Chapter 9
By the time Josie and Evelyn closed up Miss Marple Knits for the day, the crime-scene tape had come down next door. Josie decided to drive by the Gray Lady Bed-and-Breakfast to check on Harry and give him the news. And if she found out whether Kai Norton had taken a room there, so much the better. Curiosity was eating away at her over what his business had been with Lyndon.
Dorset Falls was a pretty little place, if you didn’t count the mostly empty downtown. And the murders. Lawns in front of the saltboxes and Victorians and smaller ranch-style homes were still brown from winter, but here and there cheerful spots of purple, white, and gold appeared in the form of crocuses. It was still too early for tulips and daffodils, she supposed, though she didn’t have the gardening gene. She pulled in at the Gray Lady and put her car into park.
Margo greeted her at the door. “I heard your car. It has a, uh, distinctive sound.”
“If by ‘distinctive’ you mean ‘needs a tune-up,’ you’re correct.” Josie laughed. “I’ve got an appointment with Rusty next week.”
“Thanks for sending that California guy. He decided to stay.”
Josie felt a little nugget of worry form. “Just be careful, okay?”
Margo held up a hand. “Noted. Two strangers in Dorset Falls at the same time a man dies suspiciously always ups the alert level around here. Come on in,” she said. “Let’s sit in the front room. I just mopped the kitchen floor.”
Margo showed Josie into a room with ceilings at least ten feet high. Elaborate oak molding framed every window and door and lined the baseboards and the ceiling. The walls were papered in a design of exotic birds and elegant scrollwork. The over-the-top décor would have looked ridiculous at the farmhouse, but it was just right here. Even doilies would have worked.
“I can’t stay too long, and I’m sure you’ll want to be getting dinner on the table. I actually wanted to speak to Harry, if he’s around. Not that I don’t want to talk to you,” Josie added.
“No offense taken. And yes, Harry’s here. He’s been in his room most of the day. Not sure what he’s doing up there, but he asked for the Wi-Fi password, so he must have a computer with him. Work, maybe.”
From off in the distance, a phone rang. Margo jumped up. “That’s the business line. You can go on up and see Harry. His door will be second on the right at the top of the stairs.” She hustled off as the rings continued.
Josie ascended the grand staircase. There was a landing at the top. She paused. At the far end of the hallway, she could see Harry with his hand on the handle of a door. He jiggled the knob, but the door was apparently locked. He moved in her direction and tried the next door, which also appeared to be locked. What was he doing? Unless Margo had misspoken about which room was his, he was trying to get into rooms that weren’t his own.
He was bound to notice her eventually, so Josie decided on a preemptive strike. “Harry?”
He started. “Josie. You gave me a fright. It’s nice to see you again.”
Was it? He seemed agitated.
“I didn’t have your cell number, so I thought I’d come by and let you know you can get back into the antique shop. At least I think you can. The crime-scene tape is down.”
“They’ve released Lyndon’s room here, too.” Harry’s face was expressionless, but he still seemed on edge.
“I hate to ask,” Josie said as they walked downstairs and back into the front room. “But have you given any more thought as to whether you’re going to open the antique store? Of course you have the place for six months, but—”
“You need to know whether you should start lining up a new tenant. I wish I knew. Lyndon and I had a legally binding partnership agreement. We each owned half of the business, each to inherit the other’s half upon one partner’s death. But we’ve got stuff stored in several places around the state, and not all of it belongs to the business. Some of it I bought personally, and some Lyndon bought for himself. It’s going to take some time to get that all sorted out.”
“I understand. And I wasn’t trying to rush you.” Josie had charged a high enough rent for the six months to cover herself for taxes, insurance, and utilities for a year. But she was more concerned about the unopened store. It was one thing for most of Main Street to have papered-over storefront windows. Somehow, it seemed worse to have a store full of stuff that no one could buy. Like a bait-and-switch scam.
“Have you heard whether Lyndon’s niece, Taylor, has arrived in town yet?” Harry’s tone was neutral, but all the same, Josie had a feeling there was no love lost between the two.
“Haven’t heard.” Should she go for it? Nothing ventured, nothing gained. “You know who is in town, though? A television producer.” She watched him carefully.
