Paper-Thin Alibi (11 page)
Jo had forgotten about the workshop, and though she was prepared for it, having planned ahead several days ago, she wondered how she would get through this long day. But with the rapid way things had spiraled downward, taking time out for rest was the last thing on her mind.
“Yes, I’ll hold the workshop,” she said, “though I suspect the number of people showing up has probably shrunk since I last looked at it.”
Javonne flapped a hand. “No matter. Your true friends will be there, and we’ll help you straighten this whole mess out.” She moved toward the door. “I’m sorry this all comes on top of Russ Morgan’s being shot. I’ve been hearing, though, along with everything else, that he’s doing really well.”
“Have you?” Jo brightened. “Mark Rosatti promised to keep me updated, but it’s only been a few hours since I last saw him and I suspect he’s had a few other things to do as well.” Jo’s thoughts had never been far from Russ. But convinced, thanks to Ina Mae, that Russ was in excellent hands, she allowed herself to worry much less.
“I’d better get back to the office,” Javonne said. “See you tonight.”
Jo and Carrie each waved Javonne off, then turned to each other with concern-filled faces. Jo spoke first.
“Well, Meg Boyer works at the Abbot’s Kitchen now. What would you like me to pick up for your lunch?”
“How about,” Carrie said with a rueful look, “a nice solution to Linda Weeks’s murder, all wrapped up tightly and tied with a bow.”
Jo smiled and asked, “Did you want fries with that?”
Chapter 10
Jo pulled on a thick navy cardigan before heading out, glad she’d brought the sweater with her that morning. The earlier promise of a warm, sunny day had faded as clouds moved in to dim the brightness and chill the air. As she walked, the sight of a clump of daffodils, their sturdy stalks topped with buttery, half-opened buds, gave her hope for pleasanter days ahead—weatherwise, though at the moment Jo held little expectation for that in her life. For the immediate future, it seemed “pleasant” would be defined as “not under arrest” or “not seeing mothers pull their small children inside as she walked by,” which hadn’t happened yet. But the day was still young.
After Javonne’s warning about the rumors flying around Abbotsville, Jo had two customers stop in. Their arrival had at first given her hope that the situation might not be as bad as it had sounded. It turned out, however, that these “customers,” two women she’d never seen before, were simply curiosity seekers. While pretending interest in her craft wares they had mainly tossed stares her way in between whispered titters. They had finally left without making a purchase, leaving Jo with a sinking feeling about what lay ahead for her.
She passed the empty shop that had once been Fantastic Florals by Frannie. Jo remembered hearing that the place had been recently leased to an antiques dealer, and she saw signs of rejuvenation inside—painters’ drop cloths and ladders. She was glad the shop would be active again, but would miss the feisty little florist who had once manned it. Frannie, for one, wouldn’t have put any stock in the murder rumors, Jo was sure. But she had come to know Jo well enough, whereas the majority of townspeople still didn’t. That, apparently, was Jo’s vulnerability.
She came to the Abbot’s Kitchen and reached for the door’s handle uneasily, hoping to find the place on the empty side. She had held off coming until after the lunch rush and was relieved, as she pulled the door open, to see she had guessed right. The only face that turned her way was Ruthie’s, which crinkled into a road map of creases as she smiled warmly.
“Hi, Ruthie,” Jo said, gratefully returning the smile. “How’ve you been?”
“Working too hard. Good to see you again, Jo, though I’m sorry to hear about all your recent problems.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that more than you can know, and I’m trying to resolve at least some of them. Carrie and I would like our usual order to go, and if she has a moment would you mind if I talked with Meg Boyer?”
“Meg? No, I don’t mind at all. Something to do with this craft show business?”
Jo nodded. “Meg told me she went to high school with the woman who was murdered at Michicomi. I need to find out a few things about her.”
“Meg knew that woman? She never said a word about it! I knew she’d been to the craft festival, of course. She’s not much of a talker, is she? Hard worker, though, so I have no complaints.”
“You and Bert have done all the work yourselves up to now, haven’t you? This must give you a bit of a break.”
