Read Most Likely to Die (A Kate Jasper Mystery) Online
Authors: Jaqueline Girdner
“I’ve always wanted to own my own bookstore,” Pam said dreamily. “My parents tell me I’m
loca
.” She focused on Aurora more clearly. “If you don’t mind, can I ask if you make a living from it?”
“Almost,” Aurora answered with a graceful shrug. “Some months, it’s as if everyone in Gravendale wants spiritual insights that can only be gleaned from my books.” She chuckled. “Others, they’re at the beach, and I’m working for less than minimum wage. But in the lean months, I offset my mortgage at the Community working at the general store, so the universe provides.”
“That’s how small American businesses can be,” Lillian agreed. “‘Feast or famine.’ We are very grateful for the steady business that Gravendale has given us.”
She squeezed Jack’s arm.
He grunted in agreement. He was looking better. And he wasn’t crying anymore. Or humming. Maybe it’s too hard to hum with your mouth full. For an unhappy guy, he seemed to have a good appetite.
“It’s keeping on employees that’s really problematic in these unpredictable economic times,” Natalie burst out from my side. Her body was as tense as her voice, for all of her effort to be conversational. “I would never lay off my people no matter what the net gain. They have lives and families. But when the contracts get tight.” She shrugged her shoulders forcefully, shaking the couch. “I worry about them. It’s a responsibility.”
“Lots of layoffs at the nonprofits right now too,” Pam told us. “I’m not so sure of my own job at Wildspace. When people are worried about their jobs, donations get smaller. And my position as librarian isn’t the most important. Fund-raising is. It has to be.”
“When one door closes, another opens,” Aurora assured her with a smile.
“That’s easy to say,” Natalie shot back. “But what would Pam do if she really got laid off?”
“I’m not sure,” Pam answered for herself. She smiled sadly at Natalie as Charlie gazed on her with infinite sympathy. Would he pick up her hand again? No. He pulled his gaze away from her with an obvious effort as she went on. “I have a librarian’s degree, but so do plenty of others.” She threw up her hands. “Ay! The whole thing scares the hell out of me.”
“It’s very difficult,” Natalie agreed. “So hard to do the right thing. I have one employee who I could afford to lose on the balance sheet, but her husband’s really sick. If I laid her off, what kind of health care would he have? But still, if I had to choose another employee to lay off in her place, it would be like choosing a child to give away. Lose-lose, all the way.”
“Well, no one’s laying off at my place,” Elaine contributed. At least she wasn’t hissing. In fact, her voice was cheerful. And the look on her face was positively smug. “My boss is going like gangbusters. He’s good. And he’s in politics too. Knows all the right people.”
For a moment, anger tightened Natalie’s face. Then I remembered that Elaine’s company was in competition with Natalie’s. Did Elaine’s boss’s success mean layoffs at Natalie’s business?
“Well, I’m not laying off either,” Natalie said as if she’d heard my question. “Quite the contrary.”
Elaine glared at Natalie now, no longer smug.
“I’ve got a partner in our veterinarian practice,” Mark threw in quickly. Keep that conversational ball rolling. “So at least we share the major risk, but we do employ a receptionist and a bookkeeper. And I do feel responsible for the two pups. We’ve been lucky though. No matter how bad times are, people still have their pets. If not cats and dogs, then cobras and potbellied pigs. Good economy or bad economy.”
“And their gag gifts,” I threw in. The unpredictable economy hadn’t seemed to hurt my business. Just the opposite.
“So, Kate?” Mark asked. “How do you handle the employee question?”
“Well, I have two full-timers at Jest Gifts, Judy and Jean,” I explained. “And then I get seasonal help for the holidays. That way I never have to lay anyone off. And there’s plenty of muscle for the sorting and lifting and—”
I stopped, suddenly struck by the image of Sid and Wayne lifting Hot Flash onto the bed of his truck. It took at least two people. Lifting a pinball machine isn’t something one person can do alone. It’s not all that easy for two. In fact, I’d helped shove a little myself despite my bad back. And if we’d helped Sid put it on the truck…
“So who helped Sid lift the pinball machine off the truck at his condo?” I asked aloud.
