Grace Against the Clock (A Manor House Mystery) (23 page)

“One thing at a time, Hillary.”

“We should probably have them come out to shoot the exteriors while the weather is good, don’t you think? When can we give them the okay? The sooner the better, and the house project should be done by the week after next.”

Hillary had done a good job. I couldn’t take that away from her. And if allowing a magazine to feature my house helped her drum up business, who was I to complain? “One favor, Hillary.”

“Name it,” she said.

“Let’s wait until Dr. Keay’s murder case is closed. Okay?”

Chapter 29

The rest of the day left me little time to work on my murder investigation efforts. I did check on Rodriguez, who had been released from the hospital and to whom we had—finally—sent flowers. I also called Wes at the historical society and told him that one of the newspapers he’d lent me was missing. Even as I apologized profusely, he assured me that it was okay and that he probably had another copy, so not to worry.

“I have to believe someone took it,” I said. When I mentioned the fact that the issue had gone missing from atop my microwave and that Hillary had told me that David Cherk paged through the editions, he was silent for a half moment longer than I’d expected.

“Something wrong?” I asked.

“Probably not, but . . .”

I waited.

“I remember the conversation, and I’m pretty sure your neighbor Todd Pedota took a look at them, too.”

“That’s right. I’d forgotten that Hillary mentioned he’d been there.”

“Let me check the files. I don’t want to waste your time if we don’t have another copy.”

“I appreciate that.”

He must have cupped the phone between his ear and shoulder because I could hear his exertion as he moved boxes to conduct the search. “What’s the date of the one you’re looking for?”

I told him.

“Hmm,” he said, which didn’t sound promising. “I have September thirteenth, fourteenth, and sixteenth of that year. I’m missing the fifteenth. The one you’re looking for.”

“I am so sorry, Wes,” I said. “I should have been more careful.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’m sure I’ll be able to dig up another copy. I’ll get on it right away.”

“It’s not your fault it’s missing,” I said. “You entrusted these to me. I’m the one who ought to find a new copy to replace this one. All I need to know is where to look.” I apologized again.

“Grace.” Wes’s voice was a balm in the midst of my self-flagellation. “Don’t worry about it. I have a few connections at the newspaper. I’m sure they’ll be able to help. I’ll get another copy, and as soon as I do, I’ll let you know. Fair enough?”

“Thanks so much,” I said. “I wonder who took it. Even more, I wonder what’s in it.”

“We’ll find out,” he said.

The only other thing I found time to do during the day was check on Tooney. Even though he seemed to have fully recovered from his inebriation the day before, I couldn’t help thinking about his tiny, threadbare home. Everything about the man led me to believe he was lonely. I wondered if there was more I could do for him.

Otherwise, I kept busy with my managerial and curatorial duties. We’d received three very large, separate shipments of treasures from three different auction houses and I inventoried and recorded each piece from each shipment before anything left my office to be shuttled to storage. From there we would determine which pieces went on display, which would be transferred to Bennett’s personal rooms, and which were relegated to storage, indefinitely.

On top of that, I had timesheets and accounts payable to approve, checks to sign, and a monthly inspection to run. I barely kept my head above water, and even though I wanted to do more to find out where that missing newspaper went, and I wondered who Flynn had targeted for arrest, I couldn’t find time for either.

Now, on my way home, I gave one other topic some thought. My busy schedule of late had kept me from overanalyzing the state of my love life, but quiet drives in the car were perfect for such musings. Timing, they say, is everything. From the beginning I’d believed that the only reason Jack and I hadn’t managed to kindle a romance was because our timing was off. I’d been wrong.

Timing had played a part, but now—maybe because I’d met Adam—I’d begun to view Jack differently. I’d known him from afar. Handsome, mysterious, distant; Adam had been right about that. The more Jack hid from me, the more I wanted to know. Now that I knew him better, however, I didn’t care for what I saw. Becke might not be the kind of girl men bring home to meet their mothers—heck, I didn’t think she’d be the type to bring home to meet your parole officer—but that didn’t justify his casual dismissal of her feelings. Jack had turned out to be one of those guys who said one thing but did another.

