Going Through the Notions (A Deadly Notions Mystery) (17 page)

T
he next morning, a pack of elves were standing inside my head, apparently trying to carve my brain into some kind of modern sculpture with a thousand tiny ice picks. I groaned, but didn’t dare turn over. Jasper’s tail banged against the floor, but he didn’t get up either.

I didn’t want to go to the store. I didn’t want to worry about Angus or Sarah or anyone else for that matter. I didn’t want to do a damn thing except lie there and moan.

After about ten minutes of this, I finally hauled myself upright and headed for the bathroom.

Joe was walking out of the steam-filled room in his shorts, all freshly showered and shaved. “Everything okay, Daisy?”

“Yes, fine,” I mumbled.

“I thought I’d go and pick out some new hardwood for the kitchen today. That old wood floor is in such bad shape, it’s not worth refinishing.”

“Okay.” I leaned against the door frame.

“And while I’m at it, I may as well replace the cabinets, too.”

Oh, God. I can’t deal with this right now.

“Fine.”

And that was it. He walked past me and jogged downstairs.

It wasn’t fine, of course. Not by a long shot. I had a sudden urge to take Jasper and just jump in the car and drive. Maybe we’d end up in Maine, in a tiny cottage on a deserted beach somewhere, with only the seagulls for company. I’d throw sticks for him into the water, and we’d walk for miles with no one to bother us.

Even in my wild imaginings, though, my practical brain wouldn’t let me be. Where would I get coffee in the morning? Would there be a supermarket nearby? Would Jasper get lonely without other dogs or people to play with?

Oh, for God’s sake, Daisy. You may as well get ready for work.

At the Last Stop Diner, I ran in to get coffee for Cyril. It was becoming a habit to stop and see him each morning before I went to the store. People tended to ignore him because of his grubby appearance and off-putting manner, but he had a quirky way of looking at the world that I appreciated.

The diner was housed in an old trolley car that sat askew on the grass at the corner of Main Street and Grist Mill Road, as if it had simply run out of track. It was painted red on the bottom, with a cream-colored top half and a chrome roof. Inside, the black and white checkered floor, fat round stools, and red leather booths were classic diner décor. A small green building constructed behind the trolley car held the kitchen, storage area, and bathrooms, but it was still tight quarters inside.

The waitress on duty was Carla, who, in addition to being Jimmy’s girlfriend, according to Patsy, was a bit of an alley cat, a party girl who often showed up for her shift late or hungover. She wore thick dark blue eyeliner all the way around her eyes, and her overly bleached hair looked as though she’d thrown it up into a ponytail without combing it first.

“Patsy’s not here today?” I asked.

“She went on a field trip with her kid’s school or something.” Carla leaned against the counter next to a cake stand, her skin a strange off-white, making the heavy eye makeup seem even more garish.

“Are you okay?”

She held up a finger. “Be right back,” she mumbled before dashing off, a hand over her mouth.

Five minutes later, when she hadn’t come back, I wondered if I could pour some coffee for myself and leave a couple of dollars on the counter.

Some of the other customers were getting restless, too.

I sighed. I’d better go see if she was all right.

I walked down to the end of the old trolley car and through the swinging door. I grimaced at the sound of someone throwing up in the bathroom. I took a few deep breaths to steady my own undulating stomach. The one thing I couldn’t deal with at school was kids getting sick, and I certainly wasn’t in the best shape to handle it today.

“Carla?”

There was no response so I finally pushed the door open. She was sitting on the floor of the ladies’ room, leaning back against the wall. I wet a paper towel in cold water and pressed it against her forehead.

“Rough night?” I could certainly sympathize. In fact, it was quite possible I was still drunk.

“No. Worse than that.”

I stared at her. “You’re pregnant?”

Oh, God. And this was the waitress Jimmy had been cheating with. I felt nauseous myself as the truth hit me. “With Jimmy’s baby?” I whispered.

She glanced at me in surprise. “Yes. At least I think so . . .”

I sank into a crouched position next to her. “You can’t be sort of pregnant—either you are, or you aren’t. Let’s get you tested.”

“No, wait, I mean I know I’m having a baby, just not exactly sure whose it is.”

“Sweet Jesus,” I murmured.

“It could be my crazy ex who’s the father. I split up with him, though. Couldn’t take his jealousy.” She laughed ruefully. “He had good reason, as it turns out.”

When I couldn’t take the squatting anymore, I straightened up, my knees cracking in protest.

What a mess.

I left Carla in the bathroom freshening her makeup, and drove the short distance to the salvage yard, pondering the situation.

Did Carla’s crazy ex know she was pregnant? Did
he
kill Jimmy in a jealous rage?

A new pile of hubcaps teetered next to the main gate and there was a Sinclair Dino gasoline pump that I hadn’t seen before. It scared me that I was able to pick out anything new in the mess of tools, bicycles, chairs, sinks, gas and oil signs, and tires.

“You!” Cyril pointed at me as I got out of the car. “Yer late.”

I kicked at a rusty oil drum. “It couldn’t be helped. Oh, and you need to make tea for us this morning. Problem at the diner. Ran out of coffee.”

Cyril rolled his eyes. “I got summat to show you anyways. Come here, you.”

I trudged after him into his office.

“See it?” He nodded toward something in the room.

