Much Ado About Muffin (16 page)

He eyed me with a slight smile and a nod. “Some folks
in town are a little afraid of you, you know. You're a strong, smart woman; lots of folks can't handle that. And you are a stone-cold fox, if you don't mind my saying.”

Coming from some men I'd bristle at the last comment; women are too often considered primarily on physical appearance. But his first comment had been about my strength, intelligence, and ability to intimidate, so I didn't mind. “Your friend the sheriff is not always the easiest guy to talk to.”

“He's like a classic novel: tough to get into, but once you start, you realize how worth the effort it is.”

“Dewayne, were you following me last night? Is that how you came across me?” I thought maybe he'd seen who ran me off the road. He must have driven past the car or truck, since he was coming from that direction.

“No, Merry. If I were following you because I suspected someone, or had seen who did this, the driver would already be in lockup. I really did get lost on a back road. No one came past me, either; I think he or she must have turned down a side road.”

“Darn. Thought it might be an easy solution. Anyway, I know you're here to look at the car, and I want to be here when you do, but I have a friend in the kitchen. I'd better go and tell her I'll be a minute.”

“Why doesn't she come out and join us?”

“She's in a motorized wheelchair. It might be a little tough.”

He examined the castle. “She came out in a vehicle equipped for her wheelchair and was dropped off at that door, right?” He pointed toward the far end of the castle wall where the door to the butler's pantry hall was. “I'd bet if she came out that way, her wheelchair could make it over the ground. If not I can always help her. Would she be interested, though, in me looking your car over?”

“Hannah is the town librarian,” I said over my shoulder as I headed to the front door. “She's interested in
everything
!”

Hannah's wheelchair made it across the grassy area all right, but I decided then and there to work on making the front door wheelchair accessible. It actually wouldn't be that difficult. Since Turner Construction was back up and running, maybe they could do it.

Dewayne was not, however, at my car. “Dewayne?” I called out.

He looked up from what he was studying and said, “Whose car is this?”

“That's my friend Pish's,” I said.

“Come here,” he said, crooking his finger.

I circled the car. The front right bumper was crumpled and the headlight was busted. I looked up at the castle in shock. Roma had been out in Pish's car last evening, but got home before me. Was she my assailant?

H
annah was intensely
interested in everything Dewayne had to say and show us. I was distracted and troubled by Pish's crumpled bumper, but for all I knew, as I pointed out to Dewayne, it may have happened before I even got home from Spain. We'd have to find out from Pish and Roma.

He examined my car and took pictures. For good measure (and without comment) he photographed Pish's bumper. As the sun rose, the day began to heat up. Virgil was busy with Esposito and his agents, so he sent Deputy Urquhart, Minnie's nephew, to collect the evidence from my close call. He and Dewayne gathered minute flakes of paint from the bumper, and the deputy took an official statement from me about the incident. He was thoroughly professional through the whole episode, despite past conflict between us.

As Dewayne explained his investigation kit to Hannah, I took the opportunity to speak with the tall young deputy.
“I'm so sorry about Minnie. It was a horrid thing, and I hope we find who did it.”

He nodded, his jaw tightening.

I took a deep breath and faced him. “I know she didn't like me, Deputy. We had our differences, but I'm being sincere. I'm so
very
sorry this happened. Were you close?”

He took off his mirrored sunglasses. “Not lately. But when I was a kid, things were kind of crazy in my house. My parents . . .” He paused and glanced over at me. “You don't want to hear about this.”

“Yes, Deputy, I do,” I said, and touched his arm. Words sometimes fail us; sincerity can often be more effectively transmitted with a touch.

He took a deep breath. “My parents fought all the time. Aunt Minnie used to take me and my brother out for a drive when it got bad. The only normal things I remember from being a kid, I did with her. She took us to the county fair. We went camping, even though she hated it, and fishing, too. She made sure we had scouts' uniforms and sports equipment.”

She had done all that? And yet she would gossip and name call and be petty with the worst of them. How mixed and flawed we all are, I thought. If only I could start over again with Minnie. But death robs us of any opportunity for a second chance. He looked like he was going to ugly-cry for a split second, but he regained his composure.

“It's got to be hard, then, to be shunted aside in the investigation,” I said. “You must wish Virgil was in charge and you could help.”

“Yeah.”

He must know that the sheriff had been investigating his aunt for postal improprieties. But Virgil would have kept him out of the investigation; no matter how much he liked and trusted the younger man it would have been a conflict
of interest, as well as putting the deputy in an untenable position.