Harry’s jaw tensed. He knew something. Finally, he said, “You may as well know. Lyndon had just signed a deal with Norton to star in a new reality show called Diamond in the Rough. They were going to film Lyndon traveling around the country, buying antiques directly from people’s homes.” Harry’s voice held more than a touch of bitterness.
“Wow. A reality show? That would be great for your business.”
Harry scowled. “That’s just it. The producers didn’t want the business. They wanted Lyndon. And they wanted Taylor, so there’d be a young woman on the show.”
It wasn’t hard to see where this was going. “And they didn’t want you.” She immediately regretted her blunt words.
“Correct. I don’t have the camera presence, according to Kai Norton. Nor do I have the signing bonus the show was about to give Lyndon. He was poised to make a lot of money.”
Poor Harry.
Margo returned at that moment. “That was Darrell. He’s on his way. They made good progress out at the old Ryder house today. I don’t mind telling you I’m more than a little excited about a craft brewery opening up.”
“The building is an authentic colonial saltbox,” Harry said. “It’s lasted three hundred years. It could last another three hundred.”
Both women turned to Harry in surprise. “How do you know about the Ryder house?” Margo asked.
“Because Lyndon and I bought the contents of the house. Most of it wasn’t worth anything, after tenants had been in there for years, but we found some salvageable things in the attic and out in the barn. Lyndon never got the chance to set anything up at the store.” The color drained from Harry’s face. “But unless I’m very much mistaken, somebody found something we brought back from there.”
“What do you mean?” Josie said. But she thought she knew.
Harry’s eyes caught and held Josie’s. “We had a box of old farm tools, including a pair of antique sheep shears.”
Josie and Harry were silent, each remembering the rusted metal sticking out of Lyndon’s chest.
“The murder weapon?” Margo asked.
“We—” Harry gave a barely perceptible gulp. “We bought the thing that killed Lyndon. And I have no idea who could have done such a thing.”
* * *
Josie motored through the side streets of Dorset Falls on her way out of town. But she wasn’t headed back to Eb’s farm just yet, though the light was beginning to fade.
Whether he knew it or not, Harry had just given himself a pretty good motive for murdering Lyndon. He stood to inherit Lyndon’s half of the business. No telling how valuable it was; according to Harry they had inventory all around the state. If they were also doing some kind of online business, which seemed likely, especially for smaller items like jewelry, coins, silver, or even art, Nutmeg Antiques & Curiosities could have substantial assets.
Means and opportunity were clear as well. He had unquestioned access to the unopened store.
And he was clearly disgruntled about being cut out of the television show. Some of those reality stars made thousands, even multiple thousands, of dollars per episode depending on the popularity of the show. Lyndon and his niece had apparently hit pay dirt.
But Harry’s dirt was just . . . plain old dirt.
Josie took a turn onto Ryder Road, just on the outskirts of town. Should she go to the police, tell Sharla about what Harry had just revealed? But the police had already questioned Harry. And Evelyn had told Sharla about the producer’s being in town, so all this stuff was probably already in the police file, or would be soon.
Harry might have been uncharismatic in front of a camera, but he wasn’t unintelligent. And he could just as easily have kept the information about the business and the show to himself.
So if Harry hadn’t killed Lyndon, which Josie was inclined to believe, who had?
When she spotted the tall hops poles silhouetted against the sky, she slowed the car. This was the place she’d thought it was. A huge rectangle of a house, with white paint peeling off the clapboards, a wooden front door studded in nails, which were blackened by age and weather, and a pitched roof that slanted sharply back from two stories in the front to one in the back. It was a magnificent old place, even though the outside was a bit rundown, and she could understand why someone would want to renovate it.
Who had Bea Ryder been? This was a big old house for one person, though if Bea had grown up here, memories could have filled much of the empty space.
Helen had said Bea just disappeared one day. Perhaps she’d wanted to shake up her life. Move away, without a backward glance. Maybe she’d run off to Europe with a minor prince of some obscure region. Josie liked that story, hoped it was true.
But the far greater likelihood was that Bea had been killed. As romantic as it sounded, the prince scenario was just wishful thinking. People didn’t just up and leave their homes, their businesses, their friends.
Josie thought of her box of doilies. Had it come from here? Lyndon had said he’d just bought the box and hadn’t had time to sort through them yet, so it seemed likely. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Comforted, somehow, to have something that had belonged to the probably dead woman? Creeped out? Maybe a little of both.
Josie backed out of the driveway and drove home.