Ruthie smiled. “All these years, just the two of us. We’re starting to think it might be time to let go a little, take some time off, as long as we have the right people to handle things for us. Not easy finding reliable people, though, with what we can afford to pay.” Ruthie turned her head toward the kitchen. “Meg! Can you come out here a minute?”
Ruthie lowered her voice and leaned toward Jo. “I wasn’t all that impressed with Meg when she first applied. Seemed kinda listless and uninterested, you know? But then I heard she’d been stuck at home a lot with a husband who was kinda controlling. I thought this might be her first try to get out and get hold of her life a bit, you know what I mean? So I decided to give her a chance. It’s been working out.”
Jo nodded. “I’m glad.”
Ruthie straightened up as Meg stepped through the door from the kitchen, a white apron covering the front of her paisley-printed smock and wide jeans. “You wanted to see me?” the younger woman asked.
“Jo, here, wants to talk to you. Why don’t you grab a Coke or something and sit down a bit. I’ll get Bert started on the order.”
Ruthie disappeared into the kitchen, and Jo pulled a bottle of chilled iced tea from the self-serve case and turned to ask Meg, “Coke for you?”
“Uh-huh. Diet.”
Jo handed her the can and went over to one of the small tables near the window, Meg following behind. She twisted off her iced tea cap and waited until Meg popped her Coke open, then said, “I wanted to ask you more about Linda Weeks.”
Meg shrugged. “Okay.” She took a healthy gulp from her can. “What about her?”
“Her former husband. Did you happen to know him?”
“No. I never heard any news about her after high school, so I didn’t even know she was married.”
“What about other classmates? Did you keep in touch with anyone who might be able to give me a name and information on how to find him?”
Meg stared above Jo’s right shoulder, thinking, and Jo saw a spark of interest appear in her eyes. She looked back at Jo. “You know, I might. Hold on.” She pushed her chair back and stood up. “My pocketbook’s in the back.”
Jo sipped her ice tea and watched Meg go into the kitchen, her step a bit livelier than when she’d come out. Jo crossed her fingers that she’d return with a good lead. While she waited, a customer walked through the door, and Jo glanced over, relieved to see it was nobody she recognized—or who recognized her—but sad, at the same time, over that feeling. She had chosen to settle in a small town partly for the pleasure of becoming part of a community. She was discovering, though, that there could be a downside to that. With the way her business had slowed, she needed to clear her name quickly, before “down” turned into “down and out.”
Ruthie came out to wait on the customer, and Meg soon followed, holding a large, well-worn handbag. She plopped down in her seat and began searching through it, pulling out things that looked to Jo like they might have been in there for years: old envelopes, rumpled tissues, at least two pairs of sunglasses, a mashed, wrapped Twinkie.
“Ah,” Meg finally cried. “Here it is.” She pulled out a battered-looking address book and flipped through it, small pieces of paper dropping out in the process. “Yes. Emmy Schmidt. I have her number. If it hasn’t changed and I get her, I’ll bet she can tell us something.”
“Want to try now?” Jo dug into her own purse. “You can use my cell phone.”
“Sure.” Meg took the phone, then grinned. “I hope Em-my’s sitting down when she answers. This’ll be quite a shock, hearing from me.”
Jo watched as Meg carefully punched in Emmy Schmidt’s number, then waited for the connection. Meg drew a breath as someone apparently answered.
“Hi, Emmy? This is Meg Padgett. Remember me? From the Marching Wolverines?” She grinned, and Jo was able to faintly catch the sounds of Emmy screaming in surprise. “Yeah, a long time. Uh-huh. Right!”
Jo waited as Meg went through a brief catching-up conversation, noticing that she offered little of herself other than that she was now Meg Boyer and living in Abbotsville, Maryland. Emmy apparently had much more she wanted to share. Meg traded reminiscences about the high school band, in which she had played the clarinet and Emmy was a majorette, which at least sounded promising to Jo as someone likely to have been friends with Linda. But Jo shifted in her chair, wanting the conversation to get to the point.
