Chapter 5
The Dorset Falls police station occupied one half of a two-story brick building a couple of blocks from downtown. The other half housed the volunteer fire department. Josie pushed open the door to the police station and crossed the black-and-white tile floor to the front desk. Perfect. Not. Officer Denton was on duty. He made no secret of the fact that he thought she was a kook.
“Well, well. Miss Blair. What brings you by today? Inquiring minds want to know.” He smiled, revealing a deep dimple in each cheek. Which seemed incongruous considering his just-short-of-steroidal physique. The guy had a neck approximately the diameter of the column Lyndon had knocked over last night.
Josie bit her tongue to keep from saying what was really on her mind. So what if she’d given the police an unusual theory about the last murder? It hadn’t been that far-fetched, even though it had turned out to be wrong. “I’m here to give my statement. About Lyndon Bailey’s death.”
“I heard you found another body. Have a seat. Officer Fleming will be ready for you shortly.”
Josie sat in a molded plastic chair with shiny chrome legs. She opened a magazine—Modern Fisherman—and put it back down. That would be more Eb’s style. Even though she ate fish, she wasn’t all that interested in knowing how they were caught.
Her thoughts focused on Lyndon. He’d barely been in town a day. Who would want him dead? He hadn’t been here long enough to make any enemies. Helen said he’d lived in Dorset Falls as a child, but it was ridiculous to think that someone from his childhood had borne a grudge against him for the last fifty years or so and had waited all this time to make a move.
Lyndon had arrived almost a week before he was supposed to. Not that there had been any secret about that—the moving truck parked on Main Street had been as conspicuous as a rhinoceros at a tea party, even in Dorset Falls’s moribund downtown, and it had been clearly visible from the general store, where most Dorset Falls-ites congregated at some point or another.
Josie hadn’t known he was coming early, and if Lyndon hadn’t told her, his landlady, that he would be moving into the store before his lease officially started, it stood to reason he hadn’t told anyone else, either. But that was just speculation. He might have still been in touch with someone else here, and word could have gotten out.
Still, it seemed far more likely that whoever had killed him had followed him from out of town. But why? Lyndon gave all appearances of being a sweet man, polite and genteel. There’d been no indication that his move to Dorset Falls was precipitated by anything other than perhaps a desire to live in a quiet country village, or nostalgia for his childhood home.
Her thoughts went to Harry. He looked to be a few years younger than Lyndon, probably in his mid-to-late fifties, about the same age as her mother. He didn’t have quite the old-fashioned, courtly appeal Lyndon had possessed. Though that might not have been fair, considering the fact that the only time Josie had met him, Harry had been standing over Lyndon’s dead body. There was nothing appealing about that scenario.
Could Harry have killed Lyndon? He’d said he’d arrived just before Josie had this morning and found his business partner dead. That could be true. Or not true. His shock had seemed real enough, but maybe he was just a very convincing actor. These two had been partners for some time, according to what little Lyndon had told her when the lease was negotiated. Why wait until now to kill him?
“Miss Blair?” A voice brought her out of her musings. “I’m Officer Fleming. Please come with me.”
Josie rose and followed the man into the nonpublic area of the building. He held the door of a sparsely furnished office open for her and motioned for her to sit. Another hard plastic chair.
Officer Fleming appeared to be fresh out of the academy: barely into his twenties, clean shaven, possibly a little nervous based on the way he was drumming his pen on the metal desktop, where it gave off a metallic clink with every tap. Clearly Detective Potts didn’t think she had anything of importance to disclose if he was allowing Fleming to practice statement taking on her.
The officer recorded her name, address, and phone number, and she told him what she knew.
“Anything else?” He seemed less nervous, now that the end was in sight. Good thing the kid worked in Dorset Falls rather than New York. He’d be eaten alive there.
“Not that I can think of at the moment.”
“Then I’ll escort you out. You can call if you remember something.” He stood, and Josie followed him back into the vestibule.
