Yarned and Dangerous (23 page)

“I didn't know what time you were getting back, so I came over to take care of the animals. Hope you don't mind, but I found some of Lorna's meatloaf in the fridge, and I helped myself. There's some left,” he said, sheepish.

“That's fine. I'm not very hungry. I'll probably just have a bowl of cereal later.”

They stepped inside the house, which for once was not blazing hot. Mitch, it seemed, had a way with woodstoves as well as a way with pets, livestock, and old men. Probably women too, though he'd never mentioned a girlfriend. But if the nurses at the hospital were any indication, he charmed everyone and everything.

“Josie,” he began, then faltered. He picked up his dirty plate and silverware from the dining room table and stood there.

“What is it?” She flipped through Eb's mail, which sat on a corner of the table.

“Don't take this the wrong way. But even if the police are about to make an arrest, it's still not made. And I still don't want you staying out here alone. I was thinking I should stay here tonight. On the couch,” he added quickly.

Awkward. She barely knew Mitch Woodruff. Her New York sensibilities flashed
Bad Idea
like an illuminated billboard across her mind. But Mitch had proven himself nothing but trustworthy over the last few days. And it
was
a bad idea to stay alone. She supposed Evelyn would offer her a place to stay again tonight. But for some reason, she wanted to stay in the room upstairs. Sleep under the quilt and flannel sheets with Coco curled up on her feet so she couldn't move without disturbing her. After just a few days, the little bedroom she'd commandeered felt like
hers
.

And would she feel more comfortable with or without Mitch downstairs?

More comfortable with, definitely.

“I'd like that,” she finally said. “And thanks.”

His face relaxed into a smile. This self-assured farmer had been nervous about suggesting the innocent arrangement. It was kind of cute.

“Oh, I meant to tell you. I took a phone message earlier. I put it on the fridge under the Dorset Falls Volunteer Fire Department magnet.”

A landline phone message? She couldn't remember the last time she'd gotten one of those. “I suppose I'd better go see who it is.”

“It was from Denise Burke's office. She's a lawyer a couple of towns over.”

Josie frowned. “A lawyer? Oh! Maybe it's Cora's estate lawyer. My mother's really handling everything for Eb, but I suppose I should return the call. Not that there's probably anything I can do.” She glanced down at her watch. “It's just before five. I'll give her a call now.”

Mitch went to the kitchen and retrieved the message. He read off the numbers as Josie punched them into her phone, then set the message on the table and excused himself. “I'll go let Jethro out,” he said, and left her in privacy.

When Josie identified herself, the receptionist stated that Attorney Burke had left for the day. “Would you like to speak to her assistant? She's still here for a few more minutes.”

“Sure.” If Denise Burke's assistant was like most assistants in Josie's acquaintance, she would know as much as her boss.

“I'll patch you through.”

Two clicks sounded on the line before the assistant picked up. “Sue Davis,” she said in a no-nonsense, professional tone of voice.

“Hi, Ms. Davis. This is Josie Blair. Attorney Burke left a message at Eben Lloyd's home.”

“Ms. Blair . . . oh yes. Your mother and your great-uncle have authorized us to communicate with you. The attorney wanted to let you know that she's completed her research on the lawsuit we were preparing for Cora before her death. Unfortunately, her heirs do not have standing to continue the suit on her behalf. So we are not going to be able to file the complaint.”

Lawsuit? What type of lawsuit could Cora have been involved in?

“I'm afraid I don't know anything about the lawsuit. My mother and my uncle didn't mention it to me, and neither of them is available at the moment. Could you tell me what it was about?”

Josie heard the faint clicking of a keyboard on the other end of the line. “Mrs. Lloyd brought a lawsuit against Tristan Humphries III.”

“Trey?” Why would Cora be suing Trey? “What kind of suit?”

“She brought the suit in her capacity as a member of the Dorset Falls Historic Preservation Commission. Her intent was to stop the demolition of 13 Main Street.”

