Wreath of Deception (11 page)

Morgan simply looked at her for a few moments, then turned a page in the file before him and began a new tack.

“Mrs. McAllister, did you, when you lived in New York, have dealings with a Niles P. Sandborn?”

Jo’s shock must have shown, since Morgan looked gratified.

“Niles? Where did you dig him up?” Why was her life suddenly being examined? What was going on?

“You had business with him?”

“Yes, at one time. He is a dealer. He bought jewelry from me, for a while.”

“Was your relationship amicable?”

“As a matter of fact, no, it was not, at least not always. When I got tired of his late payments and other finagling, I put an end to it.”

“
You
put an end to it?”

“Yes.”

“It wasn’t the other way around?”

“Oh, Lord. What did he tell you? Yes, I know Niles tried to sue me for breach of contract. But it came to nothing. Our ‘contract’ was quite flexible, allowing either of us to end it easily, and he knew it. He was just blowing smoke.”

“I suppose you never threatened him either?”

“Lieutenant Morgan, what is going on here? Does the fact that a crime happened to take place in my storeroom give you the right to invade my privacy? Does it automatically make me the prime suspect? The only suspect? For heaven’s sake, look for someone who actually knew the victim, why don’t you? I never even saw Kyle before he showed up at my store in his clown suit.”

“Didn’t you?”

“No!” Jo nearly shouted it. She drew a breath to say more, but something in Morgan’s face stopped her. “What?” she asked.

“You never encountered the victim, Kyle Sandborn, in New York, during that entire period you dealt with his uncle, Niles Sandborn?”

“Niles Sand . . .” Jo’s voice died in her throat. “His uncle? I, I never made the connection. We seldom used each other’s last name. I barely remembered what it was.”

“You barely remembered the name of the man who threatened you with a lawsuit?”

“Yes,” Jo answered weakly, acutely aware that Morgan didn’t believe her. She looked desperately to Ainsworthy whose eyes were now closed. To her horror she heard a soft snore rise from him.

Morgan drilled on. “Kyle Sandborn went to visit his uncle in New York regularly. He stayed with him so he could go on auditions, and occasionally helped him in his business. Niles Sandborn is positive you met his nephew.”

“If he says so, perhaps I did. But I doubt the man was in clown makeup at the time, don’t you, Lieutenant?”

“So you admit you did know him?”

“I said ‘perhaps,’ didn’t I?”

“I’m wondering why you never mentioned this to us, Mrs. McAllister, this prior connection to the victim.”

“I’m wondering why I bothered to come here and listen to these outlandish insinuations, Lieutenant Morgan. In fact I refuse to listen to any more. If you have something to charge me with, you know where to find me.”

Jo stood, exchanging glares with the man behind the desk, holding her breath at the same time to see if in fact he
would
slam her with some ridiculous, trumped up charge of murder, or manslaughter, or whatever he thought would hold water. When he remained silent, she shook Earnest C. Ainsworthy, who woke with a series of coughs and snuffles.

“Come on, let’s go,” Jo said, dragging him upward.

She heard Ainsworthy stumbling through his “good days” to Morgan, but she reached for the door, unwilling to look at Morgan and see the sneer that was likely gracing his face. Their exit wasn’t as forceful as her last one, as Ainsworthy seemed unable to negotiate the maze of desks with any rapidity. Eventually, though, they made their way out, Jo’s emotions swinging between relief—at actually leaving—and anger and amazement over the whole unbelievable situation.

What the heck, she wondered, was going on?

Chapter 11

Jo dropped Ainsworthy back at his office, struggling through gritted teeth to remain civil to her so-called lawyer as he mumbled inanities laced with legal jargon. Delighted to see him finally stumble out of her sight, she began to drive back to the Craft Corner, her foot heavy on the gas pedal, until she realized there was no way she’d be able to calmly resume work on her jewelry. Nor did she want to face Carrie’s questions. She needed time to cool down and gather her thoughts. She turned toward the little park she had passed often on her drives between home and work, and hoped that in the middle of a school day it would be unpopulated and quiet, offering her a few moments of peace.

