Murder on the Page (A Literary Dining Mystery #1)

CHAPTER 15

C HAPTER 15

“Do not consider me now as an elegant female, intending to plague you, but as a rational creature, speaking the truth from her heart.”

—Elizabeth Bennet, in Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice

T he next morning, I donned a long-sleeved white shirt, black jeans, ankle boots, and lightweight puff jacket. I fed and snuggled Darcy, kissed him good-bye, and ventured out. It wasn’t raining—the sun was shining and the aroma of new flowers perfumed the air—but it was chilly.

While making deliveries, I decided to resume listening to Sherlock Holmes’s The Sign of the Four. I was at the part where the police were arresting Thaddeus Sholto, when I spied Fair Exchange, the pawnshop where I’d purchased my Celtic knot. I parked in the lot on Holly Street and hoofed it to the sidewalk. I wanted to pick the owner’s brain about where Marigold might have taken the ring she’d removed from her safety-deposit box. She wouldn’t have pawned it. She hadn’t needed the money. But perhaps he knew jewelers who were good at cleaning antique pieces.

Nearing the pawnshop, I drew to a halt. Of all people, Rick O’Sheedy was entering Fair Exchange, an overcoat slung over his left arm. In his right hand, he carried a messenger bag-style leather briefcase .

Something niggled at the edges of my brain warning me to be wary. Why, I couldn’t say, but throughout my childhood years, my parents had urged me to listen to my intuition. If I was going to be in charge of my fate, they said, I had to be alert. So I lingered and observed Rick’s transaction through the pawnshop window. J.J., the owner, a bald man with a scruffy beard and spectacles—he’d probably come out of the womb looking withered and tired—was on a moving ladder, pushing himself to the right as he dusted the top shelf of books.

Rick sauntered toward him, pulling something from his breast pocket while speaking. I couldn’t see what it was, but J.J. descended the ladder and held out his hand. Rick passed it to him, and J.J. placed the item on the sales counter. He let the spectacles, which were attached to a chain, fall to his chest and lifted a loupe. He held it to his right eye. Waiting, Rick rubbed his arms nervously, as if eager to conclude the business deal as quickly as possible. Why? Had he brought in a stolen ring? To be specific, Marigold’s ring?

Don’t leap to conclusions, Allie. And don’t judge the man based on your pal’s misgivings.

J.J. said something to Rick, which seemed to put Rick at ease. He stopped rubbing his arms and started idly twirling his key ring on his index finger. J.J. jotted out a receipt on a pad, tore the top sheet off the pad, went to the antique cash register, and rang up a sale, or, in this case, a purchase. He pulled out a few hundred-dollar bills and gave them and the receipt to Rick.

Business concluded, Rick gestured a two-fingered salute and left, and J.J. stowed whatever Rick had sold him in a drawer, to the right of the cash register.

Though curiosity was ticking my insides like crazy, I waited a few beats before wandering in. When I did, I said, “Morning, J.J. ”

He squinted at first before realizing he needed his glasses. After putting them on, he said, “Well, I’ll be. It’s the alley cat.” He snickered. When I’d first told him my name, he’d laughed so hard, which led to a conversation about our ancestry. His family had come from the same part of Ireland that mine had. “What would be bringing you in today, lass?”

“I wanted to ask you about jewelers who might be good at cleaning antique jewelry.”

“I do fine work, if I don’t mind bragging, but there are plenty in town. It depends on what type of jewelry you need cleaned.”

“A diamond-and-ruby target ring, circa 1920.”

He whistled. “I’d like to see that.”

“So the man who was just here didn’t bring you something like that?”

“Ha!” J.J. chortled. “Nah, he was getting rid of his wedding ring. Seems his wife divorced him. Heartbroken, he decided not to hold on to it.”

Rick didn’t strike me as the heartbroken type. Had he acted up a storm so he could soak J.J. for more money than the ring was worth? Maybe that was what I’d sensed when I’d spotted him at first. He’d looked cagey because he was in need of cash.

“He said he wanted to clean the slate so he could make room in his heart for someone new.”

Like Noeline? I wondered. “He sure opened up to you.”

J.J. smiled, baring his tobacco-stained teeth. “I’m like a father confessor.”

“Could I see the ring?”

He pulled it from the drawer and held it out to me. “Plain, with a simple inscription inside.”

Love always, it read.

He clucked his tongue. “Love isn’t always, in his case. It’s good quality and generic enough that I can resell it easily. I gave him top dollar. Now”—he leaned forward on his elbows—“if you’d like to show me that 1920s beauty you’re touting, I’ll be interested.”

I promised I’d bring it in when I found it. “I didn’t lose it,” I added hurriedly. “It belonged to Marigold Markel.”

