Something wicked, p.17
Something Wicked, page 17
The album passed into the summer months, and once again, to my surprise, there was a photo of Leo and Rich on the porch. They were starting to fill out more, and this time they weren’t sitting on the steps. Leo leaned awkwardly against one of the porch pillars, and Rich’s long limbs were draped over the porch railing. They both tried to project a too-cool-for-this air, but weren’t quite settled enough in their teen bodies to be able to pull it off without looking a bit silly.
I pulled the photo out and looked at the back, wondering if there might be a clue as to why the portraits kept appearing and why the boys kept hanging out here without me.
The only thing written on the back was Leo and Ricky, Summer 2002.
I closed the album and put it back on the shelf. I was sure if I went through them, the pictures would continue for who knew how long. I supposed, at the very least, it made sense why Rich would turn to Eudora for a place to stay when things went south with his wife. growing up, he’d obviously been closer to her than I’d ever known.
And if that was the case, then could he really have been involved in the murder of someone else she’d known?
Chapter Thirty-Seven
There was no way I’d be able to stop at the lawyer’s office before opening the store, so I would need to wait until Imogen arrived before begging off on a quick break. Likewise, the grocery store was closed when I drove by, meaning I couldn’t go in and grill Leo about why there were so many photos of him in my aunt’s albums, and why he’d been acting so strangely last night.
Perhaps it was for the best, because I could take time to formulate a better line of questioning than just “Hey, why are you being such a weirdo?”
Taking that approach would probably get me shipped out of town pretty quickly, and in spite of everything, I did really want to fit in here.
I also wanted answers, though.
Amy immediately noticed the change in my mood when I went in to get the morning pastry. “That’s a mighty dark cloud hanging over you.” She started to make me a latte without even being asked. I probably looked even worse than I felt, considering my limited and uneasy sleep last night.
“Amy, who do you pay your rent to?” The question tumbled out of my mouth without my being able to stop it. I should have kept my cards close to my vest, but I truly did trust Amy, and I didn’t think she had anything to do with the plot to take the deeds away.
“Well, it’s an automatic withdrawal from my business account on the first of every month to a company that manages most of the businesses on the block. I’m sure Eudora’s lease is set up the same way. It’s probably all been automated to come from her business finances.”
So, Amy clearly didn’t know it was Eudora who owned her building. Interesting.
“What’s the name of the management company?”
“Mountain View Management.”
“And you said they own most of the places nearby?”
Amy gave me a strange look, but said, “Mm-hmm. You’re not thinking of leaving, are you?”
I shook my head quickly, suddenly seeing how my line of thought could be misconstrued. “No, nothing like that, I was just curious how everyone else around here does it. First time owning a business and all.”
“Yeah, well just thank your lucky stars. I think Eudora told me once she had been under rent control since leasing the building, but she wouldn’t explain how she managed to get such a sweet deal. So in your case no one can jack up prices. Though, to be fair, our management company is almost too fair with rents. Don’t you dare tell them I said that. Haven’t raised the rent even once since—well, since my mom and dad still owned this place. So, twenty years?”
Right about the time Eudora would have taken ownership.
“And how do you contact them if you need anything?”
“Well, they have an office in town, but I’ve never had to go in. Usually, you just call up a toll-free number and leave a message with them, and by the next day whatever problem you had is fixed. Pretty nice, all things considered.”
“Have you ever heard of George Bullock?” I figured if Amy’s parents had owned the bakery before her, then she’d likely been around town a good long time. If anyone might know something about George, and by extension Carl, then it would be Amy.
“Oh, gosh, there’s a name I haven’t heard in a dog’s age. Wow.” She leaned against the counter, wiping her hands on her apron. “Sure, I know of George, though I wouldn’t say that anyone really knew him, if you know what I mean. George Bullock was an eccentric old coot, though maybe that’s a bit mean of me. I hear he put a ton of his own money into various projects around here that really helped turn Raven Creek into the town it is now, but he was mostly about signing a check when it was needed, rather than participating in any town events.”
“Do you know if he had any family? A wife, kids maybe?”
Amy shrugged. “I heard so many rumors about him growing up, it’s hard to know what was true and what was just fanciful gossip, you know? Some people said he was here because his whole family had died, and that’s why he just wanted to be left alone. Other people said it was only his wife who died, leaving him to raise their son alone, and he was so worried about what might happen to his son that he wouldn’t let the poor kid go out and socialize or attend school, and it was all private tutors and expensive nannies up there. But I never met anyone who worked directly for him, and then, about twenty years ago, he just up and left town. I heard he died not long after that, and then they tore that old mansion down. I would imagine if he had any family, they would have done what they could to save that place. The property is still there, maybe five minutes outside town if you’re curious. No one ever bought it, and after they tore the house down, a private donor shelled out the fees to turn it into a bird sanctuary. It’s actually really pretty.”
Well, that might explain a lot about how Carl Bullock had been able to come back into town after his release from prison, and again this week, without anyone recognizing him. It seemed like the Bullocks had been incredibly insular, and if Amy’s account was correct, no one knew one way or the other if George even had a son, let alone one they might remember.