Adam, on the other hand . . .

I pulled up to my house in time to see Frederick leaving. He drove off, Hillary standing at the edge of the driveway waving, holding Bootsie’s leash while the cat scampered. Bootsie had snagged a bright orange leaf between her paws. As I got out of the car, she looked up at me as if to ask, “Now that I captured it, what do I do with it?”

Hillary greeted me by saying, “Wait until you see the paint chips I picked up today. I have amazing plans for your kitch—”

She was cut short by two cars racing up and screeching to a halt right next to us. Both vehicles were black four-door sedans with large spotlights mounted next to their driver’s side-view mirrors. The cars held two occupants each, men who jumped out as soon as their vehicles shifted into Park. The men ran up the driveway of the house next door.

If there had been any question as to the nature of this onslaught, those doubts were stricken seconds later by the arrival of two squad cars. They didn’t blare their sirens or flash their lights, but the sudden appearance of such a strong police presence made my jaw drop.

“What’s going on?” Hillary asked.

One of the first people out of the unmarked black cars had been Flynn. He directed the other officers. Two in plainclothes went to Todd Pedota’s front door, accompanied by a cop in uniform. Two uniformed officers, along with the last plainclothes detective, ran around to the back. We lost sight of them as they turned the far corner.

Hillary and I moved closer to find an unobstructed view of Pedota’s front door. About fifty feet away, Flynn glanced over at us. He raised his hand in greeting then held up a finger, telling us to wait. He then pointed two fingers at his own eyes and then aimed them toward the house. The message was clear: “Wait. Watch.”

Hillary seemed more shaken by Flynn’s appearance than the police activity. “What happened to his hair?” she asked.

I didn’t answer.

The officers in front banged on the door, announcing their presence loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear. Even Bootsie seemed interested. She’d given up her leaf, content to sit and cock her head one way, then another, as though trying to figure out what all these strange humans were doing at the house next door.

Todd Pedota was either not home or not answering.

The uniformed cops out front donned heavy body armor and helmets. They now dragged up what looked like a three-foot-long metal column with handles. Two officers, working together, grasped the handles and rammed the solid column against Pedota’s front door. It shuddered, but held.

Hillary thrust Bootsie’s leash into my hand. “That’s an antique door,” she said, and started off to stop them, arms raised over her head.

I scooped up Bootsie and ran after her. “Hillary, you can’t get involved.”

She’d made it almost to the bottom step of Pedota’s house when the antique door cracked, splintering open. I caught up to her, watching her shoulders slump. “Couldn’t they have broken the glass in the front window and gone in that way instead?”

I didn’t know what to do, so I patted her shoulder.

The uniformed officers dropped the battering ram and opened the front door fully to allow the detectives, including Flynn, to race into the house, guns drawn. The uniforms followed. We heard shouting, lots of it. Fascinated and not feeling particularly threatened, we stood on Pedota’s front lawn, waiting to see what might happen next.

Because we were so close to the action, we weren’t aware of another car pulling up. Didn’t hear Todd Pedota running. Didn’t notice him whatsoever until he sprinted past us. “What happened?” he asked, half-turning. “Did someone break in?”

We didn’t have a chance to answer. He had made it up about two of his front stairs when Flynn emerged. The young detective yanked handcuffs from the back of his belt. “Todd Pedota, you are under arrest.”

Pedota backed up, shaking his head, shouting, “What? Me? What for?”

Flynn took a step toward him. “Things will go easier if you cooperate.”

“What’s going on?” He turned to me. “What did you tell them?”

Still holding Bootsie, I did my best to raise my hands. I was as confused as he was. “I have no idea what’s going on.”

Flynn kept his gaze lasered on Pedota. The man’s face had gone red and he’d begun to tremble. “Turn around, and put your hands behind you.”

One of the uniformed offers trotted over to stand behind Pedota, in a clear show of force. There was nowhere to run.

