Chapter 10 #2
“Poor Finette,” Lillian said. “She adored him. I know some folks in town didn’t appreciate him, but I think he would’ve grown on all of us in time. He was so debonair.” She eyed the dress bag. “Why don’t we review costumes another time, when the mood is a tad brighter?”
“What a good idea,” Tegan said.
Lillian hoisted the dress bag and left.
As the door swung shut, I wondered if I should reach out to my parents.
They were pushing seventy, not old-old, but they were always traveling.
How many more years did they have on this earth?
The last time I’d seen them was at Marigold’s memorial.
They’d made a special visit because of my relationship with her.
While Chloe and Tegan tended to the customers who were ready to check out, I took my sandwich to the office, sat at the desk and, using my cell phone, dialed my mother. Darcy joined me, nestling into my lap. I could feel his heart beating against my thighs.
My mother answered after one ring.
“Hi, Fern.” Neither of my parents liked to be referred to as Mom or Dad. They’d believed I would grow up faster if I used their formal names. Friends had always questioned me about it. I’d shrugged and said my parents were stubborn in their ways.
“Hello, Cookie.”
Over the years, Fern had used only one nickname for me.
She preferred calling me Allie. Although she and my dad had taught me to be in charge of my fate at an early age, they had been adamant I not eat too much sugar.
They’d indulged me with a single cookie a week.
One. Big whoop. Doesn’t it figure that later on I would adore sugary treats and, of all things, would become a baker?
“Where are you these days?” I asked. They enjoyed traveling to exotic places.
“Machu Picchu.”
I was familiar with the area because I’d done a report in high school about the fifteenth-century Incan citadel, often referred to as the Lost City of the Incas. Point of fact: Most archeologists believed the citadel was the estate of the Incan emperor Pachacuti.
“How’s the weather?” I asked.
“Temperate, because the Urubamba River flows past the citadel and cuts through the Cordillera Mountains, creating a tropical mountain climate.”
“Are you reading the words off a brochure?”
She chuckled. “You caught me. This trip was your father’s decision.
Next one’s mine. I’m thinking Antarctica.
I’d love to see penguins in their natural habitat.
Oh, to be at the end of the world, where there’s absolutely no permanent human habitation.
” She sighed dreamily. “So …” She dragged out the word, as if expecting me to speak.
When I didn’t, she said, “Why are you calling? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Liars never prosper,” she cautioned.
“I don’t lie.” Or rarely do, I mused. If only I hadn’t to Zach.
“Then you’re stretching the truth. Spill. Don’t tell me there’s been another murder.”
“Mom.” I didn’t regret using the term. “How did you guess? Yes. A man. A developer. I found him.”
“Heavens, Allie, you stumbled upon another body? Your karma is totally out of whack.”
I couldn’t disagree.
“Bramblewood is so dangerous,” she added.
“Every place in the world has its issues. Even Machu Picchu.”
“Why haven’t I read anything about the murder?”
Why would you have? I mused. She read newsletters like Abstract and Applied Analysis and Duke Mathematical Journal.
Those kinds of publications kept her up-to-date about scientific and statistical discoveries.
She’d always hoped I’d follow in her footsteps, but math and I were not friends.
Chemistry, yes. Math, no. I’d needed Tegan’s help to get me through calculus.
“When did it happen?” she asked.
“Last night. He was new to town. He was working on securing the right to build a mall on the four historic properties across the street from the Congregational church.”
“The nerve. Those are sacred homes. Originals.” Her fevered pitch surprised me.
She didn’t care a fig about Bramblewood.
She’d never enjoyed living here, hence the reason she and my father were in constant motion, spending their life savings, of which they had plenty.
My father, a knowledgeable and successful venture capitalist until he retired, had invested wisely.
“Did you know your nana’s best friend lived in the blue Victorian with white trim? ”
“She did?”
“Yes. Her name was Cora Yeager.”
“Interesting. Reika Moore, who runs the history museum, said Cora was her mother’s best friend, too.”
“Everybody knew Cora.” Fern chuckled. “She was a rascal. And quite wealthy.”
“I heard the Yeagers owned all the properties.”
“Yes. Four in a row. Her family were original settlers. After they passed on, she rented the homes but never divested herself of them. When her daughter was a teenager, the girl wanted to move north to pursue a career on Broadway, but Cora put her foot down.” She took a deep breath.
“‘Absolutely not. You will live and die in Bramblewood,’” Fern said in an emotive, actressy way, contrary to her own steady voice.
“Years later, her daughter married and had a child. When the girl was four, Cora’s daughter and her husband relocated to New York.
After they moved, Cora declined, went into a nursing home, and, still upset with her daughter, left all the properties to Bramblewood as a gift. ”
“Did Cora have any skeletons in the closet that might have pitted the town against preserving the properties?” I mean, why else would they want to sell the properties, unless Bramblewood needed the cash?
“I haven’t a clue.” Fern cleared her throat. “Allie, what are you going to do?”
“About?”
“You solved Marigold’s murder. Will you dig into this one? After all, you stumbled upon the body. Do you have any theories?”
“Fern …” I paused, choosing my words carefully. “I should mention I’m a suspect.”
“Wh-what?” she stammered. “How in the world …?”
I explained the circumstantial evidence—the spearhead, the Celtic knot earring, my presence, the missing text messages. “Also, I objected to Jason destroying the historic sites. Detective Armstrong—”
“The good-looking man your father and I met at the memorial? I remember him well. What a charmer. Are you two still dating?”
“No. It didn’t work out.” Was Zach holding a grudge about our breakup? Was it even a breakup? After all, we’d dated such a short time.
“Is he the lead investigator? He’d better not be railroading you so he doesn’t appear to be biased in your favor.”
“He’s not.” At least I hoped that didn’t factor into his reasoning. “He’s not one to jump to conclusions, but finding my missing earring at the site is pretty damning.”
“As is the weapon the murderer used. I always hated those artifacts,” Fern said. “Your father was enamored with the idea of having something original to the land hanging in the house.”
“Really?”
“His father was into historical things, although he wasn’t himself. I think your grandfather would have loved to have been an explorer and discovered new worlds. He often visited archaeological digs to get a preview of what scientists were unearthing.”
I hadn’t known my grandfather well. I was four when he died. But I remembered my father telling colorful stories about him.
“You do what you need to, to exonerate yourself,” Fern cautioned. “I presume Tegan will help you. She’s a smart girl.”
“Yes. She’ll help, as will a few others.” I smiled at the notion of Allie’s Clue Crew. “I should get back to work.”
“Keep me in the loop.”
When I ended the call, Darcy leaped onto the desk and mewed. Was he hungry, or was he telling me he, too, was one of my staunch supporters?
I inspected his toenail, which looked a whole heap better, and pulled him into my lap. “Who did it, sir?” I asked. “Who killed Jason Gardner?”