The Big Brush-off (19 page)

When we reached our car, someone had stuffed a note beneath one of the windshield wipers; just two words,
Go Home
. I crumpled the paper and threw it in the gutter. As we drove off, Laura glanced back toward the gutter. “Looks like some folks don't give up.”

“Neither do we.”

Laura and I arrived at the bank five minutes before closing. We parked half a block away and waited.

Ten minutes later, Nancy left and headed down the block. The woman who liked to avoid people just might be the most important person in Hanover to Laura and me. Although Nancy might not even realize it, she could be the key to solving Katie Caldwell's murder.

Laura reached for the door handle, I tugged on her arm. “Let's keep an eye on her.”

“Really?”

As a detective, I'd cracked plenty of cases by sitting in a car and people watching. It often took long, tiresome hours, but I suspected we might learn more about Nancy by lying low.

From the direction she was going, I suspected she was headed home. I started the car and kept her in sight until she stopped in front of a fabric store at the end of the block. When she went inside, I pulled alongside the curb on the opposite side of the store.

We could see the front window, but there was no sign of Nancy, a part-time seamstress. A moment later she walked up an aisle with something in her hand. “What's that?”

“A dress pattern.”

Inside the store, Nancy stopped in front of a bolt of red satin, like the red dress Laura wore to Gino's. I couldn't picture Nancy in a red satin dress.

She ran a hand over the shiny fabric then studied the pattern. She left the material and stepped to the front counter then fished a wallet from her purse and paid for the pattern. Apparently she couldn't either.

It didn't take a detective to know what Nancy thought when considering the fabric. In her mind, she could be a young dish in red satin. She thought the material was beautiful, but she wouldn't dare wear a dress that color, not in Hanover.

Nancy left the store with her newly purchased pattern in a paper sack. She turned the corner and we followed.

Nancy reached her neighborhood and walked past the house where Katie used to live. Without a glance at the old house, she went next door.

I inched the Ford closer. Two cats sat in the front window. When Nancy inserted a key into the lock, the cats jumped down and disappeared behind the curtains.

We parked at the corner and rolled down the windows, letting in a warm breeze of June air.

After several minutes, Laura let out a heavy sigh. “I think I should go knock on her door and see if she invites me in.”

“What are you going to say when she opens the door? Ask to borrow a cup of sugar?”

“I'll improvise.”

“Patience, sweetheart. Just a little while longer.” I was more willing than Laura to wait it out. What if Alan dropped by? Would that be enough to convince Sheriff Bishop?

A half hour passed and the light at the end of the street blinked on. Laura's patience ended. As she reached for the door handle, Nancy's front door opened.

Nancy came out with a scarf over her head and walked toward St. Catherine's, a block away.

I nodded toward Laura's purse. “Do you have a hat or scarf in your purse?”

“Why?”

“We're going to church.”

We parked across the street from St. Catherine's. I watched as Laura slipped a blue silk scarf from her purse and tied it over her hair.

She scowled at me. “You're staring at my hair, aren't you?”

I wasn't going to fall into this trap again. “I was admiring your scarf, that's all.”

In the front of the church at a railing facing the altar, Nancy lit a small white candle in a red holder and dropped coins in a coin box. She knelt in front of the candles, made the sign of the cross, then bowed her head in prayer.

If I was a betting man, and bet in church, I'd lay four bits that the candle was for Katie or Mary Caldwell.

Laura nudged me in the ribs and nodded toward a metal poor box above the holy water.

I reached into my trouser pocket and dropped several coins into its slot.

Laura rolled her eyes. “Jake.”

I fished into my wallet and stuffed a Lincoln into the slot. When Laura waved her fingers, I added a sawbuck.

She whispered, “Thank you, darling.”

We sat in the back row. When Nancy finished her prayer, she got up and headed down the side aisle toward the back of the church and disappeared into a confessional. A small
OCCUPIED
sign appeared above the confessional door.

Laura nudged me and whispered, “Maybe you should get in line.”

“I haven't done anything sinful, unless you're referring to last night. That's not a sin, we're married.”

Even in the dim light of the church, I could see Laura blush. She handed me a small hymnal and waited for Nancy to come out.

The young woman took her time. I couldn't imagine what type of sin the meek full-time bookkeeper at the bank and part-time seamstress might be confessing. Oh, to be a fly on the wall.

The door finally opened. Nancy came out and another woman went inside the confessional. Nancy went to the front of the church and knelt in front of the altar. She made the sign of the cross again then bowed her head to say her penance.

She finished then got up, headed down the center aisle, and disappeared out the front door.

As we stepped into the aisle to follow, the confessional door opened and Father Ryan came out. He walked to the altar, genuflected, made the sign of the cross, then disappeared out the side door.

I'd planned on following Nancy, but we might learn even more from Father Ryan.

Laura followed me up the side aisle. I opened the door, and we went outside.

