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Martha weaved her way back to town, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the sleeping terrier, the feel of Penny’s wiry fur connecting her to the here and now while her mind spun in a thousand directions. She needed to sort this all out, get her head organized somehow. She was beginning to piece together the mystery of her aunt’s money and the two murders, but she had to calm down in order to make sense of it all.
Back at the cottage, before making lunch, she lay down on the couch to think through the morning. Her conversation with Helen had been emotionally draining and the phone call with Cherry bewildering. The whole thing seemed so far-fetched. How had Aunt Lorna let things get so bad without telling the police? Or telling Martha? She could have helped if only she’d known that Imbroglio was blackmailing Lorna and she’d gotten in too deep.
She called the police station, claiming she’d not slept well and would need to come in later to give her statement. Then she remained where she was on the couch, certain that if she just focused, like Hercule Poirot, she could pull all of the threads together into a stunning revelation.
Two hours later, she woke up, shocked that she’d fallen asleep on the couch. She let Penny out, and then, after settling the little schnauzer in her bed, snatched up her pack and headed for Birds ‘n’ Beans. Martha arrived just at the end of what, by Riley Creek standards, was a rush. A gaggle of hikers was making its last purchases of bags of coffee and bird-themed bandanas. As they trickled out, Martha placed her pack in a chair at one of the tables, waved to PJ and Helen, then went to the counter to help herself to an egg salad sandwich with a bag of chips. Dropping her lunch at the table, she went to put her money in the cash register, then poured herself a nice cup of coffee on the way back to her table.
She wolfed the sandwich and chips down in record time, and as she sipped the coffee, she could feel her clarity of mind returning. Wow, she thought, looking down into the cup of Sumatran Migration. PJ is right about this. It is good for ruminating!
She watched a piggish red-bellied woodpecker make a complete mess of a feeder out in the back, wondering if that was how she’d looked diving into her bag of chips. Not particularly in the mood for company, Martha picked up her coffee and went out to sit at one of the patio benches, watch the birds, and be alone inside her own head to consider what she’d learned from talking to Helen and Cherry.
In partnership with Imbroglio, Sentrich had been running a scam on residents of Riley Creek. He got access to their homes through Cherry’s cleaning business, then figured out ways to blackmail them. But Aunt Lorna had convinced him to work for her. Had they met when he’d started to blackmail her? Over time, he’d rethought his life. She gave him money to keep Imbroglio at bay and even helped him with seed money toward his future. Things were looking up for him, but then Aunt Lorna died and he was murdered a few days later.
Now Martha knew where all the money had gone, one thing that was bothering her was how Aunt Lorna—a woman who had managed her own finances most of her adult life—had gotten in so far over her head. But something Cherry had said helped make sense of it; she’d mentioned that Martha’s aunt had started getting really confused. This must have been the dementia Detective Perry had told Martha about. Aunt Lorna might have gotten so stressed and confused, she couldn’t keep all of the credits and debits straight. Martha thought about the portfolio of statements she’d found. Everything had been in one place, but it had been a mess.
Who had killed Sentrich and Imbroglio? And why? Someone they’d blackmailed who killed them in revenge? Someone who couldn’t risk having them around?
Martha did a virtual roll call of her suspects. First up; Jason Turngate. Not really a serious suspect anymore. Jason had fought with Sentrich, but had not even been acquainted with Imbroglio, as far as Martha knew.
Next; Octavius Bennett. While Mr. Bennett was certainly unusual and had been seen arguing with Sentrich, he didn’t seem to know Imbroglio. Also, did he have the strength to whack someone over the head or strangle them if he couldn’t even handle a sandwich board? Not likely at all.
And she couldn’t discount Cherry. Sherry, she corrected herself. Was her earnestness just a ruse to cover a darker side? Was she so eager to get out of Riley Creek that she’d kill instead of return the car, her only means of escape? And did Imbroglio’s demand for her to be in cahoots with him drive her to the brink? More conceivable than Mr. Bennett, surely, but still iffy. Plus according to Donna, Cherry had been out of town by the time of Imbroglio’s murder.
Finally, Carl, the sweet, dedicated family man. He’d done jail time, sure, but why would he risk everything he had to murder Sentrich and Imbroglio? Maybe that old saying about still waters running deep was true and this was a case of an ex-felon who couldn’t stay on the right side of the law. But Martha couldn’t see it. It would ruin his family’s lives.
Martha was frustrated. She wasn’t a detective. She had some ideas and some possible motives, but nothing was falling together to make her sure. Who would have benefited from killing both Sentrich and Imbroglio?
As she sat pondering, Mary Jane came out of the shop door and plunked down on the bench next to her.
“Phew!” she said, puffing out her cheeks. Looking pink and winded, she held what Martha guessed was an iced mocha in her hand.
“Rough lesson at the yoga studio?” asked Martha.
“Not even close. Still recovering from my morning at An Early Riser. The Adair Scout Troop had a fundraiser to pay for new bat boxes at the DLT and I helped them box up nearly three hundred dozen cookies this morning. Yoga would have been way easier.”
