Jo woke early the next morning, restless dreams pulling her out of the deep oblivion where she would have preferred to remain, for at least a while. She had vague memories of Russ Morgan arresting her for a rusted tail pipe, Mike trying to fix it with his acetylene torch, and Kyle, in his clown suit, running with an umbrella through the sprinklers on the golf course.
The thought of sinking back into that mess with all the emotions they stirred outweighed any lingering urge to remain curled around her pillow, and Jo crawled out to face the day. Wrapped in her terry robe, she padded into the kitchen and started coffee, then pulled out orange juice from the refrigerator. She debated over bagels or cereal until she remembered how her newish black slacks had begun to bag at the waist. She reached for the bagels and grabbed a tub of cream cheese along with them.
Jo never remembered having a problem with keeping
on
weight before—quite the opposite, in fact. But the recent stresses piled atop the older ones were taking their toll. That, plus hating the bother of cooking for one, had the pounds slipping away. She would have to do something about that, or the face that looked back at her from the mirror would soon turn haggard. In other words, it would reflect more accurately how she felt inside, lately.
Enough of that, she ordered herself briskly, a vision of Ina Mae surfacing as she did so, and dropped a split bagel into the toaster. She clicked on the small television to chase away the gloomy thoughts with cheery news anchor chatter, and poured out a glass of juice.
Jo carried her breakfast into the living room, set her coffee on an end table, and bit into her cheese-slathered bagel as she settled into the sofa. A spring in the cushion of her secondhand sofa poked uncomfortably at her, and she wriggled over, wondering how she had failed to notice the wayward wire at purchase time. Had it possibly been those artistically arranged pillows clustered so densely as to prevent her sitting there? And that couple had seemed so nice.
A voice on the screen talked about traffic tie-ups in the Baltimore area, as graphics depicted roadways, and flashing red arrows pointed to trouble spots. What a relief, Jo thought, to at least not have to face that kind of daily commute. She swallowed the bagel bite and took a careful sip of her hot coffee. The TV station went to commercial, and Jo worked the remote to switch stations.
A navy-suited African-American man appeared on the screen, welcoming her to the Channel Four newsbreak, and Jo set down the remote and picked up her bagel. She listened to his smooth voice announcing the day and time, then moving on to talk of Mayor Phelp’s latest battle with his Washington, D.C., city council members. With barely a pause for breath, the newsman moved on to his next story.
“Police are looking into the death of a young woman in Hammond County last night.”
Jo dropped the bagel to the plate.
“The woman’s body was discovered around 11 P.M. at the base of a rocky cliff, as her dog’s frantic barking caused a neighbor to investigate. Police are uncertain at this time if the death was accidental, saying only that they are investigating. This is the second violent death in less than two weeks in the small town of Abbotsville. The woman, twenty-two-year-old Genna Hunt, was . . .”
Jo could hear her phone ringing, but barely. She knew she should be moving, reacting, but all she could do was stare at the television screen, which had changed in a flash to show a weather map. No rain was predicted, and the temperature at Reagan National, it seemed, as well as much of the surrounding area, was presently 61 degrees and climbing. Not an unusually chilly morning for this time of year.
But Jo felt cold, very cold.
Chapter 17
Jo took another sip of coffee. Her shivering had finally stopped, some time after Carrie had arrived at her place and insisted on bringing her back to her house. The kids had been sent safely off to school, unaware of the latest incident, but Dan was home.
“Dan knows people in fire and rescue,” Carrie had explained. “He might be able to find out more than was on television.”
“I just keep seeing her face,” Jo mused, setting down her cup, “that delicate face. And it keeps asking me, ‘Why didn’t you do something?’”
“Jo, there’s nothing you could have done. Don’t do that to yourself.” Carrie edged a plate of oatmeal muffins closer to her friend, although Jo had already refused them twice. When at a loss for what to do, Carrie seemed to say: eat.
“What did you find out?” Jo asked Dan, who came back to the kitchen after making his phone calls.
“Not too much. She was found at the base of the Highpoint Road cliff, which is a pretty steep drop down to Abbot’s Creek, about thirty, forty feet, and rocky. It’s not far from the Wildwood apartments, where you said she lived. It’s a nice area, and a lot of people walk their dogs there because of the view, plus there’s plenty of grass and shrubs.”
