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A quick call to Agnes verified some valuable information the older woman had given Beverly earlier, namely, the names and spellings of the two “young toughs” who’d tried to rob Beverly months ago—Herman Villers and Fritz Gailey. The same boys Agnes suspected were behind the break-in at her shop. And not only names, Agnes had heard where the duo worked—at the local lumber mill, which was open twenty-four hours.
Looked like this was going to be Beverly’s “wood” day. Appropriate, since she’d been in town five days, and wood was the traditional gift for the fifth wedding anniversary. Not that she’d ever had to worry about that, never having made it to five before.
Before any showtime, one needed a costume. She headed for what had become a favorite store, the Cluttered Closet. The taxidermied eel in the window was no longer in sight, replaced by a stuffed gopher sporting a little top hat and sequin vest. But the mannequins guarding the entrance were still there, one dressed as a Viking, the other as a Goth.
The clerk and Beverly were on a first-name basis now, and the minute Beverly walked in the door, Cherry said, “We got in a new shipment of wigs. They’re awesome. I thought of you when I saw them.”
Cherry wasn’t kidding. When Beverly headed to the back of the shop, her eyes lighted up at the array of hairpieces. She cooed over a real-hair blond wig with long, dark roots and long, wavy strands that fell to chest-height. That one went in her cart. Along with a black Cleopatra-style item with bangs and another that looked like what Dolly Parton would wear if she was a redhead.
Beverly also purchased a pair of red boots and two jackets, one red and the other green. After carting the items to her SUV, she opened the trunk and put them next to the costume kit she always kept in the trunk of whatever car she was driving. She had a brief pang of remorse as she studied the kit.
She wasn’t entirely honest with Adam when he’d asked her to put aside her con-woman ways. For she couldn’t bear to part with that kit—false eyelashes, glasses, face prosthetics, makeup, and all. And she hadn’t exactly promised she’d give it all up, right? Only that she’d give it serious thought.
A quick trip to a restaurant bathroom was in order, and it was a one-seater, so she wouldn’t be disturbed. Moments later, she headed out again as a redhead wearing a red jacket and red boots underneath her skirt. The fuller cheeks and green contact lenses were a nice touch if she did say so herself.
After one more stop at another store to pick up a leather portfolio, she headed for the lumber mill. As she found out when she arrived, the place was also a stone quarry. Guess if one business failed, they always had the other, right?
She soon saw a reason for the latter when she spied the layer cake of granite cuttings behind the main building. As for the wood part, it was hard to tell, since all the materials seemed to be hidden from sight in several outbuildings. But the sound of a loud whining, buzzing sound in the distance was a dead giveaway.
Time for some quick research on her phone to get the lingo and details just right. Or close enough. One deep breath and a quick look at her getup in the mirror reassured her, and she grabbed the portfolio and marched into the office. “Good afternoon, I’m here to speak with Mr. John Davidson.”
The clerk tore his attention away from some paperback and squinted at her. “Do you have an appointment?”
“I did call ahead, yes. Ms. Joan Sutherland, sales rep from Frugaltech Wood Dryers.”
“Oh? What’s this about?”
“Counterflow continuous kilns. As you know, our kilns improve energy consumption, give higher throughput, and improve drying consistency and product quality.”
The clerk rubbed his chin and frowned. “I don’t remember the boss saying you were coming. He flipped through a ledger and shook his head. Guess he didn’t make a note of it.” The clerk picked up the phone, but after a minute of no reply, he hung up. “Sorry, ma’am. I’ll have to go track him down.”
“Thanks very much. Mister—”
“Franklin.”
Right as the clerk headed off into the back, Beverly spied a clipboard on the wall with the heading, “Shift Schedule.” Elated, she hurried over and ran her finger along the names, looking for Herman Villers and Fritz Gailey. When she got to the page for yesterday’s shifts, the pair were listed as having been on night duty.
Beverly bit her lip so hard, she drew blood. Damn. Another dead end. If those boys were working last night, there wasn’t any way they could have trashed Agnes’s shop. Her disappointment wasn’t enough to override her fear of getting caught, so she hurried back to her car.
