Beware False Profits Part 9

"Because the police will find out if I hire somebody. And maybe I'll look even more guilty, like I'm pretending to get them off my case. Besides, I'm the mayor. What would it say about our city if I act like I don't trust the police enough to let them do their job? I can't throw money at this. I can't ask a pro to get on board. For now, you're all I've got."

It wasn't exactly a ringing endors.e.m.e.nt, but I guess it had to do. It even made a weird kind of sense. Hiring a detective might look like Brownie didn't trust the cops. And that really wouldn't be good for the local morale. Hiring me? Who would take that seriously?

"I'll give this some thought." I stood, and he followed a moment later. "I'll be back in touch," I said.

He didn't add anything until we got to the door. Then he turned to face me. "I didn't kill my wife. And I don't know anybody else who disliked her enough to want her dead."

Anybody else?

"I hope you'll help me." He held out his hand. Shaking it was a little like cleaning a fish. But at least Brownie's eyes were just worried, not staring blindly into forever.

"I'll talk to you soon," I promised as I closed the door.

Ed spoke from behind me. "Do you really think Joe was murdered?"

I turned warily. He didn't look spitting mad. "Coffee?"

"It's brewing."

I followed him to the kitchen and plunked down at the long table that bisects the room. Our parsonage is a hulking Dutch Colonial. The rooms that should be large are not, and the ones that should be smaller for efficiency-like the kitchen-are large enough to hold Sunday services. The house has character, though, and we're learning to feel at home here.

Outside I could hear the plunk of our morning newspaper as it bounced off the sidewalk before merrily playing hide-and-seek in the bushes. Moonpie, our silver tabby, jumped up to the chair beside me, gauging my mood before he tried for the table. I narrowed my eyes, and with feline disdain he began to lick himself, waiting to leap, I'm sure, the moment I looked away.

"I don't know if Joe was murdered," I said, keeping my eyes on the cat. "But doesn't this open up a nasty possibility? The last time anybody saw him, he looked pale and ill, remember? And Hazel looked like death warmed over before, well, you know. They're both connected to Helping Hands. What if he succ.u.mbed to the same poison, and he's just lying somewhere unclaimed or unnoticed?"

"I'm afraid somebody will notice soon. Mother Nature will make sure of it."

I fished around in the drawer of the phone table behind me. I could just reach it if I tilted my chair on its hind legs, something the girls are repeatedly warned not to do. Out for revenge, Moonpie jumped on my lap and both of us nearly went over. I set him on the ground more gently than he deserved and got up to find what I was looking for.

"Maura gave me this." I waved Joe's photo at Ed, before I set it on the table.

"What are you going to do with it?"

"Eventually the police are going to have to know he's missing. If Joe doesn't call or come back, she'll have to make a report."

"But for now?"

"I'm not sure. How can you search for somebody if you're supposed to pretend you know where he is? I've got a photo and n.o.body I can show it to."

Junie wandered in, followed by Teddy. I could tell immediately that my mother had helped Teddy pick out her outfit. My sober little first grader wore a blue velvet dress with white lace trim, a rhinestone bracelet, and jewel-encrusted flip-flops Junie had bought and decorated for rainy day dress up.

"Well..." I nodded. "You look like Cinderella at the ball. You're sure you want to climb to the top of the jungle gym in that outfit?"

"She's trying to get in character," Junie said.

"I need a crown."

Deena wandered in. "She can't go to school like that. Everybody will laugh."

"When you were in first grade, you went to school dressed like an astronaut." I noted that today she was going to school in her best jeans and an eyelet-trimmed T-s.h.i.+rt with nothing printed on it. She looked adorable. That frightened me.

Teddy lunged for Moonpie, who waited until the last possible second to evade her. Moonpie's quite the tease. Teddy righted herself and saw Joe's photograph on the table. "Who's that?"

Junie, who was dressed like she belonged in Cinderella's court, peered down at the table. "Oh, look at that. It's the man who came into my tent and wouldn't step out of the shadows."

A cold chill ran through me. "What do you mean?"

She lifted the photo. "Remember, Teddy? I asked this man if he wanted to have his fortune told and he refused?" She held it out. "Did you see him?"

Teddy spoke in a deep voice. "I don't want my fortune told. I know better than anybody else what's in-store for me."

This time I felt frozen in place. The voice wasn't Teddy's. It sounded like an adult male. It sounded like Joe Wagner.

"Well, now we know why our precious was chosen to be Cinderella," Junie said, tucking a lock of Teddy's hair behind her ear. "That's exactly what he sounded like and exactly what he said. Isn't she marvelous?"

I knew my daughter was a wonderful mimic. And I knew she had a nearly photographic memory. But used this way? I wasn't all that glad to have heard the demonstration.

