Chapter 22

Dear Natasha,

My mother-in-law loves watching birds. Everyone gives her bird feeders because they make her happy. Can I tell you what her deck looks like? I have to sweep hulls and birdseed every single time I go to see her. It’s disgusting. How can she keep it clean?

Not a Bird Lover in Ravenswood, West Virginia

 

Dear Not a Bird Lover,

This is a two-step process. It must be undertaken gradually so she will not notice. First, eliminate a bird feeder each time you visit. Simply remove it when she’s not looking. The second step is to move the remaining two birdfeeders away from the house and into the yard where the debris won’t be a nuisance.

Natasha

I swirled around to Estelle. “Can you see the alley in the dark?”

“Only if there are headlights.”

“Did you see anything on Midsummer Night?”

“The night Tate was murdered,” she muttered. “Honey, I wish I had. My son and daughter-in-law took me to dinner, and to see the play. Then we watched the fireworks from the park. After I came home, I didn’t even venture up here. I went to bed on the second floor. My bedroom looks out over the street on the other side, so I didn’t hear anything, either. I saw when all the police cars arrived yesterday, though. That was interesting to watch.”

My balloon of hope deflated. “I bet it was.”

“I’m simply devastated by Tate’s death. He was a wonderful man. I will truly miss him.”

“It sounds like you knew Tate quite well.”

“We went way back. Even before he met Bobbie Sue. Before he was a successful restaurateur. Back when he was married to his first wife. Now, that woman was a shrew. Nothing was good enough for her. She pushed and pushed. Bigger house, fancier car, more clothes. She was pretty, I’ll give her that. I never told Tate, but I was relieved when she left him for another man. He was better off without her. Tate deserved someone who would appreciate him. My husband and I were delighted when he told us about Bobbie Sue.” She stopped speaking for a moment. “I can’t believe someone murdered him. And almost at my back door.”

“Can you believe her view?” asked Francie.

Estelle smiled like an elf with a secret. “I see things from here. People don’t know I’m watching.” She nodded her head.

“Why, Estelle,” I teased, “don’t tell me you spy on people?”

She grinned and nodded her head at binoculars. “Those are so I can watch the birds.” Estelle threw her head back and laughed.

I had no idea she was such a rascal.

“What do you know about the Eklunds?” I asked.

“They’re a very nice family. Their kids are older now, high school age. They’re remarkably well-behaved, especially in contrast to the Wheeler family two doors down. Those children are noisy! Mrs. Eklund likes to have a glass of wine outside in the yard after work in the summer. Her husband usually joins her.”

“Wow. You’re quite a font of knowledge.”

“It’s not like I’m snooping, you know. I can’t help what I happen to see from here.”

If that aided her in keeping a clear conscience, I wasn’t about to disabuse her of that notion.

“You know Tate’s son, Spencer?” she asked. “He’s quite fond of the Eklund girl. They’re away at the moment, but I’ve caught the two of them engaged in more than one smooch.”

I stared at the Eklunds’ backyard. Spencer. He said he’d had a blowout—was that what he had called it?—the day before Tate was murdered. He hadn’t even really crossed into my lineup of suspects. If he was dating the Eklunds’ daughter, then Spencer knew the Eklunds were away. He was large enough to attack his stepfather. What had they argued about? I hadn’t considered where he was that night. Bobbie Sue said he would be running in the 5K race. Had he? Where was he before that?

I was so deep in thought that I hadn’t noticed Francie and Estelle bickering quietly about something.

“Tell her! You like Bernie, don’t you?” asked Francie.

“Oh, Francie, it makes no difference whatsoever. And I adore Bernie. No matter what I order, he always brings me a little bit of bangers and mash because he knows how much I love them. They take me back to the days when I lived in England. He has good ones, too. Not everyone has good bangers.”

I took a deep breath, still reeling about the possibility that Spencer had murdered his stepfather.

Francie nudged Estelle.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Estelle looked up at me. “I don’t really like to gossip. Most of what I see stays right here. They’re like my own private reality shows. I don’t need TV to amuse me. There must be hundreds of fascinating stories going on at any time, right here in Old Town. It’s the nature of humans, isn’t it?”

“Estelle,” grumbled Francie, “we officially forgive you for gossiping. Now tell her already!”

Estelle pointed across the alley. “See the house next to the Eklunds’? The one on the right?”

I nodded my head to encourage her.

“That’s the Milburns’ house. He’s a pilot and she’s an environmental protection specialist for the Federal Aviation Administration, so the two of them are away a lot. They fixed up the basement apartment and rented it to Eli Dawson. You know him?”

I racked my brain to place the name. I met so many people through my event planning business. Not to mention the people to whom I was never introduced but saw in passing at charitable events. We smiled or nodded a greeting, but I had no idea who they were. “I don’t think so.”

“He probably runs in different circles than you do. Your friend Bernie probably knows him. Eli moved here from Houston about thirty years back when he was a young buck. He’s worked as a bartender at Blackwell’s Tavern for about five years now. The Milburns give him a discount on his rent in exchange for Eli keeping an eye on their place when they’re gone.”