Finally she heard Meg bring up Linda, not mentioning what had happened to her recently but only asking, casually, if Emmy knew if she was married or not.
“Oh?” Meg said, making writing motions to Jo, who quickly pulled out a pen and a scrap of paper from her pocketbook. “So she married him after all, huh? But it didn’t last? What a shame. I heard she had gone to New York. Is he there too? Oh, really?” Meg scribbled something down. “Wow, that’s a surprise. What made him move there, I wonder? Oh. Uh-huh. I see. Well . . .” Meg’s side of the conversation lapsed into “mmms” and “uh-huhs” as Emmy apparently took over once again, but Meg pushed the paper she’d written on over to Jo as she continued to listen.
Jo read what was written there and felt her eyes widen. She looked up at Meg, who nodded agreement with Jo’s reaction.
Linda Weeks’s former husband was Patrick Weeks—a name that meant nothing to Jo—but he presently lived in Marlsburg, Maryland. Marlsburg was the surprising part, since it was probably within twenty miles of Abbotsville.
Jo thought this over, as Meg hung on the line with Emmy. Had Linda applied to come to Michicomi in Hammond County for more reasons than to sell jewelry? She must have known Patrick was living nearby. Did she contact him? And if so, how had that gone?
“Okay, Emmy. Great talking to you.” Meg wound up her conversation—with some difficulty, apparently, as she added several more “uh-huhs” before the final good-bye. She handed the warm phone back to Jo, looking pleased.
“Great work, Meg,” Jo said.
“Will you go see him?”
“Yes, I think that’d work better than just calling. It sounded like you knew the guy she married from school. Would you like to come along?”
Meg frowned. “No, I don’t think so. I mean, I didn’t really know him. I just remembered his name and that he and Linda were a hot couple toward the end of senior year.” She cleared her frown. “If I went we might just get stuck talking about high school stuff. Look how Emmy went on and on.”
Jo thought Emmy’s easiness about sharing information had come from talking to an old classmate and would have liked Meg’s help in that way with the ex-husband. But she didn’t want to urge Meg into a situation she wasn’t comfortable with. Besides, Jo needed to remember that Patrick Weeks wasn’t just a source of information, but a possible suspect. How possible remained to be discovered.
“Oh,” Meg said, “Emmy mentioned that Pat has his own business, building custom-made furniture. That should make it easier to find him, don’t you think?”
“Definitely. He’ll at least be in the yellow pages. That’s good to know.” Jo stood up. “Thanks, Meg. You’ve been a terrific help.”
Meg smiled, and flicked a strand of hair off her face with a toss of her head, a gesture that struck Jo as perkier than her usual half-hearted hand swipe.
As she walked back to the craft shop, lunch order in hand, Jo wondered about the high school version of Meg. What had she been like then? Certainly energetic enough to be in a marching band. Slimmer? Less mousy? Apparently memorable enough to be instantly recalled by the band’s majorette. What had changed Meg over the years? An unwise marriage that had gradually beaten her down? Perhaps her husband had been the reason she held back from seeing Patrick Weeks, fearing what his reaction would be?
Jo remembered what Ruthie had said, that she thought Meg might be working on regaining control of her life. If so, Jo wished her the best of luck. Pulling your life back together, as Jo understood from her own experience, wasn’t easy, but was well worth all the effort.
On that note, her thoughts flew to Russ, the man whose recent entrance into her life had brightened it so, but whose very presence she found herself feeling so conflicted about. The shooting had certainly demonstrated how important he’d become to her. But it had also frightened her. What if she let Russ mean as much to her as Mike had, only to lose him as she had lost Mike?
At that thought, Jo halted, nearly dropping her lunch bag.
“I don’t know if I could bear that again,” she said, remembering the pain of that time.
A second question instantly came to mind:
Would you not have married Mike if you’d known what would happen?
Would you not have married Mike if you’d known what would happen?
Jo didn’t have to think about that. “No, I wouldn’t have missed those years for anything. They were precious to me. I wouldn’t be who I am today without them.”
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