Final Sale

(A Bittersweet Hollow Mystery)

Annie Irvin & Rae Sanders

To the dreamers who said we should.

To the believers who said we could.

Chapter One

Harper Reed stood on the front porch of the Bittersweet Inn and sipped apple cider from a Styrofoam cup.  The crisp October air made for perfect sweater weather and on this particular Sunday evening the full harvest moon hung just below the horizon.  The first stars of the night twinkled in the cloudless Iowa sky while the deepening twilight cast shadows across the face of the rounded turret and gingerbread trim on the graceful Queen Anne house. Harper sipped her cider and silently thanked Mother Nature for providing such spectacular weather for the Pumpkin Patch Festival.

Mixed emotions tugged at her while she surveyed the crowd milling around the grounds. For the past twenty years, Harper, her sister, Lonnie Carmichael, and their mother, Olivia Waterford, had hosted this annual autumn event to showcase the stately Victorian bed and breakfast the family had owned for five generations. What had started as a small gathering of locals making the short two mile outing from Bittersweet Hollow to the field behind Olivia’s house to pick bright orange pumpkins, had turned into an impressively-sized crowd of town folks and out-of-towners celebrating the pumpkin harvest. Food stand vendors pitched hot dogs, salt-water taffy, and kettle corn while a few booths offered handcrafted items for sale. Warm apple cider was gratis, something to enjoy while soaking up the atmosphere of the grand old house and well-groomed flower beds. There were hayrides all day, the hay wagon bumping along a well-worn path between the Inn and the shoreline of the Big Bittersweet River where it churned its way along the back acres of the property. And always after darkness had settled firmly over the grounds, the Pumpkin Patch Festival ended with a colossal bonfire.

The preparations for the day involved planning and hard work but Harper, Lonnie and Olivia truly considered it a labor of love. All good things must come to an end, however, and this year would see the end of not only the festival but also the end of the family’s claim to the house where Harper and Lonnie had grown up in a cozy suite of rooms on the Inn’s first floor. Harper sighed. Nobody in this family is getting any younger, she thought. Her mother would soon turn eighty, and at fifty-one, Lonnie was only two years younger than Harper. Lonnie’s daughter, Claire, was off to college and had informed the family she had no interest in taking over the Inn, and Harper knew her own son, Lincoln, was perfectly content in his first year teaching out in Seattle with no desire to move back to the Midwest, let alone a town the size of Bittersweet Hollow.

“Well, how you gonna keep ‘em down at the Inn after they’ve seen Paree?” Harper spoke out loud to no one in particular.

“Jazzin’ around and painting the town,” Lonnie chimed in with a chuckle, joining Harper on the porch. “You’re talking about our kids, right?”

“Yep. So we say goodbye to the Inn as soon as Mom signs on the dotted line with Mead and Alice Hoover. I don’t know whether to thank Grace Potter for being such a good real estate agent and getting the place sold, or give her what for because it won’t seem the same without the old home place.”

Lonnie put an arm around Harper’s shoulders. “I know how you feel, but we need to be thankful Mom has agreed to sell. After she slipped on the stairs and broke her wrist last year, she finally realized it’s for her own good to move into the townhouse a few blocks from you. So we should thank Grace that even during a huge housing slump she finally found a buyer. And speaking of Grace, she just blew past me a little while ago like she was on a mission. Didn’t even acknowledge me although she almost plowed me over.”

“Were Mead and Alice with her?”

“Nope. I saw them earlier by the hay wagon picking out some pumpkins. They told me they were glad they could observe the festival first hand. They’d like to keep up the tradition after they buy the Inn.”

“It’s getting dark,” Harper said. “Ezra will light the bonfire in a few minutes. Everyone is already over there. We should head that way.”

The sisters descended the porch steps and strolled across the spacious lawn toward the edge of the pumpkin patch where Ezra Sanders, Olivia’s longtime employee who, along with his wife, Violet, kept the Inn up-to-snuff, readied a box of matches and prepared to set fire to a gigantic pile of timber, scrap lumber, and brush.

Earlier in the week, Harper and Lonnie had helped Ezra string what seemed like miles of paper lanterns throughout the property and now as evening slipped into night, the yellow and orange globes cast soft illumination onto the hay bales and corn shock bundles decorating the lawn.

Leaves crunched under Harper’s shoes, releasing their dry earthen scent. The hint of a breeze stirred the air and rustled the tree branches. A throng of children waited excitedly where the lawn met the pumpkin field and Ezra’s rising tower of timber stood ready. He’d promised Harper this bonfire would be the most spectacular one ever, since it was slated to be the last he would have a hand in building.

“It’ll be a humdinger for sure,” he’d said proudly.

And a humdinger it turned out to be. After Ezra set a match to the timbers, the blaze roared toward the heavens, dimming the light of the harvest moon now halfway above the tips of the treetops. The crowd of young, old and in-between clapped and cheered the crackling, snapping inferno as the dancing flames turned Ezra’s masterpiece into a blazing torch and the amber sparks floated upward to join the stars in the dark sky.

The wood smoke drifted toward Harper’s nose and she sniffed the sharp smell appreciatively. The flames cavorted erratically, and Harper found she couldn’t look away from the bonfire. It held her as spellbound as a mouse caught in the deadly gaze of a snake. Eventually the fire began to shrink, loosening its hypnotic grip on Harper’s senses. Turning toward Lonnie, she asked, “By the way, where’s your hubby?”

“He’s probably on his way to the garden shed to get a couple of rakes. He told Ezra he’d help sweep up the embers after the fire dies down.”

The sisters focused their gaze toward the back of Olivia’s property where a hundred yards away an old wooden garden shed sat forlornly beside a dense clump of maple and hackberry trees. Although the light from Ezra’s bonfire reached the shed, it did so indifferently, doing little from such a distance to illuminate the tall male figure engaged in what Harper could only describe as power walking toward the Inn.

“That’s definitely Paul,” Lonnie said, squinting to watch her husband’s long stride, his arms pumping up and down in time to his stiff-legged step as he cut through the shadowy distance.

“What on earth is he doing?” Harper asked as Paul suddenly pulled up short and bent over at his waist, resting his hands on his knees and acting as though he’d had the wind knocked out of him.

“Beats me,” Lonnie replied while Paul stood upright and resumed his comical quickstep.

Harper laughed. “He looks like a duck trying to stay one step ahead of the wolf. Let’s go see what’s up.”

Fielding compliments on ‘the great bonfire,’ ‘terrific day,’ and ‘awesome festival’ from a few folks at the edge of the crowd, the sisters caught up to Paul as he reached the back steps of the house.

Shocked at the stunned look on Paul’s face as well as his pasty complexion, Harper said, “For heaven’s sake, what’s wrong with you?”

Lonnie put her hand on her husband’s arm. “You look at though you’ve seen a ghost.”

Paul sat down heavily on the top porch step. “In the shed.”

“What’s in the shed? A ghost?”

Paul swallowed hard. “Grace Potter.”

Harper frowned. “Grace Potter’s in the shed or a ghost’s in the shed?”

“Pretty much the same thing, I’d say. I just tripped over a body and it’s definitely Grace and she’s definitely dead.”

“Good Lord,” Harper said, her voice shaky. “Does it look like a heart attack?”

“Nope,” Paul said quietly. “It looks like a murder.”

Chapter Two

Harper watched Violet Sanders carry a blue ceramic platter heaped with cold roast beef and baked ham sandwiches to an oversized oak dining table in the middle of the Bittersweet Inn’s brightly lit kitchen. Lonnie set several mugs of hot coffee on a tray next to the sandwiches. Harper knew no one seemed very hungry. A murdered realtor in the back yard, especially a murdered realtor who’d just sold the back yard, had a way of spoiling appetites. However, she also knew no one sat at her mother’s table without Violet placing food in front of them.

For the past thirty years, Violet and her husband, Ezra, had been Olivia’s only full time employees. Violet helped with the baking, cooking and cleaning while Ezra handled most matters concerning the maintenance of the house, yard and gardens. The two lived in a renovated suite of rooms on the third floor. Although in their late sixties, the couple had agreed to postpone their own retirement until Olivia called it quits.

Violet stood behind the chair where Ezra sat, her fleshy hands on her ample hips, her stout bosom and plump abdomen partially covered by a white baker’s apron. She had arranged her graying hair in braided coils over each ear. A few hairpins had loosened in the chaos following the discovery of Grace’s body and some corkscrew tendrils brazenly escaped their knots.

Earlier, before the sheriff and his deputies had arrived, Violet, Harper and Lonnie had taken a flashlight and sneaked out to the shed to peek in a window. Knowing they had only a few minutes before the sheriff and his deputies arrived from St. Stephens, the women pressed their noses against the pane of glass while Harper held the light.

“It’s Grace all right,” Harper announced. “Paul said someone bashed her in the head with something heavy. I figured there would be more blood.”

Harper chided her sister. “Don’t be ghoulish. It’s disrespectful.”

“Grace thrived on disrespectful,” Violet snorted. “She always poked her nose where it didn’t belong.”

“What on earth do you suppose made her poke it in here?” Harper asked, totally puzzled.

Lonnie shrugged. “Whatever her motivation, she apparently forgot an important rule…duck.”

Later, after the sheriff had questioned the occupants of the Inn and the only commotion remaining outside included a handful of deputies stringing yellow crime scene tape and scouring the property for evidence, Harper observed the others seated around the table. Ezra and Violet had settled protectively on either side of Olivia. Olivia, white curls framing her softly lined face, looked decidedly exhausted to Harper.

Paul, sitting across from Olivia, stretched his long legs under the table. Harper was glad to see some color had returned to her brother-in-law’s face. Lonnie sat next to Paul and rested a hand on his knee, giving him an absentminded pat every few minutes. Mead and Alice Hoover, the Inn’s potential buyers, made up the rest of the party and it was obvious to Harper the consternation on everyone’s face was not due to any grieving over the dead woman but caused by the words Alice spoke.

“I’m just not sure Mead and I can go ahead and close on this house. You see, I have strong connections to the metaphysical world. I feel the Potter woman’s spirit roaming here on this property. She’s determined she won’t rest until whoever killed her is apprehended, and until then she plans to make everyone who comes to the Inn suffer for her misfortune. She’ll drive all the guests away. Her spirit is very vindictive.”

“That’s her normal personality,” Violet said with a snort.

“Maybe so,” said Alice, “but she’s warning me to stay away.”

“Well, now,” Ezra said, “I don’t reckon I’d pay much attention to anything Grace Potter or her spirit had to say if I was you. Her mouth was always a-runnin’ and nothin’ good ever came out of it. If she wasn’t stirrin’ up trouble, she wasn’t happy.”

“Let’s not make any hasty decisions, my sweet,” Mead said, wrapping his long slender fingers around his wife’s plump hand and giving her a tender smile. “We really do want to buy the Inn and I’m sure Grace’s spirit will be placated before long.”

“Oh, dear,” Olivia said. “There’s just no way I can move if I don’t get the Inn sold. Harper, you’ll just have to tell the people at the townhouse I’m not making the move after all.”

“Now, Mom; I’m sure if Grace’s, um, spirit, isn’t put to rest by morning, it will be soon,” Harper assured her mother, wondering why on earth a seemingly sane young woman like Alice had to be a fruitcake and believe in ghosts.

Harper recalled the time Grace, talking to her and Olivia after the Hoovers made an offer on the property, explained how Alice believed she “heard voices or some such crazy thing. And Mead doesn’t contradict his wife when she prattles on about spirits and such so maybe he believes she really is tuned in to a different frequency. Honestly, Olivia, your rambling Victorian certainly has the ambiance to suit a psychic.”

Grace had kept up a steady stream of idle chatter about the young couple, making Harper feel uncomfortable by how much information she apparently had gleaned in her capacity as realtor. And Lord only knows how much of it’s even true, Harper thought at the time, so she cut the conversation short and told Lonnie later, “Grace can fling more you know what than a manure spreader.”

Lonnie’s voice interrupted Harper’s thoughts of Grace. “Ezra is right, Alice. Anything Grace ever said needed to be taken with a grain of salt. She liked to stir the pot.”

“Grace had a cantankerous streak to her, that’s for sure,” Paul cut in. “Even a mad dog wouldn’t bite her. I doubt if there’s been anyone in Bittersweet Hollow who hasn’t been on the rough side of her tongue at one time or another.”

“Yet she seemed so nice,” Alice said. “And she was extremely knowledgeable about real estate transactions and very helpful answering our questions. We felt lucky we found her.”

“There’s no denying Grace could put on a different face when she wanted to sell property,” Harper said. “But I bet if you think for a minute, you’ll come up with a few questions she asked you that didn’t have anything to do with buying the Inn.”

“True,” Alice admitted, considering Harper’s remark. “Mead even mentioned once how she seemed a little nosy.”

“I believe I said Grace definitely had a nose problem,” Mead replied. “You’re just too busy liking everyone to notice their true colors, Alice.”

