Then, siren shrieking, they proceeded to do their stuff.
—Perry Paul, “The Jane from Hell’s Kitchen,” Gun Molls, October 1930
AFTER GIVING EDDIE my promise, I popped the car door, and when I finally walked back into my shop, it was close to three o’clock.
I felt incredibly guilty about leaving Sadie alone so long—completely alone since today was Bonnie’s day off and Spencer was still at school.
I assumed business must have been brisk because I’d phoned Sadie twice to check in during my Millstone trip, and she never picked up or returned my call. I was ready to jump into action when I pushed through the door, but to my surprise the store was deserted, and my aunt was nowhere to be seen. More surprising, my friend Professor Parker was behind the checkout counter, a strained look on his long, pale face.
“Brainert? What are you doing here?”
“I came in to pick up a book I ordered,” he said. “Next thing I know I get roped into this customer service job. You’re lucky I’ve manned the ticket booth at my Movie Town Theater on occasion and already knew how to work the register—not that there have been many customers in the last hour.”
“You’ve been here that long?”
“Probably longer. I did wait on several customers. One of them was my student. No doubt, the rumors will start flying around campus that I took a part-time job to make ends meet.”
“Where’s Sadie?”
“In your event space.” He gestured to the doorway. “And she’s not alone.”
Without another word I walked to the back of the store. I heard voices and loud sobs before I even reached the event space, so I knew I was walking into an emotional maelstrom of some sort.
“Goodness, Pen, I’m glad you got here,” Sadie said. She sat on a folding chair beside Quindicott’s favorite innkeeper. Fiona’s shoulders heaved and her face was buried in tissue. Our little marmalade cat, Bookmark, stood a few feet away, watching the innkeeper with a cocked head and concerned feline eyes.
When Fiona finally looked up and spotted me, she noisily blew her nose and began babbling.
“Oh, Penelope, it was awful. So awful. What a terrible way to start my day—”
“What happened, Fiona?”
“Last night, the most horrible old man barged into my bed-and-breakfast! He had a warrant, issued by a judge in Newport. He said he was from—”
“Delaware Mutual Insurance Company,” I interrupted. “And he had a state trooper with him, a Captain Rayburn.”
Fiona’s jaw dropped. “How did you know?!”
“I just met them both.”
“Where?” Fiona asked.
“At a murder scene.”
With wide incredulous eyes, Fiona and Sadie listened as I recounted everything that happened in Millstone, including Dottie’s murder, my meeting with Max Braydon, and the threats he made to me personally.
“And if all that wasn’t bad enough,” I concluded, “Max Braydon impounded my car—”
Now Sadie’s jaw dropped. “Oh no.”
“That awful man threatened to shut down my inn!” Fiona cried. “He was at my place for hours, harassing me, Barney, even our guests. He didn’t leave until midnight. Then, at six a.m., Braydon sent a squad of state troopers to tear apart the room Peyton Pemberton stayed in, then the basement room where Norma lived.”
“Braydon wasn’t with them?”
“No,” Fiona replied. “Only Captain Rayburn.”
Fiona began to cry again, and Bookmark attempted to comfort the poor woman, rubbing against the innkeeper’s legs. Fiona stroked the little cat’s head, but even Bookmark’s feline hug and sweet purring couldn’t alleviate Fiona’s misery.
“Braydon must have found that missing address somewhere,” I declared, “because he turned up in Millstone, two hours after Dottie Willard was murdered.”
“He didn’t find that woman’s address at my inn,” Fiona said. “It was Mrs. Waterman who gave Braydon the address.”
I sat back. “Mrs. Waterman? The Reverend Waterman’s wife?”
Fiona nodded. “She dropped by for tea—and to help me with the planning of our annual fundraising party at Chez Finch to benefit the church’s outreach programs. Mrs. Waterman saw what was happening and told the insurance investigator that her husband had the address of Norma’s sister. She called the reverend on the spot, and he read it off to Max Braydon over the phone.”
So, I thought, Max Braydon had the address last night. That’s curious.
Ain’t it, though, Jack said (in my head). You’d think a gung ho guy like him would have charged right over there and shaken poor Dottie down at once.
Well, he didn’t, Jack. He got some shut-eye first and then he went to Millstone. Do you think we should speak with Reverend Waterman? I doubt he’ll have much more information to offer.
Pick up every crumb you can, honey. That’s the PI game. And it’s why we call ’em leads. You never know where they’ll take you.
I turned my attention back to Fiona. “What happened next? Did Braydon and Captain Rayburn leave after that?”
“Actually, Captain Rayburn left before Mrs. Waterman arrived. But as I said before, Mr. Braydon stayed until almost midnight. He was anxious to speak with Peyton Pemberton.”
I was incredulous. “Peyton Pemberton is still staying at your inn, a day after her heirloom jewels were stolen?”
“She’s not in the same room—not even in the main building. Miss Pemberton moved out to our lighthouse.”
Fiona was referring to the old Charity Point Lighthouse, a wreck of a tower that Fiona and Barney had purchased from the town and completely transformed into an extension of their B and B business, offering a single luxury suite overlooking the Atlantic.
“Has she spoken to you about the robbery?”
Fiona shook her head. “Miss Pemberton won’t let any of us near her, not even to serve her meals. She’s eaten nothing but takeout from Silva’s Seafood Shack, which she has delivered.”
“Tell Pen what happened next,” Sadie urged.
“Well, last night, after he spoke with Miss Pemberton, Mr. Braydon came back and accused me of being part of a conspiracy! Can you believe it? He insisted that you were in on it, too, by the way. He said he knew you were involved because the guilty party is often the person who calls the police, in an attempt to deflect blame. It was you who phoned the Quindicott police about the jewel theft.”
“Great,” I said, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. “I was the one who called the police about Dottie Willard’s murder, too.”
“I’m sorry I dragged you into all this,” Fiona said tearfully.
“You didn’t drag me into anything.”
I hugged her slender shoulders, but the gentle gesture only set her off again. She broke into sobs, long, deep ones that ended in a bout of hiccups. Sadie ran to get her a bottle of water, leaving me alone with an inconsolable woman and reeling from the realization that Max Braydon wasn’t just misguided; the man was absolutely crazy to accuse Fiona and me of being in on some kind of conspiracy. So, of course, it was the perfect time for Jack Shepard to pop into my head.
Sounds like you’ve got yourself a new fire hydrant. It works swell, too.
Not funny, Jack. We’re talking about murder—
Which is exactly what I warned you would happen once the Tears of Valentino entered your little cornpone community.
I sighed. Those jewels are certainly well named. They’re causing nothing but tears.
And crying won’t solve your problems, doll. What are you going to DO about it?
“Oh, Pen, what are we going to do?” Fiona moaned, eerily echoing the exact sentiments of my PI spirit.
I knew the answer. And Jack did too. It was the only answer possible, given the situation. We had to find Norma, and the faster the better. She was the only person who could clear up this mess up and clear our good names.