“The lady who died.”

“The same.” I explained how she’d removed it from her safety-deposit box, and it was missing.

“If you’d like, I can send you a text with the list of jewelers she might have taken it to.”

I thanked him and left.

Over the next few hours, I finished up my deliveries. The sisters who owned Whispering Winds cooed over the coffee lace cookies and instantly ordered more, adding that they would recommend my wares to all of their friends, including Blessed Bean. I assured them I’d already snagged that account and would pitch the cookies to the owner myself.

By the time I arrived at Feast for the Eyes, it was close to noon. I strolled in and held the door for two entering customers. I said hello to Chloe, who was helping a young woman in the YA aisle, and greeted a customer who was browsing the endcap by the mystery aisle, after which I went in search of Tegan. I found her in the office, sitting at the desk, the Internet browser open on the laptop computer.

Yet again, she’d donned the black-colored, thigh-length anime sweater that was three sizes too big. She was deep in concentration. Her forehead had creases, and she was sucking on her lower lip with her teeth.

“Hello,” I said.

She looked up, startled.

“Sugar for the weary.” I set a box of assorted cookies on the desk and nudged them toward her.

“Thanks.” She took a coffee lace cookie and bit into it. “Delish. ”

“What are you up to?”

“I’m doing a deep dive on Graham Wynn. Have you ever been in his store, GamePlay?”

“Nope.” I didn’t play video games. I liked crossword puzzles and Sudoku. “You have, I’m presuming,” I said, given her fascination with comic books. I’d lost my interest in them around the age of ten, too enthralled with novels to find time to read anything else.

“It’s a great place, packed with Funko collectibles, bobble-head dolls, and board games.”

I enjoyed board games, in particular, Clue.

Tegan swiveled the laptop slightly so I could read more easily the link she’d clicked on. “Here’s an article about when he first opened the shop ten years ago. The Tribune interviewed him. He comes from humble means. No father. His mother worked full-time as a nurse, but she passed away. He didn’t say what happened to her, although he said, because she worked nights when he was a boy, he pretty much found himself playing games to stay out of trouble. He’s never been married. He doesn’t outright say he’s a virgin, but he refers to himself as a ‘monk for life.’ ”

“That might explain his interest in clerical fiction,” I kidded.

“Be serious.”

I sobered. “Did you find anything criminal in his past?”

“He’s a fiend for double-parking.”

I had tried to skirt the law in that way a few times, until I’d grasped it wasn’t worth the financial penalties I’d incurred.

“He was in a bar fight during college. No arrest was made. And he likes to gamble.”

“You found all that online?”

“Yep. He posted pictures of himself in Atlantic City on a video game junket, but the pix weren’t from the conference. They were all taken at blackjack tables.”

I thought of the missing hundred K Marigold had withdrawn from the bank and how Celia Harrigan hinted that Graham’s business was suffering. Was it possible he killed Marigold to get his hands on the money? “Can you pull up info on his finances?”

“No. I’m not that savvy. I also couldn’t come up with anything pertaining to a drug habit.”

Which left us no closer to the truth.

“Before digging into him, I was looking into Rick,” Tegan said.

“Why?”

“To protect my mom. He doesn’t have a social media footprint.”

“Lots of people don’t.”

“Sure, but get this. My friend at the hospital—she’s the one I help out at the blood bank—doesn’t have a clue who he is.”

“Being a financial consultant, he probably doesn’t mingle with the regular staff. Funny you should mention him, though. I saw him at the pawnshop this morning.” I told her what J.J. said, that Rick was trying to clean the slate so he could start fresh with someone new, probably Noeline. “Between you and me, I think Rick might be a decent guy.”

“If you say so.”

I patted her shoulder. “Let’s leave it for now and handle the customers. You want to rack up a ton of sales, don’t you? Tell me what to do.”

“Actually, we have some orders to gather and tag. I printed the list. It’s sitting by the computer in the showroom.”

“On it.” I fetched the box of cookies, returned to the main shop, and placed it on the counter. “Chloe, I brought cookies. Enough for everyone.”

“Bless you,” Chloe said.

While she and each of the customers partook, I nabbed the list of books Tegan had printed and roamed the store to pull them. I returned with an armload and began to tag them. Three books for Lillian, all pertaining to costuming. Two YA novels for the septuagenarian who owned Mosaic. She had adorable teen granddaughters. One thriller by Harlan Coben for Zach’s partner. A theater-themed mystery for Evelyn Evers titled A Fatal Finale, which took place at the cusp of the twentieth century in Manhattan. I’d read it a couple of years ago and had delighted in the intrigue. Two books for Rick O’Sheedy, a thriller and a Deputy Donut Mystery with the cute name, Survival of the Fritters. The latter seemed totally out of character for him.