- Ten -
My question might as well have been a gunshot. It stopped lunch in its conversational tracks just as effectively.
Elaine whipped her head around my way, new interest in her close-set eyes. And she wasn’t the only one.
Everyone in the room was looking at me now. But no one was answering.
“Someone had to help Sid heave Hot Flash off the truck at his end,” I tried to explain. Maybe they just didn’t understand the question. “Wayne and I helped him get it on the truck at our end, but—”
“I assumed you lent Sid a hand with the machine at his condo too,” Natalie interrupted from my left side. “It’s your machine. You know how to set it up.”
Oh, great. Ms. Spock had spoken, coolly and intelligently. Now probably everyone thought that hers was the logical conclusion.
“No, just on our end,” I insisted, trying to keep my voice calm. I felt a drop of sweat trickle from beneath my T-shirt. I hoped it didn’t show. Should I have kept the idea to myself? “Sid told us he had it handled on his end.”
“Jack loaned Sid the truck,” Lillian put in. “But Sid didn’t ask us for any help. We assumed someone else had already offered.” Her eyes were still on me.
Damn. I was glad I hadn’t mentioned the second remote control theory yet. I’m sure Natalie would have let everyone know how easy that would have been for me to rig, my knowing pinball machines so well. I inched away from her on the couch.
“Kate and I helped Sid load the pinball machine on his truck,” Wayne said quietly from my right side. “And that was it.”
I gave his hand a little squeeze in lieu of the big hug I wanted to give him. Wayne’s low quiet voice was a match for Natalie’s cool one anytime. At least for me. I let myself settle back into the cushions of the couch next to Natalie. Two of us knew I didn’t do it. Maybe three, if the murderer was in the room.
“Hand truck,” Charlie muttered abruptly.
“What?” demanded Elaine, swiveling her head around his way now. At least she wasn’t looking at me anymore.
“It doesn’t necessarily take two people if you have a hand truck,” Charlie explained, looking up at the ceiling as if for a second opinion.
I almost opened my mouth to ask if he’d ever moved a pinball machine. Because he was right. But how did he happen to know that? Now I was thinking like Natalie, I chided myself. It was a logical conclusion that anything that size could be moved by hand truck. Especially from a man who worked as a handyman.
“Or a friend,” Aurora offered. “Did Sid have any other friends who might have helped him?”
That question set my mind off on a whole new tangent. Why was I so quick to assume the murderer must have been at the party? What if this unknown friend/enemy of Sid’s, this X, helped Sid unload the machine and rigged it ahead of the party? But wouldn’t
X
have had to have been at the party to actually set it off? Or could he or she have stood somewhere unseen beyond the condo, maybe behind the oak trees—
“Sid didn’t have any real good buddies but Jack,” Elaine answered Aurora, bringing my tangent to a standstill. She went on quickly. “Oh, he knew a lot of people. That’s how Sid was. But he wasn’t really that close to anyone.”
“How about friends from work?” Mark suggested.
“Well, there were some guys he was friendly with when he was selling office furniture,” Elaine answered, her voice taking on a sullen note as she tried to explain her popular cousin’s friendless state. “But they all scattered after the company went bankrupt. And he wasn’t at Natalie’s really long enough to get close to the rest of the employees.”
“What did Sid do for fun?” I asked, suddenly curious. A sociable guy like that, he must have done something on the weekends, on lonely evenings.
“Well,” Elaine began. “He came over to visit me and my family a lot. And he went to the movies—”
“Bars,” Jack put in unexpectedly. “And music clubs. And comedy clubs. He tried to talk me into going with him a few times, but I’m married and I think he wanted to…” He turned to his wife as his sentence petered out.