Harry Oglethorpe sat in one of the chairs, looking pale and a bit dazed. Officer Fleming frowned. “You’ve given your statement to one of the other officers, right? He just released you? You can go now,” he said to Harry.
Harry looked up. “I don’t actually have anywhere to go, except for back to the bed-and-breakfast,” he said. “And you’ve impounded my car, looking for evidence.”
Fleming’s frown deepened. Harry’s tone was even, a bit flat, and not at all accusatory, but the officer was clearly taking note of Harry’s words and demeanor. “We can get you a ride,” he said.
Harry shook his head. “Thank you. But I suppose I can walk, now that I’ve had a chance to recover myself. It can’t be more than a few blocks.”
Josie didn’t blame him. She’d rather walk than ride in the back of a police cruiser too. If the police were letting him go, they must not think he was a danger, so she decided to make an offer. “I’ll take you to the Gray Lady. Assuming you don’t mind a bit of cat hair on the seats.”
Harry gave a wan smile. “I’ll accept. Cat hair and all.”
* * *
Ten minutes later, they stood on the porch of Dorset Falls’s only hostelry, the Gray Lady Bed and Breakfast. The house was huge, with a three-story turret on one end and an excessive amount of white-painted gingerbread trim. The shutters were forest green, which looked lovely against the dove gray of the rest of the building. The door opened, and Margo hustled them inside.
“Are you both all right?” Margo asked, ever hospitable. “The police have been here and sealed off Lyndon’s room. They’ve already been through yours,” she said to Harry, apologetically. “And released it. But if you’d rather move to one of the other two rooms we have, it’s no problem.”
Harry shook his head. “Where I am is fine. I guess I have some . . . decisions to make, and this is as nice a place as any to make them. And I can’t leave town.”
“Come out to the kitchen, then, and let’s have a bite to eat. You look done in,” she said to Harry. “Not that that’s surprising in the least. Josie, why don’t you come too?”
They dutifully followed Margo past the ornately carved staircase, down a papered hallway, and through a dark oak door. The kitchen beyond was bright and cheerful. Margo sat them down at the table in the center of the room and went to the fridge.
After several minutes of silence, during which Harry stared out the window and Josie discreetly watched Harry, Margo set sandwiches and glasses of lemonade in front of her guests. “Eat something, Harry,” Margo urged.
Josie took a bite of her sandwich. Turkey on wheat bread with lettuce and a thick slice of avocado. Delicious.
Harry picked up his sandwich and took an unenthusiastic bite. He chewed, swallowed, and set it down again. “I’m afraid I’m not very hungry,” he said.
“Understandable,” Josie said. “But unless the police gave you something from a vending machine down at the station, odds are you haven’t eaten all day. And it would be a shame to waste this.”
“You’re both very kind,” he said. “As soon as I get my car back, I guess I’ll be heading home to my condo in Wethersfield. But I expect that won’t be for a few days at least.” He nibbled at the sandwich again, then sipped at the drink.
Josie wasn’t quite sure how to bring up the subject, and now probably wasn’t the time, but she decided to go for it. “What, uh, do you plan to do—”
“About the shop?” he cut in. “I can see you feel bad about asking, but don’t. We’re all businesspeople here.” He set down his glass. “I don’t know. Lyndon was always the face of the business, better at sales, and I did most of the buying. Behind the scenes.”
“Well,” Josie said, “the rent is paid for six months in advance.” She mentally crossed her fingers and rubbed an imaginary rabbit’s foot. Even though she wasn’t legally obligated to return any money, she’d feel morally obligated to at least offer.
Harry waved his hand. “I’m not going to try to get out of the lease. I have a feeling tenants aren’t exactly knocking at your door looking for rental space. Nothing personal,” he said apologetically.
“Dorset Falls isn’t a hotbed of commerce, that’s for sure,” Margo said.
Yet, Josie amended. She had a gut feeling about this town, but wasn’t about to say anything aloud.
