Red Julie (An Olivia Miller Mystery Book 2) (8 page)

“Olivia. Brad. I’m glad I caught you together,” she said.

Brad stood up, but she waved him to sit. Magdalene was the town charitable organizer. A role she had appointed to herself. Whenever she came at you, you knew it would be for money or some volunteering thing. She also ran one of the most successful real estate agencies in Maine. The townspeople all knew she did a good deal for the area, but her manner was grating and most people thought she took on all the work in order to ingratiate herself with the wealthy. She was always in everyone’s business, especially those with some cash. Olivia and Brad braced themselves.

“As you know…or maybe you don’t,” Magdalene began her spiel. “We are raising funds for the York Hospital and this year we are planning a ball as the fundraiser. We are hoping that businesspeople in town might feel the urge to donate something for the silent auction…a gift certificate or an item of worth.” She paused to take a deep breath. The sparkling diamond hanging from her silver necklace was like a ship rising up and down on the waves of her heaving chest. “Oh, this heat does not agree with me.” She dabbed at her brow with a handkerchief.

“Can I get you a cold drink?’ Brad offered. She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. Two of her chubby fingers were encircled with bands of platinum cradling huge diamonds that flashed in the sunlight. There was no stopping her speech once she got going.

“In addition, we are asking all businesspeople to attend the ball as a show of unity,” Magdalene went on. “There will be a small charge to business owners of one hundred dollars each to attend, of course. Much less than the cost to the general public. It will be quite the gala and you should feel very fortunate to be able to take part at such reduced cost to you…and your donation to the silent auction is good advertising for your businesses. It’s win-win all around. I know I can count on you both.” She batted her eyes.

“Olivia, you will be re-opening Aggie’s shop, wont you?” she asked, and did not wait for a reply. “Aggie put so much love into that shop, it would be a sin not to honor her by keeping it open this summer.” She rummaged through her oversized bag, searching for her clipboard.

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry for your loss,” Magdalene managed, not looking up. She paused in the search through her bag and straightened up, a fake smile on her face. “What are you planning to do with the house?” she asked sweetly.

“Live in it,” Olivia answered flatly.

“I understand you are going to law school,” Magdalene said. “I know how expensive that will be. I could get you a good price for the house, even though it needs a good deal of updating.” She prattled on. “Nevertheless, the location is what it has going for it and the lot is a decent size. We could also market it as a tear-down. Someone could build a lovely home there.”

“No.” Olivia was seething.
How does Magdalene know if the house needed updating? And how does she know I’m going to law school?

“I can make you a very wealthy young lady. You won’t have time to come up here with your studies and all. The house will be a burden. And for heaven’s sakes, Olivia, once you graduate, you certainly won’t be practicing law in this area. You’ll be living in a city.”

Olivia was silent.

“You think about it,” Magdalene told her. “We’ll talk again. Oh, here it is.” She yanked the clipboard out of the bag and brandished it in front them. “Here are all of the shop owners who will be taking part so far.” She handed the clipboard to Brad. “Please sign that you will be attending. And here,” she indicated with a pudgy finger, “here is where you state the amount you will be pledging.” She tapped the page.

Brad and Olivia looked at the list.

“We are expecting one hundred percent participation,” she announced.

Brad cleared his throat and signed the page.

“Excellent!” Magdalene exclaimed. “Now Olivia,” she said.

Brad handed the clipboard to Olivia.

“I’m not sure…” Olivia began.

“Nonsense. You are Aggie’s heir. You have a responsibility,” Magdalene clucked.

Olivia sighed. She signed and handed it back.

“Wonderful!” Magdalene said. She put the clipboard back into her bag. “The town always comes together for a good cause. We will send your invitations to you shortly.” She started away, and called over her shoulder, “I forgot to tell you. The gala is being held at the restored Victorian. The new owner has graciously offered the use of the grounds to the committee at no charge.”

Olivia looked at Brad and groaned.

Aggie’s antique shop was on Shore Road just before the turn in the road that led down to Perkin’s Cove. It was a good spot, Aggie always said, because she got the foot traffic to and from the cove, but she could make the hours as she wanted. If the store was in the cove next to all the other shops, she would have felt obligated to stay open early and close up late. Her shop sold a variety of different antiques, music boxes, jewelry, photographs, paintings, china, and sterling silver flatware. She also sold online through a website she had set up.

