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Agnes placed the new Grecian-bust fountain on the wine shop’s counter. She moved it forward six inches, back four inches, then forward again. The woman was still agitated over Blaine Morland at the garden shop, and Beverly didn’t see any signs of her mood changing for the better.
With a groan, Agnes reached for her purse, grabbed a bottle of pills, and dry-swallowed one.
Beverly asked, “Headache?”
“Pep pills. Doc Wilson prescribed them for me.”
“Pep as in caffeine or pep as in—”
“Anti-depressants. Something ending in ‘ine,’ I think.”
“But you don’t seem depressed.”
“Guess those pills are doing their job.”
“They have so many side effects. Are you sure you need them?”
Agnes rubbed the pill bottle and slipped it back into her purse. “They’ve become a crutch. I never got over David’s death. He was my one true love. And then when our son died, too. . .”
Beverly patted her on the shoulder. “It’s okay. If you need them, you need them.” She looked around. “Do you have any bottled water to use in this fountain?”
Agnes directed her to the cafe area, where Beverly extracted a bottle and brought it to the counter. She followed the instructions, plugged in the fountain, and watched as the soothing sound of running water bubbled out the top, flowed over the statuary, and down into a square basin.
Agnes patted the bust’s head. “He looks very classically Greek. I think I’ll call him Dionysus.”
“The Greek god of wine?”
“Can you think of a better name?”
Beverly eyed the male statuary with its wide-open stone eyes that seemed to be staring back at her. “Dionysus will make a fine mascot.”
The chimes over the door Agnes had installed signaled a new arrival, and Beverly bit back a smile when she saw who it was. But then her jaw hung open when Agnes started in on Adam right away, haranguing him about Blaine Morland. “They hauled that boy out of there like he was a worthless piece of garbage. Police brutality, pure and simple. He hadn’t done anything wrong.”
Beverly didn’t miss the quick look in her direction from Adam before he replied, “I checked on those three boys before I came here. They’ve been tied to other thefts in town.”
“All three of them?”
“Well, the two older boys.”
“There, you see? Not the youngest one, not Blaine. He shouldn’t go to jail just for running with the wrong crowd. If each of us had to go to jail for having bad friends, we’d all be in jail.”
“If Blaine Morland doesn’t have any priors, and the store owner can’t prove he saw him shoplifting, he’ll be okay.”
“I may not be a mind reader, but I don’t feel that boy means any evil. He’s directionless, a lost boy who lost his mother. And lost little boys tend to latch on to anyone or anything who’ll give them the time of day.”
Adam walked over to the fountain and appeared to be hypnotized by the water. “If he’s innocent, then we’ll see what we can do about changing that course of his. Those older two—I wouldn’t be surprised to find they’re tied to several unsolved burglaries and break-ins. I’m glad Prospero is installing a security system for you and Harlan. An antiques store up in Crawford was vandalized two weeks ago.”
Beverly mused aloud, “Can’t help but wonder if those older two boys were behind the break-in here at Agnes’s shop.”
She realized her mistake the moment the words came out of her mouth. Agnes glared at her for letting the details slip, and Adam glared at her, too, as he asked, “What break-in here at Agnes’s shop?”
It was too late to turn back, so Beverly added, “Two days ago, Agnes found her shop in disarray. Some items were broken, others strewn about. It was a mess.”
“Anything stolen?”
“Agnes couldn’t find anything missing.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about this? We could have sent in a team to check for prints or other evidence.”
Agnes said soothingly, “You’re so busy with Harlan’s case, this bit of nonsense hardly seemed worth troubling you about.”
Adam stewed over that briefly, then surprised Beverly by asking, “Didn’t Harlan send over some items for your shop?”
Agnes replied, “Why, yes, he did. He didn’t have to do that, mind you. I wasn’t expecting anything in return for putting up the property bond.”
“Were any of those items among the ones broken or rifled through?”
“Now that you mention it, yes. Is that important?”
“Can you show me those items?”
Agnes waved her hand, motioning for him to follow her to the small inventory room as Beverly trailed along behind. Agnes pointed to a table where several small items lay waiting for repair.
Adam studied the broken halves of a Davenport terra cotta wine bottle cooler and the pieces of a cranberry-red Prussian-style glass decanter. “It’s likely an effort in futility, but I’d like to send someone out to try to print these pieces.”