"Teddy, did you see this man?" I asked.

She shook her head. "I was under the table, but I never raised it off the ground," she said in her normal voice.

"She didn't," Junie confirmed.

"You're sure this is the man?" I asked my mother.

Ed came over to view the photo and then Junie. "You're absolutely sure?"

Junie considered. "It was dark in the tent because of the deep shade from all those trees, especially around the edges, and he slipped in and out again so fast I hardly got a look at him. He never got close to me."

"So you're backing down?"

She shook her head. "No. I can't say so with 100 percent certainty, but I'm guessing this was the man I saw. I'm almost sure."

"I can't believe it." Two hours later I was standing at the Victorian, admiring the perfect skeleton of Junie's main island. Lucy Jacobs was standing beside me, tilting her head, as if that would help her envision the finished product.

"I was over here on Monday," I said, choosing to leave out the part about my cell phone. "Everything was screwed up. I called Hank and told him, but he never called me back, and he hasn't answered any of my other calls. I thought he'd quit on us. But look at this. He got it right, and he wasn't even supposed to come back until the weekend. Somebody finally got something right!"

"You're not just imagining there was something wrong on Monday?"

"No, look." I walked toward the fireplace and pointed. You can still see where they were putting it, although they've really patched the floor nicely. I was worried."

Lucy shook back her red curls, partially confined in a green bandana. Luce is a size four and looks great in everything, even the ragged jeans and knee pads she'd donned today. In a few minutes we were set to tear out the layers of vinyl flooring in the upstairs bathroom. A few weeks into this project she cancelled her members.h.i.+p at the gym. She can't pick up guys at the Victorian, but she might be a size two before we finish.

"Well, false start maybe," she said, "but it looks like Closeur's a keeper. And I wasn't optimistic. Some of my clients haven't been happy with stuff he's done for them."

In her other life Lucy's a Realtor, so she has a lot of insider information. This works well for both of us. She finds houses that won't sell because of simple cosmetic flaws and owner stubbornness, and we buy them together, do the bare minimum to sell them, and put them back on the market. Our first successful flip consisted of clearing out junk and simple updating. We expected to do basic updates on the Victorian and turn it around quickly, too, but Junie had seen the house and fallen in love. Now it was up to us to turn it into a quilt shop.

We trooped upstairs together, patting each other on the back for finding somebody who could actually move our project toward completion. I thought if all went well, Junie might be able to move into the apartment by June and start stocking her shelves for an opening in early autumn. She had already infiltrated the local quilting guild. She'd taught her favorite pattern at one of the winter meetings, and now she was holding a Wednesday night cla.s.s in the parsonage dining room. Every Wednesday the group seemed to grow larger. It was past time to move them into the new cla.s.sroom area in the Victorian's bas.e.m.e.nt before Junie started selling yard goods out of our bedroom.

The bathroom in question had several layers of vinyl flooring over a hardwood subfloor, and if we tried to install yet another subfloor and layer of tile over these, Junie would have to duck her head when she stepped up and into the room. We had already, with great effort, removed two layers. Today we planned to remove the final one. The wallpaper was already history, the walls painted a periwinkle blue, and if we were lucky, we would be able to save the hardwood, sand, and refinish it ourselves. But we weren't counting on it, and tile was a nice second choice.

We had already determined that the vinyl wasn't contaminated by asbestos, and which way the floorboards ran so we could cut the vinyl in the same direction, hopefully minimizing scarring.

"You're up for this?" I asked.

"I've got until five. I have a showing this evening."

"Let's get moving."

We divvied up the floor, repeated our plan of action out loud so we were working together, then started carefully cutting away strips of flooring and sc.r.a.ping them up with putty knives.

"Well, I've got news for you," I told Lucy.

I could almost hear her holding her breath. Lucy loves gossip more than selling houses. And she loves being right in the thick of it.

I proceeded to tell her in slow, agonizing detail about Brownie's early morning visit. The thing about Lucy is that she likes gossip, but if I tell her she can't repeat something, she won't. She's that best friend you always wanted in high school, the one who wouldn't steal your boyfriend, copy answers off your test paper, or talk about you behind your back. Now she just listened. Raptly.

"You've got to be kidding!" she said, once I finished.

I sat back on my heels. This was not going to be a fun job. My arms were already sore from pulling up the flooring, and I could see there was going to be a lot more work once that was done. Lots and lots of sanding ahead, and tile was looking better.

"I'm not kidding. Hazel was poisoned, and Brownie's sure they suspect him."

"Is there any truth to it?"

"I'm sure he's right. He's the one who benefits most from her death."

"You mean because he inherits everything?" Lucy paused. "Or because he's finally rid of her?"