Alice squirmed in her chair and said, “It will be a shame if Grace’s spirit keeps the guests away from here. It wouldn’t take long to ruin a business if there’s no revenue. You do understand that Mead and I hope to start a family soon. We can’t risk buying a business if it won’t make any money. It might take months to apprehend the murderer. Maybe they’ll never be caught and Grace will never leave.”

“Oh, dear, this is all so horrible,” Olivia said.

Violet patted Olivia’s shoulder. “Now don’t you worry,” she said. “If that darn ghost crosses my path she’ll think she’s run into the Devil instead of me.”

“Look, Alice, Grace worked for Wilcox and Wilson Reality,” Harper said. “Aaron Wilcox and James Wilson are nice young gentlemen and I’m sure as far as working with you and Mead, they’ll step right in and take over where Grace left off. And, Alice, I promise you, Grace’s killer will be in custody soon if I have to apprehend the murderer myself.”

“Goodness, Harper,” Olivia said quickly, “don’t even think of doing anything so risky.”

Mead pushed back his chair. “We’ll go see Aaron and James first thing in the morning. It’s very late. Let’s go upstairs, Alice. There’s a nice snug room with a soft bed waiting for us. Things will look different in the light of day.”

“I’ll show you up,” Harper said, wishing she could crawl into a soft bed, too. She waited while the young couple said goodnight to the others, thinking how plump, curly-haired Alice with her big blue eyes and pink cheeks resembled a china doll and tall, gangly Mead made a perfect image of Ichabod Crane.

“We’ve put your luggage in the Green Room at the end of the hallway,” Harper said over her shoulder, leading the way from the kitchen to the stairway off the foyer. “It’s the one with the great view. From your window you can see all the way to the timber along the river.”

The Bittersweet Inn contained six guest rooms, each with its own bath. Harper and Violet had added a few special touches to the Green Room after Mead booked it for the weekend, including a hand-stitched Amish quilt on the bed, new lavender-scented sachets in the dresser drawers, and a small box of hand-dipped chocolates from the local candy shop on the bedside table.

“Oh, this is lovely,” Alice said, gazing around at the gray-green walls and the green and ivory antique rug on the hardwood floor. “This room was one of my favorites when Grace first showed us the place.”

Mead plopped down on the four poster bed with the colorful antique quilt while Alice admired the deep yellow spider mums and bright red-orange berries of the bittersweet plant arranged in a pewter vase on the Queen Anne writing desk. Running her hand across the cherry wood, Alice said, “What a beautiful piece of furniture, Harper.”

“Yes, it is. Mom found it tucked away in a corner of the top floor years ago when Violet and Ezra took over that space for their own. It’s always been one of my favorites.”

Alice pulled back the green and gray striped drapes. The rich, golden light of the full harvest moon, now high in the sky, pooled onto the floor.

“You’ll find an extra quilt and pillows in the wardrobe,” Harper said. “I hope you get a decent night’s sleep, what’s left of the night, that is.”

Mead thanked her while Alice, standing very still by the window, spoke softly.

“Hell to pay,” the young woman said. “Yes, hell to pay.”

Chapter Three

“Harper,” a voice hissed the name, causing Harper to jump and yelp as she reached the bottom step of the stairway.

“Oh, good heavens, I forgot all about you,” Harper said, surprised her nerves were as frayed as they were. “Are all you girls still here?”

“Yes,” answered Tammy Shultz, peeking between a narrow gap in the heavy sliding doors which closed off the dining room from the foyer. “The sheriff questioned us right after he talked to you and your mom and everybody. We decided to hang around for awhile. It’s not every day things are this exciting in Bittersweet Hollow. We’re cleaning up the dining room.” Tammy slid open the doors. “It needed it. There were lots of people through here today wanting to reserve it for teas and bridge parties.”

Harper joined Tammy and the five other young women Violet called ‘Olivia’s Girls,’ the helpers hired for the day of the Pumpkin Patch Festival. At seventeen, Tammy, the youngest, babbled on and on about the murder like only a teenager can babble. Almost as chatty were the twenty somethings, Carly Albertson, Riley Carson, and Mindy Bartlett. Not engaged in talking but clearly listening were the oldest of the group, thirty five year old Summer Storm and forty three year old Rachel Turnbuckle.

“My mother had a run-in with Grace Potter a couple of years ago,” Mindy said, shoving a lock of dark, wavy hair back from her forehead. “I overheard her telling my dad about the nasty rumor Grace spread around about a male high school teacher and a senior high girl.”

Riley Carson’s eyes opened wide. “Really? Who was the teacher? Who was the student?”

Mindy dragged her dust cloth across the top of the antique buffet table, pushing the crumbs left behind from plates of cookies and bars into her hand. “I don’t suppose I like to say since there wasn’t a bit of truth to it anyway. Don’t know why Grace would want to ruin Mr. Rush’s reputation like that. Oops.”

Everyone laughed at Mindy’s slip up, everyone, Harper noticed, but Summer. Looking decidedly sullen, Summer had wandered over to a pair of French doors leading out to the backyard patio.

Mindy reached into the pocket of her bib apron and pulled out a tissue. She gave her nose a honk. “Grace actually spread the rumor at choir practice and Mom told her the only thing worse than a troublemaker is a troublemaker who shows up at church every Sunday and acts holier-than-thou. Sheesh, Grace Potter even bosses the pastor around.”

“She had the nerve today to tell me the color of our aprons made all us girls look like tubby round squash!” Carly grumbled, referring to the aprons the festival helpers wore every year to identify them as Bittersweet Inn employees. Olivia and Violet had sewn the butternut-colored bib aprons, hand-embroidered the front of each bib with sprigs of bright red-orange bittersweet berries, and attached the straps with novelty buttons that looked like real acorns. Brown slacks and white shirts completed each outfit, making it easy to pick out the helpers in the crowd, although from a distance it was hard to tell one from the other.

“That was a catty thing to say,” Tammy said, twirling a thick Chenille dust mop across the shiny hardwood floor. “None of us are tubby and round. What did you say to her?”

Carly snickered. “I told the old biddy that squash have panache.”

Harper and the other girls were giggling over Carly’s rhyme when Rachel let out a yelp.

“Oh, no,” she cried, holding a bittersweet-colored candle she had taken down from the fireplace mantel in order to blow out the flame. “Wax dripped on my shirt.”

“Use the long-handled candle extinguisher, silly,” Tammy chided her, popping the last mint from a cut glass candy dish into her mouth while Rachel dabbed at the front of her white shirt with a soiled napkin.

“You all can laugh about Grace Potter if you want,” Summer said bitterly from her spot by the patio door, her dark brown eyes snapping, “but she’s no laughing matter. She was an evil, wicked person.”

Harper turned her gaze on the young woman and was surprised by what she saw. Summer, breathing rapidly, stood staring at the floor, her heavy eyelids and dark, sooty lashes hiding her eyes. But Harper caught a glimpse of the emotion which made Summer’s face twitch and the scattered freckles across her nose stand out.

Swiveling abruptly on her heels, Summer headed out the door, saying in a voice so cold it could freeze Death Valley in July, “The bitch deserved to die.”

Harper excused herself from the dining room, telling the girls to head home; it was late and they must all be emotionally drained by the murder and being questioned by the police. There would be plenty of time tomorrow to chew the fat about Grace’s murder. As she approached the kitchen she heard new voices including the sheriff’s.

Good thing we have a big coffee pot, she said under her breath. Although I think I’m about coffeed out.

Harper took stock of the group around the kitchen table. The newcomers included the sheriff; two deputies; Grace’s brother-in-law, Wagner Potter; and his wife, Mona. Harper knew Grace’s husband, Marshall, was out of town on a business trip.

“I tried to break it to him as best I could over the phone,” Wagner said, nodding at Harper as she scooted a chair next to her mother and sat down. “He took it better than I expected.”

“It can be a slippery slope between grief and relief,” Violet muttered.

Wagner cleared his throat. “Yes, well, anyway, he has decided to wait until daylight to drive home. Doesn’t like to drive after dark. I told him that seemed a wise thing to do since there isn’t anything he could do tonight anyway.”

The sheriff nodded in agreement. “Not much we can tell him now, either. Ezra confirmed the bloody hammer we found inside the shed is one he kept there on the work bench by the door. It appears to be the murder weapon. I think Grace was killed sometime around eight o’clock, right around the time of the bonfire. We’ll know more after the medical examiner in St. Stephens runs some tests. Now, Wagner, can either you or Mona think of someone who would have wanted Grace dead?”

“Goodness, I can’t think of a soul,” Wagner answered quickly. “Grace did have a reputation for herself as the town busybody but I do believe everyone knew enough to let her gossip go in one ear and out the other. Certainly can’t think a little tittle-tattle would be a good enough reason for a person to do something this horrible to her. Can you, Mona?”

Mona stared unblinkingly at Wagner while Harper wondered how Mona Potter always managed to look completely pulled together even at this time of night. Smoothing her chignon with flawlessly manicured hands and straightening the collar of her cashmere jacket, Mona raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows and matched Wagner’s gaze for several seconds before looking away.

“A little tittle-tattle, no,” Mona said. “It would have to be something much more interesting than tittle-tattle for someone to go to such a length to keep her from broadcasting it all over town, wouldn’t it?”

She knows something, Harper thought, and waited for Mona to continue. But Mona had apparently said all she was going to say and after a short pause Wagner took a step toward the kitchen door.

“I’d like you to show me exactly where the murder took place, Sheriff. Mona, you better stay here in the kitchen. No sense getting you any more upset than need be.”

Harper didn’t think Mona looked upset at all, but then she didn’t know Mona well.

“I’ll come with you if you don’t mind,” Paul said, following Wagner, the sheriff and his deputies out of the kitchen. Lonnie suggested she help Olivia to bed. Violet and Ezra agreed it was way past their bedtime and they said goodnight, too.

“I’m sorry about your sister-in-law,” Harper said when she and Mona were alone. “It must have come as a huge shock, hearing someone murdered Grace.”

“Shock? Not at all.” Mona blinked her blue-gray eyes twice and cleared her throat before she continued. “Naturally I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, yet we all know how Grace meddled and ran her mouth. Wagner might think her gossip was only tittle-tattle but it was more like hanging out other people’s dirty laundry for everyone in town to point at. Her death might have been a surprise––she was only fifty six after all––but I can’t say it’s a shock. Look, if you lined up the folks in town who wanted to see her big mouth shut permanently they’d stretch the ten miles from here to St. Stephens. She loved scandal and if it caused trouble for some poor soul it made her day. The woman never even cared if her back-fence talk was an out and out lie.”

Mona looked Harper straight in the eye and again Harper felt that Grace’s sister-in-law knew more than she was telling. Mona didn’t let her in on any secrets, however, saying simply, “I have a feeling it might not have been a lie but the truth that got Grace killed.”

Chapter Four

Harper turned the key and opened the door to one of the renovated, century-old storefronts on Bittersweet Hollow’s neat as a pin Main Street. The twelve blocks from her house to work that she once jogged with only slight effort a few years ago, now left her a little winded. Nevertheless, she liked the feeling of having accomplished something healthy. At fifty three she took advantage of anything to help keep middle-age spread at bay, a feat requiring more dedication every year. On good days she still managed to wear a size twelve, and on bad days she relied on her Spanx.

Harper stepped inside her antique shop feeling the same pride she felt every day when she hung the Open sign in the plate glass window. In the thirty years since she’d launched Our Earthly Remains, she hadn’t once felt burdened by her work. She loved handling every piece of antique furniture, each old collectible that passed through her store.

Helen Newcastle loved Our Earthly Remains, too, and had been Harper’s right-hand assistant for several years. Clocking in a few minutes after Harper opened the shop, Helen fussed with the intricately arranged loops of silver hair on top of her head and adjusted the wire half-glasses perched on her nose. She appeared delicate, her skin as fragile-looking as Italian porcelain, but in actuality the sixty year old proved to be tough as nails. The best way to stay active, according to Helen, included lifting an occasional glass of gin and lighting up a Marlboro.

“Quite the excitement at the Inn last night,” Helen said, shoving her purse behind the counter. “How are all of you holding up?”

“We’d all be better if Mead and Alice Hoover, the couple who intended to purchase the place, weren’t so unsure about signing on the dotted line now.”

“What do you mean?” Helen asked.

“Alice thinks she resides in the realm of psychic consciousness and is convinced Grace’s spirit is renting a room at the Inn.”

“You mean she thinks Grace is a ghost?”

“Yes, a ghost no one but Alice can see. She believes Grace is playing spiteful spirit and plans on pestering future guests until whoever committed the crime is arrested. Mead is trying to convince her they need to go ahead with the closing. Mom is very upset by the murder, worried the sale might not go through, and I’m concerned her health will take a hit if the Meads back out. It took Grace a long time to find a buyer in the first place.”