J
osie sat down hard on a dining room chair. A puzzle piece had shifted into a new place, and she didn't like the way it fit. Trey owned the building where Miss Marple Knits was housed. He wanted to tear down the building and put up a fast-food restaurant, presumably making a huge profit in the process. But Cora had been ready to file a lawsuit to prevent him from doing it.

As a tenant, Cora probably couldn't do a darn thing if Trey, the owner, wanted to kick her out. But if she'd been a member of the Historic Preservation Commission—and Josie remembered seeing a folder in the morning-borning room marked that, though it had been empty—Cora could try to stop him in her official capacity.

But had Trey tried to stop Cora from thwarting his plans? Permanently? Josie's heart raced.

“Ms. Blair? Are you still there? If you give me your cell number, I'll have the attorney call you. It might not be for a few days. She's in court most of this week.”

Josie's mind raced. “Uh, yes. That will be fine.” She rang off. She stared off into space, running what she knew through her mind.

Mitch came back in and sat down at the table across from her. “Josie. What's wrong? Talk to me.”

Josie looked past him, then her gaze landed on his face. “Do you know anything about the Historic Preservation Commission?”

Mitch's brow furrowed. “Well, I know they don't have a lot to do. They get involved when someone wants to remodel the kitchen of their colonial home, or put on an addition. Of course, they're on hold right now. Can't do anything with only one out of three members left.”

Josie's suspicions were on high alert. “Cora was one. Who are the other members?” She had a sinking feeling she knew who one of the other members had been.

Mitch ran a hand over his chin. “Albert Blandford is the only one left now that Cora and Lillian are dead.”

A knot formed in Josie's stomach and pulled tight. There had to be a connection between Cora's and Lillian's deaths. And it wasn't because they were members of the Dorset Falls Charity Knitters Association.

Or because they had designs on her newly rich great-uncle.

It was because they were both members of the Dorset Falls Historic Preservation Commission. Or had been.

And they had stood in the way of Trey Humphries's getting what he wanted.

Trey probably had keys to Miss Marple Knits. He could have lured Lillian there on some pretext. Where had he gotten the murder weapon, the cord made of that distinctive blue yarn? He could have gotten it anywhere, Josie supposed. Cora might even have had it lying around the shop.

Could he have somehow tampered with Cora's car? Disconnected the air bag after Rusty had given the car a clean bill of health, then run her off the road? Josie didn't know how he'd done it, but she did know a couple of things.

Two women were dead.

Trey Humphries had means, motive, and opportunity to have killed both of them.

Mitch reached across the table and put his hand over hers. She refocused, and realized she'd broken out into a light sweat.

“I think I know who killed Lillian Woodruff. And I don't think Cora's car accident was an accident at all.” There. She'd said it.

“What? Wait. Let me get you a cold drink. You look like you could use one.”

“I don't suppose Eb keeps the ingredients for a cosmo here?” she said hopefully.

Mitch gave a snort. “How about a beer? I saw some in the fridge.”

“That'll be fine.” She sat back and drew in a deep breath while Mitch was in the kitchen. Thank goodness he was here. Not that she felt like she was in immediate danger. But it seemed likely that if someone had been looking for incriminating evidence at Miss Marple, something he assumed the police had overlooked, like Cora's notebook, the next obvious place—perhaps the only place left—to search would be this farmhouse.

Mitch returned and set a beer and a glass in front of her. Condensation had already formed on the bottle. It was no craft microbrew like she could get in the city, but it was cold and the bitter taste seemed to focus her thoughts. She was right. She knew it.

“Now,” Mitch said, “start from the beginning and tell me everything.”

She laid out her suspicions. Mitch leaned forward, listening intently. His face was dead serious when she finished.

“You have to take this to the police,” he finally said.

“You're right, but I'm not sure they'll listen to me. Detective Potts was less than impressed with the last theory I gave him about Lillian's murder.” Her brow furrowed. “Which I guess was pretty far-fetched, now that I think about it. It was so silly, I don't even want to tell you what it was.”

