Stranded (17 page)

“Definitely questionable?” I asked, wanting to make certain I wasn’t misinterpreting the gesture. She nodded.

“And it could be all my imagination.” She smiled. “Plus all those mystery and thriller novels, of course.”

“Imagination can sometimes produce useful insights.”

“You know, would you and your friend who works for Dr. Sugarman like to come over for dinner one night? Kelli and Chris can come too. We’ll put our heads together and brainstorm a solution to Hiram’s murder!”

“Sounds great. Chris doesn’t live with you?”

Charlotte touched her cheek in a pretended gesture of horror. “A thirty-year-old man living with his mother? You must be joshing.” She laughed again. “No, he has one of those new condos out beyond Safeway. Though they’ll probably buy a new house before the wedding. The condo’s a little small.”

She made the wedding sound more imminent than Kelli had. I wondered if she knew Chris was pushing for an elopement, and Kelli was stalling.

Someone rushed up to Charlotte then, something about needing a screwdriver. I thought Charlotte would go off to help the woman find one, but instead she dug in her big purse and astonished me by hauling out an entire miniature tool kit.

The woman grabbed and waved it. “Charlotte is always prepared for any emergency. Stamps, Tums, Band-Aids, anything. Would you believe, once I needed a dab of blue nail polish, and she pulled it right out of her purse?” The woman was rushing off again even as she spoke.

Charlotte gave a little wave as she headed off in the direction the woman had taken. “I’d better go see what they’re doing with my screwdriver. Not messing around with the electricity again, I hope.” She rolled her eyes, as if in tribute to some previous disaster. “Nice talking to you! Don’t forget, dinner some evening soon.”

I didn’t stay for all the rehearsal, although I did watch Paul Newman do his master of ceremonies bit between skits. I was astonished. The man who in the tow truck had acted as if it would take an IRS agent to pull a few reluctant words out of him was, on the stage, talkative and jovial. He told a joke about an old couple with hearing problems, complete with appropriate voices, did a funny little dance step, and joked about the hotel’s deteriorating condition, a total about-face from his offstage personality.

I also watched the chorus line perform one number. After a moment I recognized the jazzy music as the old ’20s tune, “Yes, Sir, That’s My Baby.” The chorus line lacked something in coordination as they kicked and turned, but their boisterous level of enthusiasm rivaled six-year-olds at a birthday party. Even when the statuesque central lady, who I now knew was Lulu Newman, the MC’s wife, tumbled and the entire chorus line shrieked and tumbled with her, they simply untangled themselves, giggled, and regrouped.

Outside again, I wandered the full length of Hello’s main street. There was indeed an oversupply of what Abilene had called “antique-y” shops, but I also passed the more practical necessities: a photo shop, Halburton’s Hardware, the Café Russo, and a small flower shop.

I paused at the window. I didn’t need flowers, of course. I couldn’t afford flowers. But a bunch of yellow daffodils drew me inside. Daffodils always reminded me of Harley. He used to grow beautiful daffodils. But they never seemed to bloom as lavishly back at the house on Madison Street after he was gone.

I asked the dark-haired young woman at the counter the price of a half dozen of the daffodils.

“There’s a dozen there in the window,” she said. “A dozen make a very nice arrangement.”

“I know, but I just need a half dozen.” I figured even that many was stretching my budget.

She tilted her head as she looked at me thoughtfully. “They’re getting a little old. Three dollars?”

I was surprised. That sounded very reasonable for outof-season daffodils. I nodded and got out my billfold as she went to the display window and removed six of the daffodils. Then something occurred to me, and I stopped short. “That isn’t the real price, is it?”

“Are you implying I raise my price just because a customer needs daffodils, and I’m the only florist in town?” She touched her chest and managed to sound righteously indignant, but something in her hazel eyes gave her away as a phony.

“I’m implying you may go broke if you lower your price just because some little old lady looks wistful about a few daffodils.”

She laughed. “Whatever.” She handed over the flowers wrapped in green tissue paper. A calico cat wandered in from somewhere and jumped on the counter to rub its head under the girl’s chin. “It’s been a slow day. Enjoy.”

“I’m Ivy Malone,” I said impulsively. “We just moved into the old McLeod house, and I’m working on Hiram’s books for the Historical Society library.”

Her pretty face went a little stiff, but her “Oh” was noncommittal. She became very busy micromanaging a display of small cards to accompany floral arrangements.

I felt at a peculiar loss for words, given the abrupt change in atmosphere, and I stumbled along with, “Did you know Hiram?”

“I’d met him.”

“I suppose you know Kelli Keifer too, then? She’s been very kind and helpful to us. And generous too.”

The girl didn’t say anything, just grabbed a cloth and started polishing the counter with a vigor that would have put a shine on a mud pie. The cat gave her a dirty look and jumped down. I felt as if I’d blundered into some social gaffe here, because she obviously didn’t see Kelli as kind and helpful. Yet, as usual, I also felt defensive where Kelli was concerned.

“The town seems to have made some judgments about Kelli that I feel are unjustified.”

She looked up at me, hazel eyes flashing in her heart-shaped face. She slammed the polishing cloth down on the counter. “I don’t know about that, but I do know Kelli Keifer blew into town, sized up the eligible males, and grabbed mine.”

I touched my throat in dismay. No wonder the atmosphere had plunged from friendly to frigid. Chris Sterling’s former girlfriend!