“To ‘pick up’ women,” Lillian finished for him. She rolled her eyes. “Isn’t that what they call it? Sid just wanted Jack to go with him for, for camouflage—”
“And for someone to talk to,” Elaine protested, but her voice was losing steam. “Sid was lonely sometimes. He was friendly, but…” Her voice failed completely then and she sank back into her chair, crossing her arms. Was she going to cry again? I wouldn’t blame her. Suddenly, Sid was sounding like a very lonely guy indeed.
What was it that Elaine had said about the loneliness of only children? I wondered how lonely she was too for a moment, even with her family and her job. I couldn’t imagine her making friends any more easily than Sid did. Of the two, he’d been the outgoing one. And his life—
“Mrs. Kanick?” Becky said softly into the silence.
I turned to Becky, expecting a question about Sid, shocked once more by how haggard her fragile face looked after twenty-five years. I kept expecting her to look eighteen. And right now she looked closer to fifty. “Can I use your phone for a minute?” she asked instead.
She was looking at Aurora, but it was Lillian who answered her. That’s right, there were technically two Mrs. Kanicks in the room. Or two Ms. Kanicks.
“Sure thing,” Lillian said cheerfully. “There’s a telephone in the kitchen on the counter. Touch-tone.”
“I’ve been thinking,” Pam announced tentatively as Becky stood and made her way to the kitchen. “If Sid really was murdered, it might have been someone else, someone who wasn’t at the party.” She paused for a moment.
I saw interest and relief buoy up a few heads. Not mine. I’d already given up my “X” theory. It was too damned complicated to electrocute someone with a second remote control anyway, much less hiding behind a tree. Too much chance of being seen. But Pam was always positive.
“Did Sid have any girlfriends?” she enquired politely.
Elaine shook her head.
“Was he ever married?” Mark asked a little less politely.
Elaine shook her head again.
“No kids?” he tried.
Another shake of the head. I was sure there were tears in Elaine’s eyes now. I could see them.
“Where was Sid living before he moved back up to Gravendale?” I asked, hoping the specific question might divert those tears. I didn’t want to see her cry again. I’d never make a good therapist. No matter how well I understand that crying is therapeutic, it always hurts my stomach to watch the process. Even in the movies.
“Sid lived in the city, San Francisco,” she answered, her voice low. “In an apartment. I don’t think he knew anyone real well there. It was a big place.”
“How about enemies?” Mark demanded. “Did he tell you about any run-ins, any dogfights with anyone?”
Elaine shrugged. “Nothing important. People who cut him off on the road. Or women who didn’t want to go home with him. Rude clerks. But no big deals. And Sid told me stuff. I would have known if there’d been a big deal.”
As Elaine finished, Becky walked back in the room and sat back down by Lillian.
“Thanks,” she whispered.
I looked around at the unhappy-looking group and asked myself what we’d accomplished. Had we managed to narrow Sid’s death down to murder? And Sid’s murderer down to someone in this room?
Then I wondered if there was any way to turn this back into a friendly luncheon again. I picked up a muffin and took a cautious nibble. It had molasses in it and maybe some allspice, I thought absently. I took a bigger bite.
“Elaine, may I ask a personal question?” Aurora said quietly. As if all her questions hadn’t been personal. But Elaine was nodding and giving Aurora a look like you’d give your favorite aunt, the one who listened to you and gave you cookies. I wished I could be as smooth as Jack’s mom when I grew up.
“Do you know who inherits now that Sid is gone?” Aurora pressed.
Ouch, that was personal! And interesting. I turned to Elaine eagerly. I’d have never had the nerve to ask directly.
Elaine blinked and sat up in her chair. Then she cocked her head. “I guess I do,” she said slowly. “I don’t think Sid had a will. Sid’s parents are both dead. And my dad passed away too, last year. So, I’m probably the closest blood relative. I ought to be, anyway. Gee, I hadn’t actually thought about it before.”
I believed her. Especially when a new calculating look narrowed her eyes.
“I don’t think he had much though,” she went on absently. “His father was broke when he died. And Sid wasn’t very good at saving, but…” She paused, looking up to the side for a moment as if doing an inventory. “But there were a few things. Maybe even insurance.”