“Surely, Aaron and James will be able to persuade the Hoovers to go ahead and close,” Helen said, patting Harper’s hand.

Harper gave Helen a thin smile. “I hope so. Because otherwise I’m afraid Alice will hold firm and Mom will lose her buyer.”

“Does the sheriff have any idea who did it? I left before the cops could corner me and ask a bunch of question I couldn’t have answered anyway.”

“As of last night, the only theory any of them had seemed to point to a random act by a stranger making his way along the riverbank, maybe someone who saw Grace out by the shed and wanted to steal her purse, or at least money from her purse.”

Helen straightened some quilts hanging on a rack. “Is her purse missing?”

“She didn’t have one on her but the sheriff found it later, locked in the trunk of her car. Her car keys and some lose change were in her jacket pocket. Her wedding ring was still on her finger and her expensive wristwatch hadn’t been taken.”

“Doesn’t sound much like someone wanted to rob her.”

Harper shook her head. “No, it doesn’t. But the deputies are going to spend time looking up and down the riverbank today, hoping to find something there. I swear if they don’t find something quick I’ll go do a little investigating myself.”

“Well, the Big Bittersweet does run close to your mother’s property. Guess it would be easy to hide in the timber between the pumpkin patch and the river, then escape in a boat or on foot even.”

“I suppose, but with no apparent motive like robbery, doesn’t Grace’s murder seem as though it’s more a crime of passion?”

“Passion? You don’t mean as in a lover’s triangle or something?”

Harper snorted. “Not that kind of passion. I’m not talking about sex, I’m talking about…”

The brass bell over the door jingled and Harper looked over her shoulder.

“My ex-husband,” she muttered. “Just the person I don’t need to see today.”

Whenever Harper saw Eli Reed, she always had mixed feelings and she hated having to sort them out. Their divorce had been finalized almost a year ago but only recently had she begun to feel she could finally get on with life after Eli.

“Hello, Harper,” he said, flashing his even, white teeth in a big smile.

Good old handsome Eli. Why did those wings of gray sweeping his temples only manage to make the rest of his hair look dark and luxurious? Why hadn’t his deep summer tan faded yet? And why did he always make her feel like she wanted to punch him in the nose? She knew the answer to the last question only too well. The affair he had had with his secretary had crushed her, but she’d pulled through, stood tall, and managed to keep her financial head above water thanks to her antique shop.  Now she was moving on.

“What’s up, Eli?” Harper asked, managing to sound even less gracious than she felt, which irritated her for some reason. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she still gave a darn. Which she was pretty sure she didn’t.

“I came by to tell you I phoned Lincoln this morning and told him about the murder at his Grandmother’s place.”

“Now why did you do that?” Harper growled, trying to keep her voice calm but having little luck.

“Excuse me,” Helen said, heading toward the back room. “I hear someone calling my name.”

Harper glared at Eli. “That news will only worry him. He’ll think a crazy killer is lurking around his grandmother’s place and he wouldn’t have heard about the murder way out in Washington state, I’m sure.”

“You never did want to worry anyone, did you?” Eli asked, shaking his head. “But you can’t be sure someone wouldn’t tell him. He’s got friends who still live here. And don’t forget Facebook. It’s a wonder he hadn’t heard about it already.”

Harper tried to think of something she could say to contradict Eli but she knew he was right. She forced a cool smile. “Did you drive all the way over here from St. Stephens to tell me that?”

“It’s only ten miles, Harper. But no, I have an important appointment at Rubino’s By the River. That restaurant is one of my best clients, remember?”

“I remember your accounting business always did come before me,” Harper said.

“That’s not how I remember it,” Eli said.

“Of course it isn’t,” Harper replied, biting her tongue to keep from asking if Mary Moon, Secretary of Loose Morals and Easy Ways, had made the appointment for him.

Instead she said, “I have some important business to attend to myself today.” It was true; she had planned on walking down the block to Wilcox and Wilson Realty later this morning to see if Aaron and James had any good news to share, like maybe Alice and Mead had agreed to close on the Inn after all. She might as well go see them now.

“I’m not slowing you down, am I?” Eli asked.

“Not anymore,” Harper said, grabbing her jacket and heading for the front door. “Not anymore.”

Chapter Five

Harper was out of breath by the time she hotfooted it down the block to Wilcox and Wilson Realty. She realized the breathlessness was caused not only by her swift pace but by the fact that Eli’s visit to the antique shop had upset her more than she wanted to admit. She willed herself to breathe deeply and slowly. After giving the door to the real estate agency an opening shove, Harper looked around the front lobby. The receptionist wasn’t at her desk and the place appeared empty.

Aaron Wilcox and James Wilson had inherited the real estate business from their fathers. Good thing or bad thing, they also had inherited Grace Potter, Real Estate Agent. Grace’s valuable experience in wheeling and dealing, and her beneficial knowledge of all the red tape that goes along with buying and selling property, had convinced Aaron and James to overlook her sharp tongue and keep her on their payroll. Another real estate agent, Fannie Abbott, also worked for Wilcox and Wilson, and the feuding between Grace and the younger, prettier Fannie over who could outsell whom was known all over town. Neither woman wanted to play second fiddle to the other.

“Helloooo,” Harper called out. “Anyone here?”

Getting no answer, Harper tried to decide whether to wait or leave. It was then she noticed the door with Grace’s nameplate on it standing slightly ajar.

“Anyone here?” she called out again, cautiously giving the door a light shove with one finger. She’d been in this office before and in her view felt everything about it nailed Grace Potter’s personality. Pretentious. Overly done. Pompous. From the flamboyantly large antique desk, which Harper’s expertise told her must have cost a pretty penny and a half, to the awards for Outstanding Real Estate Agent—enlarged, expensively framed and hung on the wall where anyone sitting across from Grace would be sure to see them—there was nothing modest about the décor. Harper picked up a photo in a heavy silver frame from the corner of the desk. The camera had caught Grace holding a prestigious regional sales award, a disgruntled-looking Fannie Abbott standing by her side. She placed the picture next to a gold-plated pen set and an oversized ‘Grace Potter, Agent’ nameplate, then eased herself into Grace’s top-of-the-line leather office chair.

A neat stack of manila file folders on the well-polished desk caught Harper’s eye. Without really thinking about it, she reached over and slid the pile closer. She flipped open the top folder and scanned the first page.

Good grief, Harper thought, Grace appraised the value of her clients’ property and then, apparently to satisfy her own meddling desire to know, estimated the value of their furnishings and art work. But the amount of client assets wasn’t what caught Harper’s attention. It was the notes added to the folders and clearly meant for Grace’s eyes only that held her interest.

‘She’s never been married, yet several men’s shirts are freshly laundered and hanging in the back of Holly’s closet under a shelf with a bottle of Armani for Men and a shaving kit,’ Grace had scribbled on a sheet of note paper in Holly Freedman’s file.

‘Liquor cabinet not locked. Fully stocked with gin, vermouth and olives. Whoever thought elderly widow Edna drank so many martinis?’ she’d jotted down on old Edna Parker’s file.

‘It only took a quick peek inside bedroom end table to discover abundance of sex toys. Wonder if Barb bought these after she divorced her husband?’ Grace had cattily noted on the file of a recent divorcee who had listed her house with Wilcox and Wilson.

Taken aback by the intimate details Grace had so blatantly penned, Harper flipped shut the file folders, trying to get the image of padded handcuffs, martini shakers, and shirts smelling of Armani out of her mind.

Good Lord, she thought, Grace did more than take pictures and measurements before she put a house on the market. She pried where she shouldn’t have and then had the nerve to take notes on the scandalous stuff she found!

Harper, sorry she had looked inside the folders, shoved them to the far side of the desk.

Wait a minute, Harper thought. What if Grace snooped through Mom’s stuff when she appraised the Inn? What if she wrote notes in a folder on Mom, or on Violet or Ezra? There was no way Harper would let Grace, dead or alive, get away with keeping spiteful notes on Olivia. She looked around for a filing cabinet. There were none. She pulled open one of the four desk drawers and found it filled with neatly arranged, color-coded file folders.

Harper quickly dug through them, looking for one labeled ‘Bittersweet Inn’ or ‘Waterford, Olivia.’ Finding nothing she went through the other three drawers which turned up zilch.

Drats, Harper muttered, certain there must be a file someplace with her mother’s name on it. The only drawer left was the middle drawer which usually held nothing more than pens and paperclips. Still, Harper slid it open. A dark green folder lay in the middle of the drawer. It wasn’t labeled so Harper pulled it out and opened it.

Inside was a crisp, unfolded letter addressed to Milo Fairweather, Deacon at Bittersweet Hollow’s Church of the Merciful Redemption. The words stared up boldly at Harper and she couldn’t help but read them. In the letter, Grace carved up the church’s minister, Lawrence Hart, as well as Grace’s co-worker, Fannie Abbott.

Grace had written in part, ‘It was my plan to confront Pastor Hart about Fannie Abbott’s solo for the upcoming Christmas service as I was quite surprised by his announcement at choir practice tonight that he had given that prime position to Fannie as well as offered her the solo parts for all of November, too. Fannie Abbott’s voice is entirely too weak to go it alone and I felt it absolutely my duty to speak with Pastor about this. With that thought in mind, I stayed after all the others had left choir practice. Knowing I would be alone to state my case, I made my way to the church office, ready to insist Pastor Hart give the solos to someone else or I’d know the reason why. I pushed open the office door and witnessed the real reason the Pastor had given it to Fannie Abbott.

“I was shocked beyond words and obviously so were the Pastor and Fannie at being caught in the act of fornication. Pastor Hart looked sweaty and pasty, as though he might suffer a coronary at any moment, and Fannie appeared red-faced and completely distressed. Naturally she would be distressed since we all know she can’t really sing. Since Pastor Hart was hired two years ago, I have said time and time again he is much too handsome for his own good. Mark my words, I said many a time, that man will have all the single female parishioners after him even though he’s a married man with young children. Unfortunately some of the more immoral of our married parishioners went after him, and he capitulated to his baser needs.

“While it is regrettable my disclosure means Lawrence Hart will not be able to continue his spiritual leadership due to his disgusting lack of morals, I simply have no choice but to expose him and let the consequences fall where they may.”

Harper hated the fact she now knew more than she wanted to know about Lawrence and Fannie, yet the train had already wrecked and Harper couldn’t take her eyes off it. There was a second letter in the folder addressed to Fannie’s husband, Bruce Abbott.

Harper read the words, ‘how regrettable it is that I am the one to tell you about your wife’s fornicating with, of all people, the pastor, but I believe it’s only fair you know all about it. Fannie is obviously addicted to attracting men which can be seen in the way she dresses so provocatively in low-cut blouses, skin tight skirts, and five inch heels. It’s a pity Pastor Hart had to jump on temptation by jumping on your wife, but perhaps it was only a matter of time...

Harper sat still for a few minutes. Grace had opened a can of loose-lipped worms and they were crawling all over Harper’s vision. She didn’t need to read any further. She wanted to forget she’d read either letter. These words would destroy Pastor Hart’s career, tear apart his young family, ruin Fannie and Bruce Abbott’s marriage, and wreck Fannie’s real estate career, at least in the town where she’d been caught in the church office on top of the desk and under the pastor.

Harper noted the letters had been dated a few days ago. Grace had clipped a stamped, addressed envelope with each letter and, it appeared, held on to them for a few days after she wrote them. Why hadn’t she mailed them right away? Did Lawrence and Fannie know about the letters? If they did, it might mean Grace had written them in order to blackmail her rival.

Blackmail. That was a compelling motive for murder, wasn’t it? Fannie had never hidden her dislike of Grace and if Grace had threatened to expose her affair with the pastor, Fannie might have acted to keep the scandal from becoming public.

Nothing says Lawrence Hart couldn’t also be pushed over the edge of reason by Grace Potter catching him and Fannie in the act, Harper realized. It wouldn’t be the first time a man of the cloth had broken the Sixth Commandment.  He’d already broken the Seventh.

Suddenly a strong desire to show Grace’s letters to Lonnie overrode her common sense and she shoved the letters into her purse instead of returning them to the desk drawer. Obviously the police would be interested in these letters and Harper would certainly find a way to return them before they were missed. Not that they would be missed if no one knew they were there in the first place. But now wasn’t the time to rationalize. Now was the time to beat a retreat out of the realty office before James and Aaron showed up. She’d find out later if Mead and Alice had stopped by. For now she wanted to see if her sister believed b-l-a-c-k-m-a-i-l wasn’t a darned good way to spell murder.

Chapter Six

“Good morning, Sweetie,” Naylor Biggs, proprietor of A Different Wrinkle, sang out cheerily from behind a display of women’s hats as Harper walked through the door. “What brings you in today? Our sweater dresses? A nice wool coat?”

“My sister,” Harper said, smiling at Naylor whose spiked blond hair was at odds with the vintage English tweed suit he wore.

Tilting his head, he said, “I do believe she’s in the back room sorting through some lovely scarves. Shall I go get her for you?”

