String of Lies Page 9

  Randy looked over his sandwich at Jo as he took a huge bite of his ham and cheese. He worked at it a few moments, gulped, then asked, “Too nice?”

  Jo wiped at the corner of her mouth. Bert’s sauce was delicious, but definitely oozy. “I guess I mean that if you’re making yourself unhappy because you’re trying to please other people too much, you’re being too nice. Right now Loralee is considering selling her house in order to make someone else happy. But I’m afraid doing that will ultimately make Loralee miserable. Her home means a lot to her.”

  Randy nodded, chewing on that thought as well as his ham and cheese. “We had a nice house on our farm,” he said. “I miss it.”

  “Yes, I heard you grew up on a farm.”

  “Yeah,” Randy said. “We grew tobacco, some corn, kept cows. I even had a couple goats for a while.” He looked up at Jo with a face fluctuating between pleasure and pain at the memories.

  “I guess that was a great way for a kid to grow up, huh?”

  “Yeah. But then my pop had that tractor accident. I was off picking up seed when it happened. It was tough. My mom, she was never the same after that. I think that’s probably why she got sick and died. But I know she felt bad about leaving me on my own, even though I was out of school and everything.”

  “How long out of school?” Jo asked.

  “Almost a year.”

  So Randy was only about nineteen when he was orphaned. Old enough, some would say, to stand on his own two feet. But to Jo it seemed terribly young. No wonder he’d stumbled around, with the rug being yanked out from under him like that. When Jo’s own father died her jewelry design career had a good start and she was on the brink of being married. Losing her father had been traumatic, but it hadn’t derailed her life like losing Mike had.

  “So you sold your farm then?” Jo asked.

  “Yeah. But I didn’t want to, really. It had been in our family for, uh, since my great-grandfather bought it, way back.”

  “You didn’t think you could run it alone?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. There was a lot of, well, stuff going on then. And I was just a kid, you know?”

  Jo nodded. Her cell phone rang, and she said, “Excuse me,” and got up to retrieve the phone from her bag. She saw from the display it was Ina Mae. Jo walked toward the front of the store to take the call, wondering what this senior sleuth would have to tell her.

  CHAPTER 11

  Jo heard voices in the background, along with a soft clatter of dishes and tableware and realized Ina Mae must be calling from inside Hollander’s restaurant. The older woman spoke in a hushed tone. “They’re here. Just the two of them.” Ina Mae’s voice suddenly rose, startling Jo. “No, just coffee’s fine, thank you,” then, after a brief pause, she resumed her conspiratorial tone. “I walked past their table as slowly as I could manage without looking like an utter fool. What I picked up sounded like they were talking about an art show, maybe his. And I caught mention of Los Angeles.”

  Jo heard Randy get up from the table and drop his sandwich wrappings and Coke can in the waste basket. He walked toward her and continued on out the door, heading for his truck.

  Jo asked, “How does this lunch strike you? Business or social?” She could see Randy through the window, rooting around in his truck bed. Jo edged toward Carrie’s yarn bins, idly reaching out to stroke some of the softer skeins stacked there.

  “Oh, social, definitely,” Ina Mae said. “Mallory Holt has been known to patronize the arts, and I suppose this Zarnik fellow qualifies as an artist, though I’ve seen some of his work and it wouldn’t hang on my wall. But the look on her face – she’s facing me – is what we used to call moony-eyed.”

  “Hmm. So this confirms what Vernon said, that Mallory Holt was unhappy in her marriage. And she seems to have found her happiness elsewhere.”

  “Hmph!” Ina Mae snorted. “Happiness! If that’s what you want to call it. And,” she said in the same disdainful tone, “this relationship, as people also like to term these things now-a-days, certainly didn’t develop overnight. It’s been brewing for a while. Sitting here, out in the open with her husband not even in his grave yet, says a lot.”

  “Does it say she had a motive for murder?”

  “It does to me.”

  “Me too,” Jo said, squeezing a skein of super-soft pink baby yarn. “Unfortunately it doesn’t look like she had the opportunity.” She told Ina Mae what Alexis Wigsley had said about Mallory being off in Baltimore with her aunt, then at the committee meeting from three until six. As she did, Randy re-entered the shop and headed on back carrying a small rubber mallet.

