Pattern of Betrayal (Vineyard Quilt Mysteries Book 2) (11 page)

He sat down with his back to the wall, and she supposed she couldn’t find fault with his choice. Everyone was walking on pins and needles. Julie joined him at the table, hoping to defuse his anger, but not confident that she was the right person for the job.

“Would you like to tell me what happened?” Julie asked.

“No.”

“Tell me anyway.”

Gregory sighed with a whistly sound that seemed to expel a great deal of his tension. “That guy,” he said with a nod toward Kenneth.

“What about him?” she asked. “He seems nice enough.”

“A little
too
nice, don’t you think? He came in grumpy that first day, but since Alice died, he’s been nothing but smiles.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s guilty of murder,” she said.

“I suppose not, but …” He looked out toward the front of the inn.

“But what?”

Gregory turned back to stare at his hands as they rested on the table. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but the night
of the murder, I heard a man and a woman talking. And they did not sound happy.”

Julie tried to ignore the prickle at the base of her spine, but it was there all the same. “When was this?”

“Before dinner,” Gregory said. “I was in my room, getting ready, and I heard voices outside.”

“What were they saying?”

“Something about a book—or maybe it was books.” He shrugged. “I don’t know, like accounting or something.”

Books. And Alice worked for Eric Rutherford, book expert. Coincidence or setup? “Did you recognize their voices?”

Gregory shook his head. “But when I looked outside, I saw her. It was Alice Peyton, all right.”

“And you think she was talking to Kenneth?”

“I know she was.”

“You saw him too, then?”

“No, but I saw a man reach out and grab her arm. I could just see his sleeve. That blue revolutionary jacket he had on was distinctive, wouldn’t you say?”

Absolutely.

Julie sat back, her mind scrambling to process the implication.

“Here’s the other thing,” Gregory added. “Kenneth was sitting next to Alice at dinner. He was the closest person to Alice just before she died.”

“So, how did this all start, exactly?” Julie asked Shirley after everyone had vacated the room, leaving only the two of them and Daniel in the tearoom.

“That Gregory Wilson.” Shirley frowned. “He started
accusing everyone of all sorts of things. Evidently, he spent his afternoon doodling everyone.”

“Doodling?” Julie asked.

“You know, on the computer.”

“Oh.
Googling
.” Julie hid her smile.

“He said that Kenneth is spending all his money putting his kids through college. As if that’s some kind of crime.”

“I wonder if that’s why Susan looks so … forlorn,” Julie said. It was the nicest word she could think of to describe the woman. Susan had lost all the sparkle she had when she arrived at the inn on Friday afternoon.

“It’s sad,” Shirley whispered. “Her nerves are clearly shot.”

“Anything else of note?”

Shirley shrugged, her crystal earrings glittering in the lights. “Nothing really. Once the shouting started, I couldn’t make out much detail.”

“Thanks, Shirley. Keep your eyes open, OK? Let me know if you see anything suspicious.”

The redhead nodded. “I will.”

Julie watched the woman walk away and then turned back to Daniel. “How did it go with Kenneth?”

Daniel rubbed the back of his neck. “It went strangely.”

“What do you mean?” She indicated the table closest to them and pulled out a chair. It sounded like she might need to get comfortable for this.

He settled into a chair and propped one ankle over the opposite knee. “Just that. Strange. Kenneth said they were all down here, playing checkers and quilting, when Gregory returned wielding his fire poker.”

Julie eyed the poker that now lay across the chair to her right.

“According to Kenneth,” Daniel continued, “Gregory
accused him of cheating. Gregory also claimed to have seen him Friday night.”

Julie nodded. “Gregory told me he saw Kenneth and Alice talking Friday before dinner.”

“Kenneth swears up and down it’s a lie, and that he never set eyes on Alice before that night.”

“Did Kenneth say this in front of his wife?” Julie asked.

Daniel’s gaze jerked to hers. “Are you suggesting …?”

Julie could only shrug. “Who can say? Obviously one of them is lying.”

“And the only person who can tell us which story is true is dead,” Daniel said.

“You got it.”

At seven o’clock, Hannah announced that it was time to eat. The menu consisted of roasted lamb with red wine–and–garlic gravy, savory three-cheese potatoes, and asparagus tips. It was as extraordinary as ever. If Hannah kept cooking like this, they might have to start serving dinner to the general public.

Julie shook her head at the thought. That was just what she needed, more people to deal with. She had enough on her hands. She took a bite of lamb and surveyed her guests.

Kenneth had eaten every bit of his meal and was finishing up what was left of Susan’s while Sadie and Joyce were gushing over the tenderness of the lamb.

Gregory, she noticed, ate everything he was given, soaking up the remainder of his gravy with the yeast rolls Hannah had baked. At least with his mouth full, he wasn’t complaining.

Besides Joyce and Sadie, no one was making eye contact or even talking, but at least they weren’t arguing and shouting.