George had obviously thought pretty highly of my aunt, though, if he’d been willing to sell her all the Main Street properties for a song. I wondered if perhaps an unwritten agreement in the sale was that she would also look out for Carl, along with the well-being of the town.
It might help explain why Eudora had a photo with him and seemed to know him, when the rest of the town did not.
What kind of life must that have been for Carl, to be cooped up in a big old house with an overprotective father and no real exposure to the world outside? My heart hurt for him a little, even if he had possibly been breaking into my store.
“Thanks, Amy.” I took my pastry order and my coffee and tried to give her what I felt was a genuine smile so she wouldn’t worry too much.
Aside from this insight into Carl, there was another new clue I had to explore: Mountain View Management. There would be some googling in my near future, because I’d never heard of the company before, and it certainly wasn’t mentioned to me during the reading of Eudora’s will. Perhaps there was a mix-up and the deeds weren’t accurate? Maybe there was a different group in charge.
That said, knowing Mountain View had taken over right about the same time as George had signed the properties over to Eudora, and that the rent hadn’t gone up a single time since then, was telling me my aunt most likely had something to do with this after all.
I felt like the pieces of the puzzle had almost all been assembled, but I was being asked to put the last three or four into place while wearing a blindfold. I knew the answers were all in front of me. I just needed a little help to figure it all out.
Since there was nothing I could do about it right that second, I put all the pastries into the glass case and set about making the cookies for the day. It had absolutely escaped my mind to go get avocados last night after leaving, so if I was going to do fancy avocado toast for lunch, I would need to go to the grocery store after all.
A perfect excuse to grill Leo for a little information.
The sourdough I’d prepped the day before had risen perfectly and was ready for the oven, but since the cookies would be done faster, I figured there was no harm in letting the dough sit just a little longer.
By the time the cookies were out and cooling, the oven was ready, and I slid the first two loaves of sourdough in to bake. I’d made four in total, and if all went well, I’d sell through them all by the end of the day. Otherwise, I’d be taking some home to freeze or make into croutons. Sourdough was a resilient bread, and unsliced it would be good for days, but once I cut into it to make toast, it would need to be used up pretty quickly.
It could get rock hard with surprising haste once the moist, crumby interior was exposed.
Soon enough the kitchen smelled amazing, and with the timer clipped to my apron, I went to open the store. Owen walked by on his way to the shoe store, and I waved.
He curled his lip at me first, then lifted one hand in the most half-hearted greeting imaginable.
I still needed to get some new work shoes, and unfortunately his was the only shop in town. In the past, I’d had no luck buying shoes online to fit my wide feet; otherwise, I wouldn’t bother going to Owen’s shop. Maybe tomorrow, during my split shift, I would pop over to see if he had anything suitable and try to mend whatever slight he seemed to think I’d committed.
Ever since he’d come in to scold me about Dierdre, I got the sense he hoped I wasn’t going to stick around town long. I couldn’t have that kind of animosity brewing between myself and someone who worked practically next door. It would only make coming into work an anxious ordeal if I needed to worry about seeing him every day.
I reflected on my conversation with Amy, and before Owen could disappear inside his shop, I stepped out onto the sidewalk and called out to him.
He paused, and I felt certain he was trying to decide if he could pretend he hadn’t heard me. Given that he was only two doors down, however, he couldn’t fake it. He turned toward me again, his best forced smile plastered on his lips.
“Good morning, Ms. Winchester.”
I did a double check down the block so it was clear that there was no one immediately heading for either one of our shops, and stepped a little closer. The Green Thumb was still closed, though a light was on inside, so it seemed likely they might be opening any minute. If I was going to ask Owen a few questions privately, I’d need to hurry.
“Good morning, Owen. How are you?” Politeness, above all else, would pave the way for me with him, I felt certain.
“I’m very well. Is there something I can help you with?” He gestured toward the storefront, and while I did indeed need new shoes, this wasn’t the time.
“I actually just had a really quick question for you. I’m assuming the police stopped by and showed you a photo of the victim, right? I heard they were making the rounds.”
“They did indeed—a mugshot, no less. Seems the man was an unsavory sort of character, so I can’t say I’m surprised he met his demise in such a grisly fashion.”
His cold attitude aside, it was hard to blame him for jumping to that kind of conclusion. Carl had been a criminal, and although I hadn’t asked Detective Martin what his criminal history was, Rich had given me a solid overview, and it hadn’t been flattering. Still, I didn’t love how dismissive Owen could be about a man’s life. Even one who had been an “unsavory sort of character.”
“I assume that means you didn’t recognize him, then?”
“No, he was a stranger to me. As I told the police. Why do you ask?” He gave me a quizzical look, and the weight of his question made me feel guilty, even though I was only asking a few harmless questions.
“How long have you had a shop on Main?” I asked.
“Almost thirty years now.”
“So you’ve been in Raven Creek a long time.”
“My whole life.” In this, he sounded exceptionally proud.
“Do you remember a George Bullock?”
Owen’s expression changed almost immediately, his beaming smile becoming a tight frown. “What does that have to do with anything?”
