Last Wool and Testament: A Haunted Yarn Shop Mystery (22 page)

“It might be better to avoid him altogether.”

“If at all possible, yes. Now, may I offer you some advice?”

“I’d be honored.”

“Don’t go through Ivy’s house alone.”

“I’m pretty sure a deputy or somebody will follow me around so I can tell them if anything’s missing.”

She held a finger to her lips and indicated Homer’s
office with a jerk of her head. “Is he back yet?” she whispered.

I sidled to the door, listened, then nudged it open and looked around the edge. I heard the mumble of Homer’s and another voice from the kitchenette. That door was closed. “Coast is clear.”

She beckoned me back to her desk. “A witness is a powerful weapon,” she said. “I know this from personal experience. Have someone else with you when you go. Someone you can trust.”

It was good advice, delivered with solemn furrows between her eyebrows. I nodded and thanked her. She smiled, erasing the furrows, and winked, the wink made more conspiratorial by the magnification of her lenses.

The mumble of voices from the kitchenette clarified and we heard Homer offer a parting commiseration over the joys of plumbing in old buildings. I glanced at Ernestine. She smoothed the blotter in the middle of her desk and went back to peering at her computer screen and pecking at the keyboard. An odd little old duck, Ms. Ernestine O’Dell.

There was something else I’d meant to ask Homer. I dithered, in limbo, between Ernestine’s desk and his office, trying to remember what. Something not for Clod’s ears. About the house. Granny’s sunny house disappearing into this dismally bad dream. Funny that when a situation looked blackest it could surprise you by getting even blacker. Black. That was it. I knocked on Homer’s door.

He looked up from his sheaf of notes. “Kath, I thought you’d left. Come in. Shut the door.” Ever polite, he stood and gestured to a chair.

I shook my head. “Just one quick thing.”

“If only that were true. Unfortunately, I think we’ll find that it’s many more things before we’re finished. May I?” He indicated his own chair.

“Please.”

“We’ll get through it all, though. I promise.”

“Well, and actually it’s two more things.” I took a steadying breath, then jumped into the first. “Deputy Dunbar just told me Max fell down Granny’s basement stairs. That’s where he died.”

He didn’t swear again, but his rational lawyer’s reaction turned out to be more satisfying. He picked up his pen and clicked it open. Handsome Homer ready for note-taking action.

“Interesting that Dunbar didn’t mention that pertinent fact when he told us Max was dead,” he said.

“He implied it. It just took me a minute to catch on.”

“He should have spelled it out. What’s the second thing?”

“This one has a Part A and, depending on the answer to that, maybe a Part B.”

“Ah, what did I tell you? Things are multiplying even as we speak.” He made three quick hash marks on the notepad. “Good enough. What’s Part A?”

“Were you able to track the sale of the house?”

“Not yet. There are irregularities that will take more time to sort out. That means more waiting, and I’m sorry. I know that isn’t easy.” He acknowledged the annoyance factor with a frown, but recovered quickly. “Does that answer suffice or is there still a Part B?”

Did I want to lob Part B on his desk? Yes but no. If it meant regaining the house, yes. If it helped solve Emmett Cobb’s murder, yes. But if it turned Granny over to the police as a suspect? If it led anyone to discover her “secret talent”? Absolutely not. If I sounded like a crackpot reaching for straws? No answer. While those considerations knotted themselves in my head, another question occurred to me.

“Is it possible to slander a dead man? This is Part Not-Quite-B.”

“The law says no. You cannot slander or defame the dead.”

“Okay. Good.” On to Part B. B for blurt it out. “Blackmail.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Maybe he thought I sneezed and there was still time to back down. I didn’t back down. “What if Granny didn’t sell the house? What if Emmett Cobb was blackmailing her?”

Homer’s only reaction was a lawyerly stroking of his left temple with a single fingertip. “Let’s back up to Not-Quite-B. Is it possible to slander a dead man? The law says no. But what does the dead man’s family say? They cry bloody slander and defamation from the hollows to the heavens and some of them never forget. And that’s something you should never forget.”

“Oh.”

“Do you have proof that Emmett was blackmailing Ivy?”

“No, and I realize blackmail is a little out there. I’m just exploring possibilities.” I wanted to emulate his nonplussed calm, but sliding out the door, right then, would have made me happy. Homer was still giving blackmail his polite consideration, though.