  Ina Mae asked, “Have you had a chance to confirm Alexis’s story yet?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll give Sally Robinson a call, though it might mean getting roped into a committee I have no interest in. Have to have some pretext for calling, though, don’t I?.”

  “You’re a trooper, Ina Mae,” Jo said with a grin. Volunteering to discuss flower choices for three hours over tea and cookies would probably be, for this dynamic ex-teacher, as excruciating as seeing a class of third-graders run through a museum at top scream.

  “They’re getting up to go now,” Ina Mae whispered. “I’ll call you later.”

  Ina Mae disconnected, and Jo closed up her own phone. She heard Randy back at work banging at her stockroom walls, and headed back thoughtfully to her desk. Ina Mae might be able to establish that Mallory Holt was definitely with others the entire time Parker Holt’s murderer was setting up his death trap. Mallory had motive, but she may not have had opportunity. Someone new, however, had appeared on the radar who had the same motive as Mallory: Sebastian Zarnik.

  What, Jo wondered, was he doing between three and six?

  <><><>

  Jo had settled back at her desk and was pulling out an order sheet for stamping items, when she heard a tapping noise coming from her front window. Surely Ina Mae hadn’t rushed over from Hollander’s, had she? Or could it be Carrie? Except Carrie had her own key and wouldn’t be tapping. Curiosity caused Jo to stand up too impulsively which she quickly regretted as she spotted Alexis Wigsley peering back at her, hands cupped around her eyes as her nose pressed against the glass.

  “Yoo-hoo! Jo,” Alexis called, waving.

  It was too late to hide, but Jo walked to the window instead of the shop’s door, hoping to limit this interaction.

  Alexis, however, asked, “Can I come in, Jo? Just for a minute? It’s important.”

  Jo groaned inwardly, but how could she say no? She went to the door and turned the lock, stepping back to let Alexis – and a chilly wind - in.

  “It’s so lucky I ran into you at the deli and found out you’d be here. I suddenly realized that I have to get some of that rainbow-colored wired ribbon I saw here the other day. You don’t mind, do you, Jo? After all, a sale’s a sale, isn’t it? I’m having guests for dinner tonight, and I know I can make darling bows for my napkins with that ribbon. Won’t that be pretty?”

  “Yes, it will,” Jo agreed, and she headed to the shelves that held her wired ribbon. Alexis’s interest, however, turned toward Jo’s stockroom from which Randy’s hammering reverberated. “How’s the repair work going?” she asked, following Jo.

  “Fine. You wanted rainbow-colored?” Jo asked, running her finger down the rolls of solids, polka-dots and plaids.

  “Yes. Pastels.”

  Jo found a roll of ribbon with lovely pastel washes of color and pulled it out. When she looked up to show it to Alexis, though, the woman was no longer beside her. Jo leaned around the end of her shelf and saw Alexis heading for her stockroom.

  “Oh, it’s you, Randy!” Alexis cried at the stockroom doorway. “So you’re fixing Jo’s shelves.”

  Jo hurried over, anxious to keep Alexis out of Randy’s way.

  “Hello, Ms. Wigsley,” she heard Randy say, but not too happily.

  “Well, I seem to be running into you all over the place lately, don’t I Randy?”
Alexis said.

  “Was this the ribbon you wanted?” Jo asked.

  Alexis looked over at Jo, then at the ribbon. “What? Oh, yes, that’s the one. Can I have two spools, please?”

  “Of course. Come on over to the check-out counter. I’ll pick up another on the way.”

  But Alexis was not so easily budged. “Yesterday,” she said to Randy, “I saw you changing a flat tire for Mrs. Bauman as I was driving to my friend Christi’s. Did you see me wave to the two of you?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I wonder how Mrs. Bauman got that flat? Was there a nail in the tire? Seems to me she just bought those tires.”

  Randy shrugged, looking a bit bewildered. “I didn’t see a nail.”

  “And the day before that,” Alexis went on, “where was it? Oh yes, I saw you cutting up that tree limb that fell on the Schilling’s front lawn. And here you are now. You certainly do keep busy, don’t you Randy?”