"Whoa there." I couldn't turn to see her face. The bathroom was s.p.a.cious enough-for a bathroom. But I was more or less stuck between the toilet bowl and the sink. "What do you mean 'finally'?"

"What do you think I mean? Theirs wasn't exactly a marriage made in heaven, Aggie. I mean, you've seen them together, right? She kept the little guy on a leash. Like a c.o.c.ker spaniel." Lucy paused. "But you know, even a little dog will bite if it's mistreated."

I wished I could see her face, but if I tried, I'd suffer whiplash. "Are you telling me he could have done it?"

"No, but I'll tell you what I do know. Hazel wasn't the only woman in Brownie's life."

As a matter of fact this was old news to me, although everything had happened so quickly this morning, I hadn't thought about it. "You mean Keely?"

"Among others."

"Get out of here! You mean multiple affairs?"

"I don't know if we can call them affairs. Our friend Keely was getting paid, wasn't she? Maybe the others were-are-too."

We had met Keely Henley in the fall. Once upon a time she had served drinks at Emerald Springs's most notorious bar, Don't Go There. On a research trip Lucy and I talked to her about another murder, and along the way I learned that she had a "relations.h.i.+p" with our mayor. Since it hadn't been relevant I'd simply filed it away under "hypo-critical politicians." Now, suddenly it mattered.

"Is this what you know, or what you've heard?" I asked.

"Know, as in personal experience with Brownie?"

"Lucy!"

"I have it on pretty good authority. I sold the Kefauvers' housekeeper a condo, and when her offer was accepted, we went out to celebrate. Three mudslides later Dora pointed out a woman on the other side of the room and said she was sleeping with the mayor. Of course I'm sure if I'd pursued that conversation after the mudslides wore off, she would have denied it. But I don't think she and the vodka were making it up. And I've heard rumors, too, about other women."

And then there was Keely.

"Ick."

"Yeah, the ick factor's pretty strong," Lucy said. "But even though it doesn't excuse him, Hazel couldn't have been fun to live with."

"Which is why divorce is legal."

"Okay, but fun or not, Hazel was the one with the money and the power. I'm betting Brownie was happy enough to use both, even if she did come with the package. So he got his kicks elsewhere, or maybe he slept with other women just to get back at her. Like that spaniel, again, peeing on his owner's Persian carpet."

"I hope you don't enlighten the police about this, or use that simile. At least give me a chance to prove Brownie didn't do it first. A day or two would be nice."

"Silly, I'm sure the cops already know the whole story. A lot of people know. It wasn't a well-kept secret. Remember, you stumbled on Keely without breaking a sweat."

"He's a dead duck, isn't he?"

"Well, now he's got the money and power without her. And poisoning? He's such a little sneak, it would be just like him."

"Thus ends the first meeting of the Brownie Kefauver fan club."

Lucy pretended to rap a gavel on the floor, although it was only a putty knife. "Why did you tell him you'd see what you could do?"

I had been asking myself the same thing since I left the house this morning. I had no ties to the Kefauvers. And I thought as a mayor Brownie was inept and dishonest. Emerald Springs might even be better off if he was behind bars. There was just one problem.

"I don't think he did it." I backed out slowly on my hands and knees so I could see her again. "Call me nuts, but I don't think so. I don't think he has the courage. And I think he's genuinely confused and upset about everything that's happened. Not sad, maybe, but upset."

"He could be upset because he knows he's a suspect."

"And that's another thing. Anyone with a brain-and he fits into that category, if barely-would know that an autopsy would find poison. He must have okayed one, right? Her death didn't really look suspicious, so I'm not sure an autopsy was absolutely required. And Brownie would know he was going to be tops on everybody's list of suspects, so if he wanted her dead, wouldn't he simply hire somebody to do it when he had a clear alibi? This just seems too obvious to me."

"So you're involved because you sense injustice? Super Aggie? Get a clue here. There are no tall buildings to leap in Emerald Springs."

Lucy didn't know about Joe, and despite trusting her completely, I didn't feel I had the right to tell her yet. So I couldn't explain that deep down I had a suspicion Hazel's death and Joe's disappearance were linked. Especially now that my mother and daughter were convinced they had seen Joe Wagner at Mayday! just about the time Hazel Kefauver died.

"Ed doesn't want me anywhere near this," I said. "He's afraid three times won't be a charm." Considering everything else she had said, I almost expected Lucy to take Ed's side, but she shook her head.

"How's he going to stop you? You've obviously already started and come up with some conclusions. And you'll be careful, right? We'll be careful."

I liked that "we." "That's not much to go on."

She smiled her brightest smile. "Okay, let's get more. Let's make a list of all the people who might have wanted Hazel Kefauver dead."

"You're really going to help?"