Agnes was helpful in another way—she’d also passed along the name of Blaine Morland’s aunt, whom he lived with. Beverly wanted to believe like Agnes did that the young motherless boy was a decent kid sucked in by a couple of hooligans, but she was more cynical than Agnes. Life had taught her that being any other way was dangerous.
Her new quest meant another change of clothes, this time in a different bathroom and something more matronly. The green jacket with a black shirt and sensible flats was more the ticket. Plus, an entirely different makeup job, the Cleopatra wig, and brown contacts.
The woman who opened the door reminded Beverly of her Grammie, and she choked up for a brief moment. She almost backed out of the ruse with the woman but instead steeled her resolve. When Beverly introduced herself as a “Diana Shore,” a social worker, Mrs. Trier welcomed her in and gave her some warm cider.
Beverly thanked her and apologized for the intrusion. “I’m checking up on Blaine to make sure everything is okay. A standard courtesy check for the schools.”
“You’re lucky you caught me as I got off work. I’ve got a 7-3 shift at Sweets for the Sweet.”
Beverly knew the place well. A popular local tourist candy and fudge store. “I’m grateful for your time.”
Mrs. Trier clutched her own mug of cider and fidgeted in her seat as if sitting on tacks. “I’m trying to do my best by poor Blaine. When my sister Tabitha died, it was hard on all of us. Blaine, especially. Has he been acting out in school?”
“No, nothing like that. Although he’s hanging out with these two boys who aren’t the best role models. I do hope Blaine has activities to keep him busy.”
“There’s homework. I make sure he does that. We watch TV most nights. Like last evening. I have him watch the eleven o’clock news with me because I want him to be educated in the real world. Not stuck in some virtual world like so many game-playing kids nowadays.”
“And I see here,” Beverly checked her non-existent notes, “that he went to school at the normal time this morning?”
“Gets up at five-thirty every morning. Since I have the early shift.”
Beverly breathed a sigh of relief at that. Although Blaine could still be the culprit in the break-in, he’d only have from about midnight to five-thirty. Beverly was fairly certain his aunt would have heard him going out or coming in.
“Have you seen any unusual psychological stress in Blaine? Does he appear depressed or angry?”
“About the usual things, I reckon. Girls, grades, and games.” At Beverly’s raised eyebrow, the aunt added, “Oh, I know he plays those things. I try to keep it to a minimum.”
“I don’t know, they have video game tournaments now. And bachelor’s degrees in game design. Programmers can earn up to five thousand a month.”
Mrs. Trier’s jaw dropped open. “You don’t say? Guess I was a little too quick to stop him.”
“I don’t think so. There will still be plenty of time for that. You’re only young once.”
Blaine’s aunt leaned back on her sofa and balanced her mug on an armrest. “You must have children, Miss Shore.”
“Actually, I don’t. But I was young once, too. And I know how much of that youth I squandered. The old ‘if I could only go back and get a do-over’ routine.”
Mrs. Trier frowned. “I don’t want that for Blaine. Aside from the loss of his mother. If God thought it was time for her to go, it was time. And nothing could stop that.”
Beverly was feeling pretty guilty about bringing up painful topics with this woman, so she hurriedly said, “It sounds like you’re doing a wonderful job with Blaine. I wish all of our cases were like that.”
The other woman beamed at that, and Beverly hoped she’d set her mind at rest somewhat. She thanked the woman again for her time and returned to her car, thinking. She didn’t agree with Tonya Trier on one thing—there was no way some deity up there was playing dice with people’s lives.
While she was relieved to find it unlikely Blaine was involved in the break-in, it didn’t clear him completely. But she was also beginning to understand why Agnes felt so sorry for the young man.
A call on her cellphone pushed away some of her gloominess. Fern Gery, Wally Ryall’s ex-girlfriend, wanted to meet for dinner. Getting business and pleasure thrown in her lap without trying? Maybe it would turn out to be a good day, after all.