Her hopes rose as she pulled into the parking lot and saw only two cars in an area that could hold twenty. Jo got out and began to walk rapidly, following a paved lane that wound past rhododendron and azalea plantings, all long past their bloom times and readying for the cold weather that was to come. A cool breeze hinted it was already on its way, and Jo pulled her light cardigan together more tightly and brushed back the dark bangs that had blown into her eyes. She came to a statue of a man in Civil War uniform and paused to check out the engraved sign at its base, while slowing down her breathing as best she could.

A white-haired man in gray shorts and T-shirt jogged by, puffing out a breathy “mornin’.” Jo returned the greeting, managing a stiff smile, then turned back to the bronze soldier. Brigadier General Jeremiah Boggsworth, she learned, scanning the sign, was a native son of Abbotsville, born in 1811. He had died during the War Between the States in 1862, not in a blaze of glory on the battlefield, unfortunately, but of infection caused by a rusty horseshoe nail. Poor General Boggsworth, Jo thought. Done in by an ignominious puncture. Not unlike Kyle. It was just her miserable luck that Kyle’s occurred in her craft shop.

Jo sighed, and pushed her hands into the pockets of her sweater. She moved on, running over the previous hour spent enduring Russ Morgan’s near-accusations. They continued to make her blood boil, but she realized her situation had grown even more serious. Morgan seemed determined to find that final link that would let him charge her with murder. She could almost hear the prosecutor’s words to the jury, as she sat trembling behind the defendant’s table:

“Ladies and gentlemen, I put it to you that what we have here is a cold-blooded murderer. This woman allowed nothing to stand in her way—not a husband whose death would bring her riches, nor a poor, struggling actor who happened to be witness to her . . .”

Her what? What did Russ Morgan think Kyle knew about her that she would be willing to murder him for? What was Niles hinting about her? Jo knew Niles could be unconscionable in his business dealings, but what would he stoop to, what lies would he tell or maybe even half-believe in a misguided attempt at family revenge? Did
he
truly believe Jo was guilty of his nephew’s murder?

Whatever was going on, it was clear Jo needed to find out the truth of what happened in her storeroom before some wild, devious theory was devised and then believed by one and all. Until now, she had been dabbling at investigation, humoring her crafting ladies and reassuring herself that she was doing something active. Now the stakes had been raised. Jo needed to find out who actually killed Kyle Sandborn, and find out fast, while she was still a free woman.

What exactly had she managed to dig up about Kyle? His coworkers at the country club hinted that he liked to poke into other people’s business and imagine wrongdoing on little evidence. Not unlike his Uncle Niles, Jo laughed grimly, then wondered:
had
she met Kyle in New York?

Jo thought back to her few visits to Niles’ consignment shop, on Broadway, north of Houston. There had always been people around such as sales clerks and customers looking for bargains. Occasionally he had introduced her as a jewelry designer, but she didn’t recall ever meeting a nephew. If it had happened, it had been a nonevent, a quick introduction in passing, something neither of them would remember. It boggled her mind that Niles was suddenly making such a point of it.

She moved on to the people at the Abbotsville Playhouse. Genna, the actress who would have played opposite Kyle if he’d lived, had a boyfriend who seemed to have been unhappy with that fact. This definitely bore investigation. Jo needed to talk to Genna.

A high-pitched screech jarred Jo out of her thoughts. She looked up, startled, and realized she had come to a small playground. A young mother stood beside her toddler, who was strapped into a baby swing, laughing delightedly. The mother’s arm pushed automatically as she simultaneously carried on a conversation with another young woman whose baby sat in a stroller.

How contented they look, Jo thought, feeling a flash of envy for those who appeared to have uncomplicated lives, filled with simple joys. She and Mike had occasionally discussed having children, but always ended up putting it off to some undefined time when things were “right.” Had that been the right or wrong decision, considering the turn her life had taken? She had since tried not to agonize over it. What was done was done, or perhaps not done, and she directed any surfacing maternal feelings toward Carrie’s two as the need arose.

The woman at the swing looked over and smiled, and Jo strolled in that direction, having wearied of her solitude. The toddler wiggled and pointed, along with more screeches, clearly signaling “I want out!” His mother complied and watched him dotingly as he ran to a nearby jungle gym and grabbed onto its lower bars, sidestepping on the packed mulch beneath.