“After last night, you had the presence of mind to box cookies?” It was all Martha could do this morning to get out of bed; it wasn’t every night you found a dead body. But she took the opportunity to nose around one of her suspects. “How did Carl seem?” she asked casually, checking her cuticles.
“Oh, poor Carl! I guess you haven’t heard. He and Lewis spent most of yesterday afternoon and evening in the emergency room at the hospital. Lewis had an accident with their delivery truck right around dinner time and apparently broke his wrist. He and Carl didn’t get home until after midnight, so Cat had to come in early this morning to prep most everything for the scouts.”
“But that’s great!” said Martha, lighting up for what felt like the first time in forever.
“Great?”
“Don’t you see?” Martha turned sideways on the bench and gestured excitedly as she explained. “If Carl was at the ER from lunchtime to midnight, he couldn’t have been murdering Imbroglio. And as the police are saying the same person killed both him and Sentrich, then Carl is totally off the hook.”
“Oh, but that’s wonderful!” said Mary Jane. “And speaking of Imbroglio, now you’re off the hook, too. No more worries about him creeping around, threatening you.”
“I know, Mary Jane, but there’s still a murderer creeping around, and my aunt’s name is mixed up in it thanks to Sentrich being found dead in her yard. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a little relieved.”
“Well, I think you should stop worrying about all this and let the professionals handle it,” Mary Jane said, slapping her thighs and standing up. “I’m off to get a nap in before going to the library to see Delores and pick up a pile of mysteries she’s been holding for me. How about you?”
“I told PJ I’d do the roasting tonight after we close. I need the practice.”
“All right,” said Mary Jane. “You have a good night and call me if you need me. And no more dead bodies, please!” She added a finger shake and was off.
Martha stood, stretched, and headed into the shop. There she emptied coffee urns, washed dishes, and inventoried binoculars until the last customer left. She walked PJ to the door, promised to call him if she had any problems with the temperamental roaster, locked up and pulled the blinds. The mourning dove on the clock gave eight oo-oo-oos to tell her it was time for her very first solo roast.
A few hours later, Martha was in the thick of it and having the time of her life. The roaster was rattling on full blast, the smell of crackling beans was in the air, and Martha was stripped down to her t-shirt and jeans with a bandana head wrap keeping her hair out of her eyes. She had successfully bagged and labeled an entire fifty pounds of Birder Blend and was quizzing herself on the difference between fish crows and American crows when she heard a loud knock on the backdoor.
That’s strange, she thought, going to the door. Who would knock at this time of night?
But it was just Mavis.
“Hey, Mavis, what’s up?” Martha said, opening the door wide to let the smaller woman in.
“Oh, I was passing through and saw the lights on and thought I’d check in on you. I bumped into Mary Jane a bit ago and she said you’d be here roasting. Can I give you a hand?”
Martha thought quickly. She preferred to work solo to concentrate on PJ’s instructions, but it felt unfriendly to turn down Mavis’s offer.
“Sure,” she said. “I need to carry a few bags of beans over to the roaster if you’d like to help.”
Mavis took off the gym bag that had been strapped across her small frame. As she set it on one of the swivel chairs at the counter, a yoga strap with a D-ring like the ones Martha had seen at Ohm Mama flopped out of its top. Mavis tucked it back in and turned to Martha.
Fanning herself with her hand, she said, “Whew! Sure is warm in here.”
“Yep,” responded Martha. “That’s why we only roast after closing. It’s too stuffy otherwise.” She turned to the bags of beans piled near the front of the shop while Mavis took off the knee-length puffy coat she’d had on over yoga pants and a tank top. Mavis walked over to where Martha stood next to one of the fifty pound bags, bent down and picked the whole thing up, her biceps flexing impressively as she hoisted it up onto to her shoulder.
“Wow!” Martha said, impressed. Maybe I do need to take up yoga.
“Where to?” Mavis asked.
“Right over here,” answered Martha, gesturing to a spot on the floor under the large chute where she fed the beans into the machine.
As Martha cut open the bag with a pocketknife, Mavis said, “So, I suppose you’ll be heading back to Boston soon?”
“Well, that’s the million-dollar question,” Martha responded, scooping the light colored beans into the machine, then wiping the back of her arm across her sweaty face. “I suppose I have to make some decisions soon.”
“I guess I figured with all the money Lorna must have left you, you’d sell up and head home with your pockets bulging,” Mavis said, laughingly. Martha felt surprised by the thoughtlessness of the question.
“It’s not quite that simple, Mavis. Things are a lot more complicated here than I’d understood. Including the financial pieces.”
Mavis snorted derisively. “I doubt you’re exactly struggling. From what I’ve heard, Lorna was handing out money hand over fist before she died.”
“Excuse me?” Martha stood facing Mavis, sure she’d either misheard or misunderstood the small woman as the noise of the roaster increased in pitch. “What are you talking about?”
