Throw in the Trowel (6 page)

The Boston terrier shot out from beneath the table in the direction of the curtain, carrying something in her mouth, with Seedy hobbling in hot pursuit. As though she'd been standing outside eavesdropping, Grace at once stepped into the room, blocking the dog's exit. Princess did an about-face and darted back under the table with Seedy after her, barking madly, and Jillian running around to the opposite side of the room, yelling at me to collar my dog. It was total chaos.

I turned to Grace and gave her a someone-shoot-me-now look.

“Abby, love,” Grace said over the noise, “you wanted me to remind you about the appointment you have at ten thirty today to meet with a bride-to-be. Since it's nearly time for her to arrive, I thought it prudent to interrupt.”

God bless Grace for coming up with a way to get rid of Jillian.

“Thank you,” I said. I dropped down on my hands and knees on one side of the table and Jillian did the same on the other side, while Grace blocked the curtain.

“Princess, put down Seedy's toy and come to Mommy right now!” Jillian demanded. The dogs were engaged in a fierce tug-of-war and paid no attention to her.

“Abby, can you do something, please?” Jillian cried.

Right, like I was a dog whisperer. “Grab Princess's hind legs and pull,” I said.

She followed my instructions, causing Princess to let go of the toy and turn to snap at her. Meanwhile, Seedy, the toy hers once again, hobbled over to me and dropped it at my feet.

But it wasn't a toy at all. It was the leather key chain from Marco's basement—covered in dog drool. Talk about tampering with evidence.

Thank God Seedy had rescued it. “Good girl,” I whispered, hugging the dog against me, causing her to lick my chin. She was my little hero.

Her plumelike tail thumped against the floor; then she backed up and headed for the safest place she knew—huddled under my desk.

I got to my feet and saw Jillian attempting to buckle her squirming terrier into the stroller. “You really need to train Seedy better, Abs,” she said. “The dog simply doesn't play well with others.”

My tongue was nearly in shreds by the time Jillian was ready to wheel the stroller through the curtain.

“Oh, one more thing,” my cousin said. “Would you do me a huge, huge favor and watch Princess Friday evening? Claymore and I have a function to go to and the pet sitter isn't available.”

I glanced at Seedy, shivering beneath my desk. Was there room under it for me?

C
HAPTER SIX

Q
uick, Abby, think of an excuse or you'll have to put up with Princess for an entire evening!

“Um, Jillian, I don't—”

“Have plans? I knew you wouldn't.” She threw her arms around me again. “You're a lifesaver, Abs. One of these days you're going to need a sitter for Seedy, and I promise I'll be there for you.” She hugged me tight, the knoblike top button of her jacket cutting into my cheek; then she grabbed the stroller handles and launched herself forward. “My place at seven, Friday. Thank you!” she called back, disappearing through the curtain.

I glanced under the desk to see Seedy watching me. Was that pity in her eyes?

Feeling the need for a calming cup of chamomile as well as some motherly wisdom, I sought Grace and Lottie out in the parlor. They were at a white ice-cream table near the back of the room, taking a quick break between rounds of customers. I poured myself a cup of Grace's specialty tea and pulled up a chair.

“Thanks for your help, Grace. That little terrier of Jillian's is a devil, and now I have to watch her on Friday evening.”

“And
why
did you agree to that?” Grace asked.

“Because I couldn't think of a reason why I couldn't. Marco will be at the bar.”

“If you don't want to watch Jillian's terror,” Lottie said, purposely mispronouncing terrier, “you don't have to give her a reason. Next time, just say no.”

“She'll ask for reasons,” I said, slumping forward.

Lottie shook her head sadly. “You've stood up to kidnappers and killers, but you can't say no to your cousin?”

“It's not that I can't say no,” I said. “I just can't lie.”

“Sweetie, you can't go wrong if you're honest about your feelings,” Lottie said, getting up to pour fresh coffee. “They're your feelings; they can't be argued with. It's just like with the mattress issue. Be straightforward. Tell Jillian you're not up to babysitting her dog.”

Grace cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders. “As Confucius said, ‘Respect yourself and others will respect you.'”

“Amen to that,” Lottie said.

“Well, anyway,” I said to Grace, “thanks for helping me get rid of Jillian.”

“You're welcome, dear,” Grace said, “but you really do need to get ready for that appointment.”

