On the way out of the station, I ran into Madison, who was walking across the parking lot. “Hey, Iris,” she said, gathering me into a hug. She must have seen by my face how upset I was. “What happened?”
“Nothing much. Just a horrible interview.” Tears burned in my eyes and I wanted more than anything to confide in my best friend. But I also didn’t want to be arrested for obstructing justice or witness tampering. Or whatever. “But we’d better not talk right now. See you later?”
Her sympathetic gaze roamed over my face. “Absolutely. I think it’s a lasagna night, don’t you?” Bella’s to-die-for lasagna, made from a handed-down family recipe, could improve just about any situation. Grammie and I had eaten a lot of it after Papa died. “I’ll bring a huge salad. With sunflower seeds and dried cranberries. And goat cheese.” She knew I loved all three on my salad.
“Thanks,” I said, sniffing. “Grammie always has homemade bread around. We’ll heat some up.” She always made extra loaves and froze them for later use.
Madison gave me thumbs-up. “It’s a plan. I’ll see you later.” She hurried into the station, giving me a final smile as she pulled open the door.
I trudged across the lot and climbed into Beverly, leaving the door open to cool off the stuffy interior, and called Ian.
He answered immediately. “Iris. What’s going on? Are you and your grandmother all right?”
My heart sank. “We’re fine. You’re at the store, aren’t you?”
“Sitting right outside in the alley, staring at a crime scene van.” His voice was grim. “What the hell happened?”
I ran my hand around the steering wheel, staring out into the bushes lining the lot. “Elliot Parker was found dead inside the store late this morning. Grammie found him.”
He sucked in a breath. “Oh man. That’s awful. Heart attack?”
I had to be careful what I said, let the police set the pace with information about Elliot’s death and its cause. “I’m not sure. Anyway, they’re questioning everyone.” I gave a dry laugh. “And as you can see, we can’t get into the building right now.”
Ian grunted. “Great. Another delay.” He paused and I could sense him thinking, even over the phone. “What’s going to happen with the store now?”
Those tears burned again. “I don’t know. I suppose Elliot’s wife will take over the company, if she’s not already an owner.” A tear plopped onto my pants leg, making a dark circle. “Maybe we should call it a day. With all these tragedies happening there, maybe it’s not meant to be.”
Not to mention they suspected my darling grandmother of who knew what. A ridiculous image flashed into my mind, Grammie masterminding the business from the state prison, like a vintage-linen kingpin. A strange choking sound erupted from my throat, part sob and part laughter. I was officially losing it.
“I’d better go,” I managed to say. “I’ve got to find Grammie and talk to her.” I tried to inhale against the iron band constricting my lungs. “Thanks for everything, Ian. I’ll keep you posted.”
“If there’s anything I can do—” he said.
“Thanks,” I managed to say. “I’ll be in touch.”
When I pulled up the driveway, I was relieved to see the Wagoneer parked by the barn. That meant Grammie was home. I grabbed my handbag and rushed into the house, stepping right over Quincy, who was lying on the mudroom doorstep, basking in the sun.
“Sorry, Quince. I’m in a hurry.” He mewed his discontent, reaching a paw up to claw at my jeans. Poor thing. I was neglecting him lately. I screeched to a stop, sneakers squeaking on the tile, and picked him up for a good nuzzle. He started purring, a frantic edge to the sound. I gave him a kiss on the head. “You sure know how to make a girl feel guilty.”
Still carrying the cat, I walked through the mudroom into the house. “Grammie?” I called. “Where are you?”
“In here,” came the reply. I found her at her desk, flipping through the circular address file. “I’m looking up an attorney’s number.”
I halted again, frozen by this remark. “An attorney? What for?” But the ice in my core answered me. A defense attorney.
Not looking at me, she continued to flip the cards. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not charged with anything. But after the way they questioned me about Elliot … I think I need a lawyer.”
Holding Quincy, I sank into a wing chair near the fireplace. “I kind of got the drift when Anton was questioning me.” I felt my lips twist into a grimace. “Someone reported your argument with Elliot to the police.”
Grammie’s laugh was a bitter bark. “I wish I could say I’m surprised. But human nature can sure be rotten, even in this small town. Where I’ve lived all my life, been an upright citizen, paid my taxes on time, helped people—Ah, here it is.” She held a white card aloft. “Cookie Abernathy, Attorney at Law.”
“Cookie can’t be her real name.” I settled Quincy on my lap and leaned my head back, exhausted.
“No, it’s Catherine.” Grammie was already pushing buttons on the house phone. While she spoke to a receptionist and then to Cookie herself, I closed my eyes and rested.
I had learned a long time ago I needed to take quiet moments during a busy day to restore my equilibrium and perspective. Although everything deep within was screaming, urging me to action, to do something, to fix everything, I took a few deep breaths and patted the cat, my fingers sinking into his soft fur. “You’re my therapy cat,” I whispered. He blinked in agreement.
Grammie hung up the phone. “Cookie is coming by here in a little while, believe it or not. She lives out this way and is going to stop by on her way home.”
I opened my eyes. “Wow. I didn’t know attorneys made house calls.”
