The Wolfe Widow (A Book Collector Mystery) (4 page)

“What do you know about her?”

“Not a thing. I’ve been checking the Internet and coming up empty.” Of course, Smiley was an agent of the law, and who better to find out about Muriel than my own personal police officer? “And that reminds me, I really need you to—”

I thought I heard bellowing in the background.

He lowered his voice. “Gotta go. I’ve been spotted talking on the phone. Sorry.”

I said, “But—”

Naturally, the phone was dead.

Fine.

I didn’t have the slightest idea why Muriel would want to get rid of me. None. But in the deepest fiber of my body I was now sure she was behind it. The question was, why? And not only why, but how? Even coaxing a smile out of Vera was impossible, but actually swaying her behavior? Vera was a mountain, never to be moved.

Was Muriel after the money that Vera paid me? It seemed a small amount for such a big presence. I couldn’t imagine her dancing to Vera’s tune or happily lounging in the attic room with the curling cabbage rose wallpaper while making deals for old mystery books. No. There was something bigger going on. And why would Vera even listen to her? Vera Van Alst was the least likely person in the world to tolerate a large imposing woman giving her orders and changing the comfortable facts of her existence. Perhaps Vera owed a debt to this woman and was too ashamed to share that with anyone.

From under the Care Bear lamp, I grabbed a Hello Kitty notepad with renewed purpose. I had to find out three things: Who was Muriel Delgado? What did Muriel Delgado want from Vera and Van Alst House? And why did she want me out of the way?

I felt Uncle Mick’s presence as he loomed in the door.

“You don’t mind so much being back here?” he said.

I got up and gave him a hug. “Never.” His flannel shirt smelled like Old Spice and Irish whiskey.

“You deserved better treatment. There’s reasons everyone hates that woman,” he said, darkly.

“I do deserve better treatment. But I don’t hate Vera. I think this woman who came to the house last night is the reason I was fired.”

“Sounds like it. But why would she want the Van Alst female to fire you?”

I shrugged. “I really have no idea. But I guarantee you, there’s something there. And I’ll make it my business to find out.”

It was taking Mick a while to get Vera out of his system. “I thought I’d come to like her or at least respect her over the past year and a bit, but this, this makes me think my original opinion of her was right.”

“I don’t want to judge her, Uncle Mick. I’d like to find out what’s going on before I make up my mind about it all.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“Thanks. In fact, there is something—”

“Anything in the world. But it’ll have to be later, my girl. I’m on my way out. Pressing business elsewhere, as they say. A bit of business is bubbling up. Your lunch is on the table. Keep your strength up for the battle.”

With Uncle Mick gone, I let Walter and Cobain feast on the Alphagetti. They licked tomato sauce off each other’s whiskers after cleaning their plates. I guess this was my team of associates now. I reheated the signora’s cutlets and pasta alfredo. I did hang on to the marshmallow cookies. I’m sentimental about them. But for some reason, everything I ate tasted like sawdust.

There’s nothing like a good walk to clear your head if you’ve been fired and evicted on the same day. And there were two dogs to encourage me in this kind of thinking. I bundled up in my nineteen-sixties red wool, hooded cape, a vintage find that made me feel like a streetwise Red Riding Hood. I headed downtown to stomp out my frustrations on the sidewalks of Harrison Falls. It didn’t help that signs of Thanksgiving were everywhere. If it wasn’t a pumpkin, it was a sheaf of dried corn. If it wasn’t a Pilgrim hat, it was a cornucopia. If it wasn’t a turkey, it was a . . . well, there were lots of turkeys, none of them real, thank heavens. Never mind that Harrison Falls was done up à la Norman Rockwell, I wasn’t feeling thankful in the least. I did realize that it could have been worse. I could have been arrested or dead or . . . but it wasn’t a situation suitable for celebrating.

I needed to find a way to make a living again and quickly. For sure, the uncles wouldn’t toss me out, but I would need a place of my own before long if I wanted to retain my sanity. I had to keep saving too. That part might prove to be tricky. What could I do to make a bit of money?