“I knew Sentrich, and from what he told me, she’d been giving him cash for months. He said they’d stashed it around her house. It’s too bad she wasn’t as generous with all of her friends.”
“Mavis, I’m not sure what you’re talking about, but I’m thinking maybe I ought to finish this roasting myself. I appreciate your help, but...” Martha trailed off, hoping the other woman would get the message.
“Oh, you’re going to be finished, all right. As soon as you tell me where to find that cash.” Mavis had backed up to her bag and now reached behind her, drawing out the yoga strap Martha had glimpsed earlier. Flashes of images came together in her mind: the strap, Mavis’s bulging biceps, and the O imprinted on Imbroglio’s neck.
Martha put her hands out in front of her. “Mavis, I don’t know a thing about Sentrich, his money, or anything else. Why don’t we—”
“Shut up!” Mavis snapped. “I know what you’re up to, so don’t play dumb with me. You know all about Linc and you’re planning to tell your cute little policeman boyfriend and everyone else in this stupid village, if you haven’t already. I just want that money, and then I’ll be on my way. Who knows? I may not even kill you. Now drop the knife and go up the stairs. Slowly.” She held up the strap, tightening it between her two hands.
“You’re going to kill me, like you killed Imbroglio? And Sentrich?” Martha said, surprised to hear the force behind her own voice. Perspiration was dripping down her sides and her heart pounded in her chest. She did as Mavis demanded and dropped the knife on the floor by the beans, doubting she was any match for Mavis’s strength anyway.
They moved toward the stairs, Mavis staying within arm’s reach of Martha’s neck as she spoke. “Give me a break. I put Sentrich out of his misery, the sniveling little coward. He went soft once he started hanging around sweet little Lorna. Made me sick. I gave him the keys to the kingdom, but thanks to Lorna and that girlfriend of his, he lost his nerve.” These last words, Mavis practically spat out. “He decided he didn’t want to play anymore. So I kicked him out of the game. But then Imbroglio decided he was in charge and was going to get me to pay up. That didn’t work out so well for him.”
Now they were walking up the stairs, Martha going as slowly as she could while trying to figure out what to do. Then she heard Helen’s voice calling from the shop.
“Hey, Martha, it’s only me. Where are you? Just stopped in... handful of the laminated bird checklists... hike tomorrow.” The roar of the roaster made some of Helen’s words fade out.
Mavis had the strap around Martha’s neck in a flash, pulling it tight, but not tight enough to cut off her air supply completely.
“Get rid of her. NOW,” she hissed into Martha’s ear.
Martha realized how easily Mavis could suffocate her. She cleared her throat as well as she could once Mavis eased up on the strap.
“I’m up here,” she called, trying to be a combination of breezy and telepathic. Help me! her brain cried out. “Just finishing up. Oh, Helen, be sure to take Ethel Jean the scented candles she wanted for her place—one bluebird and two blue jays.”
A pause, and then they heard Helen yell back, “Got it! See you tomorrow.” As the backdoor slammed closed, Martha’s heart sank.
“Get going,” Mavis said, the strap still around Martha’s neck as she coaxed her up the remaining steps. They reached the top and went into the room with the metal shelves holding extra supplies for the shop, where Mavis removed the strap from around Martha’s neck. But Martha’s relief was short-lived as the muscular woman shoved her into the room and stood between her and her only means of escape, the strap held firmly in her hands.
“Look, Mavis, I have no idea what this is all about. Just leave me alone and I’ll head back to Boston, no questions asked.” Martha hated the desperation in her voice, but she was... desperate.
Mavis rolled her eyes. “Don’t play dumb with me. I was buying that stupid bird book for you when I heard Margaret say you were trying to get more information about Carville. You just had to nose around about Linc, didn’t you?”
Martha was simultaneously confused and afraid. “Mavis, I have no idea about Linc, except that I think he was your brother—”
“You obviously know he was my brother. You know all about Carville, and you’re going to spread it all around and ruin me. Who’s going to come to a yoga studio run by someone with that in their family? Well, that’s not going to happen. I’ve worked too hard.”
Mavis raised the strap and stepped forward toward Martha.
“No more chit chat. It’s time to tell me where Sentrich squirreled away that money. Or else you’re going to decide life is just a little too hard and hang yourself from one of those.” Mavis gestured up with her chin at the ancient copper pipes that ran in all directions along the exposed brick ceiling. Then she advanced quickly. Martha put her hands up in front of her face to fend off the strap.
One of the sets of metal shelves came tumbling down with a crash, scattering paper goods everywhere. Ethel Jean and Helen came charging through the door hidden behind it, red-faced and wild-eyed.
Helen aimed a can of bear spray at Mavis and screamed, “Martha, close your eyes!” Mavis pivoted smoothly on one foot and lunged toward Helen, dropping the strap and extending her strong arms. A short “PSSHHHTT” sounded and a cloud of red spray hit Mavis full in the face. She dropped as if she’d hit a wall and began screaming, fists wrenching her scalded eyes.
Then Ethel Jean looked at Martha with raised eyebrows.
“Scented candles? Really?”