“Was she still close to anyone in your family?”

He shook his head. “My brother moved overseas to teach, and she kinda thought I was a traitor; she thought the police were suspect.”

“So there was no one she'd confide in?”

He shook his head again. “She'd broken off with most of us in the last few years.”

“Do you know the kids she had boarding with her?”

He met my gaze. His eyes were light gray, and set deep in the sockets, with shadows under them. He was not handsome like Virgil, but there was an openness in his expression that I hadn't noticed before. I thought that had more to do with his changing perception of me than my perception of him.

“They don't seem to be bad kids, but . . .” He shrugged.

“I heard Karl Mencken had a fight with her and stormed off.
Or
they had a fight and Minnie threw him out. I've heard it both ways.”

“I can't comment on an ongoing investigation.”

I sighed. My curiosity had met a stone wall named Deputy Urquhart. “I drove by her house,” I said, keeping my tone casual. “I wonder who inherits it now?”

He cleared his throat. “As a matter of fact, I do. Partly, anyway. My brother and I are her heirs.”

I had questions but no opportunity to ask them. Urquhart walked away, spoke to Dewayne for a few minutes, then got in his sheriff's department car and took off down the lane, the heavy motor throbbing in the increasingly humid air. I invited the PI back into the kitchen to have a cup of coffee and some of the baked goods Binny had sent. As I made coffee, Hannah plied him with questions. Her curiosity knows no bounds, and though she has the mind of a librarian, I think she has the heart and soul of a writer.

Pish, Roma, and Patricia took a break and joined us. As I introduced them all to Dewayne, I wondered how to raise the topic of the damage to Pish's car. Roma flitted about as Pish sat down with Dewayne, Hannah, and me to drink coffee; she sang snatches of the song, her voice breaking in the same spot until she was almost in tears. I actually felt sorry for her.

“How is it going?” I asked Pish.

He shook his head. But all he said was, “I wish Zeke were here. His technical skills are so much better than mine for the sound recording. We may have to wait until I can get him out here for a short time.”

“I have the boys coming tomorrow to do some groundskeeping,” I said. “If you need Zeke for the sound recording, maybe . . .” I had a sudden brilliant idea. “Maybe I can get them to bring another guy to work with Gordy, so Zeke can help you.”

“That would be a relief.” He passed one slim-fingered hand over his thinning hair. I swear he had aged five years since the morning. “It's not coming out how we want it.”

I watched him for a moment as Dewayne eyed us both, probably getting the tension, but not sure of the source. Patricia had not yet sat down. She seemed flighty and distracted; I wasn't sure why.

Dewayne cleared his throat and said to Pish, “I have a rather direct question. How long has the front end of your car been bashed in?”

The room stilled. Roma had paused in midtwirl. I watched her; she looked guilty, a rare thing for the self-involved diva.

“I don't know what you mean,” Pish said. He looked to me. “Merry, what is he talking about?”

“Your car's front end is crunched, Pish. The front right bumper. Your headlight is smashed. When did it happen?”

I was hoping he'd say it happened last week in Autumn
Vale, or the week before while negotiating a tricky spot in the Walgreens parking lot in Buffalo. But he looked mystified. Patricia was eyeing us all, her brow wrinkled in puzzlement.

“Roma, you're the only other person who has driven his car. Maybe you know something about this?” I asked.

“Oh, Pishie, darling, I'm so sorry!” she said, throwing her arms around his neck from behind and crooning in his ear. “I so didn't want to bother you about it! I had a teensy accident and wrinkled the bumper.”

“When?” I asked.

“You don't need to badger me. It's not
your
car,” she said with a pout, her full lips pursed.

“Roma, when did it happen?” I insisted.

She sighed and huffed, straightening when Pish didn't leap in to defend her from my questioning. “Last night. I was out for a drive and I kind of . . . dented it a little.”

“Where? On what?”

“Why does it matter? Why is everyone
picking
on me?” she exclaimed, her voice rising in volume.

Pish's gaze had not moved from my face. “Merry, what's this about?”

“Last night someone ran me off the road. Dewayne, fortunately, came to my rescue.”

“And you think Roma had something to do with it?” My friend's voice held a chill I didn't like.

“I didn't say that, Pish. I—”

“Mr. Lincoln, I'm the one who discovered the dent on your bumper and told Merry that it's exactly the kind of damage whoever shoved her off the road would have sustained,” Dewayne said, his voice inflectionless.