Another officer emerged from the front door and said, “I’ve called the evidence techs,” he said, “but we’re taking pictures, too.”

Pedota’s voice was nearing shriek level. “Pictures of what?”

Flynn sauntered forward, giving me a quick, smug smile that claimed victory. “You are under arrest for the murder of Dr. Leland Keay,” he said. “Now turn around.”

Chapter 30

Flynn watched as the squad car carrying Todd Pedota pulled away.

“Did you have to knock down that beautiful door?” Hillary asked him. “There’s no replacing it now.”

“There’s no replacing Dr. Keay, either,” he said, shooting me an “I can’t believe her” look. “Would you rather we allow a killer to live down the street from you?”

“Of course not,” Hillary said. She wrinkled her nose. “But it was all so brutal.”

Flynn reached over to scratch under Bootsie’s chin. She purred contentedly, and I wondered if she remembered that the detective had once saved her from getting lost.

“I don’t understand,” I said. “Why would Pedota kill Keay? And why now? His wife has been gone for five years. And he doesn’t seem to be terribly broken up about the divorce. What’s his motive?”

“It’s gotta be the wife leaving.” Flynn stopped petting Bootsie and took a step away, the familiar scowl replacing the soft expression he’d worn moments earlier. “If there’s anything else, we’ll find out. Believe me.”

“I don’t understand,” I said again.

He smirked. “That’s the beauty of all this. You don’t need to.”

Frustrated, I looked away.

“I
can
tell you a little more, though,” he said. “We’ll be releasing information to the media soon, so it’s no big deal if you find out early.”

My interest piqued, I nodded. “Go on.”

Flynn half-turned, and pointed, gun-like, at Pedota’s house. “Know what we found in there?”

I waited. Hillary’s eyes were huge. “What?”

“Two jars of the same kind of moonshine that was used to poison Dr. Keay.” He waited for that to sink in. “He left those jars right out in the open. Middle of his kitchen table. Must have figured we’d never put it together, but we did. Know what else we found?”

We both shook our heads. Bootsie squirmed.

“Syringes. A box of them.” Flynn gave a self-satisfied lip smack. “You know, like for injections? Yep, I think this case is about to be closed.” With a superior look on his face, he added, “No thanks to you.”

“A box of syringes. On his kitchen table,” I repeated. “Why would he still hold on to all that if the deed was done?”

“Maybe he had plans for a second victim. We’ll find out.” Flynn shook his head. “Stupid move on his part to keep the stuff in his house. Without it, we probably wouldn’t have had enough to convict. Now we do.”

“That’s great,” I said, without feeling.

Eyes narrowed, Hillary watched me closely. “You don’t think Pedota is guilty, do you?”

I told the truth. “I don’t know what to think.” To Flynn, I said, “Maybe if I knew where your tip came from?”

“Leave the police work to the professionals this time, okay?” He smirked again. “I could just see you and that old-lady assistant of yours if you were searching the guy’s house.” Raising his voice falsetto, he held his hands up, fingers pointed down as though miming being afraid to touch something. “Oh, should we look in here? Do you think we’ll mess his poor house up?” Bringing his voice back to normal, he added, “You would have been too polite to find the syringes. Your assistant, on the other hand—”

“What do you mean polite? You said they were on his kitchen table.”

“Yeah.” He laughed. “But they were in a box that was taped shut. And marked P
ERSONAL AND
C
ONFIDENTIAL
. You probably would have been too afraid to open it.”

A
zing
shot through my brain. “David Cherk,” I said.

Flynn started to walk away. I grabbed his arm, something Bootsie didn’t like one bit. She tried to wriggle free. I held fast.

Flynn yanked away as though I’d stabbed him. “What?”

“That’s David Cherk’s box.”

“You’re nuts.”

“No, listen to me,” I said. “He had a jar, very similar to the one Ronny Tooney got us from the moonshine people.”

“So?”

“And there was a box that belonged to him, marked P
ERSON
AL AND
C
ONFIDENTIAL
, too.”

