Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The handkerchief had been turning slow circles in my mind since I woke up, and four hours into the morning rush it still hadn’t stopped.
I’d burned my thumb on the kettle at one point and hadn’t noticed until Carly pointed at the red mark and handed me a wet cloth.
I’d shortchanged a tourist couple from Georgia by two dollars, caught it, apologized, and then given them the wrong change a second time.
A woman I’d never seen before with sun-pink shoulders, and carrying a tote bag printed with flip-flops, ordered a lavender Earl Grey, and I’d made her chamomile without thinking and had to start over.
The shop was full, the tables were full, and the line at the counter was four or five deep.
And there was no one but the weather to blame.
Gone was the sun and heat, and in its place was a summer storm that had blown in a half hour before and cleared the beaches, forcing tourists to find the closest shelter.
Audrey was running the register. Carly was working the floor. Chowder was on his cushion in a striped sailor hoodie, pretending to take a nap while keeping an eye on everyone. And I was behind the counter making specialty tea and coffee on autopilot while my mind was somewhere else entirely.
It all came back to a single embroidered J in blue thread on white linen. It should have narrowed things down. Instead, it had done the opposite.
I set a plate of scones on the counter harder than I meant to and reminded myself that suspicion wasn’t evidence. Dash had said that. I’d been repeating it since five in the morning like a hymn I didn’t quite believe.
A loud crack of thunder vibrated the windows just as the bell above the door chimed. I couldn’t help the smile that came across my face.
Dash had his sunglasses pushed up on his head, and he was in full uniform, though he wore a police official rain jacket in hi-vis yellow. He scanned the room, a reflex so ingrained he probably didn’t realize he did it, and then his eyes found mine and he came to the counter.
“I like that dress,” he said, moving to the side so not to interrupt the traffic flow to the counter.
I’d picked a bright yellow, empire-waist dress with cap sleeves and white polka dots, thinking I needed something sunny to hide the bags under my eyes from the late nights I’d been keeping. I was glad to see it was working.
“It’s crazy in here,” I said. “You want coffee?”
“It’s crazy out there too,” he said. “Just plain and black. You’d be surprised how many people we’re still having to clear out of the water.”
“I’m not surprised at all,” I said, putting his coffee in a to-go cup. “They’re people after all.”
He waited until there was a lull in traffic and said, “I called James this morning.”
I changed out filters and disposed of tea leaves. “And?”
“He’s agreed to meet with us. I told him we had a few more questions about things we’ve uncovered.”
“Genevieve should be here in the next hour to take my place. I’ll be ready.”
“I’ll pick you up here,” he said.
“Thanks for the coffee,” he said. And then he winked. “And for letting me look at you. Brightened my day.”
I was still smiling and thinking about him when the phone rang.
“Perfect Steep,” I said. “This is Mabel.”
“Mabel, this is Josephine. I hope I’m not interrupting.”
I looked at the full tea shop and said, “Not at all. How are you this morning?”
“Restless,” she said. “I feel like a trapped cat in a cage with this rain. I’d like to be out in the gardens.
I always find gardening a comfort in difficult times.
I’ve heard through the grapevine that you’ve been very busy.
I’m glad to hear it. More than anyone else ever did, and for that I’m grateful. ”
“We’re finding out quite a bit of new information.” I hesitated, wondering how much to tell her, and decided to keep things vague for the time being. “We have some more interviews coming up this afternoon.”
“Good, good,” she said.
“I’m actually glad you called,” I said. “We’ve been through all of the boxes you and James gave us.
There was a handkerchief tucked in with Henry’s things.
White linen, with a monogrammed J in blue thread.
Lila Mae remembered seeing it the morning she found him in the study.
” I picked up a cloth and ran it along the counter.
“Does that sound familiar to you at all?”
The pause on her end was long enough that I wondered if we’d been disconnected.
“That whole period is like reading through water,” she said finally. “I don’t recall finding one. And it doesn’t sound like mine. My handkerchiefs have always been cream thread on cream linen. I’ve kept them the same since my wedding trousseau.”
“Okay,” I said. “Most of this job is process of elimination.”
There was a hesitation in her voice when she spoke next. “The handkerchief you’re describing. I do know someone who carries a handkerchief that matches that description.”
“Who?” I asked.