Mitch sipped his beer. “You don't have to. But how about Sharla? You could talk to her.”

“I'll call her tonight. But it's not like I have any new evidence.”

“But you put together what you knew. Just in case, you owe it to Lillian and Cora to say something.”

Josie sat up straight. “This Albert. The last member of the Historic Preservation Commission. He's in danger. He's the only person left who could still bring a lawsuit to stop Trey.”

She picked up her cell phone and dialed. “Evelyn? Oh, hi. Yes, I'm fine. Say, could you give me Sharla's number?” She paused. “No, of course it's not about that. I just wanted to ask her a question, that's all. Um-hmm. Um-hmm. Great, thanks.”

Sharla answered on the second ring. “Hi, Josie. Let me just step out into the hall. I'm watching Andrew take his swim lessons.” A moment later, the background noise greatly reduced, she said, “What can I do for you?”

Josie told her what she'd been thinking. “So you have to investigate Trey,” she concluded.

There was a longish pause. “Josie, you understand that I can't tell you anything, right?”

“I know.”

“So I will just say that we're looking into all angles regarding Lillian's murder.
All
angles. Do you understand what I'm saying?”

Josie breathed a sigh of relief. “So I don't have to worry about this? You've got it?”

There was another pause. “Don't worry,” was all Sharla said.

“Okay.” Josie met Mitch's eyes and nodded. He'd been watching her intently. “I won't worry. But what about Albert? You're keeping an eye on him, right?”

Pause. “Don't worry. This will all be over soon. In the meantime, please keep any . . . ideas you have to yourself, okay?”

“I understand. I won't say anything. Thanks, Sharla. I feel much better now.”

Mitch gave Josie a quizzical look when she hung up. “Well? What did she say?”

“It was more what she didn't say. We've heard the police were close to making an arrest. Pretty sure we can guess who that's going to be. But she asked me not to tell anyone else. So I have to swear you to secrecy—even though we don't know anything for sure.”

“That makes sense. We don't want to jeopardize the investigation or the arrest. My lips are sealed. And Albert? He's safe?”

“It sounds like the police have this well in hand.”

Mitch leaned back in his chair. “That's a relief. Dorset Falls isn't Mayberry, but major crime is unusual here just the same.”

“How will Eb react, I wonder, when he finds out Cora might have been murdered?”

Mitch shrugged. “Same way Eb reacts to anything, probably. Still, he could have been killed right along with Cora. He'll
have
to feel something—anger, frustration, fear—even if he doesn't express it.”

“Well, I guess I'm off the hook until an arrest is made. I told Sharla I'd keep it quiet, and that means from Eb too. What should we do tonight? Watch some television?
Project Runway
is on later.”

Mitch raised his eyebrows. “Uh, sure. I'm game.”

Josie let out a laugh. It felt good after the tension of the day. “I'm kidding.
Project Runway
is in reruns until the new season starts. But I should work on my sketches. If Eb gets his cast off tomorrow, I could be going back to New York sooner than I thought.” Her stomach clenched. Wasn't that what she wanted? To get back to New York?

Mitch's face was impassive. “I've got the new edition of
Alpaca Today
in the truck. I'll keep myself occupied while you work.”

“Wow. They have whole magazines devoted to alpacas?”

“They do.” He turned toward the kitchen and gave a sharp whistle. “Jethro! Come on.” The dog bounded into the room and skidded to a stop at the front door. Mitch followed. “Be right back,” he said to Josie.

Josie considered calling the hospital, but decided against it. It wasn't like Eb would want to talk to her—she'd never seen him use a telephone of any kind—and if there was anything she needed to know, the staff would have called her.

By the time Mitch returned, she'd settled herself at the table and gotten to work. He held his magazine in one hand and hesitated by Eb's chair. “Oh, go ahead,” she said. “Eb won't mind if you sit there. Or at least, he won't know about it.”