“I've heard enough,” Pish said. He was angry, his lightly lined face sporting deep grooves from his mouth being pinched in fury. A nerve twitched in his temple, the blue vein standing out in relief, blood pulsing through it. He
stood, and took Roma's arm. “Merry, I know you and Roma don't get along, but I never thought you'd stoop to accusing her of trying to kill you.”

Roma screeched. “No, oh! Pishie, is that what she's saying? Oh!” She “swooned” and Pish caught her, guiding her out of the room with murmurs of support.

They returned to my library as I cradled my head in my hands. Tears welled up and spilled over, dripping down my cheeks. It was too much in twenty-four hours, to be run off the road, and then to have my best friend angry at me. Patricia crouched down by me and touched my hair as Dewayne looked on. Hannah approached, the faint buzz of her motorized wheelchair loud in the now-silent room.

“Merry, it's okay,” Patricia said gently, searching my face.

“No, it's not,” I said, choking back a sob. “Pish is my dearest friend. If he's angry at me, I don't think I can stand it!”

“Merry, give him time,” Hannah crooned. “It's a shock to him. He's trying to help Roma, and yet you've told him such a shocking thing. And maybe all that, about the damage to the car, didn't come across quite how you meant it. He's torn as to where his loyalties lie.”

“His loyalties should lie with me, not
her
!”

Dewayne stood, setting down his empty coffee cup with a clatter. “I don't give a damn about some diva's hurt feelings. I'm going to take paint flakes off Mr. Lincoln's car. If we can eliminate it,
then
you can worry about apologizing for damaging her fragile ego.”

Patricia straightened. “Let's everyone be calm,” she said. “Mr. Lester, you should indeed check the paint flecks. I'm sure it won't be the car, but you need to eliminate it. I haven't known Roma long, but though she's self-centered, I don't believe she holds any ill will toward Merry. And as for Pish . . . I believe Hannah is right. I bet if you asked him, he's feeling doubt, too, and he's not sure how to process that. He wants to support Roma, but he loves you, Merry,” she
said, a serious look in her mild eyes. “To hear about what happened this way has shaken him. It's easier to be angry than scared.”

Dewayne touched Patricia's shoulder, and they looked into each other's eyes. As I watched there seemed to be a spark between them. He smiled and she blushed, her full cheeks going a bright rosy red.

Pish poked his head into the kitchen. “Patricia, Roma would like to see you.” She exited past him, heading to the library. “Merry, can we talk?”

I followed him out to the great hall near the dining room door. I could hear Roma in a storm of weeping, babbling to Patricia about something.

He pulled me into the shadows near the wall of tapestries and hugged me, his whole body trembling. “Merry, my darling, what happened? Why didn't you tell me you had been run off the road? I'm . . . I'm
shattered
. Are you all right?”

I sighed as he held me in his arms. “I was so tired last night when I came in, I went right to sleep. I didn't even call the police, which Virgil yelled at me for. And then this morning there was no time because you were busy with Roma.” I sounded faintly aggrieved, but it was all the truth. “I didn't have a chance, truly, Pish. And I wasn't planning on accusing Roma of anything. It was Dewayne who noticed your car bumper.”

“I'm sorry, Merry. I was shocked and I snapped at you.” We kissed and made up nicely, then he looked over his shoulder toward the dining room doors. “Roma is having a meltdown.”

“I'm sorry we contributed.”

“That's just her latest excuse. There's something going on with her voice, but I'm not sure what. She's blaming everything else, but she's scared. If she can't sing, she doesn't know who she is. I'd better go back. Can't leave poor Patricia to bear the whole weight of Roma's emotional breakdown.”

He scurried back in and closed the door behind him.
None of this explained where Roma was the evening before
and
the morning Minnie was murdered. I went out the front door, approaching Pish's car, which Dewayne knelt by. I watched as he used a box cutter–style knife to cut a section of paint from the damaged area, being very careful, as he told me, to get right down to the metal. He had a glassine envelope, and he dropped the paint chip in, folded the flap, wrote a label, and affixed it over the flap. “For comparison,” he said. “In case that woman did try to kill you.”

I didn't comment. “So the work you're doing at Shilo's and Jack's, that's a cover for why you're in town, right?”

“Sure, but I've done construction in my day. And I fixed up a couple of old houses in downtown Detroit, trying to improve the neighborhood I grew up in. I love old houses. They have soul.”

I sat down on the edge of the terrace and watched him pack his identification kit away. “I appreciate all the trouble you're going through for me. If I can do anything for you, let me know.”