Agnes hesitated, and Adam reassured her, “Look, if the boy is guilty, it will come out anyway. But the prints could as easily prove he wasn’t behind this particular nasty business.”
She relented, and when he asked for a list of the things Harlan had loaned her, she bounded toward the front. Adam looked at Beverly, “She seems happier all of a sudden.”
Beverly grinned. “She got a new combo fax-copier-printer she’s quite proud of.”
“Ah. Glad to christen it for her.” He picked up a black lacquer papier mâché coaster decorated with gold flowers and leaves. “Did you contribute any items to Agnes’s shop?”
“What you’re holding in your hand right there.”
“Looks expensive.”
“Good prices can be had if you know where to look.”
“You did come by it the old-fashioned way, right?”
Beverly gritted her teeth. Did he think so little of her he’d believe she’d conned somebody out of those coasters? But then, did they really know each other that well at all? Sometimes all they did was avoid, evade, and dance circles around the other.
Adam must have picked up on her mood, or her expression said it all. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Oh? How did you mean it?”
“Ever since that whole Forsythe saga, the NAL, the disguises. I don’t like the idea of you putting yourself in danger.”
She tilted her head. “You mean like pipe bombs?”
“That’s different. I do this for a living. It’s expected I’ll piss some people off.”
Agnes rejoined them and handed a paper over to Adam. “There you go.” She waited for him to glance at the list before adding, “I think I saw your ex-wife, Zelda, the other day. Going into the new fashion designer boutique in Hanover. She had on a red coat and red shoes, as I recall. With her red hair, it made her look like a walking strawberry.”
Beverly almost choked, and Adam stared down at the floor. Beverly was afraid Agnes had gone too far with her underhanded matchmaking when she saw Adam trying to suppress a smile.
“Or a red bell pepper,” Beverly added, helpfully.
Adam chimed in with “Or a candied apple.”
As much as Beverly was enjoying their little game at Zelda’s expense, her curiosity got the better of her. “Where are you off to next, Adam?”
“Thought I’d check with Braddon Hopper again. Jinks found out something interesting about that ex-girlfriend of his.”
“Since Braddon already thinks I’m your ‘consultant,’ mind if I tag along?”
She expected him to say no when he surprised her again by agreeing. On the way to the car, he asked, “So. Coffee with Zelda?”
“Oh, that. I bumped into her in the tea room at the resort. We had a nice chat.”
“A nice chat. Is that code for catfight?”
“You wish. Men go in for that sort of thing, don’t they? Kind of a turn-on?”
“This man doesn’t. Too much like my day job.”
She could tell he was pissed at her refusal to elaborate further. But she wasn’t about to tell him what Zelda had said—accused, was more like it.
She punched him lightly on the arm. “Come on. Let’s go chat with Manfred Urdangarin, also known as Braddon Hopper. Is he an excellency, baron, lord, or sire? I can’t keep all that straight.”
“Don’t worry. When in doubt, I’ll use what I do on crooks, ‘hey you.’ Works pretty well.”
“Ever tried that on Mayor Lehmann?”
He grimaced. “Don’t tempt me.”
Adam’s cell rang, and he mouthed a “sorry” to Beverly as he took the call. From her end, she heard Adam say, “Is that a fact? You got it that soon?” He listened some more and added, “Sure sounds like him. I’m heading that way. I’ll keep you posted.”
After he hung up, Beverly stared at him expectantly. “Well?”
“Jinks.”
“It must be about Harlan’s case. So what did she say? What did she get so soon?”
“Jinks checked Wallace Ryall’s DNA with samples she got from her a sex assault victim, a case she’s working. She said she might have bribed Joe Brimm to get it fast.”
“Was Wally the same guy who attacked Jinks’s victim?”
“No, the DNA wasn’t a match. Although Jane Campen, Braddon Hopper’s ex, is still pretty sure Wally was the man who attacked her one night. But she’d blocked out something until she recently went into therapy.”
“I’m all ears.”
“After Jinks tracked her down, Jane recalled seeing another man with Wally the night she was attacked, wearing longer hair and a full beard and mustache. Sound like someone we know?”
Beverly’s eyes widened. “Mister ‘you may address me as Your Excellency, Richard Symonnet.’”
“Yep. Think I’m going to have to chat with our park ranger. And soon.”