“Do you have any idea how many things the post office handles that have those words marked on them?”

I did, but I pressed on. “What if you’re wrong? What if Pedota is innocent and David Cherk is guilty?” I asked.

Flynn grinned. “He’s not.” He tapped the side of his head with two fingers. “I’ve got a sense about these things.”

He walked away, sauntering as usual.

“You believe he’s wrong about all this, don’t you?” Hillary asked when he was out of earshot.

“What do I know?” I said. “He might be way ahead of me this time.”

She tipped her head and wrinkled her nose again. It was her trademark move to express annoyance, but it also served to broadcast when she didn’t agree. “I wouldn’t bet on that.”

*   *   *

The next morning, after catching the news about Pedota’s arrest and hearing hints about the evidence that had been found at the scene, I thought about Hillary’s comment. In her own way, she’d expressed support, and I figured I owed it to myself to continue investigating.

I’d alerted Frances to my plan and so she sat in my office as I dialed Tooney.

“Another well-being check?” he asked when I said hello. “If you keep calling me every day, Grace, people will begin to talk.”

Frances leaned forward, having heard every word he’d said. “You should be so lucky,” she shouted.

“That last call was simply to make sure you were fully recovered,” I said. “Today it’s all business.”

His lighthearted tone disappeared immediately. “What’s up?”

“Three things,” I said, ignoring Frances’s quizzical glance and the fact that she held only two fingers up. “And if you wouldn’t mind keeping this on the down-low, I’d be very appreciative.”

“You know I will,” he said.

“I do know that. You are always very discreet. Okay, here’s what I need: You saw that Todd Pedota was arrested last night.”

“How could I miss it? It’s been all over the news.”

“I’d like to know the source of the tip that Flynn received that allowed him to get a warrant to search Pedota’s premises.”

Tooney grunted acknowledgment and I could hear the scratchy sounds of him writing notes. “What else?”

“I’d like you to find me a copy of a local newspaper from five years ago.” I gave him the date of the stolen copy. “Would you be able to find a replacement for me?” I asked. “Let me forewarn you that the library has its collection out for computerizing and the historical office lent me their only copy. I’d like to replace it, which means that I need the actual physical paper, not a digitized version.”

“What happened to the one you borrowed?” he asked.

I told him.

“No idea who stole it?”

“There’s a pool of suspects, including Todd Pedota. Maybe I’ve got blinders on but I don’t see the motive there.”

“You got it, Grace. I’ll do my best.”

“I know you will.”

“That’s two things. You mentioned three.”

I took a breath. Frances was going to love this. “It’s about your rates, Tooney.”

He made a sound of disappointment. “I knew I shouldn’t have tacked on the bill for repairing my ripped suit after those guys roughed me up in New York last time. I figured it fell under expenses.”

I thought about all he’d had to endure during that experience a few months ago, and how his help had been invaluable in making connections we hadn’t known existed.

“You asked me about that, remember?” I said. “Before you added it to the bill. By all means, you should have charged us for that.”

“Then, what?” he asked. “What did I do wrong?”

“Tooney, you’ve been an enormous help to us. Much more than I could have ever anticipated. I’d like to put you on retainer.” I named the monthly fee I’d decided to offer him.

He drew in breath. “That’s a lot of money.”

“You’re worth every penny.” When he started to speak again, I interrupted. “I really hope we don’t need your assistance in the future. But if we do, it’ll be nice to know you’re there for us.”

I could practically hear his happiness brimming over the phone. “Always,” he said. “I’ll always be there for you. And Mr. Marshfield, too.”

When I hung up, Frances stood. She glared at me. “You happy?”

I knew she wasn’t asking sincerely, but decided to play along. “As a matter of fact, I am.”

“That’s what he’s wanted from the very beginning. Don’t you remember when you first started working here and Tooney snuck in, pretending to be the police when Abe was killed?”

“Of course I remember.”

“This very minute you handed him what he’s always wanted, and you delivered it on a silver platter. What were you thinking?”