  And Alexis certainly did too, keeping tabs, apparently, on everyone in the town, from Mallory Holt, to Carrie and Dan, all the way down to Mrs. Bauman and Randy Truitt. What else, Jo wondered? Did the woman lurk in the aisles of the Food Lion, noting what suspicious items her fellow Abbotsvillians might be slipping into their shopping carts, or check their recycling bins for the number of beer bottles?

  “Randy’s a hard-working man,” Jo said. “We’d better let him get back to work so he can get home in time for his dinner.” She took Alexis firmly by the arm and led her away from the stockroom, grabbing the extra spool of ribbon on the way and heading for the cash register to ring up the sale.

  Alexis dug through her pocketbook for cash, searching for stray quarters and dimes to add to the bills she’d pulled out. “So, Dan must be too busy to do your shelves for you, huh Jo?” she said as she lined up her change. “This murder situation hasn’t affected his business, then?”

  “Dan’s doing fine,” Jo said carefully, thinking, however, of Carrie’s worried mention of job cancellations.

  Alexis lowered her voice to a whisper. “You might not have had much choice hiring Randy, Jo, but I’d suggest you keep a close eye on him. He has a drinking problem, you know.”

  “Randy’s been fine,” Jo said, annoyed. Did Alexis really think Jo wouldn’t notice if her workman staggered about and hung shelves helter-skelter?

  The thumps from the stockroom stopped, and Randy came out, heading once more for the front door. “Forgot a couple braces,” he explained as he lumbered by.

  Alexis smiled and nodded until the door closed behind him, then she leaned toward Jo. “I only mention it because I know you’re fairly new in town. Unlike that Williams woman who should know better. She’s actually dating Randy! With his history!”

  “From what I’ve learned about Randy,” Jo said, “his history is exactly that – history. I’m happy with his work today, and that’s all I care about.”

  Randy pushed the door back open, braces in hand, and Alexis quickly changed her tone, shivering at the cold air that followed him in. “My, doesn’t it feel like snow is coming?”

  Randy didn’t answer as he continued on, obviously assuming the question wasn’t aimed at him, and Jo murmured something noncommittal. She wanted to get Alexis out of the shop, and briskly handed her the few pennies of change along with her bagged ribbon.

  But not surprisingly, Alexis had more to say. “I’m so glad to hear,” she said, dropping her coins in her purse, “that Dan’s business is surviving this trouble, since I highly doubt the salary Carrie makes here would be able to support their family – if that’s all they had coming in, I mean. And, come to think of it, there’s the possibility you might not even have a shop for her to work in, isn’t that right? If Parker Holt bought your building, that is?”

  So Alexis had overheard Jo discussing Holt’s possible buy-outs with Ruthie. “I’m hoping for the best for my shop, Alexis,” Jo said, then decided to ignore her exasperation and put this snoop to some use. “If you know of a way to track down my landlord, Max McGee, let me know. So far I haven’t been able to reach him.”

  “Hmm.” Alexis’s eyes sparked interest. “Let me think on that, Jo.”

  “Great.” Jo quickly moved from behind the counter and led her to the door. “Good luck with your dinner tonight.”

  Alexis nodded absently, clearly already working busily on her Max McGee assignment. Jo wondered if the woman were actually holding a dinner party, or if it was simply a silly ruse to get into Jo’s shop. No matter. At least she was finally going out. Jo locked the door behind her with a firm click. If she’d had a shade, she would have snapped it down, and she put it on her mental list to get one.

  Jo returned to the stockroom. “Sorry about that, Randy,” she said, sincerely hoping he hadn’t picked up any of Alexis’s whispers.

  “No problem.”

  “I won’t open that door to another soul, I promise. Even if they sob on their knees that their child’s project requires purchasing my poster board and paints immediately or all chances of making it into Harvard will be destroyed.”

  Randy grinned. “I’m almost finished here, anyway.”

  “It’s looking really good, Randy.”

  “I’ll clean up the mess before I leave and stack your boxes back in here if you’ll show me where you want them. And don’t worry, these shelves are good and strong. They’ll hold what you had stored here before, and then some, without any trouble.”

