16

The short run from my Escape to the entrance of Ted and Bettfast looked miles long as I sat in the frost-covered lot. I’d just gone through this at Heavenly Gate, and here I was again, fearing stepping out into the cold. All I wanted to do was to go inside to ask Dad and Laura if they wanted to get breakfast, but I was now considering just calling them instead.

Stop being a wimp. The voice sounded a whole lot like my third-grade teacher’s who’d routinely berate us whenever we didn’t want to work on one of her plethora of boring projects in class.

Oddly, her phantom voice had the same effect on me now as the real one had then.

I shut off the engine and popped out of my car like it had caught on fire. Breath pluming, I waddle-jogged to the door and was just about to reach for it when it burst open and a heavily wrapped figure barreled directly into me.

“I’m sorry!” I said, staggering back a step, while simultaneously clutching at the person so I wouldn’t fall over. “I didn’t see—”

“Let go of me,” she snapped.

I jerked my hands free.

Vanna Goff glared at me from beneath her furry hood. Strands of curly hair, artificially grayed to make her look more knowledgeable, poked out around her stern face. A Realtor by trade, she’d tried to sell my neighbor’s house back before Caitlin had moved in, and had failed to do so. Another Realtor had taken over, and Vanna had blamed me for her troubles in selling, even though I’d done nothing wrong. Her less-than-pleasant personality likely had more to do with it than anything I did, but try telling her that.

“Vanna,” I said through chattering teeth. “It’s good to see you.” It wasn’t.

She didn’t even try to fake a smile. Just glared. “Are you going to move out of my way or do you plan on standing there until we both freeze to death?”

I stepped aside and without another word, Vanna stomped her way to her car, gunned the engine, and sped out of the lot like I was contagious.

That pleasant encounter out of the way, I entered Ted and Bettfast to find both Ted and Bett Bunford standing to the right of the doors, talking to one of their employees, Jo, who looked stricken. When the younger woman saw me enter, she excused herself and hurried off toward a downstairs bathroom.

Uh-oh. Between Vanna and my earlier chat with Justin, I had a feeling I knew what that conversation had been about.

“Hi, Ted. Bett.” I crossed the room toward them. “It’s good to see you.”

Bett was leaning heavily on a cane, bony fingers wrapped tightly around it. She trembled ever so slightly, as if it was taking all her energy to remain upright. I noted Ted stayed close to her side, hand at the ready, just in case she was to fall. They both looked to have aged greatly since I’d last seen them.

“Ms. Hancock.” Ted was the one to speak. “Your father is staying with us.”

A statement of fact, but I answered anyway. “He is. That’s why I’m here.”

“To see him?”

“And his girlfriend, Laura. Are they in?” I knew they were since the rental was sitting in the lot, but it felt polite to ask.

“They are.” Ted’s hand drifted ever closer to Bett’s elbow. She wasn’t swaying, though she was getting there. “Do you know their room number?”

“I do, thank you.” I paused, and then said, “I heard you were thinking of selling Ted and Bettfast. I saw Vanna Goff when I left, so I assume the rumor is accurate?”

Bett closed her eyes briefly. It was she who answered in a wavery voice that made me even more concerned about her health. “The upkeep has become too much for the both of us to handle.”

Ted took his wife’s arm and squeezed. “We’ve tried, but it’s clear that we can’t keep this up any longer. We decided it best to turn the manor over to someone who can return it to its former glory.”

“As a bed-and-breakfast?” I asked.

“That’s the hope,” Ted said.

“I’ve insisted that the new owner continue our legacy and finish the work we started,” Bett said. “But Ms. Goff isn’t so sure that’s a good idea.”

“She says that it will limit possible buyers.” Ted scowled at that.

I could see Vanna’s point, but at the same time, I didn’t want to see the bed-and-breakfast go away. For all the trouble I’ve had here over the years, I liked the place. “Have you heard about anyone wanting to buy?” Robert Dunhill, perhaps?

“There’s been some interest,” Ted said before glancing at his wife, who had paled. “We should let you get to your father. If you’ll excuse us.”

“Of course.”

Ted helped Bett as they turned around and shuffled to the back office where I knew they had a pair of reading chairs sitting next to a window. Bett looked as if she might collapse before she got there, and Ted seemed acutely aware of that fact. His right arm went around her, while his left hand rested on her closest wrist. If her legs were to give out, he’d have her.

When they were gone, I headed for the stairs, heart heavy. Bett and I didn’t always get along, but like her bed-and-breakfast, I liked her. Seeing her look so weak was a tough pill to swallow considering how strong she’d once been. I hoped that when they finally sold, she would get the rest she needed and would find that vitality again.

I reached Dad’s room and knocked. He answered right away.

“Hey, Buttercup, come on in.” Stress made the lines around his eyes stand out. He did his best to hide it, but I could see him fighting to keep the frown off his face, to keep his brow from furrowing in concern.

I hesitated a beat before entering.

Laura was sitting across the room, in the same chair at the window that she’d been in the last time I was there. Her eyes were heavy and she yawned as she attempted a greeting. “Sorry about that,” she said. “Late night got to me, I guess.”