Harry rose, placing his napkin on the table. “Margo, I believe I’ll go upstairs now. I have a lot to think about.”
Margo rose. “Of course. I’ll put the rest of your sandwich in a bag in the fridge, then if you get hungry later you can come back for it.”
When he was gone, Margo inclined her head toward the door. Josie could hear the footsteps ascending the staircase to the rooms above. Still, Josie lowered her voice. “What do you think about him?”
Margo’s expression was thoughtful. “Not much to think. He showed up here last night after I got home and went straight to his room. That was the first time I met him.”
“Harry seems . . . reserved,” Josie said. “Standoffish? Although he did find his business partner dead this morning, so I suppose his demeanor today might not be an accurate reflection of his usual personality.”
“You also found a body this morning,” Margo pointed out. “What about you?”
“It was a shock, of course. I wish I could unsee poor Lyndon lying on that floor.” Josie gave her lemonade a stir and took a sip. “Just out of curiosity, what time did Harry arrive last night?”
“Just after the eleven o’clock news started. Darrell had dozed off in his recliner, so I had to let Harry in and take him upstairs.”
“Lyndon was still at the antique store when we left last night—or at least the lights were on over there. Did he come back?”
Margo eyed her. “I see where you’re going with this. I don’t know. I didn’t see him, and Darrell didn’t mention it. But all guests have a key to the outer door, as well as keys to their rooms. So Lyndon could have come in quietly after we went to bed.”
“Was his bed slept in?”
“Hard to tell. When I looked in after the police left, the covers were off. Whether the police did that looking for evidence, or Lyndon did, I can’t say.”
So Harry had come into town after Josie had last seen Lyndon alive. Or at least he’d shown up here at the Gray Lady then, which wasn’t quite the same thing. And he could have left anytime during the night. Or, assuming Lyndon did come back to the Gray Lady last night, Harry could have followed Lyndon to the antique shop early this morning. However it happened, and whether Lyndon was killed last night, or this morning, Harry could have managed it.
Don’t speculate, she reminded herself. The police are handling it. Still, she couldn’t help but ask, “Did the police find anything?”
Margo shook her head. “Not that they told me. As far as I know, Lyndon only had a few clothes here, which they took along with them. The detective wasn’t here long collecting evidence in either Lyndon’s or Harry’s room, so I’m assuming there wasn’t much of anything to find.”
“What about Lyndon’s car? Did the police take that too?”
The timer buzzed on the oven. Margo rose. “Rusty Simmons brought the tow truck over himself a little while ago and took it away.” She pulled a hot casserole from the oven. The heavenly fragrance of homemade lasagna wafted across the room and filled Josie’s nostrils. As nicely as she’d settled into the rural life of Dorset Falls, there were some things she missed, like her favorite little Italian restaurant around the corner from her Brooklyn apartment.
“Which reminds me,” Margo continued, placing the hot dish on a trivet on her granite countertop and setting the potholders beside it. “Maybe Rusty can rent Harry his loaner car. Then Harry can at least get out of the house and drive around town. Not that there are all that many places to go. You want some of this to take home?” She pointed to the dish on the counter.
Tempting. Oh, so tempting. “Well, I was going to get dinner from the g.s. tonight. Truth is Eb’s been needling me about not cooking. Much as I hate to admit he’s right . . .”
Margo gave a little chuckle. “I understand. Your countrifica-tion process has begun. Take this.” She opened a cupboard and pulled out a Mason jar filled with a dark red substance. “Homemade sauce. Can you use a knife? A frying pan? Can you boil water?”
Josie nodded. “I even know how to turn the knob and light the burner.”
“Then you can handle this.” Margo rummaged in a drawer until she found a piece of paper and a pen. She wrote down some instructions and handed them to Josie, who read through them.
“Thanks, Margo. I’ll cancel my order from Lorna. I can’t wait to see the look on Eb’s face when I set a mostly home-cooked meal in front of him.” Oh, he’d find something else to bug Josie about. That was just his nature. But it would be satisfying just the same.