  “Terrific.” Jo went out to her desk to get Randy’s check ready, thinking that his modest fee had been well-earned. Alexis may not be willing to overlook the man’s past stumbles, but Jo was more than happy to help him steady himself. And if her payment added a bright spot or two into his possibly drab life, such as maybe sharing a nice meal with his girlfriend, all the better.

  As Jo pulled out her shop’s checkbook, she checked her watch. It was going on four. How long would Russ Morgan be at the police station, she wondered? She had decided, after meeting Xavier, that she wanted to talk to the lieutenant about the importance of looking elsewhere for a murder suspect.

  Jo checked through her Rolodex for the police headquarters number, thinking that Morgan’s attitude toward her had improved significantly since their first encounter. Had he become more open minded in general, though? There was, she decided, only one way to find out.

  CHAPTER 12

  Jo wound her way through the maze of desks to Lieutenant Morgan’s office, aware that, unlike preceding times, she was looking forward to this visit. Once their adversarial relationship of the past had been resolved, albeit with some difficulty, Jo had been seeing the lieutenant with clearer eyes. She liked what she saw – an intelligent man - and, she had to admit, an attractive man, which was, of course, beside the point. What she needed most now was a man who would pay attention to and act on what she had come to tell him. The future of several innocent people depended on it.

  Jo stopped outside Morgan’s door and slipped off her jacket, then straightened the rose-colored turtleneck she had donned that morning. One of her favorites, Jo always felt the color added a bit of bloom to her too-pale cheeks. When she had donned it that morning to visit the Ramirez’s, however, comfort had been her foremost consideration. Now, as she prepared to see the lieutenant, the sweater’s flattering quality popped into her mind, but she chided herself. How well she looked sitting across from Russ Morgan certainly wasn’t going to automatically win him over to her side. She raised her hand to knock at his door, then paused and smiled. It couldn’t hurt, though. She tapped.

  Morgan’s voice called out a brisk, “Come in.”

  “Thanks for seeing me,” she said, entering the familiar spare, utilitarian room. Morgan rose from behind his steel desk and waved her to a seat. “What’s this about?”

  “Parker Holt’s murder,” she said, pulling up her chair.

  “You remembered something you forgot to mention the other night?”

  “No, nothing like that.” At the lieutenant’s quizzical look Jo plu
nged into her explanation, hoping he would take it the way she wanted him to. “Russ,” she began, using his first name deliberately, and caught a twitch of one eyebrow, “I know the police are focusing on Xavier Ramirez as the murderer of Parker Holt, and I understand why. But I think you’re making a mistake.”

  “That’s interesting – Jo.” Morgan laid a slight emphasis on her name and Jo wasn’t sure if he was teasing or showing annoyance. “Do you have a reason for this opinion?”

  “For one thing, Carrie and Dan know Xavier quite well, and they are both certain he would never do something like this. I also met with the man and came away convinced of his sincerity when he says he’s innocent. He disliked Holt, was angry with him, but he didn’t wish him dead.”

  “And your experience with interrogating subjects is what?”

  “I know, you’re the professional. I’m not. Although you have to admit I do have some experience in your field.”

  “And almost got yourself killed because of it.”

  “This is an entirely different situation. I’m not confronting a murderer, but simply trying to keep a man from being falsely charged. A decent man.”

  “A man who can’t prove where he was at a very critical time.”

  “Yes, he told me that. But how many people can come up with concrete evidence of their whereabouts twenty-four hours a day?” As she said that, Jo flashed back to Xavier’s uneasiness as she questioned him about his grocery store trip. Surely, though, it was simply worry on his part. “A person,” she said, “shouldn’t have to prove he’s innocent, should he?”

  “It would certainly help.”

  Jo had a sudden inspiration. “What about the grocery store?” she asked. “Do they have security cameras? Perhaps you could find Xavier standing in the check-out line on one of them.”

  “They have cameras,” Morgan said, and Jo’s hopes leaped. “Unfortunately,” he continued, “they weren’t in good operational order that day. Or for several days before that, either. Nobody had checked on them for a while, and the images they recorded are indecipherable.”