“Frances, he’s helped us. A lot. That effort deserves to be recognized.”

“You put him on retainer.”

I scratched the side of my head for effect. “That pretty much sums it up.”

“You feel sorry for him because he lives in a shabby house. For all you know, he has a million dollars squirrelled away in a bank account somewhere and he’s laughing at you behind your back.”

Not for the first time, I wondered what had happened in Frances’s life to create such a vortex of negativity in one person.

She barreled on. “There are a thousand private investigators in the world more experienced and more savvy than Tooney is. And they probably don’t charge as much as you’re paying that loser.”

I remained seated and gave her a smile. I knew that my composure was driving her nuts and that made me even calmer. “I’m sure you’re right about that, Frances, but there’s not one other PI in the world who cares about Marshfield, and all of us, the way Tooney does.”

“You’re a bleeding heart,” she said and stormed out.

“Is that supposed to be an insult?”

She shouted from the other office, “You’re darned right, and I’d appreciate if you’d take it that way.”

*   *   *

Bruce, Scott, and I sat in our living room that evening, watching the rain sluice against our new windows. With a bottle of wine, and soft music playing, I was in a perfect place to relax. I tried.

“Have you noticed that the house isn’t so drafty anymore?” Scott asked. He glanced over to the bare panes. It would be a while before we had draperies and curtains in place again. And if Hillary had anything to do with it, none of our original furnishings would return. “Things are really shaping up.”

“We’re very lucky,” Bruce said. “Are you happy you agreed to this upgrade?” he asked me.

“I am,” I said. “Believe it or not.”

My roommates had brought home a new vintage today, a Meritage they’d decided to sample before offering it in the shop, and we sat in what were becoming our regular spots—me in the wing chair, Scott sprawled on the sofa, and Bruce cross-legged on the floor, playing with Bootsie and one of her favorite toys.

I took another sip. “It’s good.”

“You’ve said that four times,” Bruce said. He lifted the plastic wand high in the air, causing Bootsie to jump for the stuffed mouse dangling from the end of it. “Are you fibbing, or is your mind elsewhere?”

I leaned sideways to rest my glass on the table next to me. “Busted,” I said. “I can’t seem to quiet my thoughts.”

“Care to share what’s bothering you?” Scott asked.

I dropped my head back and stared up at the ceiling. The peeling paint there only served to remind me that phase two of Hillary’s renovation would be starting up soon, keeping the house in turmoil that much longer.

“It might be easier to tell you what
isn’t
bothering me.”

One of them said, “Go ahead.”

Righting myself, I held up fingers as I listed things one by one. “The house is really looking great.”

“I concur,” Bruce said. Scott nodded.

I held up a second finger. “Hillary hasn’t been half as difficult to work with as I’d expected.”

“I think that deserves two points,” Scott said. “I really expected that having her around would be a nightmare. It’s been an adjustment, for sure, but not nearly as much as we thought.”

“The final thing I’m not bothered by”—I waited until they both made eye contact—“is cutting ties with Jack.”

Both sets of brows jumped at that.

“Really, really?” Bruce asked. “Or are you saying that to convince yourself?”

“Really, really.”

As though she understood, Bootsie took that moment to forsake the fake mouse. She bounded onto my lap and propped two paws on my collarbone and stared at me as though attempting to divine my true thoughts on the matter. “I’m not kidding,” I said to her. Addressing all of them, I continued, “I don’t understand it fully, but I think I saw Jack as unattainable. And that was his allure.”

“Now that he’s pursuing you, that makes him less interesting?” Scott asked. “I’m not buying it, Grace. That makes you sound shallow, and you’re not.”

I caught myself wrinkling my nose à la Hillary and forced myself to relax. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I think what happened was that I wasn’t fully healed from the breakup with Eric when Jack came into the picture. The fact that Jack was emotionally unavailable made things easy for both of us. We were able to play the attraction game. Made us both feel good while it lasted. Most of the time, at least.”

“And now?”