“That would be great,” Harper replied.

While Naylor glided toward the rear of the store, Harper browsed, casually inspecting a rack of circa 1960 dresses. Naylor carried quality vintage clothing in his store, traveling around the country four times a year to replenish his inventory. He carried mainly women’s clothing and accessories although he’d recently expanded the men’s section.

Naylor never concealed from his customers the fact that he loved the women’s section best. His other longtime employee, Carlotta Perez, handled the men’s clothing section while he and Lonnie created the artistic displays that defined the women’s department. Naylor treated Lonnie and Carlotta like partners in the successful, upscale boutique.

“Here she is, darling,” Naylor sang out as he and Lonnie advanced from the storage area in the back. “I brought you some scarves to try on. This paisley one is so you.”

“It is nice,” Harper agreed, fingering the soft material.

“It’s a classic,” Naylor said, draping the scarf across Harper’s shoulder. “You look divine as always,” Naylor winked, stroking the fine fabric of the scarf with his fingers. “You both do. Goodness, you must feel as though you’re looking in a mirror when you face each other.” Naylor folded the scarf over his arm.

“Only if the mirror is one of those carnival ones that warp the image,” Harper laughed. “Lonnie is two inches shorter and five pounds lighter than me.”

“But you have the same features, the dark emerald eyes, the cute little nose, the shiny auburn hair. And barely any gray. Not to mention your lovely complexions.” Naylor squinted into Harper’s face. “I’m ten years younger than you, honey, and very jealous of your skin. Yours and Lonnie’s.”

“That’s what you get for being a sun worshiper when you lived in California,” Harper pointed out.

Naylor sighed and gazed at the ceiling as though he could actually see the sun-soaked sand along the Pacific shoreline. “And I have no regrets. Because that’s where I met Wild Eddie Folsom. He was a lifeguard at Bare Bottom Beach. He taught me how to surf, along with a few other fabulous things.”

Harper smiled. “I’m going to borrow Lonnie for a bit. I’ll bring her back soon.”

“Yes, bring her back,” he said absentmindedly as he walked away mumbling, “Drop dead gorgeous; Wild Eddie was, drop dead gorgeous.”

“So what’s up? Where are we going?” Lonnie panted, trying to keep up with Harper’s purposeful stride.

“We’re going to my shop. I’ve got something to show you. Something you wouldn’t guess in a million years and after I show it to you, you’ve got to keep quiet about it.”

“I can keep quiet. It must be pretty good, huh?”

“Actually, it’s pretty bad,” Harper said as they arrived at Our Earthly Remains.

Harper spotted Helen waiting on a couple admiring a nineteenth century writing desk. She hurried Lonnie through her office door, shutting it firmly behind them. She motioned for Lonnie to sit down on an antique sofa, and then plopped down beside her. She opened her purse and pulled out the letters.

“I went to the realty office this morning to see if Mead and Alice had talked with James and Aaron yet. No one was there. I found these in Grace’s desk.”

She handed the letters to Lonnie who took them and said, “You mean you were snooping?”

“Sleuthing.”

“Whatever,” Lonnie said, unfolding the two letters Grace had written.

“Your jaw has dropped open,” Harper said, watching Lonnie read.

“My eyeballs have popped out, too,” Lonnie declared, shaking her head in disbelief. “I have to say I’m shocked.”

“Let me know when the shock wears off. I want your opinion on whether or not we’ve found motives for Grace’s murder.”

“Grace’s murder? You mean either the Pastor or Fannie committed the crime? Isn’t that a little farfetched?”

“Well, think about it. Let’s say you’re a minister, it’s your calling. It’s your whole life.  That and your family. Lawrence Hart has a wife and two small children. He also has a flock looking to him to lead their way to the Pearly Gates. And because of what might have been no more than a one-time fall from grace, no pun intended, he stands to lose it all with one mail delivery. As for Fannie, she has a husband with a good job who supports her quite well.  I mean, look at her comfortable home and expensive car, and she has a good job with Wilcox and Wilson. Besides, now that her competition at work is dead she basically gets a promotion.”

Lonnie nodded in agreement. “Lawrence and his family were at the festival yesterday evening. So were Fannie and Bruce. Neither couple acted as though they’d recently found out their spouse was doing ‘it’ with someone else. As a matter of fact, I spotted Fannie and Bruce holding hands at the hot dog stand.”

“Soooo,” Harper said, pursing her lips, “we can assume Grace hadn’t ratted on Lawrence or Fannie before she was murdered. But she could have blackmailed both of them with the letters.”

“If she did, I wonder what her demands were,” Lonnie mused.

“Enough for one of them to kill her.”

“You really think so?”

“I think this. We need to expose the murderer. Then Alice will believe Grace’s spirit will vanish into thin air like a good ghost and she and Mead will sign the papers to close the sale. We can get our mother away from a horrifying murder site and into a peaceful, safe townhome before she has another fall and breaks more than her wrist. Lawrence and Fannie both had motive. I need to find out if they had the opportunity. There were a lot of people milling around the Inn last night and someone was bound to have seen something. I’m going to dig around and find out.”

“I should get back to work,” Lonnie said, handing the letters back to Harper just as Harper’s cell phone rang.

Harper took the call while Lonnie waited.

“That was Maggie,” Harper said, slipping the cell back into her purse. “She’s been dying to call me all morning to get the details about Grace’s murder but she’s been too busy at the farm. I told her I’d be right out. Since I walked to work and you drove, well, you do the math.”

“I’m on it,” Lonnie said. “Didn’t want to go back to work now anyway. Maggie and Fred were at the festival last night but I didn’t see them after Paul found Grace’s body.”

“We’ll find out if they saw anything. Let’s go.”

After briefly checking in with Helen and Naylor, the sisters headed to Maggie McCarthy’s White Pine Farm, its hundred and sixty acres spread adjacent to the Bittersweet Inn’s property. Maggie and Harper had been buddies since they started kindergarten together. In high school they let Lonnie tag along with them. The three had remained close friends.

Lonnie steered her Camry down the gravel access leading off the main blacktop and into the farm just as Maggie finished loading a vegetable order into the back of her delivery van. Fred Davis, the farm manager, rounded the corner of the garage and strode toward the van. The long hours of farm labor showed in the firm muscles of Fred’s broad back. By the end of each summer, his rugged good looks were highlighted by a deep tan and sun-bleached hair.

“Fred’s damn buff for a man in his fifties,” Harper commented as Lonnie slowed the car to a stop.

“Yep, he and Maggie make a nice looking couple. It’s about time they decided to get married. What’s it been, almost thirty years since Gerald died? I think Fred’s been asking Maggie to marry him for at least the last fifteen of them.”

Harper nodded. She knew how hard it had been for Maggie when, after only five years of marriage, her husband, Gerald McCarthy, died in a tractor accident on White Pine Farm. Olivia, wanting to help her neighbor, had sent Ezra over to lend a hand with the work requiring more physical strength than Maggie could muster. Then, a few months after Gerald’s death, Ezra sent Fred out to see her.

Fred moved into a remodeled apartment above one of the outbuildings and he and Maggie worked side by side to turn the place into a successful market farm. Harper and Lonnie had crossed their fingers, hoping things would turn romantic for Maggie and Fred.

“It’s a good thing we were patient,” Lonnie told Harper, waving at Maggie.

“It’s a good thing Fred was patient,” Harper corrected Lonnie.

After Lonnie parked the Camry, Harper scrambled out and peeked inside Maggie’s van.

“It’s an order for Rubino’s restaurant. Kay Rubino ordered a case of beets and as many late season zucchini and eggplant as I had,” Maggie chuckled. “I can already taste the red flannel hash and ratatouille that’s going to show up on the menu soon.”

A few White Leghorns and Golden Comet hens scratched around in the dirt by Harper’s feet.

“Morning,” Fred called out, swinging burlap bags filled with russet potatoes in each hand. “How’s the investigation coming? Any suspects?”

“Not that I know of,” Harper replied, stepping out of Fred’s way so he could load the potatoes into the van. “But then, I haven’t been to the Inn since last night.”

“A couple of deputies were over here early this morning scoping things out, mostly looking out back by the river,” Fred said.

“I’m sure they’re scouring the river bank,” Maggie said. “At least, I overheard them saying they thought they’d find some footprints or something down there.”

Fred chuckled. “Lots of folks pull their fishing boats up on shore not far from here where a little sandbar juts out. Then they walk back and forth to find a good spot to drop a line. I’m sure there are plenty of footprints along the banks to keep the cops busy. Give me the keys, Maggie, and I’ll deliver the goods to Rubino’s.”

Maggie tucked an escaped lock of curly brown hair back under the baseball cap she always wore outside in the sunshine. She dug the keys out of her jeans pocket and handed them to Fred, giving him a quick kiss on his cheek.

After Fred drove off, Maggie said, “Come on in the house, ladies. We’ll have a cup of coffee and you can tell me everything you know about how Grace Potter got herself murdered at the Bittersweet Inn.”

Like many older houses still standing amid the rolling hills and fertile farm land of Iowa’s countryside, Maggie’s big white farmhouse flaunted a wide front porch, Harper’s favorite spot when she visited at White Pine Farm. But today Maggie didn’t have time to sit on the porch. She had work to do in the kitchen. Her bread dough needed punched down and while Harper and Lonnie sipped coffee on one side of the large kitchen island, Maggie stood on the other side and shaped cloverleaf dinner rolls, placing the yeasty dough into greased muffin tins.

“I thought I’d take a couple dozen to Marshall’s this afternoon,” Maggie said. “Fred and I weren’t close friends with Grace or Marshall but we did do business with both of them over the years. As a matter of fact, we stopped by Marshall’s travel agency last month. We haven’t set a wedding date yet, but that didn’t stop us from wanting to look at travel brochures for the honeymoon, whenever it might be.”

“Paul headed out early this morning. He’ll be on the road for a few days,” Lonnie said. “That’s one of the drawbacks of being married to a pharmaceutical salesman. I’ll have to pay my respects without him.”

“Fred and I can pick you up when we go. How about you, Harper? Want to make it a foursome?”

“Thanks, but I have a few consignment pieces coming in to the shop later this afternoon. I’ll go this evening. I’m used to flying solo anyway.”

“Well, if you change your mind we’ll go around four. Speaking of Marshall, I wonder if the old boy will be in mourning long. Most people thought he must be part saint to put up with Grace’s sharp tongue like he did.”

“Probably a good thing he was out of town when it happened,” Lonnie said, “since the husband is usually the first one the cops look at.”

“Are there any ideas floating around as to who did Grace in?” Maggie asked, shaping the last roll.

Harper and Lonnie glanced sideways at each other before looking swiftly away. Maggie, however, caught the motion.

“Okay, give it up. What do you know that you aren’t sharing with me?”

Harper sighed. She disliked having a hand in exposing Pastor Hart’s and Fannie’s affair yet she really wanted to know if Maggie had noticed anything that might have seemed suspicious on Sunday night, particularly as far as Lawrence or Fannie were concerned. Besides, she and Maggie had shared most everything with each other over the years and once Harper turned over Grace’s letters to the authorities the affair would no doubt be front page news anyway.

“Get the flour off your hands. I’ve got a couple of letters you can read,” Harper said.

Maggie covered the rolls in the muffin tins with clean white towels until they could double in size, washed her hands at the sink, and poured everyone a fresh cup of coffee. She took the papers Harper pulled out of her purse and sat at the kitchen table where she read through both letters twice.

“Holy cow,” she said, handing the letters back to Harper. “Fannie could win Layperson of the Year for that. You have to hand it to Grace Potter. She knew how to cut up someone and throw them into the meat grinder.”

Harper stuffed the letters back into her purse before asking Maggie, “Did you notice Grace, say around eight o’clock on Sunday evening? Or Fannie or Lawrence?”

“To be honest, Fred and I had parked ourselves on the hay wagon to wait for Ezra to light the bonfire so I wasn’t exactly paying attention. The wagon was on the side of the house opposite the bonfire where it would be out of reach from any flyaway sparks.”

“And out of sight of any prying eyes, right?” Lonnie said, laughing.

Maggie laughed, too. “I’ll admit we were snuggling a little. Now that I think about it, I do remember hearing a noise like the crack of a branch underneath someone’s foot. It made me jump and I wondered at the time if someone had walked by.”

“So did you see anyone?” Harper asked.

“It was almost too dark to see very far away by that time; the moon hadn’t made its way above the tree line yet. It was right before the bonfire started. Come to think of it, I caught a glimpse of a couple making their way across the property, heading toward the garden shed. But they were pretty much shadow figures. They disappeared a few seconds later. I thought they might have been walking toward the timber, maybe on their way down to the river. And then Fred cuddled a little closer and I forgot all about them. Until now, that is.”

“You’ve no idea who you might have seen?” Lonnie asked.

