Rest in Peace (8 page)

“Need a refill?” I glanced up to see Hannah hovering over me with a coffeepot.

“Yes, thanks.” I shoved my mug closer to her and waited until she filled it and walked away.

I pursed my lips and stared at the blank page. Okay, here goes.

Who had a motive to kill Clyde?

1. His daughter?

a. To get revenge for his treatment of her mother?

2. Christiana?

b. Motive unknown
.

3. Someone who suspected Clyde knew the location of the Pennington jewels?

4. Someone who suspected Clyde knew they were involved with the theft/disappearance of the Pennington jewels?

5. Or could it be possible that Mrs. Miller was right and Clyde had stolen Burly Anderson’s prize horse? But Mr. Anderson was eighty-five, and his sons both lived in Chicago. Anyway, forty years was a long time to hold a grudge strong enough to kill for
.

Excitement burned in me as I looked over the list. Okay, maybe it was lacking any real evidence, but at least I’d put some thoughts on paper.

I tapped my pen on the table, deep in thought.

Clues:

1. A fragment of a note/receipt/message with the letters
n-n-e-l
(tunnel?)
.

2. Whatzit’s frightened screeching of “No, no, get out.”

3. A 1968 copy of the
Gazette
with the story of the horse theft. (Which didn’t mention
Clyde
was a suspect.)

I frowned. Not much in the way of clues. But it was a start. I crammed my notebook and pen back in my purse and paid my check, then left Hannah’s and drove back to the lodge. I needed to get the house ready for my dinner guests. Thank the Lord for Mabel. At least I didn’t need to worry about dinner. The day before, I’d given her the menu for the evening, and she hadn’t blinked an eye when she realized she’d have to panfry chicken for ten people.

When I stepped into the kitchen, she looked up and smiled, then continued slicing vegetables for the salad.

“Can I help out with anything before I wax the dining room floor, Mabel?”

“Floors are all done.” She raked cucumber slices from the cutting board into the bowl.

I shook my head. “You make me feel guilty, like I should double your salary.”

She laughed. “Don’t be silly. You pay me plenty. And for stuff I enjoy doing. Never thought I’d get paid for cookin’ and cleaning.”

“You deserve it. Guess I’ll go wax the furniture then, if you’re sure you don’t need me in here.”

I retrieved the furniture polish and cloth and did the dining room table and sideboard, then put a clean white linen tablecloth on the table. I knew Mabel would have checked the silver and napkins, so I headed for the great hall.

When I stepped through the door, I glanced, as I always did, at the portrait. Resplendent in a dark green hunting coat and snug, tan pants, the Storm patriarch stood with a tall musket in the curve of his arm, a Bible in the other hand, clutched to his chest. I knew Franklin Storm had been a godly man, even starting a church for his family and neighbors. I’d only recently discovered through family records that he’d actually become a minister in his older years.

His lips were pressed tightly together, and his face appeared rigid, but I would have sworn a twinkle lurked in those hazel eyes. Eyes that Grandma always said looked like mine. I tilted my head and examined his face. A deep cleft lay deep in his chin, just as it did in my father’s. Strange how family features could be so strong they’d last through generations.

I turned away and busied myself polishing the mantel and the rest of the antique furniture scattered about the room. Was it wrong to be proud of my heritage? Just a few days ago I’d thought so, even repented for the pride. But now, I wasn’t so sure. Feeling a link with the past was different from ancestor worship.

Oh, was I ever deep thinking today. I stood in the doorway and scanned the room. Satisfied I’d missed nothing, I went out and closed the door.

Chores over, I headed for my office and took my original list from the desk drawer. Retrieving the other from my purse, I typed both lists into a Word document and saved the file.

There, that was more like it. My files were password protected, so I didn’t need to worry about anyone seeing them. Not that anyone would get on my computer anyway.

Once, when Miss Aggie was missing, we’d thought she might have left a clue to her disappearance on my computer or the one at the library. That had turned out to be a false lead. Her computer activities at the library had simply been research about posh hotels and restaurants. And she hadn’t touched my computer. But I’d made a new rule that day that my computer was off-limits.

I heard the roar of Miss Jane’s ancient Cadillac as she pulled into the garage, followed by Frank and Miss Evalina’s new car. He’d bought it when they got married but wouldn’t part with his pickup truck, which stayed parked most of the time. I glanced at my watch. Three o’clock. I’d have time to take Buster for a walk before I had to get ready for dinner. Mabel had offered to stay and serve, but I’d told her she didn’t need to. We’d put everything on the sideboard buffet style, and I was sure Miss Jane would help me.

I walked into the foyer to see all five of the seniors pilingin. I hadn’t heard Miss Aggie’s Lexus. I was surprised she’d opted to go to the center with the rest. Most days she insisted on being in the big middle of whatever was going on at Pennington House.

“Victoria, is Jack Riley still coming tonight?” Miss Aggie asked. Since she’d found out his adopted granddaughter, Samantha, was her own niece, they’d become friends. They talked on the phone often, and in June, Miss Aggie had visited the family in Germany. I still wasn’t convinced he was totally innocent in all the goings-on at Pennington House. Or that he hadn’t dealt in stolen property during World War II. But I’d try to reserve judgment for now.

“Yes, ma’am. They’ll be here at six thirty, dinner at seven.”

“Oh dear. That’s very late.” Miss Georgina’s voice trembled.

“Georgina, don’t be silly,” Miss Aggie retorted, hands on hips. “You know we always eat at seven when we have guests.”