•   •   •

During my lunch hour, I took Seedy for a walk around the square to Community Park, the small-town version of New York City's ginormous Central Park. Our park had a band shell and performing stage, a water fountain for kids to play in, benches on the green space ringing the park, and lots of newly planted trees. Seedy was fearful of all the people at first, but once she started sniffing trees, she forgot her fear and began to roll around on the cool grass, having a great time. I saw a few people casting skeptical glances her way, as though they couldn't believe a pitiful sight like her could exist, but others wanted to know all about her. I didn't mind answering because it gave me the opportunity to talk about the plight of rescued animals that needed homes.

As soon as I got back to Bloomers, I took a photo of the leather key chain, uploaded it onto my computer, and enlarged it. Then, while I ate my turkey sandwich, I sketched out what the design on the front looked like—a short pipe sticking out of a circle at a ninety degree angle. There seemed to be a rim around the inside of the circle. Was the circle a wheel?

“Whatcha looking at?” Lottie asked, peering over my shoulder at the image on the monitor.

I held up the key chain. “I'm trying to figure out what this image is. What does it look like to you? I tried to draw it out.”

“Looks like a gun,” she said, squinting at it.

“It's a cannon,” Grace said. Not surprisingly, I hadn't heard her come in. “An old-fashioned military cannon. Cannon Construction has used that logo for decades. If you look closely, you'll see the letter C on the inside of the wheel.”

Once she pointed it out, I could see the letter on the monitor's image. It was not as evident on the key chain itself, which had been worn nearly smooth.

“Seedy dug it out of the dirt near the body,” I told the women.

“Aha,” Grace said. “Your first clue.”

“Or not,” Lottie said. “It could have been dropped there during the building's construction.”

“The building is over ninety years old, Lottie dear,” Grace said. “Cannon Construction Company didn't exist back then. As I recall, Kermit started his business in the late sixties. His son runs it now.”

“His name was Kermit?” I asked. “Like the frog?”

“It was an old Irish name long before it was given to a frog,” Grace said.

“So,” I said, studying the leather strap, “how did a key chain from the late nineteen sixties end up buried beneath the floor of a ninety-year-old building?”

“I'll bet Kermit dropped it there while he was doing some work for Rusty Miller,” Lottie said.

“It couldn't have been for Rusty Miller,” I said. “According to the interview Rusty gave Connor MacKay that was in today's paper, the floor was intact for the entire thirty years that he owned it. So it would have to have been for the previous owner.”

Grace tapped her chin. “I believe Mr. MacKay got that wrong, love—either that or Rusty has a faulty memory. Do ask Gert. She'll know when Rusty took over the place.”

“Hey, Gracie,” Lottie said, “remember what a big scandal it was when Kermit left his wife and kids to run off with Parthenia Pappas?”

“That's the story I was trying to remember yesterday,” Grace said. “Kermit and Parthenia. Midseventies, if I remember correctly.”

“Parthenia Pappas?” I asked. “The Duchess?”

“The very same,” Grace said.

Parthenia Pappas, who billed herself as the Duchess of Tenth Street, partly due to her regal bearing and Greco-Egyptian descent and partly due to her studio on Tenth Street, was a local celebrity. She worked in multiple art media but had become well-known nationally for her sculpture. My mother was a huge fan and had recently begun taking sculpting lessons from her. I wondered if Mom knew about the Duchess's infamous past.

“What a tragedy it was,” Grace said. “Kermit's wife was left with children to raise and a business to run, while Parthenia returned to town years later as a renowned artist and resumed her life as though nothing had happened, with nary a mention of Kermit or what the two of them had been doing.”

“And ol' Kermit,” Lottie said, “never came back, probably too ashamed, the scalawag.”

“Or he was onto another woman,” Grace said. “Kermit had quite an eye for the ladies.”

“And they had an eye for him,” Lottie said. “He was a looker, tall, well built, and a real charmer, too.”

I pursed my lips and stared at the key chain, my mind spinning their tidbits of gossip into possibilities. “Was there ever any proof that Kermit actually did leave town, like sightings of him or reports of him contacting his children?”

“Not that I can remember,” Grace said. “The
New Chapel News
kept the Cannon scandal alive for months and would revisit it annually, but nothing interesting ever came of it. That's not to say Kermit never contacted family at some point.”

“Interesting,” I said. “It's as if Kermit vanished into thin air, leaving his key chain behind.”

Grace glanced at me with a sly gleam in her eye. “I believe I know where you're going with this.”

“Where?” Lottie asked, looking from Grace to me.