Mitch grinned and lowered himself onto the dark orange velour. “Not a bad chair. Squishy.” He opened his magazine and began to read.

Josie glanced over at him. Instead of feeling awkward, or uncomfortable, as she would have thought she might, she found that Mitch's presence was comfortable. Comforting, even. As though she'd known him a long time. She gave her head a slight shake and reminded herself, once again, that it was no good getting attached to people or places. Still, she'd made up her mind somewhere in the last few days, though she couldn't have said where or how, to make time to come and visit Eb once she returned to the city. She was fairly sure that under the cantankerous demeanor, he liked her, just a little.

Josie returned to her sketch. She made a few efficient strokes, outlining the puff-sleeved sweater and long slim skirt she'd drafted a few days ago. She added some color, then began to shade in the details. A couple more looks, which she could finish tonight, and she'd have enough to take back to Otto. And maybe, just maybe, she'd finally feel like she was doing what she was supposed to be doing. Josephine Blair—fashion designer. It had a nice ring.

 

“Well, isn't this cozy?” Josie looked up from her table at the general store into the disdainful face of Diantha Humphries. Just the person she wanted to see while she was eating breakfast. “You don't waste any time, do you?” Diantha turned to Mitch. “Watch out for this one.”

“I'll consider myself warned,” Mitch said, grinning. He smeared some cream cheese on his toasted bagel and took a bite. “What brings you out on this fine morning?”

Diantha's face creased into a self-satisfied smile. “Oh, just out and about. Preparing for the town council meeting tonight. Big things are going to start happening in Dorset Falls.”

Big things or the Big House? Josie wondered how Diantha would take the news when her precious son was arrested for murder. How much did Diantha know, anyway? Was she so secure in her position in Dorset Falls society that she'd condone—or at least look the other way on—two murders? Somehow, Josie didn't think so. But she hoped the police leaned on the old battle-ax pretty hard, just the same. It would be lovely to see Diantha sweat.

Diantha turned to Josie, tapping a finger on the face of her watch. “The clock is ticking. When are you going to be out of that building?”

If Josie's hackles weren't already up, they were at attention now.
Keep it calm, Josie. Don't let her bait you.
She smiled sweetly. “Oh, any day now. Don't you worry. I'll be out on time.”

“See that you are.” Diantha turned on her heel and walked out, her large red leather purse swinging in a slow arc in her wake.

Mitch and Josie exchanged a glance. Neither one could say aloud in this public place what he or she was thinking, but words seemed unnecessary.
She'll get what's coming to her
. Josie wished there were something she could do to make that happen.

“I should be going,” Mitch said after swallowing the last bite of his bagel and draining his coffee. “I promised my cousins I'd meet them at the funeral home to help finalize the arrangements for Aunt Lillian. You—” His gaze held hers. “Be careful and don't go anywhere alone.”

Josie nodded. “I know, I know. And I happen to agree with you. I hate to ask, but would you go with me to the hospital to pick up Eb this afternoon? He likes you more than he likes me.”

Mitch gave a soft chuckle. “Not true. But of course I'll help. How about if I pick you up here around one?”

“Sounds great. See you then.”

Josie watched his tall form as Mitch retreated out the door.

Maybe there
was
something she could do to make sure Trey, and Diantha, if necessary, got what was coming to them.

But first she needed to take care of some business. She fired off a text to Monica.
Need buyer's phone number ASAP.
Why had Monica not sent the number the first time Josie asked? Monica must have it, or at least an e-mail address, if she was communicating with him or her.

Josie pulled a manila folder from her tote bag sitting on the chair next to her. “Lorna?”

Lorna looked up from wiping the counter. “What's up? You had an interesting breakfast companion this morning.” She raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, stop. Totally innocent.” But Josie felt a warm tingle just the same. Mitch was good-looking, and good company. If he lived in the city, she would have enjoyed getting to know him a little better.
If you lived here, you could get to know him.
She put the thought aside.