Chapter 19
Dear Sophie,
My neighbor gave me a jar of onion confit. It smells great but how do I use it?
Curious in Vidalia, Georgia
Dear Curious,
Onion confit adds a savory and sweet zing to foods. Serve it with meat or fish or use it on sandwiches for delightful flavor. Mix it with vegetables or, for a change of pace, put it on your pizza!
Sophie
“Are you okay?” I asked.
Joe slugged back way too much smoothie. “Just hearing her name makes me nervous. She was here earlier today. That’s why I yelled ‘Go away.’ I apologize for that. I wouldn’t have done it otherwise, but Doreen can be very persistent.”
I followed him into the living room. He gestured toward a comfortable club chair, and I sat down. “She said you introduced her to Orson.”
“Orson.” He shook his head sadly. “I’m going to miss that man. We played poker together every other weekend. A whole group of guys. We’ve been together for years. Orson was the first to leave us. He was a good friend.” His voice trailed off. “A really good friend.”
“Do you recall introducing him to Doreen?”
Joe tweaked the bridge of his nose, then looked at me with tired eyes. “The Doreen time, as my daughter puts it, was a nightmare. Something I’d just as soon forget. That woman wreaked havoc in my life. She comes across as fun and”—he glanced at me with sad blue eyes—“pretty young women don’t often take an interest in an old guy like me.”
“What happened?”
He drank more of his smoothie. “I admit, I was a fool. A remarkably stupid old fool. How I did not see it coming is now a mystery to me. Let’s see, what was first? I suppose in the beginning, she came around asking if I would give her a ride to various places where she could shop. The catch, of course, was that I wasn’t only her chauffeur. She considered my wallet to be her wallet and expected me to pay for the things she wanted. She started out small. Reasonable. Except there was no reason I should be buying her anything now that I look back on it. At the time, I didn’t think it would hurt to help out a young woman who didn’t have much money. But once she got started, there was no amount of my money that she wasn’t willing to spend. It made her so happy to have all those clothes, and in the beginning, I guess she made me feel special. Now, don’t go thinking salacious thoughts. There was no carnal knowledge going on. I think that’s what people find the most surprising about it all. But then she helped herself to the key to my house. I didn’t even know she had a key until I came home from work one day intending to drive over to Maryland for a meeting only to find my car was gone. Just plain gone. Of course, I called the police and reported it stolen. They found it in Georgetown near a nightclub. Fortunately, nothing was damaged. I told her all about it and she acted surprised, as if it was all news to her. But when it happened a third time, I discovered a key chain wedged into the little space between the driver’s seat and the console in the middle. And I was pretty sure it was her keychain because of the letter D in rhinestones, and it had my house key on it. She searched all over my home for it. It’s hanging right there, on that little knob on my desk drawer.” He pointed toward a dangling letter D.
“I keep it just so I won’t forget what an idiot I was. I had the car fob reprogrammed and changed the locks on my doors. I told her we were through.” He waved his hands as he spoke. “That I couldn’t afford her anymore and I was done with her. But she kept coming over anyway like it had all been a joke that floated right over her head. You know, I am not a rich man. Comfortable, for sure, and maybe that looks wealthy to Doreen. I had a few little knickknacks that were worth something. Not a lot of money, like Orson’s paintings and antique furniture, but a few pieces I had picked up along the way. And some family heirlooms. One day, it dawned on me that some were missing. I confronted Doreen and she broke into tears.” He massaged his forehead and took a deep breath. “She needed money for food. She needed money to pay a doctor’s bill. That woman can lie as easily as most of us breathe. Well, I had had enough. I demanded to know to whom she had sold them. When she finally coughed up their names, I escorted her to the front door and told her she was no longer welcome in my house. I thought she would understand that it was the end of the story.”
He slid his hands against each other as if he were dusting them off. “I have to tell you, it was an enormous relief. I was so glad to be rid of her.”
“But you said she came back today?”
“She knows no bounds. She comes by all the time. But this place is like a fortress now. She’s not getting in unless she breaks a window, which I wouldn’t put past her.”
“I can see why you might not open the door to her.”
He took a deep breath. “I’m not through yet. I thought I was done with her. And then the bank began to call. That, that”—his face flushed a deeper red—“scoundrel had made off with my checkbook and was writing bad checks all over town! I was embarrassed and ashamed. I’d like to think I have a pretty good reputation around town, and she was wrecking it. She hadn’t even done a decent job at forging my signature. Employees at a lot of the stores had seen me with her and they accepted the checks because they thought I had given them to her. Orson said I shouldn’t press charges, but I did. Not that it helped much. I have to tell you, I felt guilty about it. Just thinking about her in jail was upsetting to me. Even after all she had done! But she was out of jail in no time, and do you know she had the moxie to come right back to my house and knock on the door asking for money? Who does that?”
“A person without a conscience.”
He gazed at me as though I’d said something shocking. “Of course! You’re so right. Like the children who never bond with their mothers and grow up with emotional neglect. That leads to a lack of empathy for others. They can’t understand it.”
Now he was worrying me. Could she have killed Orson? “Did she have a similar relationship with Orson?”
“No. I’m certain of it. He didn’t know all the details that I’ve just shared with you. I was too embarrassed to tell him.”
“Were you at Orson’s engagement party?”
“Yes. When he fell to the ground, I felt like a part of me had gone with him. It was wrenching.”
“I can imagine. Especially since you were so close to him. Was Doreen there?”
Joe rolled his eyes. “I seriously doubt that she was on the guest list, but I saw her at the party.”