“Did you two stay up long after dinner?” I asked, hopeful that was all it was.

“A little,” Dad said. “Well, Laura did, anyway. Like an old man, I passed out almost as soon as we got back.”

“I think I’m still getting over that cold, or whatever it was I had.” Laura stifled another yawn. “You’d think the wine would have helped me settle down, but I found myself too wound-up to sleep. And now, here I am.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk much at dinner,” Dad said. “I feel like I abandoned you.”

“It’s all right. I think Rita would have exploded if she hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to you about the book.” And considering she’d talked nearly nonstop the entire night, she’d had quite a lot to say.

“I still feel as if I should make it up to you somehow.” Dad crossed the room and rested a hand on Laura’s shoulder. She covered it with her own.

“You don’t need to do that. It was a good night.” I glanced around the room, and seeing no evidence of food, I asked, “Would you two be interested in breakfast at Death by Coffee this morning? If you’re feeling up to it?”

“I haven’t eaten,” Dad said. “I wouldn’t mind a bite, but . . .” He looked to Laura.

“You two go,” she said, patting Dad’s hand before dropping her own into her lap. “I think I’m going to lie back down for a little while to try to catch up on some sleep. I don’t want to be nodding off at Christmas.”

Dad hesitated before withdrawing his hand. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. You two need to spend some time together.” She tried a reassuring smile, but she just looked tired.

There was a moment where Laura and Dad both just stared at one another. I sensed a silent conversation was happening between them, and while it didn’t appear to be an angry one, it still made me feel uncomfortable, as if I was eavesdropping on something private.

Finally, Dad nodded and grabbed his coat from the back of a nearby chair. “Do you want me to bring you back anything?” he asked Laura.

“No, I’ll be okay. Have fun.” She shot Dad a stern look. “Please, don’t worry about me.”

“I’ll do my best.” He kissed her forehead. “Get some rest.” He joined me at the door.

“If you’d rather not come, I understand,” I whispered.

“No, I want to go.” He put an arm around my shoulder and, this time, I was the recipient of a forehead kiss. “But thank you.”

We left Laura a few moments later and headed downstairs. The Bunfords were still secluded in their office, but Jo was hovering near the outside door. Her eyes were a little red, telling me she’d been crying.

I gave her a reassuring wave as we passed by, and nearly stopped to check on her, but refrained when she tensed. No sense in making things worse when she clearly wasn’t ready to talk.

Dad and I headed outside and briskly walked toward my car. As soon as we were inside, I cranked up the heat, but didn’t drive right away. Something was bothering me, and I couldn’t just ignore it.

“Is everything okay?” I asked, turning to him. “Between you and Laura, I mean?”

“Yeah. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know.” I weighed my next words carefully. “She seems off. More than just being tired, I mean.”

“She’s been stressed lately,” Dad said. “But it’s nothing for you to worry yourself over, Buttercup.” This time, his reassuring smile appeared legit. “Let’s get that food, all right? I’m starving.”

I left Ted and Bettfast not quite convinced everything was great between Dad and Laura, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it. If something was wrong between them, I hoped they worked it out. I liked Laura. She’d never fully replace my mom—no one ever would—but she was as close as anyone could get, and she was good for Dad.

Conversation was kept light as I drove. He spent most of the time talking about Rita and her excitement over his books. He asked me a few questions about Lena and her desire to become a cop, and I answered as truthfully as I could without betraying Lena’s trust. If she wanted people to know why she’d chosen that path, then she could tell them. It wasn’t my place.

We were about to pass the church when I saw a tall, thin woman I recognized hurrying through the doors. I immediately flipped on my turn signal and pulled into the church parking lot, not quite slowing down enough to make the turn graceful. A horn blared behind me and Dad did one of those palm slaps to the dashboard to keep from being thrown around in his seat.

“Sorry,” I said, pulling into a space and putting the Escape in park. “I’ll be just a minute.”

“I’m coming with you.” Dad was already out the door, giving me no room to argue. Nor did he ask why I’d just about broken both our necks to make the turn. There was a good chance he already had an idea, and was just as anxious as I was to make progress on solving Andrew Carver’s murder.

I shut off the engine and joined him just as he reached the door. He opened it and bowed to me with a flourish that was reminiscent of a butler in an old movie. “After you, m’lady.”

I rolled my eyes at him and muttered, “Nerd,” loud enough for him to hear. That earned me an ear-to-ear grin.

The woman I’d seen wasn’t in sight, but I had a feeling I knew where I could find her. I headed up the stairs and through the room where the writers’ group meetings were held—and where the party had taken place the other night. A door at the far end of the room was hanging open and movement inside told me I’d chosen correctly.

“Elsie?” I asked, approaching the small office space. “Is that you? It’s Krissy Hancock.”

Elsie Buchannan, John Buchannan’s wife, stepped out of the office with a curious expression on her face. She’d shed her coat and hat, revealing a bob of a haircut and a conservative outfit right at home in a church. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize anyone else was here.”