She pushed back from the desk. “They don’t usually. I’ll go put on a pot of coffee, pull some brownies out of the freezer.”
As she went around the corner into the kitchen, I said, “By the way, we’re having a lasagna dinner tonight with the girls. Can you also grab a loaf of Italian bread?”
Grammie and I were working in the garden, taking out our frustrations on hapless weeds, when Cookie Abernathy arrived in her gold Lexus. The driver’s side door popped open to reveal a slight older woman with cropped gray hair. She slid out, a gorgeous burgundy briefcase in one hand.
“Mrs. Buckley?” she asked, advancing on us with her hand extended. Her smile was warm, revealing laugh lines around her eyes that made her seem approachable and nice. But shrewdness glinted in her eyes and her grip was assertive.
“We probably need room to spread out,” Grammie said. “Inside or out?” We had a glass-top table on the porch where we ate meals.
“Outside, of course.” Cookie’s laugh was authentic. “After last winter, I’m still suffering from four-walls syndrome.” She inhaled the flower-scented air. “What a lovely home.”
We settled Cookie at the table, where she began to pull papers out of her briefcase, watched closely by Quincy. She asked for coffee so we went inside to get her a cup and refill our mugs.
“I’ve heard she’s tough,” Grammie whispered to me in the kitchen. “Hence the nickname.”
“Oh, I thought it was because she was so sweet.” I put the full cups on a tray along with a sugar bowl, creamer, and a couple of paper napkins. Grammie held the French door open as I ferried the tray out to the table. As a final touch, she grabbed the plate of homemade brownies.
After Cookie added milk to her coffee and took a sip, she set the mug down, picked up a pen, and slid on a pair of half-glasses. “All right, Mrs. Buckley. Why don’t we start with your relationship to the deceased?”
“Please call me Anne,” Grammie said before telling Cookie how she’d known Elliot practically all her life. Then she focused on his attempts to buy the property and the fact that he was our landlord.
“If there was something else available downtown, we would have taken it,” I said. “After we found Star’s skeleton, he even tried to use the store lease as leverage to get our property.”
“Yes, I heard about the skeleton.” Cookie’s lips pursed as she tapped her pen on the table. “Back to that in a minute. Does anyone else know about his shenanigans with the lease?”
“Yes, unfortunately,” Grammie said. “A couple of friends overheard me arguing with him a couple of days ago.”
“They called in a tip,” I said, hearing the bitterness in my tone. “And let me tell you, the police are very interested in the conflict between Grammie and Elliot.”
Grammie reached out a hand and squeezed mine, her signal for me to settle down. “They’re just doing their job, Iris, honey.” She let go and held up her slender hands. “Do I look like I have the strength to kill Elliot? He was over six feet tall and two hundred pounds.”
“While you’re half that,” Cookie muttered.
I knew the police were thinking the apron wasn’t the cause of death. “They think it was something else that killed him. They were asking me what he ate and drank at the breakfast meeting.”
Grammie gasped, a hand to her mouth, while Cookie made a note. “I’ll be sure to follow up regarding the autopsy. All right. Let’s move on to today, to exactly what happened.”
“We had a committee meeting for the Lobster Festival this morning,” Grammie began. In response to Cookie’s nudges, she listed all the attendees and then moved to the timeline. “I went over to my hairdresser’s around ten,” Grammie said. “Moriah at Great Lengths cuts my hair.” She waited while Cookie got that down and then recited the phone number. “Afterward, at about a quarter to eleven, I decided to pop by the store and grab Iris’s apron. She left it there and it needed to be mended, so I thought I’d do it for her.”
“The apron?” Cookie’s brows rose.
“That’s right,” I said. “The apron wrapped around Elliot’s neck.” Now my sweet apron needed to be cut into tiny pieces and burned, if it ever made it out of police custody.
“So, what happened at the store?” Cookie appeared eager to hear. So was I, since I hadn’t heard the full story yet.
“I parked in the alley,” Grammie said. “And went to the back door. But when I got there, I realized the door was unlocked and slightly open. I thought maybe you were already inside, Iris, so I pushed through the door and went in.” Her face set in grim lines. “And then I saw Elliot’s feet. He was lying on the storeroom floor.” Her shoulders shook as a shudder rippled through her body.
We waited for her to regain her composure. “I went to check on him,” Grammie continued. “I thought maybe he’d had a heart attack or something.” Her mouth twisted. “But I knew that wasn’t true when I saw the apron around his neck, the strings tied in a bow under his chin.” She demonstrated tying a bow. “I felt for a pulse. There wasn’t one.” She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. “I thought of loosening the strings but I knew I’d better not touch anything.”
“Then what happened?” Cookie asked.
“I heard footsteps in the back hall. Kevin Lee, the town code officer. He saw Elliot and almost passed out. But I managed to get him out of the building and told him to call 911. I called you, Iris.”
Now I took up the tale, explaining how Madison and I hurried over from the Bean, arriving right after the police. She clarified that I hadn’t been inside at all that morning and that I’d locked up the day before. “We put in new locks, ones that actually work,” I said. “I gave a key to Elliot.”
“Who else has one?” Cookie asked, poised to jot down names.
My belly sank with a thud. “Ian Stewart. Our carpenter.”