It would have been easy enough for anyone to join the party. Nina and I had walked right in. It dawned on me that Doreen had been feeling me out earlier and had given me answers that she thought I wanted to hear. It was in her nature. “Did Doreen have any reason to dislike Orson?”
“Not that I know of. What are you getting at?”
I couldn’t exactly come right out and say that Doreen had just landed on my list of suspects who might have poisoned Orson. I forced a smile and tried to dodge the question. “He must have liked something about her if he thought you shouldn’t press charges after all she had put you through.”
“He didn’t know the half of it. He had a soft heart. He was a kind person.”
“So are you. By the way, did you hear him saying, ‘Tell Stella . . .’ when he lay on the ground?”
“I did. Do you know what that was about?”
“I was hoping maybe you knew.” I thanked him for sharing his story with me and left with new suspicions. Something must have happened with one of the women whose pictures he had pinned on his corkboard. Something that Orson felt he must keep secret for some reason.
I walked toward the store thinking Orson was either ashamed or fearful. There were a lot of reasons he might have wanted to keep a secret, but most of them seemed to fall into those two categories.
In light of all that had happened, I couldn’t help wondering if Joan had been killed by someone desperate to keep Orson’s secret, whatever it was.
I had just turned the key in the lock on the front door of the store, when I heard a vaguely familiar voice ask, “Are you Sophie?”
A young, slender, sunburned man stood behind me.
I took a guess. “Ian Hogarth?”
“Yes!” He wore khaki shorts and a colorful, Hawaiian style, short-sleeved shirt. His wavy blond hair was neatly cut.
I reached out and shook his hand. “I didn’t expect you back from the beach this soon.”
“I didn’t think I would be back. My friends had to return early, and as much as I love the beach, I didn’t feel like staying there by myself, so I drove back, too.”
“Come on in.” I left the door unlocked, but closed it behind him. “How are you holding up?”
Ian looked at the floor. “I’ve never had anyone close to me die before.”
“I’m so sorry but, in a way, I guess that’s a lucky thing.”
“Orson was kind of like a second dad to me. It’s inconceivable that he won’t be around anymore. I didn’t just lose a boss. I lost a friend and a confidant, and”—he wiped his eyes, sniffled, and looked up at the ceiling—“he was the best. He took a chance on me, and I will be forever grateful for that.”
“I’m sure he loved you, too.”
“Do you know what you’re going to do with the store yet?”
“No. But I am having an alarm system installed. Someone is coming to tell me what I need in just a few minutes. Hey, do you know how to lower the chandeliers?”
Ian grinned. “They’re on lifts. Orson had a local electrician rig up the lifts for him. They’re all controlled from the loft.”
I followed him up the stairs.
Ian removed a painting and opened a small door behind it. “There are five of these across the store. You just select the chandelier you want and pull the lever for up or down.”
“That’s amazing! I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“Me either. Who’d have thought it? Apparently, they make them for home use, too. Some people have really high ceilings, like two stories high.”
“Makes sense. They have to be cleaned.”
“That’s what Orson said.”
The bell downstairs jingled, and we returned to the main floor.
When Ian saw who it was, he groaned. “I’ll take care of her.”
Doreen Donahue wandered through the store, running her hand over statuettes, furniture, and decorative pieces. She was dressed in the same outfit as earlier, but carried a giant leather purse shaped like a round sack and imprinted with a designer logo.
“Wait!” I whispered. “Is she a friend of yours?”
His eyes went wide. “Good grief, no. I should hope not. She pockets something every time she comes into the store. We follow her and keep an eye on her. Don’t worry, I’ll be nice.”
He sauntered toward her. “Hi, Ms. Donahue. I’m sorry, but we’re not open. Perhaps you heard about the death of Mr. Chatsworth?”
“I was crushed. He was always so nice to me.”
“We’re all very sad. Anyway, we’re not open.”
“The door was open.”
“We’re expecting someone to do some work.”
“Oh. Well then . . .” She eyed a vase and picked it up.
For a long moment, I thought she was going to put it in her purse. I was certain she contemplated it. But she placed it back on the table, and said, “See you around.”
She sauntered out with Ian right behind her every step of the way.
When she left, he let out a breath and returned to the cash register where I stood. “She’s bad news. Ask anyone with a store.”
The bell rang when the door opened again. A man stepped inside carrying a case that said Hubert’s Alarms.
For the next hours, I was immersed in system installation. As it turned out, it was fortunate that Ian had dropped by. His knowledge of the store proved very helpful.
After Ian and the alarm guy departed, I locked the front door and returned to Orson’s secret office. One at a time, I unpinned the photos of the five women and looked for writing on the back sides. They were all blank. Except for their approximate ages and general appearance, I still hadn’t found any common threads between them.
Doreen had clearly been known to the store staff as a thief. And yet, even though she had caused terrible problems for Orson’s friend, Joe, for some reason, Orson had discouraged him from pressing charges against her. Why? What had Orson known that Joe didn’t?
And why hadn’t Orson left an explanation for me? He had expected me to find this office and knew I would see the photos. I wondered again if that was what he had wanted to talk to me about. Orson had died too soon and left several questions in his wake.
I lowered the lights and locked the door. As I walked home, I felt I had been so absorbed in the connection between the women on the corkboard that I had lost sight of Orson’s murder. Unless, of course, one of those five women had reason to kill Orson. Which led me to the thought that maybe Joan had murdered him and that was the reason Stella had killed Joan.