As soon as she said Blackwell’s Tavern, my ears perked up. One of Tate’s employees lived next to the spot where he had been killed? “What do you know about this Eli?”

Estelle smiled at me. “Well, you might be interested in knowing that he’s two-timing Marsha Bathurst!”

Now she had my full attention. I hardly knew where to start. “You know Marsha?”

“Oh sure. I met her when we took a class on making Victorian-style Christmas ornaments. You should try it. I put up two trees, one out here for birds, and another inside that’s one hundred percent Victorian.”

“It’s gorgeous,” said Francie.

I nodded, unable to focus on Victorian décor when all I wanted to think about was Eli and Marsha. “What does Eli look like? Could Tate have been mistaken for Eli?”

“I wouldn’t think so. Tate wasn’t a very big man. Eli is husky. Not portly, you understand, more broad-shouldered than Tate.”

“Who’s he two-timing her with?” asked Francie with a tinge too much glee in her voice.

“Have you met Bernie’s new assistant manager at The Laughing Hound?” asked Estelle.

I drew in a sharp breath. “Eva Rosales?”

“That’s the one. Younger and much prettier than Marsha, if you ask me.”

Staring most impolitely at Estelle, I asked, “How do you know all this?”

“I eat out quite a bit and I favor The Laughing Hound and Blackwell’s. I cooked in my younger years, but it doesn’t hold much interest for me anymore. And, of course, I have the best seat in the house for that soap opera.” She gestured toward the alley. “I’m an early bird. Sometimes I’m up here with a cup of java before the sun rises. I see who’s coming and going.” She smiled gleefully. “But they don’t see me. Funny thing, really. They never ever look up. I suppose they’re so intent on where they’re going and not getting caught that they never consider who might be watching up above. They only look around to see who is at street level. I feel like a bird, watching life happen from the safety of a high branch.”

“Do you suppose the two women know about each other?” asked Francie.

“I have no way of knowing that,” said Estelle. “But all it takes is a phone or a lipstick left behind and Eli’s love life will implode.”

“Estelle, do you have a theory on who might have murdered Tate?” I asked.

She shook her head. “It wasn’t his time. He had so much to live for. Tate knew his way along this alley quite well. He always came to my back door instead of the front. He joked that it was so he wouldn’t run into my other suitors at the front door!” Estelle smiled sadly at the memory. “He used to bring me cheesecake. Just every now and then as a treat. I hope they catch his killer and nail him.” She shook her forefinger at me. “And you better make sure Bernie gets exonerated.”

I kneeled by her wheelchair and asked softly, “Who would want to frame Bernie?”

“Now there’s a good question. Marsha comes to mind.”

“Do you have any idea why Marsha would dislike Bernie so much?” I asked, even though I knew what Bernie claimed. Maybe there was another reason, too.

She broke into a smile. “Oh, honey, that one is easy. Bernie is the upstart who came along and gave Tate a run for his money. There were other restaurants, but nothing like Bernie’s place.”

I thanked her, said goodbye to both of them, and walked Daisy toward the stairs near the elevator.

As I started down the steps, I heard Estelle say, “I’m going to miss that man. He worked so hard to make something of himself and now to end like this. At the hands of another. It’s a tragedy.”

When we reached the main floor, we stepped into a Victorian room. It felt huge, probably due to the creamy walls and high ceiling. The chairs were modern in shape and covered in a pale blue velvet with just a touch of green in it, an ocean shade. Fringes hung around the bottoms for a bit of Victorian style. The square coffee table was covered in tufted cream that matched the walls. A large chandelier hung in the middle of the room, which dressed it up even more.

I pressed a button by the back door. It buzzed, unlocking the door, and the two of us left. A concrete walkway led to a large patio in Estelle’s backyard. It had been beautifully arranged with wheelchair-accessible raised garden beds. The concrete path wound around them in circles. Estelle had adorned the backyard with bird feeders of all kinds and too many garden ornaments, but I bet every one of them brought her joy. No wonder Tate liked coming through the back way.

She probably had a security system. I gazed around for a camera and spotted one. It was aimed at the back door of the house, which was appropriate, but it wouldn’t have picked up what happened out in the alley.

Daisy and I exited through the gate and I took care to latch it behind me. We crossed the alley and looked at the spot where I had seen glass shards. They were gone. It had been thoroughly cleaned. Turning, I looked up at Estelle’s balcony. Three flights up, she and Francie were small figures waving at me. No wonder no one noticed Estelle when they walked through the alley. I waved back.

So, this was where Liddy, the waitress, had seen Marsha kissing someone. Given the location, it was most likely Eli she had been embracing. Not Tate.

Had Marsha and Eli taken different routes from Blackwell’s Tavern after work and met in the alley? We started to walk home.

Why so secretive? Both of them were single. Was it Eli who needed to hide his relationship with Marsha because of Eva? Or was it because Marsha was still in love with Tate and didn’t want him to know that she was seeing Eli?”

I was still thinking about them when I rounded a corner and passed by the alley in back of The Laughing Hound. I glanced toward the back deck. In shock, I came to a complete halt. Bernie had lied to me.