Jo sat down on a nearby bench, tucked between two spruces and somewhat protected from the hair-tossing breeze. The toddler, apparently constitutionally unable to stay in one place for more than a minute or two, suddenly came careening toward Jo, and she caught him as he stumbled on a tree root.

“Whoops! Here you go,” she said, setting him back on his feet.

“Thank you,” his mother, a pretty blond-haired woman, called. She hurried over and sat on the other end of the bench. “Cory, when are you going to tire yourself out enough for a nap?” she asked with mock exasperation. She pulled a small bottle of apple juice out of her tote and handed it to her son, who immediately sank to the ground to suck at it.

“Hi, I’m Dawn,” she said, turning to Jo.

“I’m Jo. Looks like he keeps you pretty busy,” Jo said, glancing at Cory, whose round blue eyes gazed at her over his bottle.

Dawn nodded, grinning. “And to think I could hardly wait til he started walking. I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

Jo hesitated, glancing over at the second mother, who was placing her baby in the swing Cory had vacated. Should she identify herself as not only new in town but also proprietor of Jo’s Craft Corner? Would it worry Dawn to have her child so near a, a what? A murder suspect? No, word surely wouldn’t have gotten around yet. At worst, Jo was still only the unlucky woman who had found the body. If that frightened Dawn away, so be it. She enlightened her new acquaintance, whose eyes widened only briefly with recognition.

“I heard they still don’t know who did that to him,” Dawn said, quickly getting down to what interested her most.

“No, they don’t.”

“It’s so weird, a thing like that happening to someone you know.”

Jo’s gaze, which had wandered to Cory, darted back to Dawn. “Oh?”

“Well, not
knew
him, but, you know how it is. In a town this size, you always know someone who knows someone, so you feel connected.”

“Who do you know who knew him?”

“My cousin, Genna.”

“Really.” Jo tried to muffle signs of her interest. “Is she the girl I saw at the playhouse?”

“Yes! See what I mean? Everyone knows everyone here, one way or another. What did you see her in?
Biloxi Blues
?”

“No, I was at the rehearsal for the show they’re working on now, something to do with Rumpelstiltskin.”

“Oh, is that their next one? I didn’t know. What’s Genna’s part in it?”

“She has one of the leads, playing the spinner who pledges her firstborn to Rumpelstiltskin.”

Dawn grinned, and rolled her eyes at Cory. “Tempting idea, sometimes! Good for Genna, though, getting a part like that. Last time she played a prostitute.” Dawn giggled. “My aunt wasn’t delighted with that. Does she get to sing in this one?”

“There’s some music in it.” Jo thought back to the peculiar song she heard being rehearsed, and hoped whatever else there might be would fit the word “music” better. “I didn’t hear Genna sing, but I guess she might.”

“I hope so. She has a really nice voice.” Dawn reached over to button her son’s jacket, which the breeze had started to flap.

Jo asked, “Was Genna terribly upset over Kyle? I imagine they must have been close, I mean as fellow members of the playhouse troupe.”

“Well,” a cautious look crept over Dawn now, and she seemed to choose her words carefully, “she was upset, of course. I mean, it’s a horrible thing to happen to anyone. But she has plenty of support. There’s her family and friends. And Pete, her boyfriend.”

Jo noticed that Dawn looked away when she mentioned Pete, as though regretting having brought him up. “Does Genna live at home, then,” she pressed, “or do she and her boyfriend—”

“No, they don’t live together, not that Pete hasn’t tried to talk her into it. Genna has a roommate. They share a two-bedroom in those new Wildwood apartments, a really cool place.” Dawn began talking faster. “I wish they had been built when Jack and I were first looking for one. We’d move, but they cost more than where we are now, and we’re saving for a house. You know those houses over on . . .” Dawn chattered on, clearly much more comfortable with the new subject.

Jo waited for a pause, and, when Dawn drew a breath, jumped in with, “Yes, they do sound very nice. I was wondering, though, about Genna’s boyfriend. Did he—”

Dawn suddenly leaned down and grabbed her son’s bottle, pulling it from his mouth with a pop. Cory reacted with an indignant wail, and Dawn picked him up, explaining to Jo, “I can’t let him drink too much right now. I don’t have any extra diapers with me.” She consoled the toddler with a quick pat on his back, then turned him away from Jo. “Oh, look, Cory, there’s a squirrel!”