On Main Street I stepped into Betty’s Boutique, a vintage clothing shop, to check it out. The fifties and sixties fashions in the window showed well against the backdrop: a framed poster of Norman Rockwell’s famous
Freedom from Want
, the archetypal Thanksgiving image. I decided not to think about my own Thanksgiving, which was probably going to consist of beans and franks, with Uncle Mick’s signature Heinz ketchup.

I had to find the bright side. I probably had plenty of vintage I could sell on consignment to Betty’s. The shop tended to be pricey and catered to out-of-town and online customers. Normally, I wouldn’t think of getting rid of any of my clothing, but this was no normal time. Betty, the owner, didn’t mind dogs and they were pleased to be allowed to sniff around in this new space with so many scents.

I always liked seeing Betty with her nineteen-fifties pageboy and her cinched-waist outfits, jet-black drawn-on eyebrows, bloodred lipstick and fingernails, plus cigarette holder. Back in the day, I bet that Archie would have been drawn to her. There were many great rumors about Betty’s background. According to wagging local tongues she’d been romantically linked to two of the Beatles, a Scottish lord, and several U.S. senators. Whatever her life had been, for sure it had been interesting. The cigarette remained unlit, of course. I chatted with Betty a bit and then snooped around, enjoying the many racks of sixties and seventies outfits. Fun stuff. Too bad I found lots that I wanted to buy and buying wasn’t in the cards.

Never mind, I made an appointment with Betty for the following week to show her some of my favorite dresses with a “mod” pedigree from the sixties. It might hurt a bit to sell them, but I knew I had to be tough. And in a week, I’d have a better idea of what I really needed to do to get my life back on track.

Betty waved her cigarette holder languidly as I headed out. I grinned back at her. The visit had cheered me up a bit and shown me that I could find ways of making money without Vera and her books.

Next we trooped into Second Time Around to see if there were any pickings. I managed to seem bored after twenty minutes of pretending to browse through other things when I selected three Bobbsey Twins books in great shape from a mess of worthless bestsellers, with their curled, yellowed pages and bent covers. I could sell these without a problem on eBay for at least twelve dollars each and turn a nice profit from a three-dollar investment. It would be more than worth the trouble of listing them.

I tried not to smile as I paid for them. The dogs seemed to be sensing my suppressed excitement. I thought Cobain’s tail would clear the nearest shelf of mismatched glasses and shaky table lamps. I don’t have many vices, but the thrill of a good find keeps me creeping around in dank corners of dusty shops.

Harrison Falls has been improving somewhat of late, and small businesses have been making their way to the downtown area. Some have failed quickly and spectacularly, and others have held on. The Sweet Spot and the Poocherie seemed to have weathered their first couple of years. We gave the candy store a miss, although I waved as I went by. I couldn’t resist strolling through the pet shop, where both dogs got homemade crunchy treats. We missed the young manager, Jasmine, but we’d drop into the Poocherie more often now that I was living in the area.

I figured I’d better enjoy this walk, because it was only a matter of time until everyone in Harrison Falls found out that I’d been fired by Vera. I had to practice keeping my head held high, as befitted a Kelly or a Bingham. It was easier if I didn’t run into everyone I knew all at once.

The walk did me good and as I passed the Hudson Café, I paused. I could see the new owner, Lainie Hetherington, inside. Lainie loved me, perhaps because I was such a good customer. I got a warm feeling every time I spoke to her. My best friends Tiff and Lance and I count it as our favorite place. I could get a job there in a flash. But did I want to go back to the job I had after my first year in college? The job where I’d worked with Tiff and Lance? It had been great that summer, but I hoped my life would continue to be in the book world. I wanted to go forward, not back.

Lainie spotted me and waved. She opened the door and enveloped me in a big hug. As I said, she loved me. I could smell wonderful aromas through the open door. Was that pumpkin pie? For sure there was a tantalizing hint of cinnamon and nutmeg and something baking. It was all part of that Thanksgiving mood on Main Street. I decided to be thankful for the delicious smells in the restaurant.

“How are you?” Lainie said, sympathetically. “You seem a bit down.”

“Nope,” I fibbed. “Not down at all. Couldn’t be better. How are you?”

She shrugged. “The same. Soldiering on.”

“It’s really good to have you here in Harrison Falls. You’ve kept our beloved café afloat.” Lainie had moved to town the past summer after retiring from her therapy practice in New York City. She’d bought the venerable Hudson Café with great ideas to update and expand it, only to discover that her restaurant was soon struggling in the bad economy.