Olivia stood at the door of the shop. She had helped Aggie with the store since she was a little girl. She peered inside through the wide plate glass window and saw the crystal chandelier, the wooden display cases, and the desk in the corner where Aggie worked on broken jewelry. Olivia swallowed hard. She put the key in the lock and pushed open the door. A little bell tinkled when the door swung open. The air inside was hot and still from being locked up for weeks. Olivia walked from case to case and ran her hand over the smooth wood of the counters. She saw a gold bracelet and some small tools on the desk. Aggie must have been fixing the clasp. Olivia brushed tears from her eyes.

Some of the display cases had been pushed away from the wall and had been covered with drop cloths. Aggie had been in the middle of painting the walls a soft mocha color. Olivia peered among the tools and papers for Aggie’s cellphone, and bent to see if Aggie had placed her laptop under the desk. Olivia opened all the drawers of the desk and searched the display cases and cabinets. She stepped into the back storage room and checked the file cabinets, the closet, under the sink, under the small wooden table where Aggie would eat her lunch. She even opened the small refrigerator to see if the laptop or phone was inside. She put her hands on her hips and, standing in the middle of the cramped room, turned in a circle, gazing over every inch of the space to decide if she had overlooked any spot that might hold the items.

Aggie kept a small safe in the closet and even though she knew it couldn’t fit the laptop, Olivia opened it anyway to check for papers that might indicate inventory, receipts, names of buyers and sellers, and any pending sales that needed to be taken care of. It was empty. Olivia sighed and took off her sweater. She would have to search through the house again. She returned to the front room of the store. There was lots of work to do, starting with finishing the painting of the shop. And Olivia was determined to finish what Aggie had started.

Joe came home early so he could get cleaned up and get started on dinner since Brad was coming. Olivia heard his truck and took her bag of groceries over to Joe’s house so they could work on the chili together. She also took her laptop.

“So, I told you how Andersen went to London the day after Aggie died and was only back in the US for a day when he was killed,” Olivia said. Joe had showered and was in the kitchen chopping onions and peppers. Olivia was cooking ground beef in one pan and bulgur wheat in another pot.

“Strange,” Joe said.

“There must be a connection between Aggie and Andersen. He had my picture in his wallet. They must have known each other and were on to something,” Olivia surmised. “Something dangerous obviously, since someone killed them.”

Joe looked up. “Who would want to kill Aggie?”

“The same person who cut out Andersen’s tongue?” she asked. “The person who shot him?” She paused. “Why did Aggie have a gun?”

Joe ignored that last part. “This is all speculation,” he said.

“Someone shot Andersen,” Olivia said. “Why was Aggie on that bike…and so late?”

“This is all too much for me,” Joe said. He stopped chopping and looked off into space.

“And Andersen took off for London out of the blue,” Olivia said.

Joe turned towards Olivia. “But he often left unexpectedly. Hannigan said so,” Joe said.

“Yeah, Andersen takes off right after Aggie is killed. And then he returns and dies the very same day. Something else must have been going on besides his work commitment.”

Joe sighed. “I’m having a beer.”

“What about chopping?” Olivia asked.

“Task master,” Joe muttered.

Olivia added spices and tomato paste to the meat and stirred to mix it together. She scooped it all from the frying pan into the large crock pot. She mixed mushrooms, spices, and tomato paste into the bulgur wheat for the vegetarian chili and poured that mixture into the smaller crock pot.

“I’d like to look into what Andersen was doing in London,” Olivia said.

Joe was sipping his beer, leaning against the island counter. “How?”

“Are you done with those peppers and onions?” Olivia asked.

Joe lifted the cutting board and divided the chopped vegetables equally between the two crock pots.

“Well, to start with, I thought I would send an email to the hotel where Andersen always stayed to confirm that he was a guest there for the four weeks.”

“They won’t tell you. Confidentiality,” Joe said.

“I’ll say I’m with the police.”

Joe’s eyes widened. “You can’t do that, for heaven’s sake. That would be impersonating a police officer.”