The door to the shop opened and, to my surprise, Rick entered. Noeline wasn’t with him.

Tegan met him halfway. “Hi, Rick. Lunch break?”

“No lunch today. I’m in and out to get my books and then off to meetings.”

“Good timing,” I said, joining them. “I pulled the titles moments ago. I noticed you set aside a cozy mystery. For you?”

“What’s a cozy mystery?”

I chuckled. “Yeah, I thought it might be for Noeline.” She and I had similar reading tastes. “It’s a mystery that most often doesn’t have bad language. There’s rarely any sex. And usually the murder occurs off the page.”

He grinned. “That sounds perfect for her. She said someone recommended the donut mysteries. She loves donuts.”

“Well, she won’t be disappointed. The series is wonderful, with recipes, to boot. She can suggest Helga make some of them.” I fetched the books I’d pulled, slotted them into a Feast for the Eyes gift bag, and handed the bag to him. “By the way, I saw you at Fair Exchange this morning. You appeared to be in a hurry, so I didn’t call out to you.”

“Were you spying on me? ”

“No, I—”

“Relax. I’m just joshing you.” The corners of his mouth curved up. “This is a small town. Everywhere I go I’m seeing people I’ve met.”

I breathed easier. I didn’t want him to think I was nosey. Curious, perhaps. Interested, definitely. But not a snoop. “I happened to be heading to the shop myself because I bought this there.” I fingered my necklace. “And I wondered whether J.J.—he’s the owner—might know the best jeweler for cleaning something like it.”

“Ahh.” Rick nodded, accepting my explanation.

“J.J. is quite a talker, isn’t he?”

“Interrogator, you mean. The police should hire him. Better yet, the FBI.” Rick winked. “If I’d stayed any longer, I’m pretty sure I would have revealed my entire life story.”

I laughed.

“You revealed enough,” Tegan blurted. “He told Allie you were married before.”

“Did he?”

I stared at my pal. Really? So much for keeping a conversation confidential.

Rick said, “It’s true. I was married. For fifteen years. It wasn’t a good fit. I traveled too much. After a while, she didn’t trust me, mainly because her father was a traveling salesman and stepped out on her mother. I never did. And I sure as heck wasn’t a salesman. But . . .” He raised a hand. “But she couldn’t get past it. Today, when I spotted the pawnshop, I decided it was time to sell the ring. Put the memory behind me.”

“What’re your intentions with my mother?” Tegan blurted.

“That’s none of your business, young lady,” Rick said.

“Actually, it is,” she countered.

“Fine.” Rick clicked his tongue in his mouth, another smile appearing. What he must think of the two of us. “For the record, your mother likes me, and I like her. We’ve been talking about traveling together. She wants to see Italy, and I’m game. It’s one of the few countries I’ve never visited. Does that about cover it?”

“Almost.” Tegan crossed her arms. “I asked about you at the hospital, and nobody seems to know you.”

I winced. I knew my friend could be blunt, but this was so direct even I was stunned.

Rick’s gaze narrowed. “You asked about me, and you”—he regarded me—“have been following me?”

“I told you, I wasn’t—”

“Just teasing you again,” he said. The way his eyes twinkled with mischief, I could see why Noeline was falling for him. He had a feistiness about him.

“My friend is one of the head nurses,” Tegan went on, undaunted. “She knows everyone, and she’s never heard of you.”

Rick smoothed the hair along the right side of his head, trying and succeeding to tamp down exasperation. “I’ve only been in town a short time, Tegan. Previously I lived in Charlotte and before that in Raleigh. I’ve moved around a lot. I rarely mingle with the nursing staff.”

Which corroborated my theory.

“Do you intend to stay in Bramblewood?” Tegan asked.

“I’m considering buying a condo or a small house, if that’s saying anything. I’d like the Asheville area to be my home base. It’s the nicest place I’ve ever lived. Quaint but cosmopolitan. Lots of outdoor activities. Plenty of good theater. And the best craft beer in the US.” He spread his hands. “Look, if you’re worried about my bona fides, ask the kids at the hospital how they feel about me. I read to them a lot.”

“You read to the children?” Tegan tilted her head.

“Yes.”

“So the volunteers know you. ”

“Some certainly do.” He held her gaze.

My cell phone pinged. I’d received a text message from J.J. I stepped aside and reviewed the list of jewelers he’d sent. It was so long, I didn’t know where to begin. I made a mental note to ask Noeline if she knew the name of her sister’s favorite jeweler. With all the jewelry Marigold had purchased over the years, she must have had one.