“A person likes to hear that,” she said with a bright smile. “How about a bit of a late lunch?”

“Thanks, I can’t.” I chose not to mention that I wouldn’t be lunching in upscale bistros or cafés until I got my job back or found a really good alternative.

“On the house,” she added with a sparkle. “Cheer you up.”

It was hard to say no to her. For a small person, Lainie’s presence was larger than life. Her silver ponytail was sleekly gathered in the back and her slightly pear-shaped figure was hugged by snug jeans that might have been designed for her. The asymmetrical black cashmere sweater and the large silver hoop earrings and dramatic silver ring gave her a casual glamour that most women would kill for. Classic red lipstick was invented for a woman like her. She was probably almost ten years older than Vera but seemed much younger and more vital. When I’m midsixties I want to look as good as she does, but I knew better than to mention that.

“What are you grinning at?” she said.

“Sorry, I’ve already eaten, but I’m starting to realize how many inspiring women are running successful businesses in this town. It gives a girl hope for the future.”

“Does it now?” She laughed her throaty laugh. “Well, it ain’t all roses.”

I knew that. Lainie hadn’t realized that the café had been in trouble when she’d sunk her life savings into it. The reality of running a restaurant in tough times had been a shock to her.

Still, she had managed to keep the Hudson Café humming along even through the ups and downs.

I said, “It’s your perseverance I admire most. Please tell me it’s worth it in the end?”

“I guess so. I’ve sure learned a lot, like making sure I’m on the premises and not paying other people to manage my investment. You have to take charge of your life and be tough, Jordan. You need to seize the moment.”

I nodded. A good bit of advice.

I fought the urge to gush about her place as a role model in my life; I didn’t want her to feel put on the spot.

She frowned and two little lines creased her forehead. “What’s wrong, Jordan? You can tell me.”

I opened my mouth to give her my litany of troubles when Uncle Mick’s words echoed in my brain.
Never be needy. It makes you vulnerable. If you really require help, turn to your family.
This was kind of a Kelly code that Uncle Mick had instilled into my head when I first moved in as a small child. It had stood me in good stead in the schoolyard, where I’d learned to stand up for myself early and often.

I squeezed her hand and said good-bye. “Don’t worry about me. I have a lot of errands to do and these two dogs waiting. I’m a bit distracted. I hope to be back for a wonderful lunch soon.”

A few stores down, I noticed that an abandoned diner had been set up as a food depot for needy families by Phyllis Zelman, Harrison Falls’s most energetic volunteer.

Where Lainie had welcomed me, Phyllis pounced.

“Look at you!” Phyllis said.

I stared. Walter cocked his head and snuffled. Cobain reserved judgment. Maybe it was the close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair or the oversized round black-framed glasses. Or it could have been the track suit with the Nordic sweater over it or the clumpy white running shoes. The thick knitted socks were a possibility too. It was really nippy in the space, though, so I figured all those clothes were a good idea.

“I bet you’ve got lots to be thankful about this season,” she said. At least she hadn’t heard about my unceremonious firing. One good thing.

“Actually . . .”

She raised a hand. “We all have some troubles, but do you have a roof over your head?”

I paused. Not the roof I wanted, but a roof. “Yes.”

“Enough to eat?”

I thought of the cupboard full of mac and cheese. “Yes.”

“So then please don’t complain because you don’t have the latest cell phone or a trip to the Caribbean or new and fashionable clothes.”

I stared at her. “These are vintage,” I said. “I choose to wear them.”

She snorted. “I’m not speaking of your actual wardrobe. I’m talking about your advantages. Lots of people have almost nothing, including not enough to eat. So give some thought to helping us with our Thanksgiving dinner for people who really need help.”

“Sure,” I said. “I’d be glad to help.” All she’d had to do was ask. I would have said yes without the guilt trip.

She wasn’t done, though. “Makes you put your own problems in perspective, doesn’t it?”

It did. But I still had them. They were big enough to me and they weren’t going to disappear without me doing something about them. But never mind; whatever happened with Muriel and Vera, it was a good idea to help with this project, even if Phyllis was a bit of a pain.