Martin darted a venomous look at Miss Aggie and opened his mouth, then shut it and turned to Miss Georgina. “If you want to eat at six like we usually do, I could take you to Hannah’s or the steak house in Caffee Springs.”

Pink washed over Miss Georgina’s plump cheeks. “Thank you, Martin. That’s very kind. But I wouldn’t want to miss hearing more of Mr. Riley’s stories.”

I grinned. This would be interesting.

“Fine. I didn’t wanta go anyway. Just trying to be nice.” Martin’s face flamed. “Don’t know why you want to listen to that windbag, though. I doubt half them stories of his are true.”

Miss Jane snorted and headed to her room, following Miss Evalina and Frank, who were halfway up the stairs.

Miss Georgina twisted her hankie, misery in her pale blue eyes. “I guess we could go to Hannah’s if you want to, Martin.”

“Naw. I don’t want to.” Martin stomped off to the rec room.

Taking pity on the sweet lady, who stood staring after Martin with brimming eyes, I patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about him, Miss Georgina. He’s just a bit jealous, I think. He’ll get over it.”

“Jealous? But why?”

I laughed. “Because Martin is sweet on you, honey, that’s why. You’re a mighty pretty lady, you know.”

“I am?” A blush washed over her face, and her eyes shone.

“Of course. Now why don’t you go rest awhile before dinner and let him stew a bit? It’ll be good for him.”

Delight filled her eyes. “Thank you, Victoria, I believe I will.”

I grinned as she waltzed up the stairway. Scarlett O’Hara had nothing on her.

A black-and-white cat zipped across the Edisons’ yard and around their shed. Buster barked with excitement and raced after it, dragging me along like flotsam. “Buster, slow down!” A pain shot from my wrist to my shoulder as the leash tightened against my hand, yanking me hard. I knew if I didn’t do something, I’d end up being dragged across the ground on my rear end, so I loosened my hand and dropped the leash. When he realized he was free, he took off, the leash trailing after.

It would be useless to try to keep up with him, so I headedback to the sidewalk and leaned against an oak tree to catch my breath.

“Yoo-hoo! Victoria!” Mrs. Miller waved from her car window, then turned into her driveway. Maybe she’d go on inside. I could hope, at any rate.

I groaned inwardly as she slammed her door and started across the street in my direction. Of course, she had imparted an interesting piece of information about the horse theft. Sort of a thin lead, but at this point anything was better than nothing.

“Hello, Mrs. Miller. How are you this afternoon?” At least she wasn’t gasping for breath this time.

“Fine, fine. I’m fine.” She waved her purse at me. “But I have something else for you. I knew there was another article about Mr. Anderson’s prize horse.”

“Oh?” I glanced around. Where in the world was Buster?

“Yes.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a sheet of copy paper.

“Here. Take a look at this.” Her nod could only be called triumphant. Apparently she’d realized I hadn’t taken her accusations about Clyde seriously.

I took the paper, gave it a quick glance, then did a double take. C
LYDE
F
OSTER
A
RRESTED FOR
H
ORSE
T
HEFT
.

I skimmed the article. “Did he serve any time for it?”

“No, some shyster lawyer got him off. But he was guilty, all right.”

I held the article out toward her, but she waved it away. “You can keep that. I have two more copies, and if I need more, I’ll go back to the library.”

“Thank you. But I still don’t see how it could be relatedto his death. Surely you don’t think old Mr. Anderson could have killed Clyde.”

“No, but guess who I saw at Hannah’s the night before Clyde’s body was found?” She pressed her lips together.

“Who?” I asked, impatient with her dramatics.

“Gabe Anderson, that’s who.”

Okay, that was interesting. Gabe, Mr. Anderson’s youngest son, was known to have a violent temper. This deserved looking into.

From the corner of my eye I saw Buster slink around the corner. I turned and sent him a glare. Head down, he walked slowly to me and shoved his woolly head under my hand.

“All right, you reprobate, I forgive you.” I rubbed his head and grabbed his leash.

“So what are you going to do about this, Victoria?” Once more, Mrs. Miller stood, hands on hips. I figured that must be her favorite pose.

“I’ll look into it, I promise. Thank you for the information.” I smiled and turned to go. “I really need to get home now. We have guests coming for dinner.”

Her eyes gleamed. “Yes, I know. What is Jack Riley doing back here so soon?”

Now, how did she know it was Mr. Riley? Because she knew everything, that’s how. With her around, we didn’t need the
Gazette
.

Mabel’s fried chicken had been a great success. But the caramel pies were the crowning moment. I was hard-pressed not to close my eyes and sigh when I put the first bite in my mouth. Or to make
ummm
sounds. Maybe I should havesaved this and served something else for dessert. Ashamed of the selfish thought, I forced myself to leave the last bite on my plate.

Phoebe and I removed the dishes and refilled coffee and tea for those who wanted more. Jack was seated between Miss Aggie and Miss Georgina. I darted a glance at them every few minutes to make sure he wasn’t being rude to them. Oh, who was I kidding? Crook or not, Jack Riley was the epitome of courtesy and kindness.

Miss Aggie was oohing and aahing over a new picture of her great-niece he’d brought her. Martin, seated across from them, sent furtive glares in their direction. A giggle started somewhere in my sternum, but I managed to stop it before it reached my lips. I still wasn’t used to the tentative courtship going on between Martin and Miss Georgina.

“Victoria, could we go into the parlor?” Miss Jane asked. “It’ll be more comfortable in there, and Mr. Riley could share more of his adventures with us.”