Chapter 9 #2
“Why would he have it in for you?” Chloe asked.
Good question. I’d never catered for Iggie or his wife. Neither frequented the bookshop.
“Why was everyone in town dining at the Brewery on a Monday?” Tegan asked.
“The Charlotte Knights were playing. All the TVs were tuned to the game. You know, I’ve seen Iggie walking a German shepherd. Doesn’t he live near the estates?”
“I think you’re right.” Tegan swatted the handle on the trolley, as if landing on a new theory. “Let’s circle back to Reika. What if the murder weapon isn’t yours? Suppose Reika swiped a spearpoint from the museum.”
“Or the killer did, meaning whoever killed him didn’t sneak into my place and steal it, but then why is it gone?” I stewed over the coincidence. “And what about my earring? One was definitely planted at the crime scene for the police to find.” I brought Chloe up to speed regarding the evidence.
“Is it possible Reika saw you lose it?” Chloe asked.
“Good question. If I were you”—Tegan pointed at me— “I’d have a chat with her.”
Bramblewood History Museum was situated in a two-story frame house built in the 1800s, across the street from the Congregational church and catty-corner to the sites Jason was going to purchase.
The house was covered with beaded weather-board and featured two brick fireplaces.
Black shutters around the windows gave the building a distinguished look.
The museum didn’t officially open until eleven, but the front door was unlocked, so I entered.
The interior was well maintained, with recently refinished hardwood floors and beautiful Persian runners.
To the left, a visitor could grab a map and view a display board pinned with details about upcoming events.
The main hallway held a timeline of the development of Bramblewood and the Asheville area.
Visitors could view all the artifacts, which were mounted or displayed in glass cases.
The kitchen to the left was always decorated as if dinner was about to be prepared.
The rustic wooden table held antique pottery and tools.
The fireplace was artificially aglow, and cookware stood at the ready.
The living room to the right was similarly decked out, but the meal would be much fancier, served on a maple table fitted with dishes and glassware and a gorgeous lace tablecloth.
I peered into the glass case holding spearpoints to see if one of the spearpoints was missing, but I didn’t notice any empty spots, which didn’t mean anything. Reika might have a cache of items not on display. I recalled she’d come across all sorts of décor for the Gatsby party in the attic.
“Allie, hello.” Reika passed through the archway leading to the kitchen.
Her jacket, blouse, and skirt today were a dull beige.
She’d added a chunky natural stone necklace for color.
The aroma of her pungent perfume arrived before she did.
“What brings you in? Do you want to see where we’ll be setting up the tea on Thursday? ”
“No, I came because …” I stammered, unable to bring myself to grill her. “We’re friends, right? I mean, you come to the book clubs, and you’re helping with the Gatsby party.”
“Yes, of course. Why do you ask?” The way she tilted her head reminded me of the plump nonmigratory songbird known as the Carolina wren.
“Because …” I scrutinized Reika’s face for any hint of malice but found none, making me hopeful she wasn’t the killer.
“Allie, are you all right?”
I forced the tension in my shoulders to ease before continuing. “Jason Gardner was killed.”
“Heavens.” She struggled for breath. “What a one-eighty from asking me if we were friends.”
“I didn’t want to blurt it outright.”
“How did he die?”
“He was stabbed with an artifact. A crystal quartz spearpoint particular to the Clovis tribe.”
“His death hasn’t been on the news. None of the staff has mentioned it, either. How do you know so much?”
“I found him.”
“My.” She covered her mouth with her fingertips. “You poor dear.”
“Zach … I mean Detective Armstrong will probably be asking you some questions.”
“About spearpoints?”
“Yes. Have you noticed any missing?” I didn’t mention mine could be the actual weapon.
She moved along the displays, assessing them as I had. “Each cabinet appears to be intact. Only the janitor and I have the keys to them.”
I trailed her. “Are there more in the attic?”
“There could be. My grandfather was a terrible hoarder. There are dozens of unmarked boxes, which I keep promising to sort through, but I never find the time.” She moaned softly.
“I worried something like this might happen to Mr. Gardner. He was making enemies left and right. I hoped the town would see the light and prevent him from getting the properties, and then it would—”
“Cede the properties to the preservation society.”
“Yes.” She lowered her voice. “Who killed him? Do the police know? The vitriol from the likes of Ignatius Luckenbill toward him was intolerable.”
From you, as well, I thought.
“Come with me.” She guided me into the living room and ushered me to the right, out of earshot of anyone who might work at the museum.
“I know I was rather vocal about my desires at Ragamuffin on Sunday, and I’m ashamed to say I locked horns with Jason Gardner publicly after that.
He’d come into the museum, probing for answers about the Yeagers, the family who previously owned the houses. ”
“They owned all of them?”
“All.” She sighed. “He asked direct questions until his curiosity began to irk me. You see, Cora Yeager happened to be my mother’s best friend. When I asked him why he wanted to know, he shrugged and said, ‘No reason,’ but I could tell he was fishing.”
“She might have been a friend of his parents.”
“I doubt it. They would’ve been at least two decades apart.
But possibly she had been his parents’ nemesis.
Cora had a way about her, Mother said. She irked a lot of people.
I kept thinking Jason might intend to trash Cora’s name, thus pitting the town against the need to protect the properties.
If I’m honest”—Reika toyed with the centermost bead of her necklace— “I didn’t want him, in particular, to have the property, because he wanted to build a mall. ”
“I know.”
“In fact, I was so dismayed by his plan, I sent him vicious texts and emails.”
Texts and emails didn’t kill people.
“How I wish I could erase them from the stratosphere.” She swiped the air with a hand. “Wouldn’t it be magical if we could? You know the kinds of messages I’m talking about, like the ones you send at two a.m. and rue until the day you die?”
I’d sent a few of those to my ex-fiancé.
“But there are all sorts of people I disagree with,” she went on, “and they’ve received the same kinds of messages from me. I can be quite prickly. At least I’m consistent in that regard.” She shook her head. “Poor, poor Mr. Gardner.”
“Jason,” I murmured. The title Mr. Gardner didn’t fit him. It sounded stuffy.
“Where did he …?” She didn’t finish.
“In his house.”
“When did you …?” She fanned the air, evidently flustered by her own curiosity.
“Around eleven thirty.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Why were you there so late?”
I explained.
“Urgent. He wrote it was urgent?” She blinked, as if trying to unearth more from the term.
“I wish I could have accompanied you. I was home with my sweet dog, reading an Elizabethan spy novel, The Course of All Treasons. Do you know the book? By Suzanne B. Wolfe? In the story, the royal retinue is thrown into chaos when the queen’s youngest and sweetest lady-in-waiting is—”
“Murdered. Yes, I know. We read the novel in book club last year, don’t you recall?”
Her expression shifted. “Did we? I’ve read all sorts of books multiple times.
By the way, you are a gem at the bookshop.
” She tapped her temple. “So knowledgeable. So polite.” She clasped both hands.
“What has come over me? I’m prattling as if I didn’t have a care in the world.
A man, a real man, not a fictional being, has been killed. Do the police have any suspects?”
The door to the museum opened, and Zach strode through. He gawked at me. “What are you doing here?”
“Going over a menu for the tea Reika has hired me to provide on Thursday,” I said, feeling my cheeks warm from the lie. “But I’m leaving. Bye.”
I hightailed it out of there and didn’t look back.