“She walked her dog at eleven o’clock at night?”
“She was found then. We don’t know when she actually went out. They only found her because a neighbor came by and recognized the dog, which was barking frantically. An odd thing, though . . .” Dan rubbed his chin.
“What?”
“Her dog was tied to a tree near the edge.”
“Tied that way when they found it barking?”
Dan nodded.
Jo looked at Carrie, who seemed to be having the same thought. If there had been any faint hopes that this had been an accident, the secured dog erased them.
“I have to talk to Lieutenant Morgan,” Jo said.
Carrie nodded, but Dan looked surprised. “What? Why?”
“I have to tell him what I know about Pete Tober. I hate to, because I still hold out the hope that he’s a decent guy, but this is just too coincidental.”
“Wait a minute, you lost me. Who’s this Pete Tober and what does he have to do with this?”
Jo hesitated. Obviously Carrie hadn’t told Dan about Pete. She glanced at her friend who shrugged somewhat guiltily.
“Jo’s been checking out Pete,” Carrie explained, “who is Genna Hunt’s boyfriend. She had heard that he was pretty possessive, had a temper, and didn’t at all like Genna playing love scenes with Kyle. He was just one possibility that showed up as someone who might have, ah, killed Kyle.”
“I wasn’t convinced Pete was capable of that,” Jo hurriedly put in. “But Genna’s death, I’m afraid, puts things in a whole different light. I have to talk to the police about it, although I hate throwing Pete to the wolves.” Even though it might help clear me, she thought, but didn’t say. She found herself hoping, in spite of herself, that Pete would have a solid alibi.
Dan’s face began taking on a dark, burgundy color. He looked from Carrie to Jo, and back to Carrie. “Charlie’s been hanging around a place filled with people like this?”
“Dan, that’s not fair!” Carrie protested. “There’s plenty of decent people—”
He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “No more! He’s out of there.”
“Dan, we should at least wait until we know—”
“I know all I need to. He doesn’t go there anymore. The whole thing was a stupid waste of time anyway. Tell Charlie when he gets home, Carrie. No more.”
Dan pushed a kitchen chair on his way out of the kitchen, and Jo soon heard the front door slam behind him. She looked at Carrie, who leaned her face into her hands and then spread her fingers to look at Jo. She didn’t have to say anything. Jo knew what she was thinking. This was going to really hurt Charlie.
Jo had difficulty getting in to speak with Lieutenant Morgan. For once he didn’t seem anxious to talk to her. Not that she was all that happy to see him, but she knew she had to. The thought of dragging Earnest C. Ainsworthy along—he was still on retainer—crossed her mind, but only long enough to produce a pained laugh.
The Abbotsville Police Department bustled with activity and tension, but, unlike at Hanson’s Garage, Jo was not allowed to simply blend in and soak up what was going on. She was kept, and watched over, in an outer area where all she could see were stone-faced patrolmen hurrying in and out, and all she could hear through the briefly opened doors were sounds of phones ringing and the babble of raised voices. Finally, someone ushered her into Morgan’s office.
“Thank you for seeing me,” Jo said, noting that Morgan looked as though he hadn’t slept overnight.
“You had something to tell me?” he asked, a busy man getting right to the point.
“It’s about Genna Hunt.”
Morgan’s tired eyes flashed alertly. “Yes?”
“I thought you should know about Pete Tober, her boyfriend. He’s shown signs of a violent temper along with jealousy and possessiveness of Genna. I hate to say it, but I’m very concerned he might be involved in her death.”
“You’re saying you think Miss Hunt didn’t fall, but that Pete Tober pushed her?”
Jo winced. It
was
what she was saying, but it didn’t mean she liked it. She nodded. “It could have been accidental. Perhaps they were arguing and he grabbed her too hard. She might have pulled away and rushed off blindly, plunging over the edge in the dark.”
“Tober would still be responsible, though, wouldn’t he?” Morgan was examining her intently.
Jo nodded.
“How do you happen to know so much about Tober and Miss Hunt? As a newcomer to this town, I mean?”