Well, at least Aurora had managed to cheer Elaine up. That was more than I could claim.
“So what’s Gravendale like these days?” Pam asked conversationally.
“Very different than it was twenty-five years ago in many ways,” Aurora answered. “But very much the same in others.”
I heard a sigh of relief from someone in the group. For a moment, I’d thought it was my own. We were back to friendly conversation.
“Lots of these people they call ‘yuppies,’“ Lillian put in. “But many of them are very nice. Good customers.”
“And lots of old hippies,” Elaine added. “You’d think they’d find somewhere else to go.” A picture of Elaine with a headband and flowers in her hair came and left in my mind. “And the worst thing is that some of the old bottling plants aren’t even owned locally anymore. Canadians own the one down by…”
And so the conversation went for a while. Or maybe it could have been called an occasionally interrupted monologue. Gravendale meant a lot to Elaine.
Twenty-five years ago Gravendale had been known for its fruit orchards and canneries and bottling plants, as well as dairies and chicken farms. Elaine didn’t mention that it’d been a bedroom community then too for the people who worked at the nearby university and hospital.
But today the old-time orchard owners and farmers were being overrun by the new custom wineries and condos. And the bottling plants were being bought by the Canadians and the Germans and God-knew-whatever-other-foreigners. And that Canadian plant was pouring its sewage into the creek waters—
“All of the bottling plants have been doing that for years,” Mark managed to throw in. A brave man.
“It used to be safe,” Elaine shot back. “When the people who owned the plants lived in Gravendale, they couldn’t afford to mess up their own water, but now these foreigners just don’t care.”
“Well,” Pam inserted quickly, rising from her chair, her half empty plate in her hand. “I hate to leave, but I really need to get back to the city. I have a date with a friend. So I’ll have to say
hasta la próxima.
Till whenever. But thank you for arranging lunch, Aurora. And thank you for your hospitality, Lillian—”
“Wait a minute,” Elaine ordered, rising from her chair too. She managed to keep her own plate in her left hand while shoving her right palm out in front of her like a traffic cop.
Pam stopped, leaning sideways as if to avoid an invisible force field. Or maybe not so invisible. Elaine’s force seemed tangible as she stood and glared.
Charlie set his plate on the floor and rose from his chair to join the two women. Back straight, hands taut and nose twitching, he was Rodin Rodent in the flesh.
“Before anyone leaves, I gotta tell you about the memorial service for Sid,” Elaine proclaimed, lowering her right hand, though not her voice. “It’ll be on Tuesday.”
“Oh, sure,” Pam sighed, a look of relief on her face as she listed back to vertical.
Charlie relaxed into a stooped posture next to her.
“I’ll give you each the details on the phone,” Elaine went on. She squinted more fiercely. “And you’d all better come.”
“I’ll work it out with my supervisor,” Pam promised in a burst and then turned to go.
“Um, Pam,” Charlie murmured, looking up at the ceiling again as she turned back to him. “If you need a ride home, I’d be glad to, um, give you one.”
“Oh,” Pam replied, startled. Her hand darted up to her face as if by its own will. “I have my own car—”
“What a stupid question,” Charlie muttered, smacking his palm with his fist. He shifted his gaze to his feet. “Of course you have your own car. How else would you have gotten here?”
“No, no,” Pam assured him. “It wasn’t a stupid question at all…”
I turned away. This was almost as painful as watching people crying.
Mark stood up and went to the kitchen as the two continued their muted conference.
“Well, I need to say adios too,” he told us when he returned. “A lot of furry clients will need my assistance tomorrow. Mammal, bird, reptile, fish, insect. They’re all people to me. Not to mention, paying customers.” He sucked in his already flat belly and made his way to the door with a little wave over his shoulder. “See you later, alligators,” he added and the door closed behind him.
Natalie didn’t say anything funny when she made her escape, only her polite goodbyes.
Elaine didn’t even bother with those. She glared at us all, snapped, “I’ll see you all Tuesday,” and was out the door on Natalie’s heels.