All I could see was a gray metal desk, a filing cabinet, a Hamm’s Beer motion clock, a sign that said,
CASH OR CHECKS ONLY
,
and a colorful array of battered license plates on the back paneled wall.

Why did one filthy, crusty old man make me feel so stupid?

I shook my head.
“What?”

He gestured impatiently toward a five-gallon glass jar in the corner. It was almost full. “That’s what ah’ve collected walking around town. A penny here, a dime there. It adds up. You need to keep yer eyes open for the things that most people miss.”

Cyril, the born scavenger. But he had a point. How many people bothered to stop and pick up a penny these days?

“Ah’ll go make the bloody tea.” He stomped off into the back room.

I stared at the jar of change, which must have been worth a few hundred dollars. What would a scavenger notice that other people wouldn’t?

Things on the ground, things out of place, things hidden from the casual observer.

I wandered over to the wall with the license plates. It seemed as though he had one from every state. The rolling motion beer clock was mesmerizing, and I watched the sun set over the lake scene a few times before I finally sat down in one of the chairs in front of the desk. There was a rectangular tin with a picture of Queen Elizabeth II on the lid.

I lifted it an inch and gasped.
Chocolate toffee bars
. My most favorite of Martha’s treats
.

I jumped as Cyril suddenly reappeared. “Um—I was admiring your biscuit tin here. Don’t suppose you’d consider selling it?”

He slammed a mug down on the desk in front of me.

I gritted my teeth. If anyone had the right to an attitude, it was me. Those
were
my favorite treats after all. “What’s the problem, Cyril? You seem out of sorts today.”

He didn’t answer, but glanced at his crossword puzzle. I grinned as realization sunk in. He was crabby because he hadn’t been able to finish it before I arrived. There was even a thesaurus sitting next to the newspaper. I took a sip of the tea. It was as full-bodied and sweet as I remembered. “Thanks. This is delicious.”

His lips turned up slightly. “It’s what we call builder’s grade tea in England. Strong enough to put hair on yer chest.”

A black shadow flew past my shoulder and landed on the desk.

“Hey!” I ducked too late and liquid splashed over the side of my mug. I shook the drips off my hand onto the floor. “What the—”

“This is His Nibs, or Nibs for short.” Cyril had a real smile now as he petted the cat that nudged up against its owner and regarded me with dark yellow eyes.

Somehow I’d never pictured Cyril taking care of anything or anyone else.

There you go, jumping to conclusions again, Daisy Buchanan. A real detective would look at all the facts . . .

With that, my thoughts spun back to Angus. “Damn, I just wish I could figure this whole murder thing out and get Angus off the hook. I have the feeling that the answer is right in front of me, but I can’t see it.”

“If wishes were hosses, beggars ’ud ride.” Cyril gave the cat a rub between its ears. “Now, whatever happened with that narky woman with the bee in her bonnet?”

“Who? Oh, you mean Fiona Adams. She’s not so bad. She taught me a lot about the pens. I got an inkling of why they’re so valuable.” I realized what I’d just said and snickered. “Inkling. Pardon the pun.”

Cyril shook his head mournfully as if doubting my ability to size up people. “If I were you, I’d go back to the scene of the crime. Where Jimmy popped his clogs. Keep yer eyes open, but more importantly, your mind.”

“Okay. Want some help with that puzzle?”

He shoved the newspaper toward me so violently that the paper smushed together like a concertina.

I smiled, smoothed out the pages, and selected the largest chocolate toffee bar I could find out of the tin.

*

“I
t was a busy day at the store, and I did a lot of prep for the open house, which was quite a feat with a head that felt about three times its size and equally heavy. Determination was another good quality for a teacher, in a profession that was not for the weak of spirit. God knows teachers didn’t do it for the accolades—or the money.

During a break in the action, I called Betty and asked her if she’d be willing to let us use the auction grounds for the country fair.

“Of course, Daisy. There’s no auction scheduled for July Fourth weekend, so you could hold it then if you like.”

“Sounds great. And that would be a month before the 4-H fair, so it’s perfect. Thanks so much, Betty. Hey, I’m going to visit Angus tomorrow. Do you want me to pick you up?”

“Oh, no, that’s okay. You go on without me.”

“How about a ride to the hearing on Thursday? You
are
going to that, aren’t you?”

There was a slight pause while I felt my blood pressure ratcheting up. She’d better damn well be going.

“Warren said he’d bring me.”

“Okay, I’ll see you then. Thanks again for the use of the land.”

I called Martha and gave her the good news and then had to listen to a complete rundown of the preparations so far, which left my ear sore and tingling when I finally hung up the phone almost an hour later.

I didn’t rush home that night, and when I walked in the door, horror dawned as I saw the dining table set for a special dinner. Was it too late to run out and get a card?

Joe came out of the kitchen and smiled at me. “Guess you forgot what day it is?”

“June twenty-first. Oh, Joe, I’m so sorry. There’s been so much going on and—”

“Never mind. Happy anniversary. Come and have some champagne.”

Sarah was in the kitchen, filling three champagne flutes. My heart sank. Apparently she’d forgotten her announcement from the night before that she was leaving.

What kind of mother isn’t happy to see her own daughter?

I forced myself to toast with them. The pale, sparkling wine was dry against my tongue, almost not like a liquid at all, and did nothing to loosen the tightness in my throat.