“Unfortunately, no. I wish I had been more observant but I didn’t know Grace was about to be murdered.” Maggie shivered. “It’s an awful thought, actually, that Fred and I were, well, you know, cuddling while someone was killing Grace a hundred yards away.”

“I’ve come up with two suspects,” Harper said. “Fannie and Lawrence both had strong motives to shut Grace up permanently. Now all I have to do is put them at the scene of the crime and prove it was the two of them you saw, Maggie.”

“Just how do you intend to do that?” Lonnie asked.

“I haven’t figured it out yet,” Harper answered. “Wasn’t Grace a church secretary or something?”

“She helped with some of the weekly tasks,” Maggie said. “You know, typing up the Sunday programs and depositing the offerings at the bank. She was involved with the choir, too. My aunt goes to that church. She said once Grace really wanted the position of church secretary but her lack of discretion kept her from even being considered for it. Yet the Potters do a lot for the church and give a lot of money. Marshall and Wagner even bought an expensive baby grand piano for the church a few years ago. So Grace didn’t get completely winnowed out by the church board.”

“Well, there you go, Harper,” Lonnie said. “You might go talk with Fannie about Grace’s vacant spot in the choir, see if you can get a feel for what she thinks about Grace’s murder.”

“Or I could show Fannie the letter to Bruce,” Harper said, “and then ask her what she thinks about Grace’s murder.”

Chapter Seven

Harper unlocked the front door of her Craftsman- style home, stepped inside the comfortable living room, and kicked off her shoes. Lonnie had dropped her off at the antique shop after their visit with Maggie, and when she and Helen closed the shop a little after five o’clock, Helen drove her home. One walk a day was surely enough healthful activity. She planned to freshen up, then make a condolence call to Marshall Potter.

First things first, however. She pulled a few ingredients from her freezer and pantry, and prepared a casserole to take to Marshall. After sliding the baking dish into the oven, she took a quick shower and dressed in a pair of gray slacks and a black sweater. She fluffed up her medium-length hair, applied enough makeup to look presentable, and grabbed her jacket.

Harper drove to the other side of town and parked her Ford pickup in front of the house Grace and Marshall Potter had called home for thirty years. Harper lifted the warm casserole from the seat and proceeded to the front door. Balancing the baking dish wrapped in a cozy, she rang the doorbell and waited. Mona Wagner answered after the second ring.

Mona dressed well for the role of condolence greeter, Harper thought, noting the pricey black coat dress and several pieces of expensive-looking jewelry Grace’s sister-in-law wore.

“Poor Marshall, this is just terrible for him,” Mona said softly, motioning for Harper to follow her to the kitchen with the casserole. “He got home from the convention this morning and he’s exhausted.”

Mona led Harper past the living room where a tired looking Marshall sat talking with a few callers.

“He said he didn’t get much sleep last night,” Mona said as she placed the casserole in the fridge alongside several other goodwill offerings already on the shelves, and then smoothed her perfect chignon. She hesitated for just a second and Harper saw something flicker behind her eyes. She felt once more that Grace’s sister-in-law knew something, but before she could ask her anything, Mona said, “Wagner and I are the only close relatives Marshall has since he and Grace never had children. Children were greatly over-rated as far as Grace was concerned. In the earlier days of their marriage, Marshall often mentioned how he hoped to become a father. He never had a clue how Grace practiced stringent birth control so she wouldn’t get pregnant. But I knew. Grace confided in me about that. She said a baby was messy, noisy and cost a lot of money––money Grace didn’t want to spend on anyone other than herself. So what if Marshall never got to be a father? she said once; he’d get over it.” Mona shook her head, a look of distaste on her face. “Yes, when Grace wanted something badly enough she’d declare war until she got it. Marshall knew the only way to keep the peace was to wave the white flag and surrender to her demands. Take her Lexus. I got a new Acura a few weeks ago and Grace just had to one up me. So last week, Marshall drove Grace to the Lexus dealership where she took possession of her new car. Battle won.”

The doorbell rang and Mona excused herself, retreating across the tile floor, her Jimmy Choos clicking. Harper wandered into the hallway and listened to the reserved voices of the visitors bearing foil-covered dishes.

While Mona chatted with the newest arrival, Harper spotted a door on her right. It opened into what appeared to be a home office. Harper considered the consequences of getting caught by one of the Potters. However, Mona seemed to have forgotten all about her, and Marshall was occupied.

Who says I’ll get caught, Harper thought before she slipped quickly into the room, closed the door and switched on a light.

Grace must have knocked herself out at the Ethan Allen store, Harper concluded while quietly padding across thick carpeting to a laptop computer lying open on an expensive oak desk. Hidden clues always pop up in computers on detective shows, so why not take a peek? she reasoned, powering on the machine. She hoped luck would be on her side and Grace hadn’t locked the computer with a password. When the computer’s desktop appeared on the monitor, she felt a rush of relief. She clicked the email icon. Fortunately, Grace hadn’t used a password to protect her email account, either.

Trying to not think too much about privacy issues, Harper clicked the Inbox icon and scrolled through several unopened messages. One was from Amazon confirming a book order, one was from a department store confirming an order for three sweaters, and the others dealt with real estate news.

She scrolled through the deleted email and the trash folder. Nothing suspicious jumped out at her. Next she opened Grace’s word processing software and scrolled through several folders, including ones labeled ‘Church,’ ‘Work,’ ‘Recipes,’ and ‘Household.’ Harper didn’t find anything out of the ordinary in them.

She quickly scrolled through the remaining programs. Finding nothing of importance, she powered off the laptop and turned her attention to the oak desk, sliding open the middle drawer.

“Oh, geez,” Harper sputtered. She could scarcely believe what she had exposed. With a shaking hand she picked up a copy of a snapshot clearly showing Summer Storm standing by the open door of her car, the muscular arm of a man draped across the young woman’s shoulders. The bright blue neon sign behind the shocked-looking couple clearly showed they were at the Rest Stop Inn, a motel of dubious reputation on the seedy side of St. Stephens. Harper’s mouth formed a grim line while letting the full implication of the guilty-looking couple standing outside a cheap motel sink into her head.

Summer and a very married Mickey O’Connell caught at the Rest Stop Inn? Obviously.

Wow, Harper thought. What could be worse for Mickey than having Grace Potter catch him in an adulterous affair? Having Grace catch him in an adulterous affair with Summer Storm, his wife’s sister. And clearly, Grace had caught him. Caught him and taken a picture to prove it.

Lucy O’Connell had kicked her husband, Mickey, out of the house once before for cheating and she’d made it clear to anyone who cared to listen to her, and to her bridge club, in particular, that Mickey was about to run out of rope. One more cheating scandal and she’d see to it he not only lost his well-heeled wife but also the O’Connell Farm Implement Company her family money had bought and paid for. If he had a dime left to his name she planned to take that for spousal support.

It hadn’t taken long for Lucy’s announcement to make its way from the bridge club to most every nook and cranny in town. Harper was convinced Lucy O’Connell would flush her husband, Mickey, and her sister, Summer, down the toilet if she ever saw this family photo, giving the guilty twosome one heck of a motive for murder. She looked at the back of the picture. Grace had scribbled the words another big catch this week and had dated it two days after she’d written the letters to Deacon Fairweather and Bruce Abbott. Harper stuck the picture in her purse. She flipped off the light and headed to the living room.

The last visitor was just leaving and Harper gave Marshall a hug. “I’m so sorry about Grace.”

“Thanks, Harper. It’s been a shock. I don’t believe I’ve really taken it in yet.”

Tears glistened in the corners of Marshall’s eyes and his wide shoulders slumped.

Marshall must be around sixty, Harper thought, patting his arm. He’s still attractive, still looks quite fit. I wonder if he had anything going on the side, any reason to want Grace out of the way. It wouldn’t be the first time a husband believed he’d remained fit and trim over the years while the little woman let herself go, thereby entitling him to get rid of her and latch on to a younger, trimmer wife. Not that Grace had let herself go.

Harper pictured Grace the last time she’d seen her during the Pumpkin Patch Festival. She didn’t think Marshall had any reason to fault his wife on her upkeep. Sure, Grace had plumped up in the last few years but she made up for the extra pounds with frequent mani-pedis, hair coloring, eyebrow waxing, and dressing expensively.

“It must be very difficult for you,” Harper said, trying her best to think of some positive things to say about Grace’s life. Fortunately, Marshall prattled on about his wife, reminiscing about her attributes as he saw them.

Finally Harper had the chance to ask, “Did Grace mention anything unusual or out-of-the-way happening to her lately? Something that bothered her? Anyone upset her?”

Marshall mulled over the question.

“Well, she was upset when someone accidentally dented her new car. She said it probably happened when she was parked someplace. The damage was minimal. I’ve called the garage to fix it when they have time.”

“Do you think someone might have deliberately damaged her car?”

“I suppose they could have. I just assumed someone didn’t pay attention when they parked next to her.”

Mona entered the living room carrying a tray with a bottle of wine and some stemmed glasses on it. “Would you care to join us in a glass of rosé, Harper? It seems too late for coffee.”

“Thanks, but I’m just going,” Harper answered, standing. “Please don’t bother showing me out. I can find my way.”

Instead of going directly to her truck, Harper took the opportunity to make her way around the side of the garage. The walk-in door wasn’t locked and she slipped inside. A security lamp in the yard cast enough light into the garage for her to see her way around Grace’s red Lexus. Pausing when she reached the front of the car, she pulled her cell phone from her purse and deftly snapped a picture of the dented fender before hurrying out to her truck.

Later, she sat in her living room and studied the photo of Mickey and Summer she’d found in Grace’s desk drawer. No wonder Summer had called Grace wicked and evil, Harper thought. But she’d also said Grace deserved to die.

Harper powered up her computer and downloaded the picture she’d taken of the Lexus. After closely studying the dent a few minutes, Harper thought it just possible someone wearing a heavy boot had tried a bit of kick boxing on Grace’s fender. She wondered if the dent had anything to do with Mickey and Summer, caught at the Rest Stop Inn, or with Lawrence and Fannie, caught on top of the Pastor’s desk. Had one of them damaged the fender, then taken their anger a step further, catching Grace in the garden shed behind the Bittersweet Inn?

Chapter Eight

Harper crawled out of bed on Tuesday morning and grimaced when she looked in the bathroom mirror. What she saw certainly wasn’t flattering. She’d tossed and turned most of the night, her mind on murder. Her sleuthing had raised more questions than it had provided answers. This morning, staring bleary-eyed into the mirror, she knew only one thing for certain—she needed a cup of coffee.

While she waited on the coffee to brew, she considered the evidence she’d uncovered so far. The letters Grace wrote to Deacon Fairweather and Bruce Abbott, and the picture Grace had taken of Mickey O’Connell and Summer Storm.

All I had to do was look in two desks and I end up with four suspects, Harper said out loud. Not a bad day’s work.

But she needed to do even more. She had to ask a few questions and she might as well start with Summer.

Harper called Helen and asked her to hold down the fort, then she drove a couple of miles out of town, heading toward the Big Bittersweet River where Rubino’s By the River, located along the river bank, served up some of the best food in the area. The restaurant occupied what had once been an old grain mill before Jimmy and Kay Rubino remodeled it. Rubino’s restaurant and the Bittersweet Inn were neighbors, the main highway running between Bittersweet Hollow and St. Stephens separating the properties. Summer, employed on Rubino’s wait staff, also tended bar when the lounge was busy.

The breakfast crowd had cleared out and the lunch crowd wasn’t due yet. A few cars were in the front lot when Harper parked her truck. Shutting off the engine, she hoofed it inside. Bypassing the main dining area, she located Summer in the lounge chatting with Max the bartender. Harper climbed onto a bar stool next to Summer and ordered a soda. She planned to give the young woman the benefit of the doubt and let her explain what was behind Grace’s snapshot.

“Hi, Harper,” Summer said and smiled. “Are you here to eat?”

“No, I'm not,” Harper told the young woman. “I need to talk to you. Someplace private.”

“I can ask the boss if we could use the office,” Summer suggested, a puzzled look spreading across her face.

“That would be great,” Harper said. “I’ll drink my soda while you go ask.”

In a few minutes Summer returned to the bar and motioned Harper to follow her. She led Harper to a short stairway along the back wall and after climbing the steps, pointed toward an empty office.

“So, what’s up?” Summer asked a little hesitantly, closing the door behind her.

“I won’t beat around the bush,” Harper said, reaching into her purse and extracting the incriminating picture. “You need to take a look at this.”

Grabbing the photo out of Harper’s hand, the color drained from Summer’s face.

“How did you get a hold of this?” she demanded roughly.

Harper remained silent and waited for Summer to enlighten her.

“You want me to explain this picture?” Summer snapped at Harper.

“Can you?”

“I think the question is ‘why should I?’”

“Let me tell you where I found this picture,” Harper said. “I found it at Grace Potter’s house, in her desk. She probably took it with her cell phone. Am I close?”

Summer looked glum and didn’t answer.

