“I know. A friend of ours was killed. Just remember: I didn’t commit the crime. I solved it.”
“My very dear lady. If you’d been the killer, do you think I’d still be hanging around?” Will grinned. “But you do seem to have this…magnetic quality that draws in people in dire circumstances. It’s a bit exhausting for those of us who enjoy your company, you know. Never knowing when you might have to rush off to solve a murder or soothe someone’s brow who’s been accused of a dastardly crime.”
Maggie burst out laughing. “I’m not Nancy Drew, you horrible man! And I seem to remember a number of times we’ve been together that have had absolutely nothing to do with murders or crimes.” She looked at him flirtatiously. “Although there may, indeed, have been a bit of that brow-soothing involved even then, now that I think about it.”
“In any case, I assume Jim has taken over the Diana situation for the moment.”
“For the moment, yes. But she’s in far worse trouble that we thought,” Maggie said. “Not only are her father and cousin dead. Murdered. But it seems she had a gun in her backpack. Now she’s the number-one suspect.”
“She hasn’t been arrested,” Will pointed out, as he headed the car back toward downtown Winslow. “Or she wouldn’t have left with Jim.”
“No, thank goodness. They need to check her gun, and I’m assuming it will come back clean,” Maggie agreed. “I can’t think of a motive she’d have for either killing.”
“We can’t do anything to help her right now,” he pointed out. “But clearly Jim’s going to be involved for at least the morning. Diana’s his client?”
Maggie nodded.
“So let’s take over what he was going to do for Gussie and storm-proof her shop and house.”
Will made it all sound so simple and logical. “You’re right. That’s what we should do,” she agreed.
“Give Gussie a call and find out whether Jim had time to pick up the plywood for the windows. If not, we’ll stop and do that on our way,” Will directed.
Maggie smiled. Will knew kitchen and fireplace supplies and tools. He was most comfortable when he was fixing things. And right now she could use someone who could make life work.
She called. Then she turned to Will. “Gussie says Jim ordered the plywood but didn’t have time to pick it up. He went straight to Cordelia’s house. She’d appreciate our getting it.”
“Do you know where?”
“I do. I was at the hardware store the other day, getting some things for the store. Just keep going straight for another mile here,” Maggie directed. And this would give her another opportunity to talk with Bob Silva.
“Good to see you again, Maggie,” said Silva, as she explained their errand. “We put Jim’s plywood aside for him out back.” He handed Will an invoice. “Drive to the back of the parking lot and the guys there will tie the wood on top of your car. I’ll put it on Jim’s bill.”
The table that had been full of flashlights and batteries the other day was now empty, Maggie noted. Only a few candles were left, and some bags of sand.
“Have any bottles of water?” a bearded man yelled in the front door.
“None left!” Silva shouted back. “Try the pharmacy if the grocery’s out.”
“Jim’s sorry he couldn’t come himself,” said Maggie. “But with another murder, and all, it’s a busy time.”
“Another murder?” Bob Silva’s head shot up immediately. Unless he was a really good actor, that was news he hadn’t heard. “In Winslow? What happened?”
“Cordelia West. Her body was found on the beach near her home this morning,” Maggie said.
Silva looked shocked. “Why would anyone kill her?”
“I heard she didn’t have a lot of friends in town.”
“Maybe not close friends. She wasn’t like those women who spend their lives gossiping in restaurants and trooping over to the shopping malls in Hyannis. She kept to herself, ’cause most folks couldn’t talk to her. And she made those weird dolls of hers. She brought them to the church fair a couple of times. But people liked her all right. She always smiled at folks when she went for walks around town, or on the beach. I never heard a bad thing about her, except folks worried she was alone too much. She used to stand by herself, watching the kids play. When Dan came to live with her, people said maybe she wouldn’t be so lonely anymore. He took her out to places, sometimes.” Silva shook his head. “Sad. Now that’s really sad news. Who would want to kill a nice lady like Cordelia West?”
“I guess that’s what Chief Irons will be trying to figure out,” said Maggie.
“With this storm coming on, everyone’s going a little crazy anyway,” said Silva. “This time of year we’re usually selling candles for jack-o’-lanterns and salt for the first snow storms. This year it’s flashlights and batteries and plywood. And two folks murdered in as many weeks. I ain’t saying anything about Dan Jeffrey. Mebbe he deserved it. There are those who think he did, and mebbe I’m one. But there’s no one who’d think the same of Cordelia West. Bad times for sure.”
“Three’s a charm, Bob, if you count your own boy. Maybe this is the end,” said a man standing patiently at the end of the counter, holding a box of nails in his hand. “Maybe this is the end.”
“It’s the end all right,” said Silva. “I just don’t know what of. And I don’t like it. No, sir. It’s not good, for sure. Folks around Winslow better start locking their doors. If Cordelia West could be murdered, than none of us are safe.”
Chapter 30
P Peeped In It.The sixteenth color engraving from A Apple Pie by Kate Greenaway (1846-1901), an alphabet book printed in London by George Routledge and Sons in 1886. All the letters are illustrated by pictures of children and a pie; this “P” is a young lady, formally dressed, “peeping” into a very large pie with one slice removed while three other girls look to see if anyone else is coming. Kate Greenaway, the daughter of a master engraver and a dressmaker of clothes for children, is one of the best-known children’s illustrators of the nineteenth century. She pictured children dressed in Regency clothes (out of style during her lifetime) and although her work was popular, it was not critically acclaimed. It is still being reproduced. In 1955 the Kate Greenaway Medal was established in Great Britain. The equivalent of the Caldecott Medal in the United States, it is awarded to the British artist who has produced the most distinguished children’s book illustrations each year. 8.5 x 10.4 inches. $75.
Working together, Will and Maggie had no problem covering the windows at Aunt Augusta’s Attic with the plywood. “The shop may look dreary now, but at least it’s safe, no matter how high the winds are,” said Maggie.
“Thank goodness you’re both here to help,” agreed Gussie. “Shuttering the store was certainly not what I had in mind when I asked you to come to the Cape early, Maggie. But the woman who owns the children’s clothing shop next door has someone coming this afternoon to board up her windows, too.”
“The Cape’s going to be on lockdown by tomorrow afternoon,” said Will. “Sounds a bit paranoid if you ask me. Has the governor called out the National Guard yet?”
“Actually, he has,” Gussie said. “Or at least put them on stand-by. He’s not taking this storm lightly.”
“I guess after Katrina no one laughs at hurricanes,” added Maggie.
“But this is the Cape. And it’s almost November!” said Gussie. “Can you guess who’s most upset?”
Maggie didn’t have to think long. “Jim’s mother. Lily had reservations to fly in tonight, didn’t she?”
“She did, but her flight was cancelled. She’s been trying to get an earlier flight, but airports all up and down the coast are a mess. Jim’s been in touch with her, on top of everything else he’s dealing with.”
“If the Cape’s closed off, that means some of the guests who were going to drive or fly in won’t be able to make it,” Maggie said.