“I’ll agree that idea is out there, but out there or not, I suggest you don’t mention blackmail to anyone else. You don’t need the hard feelings or hostility of Emmett’s kith and kin heaped on top of everything else you’re dealing with. And I wouldn’t mention blackmail to Deputy Dunbar. You haven’t, have you?”

“No. Zipped lips.”

“Exactly right. Keep them zipped. Do you know, or have an idea, what Emmett could hold over Ivy?”

I shook my head. His eyebrows and lips shifted upward in a minuscule “I see” gesture.

“And, out of curiosity, what made you think of blackmail?”

It was tempting to stutter something about reading too many mysteries. Then maybe he would forget I’d brought it up and the well-bred doubt playing around his eyes would disappear. But I wanted those hawk eyes looking at the idea of blackmail from every angle, no matter how unsubstantiated it was, so I stuttered out a truer answer. “I heard about it from, uh, from another possible victim.”

He offered a quick “ah” and clicked his pen closed. “Heard in confidence, I take it?”

Had it been in confidence? I couldn’t remember Joe asking or me promising. And yet…

“Well,” Homer said when I’d missed my chance to nod yes convincingly, “I won’t dismiss blackmail, but I want you to leave it with me. I’m in a better—a safer—position to explore. Although, if you’ll pardon a small joke, it will be on the ‘out there’ burner rather than the front.”

I dutifully smiled.

“Feel free to call me with anything you hear or learn, Kath. We need to keep each other up to speed on the situation with the house and now this unfortunate situation with Max Cobb. I’ll see that we receive frequent updates from the sheriff’s office. Thank you for your input. I appreciate it and I appreciate working with someone as open as you are.”

I wished I’d kept Part B to myself. He hadn’t laughed at it. He was too professional, too polite. But as I turned to leave, I was pretty sure I saw the ghost of a smile flit and die on his face.

Ernestine fluttered a good-bye and I left the building wondering how Homer would react if I were completely open with him. Would his lawyer face slip if he read Granny’s letter? How would he handle an introduction to my new friend, Ms. Ghost? Hoo boy. I shook myself to
dispel thoughts of ghosts and ghosts of smiles. Thinking about Ernestine’s advice would be a better use of my time.

It made sense to have someone else along when I went through the house, someone I could count on to take my side. Whatever my side was. Maybe even keep me out of trouble. Clod’s crappy attitude toward Granny cut two ways; I didn’t trust him, either. So, who in Blue Plum
could
I trust? Who did I know well enough? Ardis. Possibly Mel. Debbie, Nicki, Ruth? Not really. Homer made the most sense, being the loyal and upright lawyer. But his time would cost the earth, if he even had the time.

And I couldn’t help wondering, if witnesses were so important, why hadn’t Ernestine wanted Homer to hear her giving me that good piece of advice?

Chapter 22

I
t was still barely past nine, still quiet time in a Blue Plum morning. The touristy couple from Mel’s was across the street on the courthouse lawn. She was taking pictures of him as he tried to look dastardly in the reconstructed pillory. But they were the only people out and about who lacked an obvious business purpose.

Toward the end of the block, the same scabby truck I’d seen the day before was parked at the curb, unless more than one rusted green pickup chucka-chuck-chugged its polluting way around town. This time it wasn’t running, my nose and lungs were happy to note, and a pair of legs in faded jeans leaned over the side, rooting around in the bed. As I passed, the jeans’ occupant struck gold.

“Hah! I
knew
it was here somewhere.” He straightened, exultant, with a huge pipe wrench in his fist. I skipped sideways to avoid it. “Whoa, sorry there. Big sucker, ain’t it? Old plumbing’s no match for one of these babies.”

“No kidding.”

“I saw you yesterday, didn’t I? Standing over by the courthouse?”

“Oh, you’re Mr. Carlin who’s working on Homer’s kitchenette?”

“‘Aaron’ does me just fine. So you took my advice
and went to see old Homer? That’s good. He’ll take care of you. He’s helped me out of a jam or two. Yeah, one or two or three.” He scratched the back of his head with the wrench. “Say, if you ever need odd jobs done, give me a holler. No job’s too odd. That’d be on my card if I had one. But ask Homer. He’ll put in a good word for me.”

“He already has. I might call you for a moving and storage job, if you have time.”

