… she flirted with pretty much every guy in the place.”

“Oh, dear. What happened then?”

“Some guy got the wrong idea and started plying her with more booze and hitting on her hard. She was okay up to a point, but then he got fresh.”

“And?”

“Johnny stepped in,” Valetta said quietly. “He’s got his problems, but he’s a good guy, deep down, and he didn’t like to see a lady being manhandled. That’s pretty much what he said, that she was a real lady and deserved better. The guy objected, and they got in a fistfight. Johnny decked him and the guy went down hard. The owner wasn’t pleased.”

“Yikes.”

“He almost lost his job over it. Anyway, Cynthia slipped out while all this was going on, and drove off.”

“Drove away… but he knew she was drunk! Did he call the police?”

Valetta gave her a look. “After what he’s been through? He just got out of jail, then he was arrested and falsely charged with murder. Do you really think he’d feel comfortable calling the police?”

“You’re right, I know. But she could have
killed
someone!”

“Johnny would have been fired if he had called the cops on a customer, and he didn’t know Cynthia’s name or what her car looked like.” She shrugged. “I guess you could say he picks his battles.”

Jaymie thought about it for a long moment.
Cynthia could have killed someone,
she had just said. She had meant in an accident, but… Jaymie had read about cases of murder where the assailant claimed not to remember anything because of alcohol. Not Cynthia… that was just not possible in this case. “I suppose the blood on her sweater
could
have come from the fistfight. I mean, that’s one logical answer.”

“And she says she woke up on a side road near Algonac. She wouldn’t have driven all the way to Dumpe Manor on the off chance she’d meet Theo there,” Valetta said.

“But it’s still all so uncertain. I wish she could remember more.” She paused and frowned. “Or that I could rely on what she has said. We only have her word for it about where she ended up. Did Johnny say what time all of this happened?”

“I got the impression it was still earlyish in the evening. If she was drinking doubles it wouldn’t take long for her to get blotto. I guess the place was pretty full. It’s the kind of joint guys go, to play darts and pool, you know?”

Jaymie drank the last of her wine and set her glass down. “I need more information. A
lot
more.”

“Ask your friend the police chief,” Valetta said, smirking over at her.

“Ah, but the trouble is, the information I want is the very stuff he doesn’t have. And so it’s up to me to find it.”