“James has always carried handkerchiefs. Ever since he was a young man. Beautiful ones, linen, always monogrammed.” She went quiet for a breath, caught by the memory.
“I remember because Henry used to tease him about it. Henry thought it was the most old-fashioned habit in the world. He never carried one himself. James always said a gentleman was never without one, and Henry would laugh and say that was exactly the sort of thing an old man would say. And then James would say he was born in the wrong decade.”
The sounds of the shop continued around me—the register, the door, two women at the table by the window arguing pleasantly about whether they had time for another pot before their ferry.
“Do you remember what color his monograms were?” I asked.
She didn’t answer right away.
“Blue,” she said finally. “Always blue.”
I thanked her and got off the phone, and then patted my hair nervously. I looked around and wondered if anyone had a clue of the riotous emotions going through me at the moment.
I spotted Walt through the front window, moving with his head down and his shoulders set. The bell announced him and he made straight for the counter, past a table of retirees playing cards who tried to wave him over, and past a young couple sharing a pot of tea who didn’t look up at all.
“Mabel,” he said, and lowered his voice. “My Treasury contact came through. He traced one of the account numbers from Henry’s ledger.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “James Everett.”
“How’d you know?” he asked.
“Lucky guess. Your guy is certain?”
“Treasury guys don’t have a since of humor. He’s certain.”
I thought about how James had sat in my home and talked about Henry Wainwright with tears in his eyes. Real grief in his voice. Or what had looked like grief. A quarter century was a long time to believe your own version of things.
“Those handwritten pages we’d found,” I said. “Henry was tracking James. He knew who it was.”
“The timing of Henry’s death is very suspicious if he didn’t know,” Walt confirmed. “And then you look at how quickly he was able to pivot. Putting the blame on Henry, getting a new CFO and a new board all in a short time period. Then he goes clean and no one is the wiser.”
“We’re meeting with James again soon,” I said, looking at the clock on the wall.
Walt looked at me steadily. “I’d like to be a fly on that wall. But I’ll settle for being well informed when you’re done.”
“I’ll call you,” I promised.
When the shop finally thinned and Genevieve showed up, I slipped into the back room, checked my lipstick in the small mirror on the wall, and grabbed my bag and an umbrella. The rain hadn’t even thought about slowing down.
Chowder was waiting in the doorway, but he looked hesitant.
“You know you don’t want to be out in the rain,” I said. “And you didn’t bring your raincoat this morning.”
He gave a woof of agreement and trotted back to his bed.
Dash pulled up to the back of the shop a few minutes later. He pulled close to the door so I didn’t have to get wet getting in.
“You ready for this?”
“Not at all,” I said. “I might throw up.”
“Perfectly normal response,” he said. “Happens a lot in law enforcement.”
“I’d hate to hear whatever else you think is normal,” I said, squinting through the wipers. “Did Walt talk to you?”
“Yeah,” he said with a sigh. “I’ve been in this job a long time. People never cease to surprise me.”
“Oh good,” I said. “I was hoping I’d develop some kind of sixth sense where criminals are concerned. Like a beacon would appear on their foreheads and I’d know they were bad.”
“You’re in an odd mood.”
“I’ve had a lot of caffeine today,” I said by way of apology. “He’s been helping us from the beginning. Giving us access to the foundation records. Why would he do that if he had something to hide?”
“To know what we found during the investigation,” Dash said. “Any evidence. Who we questioned. Our thought processes.”
“Keep your friends close, and the cops sniffing you out closer, huh?”
“Something like that.”
“He could have hidden evidence from us,” I said. “We’d never know.”
“He could have,” Dash agreed.
We passed the park and Henry Wainwright’s old house and then a little farther down, Dottie’s. I watched it as we went by.
“You think he did it?” I asked. “Killed him?”
“That’s what we need to find out. It’s the last piece of the puzzle.”
James’s house sat on the north end of the island where the old families had built deep into the live oaks and turned everything toward the water.
It was Federal style, white with black shutters, three stories with a double gallery across the front.
A low brick wall ran the perimeter, just high enough to mark the line.
A pair of old crape myrtles flanked the front walk, their trunks gone silver with age, their branches grown into each other overhead after decades of reaching for the same light.
His car was in the drive.
Dash cut the engine and waited a few seconds while the engine ticked to see if the rain would slow down. It didn’t.