“It’s none of my business if you were sleeping with your brother-in-law,” Harper said, “and I really don’t care. But when the person who snapped this shot is found dead on my family’s property, and when she might have used this picture for the purpose of blackmail—which by the way is a really great motive for someone to murder her—then I’m making it my business.”

Still fuming, Summer plopped down in a chair. “Are you accusing me or Mickey of killing Grace Potter?”

“I’m trying to find out who was on my family’s property Sunday night with a motive to bash Grace in the head with a hammer.”

Summer paused solemnly for a minute, shrugged her shoulders, and said bitterly, “Fine, Grace caught Mickey and me outside a motel the other night. She must have seen us leave here, and then followed us. She took the picture and threatened to tell my sister. Then she disappeared into the night, like a vampire after it’s sucked all the blood out of its victims and left them worse off than dead.”

“So Grace didn’t tell Lucy about the affair?”

“No. If she had, you’d have heard the explosion clear out to the Inn. Mickey and I both know Lucy would have kicked him out of the house and taken him to the cleaners but good. He said she’d drag him through the mud, ruin his business and he’d be lucky to end up with his toothbrush. I know my sister and she’d have followed through on all of that. Mickey wouldn’t have much left.”

“Mickey must have been furious with Grace,” Harper said, her voice changing to a conspiratorial ‘just between us girls’ tone.

“Furious? He slammed his boot into her new car and put a dent in the fender. The next day she sent Mickey and me each a copy of the picture. She phoned Mickey and gave him just one week to tell Lucy or else she would tell her. Mickey could have killed her!”

Summer suddenly looked stricken as though she realized how her words incriminated Mickey. She clamped her mouth shut and refused to answer any more questions.

Of course she isn’t going to say any more, Harper thought as she made her way back to the parking lot.  She might end up saying too much and implicate herself.

Harper pulled up in front of the O’Connell Farm Implement dealership and parked. After talking to Summer, a bad feeling about Mickey formed in her head and she knew it wouldn’t be easy to shake it loose.

A customer stood beside the sales counter with Mickey, the two of them discussing the advantages of a new combine when Harper entered the building. After a couple of minutes, the customer left and Mickey walked over to Harper, throwing her a big, gleaming smile.

Really, Harper thought, Mickey should know better than to screw around on his wife after all the times she’s caught him at it. He must be in his mid-forties, old enough to have learned a few lessons. She did admit to herself the man’s deep blue bedroom eyes, chiseled chin and sexy smile might be tempting for some women. It was hard for Harper herself to take her eyes off those rippling shoulder muscles and that good-looking face. But it didn’t excuse Summer’s actions by any means. Good grief, this man was her brother-in-law.

“What brings you here?” Mickey asked, his dimples fading and a forehead-creasing frown taking over when he noticed how serious Harper looked.

“Let’s go into your office,” Harper said, “and I’ll tell you.”

Mickey pulled up a chair for Harper and plopped into the big oversized chair behind his desk.

A picture’s worth a thousand words, Harper thought, silently sliding the photo across the desktop.

“Okay, you got a picture that doesn’t look good for me or Summer,” Mickey said, cracking his knuckles as he surveyed the photo. “So what?”

“I spoke with Summer a little while ago. She says you were so mad at Grace you dented the fender of her Lexus.”

“So?”

“Summer also said you stood to lose everything if Lucy found out about your affair. You’d have been reduced to nothing. Grace gave you a copy of that picture and a week to tell Lucy. And Summer said you wanted to kill her.”

“And the old bitch got killed before she could ruin my life, isn’t that right?” Mickey hissed, his face turning an ugly shade of red while a vein throbbed in his right temple. “Do you think I’m the only person in town who’s glad to see Grace’s damnable mouth shut for good?”

Harper couldn't argue with him about that.

Mickey jumped out of his chair and slammed his fist on the desk. Snarling, he threw a menacing challenge at Harper. “If you’re thinking I had something to do with shutting her mouth, well, I guess you’ll just have to prove it.”

Chapter Nine

Harper breathed a sigh of relief after she pulled into her driveway and parked her pickup. She had been halfway concerned that Mickey might follow her home; he’d been so angry.

That was a stupid thought, she said to herself. What could he do to her in broad daylight anyway? Hit her in the head with a hammer?

Harper headed for her warm, snug kitchen with its cranberry-colored curtains and pale yellow walls. She ran fresh water into a dark blue tea kettle and fired up the range. While she waited for the water to heat, she grabbed a notebook and pen from a kitchen drawer. She fixed herself a cup of tea and sat down at the table. She’d been scribbling for a few minutes when the doorbell rang and Lonnie shouted ‘hello’ at her from the living room.

“In here, Lonnie,” Harper shouted back.

Lonnie strolled into the kitchen, grabbed a large cup from the cupboard and dropped in a tea bag. She peeked over her sister’s shoulder.

“Why did you write down ‘Mickey O’Connell’ and ‘Summer Storm’?”

“Let’s just say Grace was a busy woman. Sit down and I’ll tell you about two more suspects who stood to gain by Grace’s death.”

Between sips of spicy tea and jotting down notes, Harper filled Lonnie in on the photo she’d uncovered in Grace’s desk. Then she told her sister all about her visit with Summer and Mickey.

Lonnie stirred her tea. “Grace must have been pumped to have uncovered two love affairs in the same week. You think after Grace gave Mickey the ultimatum to tell Lucy within a week or else she would that he bashed her head in so his wife wouldn’t find out he was cheating?”

“It’s possible. Summer said Mickey has a rotten temper and he’d like to kill Grace. He certainly didn’t hide his temper when I questioned him.”

“But it’s a big step from boinking your sister-in-law to murdering someone,” Lonnie exclaimed, scrutinizing the picture of Mickey and Summer.

“Maybe he lost it in the heat of anger,” Harper replied.

“Maybe. By the way, I talked to Violet this morning and she said the cops were out at the Inn earlier. They asked Mom to give them the names and addresses of the guests who stayed in the house over the weekend, especially the ones hanging around for the festival on Sunday.”

“Poor Mom. There was enough for her to deal with before a murder took place in her own backyard. We need to get her moved and soon. So who did stay over the weekend?”

“There were three couples who rented rooms. I don’t think the cops will find anything attention-grabbing when they question Mr. and Mrs. Newly. They’re an older couple from St. Andrews. Their weekend stay was part of a fiftieth wedding anniversary gift from their kids.”

Harper walked over to the counter and brewed herself another cup of tea.

“Who else?”

“The Leonards from Nebraska. They come through Bittersweet Hollow every year on their way to visit their family out east. You’ve met them, remember?”

“I remember them. Middle aged, happy-go-lucky. Can’t see either one of those couples doing away with Grace. They didn’t even know her.”

“Nope, I can’t see them doing it either,” Lonnie said. “The other couple staying at the inn was Mr. and Mrs. Jersey Simon from Chicago. I met them briefly Sunday afternoon. They were a little strange, to say the least. They didn’t want to join in the outside festivities at all. Pretty much stayed in their room.”

Harper grinned. “Honeymooners?”

“Could have been, but they weren’t young. Must have been our age.”

“What? Couples in their fifties can’t go on a honeymoon?”

“Wouldn’t you rather just stay home and sleep?”

“Good point,” Harper agreed as the telephone rang.

“I’m outta here; got to get to the store. See you later,” Lonnie said, waving goodbye and dashing out the door.

Harper grabbed the phone in the kitchen and said, “Hello?”

“Hey, Mom. It’s Lincoln. Have they arrested whoever murdered Grace Potter out in Grandma’s shed?”

“Not yet, but I’m sure it’s just a matter of time,” Harper said, trying to sound positive.

“Maybe I should come back and stay with you or Grandma until they do catch the culprit. I hate to think of you alone and Grandma with only Violet and Ezra for protection. Dad said it’s probably some crazy person running around loose. You don’t think they could be hiding out behind Grandma’s, down by the river do you?”

“That’s ridiculous, Lincoln. No one’s hiding by the river,” Harper snapped. “Now don’t you worry. You know your dad. He always was a damn drama queen.”

Besides, Harper thought, mulling over the evidence she’d found in Grace’s desks, if anyone’s hiding, they’re hiding in plain sight.

Harper jumped into her pickup and drove to her shop, parking by the back door of the building.  Instead of going inside, she decided to visit a couple of the vendors who had set up stands at the festival on Sunday. One of them might have noticed something suspicious going on, or spotted Grace talking with a stranger or arguing with someone she knew.

She hustled through the alley and made her way down the street to Morgan’s Fine Meats. Jack Morgan’s hot dog stand had been a very busy spot on Sunday. Once inside the meat market, she spotted Jack wearing his white counter jacket and soda jerk cap, methodically arranging pork chops in a tray behind the glass front of a display case.

“How’s your mother holding up out at the Inn?” Jack asked Harper as he glanced up and recognized her.

“All right, I guess,” Harper answered. “This has been quite a shock for everyone.”

“It’s pretty much all anyone’s talking about,” announced Hattie McDonald, quietly shuffling up behind Harper on her old, arthritic legs. “It’s not every day we get a real murder in these parts.”

Pointing to the freshly ground turkey sausage and holding up two boney fingers on her wrinkled hand, Hattie flashed a toothy smile at Harper and continued, “I didn't mean to eavesdrop but I couldn’t help overhear.”

Harper smiled back at the old woman, knowing full well Hattie had ears like a bat and listening to other people’s conversations was second nature to her.

Jack deftly plopped two pounds of sausage onto the scale with his plastic paddle.

Hattie stared keenly at Harper with sharp eyes. “I also heard the new owners, the Hoovers, isn’t it? were there when Grace met her maker. How did they take murder amongst the bittersweet?”

Not knowing what to say, Harper didn’t reply and Hattie nodded knowingly.

“I guess that’s to be expected,” she sighed. “I hope the killer is caught real soon.” She took the paper-wrapped package from Jack. “Add this to the tab, Jack. Harold will be in next week and settle up.” With a slight nod to Harper, Hattie shuffled her way out of the store.

Jack looked at Harper with big hound dog eyes full of concern. “Gee, is this murder going to mess things up between your mother and the Hoovers?”

“Not if I can help it,” Harper declared. “Jack, did you see anything out of the ordinary on Sunday as far as Grace was concerned? Anything she did or said to anyone in particular?”

“You mean like having an argument or something?”

Shoving his white cap to the back of his head, Jack scratched at his thinning hair.

“Don't think so. I’d say most people would try and avoid running into Grace face-to-face so they wouldn’t have to talk to her.”

Harper agreed most people would probably do just that. But someone did run into her and then bashed her in the head. Very face-to-face.

At seventy-eight, Ida Aldwinkle was still sharp as a tack and still worked at the candy store which had been in her family for years. Harper considered the tiny silver-haired lady to be a little off the wall, but even if Ida gave in to occasional flights of fancy, her bright little bird’s eyes never missed a thing. Ida’s booth with salt water taffy, licorice whips, and hand-dipped chocolates had been set up in a high traffic area of the side yard and if anyone had noticed anything unusual on Sunday, Harper thought, chances were good it was Ida.

Harper walked through the front door of Aldwinkle’s Candy Shoppe and Ida, dressed in a fleecy sweater and matching pants the color of pink cotton candy, scampered to greet her. Ida reminded Harper of a piece of her own saltwater taffy—soft, sweet, and all wrapped up in pastel paper.

Patting Harper’s arm with a tiny wrinkled hand, Ida asked, “How is poor Olivia handling this terrible incident? It happened practically under her nose—all your noses, really. Murder in the backyard isn’t exactly what you want your business identified with, is it?”

“No, it isn’t. Everyone will breathe easier once Grace’s killer is sitting behind bars.”

Ida smiled up at Harper. “I’ve been keeping my doors locked at night just in case a crazy cuss is out there chopping up folks. Although I have a pretty good feeling Grace’s big mouth is what got her killed.”

It would be a waste of time to beat around the bush with Ida, so Harper jumped right in and asked if she’d seen Grace arguing with anyone on Sunday.

“You mean someone who looked as though they might like to shut her up?” Ida smiled shrewdly. “That would be about anyone who did talk to Grace, wouldn't it?”

“I guess so,” Harper agreed.

Ida blinked her eyes and tilted her head to one side, contemplating her thoughts. “I can’t say I did. See anyone arguing with Grace I mean. I noticed her walking toward the house a little before dusk, alone, and that’s the last I remember seeing her.”

Harper was about to thank Ida when something in the woman’s little bird eyes caught her attention.

“Was there something else you wanted to say?” Harper asked.

“I can tell you what I saw on a day other than Sunday,” Ida answered, pointing a slender finger toward Turnbuckle’s Hardware Store across the street. “It was over a week ago, early morning, right after Roy Turnbuckle opened the store for the day. I saw Grace leaving, shall we say, quite suddenly. Yes, she left in a terrible hurry with Roy’s help.”

“Why do you say with Roy’s help?”