Jo had anticipated this question, wondering how best to answer it without sounding like a stalker.
“I’ve been to a couple of the playhouse’s rehearsals, since Rafe Rulenski asked me to work on part of the costume and set designs. I’ve spoken with Genna during breaks. She confided a bit about her problems with Pete.”
“Oh? So you were a friendly shoulder to cry on?”
“There was no crying. We just talked.”
“I see. And Tober, did he talk with you as well? Tell you his side of it?”
“No, Lieutenant Morgan. I didn’t mean to imply I was an intermediary of any kind. I simply learned a few things about Pete from Genna. Plus I overheard them argue, and he certainly came across as a controlling boyfriend. Others have mentioned his temper, and I’ve seen it myself.”
“He threatened you?”
“No.”
“You heard him threaten Miss Hunt?”
“Not exactly. But I heard him argue with her on the phone and insist on her agreeing with him. When she didn’t, he was visibly upset, kicking things around and such. You can ask his coworkers at Hanson’s Garage. They saw it too.”
At Morgan’s questioning look, Jo explained. “I was there for an oil change on my car.”
“I see.”
Morgan was silent for several moments, and Jo waited uneasily. What was going through his mind? Did he believe her?
“I hoped it might have been an accident,” she continued, “but her dog being left tied to a tree didn’t make any sense for that scenario.”
Morgan, who had been focusing on his clasped hands, snapped his head up. “How did you know about the dog?”
“I, ah, from a friend. He knows people who had been at the scene. Why?” Jo recognized that look, the one that said he was one step away from putting her behind bars. “Look,” she said, standing up, “I just thought you should know what I learned about Genna. What you do with it, I guess, is up to you.”
“We’ve already questioned Pete Tober. It was difficult to fully understand him through the high degree of grief he seemed to be suffering. But we did learn he was working late last night, at the garage, and he wasn’t alone. That’s been verified.”
“Oh!” Jo felt a mix of surprise and relief wash over her. “Well, I’m glad for that, at least.”
“Now, I have a question for you.” Morgan’s eyes bored into hers, oddly stirring up feelings of guilt in Jo where she knew there should be none, which quickly made her angry and extremely sorry she had come. She braced for his question, knowing what to expect, but it still stung like a slap when it came.
“Mrs. McAllister, where were you between 9:30 and 11 last night?”
Chapter 18
Jo hurried from the stockroom, her arms full of Christmas greenery to replace what had sold out that day from the shelves out front.
“Oh, and do you have any more spools of red velvet ribbon?” her customer called out.
“Just a sec,” Jo said, reversing her steps to add velvet ribbon to her load. The craft store was bustling, nearly reaching her grand-opening level, and had been keeping both her and Carrie hopping. Jo could hardly complain, especially after the few slow, rainy days she had experienced. But she was not thrilled, once again, with the reason behind it.
“Here you go,” she said to her customer, dropping the jumbled pile on the counter.
“Wonderful.” The pleasant-faced, middle-aged woman picked out several pieces to add to her other items and said, “That should do it.”
As Jo totaled the purchases on the cash register, she also counted the seconds to herself: one-one thousand, two-one thousand. She only had to reach four-one thousand before the question came, a record so far.
“So, wasn’t that a terrible thing that happened to the poor Hunt girl? Have you heard anything more about it?”
Jo tried hard to keep from gritting her teeth. What has Jo’s Craft Corner become, she wondered? Crime Information Central? Since Kyle’s murder in her stockroom, was she now the unofficial source of grim news? This woman was not the first to come searching for creative materials with a side of gossip. And Jo knew she would not be the last. She had heard people in the aisles discussing Genna’s death as they picked out sweater yarns or card stock. Perhaps it was a small way of reaffirming that life goes on, but, beneficial though it might be to her business, Jo wished it would all stop.
However, when she saw Ina Mae and Loralee enter the shop, Jo was glad to see them, even knowing what they likely had come to talk about. There was a huge difference, she felt, between gossip and discussion, the first causing her stress, and the second having at least some purpose. The two women greeted her, and, seeing her occupied with customers, wandered off to browse the stamping shelves.