“Julie.” Hannah appeared at her side, the inn’s phone in her hand. “There’s a call for you. He asked for you by name.”

“It’s a he?” Shirley asked with a wink.

Julie waved away her insinuation and accepted the receiver from Hannah. Giving a nod to the others to excuse herself from the table, she walked out into the main lobby. “This is Julie.”

“Julie Ellis?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Aston Cooper. I’m the museum curator for the National Museum in Chicago.”

Chicago?
“What can I do for you, Mr. Cooper?”

“Aston, please.” His voice was deep and confident. “I understand you have a Civil War journal in your possession.”

“How do you know that?”

“Word gets around, Miss Ellis.”

“Julie,” she automatically corrected, meandering toward the front desk.

“I was hoping that I could schedule a time to look at the book. That is, if it’s still for sale,” Aston said.

“Unfortunately, I can’t answer that. I’m waiting on word from the owner to see if it’s OK to add it to the school auction.”

“Would you mind if I take a look at it before then?” His voice carried an urgent edge.

“No, but I’ve already contacted a book expert and was told that it’s worth no more than three hundred dollars. It might be a wasted trip for you.”

“I would like to see for myself.”

Is this some sort of hoax?
Julie couldn’t help but wonder. Aston Cooper didn’t sound like any museum curator she’d ever talked to, and in her former life, she’d talked to many. This man sounded more like a radio host or an announcer
for a car commercial than a lover of all things old.

“May I ask the name of the book expert you contacted?” he continued.

“Eric Rutherford.”

Aston groaned.

“I take it you don’t think very highly of him?” Julie asked.

“Yes. Let’s leave it at that.”

A crash sounded from the breakfast-now-dinner area. Julie turned her attention to the doorway and glanced in at her guests, half expecting to see Gregory wielding some new weapon while Sadie held him at knifepoint. But it appeared that Carrie had only knocked her water goblet to the floor.

“So, may I view the book? Miss Ellis?”

“Uh, sure,” Julie said. “I suppose that would be fine.”

“Excellent. One more thing,” Aston said. “Would you be willing to scan a few of the pages into your computer and email them to me?”

“I have a couple of pictures digitized already. Will that be sufficient?”

“I’d love to see them. But what I’m most interested in is the copyright page, the title page and any back matter. Here’s my email address.” He rattled off the address, and Julie jotted it down on a piece of scrap paper.

“I won’t be able to do this until first thing in the morning,” she warned.

“That’ll be fine. As long as you promise not to sell it to anyone else before I can see it.”

“It’s a deal,” Julie said, wondering why now all of a sudden everyone seemed so interested in the book. Yesterday it hadn’t been worth more than a couple hundred dollars. Now she had a curator calling from Chicago?

Word gets around.
That’s what he’d said. Though she wasn’t exactly sure what he meant by that.

“Julie! Oh Julie, dear.”

She turned to see Sadie approaching at a surprisingly quick pace, her big white handbag tucked close to her body. Joyce was nowhere to be seen.

“Hi, Sadie. Is everything all right?”

After a very tense dinner, everyone had gone their separate ways. Kenneth and Susan had left the inn to go for a walk, Gregory had hurried up to his room, and Sadie and Joyce had gone out to enjoy the garden. Liam and Carrie … she had no idea where they’d gone.

“Do you have a minute, dear?” Sadie asked.

“Of course.”

Sadie clutched her handbag tight against her midriff and looked from one side to the other as if checking to see if they were truly alone. “I thought you should know,” Sadie started in a loud whisper, “I saw that handsome Liam Preston down here, poking around after everyone had gone to bed last night.”

And what were
you
doing down here?
The question was on the tip of Julie’s tongue, but she managed to bite it back. “What was he doing?”

Sadie’s gaze skittered around the room again. “Nosing around like he was looking for something.”

“Maybe he dropped his cellphone or his room key.”

“Or maybe he was looking for the murder weapon.”

“Sadie, the police have the murder weapon. It was the candlestick, remember?”

“Or maybe that’s what the murderer wants you to think.”

“I see.” What else could she say? “You know he’s not who he says he is.” Sadie glanced around again. “He’s really that famous mystery writer, L.P. Wallis.”

“Yes, I know,” Julie said, waiting to see where this might lead.

“What if all this was for research?”

Julie blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Research, you know.” She leaned in closer. “He writes about murders all the time.”

“You think he killed Alice to get information for his next book?”

“I’m sad to say it, but yes. The thought did cross my mind.”

With tremendous willpower, Julie resisted the urge to laugh. She didn’t want to offend the sweet old lady, but of all the possible scenarios, this wasn’t one that held much promise. “Thank you, Sadie.”

“You’re welcome, dear. Since you run the inn, I thought you should be the first to know. Tomorrow, I’m going to the police station to tell that handsome Detective Frost what I discovered.”

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate that.” This time Julie couldn’t hide her smile.