“Would it?” Olivia said slyly.

“Of course it would. You’d be arrested.”

Olivia was preparing a salad. She glanced at the clock. “Joe, maybe you should get started on the corn muffins.” Joe walked around the kitchen island and pulled out the mixing bowl from under the counter.

“Well, I could email the London hotel and say that I was hired by Rodney Hannigan to investigate the events of Andersen’s death,” Olivia said. “I could attach the newspaper story reporting the accident so they could see that it was legitimate.”

“So now you’re a private investigator? You need a license for that, you know.” Joe cracked two eggs into the bowl.

“I don’t intend to
claim
I’m a private investigator,” Olivia said. “I intend to
imply
.”

Joe chuckled. “Go ahead. Give it a try. I’d be surprised if they tell you anything.”

Olivia went to her laptop and sat in the kitchen chair.

“Hey,” Joe said. “Not now. We’re cooking here.”

“It’ll only take a minute.” Olivia’s fingers tapped on her keyboard. “Here’s the hotel contact information.” She did a bit more tapping. “There. Sent.”

“How’d you write that so fast?” Joe asked, adding cornmeal to the mix.

“I wrote it before I came over. I just wanted to run it by you. I changed the police part to ‘hired to investigate’ and then I sent it,” Olivia said. “If there’s any trouble, I’ll blame you since the email was sent through your wireless network connection.” She smiled.

“Thanks a lot,” Joe said.

“I’ll visit you in prison,” Olivia told him.

Brad arrived for dinner with a bottle of white wine, a homemade blueberry cake, and a bouquet of pink gerber daisies. They sat outside at Joe’s patio table overlooking the Marginal Way and enjoyed the chili, salad, and cornbread. They reminisced about what mischievous children Brad and Olivia used to be.

“I don’t know why I let you talk me into so much trouble,” Brad said to Olivia.

“You instigated an equal share,” Olivia protested.

“How about the time we cooked up the scheme to see how far north we could ride our bikes on Route 1?” Brad chuckled.

“Yeah,” Joe said. “Only you both forgot that you had to ride back home. I get the telephone call at nine at night to come pick you up in the truck because you were both exhausted. Never mind we’re all worried senseless.”

“What did Aggie used to say to us?” Brad said. “All brains and no sense?”

“Plenty of brains but no common sense,” Olivia clarified. They laughed.

“If the shoe fits…” Joe said.

“Hey!” Olivia playfully punched his arm.

After dinner they took out kayaks, hauled them across the lawn and launched them from the rocks in front of the house. They paddled up the Ogunquit River, which wound around behind the beach. The sun was setting and it cast a red, pink, and violet glow across the sky and sand. A few people walked the beach, flew kites, and rode flotation devices in the river’s current. The air was dry and comfortable. When they returned from kayaking, they made a fire in Joe’s pit and sat in the Adirondack chairs munching Brad’s blueberry cake with whipped cream.

“Ahhh, this is delicious, Brad,” Olivia said, closing her eyes in delight after shoveling in another forkful.

“Brad, you’re welcome to bring dessert over any night,” Joe said.

“This has been one of the bookstore’s most popular desserts,” Brad told them. “It’s a modified version of my mom’s.”

“Do you make all the desserts you serve in the bookstore?” Olivia asked.

“Oh, no, I order most of them from the bakeries in town. Occasionally I’ll bake something to serve. I enjoy baking, but I just don’t have the time to provide everything we need. It’s a heck of a lot of work running the business. This is my first night off,” Brad said. “In fact, I’m going to give the store a call to see if everything’s okay. Excuse me a minute. Be right back.” Brad got up and walked closer to the house to make his call.

“It’s nice to have Brad around again,” Joe said, leaning back in his chair. “He’s a lot of fun. Great guy.”

Olivia nodded as she licked the last crumbs and a smudge of cream off her plate.

“Nice manners, Liv,” Joe said. “There’s plenty of cake, you know. You don’t have to get every last crumb.”

“Waste not, want not,” Olivia said with a laugh, tossing one of Joe’s favorite sayings back at him.

“Liv, would you like another piece?” Brad asked as he came back to the fire pit.