“Because Roy gave her the bum’s rush, and that’s a fact. He had his hand on her elbow and a dark scowl on his face. It was quite apparent he was throwing her out of his store. Afterward, she shook her finger in his face and it was clear they were both furious. He stormed back inside and Grace hot footed it to her car.”

Roy and Glennis Turnbuckle were the longtime owners of Turnbuckle Hardware and the parents of Rachel Turnbuckle, one of ‘Olivia’s Girls’ the last few years.

“I’ve known Roy and Glennis a very long time,” Ida said, “and I don’t ever remember seeing Roy so infuriated. He can get in a snit at times, but for the most part he’s pretty easygoing. I could tell all the way over here his face was beet red and his fists were balled up tight. If I had to describe the look on Grace’s face, I would say arrogant as well as angry. She always did go around with a puffed up ego, but whatever she said or did must have really set Roy off.”

“You say this was several days ago?”

“Yes. Over a week ago.”

Harper picked up a bag of saltwater taffy from the spotlessly clean counter and walked slowly to the cash register.

Ida rang up Harper’s purchase. “While I watched the two of them, I said to myself how lucky Grace was that Roy hadn’t grabbed a hammer or a crowbar before he escorted her so abruptly out of the hardware store, because he seemed furious enough to have used one on her.”

Surprised at Ida’s words, Harper gazed out the window toward Turnbuckle’s Hardware. Here was someone else who had it in for Grace. While she paid for the bag of candy, she wondered what Roy had said to Grace. Then she realized what Grace had said to Roy would be the better question.

Chapter Ten

After checking in with Helen who assured her things at the antique shop were under control, Harper drove out to the Bittersweet Inn to check on her mother. Olivia sat at the kitchen table holding an empty tea cup while Violet stood at the sink with a frown on her face.

“What’s wrong?” Harper asked, noting Violet’s scowl before taking a chair next to Olivia.

“We’ve had another room cancellation,” Violet grumbled, viciously scrubbing some helpless carrots.

“I don’t know what to do, Harper,” Olivia said. “Maybe I shouldn’t pack up anything else in case this sale doesn’t go through.”

“It will go through,” Harper promised, retrieving a cup from the cupboard. She poured herself some tea and refreshed her mother’s cup.

“I don’t care if that Alice person can see ghosts or whatever it is she thinks she sees,” Violet said, scrubbing a baking potato so hard Harper wondered if there would be any skin left to bake. “She didn’t have to be so rude.”

“She wasn't rude, Violet.” Olivia sipped on her tea. “She only said she didn’t think she could live here until Grace’s spirit moves on.”

“She’s a bitch,” Violet muttered under her breath.

Olivia sighed. “Alice is just being honest.”

“I wasn’t talking about Alice.”

Olivia sighed a little louder this time and turned toward her daughter. “Why don’t you stay for supper?”

“I’d love to, but only if I can help fix it,” Harper said, donning an apron. She was preparing to pound flour into a piece of round steak when a knock sounded on the kitchen door.

“Come in,” Violet shouted.

County Deputy Hal Kennedy bustled into the kitchen, took in the scene, and acknowledged Olivia with a tip of his hat.

“Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Waterford, but Officer Landers and I have finished searching your land down by the river. Just wanted to let you know we didn’t find anything out there.”

A second knock on the door elicited another shout from Violet to ‘come in’.

Maggie McCarthy stepped across the threshold followed by Fred who carried a split oak basket.

“We won’t stay long,” Maggie said with a smile.

“Thought we’d bring over some of our extra eggs,” Fred added, setting the basket on the kitchen counter. He stepped back as Violet peeked into the basket.

Noticing the deputy, Fred said, “Sorry, we didn’t realize you were busy.”

“Just leaving,” the deputy replied.

“Wait a minute. How is your investigation coming?” Harper asked before Hal could leave.

“We’re checking out one of the couples who stayed at the Inn over the weekend, but there’s nothing definite yet,” replied Hal. “No prints on the hammer, of course. The Potter woman fell right where she was struck. We figure the perpetrator slipped through the stand of trees next to the shed and escaped down the little road leading to the river.”

“Then he could have walked along the river’s edge for miles without being detected,” Fred said.

“Yep, he could have gone in either direction. We’ve been scouting the riverbank. But it takes time to search such a large area.”

“It was dark, though,” Harper said. “Couldn’t someone have killed Grace, just walked across the yard and disappeared into the crowd without being noticed?”

“I suppose so,” answered the deputy, “but we don’t think that’s how it happened. Whoever did it would have wanted to get out of Dodge in a hurry, right? We’ll track him down, don’t worry.”

Giving a nod, Deputy Kennedy bustled out of the kitchen the same way he bustled in.

Harper wondered why the cops didn't realize there were people right in Bittersweet Hollow who had benefited from Grace’s death. Why hadn't they found the evidence she’d found? Yikes, she muttered to herself, probably because I’ve taken that evidence, which might be against the law.

Okay, she knew there was no ‘might be’ about it. She’d hustled two incriminating letters as well as snagged a telling picture of Summer and Mickey, but it was water under the bridge now. Violet’s husky voice cut through her thoughts.

“It’ll take ‘em weeks just to get from upstream to downstream,” Violet snorted.

Harper supposed she could turn over the letters and the picture to the cops but then she could be in trouble for tampering with evidence. What if they arrested her for that? Besides, if she told the cops everything she’d discovered about her four suspects she’d be spilling the beans on two adulterous affairs and she didn’t want to do that if she didn’t have to.

“Can I see you in the dining room a minute, Harper?” Maggie asked, cutting into Harper’s thoughts.

“What is it? You look worried,” Harper said, following her friend to the dining room. Standing by the French doors looking out over the flower garden, Maggie said, “I didn’t want to mention this in front of Olivia. I know how upset she is and all. Anyway, remember when I told you how on Sunday night Fred and I sat on the hay wagon and noticed a couple walk toward the garden shed? Like I told you before, I wasn’t sure who it was. Fred, however, did recognize them. I wouldn’t think so much about it, except it would have been right around the time Grace was murdered. Maybe the couple saw something out there.”

“Well, who was the couple?” Harper asked, assuming Maggie would say they watched Mickey and Summer meet up for a tryst.

Instead, Maggie’s answer caused Harper’s mouth to drop open.

“Roy and Glennis Turnbuckle.”

Chapter Eleven

The next morning raindrops began falling during Grace’s funeral, turning into a gully washer before the final hymn was sung. It’s as if the Heavens intended to wash Grace’s maliciousness out of Bittersweet Hollow, Harper thought, listening to thunder rumble overhead.

She wasn’t surprised at the large turnout for the funeral. Small towns took care of their own. Neighbors bonded together. Acquaintances did what they could to help out. It was all about supporting a grieving member of the community, in this case, Grace’s husband. Harper believed the sympathy shown Marshall by folks in town was genuine even if they probably feigned their bereavement over Grace’s death. Harper also believed some people had attended the service simply because murder was involved.

Harper arrived at the Church of the Merciful Redemption with Lonnie, Olivia, Violet and Ezra in tow. Pastor Lawrence Hart presided over the service. From her vantage point near the rear of the church, Harper easily observed three of the people she suspected might have had a hand, literally, in doing away with Grace. She considered the possibilities as she recollected what she knew about each one, making a few mental notes.

Pastor Hart had moved to Bittersweet Hollow two years ago with his wife, Daphne, and their two young children. Daphne was well-respected in the community and despite running after her small children she chaired several church committees and oversaw the youth choir. Harper thought Daphne seemed to have all the attributes needed to be a clergyman’s wife but who really knew for sure. Lawrence was extremely handsome with his honey-blond hair, dark green eyes, and deep dimples on either side of a sensitive-looking mouth. Harper could understand why some of his female parishioners might be attracted to him. Apparently, Fannie Abbott had been tempted to look to Lawrence for more than spiritual guidance.

Fannie. This wasn’t Fannie’s first rodeo by any means. Ten years ago she lassoed Bruce Abbott even though he was married to someone else at the time. Small town gossip being what it is, Harper had heard the buzz about more than a few of Fannie’s affairs since she married Bruce. Some women are like fireflies, Harper contemplated. They flash their light to lure a male for the sole purpose of having sex. Unfortunately, Lawrence had flashed back.

Harper looked around the church. Her gaze rested on Mickey and Lucy O’Connell. Lucy was a respected nurse at the local medical clinic. She and Mickey had a daughter in college and a son in middle school. Lucy’s parents had money. Enough money to start Mickey up in his own business when he married Lucy. Like the proverbial sailor, Mickey had a girl in every port. The problem was, Mickey’s ports were too close to home and he always managed to get caught with his pants down. After Lucy announced to her bridge club that her husband would lose it all next time around, Mickey must have really sweated it when Grace caught him and Summer at a sleazy motel.

All of the suspects on her list stood to lose everything they’d worked for—career, spouse, home, family.

It was difficult to imagine a minister committing murder but it wasn’t unheard of. Harper could almost picture Lawrence following Grace into the shed, perhaps intending to ask her to forgive him for committing such a horrible sin, only to pick up the hammer and commit a greater one.

Mickey might have lured Grace to the shed to try and talk her into destroying the telltale photo. Knowing Grace’s penchant for scandal she might have looked him in the eye and laughed at the idea, laughed right before Mickey picked up a hammer and swung it.

On the other hand, it may have been unbearable for Grace’s archrival Fannie to know she had been caught doing the nasty with a married man, and a man of the cloth at that, by none other than the wickedest gossip in town. Fannie’s blow of the hammer could have been just as deadly as anyone else’s.

Harper looked around the church for the forth person she believed could have murdered Grace—Summer Storm. It wasn’t without reason to consider a confrontation between the two women. As a matter of fact, it was at the top of her list. The damage which would occur when Lucy found out her own sister was sleeping with her husband may have been more than Summer could risk. And Summer certainly had a perfect opportunity during her work shift to meet up with Grace in the garden shed. Harper wasn’t surprised Summer was nowhere to be seen in the church.

“I’m glad that’s over with,” Violet said, kicking off her sensible leather shoes as soon as she stepped into the kitchen of the Bittersweet Inn.

“For Marshall’s sake I’m glad Grace had a decent sendoff,” Olivia said, while Harper helped her take off of her wet jacket. “She was his wife, after all, and I know it’s difficult for him. Especially since she was murdered.”

“Maybe you should take a little rest, Mom,” Harper encouraged her mother. “It’s been a busy day.”

“I am a little tired,” Olivia said. “Maybe we should all have a rest.”

“I’ll go for that,” Violet readily agreed. “We’ve had people dropping in left and right all week, just to take a look around. They pretend they want to see how Olivia is holding up through all of this, but what they really want is to see where Grace got whacked. And to make things worse, no one is booking rooms, only canceling them.”

“It’s just morbid curiosity,” Ezra said, carefully wiping his shoes on the rug by the door. “I reckon they’ll quit showin’ up before very long.”

“All this publicity,” Olivia said, a look of concern on her face, “and it’s the wrong kind of publicity.”

“I’m sure Ezra is right, and everything will calm down soon,” Harper said. “Now that Grace is buried, things should get back to normal in no time.” However, she secretly worried normal wouldn’t return until an arrest was made.

Violet snorted, “Gawkers. They act like they might catch sight of Grace’s ghost floating across the front yard. I should sic the cops on them.”

“You should be nice and tell them there’s nothing to see here,” Lonnie insisted.

“I’d rather meet them at the door with a meat cleaver in my hand,” Violet replied firmly, her hands on her hips. “This may surprise you but I’m not really all that nice.”

Harper and Lonnie tried to refrain from laughing at Violet’s self-description.

“We all love you, Violet,” Harper said, smiling. “We’ll see you later, Mom. Go have a nap now.”

“Would you do me a favor, dear?” Olivia asked Harper. “I need some more yarn. I’m doing some knitting and need a few more skeins. Mona Potter has had her shop closed up since the murder but I hear she’ll be opening it again tomorrow. Could you stop by and pick up four skeins for me? Mona will know what I need. Just tell her it’s the peach color.”

“Sure, Mom. And I’ll drop it off for you tomorrow.”

The sisters hugged Olivia and Violet, and then headed out to Harper’s pickup.

“I’ve been dying to tell you something, Lonnie,” Harper said, putting the Ford into gear and filling Lonnie in on her conversation with Ida Aldwinkle.

“Sounds as though Grace was doing more than trying to return some Turnbuckle Hardware merchandise without a receipt,” Lonnie said.

“That’s not all. Fred identified the couple he and Maggie saw out by the shed right before Grace was murdered. It was Roy and Glennis Turnbuckle.”

“Shut the front door! Do you think Roy and Grace’s quarrel might have something to do with her murder?”

“I don’t know what to think,” Harper replied. “That’s the problem. The more I think, the more I believe some people considered murdering Grace had to be their only solution.”