I wasn’t sure if Detective Martin would want me to share what I’d learned from her last night, so I tried to find a more reasonable excuse to be asking. “I found his name in some of Eudora’s papers yesterday evening and was curious if maybe they’d been an item, or old friends. I thought you might know him.”
“What kind of papers?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Just some old photo albums.” This, at least, was the truth.
“I do remember George Bullock, but not well. He was not a very social man and spent very little time in town with the common people, you see. Thought that he could buy his way into our good graces. I can’t say that anyone missed him when he left.”
“You don’t know how he and Eudora knew each other, then?”
“No. Though, if you don’t mind my saying, your aunt was a bit of an odd duck, you know? Perhaps there was something going on between them. Like tends to attract like.”
I did mind him saying it and didn’t like his implication about my aunt, but I left it alone.
“Thank you, Owen. I appreciate it. And I’ll stop by sometime this week for some professional help.” I gestured down to my boots.
“Oh, thank heavens. I didn’t want to say anything, but those are simply dreadful.” When he realized how rude he sounded, he gave a soft smile. “For your posture, that is.”
“Sure.”
He ducked into his shop, and as I turned back toward The Earl’s Study, I noticed a small Japanese woman sweeping the front step of The Green Thumb.
“Good morning,” I greeted politely.
“Oh, hello.” She sounded much too cheerful for this early in the morning. “You must be Phoebe, Eudora’s niece. I meant to stop in yesterday but didn’t get the chance.” She propped her broom up against the front of the shop and came down the single step to meet me. She was only about five foot three, maybe a bit taller than Dierdre, and her dark hair was going gray.
At this point I’d stopped wondering how people knew me on sight, and just assumed there had been a blast in the town bulletin.
I offered her my hand. “Phoebe Winchester, pleasure to meet you.”
She gave me a firm handshake. “I’m Sumiko Tanaka, my husband, Hideo, and I run The Green Thumb. When you’re settled in town, we hope you’ll let us invite you over for dinner.”
Sumiko didn’t wait for me to reply, but instead held up one finger, as if she had forgotten something, and quickly ducked into the shop. When she returned, she was holding a potted plant with dark green leaves that had mixed tones of yellow and orange on them, which made it look as if the plant was on fire.
“A croton,” she explained, handing the pot to me. “A gift.”
“Oh, Sumiko, I couldn’t. This is so generous.”
She waved a hand at me dismissively and clucked her tongue. “Please. We were your aunt’s friends for a long time, and now we are your friends. If you need anything, just come ask. Promise?”
I nodded. Since I had her attention, I quickly grilled her about the Bullocks, but Sumiko and Hideo had only lived in town for about fifteen years—so after George had left. Sumiko had never even heard of him, let alone of all the rumors lifelong locals had brewed up.
I took my new plant back into the shop and set it on the window ledge in the bookstore so it would get plenty of light, and more importantly, I wouldn’t forget to water it.
Imogen had left the shop spotless the night before, but there were still a few books on the trolly that needed to be re-homed, so it was an easy way to kill a little morning time while I mulled over my conversations with Amy, Owen, and Sumiko. I also had to submit an order for more books. While Eudora’s orders were so far ahead we’d be getting new releases for weeks to come, I still needed to look through the publisher catalogs to assess what we would want to stock, especially with Christmas coming. We’d also received some special order requests from customers, and I wanted to make sure those were submitted so they would arrive as soon as possible.
I got lost in the work, only taking breaks to pull one batch of bread out and replace it with the other. I left the loaves to cool in the back, filling the shop with the unmistakably mouthwatering smell of fresh sourdough bread. Wonderful stuff.
Before I knew it, the front bell chimed and Imogen came in, announcing that I’d quickly passed the first three hours of my day without noticing.
I wanted to run to the lawyer’s office immediately, but with the lunch rush looming, I knew the most important thing to do first was to head to the grocery store. My pulse thudded nervously at the idea of bumping into Leo again, mostly because I hadn’t come up with a plan of attack to ask him what his connection to Eudora had been all those years I was away.
I also wanted to causally ask if he’d talked to Dierdre recently, not that I thought he’d outright admit to meeting her surreptitiously behind my shop last night, but all the same, he might trip up. Too late to thaw out one of the truth-telling scones now.
“I need to go get some avocados. I’m thinking of a lunchtime snack special of sourdough avocado toast.” I grabbed my purse from the office.
“Ohh, that sounds delicious—count me in.” Imogen hung her coat up on the same hook I’d just taken my purse from and dropped her own bag on the floor, closing the office door behind us.
“I should only be a couple of minutes.”
“Not sure how I’ll handle this bustling crowd without you.” She winked and looked over at old Mr. Loughery, who was half dozing in the chair by the fire, a cup of tea next to him and an old Sue Grafton paperback in his hand.
He’d actually bought the book a few days earlier but had come back every day this week to read it by the fire, with a cup of tea or two. Imogen explained this was his daily routine, and once he was finished with the book, he would sell it back to us for half-price store credit and buy another one, repeating the cycle.