13

While I was wondering how to get what felt like an oversized foot out of my mouth—praising current to former girlfriend is not a hallmark of tact—the young woman’s expressive face changed again. “I’m sorry. That was totally uncalled for.”

She grabbed my flowers, rushed over to the window display, and added the other six daffodils. “I really am so sorry,” she repeated as she thrust the enlarged bouquet at me.

“I guess you must have been very much in love with Chris.”

She smiled wryly. “I had my wedding gown picked out and our first two children named, if that tells you anything. Fortunately I found out what kind of man he is before I made the mistake of marrying him. So I probably should be grateful to Kelli for that.”

“What kind of man is he?”

“Not a faithful one, that’s for sure. He strung me along for weeks before he admitted he was seeing Kelli too, and dumped me. And not the greatest lawyer in the world, either. A friend went to him and said he completely messed up a real estate contract. He’d never have gotten into that law firm if his father hadn’t been a partner in it.” She shook her head and smiled guiltily. “Sorry. Again. A woman scorned and all that, right?”

“A natural feeling, I’m sure.”

“Does it feel . . . uncomfortable living there in a house where a man was murdered?”

“I don’t really think about it. We don’t hear creaks or groans or thuds in the night.”

“I was there a couple of times with Chris, when he went to see Mr. McLeod about something. The place struck me as a little on the spooky side even then. The first thing I thought was, I wonder if there’s a secret room around here somewhere?”

“A secret room? I’d never thought about that.” But interesting, very interesting!

“Oh, I know, it’s pretty far out, isn’t it? But that old house just seems like the kind of place that would have a secret room.”

I liked this lively touch of imagination. “With something hidden in it?”

“What good is a secret room if you don’t hide something in it? I had a secret hidey-hole where a board had come loose in the back of my closet when I was a girl.”

“What did you hide in it?”

“Oh, a two-dollar bill I got hold of somehow. A diary. A photo of an older guy I had a crush on. A piece of bubble gum he gave me. A letter my brother wrote to me when he was in college.” Her chest rose and fell in a long breath. “Just before he was killed in a car accident.”

I remembered Kelli saying Chris’s mother hadn’t liked this girl, hadn’t wanted him to marry her. I liked her! The thought occurred to me that under different circumstances, she and Kelli might well have been friends. I reached over and patted her hand. “Someone else will come along.” I almost said “someone better,” but that seemed disloyal to Kelli, who was in love with Chris now, so I skipped it.

“Actually, someone else kind of has.” She sounded shy on this subject, but hopeful. “I’m seeing a guy who works for the State Forestry.”

“Good. And thank you for the flowers.” I wound the green tissue a little tighter around the stems, then paused at the door for a final question. “Do you think Kelli killed her uncle?”

The blunt question didn’t seem to surprise her. She retrieved the cloth and started polishing again, although more slowly this time. “You can hardly expect an impartial opinion from the dumped ex-girlfriend. Even if she is now thankful she was dumped.”

“You strike me as a person who’d try to be fair.”

She lifted her gaze, her eyes steady on mine now. “I can’t offer an opinion on the murder. But my personal experience says what Kelli Keifer wants, Kelli Keifer goes after. And if anything gets in her way—” She sliced a finger across her throat.

I wanted to disregard what the young woman—Suzy, I presumed her name was when I saw the “Flowers by Suzy” sign over the door of the tiny establishment when I went out—said about Kelli. As she’d pointed out herself, she was hardly the person to provide an impartial assessment.

Yet it was the first truly personal-experience assessment I’d heard about Kelli, and I kept thinking about it while I arranged the cheery daffodils in a vase at the house and set them on the card table. I was still thinking about it the following day when I decided Suzy’s idea about a secret room wasn’t all that far out and set out to do a little investigating.

I didn’t get far. I thought it would be simple to measure floor areas and wall lengths and thickness to see if there were any discrepancies that would allow for an extra room, but either the house had settled over the years, or hadn’t been built square to begin with, and every measurement was a little off. I couldn’t find enough space for a room anywhere, but neither could I make the figures come out exactly right. I wound up not getting through more than a third of the first floor that day.

Koop followed me around for a while, but when I didn’t go down in the basement, which was where he wanted to go, he got bored and retreated to his imitation bearskin rug. Eventually I gave up and took a bubble bath before Abilene got home. Today she was excited about Dr. Sugarman’s project to provide a cat paralyzed in its hindquarters with mobility by fitting it with a little two-wheeled cart. What a fine veterinarian she’d have made if she’d ever had the chance, I realized regretfully.

Next day I gave in to Koop’s pleading to open the basement door, but I quickly decided if there was a secret room down in that cobweb-infested area, I didn’t want to find it.

By Thursday, when I settled down among the books at the Historical Society, I hadn’t changed my mind about Kelli’s innocence in Hiram’s murder. A couple of alternate thoughts about ex-girlfriend Suzy had, in fact, occurred to me. She seemed like a sweet young woman, certainly not a murderess type, but would there have been any advantage in Hiram’s death for her? I couldn’t think of any, but I wasn’t about to dismiss anyone as a suspect. I had the feeling there were undercurrents churning in Hello that I knew nothing about.

A second thought came when I remembered again that Kelli had said Chris’s mother had been against his marrying the ex-girlfriend. Perhaps that had more to do with the breakup between Chris and Suzy than any “grabbing” by Kelli.