“To the basement, dear,” Grace said. “She's wondering whether it's Kermit who's buried in the basement. I always felt that there was something peculiar about Kermit abandoning his family. He was an extremely jealous man who watched over his wife as though every chap in town was after her. He got himself arrested on a number of occasions for battering men who looked at her too long. However, that didn't stop Kermit from going after other women.”

“It seems like quite a leap to go from Kermit being a cheating husband to a murder victim just because of a key chain,” Lottie said.

“Not just because,” I said, “but this key chain is the only link to those bones that I have.”

“Might I inquire as to why you have the key chain and not the detectives?” Grace asked.

I was about to explain how I'd ended up with it, but we all knew holding on to what might turn out to be crucial evidence wasn't a good thing to do, so I decided to take Grace's advice and say no.

Her eyes widened in surprise; then she nodded approvingly. “Good for you, love.” She looked at Lottie and said with a knowing smile, “She'll tell us eventually.”

“Help me out,” I said, grabbing my tablet and a pen. “Who besides Kermit might have had one of these key chains?”

“Let me think,” Grace said, tapping her chin. “As I recall, it was just Kermit in the company for years until he took on a younger partner. Nice fellow by the name of Henry Greer, who, it's been said, Kermit treated better than his own son. I believe you met Henry once, Abby, when we had a plumbing problem. He owns Greer Plumbing.”

“I remember meeting him,” I said. “He seems like a nice guy.”

“Very conscientious and hardworking,” Grace said. “Unlike Kermit, who liked to imbibe a little too much. Toward the end, as I recall, Henry was doing the lion's share of the work due to Kermit's drinking problem.”

“I don't remember that,” Lottie said.

“You're a lot younger than I am, Lottie, dear,” Grace said. “You were probably staging a protest on the university lawn, or burning your bra.”

Blushing, Lottie said, “I did do a lot of that, come to think of it.”

“Did the business do okay or did Kermit's drinking affect it?” I asked.

“It seemed to do well despite Kermit's drinking,” Grace said, “probably because of Henry. After Kermit left, Henry worked for Kermit's wife and continued to do well until he left to start his plumbing company.”

I wasn't seeing much in terms of motive for Henry, so I went on. “Other than Kermit and Henry, who else might have had a key chain? Their wives?”

“Henry never married, did he, Gracie?” Lottie asked.

“Never,” Grace said. “It's possible that Kermit's wife had one, I suppose. Her name was Lila. She died a few years ago, as I recall.”

“How about customers?” I asked. “Would Kermit have handed them out as a promotional item?”

“I would hardly think so,” Grace said. “Kermit was as tightfisted as a fellow could be.”

“Probably spent his extra money on booze,” Lottie said.

“He certainly didn't spend it on his family,” Grace said.

“Well, he had at least one key chain made,” I said, letting it dangle from my fingers.

“Perhaps Lila had it made as a gift for him,” Grace offered, “or perhaps Henry Greer had one made for each of them. Henry was the one who was always trying to promote the business, as much as Kermit would allow, of course.”

Lottie looked at Grace in amazement. “How do you know all this?”

“I got to know Kermit's children quite well,” Grace said, “especially the oldest, Douglas, or Doug, as he preferred to be called. I was the high school librarian back then, and Doug spent a lot of time in the library reading books on architecture and construction. I truly believe it was to impress his father so Kermit would take him on as an apprentice after high school, but of course that never happened.

“Very bright young man, Doug was,” Grace continued, “and quite close to his mum.”

I tapped my pen on the pad of paper. “That narrows the list to Kermit, his wife, Lila, possibly their children, and Henry Greer.”

“I would eliminate Kermit's two daughters,” Grace said. “They would never have been allowed in a bar, so they wouldn't have had the opportunity to drop a key chain there. I doubt they would have wanted to be around Kermit anyway. No love lost between the children and their father.”

“Wouldn't you say the same for Kermit's wife?” Lottie asked.

“I think the poor dear cared for him despite his flaws,” Grace said. “I remember numerous occasions when Lila was seen pushing and pulling him to her car, with Kermit drunk as the proverbial skunk and barely able to walk. Unfortunately, there's no way to question her now.”

“Am I remembering right that she married Rusty Miller?” Lottie asked.

“Yes, you are,” Grace said. “About two years after Kermit's alleged abandonment, Lila got a divorce and married Rusty.”

“Hold on,” I said, writing furiously. “I'm getting confused. Kermit took on Henry Greer as a partner, and Henry continued to work for Lila after Kermit vanished—until when?”

“I believe until Doug graduated and took over the business,” Grace said.

“Do you have any idea why Henry left to open his own company?” I asked.