Chapter 15 #2
“Let’s get to know Reika better.”
Darcy stared at me, waiting for more.
“I know she reads historical fiction, like the Elizabethan Spy Mystery series by Suzanne B. Wolfe and the Wrexford her face slack.
Apparently, she’d been arrested for disorderly conduct after attending a conference for the American Alliance of Museums. In a drunken stupor, she’d taken down an entire exhibit.
How embarrassing, I reflected, but the incident had nothing to do with Jason Gardner.
I moved on to Patrick. I still wanted to know what Jason had been referring to regarding his childhood.
It couldn’t have been about Patrick making prank calls as a teen or about him and his buddy Zorro being hauled in for eco-trashing.
Leaking information about those mild offenses wouldn’t affect Patrick’s current business.
Using the Internet search engine again, I learned Patrick’s name was quite popular. Lots of links appeared. I narrowed it down by city and state and landed on an article referencing Patrick S. Hardwick and featuring a picture of him and a few other guys at the top of Mount Kilimanjaro.
Moving on, I spied a link to a person-in-the-spotlight article in the Bramblewood Times. The text next to the link read: Hardwick’s sealed record for assault remains secret.
My adrenaline kicked up a notch. I clicked on the link, which led to a blank page with a picture of a miracle cure for belly flab.
“Crud,” I muttered. “A broken link.”
Was the assault the “other thing” Zorro had alluded to?
I doubted Patrick would discuss the matter.
Hoping to track Zorro down and press him for answers, I was about to type his first name in the search bar—how many Zorros could there be?
—when I caught sight of a disturbing image of Patrick lower down on the server page.
“Age ten,” the caption read. He was standing at a graveside, staring solemnly at the coffin of his father, who had passed away in prison.
Holy moly.
The two-line explanation below the caption went on to say that Patrick’s father went to jail for killing a man, but it didn’t mention whom he killed. Had Patrick inherited his biological father’s bad genes? Had Jason learned about this and, to keep Patrick in line, threatened to expose him?
Given his history of assault, I could see Patrick wanting to squelch the story of him being the son of a known murderer.
I pulled a blank thumb drive from the top drawer of the desk and saved my grid document. Then I hurried out of the office to inform Tegan of my findings.
At the same time, Finette sauntered through the front door and made a beeline for the sales counter.
Tegan and Chloe were assisting customers who were looking for specific books, so I went to help her.
“What brings you in?” I asked pleasantly.
“You picked up your second copy of The Great Gatsby earlier.”
“I ran into a friend and was telling her about your darling shop, and she mentioned a series I should start. Juliet Blackwell’s Haunted Home Renovation mysteries. I don’t know the title of the first.”
“If Walls Could Talk. We happen to have it on hand. Let me show you.” I escorted her to the mystery aisle.
“In the story Melanie Turner, the protagonist, is a remodeler in San Francisco. There are eight books in the series. I’ve read all of them.
They’re terrific.” When she didn’t respond, I mustered the courage to say, “How are you doing, by the way?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Earlier at Lillian’s shop you … I mean …” I groped for the right words. “How are you doing with Jason gone?”
“Ooh.” She fanned the air, as if willing herself not to cry. “I’m devastated and also stressed out. Even though his murder hasn’t been solved, the town council wants to go forward with the project with Iggie at the helm.”
“No!”
“Yes. He circumvented me and pressed the others for an answer. That man makes me so …” She hissed between her teeth.
I pulled the Blackwell book from the shelf and gave Finette a quick recap. “In this story, Mel is visited by the ghost of a colleague who recently met a bad end with power tools.”
“Talking about meeting a bad end, I wouldn’t put it past Iggie to have killed Jason to get rid of the competition. You know about his father, don’t you? They say he died of a heart attack and left all his wealth to Iggie, but his demise sounds suspiciously convenient to me.”
“I heard.” I didn’t say more, loath to reveal I’d done my own research. “But from what I hear, nothing untoward happened. He had heart issues.”
“Ha! I have read enough mysteries to know there are ways to cause heart attacks. As for killing Jason, Iggie—”
“Has an alibi. He was playing poker.”
“Pfft. He could’ve paid his poker buddies to lie about his whereabouts. They’re always in cahoots about one thing or another. However, I suppose he might have been gambling. He’s not careful with his money. My father—”
“Do you and Iggie have a history?” I interrupted, the question eating at me. Their relationship was complex.
She frowned and pursed her lips. After a long silence, she said, “We dated. Years ago. He was between wives. It didn’t work out.”
Did she blame him for the botched relationship, which would explain why she was throwing shade on him? Out of spite, had she pitted him against Jason and vice versa?
“As I was saying,” Finette continued, “my father used to tell me, ‘Do not save what is left after spending, but spend what is left after saving.’” She placed a hand over her heart.
“He was always uttering witticisms and quoting great men. I shared a few quips with Jason. He wished he’d met my dad.
” She sighed and pointed to the book I was holding.
“Ring that up for me. I’ve got a meeting to attend. ”
When she left with her purchase, I replayed our conversation and her insinuation that Iggie wasn’t to be trusted.
Was it a diversion to mask her own guilt?
I revisited the theory that she might have killed Jason because she’d been in love with him, but he’d rejected her.
What would her beloved father have told her to do?
Eighty-six him? No, he would have channeled Winston Churchill.
“Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.”
Allie, you’re on the wrong track.Finette hadn’t killed Iggie after they’d broken up. Therefore, she wouldn’t have killed Jason, either.
Tegan sidled to me. “What’s going on in your cleverly devious brain?”
I sighed. “I wish I could read minds.”