“We came in after you,” I said. “In fact, you’re the reason we stopped. I’d like to ask you a couple of questions, if that’s all right?”

Elsie stared past me, at Dad, likely trying to place him. “Questions?”

Dad shrugged and gave her an “aw, shucks” smile. “I’m just along for the ride.”

Elsie’s gaze turned to me. “Why? What happened?” And then a frown. “It’s about that murder, isn’t it?”

“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “It’s about a member of the church; a woman named Doris Appleton.”

Elsie’s entire demeanor changed. She wasn’t hostile toward me, but there was a hint of trepidation in her voice when she asked, “What about her?”

“She caused something of a stir on the day of Rita’s party, the one for the writers’ group,” I said. “Both before and during the event.”

Elsie nodded. I didn’t know if that meant she’d heard about the fuss, or if she was just confirming that she knew about the party.

“Doris had some pretty nasty things to say about a few of the local businesses in town, and that includes the one across the street, Andrew’s Gifts.”

Elsie’s lips thinned. “Where the murder took place.” A statement of fact, but I nodded anyway. “Doris and I don’t exactly see eye to eye on church matters.”

“She causes trouble for you?” I asked, glancing at Dad, who was standing with his hands folded behind his back, listening without comment.

“Not me directly.” Elsie frowned, seemed to consider her next words before speaking them. “Doris and her little cult . . .” A sigh. “I suppose I shouldn’t judge them so harshly, but I suppose that’s how I feel about them. They have been thorns in the church’s side ever since I can remember. I’m surprised it has taken this long for her to start in on the writers’ group.”

“Does that mean she’s caused trouble for other groups?”

“Almost all of them.” Elsie tapped a thumbnail against the other, making a faint click. “Doris has a very particular way of thinking and expects everyone else to fall in line with her. If your group isn’t a part of her ideology, or if you say something she doesn’t agree with, she’ll hound you until you give in to her. Or she’ll send someone to do it.”

“Someone like Agnes Komph?”

“Among others,” Elsie said. “It’s frustrating because they truly believe they are the most pious people in town, yet they don’t seem to realize that you can’t just call yourself a good person and make it true. You have to look out for others in the community, strive to make the world a better place for everyone, not just yourself.”

“And Doris doesn’t do that?”

“Not that I’ve ever seen. She talks a lot about doing the right thing, but her view of what that is leans heavily toward her own personal beliefs and tastes. Even if you’ve done everything right, the moment you cross her by wearing the wrong shirt or by forgetting to tell her how amazing she is, you’re on her hit list.”

I wondered if that last bit was a figure of speech or if Elsie believed Doris could be responsible for the murder. Doris had talked badly about Andrew’s Gifts the night Andrew was killed. She’d even been in the area when it had happened, though she’d had her crew around her. Then you add in her comments about Death by Coffee, about other businesses in town, which I assumed would extend to Phantastic Candies . . .

But murder? That didn’t seem very pious, even for someone with a skewed view of what that might be.

“Do you think it’s possible that—”

Before I could finish the thought, Elsie’s watch dinged.

“I’m sorry,” she said, glancing at it, “I can’t really talk. I’ve got a mess to sort out, calls to make.” She tapped at her smartwatch. “It’s funny you stopped in about Doris since I’m here now because of her. She bullied another club into cancelling their gin rummy night so she could have the space, despite there being more than enough room for both groups.”

“They were having their game night here?” I asked.

“Tonight.” Elsie rubbed at the bridge of her nose. “Let’s just say the group that had the room scheduled isn’t happy. They’re making their displeasure known, and honestly, I don’t blame them. I’m afraid Doris might push them right out of the church, which we can’t have.”

I wanted to ask her more questions, to get a better idea of who Doris Appleton was, but I couldn’t force her to stay and talk.

“I hope you smooth things over,” I said. I imagined the various groups that used the church for their meetings helped with funding. Donations, fund-raising activities. If Doris pushed them all out, then the church could be in trouble, which helped no one.

“Me too.” Elsie started to turn toward the door, but Dad stopped her with a question.

“What time tonight?”

Elsie paused. “For?”

“The meeting,” Dad said. “What time’s the meeting?”

“Seven. Doris’s group will be here from seven until nine.”

With that, we parted.

“What are you thinking?” I asked once we were on the way again. Dad wouldn’t have asked that last question without a reason.

“I think it’s one thing to bully people for their beliefs, but another thing entirely to kill them for them.”

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. “You don’t think Doris killed Andrew?”

“I don’t know her well enough to have a solid opinion one way or the other,” he said. “But if I were to guess, she sounds like the kind of person who’s more likely to convince someone else to act on her behalf than to do it herself.”

I was still considering Dad’s comment as we pulled up in front of Death by Coffee. I was so distracted by it that I didn’t notice what was going on inside my own bookstore café.

But Dad did.

“Uh-oh,” he said. “Looks like you’ve got trouble.”

When I looked, my heart sank.

Doris Appleton and Rita Jablonski were facing off inside, and it appeared the conversation was a heated one.