“Give me a holler when you’re ready and we’ll talk. I’d better get on back now. Nice meeting you.” He slung the wrench over his shoulder and whistled off down the street.

I liked the looks of that wrench. If I carried one like that around I could ward off burglars, their brothers, or any number of Spiveys. But when had I become so weapon-happy? Probably when people started breaking into the pleasant bubble I called my life. So grow up, Kath. Real life gets broken and messy.

I turned the corner into Main Street. Actually, I poked my head around the corner first. Acting like a grown-up was one thing. Self-preservation was another. The Spiveys could be lying in wait for me anywhere along my route to the Cat. I didn’t see them or the Buick, though, and caught no telltale whiff of Mercy. They’d probably heard the news about Max and gone to comfort Angela. Poor Angela.

The Closed sign hung on the Cat’s door. The lights were on, though, and I saw Ardis dusting the shelves of pattern books on the far wall of the front room. She looked up when I knocked on the window and waved to her.

“I thought you’d be over at the house first thing,” she said as she unlocked and opened the door.

“Snafu, Ardis, with an emphasis on the
fu
.”

“Come on in, then, before we attract shoppers. They’re like vampires if they catch you before opening time. Suck
the life right out of the day if you let them get started this early.”

I slipped in and she relocked the door.

“You can help me with my mess while you tell me about yours. We had an MMIA yesterday.” She dipped behind the counter and came up with a box full of embroidery floss, all shades and colors, tumbled together like a fruit salad. There were easily several hundred hanks.

“What’s an MMIA? A new embroidery class?”

“Mother missing in action. She left her delightful children in the parlor with the floss while she browsed the knitting patterns upstairs. I came this close to wrapping the angora she finally bought around her neck.”

I took a wad of hanks from the box, shook each one out, and started laying them on the counter in a rough sort by color. “This is good, Ardis. I’m practicing making order out of chaos. It gives me hope.”

“You’re the goddess of harmony and I’m Diana. While I kill the last of the dust bunnies, tell me about the snafu and what you want me to do.”

“Am I that obvious?”

“Honey, look at you. You’re no bigger than Ivy was, and even if you were, you’re only one person. I’ll tell you what she knew the whole time we knew each other: I’m here.”

As simple as that. Trust.

“And I’m a multitasking marvel. I can dust and listen at the same time.”

“Will Debbie or Nicki be in today?

“Nicki’s off. Debbie comes in at eleven.”

“If it works out, can you leave the Cat for a few hours this afternoon?”

“I expect so. If she isn’t busy, Nicki won’t mind filling in. In a pinch one of the TGIFs can give Debbie a hand. I’d hire some of them if it wouldn’t cut into the time they
spend spending money in here. Why? What do you need?”

I told her about the new renters moving into Granny’s house and she cruised around the room, bobbing up and down, flicking her dustrag from shelf to shelf. Then I told her about the two break-ins. Her pace increased with each added detail, the dustrag developing a lethal snap. Only the final detail of Max at the bottom of the basement stairs brought her to a stop.

“Oh my word. Max Cobb. He and my oldest were in school together. And now he’s dead from tripping down the stairs? Doesn’t seem possible. Then, again, it doesn’t surprise me much. The Cobbs always were an unlucky family and not the most graceful, either. Graceless and unlucky. What an epitaph.”

“Mel said Emmett is unmourned, too.”

“Probably true enough. Not much to him. Not a lot to any of them. Max was the last Cobb I know of and I’m not sure even Angie will mourn him for long. And isn’t that a sad note?” She went back to her dusting circuit, but moving slower, her dustrag more thoughtful. “What else? You haven’t given me the why yet.”

“I need a witness.” I told her about Clod’s animosity and Ernestine’s advice, heeding Homer’s injunction against mentioning blackmail.

“Is one enough?” Ardis asked. “I can get half a dozen TGIFs to Ivy’s house within minutes. We can station ourselves, one in each room, and whether it’s Cole Dunbar or some other suspicious son of a beat cop following you around, we won’t let him get away with anything that even smacks of disrespect for Ivy or you. What do you think?”

Overkill came to mind, but I didn’t like to dampen her enthusiasm. “Clod probably won’t go for that many unsupervised people at his crime scene.”

“Who?”

“Cole.” I skipped past an explanation for the slip and she followed along with only a slightly confused look on her face. “You know when I can use TGIF help? When I get the go-ahead to pack. It’s a lot to ask, though.”