Father Ryan was alone in the quiet garden. He was seated on a cement bench in front of the birdbath, head bowed. He was smoking a Camel cigarette.

I cleared my throat.

Father Ryan looked up and took another puff. “Jake Donovan.” He rose, crushed the cigarette, and glanced at Laura. “Snazzy scarf, Miss Wilson. Must be expensive.”

Had he been drinking? Because it sure looked like he gave Laura the once-over.

If she noticed, Laura wasn't letting on. “We're sorry to disturb your meditation. Do you have a moment?”

“A priest's work is never done.” He sat on the bench.

Laura looked increasingly impatient.

I sat across from him. “I want to talk about Nancy Oldfield.”

He glanced toward the church. “I see. You must've followed her. That's right, you're looking into Katie's murder. I can't tell you anything she might have said in the confessional, now or in the past.”

I held up one hand. “And we wouldn't ask.”

“Then I don't see how I can help. Nancy's a lovely but very private person who makes clothes for the poor and drops them off from time to time. I see her at the bank…wait, I saw her at a movie once. She comes to mass every Sunday but never sticks around to talk with anyone.”

Laura sat beside me. “What about friends?”

The priest lit another Camel. “Sadly, I don't think she has many. Except for Founder's Day, work, and church, I don't think she leaves home much.”

He took a long puff. “I'm so glad you've decided to help Mary.”

I leaned forward on the bench. “Let me be blunt, Father. I always considered you a suspect in Katie's murder.”

A narrow-eyed flash of anger crossed the priest's face, like he wanted to sock me. He took a long puff off the Camel and regained his composure. “There are still people in this town who think I was capable of doing such a thing.” He took another puff and let out a long stream of smoke. “Suspicions against me are based on mistakes I made in the past. Since then, I've done my penance.”

I nodded toward the cigarette. “But you have your secrets.”

“I still have my vices”—he took one more puff—“but, as God is my witness, I didn't kill Katie Caldwell, and if it'll help, I don't know who did.”

I wasn't going to let him off without asking the question I wanted to ask ten years earlier. “Where were you the night Katie was killed?”

He took a long puff on the cigarette. “I was hearing confessions.”

“On Founder's Day.”

“A certain amount of sin takes place on Founder's Day.” Father Ryan flicked his cigarette to the ground. “Like the rest of the country, Hanover is struggling to mend from tough times. But it's more than that. People never recovered from Katie's murder.”

I lost my temper and jumped to my feet. “You drove all the way to New York to ask that I come here to look into Katie's murder and help Mary in the time she has left. That's what we're trying to do, but it seems most of the town wants us to go away. What were you doing standing outside the Hanover Inn around two
A.M
. the other night?”

He didn't hesitate. “I went for a walk. Sometimes I don't sleep well. It isn't easy being a priest.”

A nun in a white habit came out of the rectory. “Father, you have a phone call.” She shot a look of disapproval at his cigarette, but held her tongue.

“Yes, Sister.” He crushed the cigarette beneath his shoe. He kicked the cigarette butt beneath a bush. “If you'll excuse me.” He followed the nun to the rectory.

Was Father Ryan a late-blooming priest of high conviction, or was he hiding secrets beyond those he heard in confession? We'd learned little about Nancy or Father Ryan.

We got in the Ford and parked across the street from Katie's old place. A light was on in Nancy's house. A cat sat in the front window.

I glanced at my watch. It was after eight.

Laura was right. We were running out of time. Tomorrow was Founder's Day, the next was Katie's memorial service, and the day after that Laura was leaving for Hollywood. Nancy appeared at the front window and picked up her cat. They disappeared behind the curtains. A moment later, her lights went off.

We had one last task to complete before going back to the inn. We drove around the block. No sign of Alan's tow truck.

I hadn't been able to let go of my suspicions toward Alan. Some might shake it off as feelings brought out by rumor and idle gossip. However, as a detective, I often found hunches led me to a solved crime, something I hoped would happen in the next twenty-four hours.

At the inn, we climbed the deck stairs, still talking about Nancy Oldfield and Father Ryan. When Laura grabbed my hand, I looked toward the front door, where three men with baseball bats blocked our way. Hank, the thug from the diner who warned me to leave, appeared to be the leader.

Behind them, looking frightened, stood Edwin, Freddy, and Ginger.

I stood between Laura and the men with the bats. I had a gun beneath my shirt, but I didn't want to use it if I didn't have to. “Nice bats, fellas. Sorry, I can't play ball this evening. I hurt my shoulder playing catch with Freddy.”

Freddy snorted. “Good one, Mr. Donovan.”

On the street in front of the inn, two cars pulled up and half a dozen angry-looking folks climbed out and occupied the stairs.

I'd handled tough guys like Hank before, but mobs were harder to predict. These people appeared angry, lacking only pitchforks and torches to complete the effect.

Except for the thugs with the bats, the others had a reason to be angry. Times were tough in Hanover, and all over, but they were directing their anger at Laura and me, and I didn't like it one bit.

“Wise guy.” The big man hocked a load of spit that landed next to my shoe. “You came here to make trouble for George Hanson, get him thrown in jail for something he didn't do. Me and most of us here, if we have jobs, we owe it to Mr. Hanson. It's time for you two to leave Hanover.”

I glanced around. Where was Hanson? Would he buy me a drink and claim he wanted me to solve Katie's murder, then hire folks to slash my tires and brandish bats to force us to leave?

Edwin pushed his way past the thugs. “Jake and Laura are guests here.”

Hank shoved the inn owner. “I don't care who they are. They're leaving.”

Two men grabbed Edwin from behind and held his arms.

“Let go of my pop!” Freddy jumped onto the back of one of the thugs.

As I reached for the gun, Edwin shook loose and led his son and Ginger toward the west deck, away from trouble. “Thanks, Freddy.”

I left the gun where it was, held up one hand, and got Hank's attention. “This isn't worth anyone getting hurt. And I'd hate to see that happen to you.”

Hank's lip curled in disgust. “Me?”

Laura shouted, “What's wrong with you people? We're only trying to help.” She looked at me with desperation in her eyes. “When we came here, I didn't expect to take on the whole town.”

Hank let out a belly laugh. “Rich Hollywood couple. It must be easy telling people how to live their lives. I used to be somebody in this town. I ran the hardware store. Every day, people came in to ask for my help.” His voice trembled, and his anger turned to regret. “ ‘What kind of lock do I need, Mr. Winters?' ‘What size nail do I use for my fence, Mr. Winters?' ‘Mr. Winters, how do I replace a faucet?' No one's called me
mister
in years.”

His grip on the bat tightened. “Go find some other town to help. You've got five minutes to go inside and pack.”

I took Laura's hand. I had to get her away from a situation that could get ugly. “Let's go pack, sweetheart.”

Hank poked my chest with the end of his bat. “You go, Donovan. The dish stays here.”

Freddy appeared beside Hank. “Hey, that's my bat!”

A young girl in denim trousers and a long sleeve Western shirt bounded up the steps. “Daddy, what are you doing?”

Freddy's mouth dropped. “Sarah?”

Hank glared at her. “Get home, girl. I'll deal with you later, after we get rid of these two Hollywood hotshots.”

Freddy held out his hand, and to my surprise, the girl took it. They stood there defying her father. If those kids could stand up to Hank and his friends, so could I.

I lowered my voice so only Hank could hear. “We're leaving Monday.”

Hank shook his head. “Not good enough, Donovan. You're leaving now.”

Sheriff Bishop slowly made his way up the steps. “They're not going anywhere.”

Before Hank could reply, a rock sailed through the air. I ducked just in time. The front window of the inn shattered, sending shards inside the lobby and onto the deck.

Ginger shrieked.

Bishop unclipped a set of handcuffs from his belt. “Dang it. Now you've gone and done it. Destruction of property. I've gotta arrest somebody.”

Hank laughed and glanced at his friends. “All of us, Bishop?”

“Just the ones with the baseball bats.”

Hank's friends dropped their bats. They lumbered down the steps, climbed into a pickup, and sped off, squealing tires.

Hank dropped the bat and backed away from the sheriff, holding up both hands. “I didn't throw that rock.”

“You might as well have.” The sheriff didn't seem like he was going to arrest anyone as long as the crowd dispersed.

Hank stood at the bottom of the stairs. “I'm leaving real peaceable-like, Sheriff. Sarah, come along now.”

The young girl flashed a questioning look at Freddy. Then her eyes hardened and she shook her head. “I'm fifteen, Daddy. I'll be along soon enough.”

“I said get!” Hank looked ready to climb the stairs to get his daughter.

“You run along, Hank, and consider yourself lucky.” Bishop clipped the cuffs to his belt. “I'll make sure she gets home safe.”

Hank turned and walked away.

I stepped to the edge of the deck. “Mr. Winters?”

He stopped and glared at me over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“I'm sorry about your hardware store. I'm sorry for the entire town. I've had a lot of breaks in my life, that's all.”

“What's your point?”

“Things will pick up, you'll see. It might not be this year or next. You might not get your store back, but one day people will call you
Mr. Winters
again, and you don't want them to do so out of fear, but respect.”

Hank looked me in the eyes but said nothing. He approached the inn and picked up the bat and set it on the deck. “Hey, kid. Here's your bat. And, Sarah, you get home at a decent hour, or your mama will tan my hide.”

As he walked away, I tossed the bat to Freddy and winced from a pain in my shoulder.

Laura wrapped her arm in mine and kissed my cheek. “That's nice what you did, what you said to that man. You didn't have to do that.”

I returned the kiss. “Yes, I did.”