Chapter Twelve

Thursday morning Harper sniffed the aromas of fragrant potpourri and scented candles while looking through the bins of colorful yarns at Mona Potter’s Knit N Needle shop. It always felt snug and cozy inside the yarn shop and Harper soaked up the atmosphere while she waited for Mona to take care of the only other customer in the store.

Finally free, Mona asked Harper, “Are you finding what you need?”

“Mom asked me to pick up four more skeins of yarn. She said you would know the color. Peach.”

Mona smiled. “Olivia fell in love with that particular shade. It’s right over here.”

Harper followed Mona beyond the bins of yarn until they reached a far corner of the store. Puzzled as to why Mona led her past all the skeins, she started to question her when Mona whispered, “If I found out someone had a good motive to kill Grace, I should tell someone shouldn’t I?”

Ah ha, Harper thought excitedly, so she does know something.

“Yes, indeed, you definitely should tell someone. Did you find out something?”

“I did, and it’s huge. But Wagner told me to mind my own business, and I don’t want to spread rumors around like Grace always did. Wagner even said he didn’t want to hear what I know, so I didn’t tell him. But I simply have to tell someone because I think it might be important.”

“Well, go ahead, I’m listening,” Harper said.

Mona cast a furtive look around, took a deep breath, and spoke hurriedly. “Grace came over to the house one evening a few days before she was killed. She could barely control herself, said she’d hit pay dirt, the mother load, a gusher. She finally calmed down enough to tell me what she was talking about.”

Mona sighed and shook her head in disgust. “The woman was such a gossipmonger. Anyway, you know Grace helped out at the church. One of her little jobs there was picking up the money from the offering every week and depositing it at the bank. Well, that day she’d gone to the church office to pick up the deposit. When she arrived, Pastor Hart was sitting at his desk writing in a journal. A minute later, Joyce Holder, she’s the church pianist, walked by the office on her way to the sanctuary with her arms full of sheet music, some of which fell to the floor, and Pastor Hart hurried out of the office to help Joyce.”

Harper hoped Grace hadn’t caught Joyce Holder and the pastor in an incriminating position. She waited for Mona to continue.

“Grace got the deposit together and was about to leave the office when the pastor’s journal caught her eye. She said she couldn’t resist taking a peek. She pulled a pair of reading glasses out of her purse and shoved them onto her face in order to get a clearer look. And that’s when she uncovered what she considered to be one of the biggest scandals ever to hit Bittersweet Hollow.”

Harper could think of two other big scandals Grace had uncovered days before she died, but she wasn’t about to share them with Mona.

“According to the notes in the journal, Rachel Turnbuckle had been getting counseling from Pastor Hart.”

Lawrence Hart would be officiating at Rachel and Roger Strumsky’s wedding in a few weeks and pre-marital counseling was required. No big surprise there. Extremely plain and painfully shy, with a nervous personality to boot, the surprise to most people in town, including Harper, was Rachel’s accomplishment of getting any man to put a ring on her finger. In his fifties, Roger was as plain and unassuming as Rachel. Never married, he’d lived with his mother until her passing, and then relocated to Bittersweet Hollow where he accepted a position teaching at Bittersweet Hollow High. According to Rachel, he made a trip to the hardware store to purchase some paint for his new apartment, she mixed the color just right, and the rest was history.

“Or historical,” Violet said privately to Harper and Olivia after Rachel announced her engagement.

The nuptials were planned for late October. Harper cut in. “Rachel is getting married in a few weeks. Don’t engaged couples usually receive premarital counseling from their pastor?”

“Usually, yes. But Rachel apparently sought a different kind of counsel. You see, when she was sixteen years old she learned the facts of life the hard way. She became completely infatuated with a street-smart carnie working the midway at the county fair. The romance ended when the fair did. Unfortunately for Rachel, the sexual encounters, few though they were, left her pregnant. Roy and Glennis tried unsuccessfully to track down the young man. Dr. Parker, Bittersweet Hollow’s only physician at the time, recommended a home for unwed mothers in an adjoining state. Rachel spent six months away, supposedly as an exchange student in Mexico, put the baby up for adoption, came back to town and finished high school.”

“Oh,” was the only word Harper could muster at the moment.

“Grace said Pastor Hart noted his encouragement for Rachel to confess her past indiscretion to Roger. However, Rachel was afraid she might lose her fiancé if she told him the truth, so she told Pastor Hart she had decided to keep her lips zipped. Apparently that was where the counseling ended.”

“Goodness, if Rachel knew Grace had found out…”

Mona pursed her lips and nodded. “True, but I haven’t told you the worst of it. Grace said she intended to go to Roy and Glennis, tell them she knew all about Rachel’s ‘sin,’ as she called it, and insist they tell Roger Strumsky or else she’d tell him!”

And that must be just what Grace did, Harper thought to herself, convinced Ida Aldwinkle had witnessed the aftermath of Grace’s threat to Roy and Glennis. No wonder Roy had unceremoniously escorted Grace out of his store.

“Roy sits on the Bittersweet Hollow Community Improvement Committee with Wagner and after the last meeting he told Wagner that he and Glennis were in the process of shelling out thousands of their hard earned dollars for the once-in-a-lifetime wedding of Rachel’s dreams. They pushed back their own longtime dream of retiring to Arizona in order to fund the wedding, and they deleted their savings and went into hock with a bank loan. But Roy told Wagner they would willingly give up more to finally walk Rachel down the aisle. So now you see, don’t you?” Mona asked Harper.

“See what?”

“That Roy had a perfectly good reason to want Grace dead.”

Roy wasn’t alone, Harper thought grimly before asking Mona, “When did Grace go to Roy with her news?”

“Last week.”

So last week Grace uncovered two potential scandals in church and one at a cheap motel. She threatened Mickey and Summer with exposure within a week, and did the same to Roy and Glennis.

And I’ll bet she gave Lawrence Hart and Fannie Abbott the same deal, Harper thought soberly. But Grace ended up dead before she had a chance to make good on her blackmail. Lawrence and Fannie, Mickey and Summer. They were in the running to have wanted Grace’s big mouth permanently shut before she had the chance to cruelly and completely destroy them. Ditto Roy and Glennis. As parents, they would not want to stand by and watch Grace callously ruin Rachel’s chance to finally live happily ever after. Lord, why did there have to be so damn many suspects for one lousy murder anyway?

Chapter Thirteen

“Hey, girlfriend,” a happy contralto voice sang out, pulling Harper, lost in thought, back to the here and now. Naylor had stood in the doorway of his store and watched Harper march down the street with her hands stuffed deep in the pockets of her jacket, a Knit N’ Needle bag tucked under one arm and her eyes directed at her feet. “Sugar, you look like you are contemplating the fate of the entire world this morning.”

Harper glanced up at Naylor, taking in his dark gray merino sweater and the peony pink shirt he’d topped off with a black and white striped ascot.

“Really, Harper, you look way too serious for a Thursday,” Naylor protested, holding open the door. “You want to do lunch or something and have a girl talk?”

“That’s sweet of you, Naylor, but I have a lot to do this morning.”

“Maybe some other time; what are friends for anyway?” he said.

Naylor’s remark about lunch put an idea in Harper’s head. She would try to corner Lucy O’Connell on the woman’s lunch break.

Harper didn’t consider Lucy a close friend but they were more than casual acquaintances mainly because Lucy had been a good customer of Our Earthly Remains over the years, purchasing several antique pieces and a number of collectibles from the shop.

There were two questions Harper wanted to ask Mickey O’Connell’s wife—had Mickey remained with her throughout the entire Pumpkin Patch Festival, and did she notice Grace quarreling with anyone? She might even be able to pick up on whether or not Lucy knew Mickey was running around again.

If she finds out he’s boinking her sister, it’s bound to put a strain on Thanksgiving dinner at the O’Connell house, Harper mumbled to herself.

Usually a few of the clinic staff, including Lucy, gathered at Woody’s Burger Barn across the street from the clinic every day for lunch. Harper would go there at noon––she needed to eat anyway––and try to get a word or two with Lucy. She’d ask Lonnie to go with her. Then, when they ran into Lucy, it would seem like a casual encounter. She grabbed her cell phone and gave her sister a call. Lonnie agreed to meet her at twelve sharp.

Woody’s was always packed at noon, partly because the place was small but mostly because the burgers were big. By five after twelve, Harper and Lonnie had lucked out and found an empty table in the crowded diner. While they waited for their baskets of burgers and fries, Harper recited Mona’s narrative of how Grace had tried to put the squeeze on Roy and Glennis.

“Grace was one wicked old gal,” Lonnie said. “I can’t understand how she could possibly get pleasure out of hurting Rachel. I’m almost glad myself that someone shut her up before she could take away such an important occasion for the Turnbuckles. I hope Rachel never has to find out how close Roger came to hearing about her, umm, past predicament.”

Lonnie took a swig of iced tea and followed Harper’s gaze to where Lucy stood just inside the door of the cafe.

“What luck,” Harper hissed. “She’s alone.”

Before Lucy had an opportunity to find an empty seat next to any of her co-workers, Harper scrambled across the room and flashed a big smile.

Give Summer another ten years, add a bit of gray to her hair, and she’ll look just like Lucy does now, Harper figured. She wondered briefly if Mickey ever compared Summer’s big brown eyes, smattering of freckles, and dark brown hair to Lucy’s. Perhaps the likeness was part of the turn on for the big jerk. The thought gave Harper a sour taste in her mouth.

“Hey, Lucy. How about joining Lonnie and me? I think we’ve got the only extra seat in here.”

Looking somewhat surprised at the invitation, Lucy replied, “Oh, sure, thanks,” and followed Harper to the booth.

“How’s Olivia handling all the notoriety out at the Inn?” Lucy asked as she gave her order to the waitress.

“Mom’s worried about the Hoovers backing out of the deal on the Inn, thanks to the murder.”

“Why? I’d heard things were pretty much cut and dried with the sale.” Lucy ordered a soda and a pulled pork sandwich and waited for Harper to answer.

“Alice Hoover seems to think Grace Potter’s spirit haunts the Inn and believes her ghost isn’t about to leave until the killer gets nailed,” Harper said, a little embarrassed at mentioning Alice’s conviction in the supernatural.

Lucy smiled. “Alice must be the sensitive type. Does she give those psychic readings?”

Lonnie piped up. “I don’t think she does readings. Her thing seems to be feeling the vibes.”

The waitress plunked Lucy’s order down in front of her and rushed off.

“I’ve known Grace for years,” Lucy said. “That woman would give off bad vibes even if she hadn’t been murdered.”

“You didn’t notice Grace quarreling with anyone on Sunday when you were at the festival, did you?” Harper asked while Lucy took a bite of her sandwich.

“Hmmm, no. But I did see her around. You know how it is when you’re in a crowd. You see people but what they’re doing at the time doesn’t really register.” Lucy sipped her soda.

“So if she’d been arguing with someone you wouldn’t have paid much attention to it?” Harper asked.

“Afraid not, although I’m pretty certain I didn’t notice her arguing with anyone. It was late afternoon when Mickey and I got to the festival. We had our son, Jeff, with us for awhile. At his age he doesn’t want to hang with the parents,” Lucy chuckled. “Mickey and I milled around, bought a hotdog, chatted with friends. Typical things.”

“I suppose Summer didn’t have much time to visit with you or Mickey?” Lonnie asked.

Lucy frowned slightly, picking up her soda glass. “She seemed pretty busy whenever we were around her. She acted a little distant actually. Sometimes I just don’t understand where Summer is coming from. She’s been in her own little world lately.”

“Kid sisters, right?” Harper shot a sideways glance at Lonnie. Lonnie wrinkled her nose at Harper.

Lucy nodded in agreement and Harper felt Lucy had no clue Summer’s little world included cheap motels and a cheating husband.

“Have the authorities got any leads on the murder?” Lucy asked.

“They think they do. However, I’m not so sure they’re on the right track,” Harper said.

While the women ate their lunch, Harper worked the conversation back to the Pumpkin Patch Festival.

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself Sunday,” Harper said, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “Did you and Mickey approve of Ezra’s bonfire finale?”

“It was a fitting ending. I guess Mickey enjoyed it. He disappeared a little before, said he needed to visit one of those portable toilets, and I didn’t see him again until the fire had almost burned itself out. It was late enough by then that we needed to get Jeff home so we missed the whole murder thing. We heard about it the next morning.”

Harper knew she should be subtle with her next question, but before she could stop herself she blurted out, “So you don’t have any idea what Mickey was up to around eight o’clock?”

Lucy kept her eyes on her plate, a blush creeping across her face. Harper thought for a moment that she wasn’t going to answer her question. But after clearing her throat, Lucy said, “No, I didn’t know where Mickey was for awhile. Are you playing detective, Harper? If you find out what my husband was up to, let me know, okay?”

“I just thought Mickey might have been over by the Inn, maybe he saw something that could be important.”

“You’d have to ask Mickey about that,” Lucy said, a touch of coolness in her voice. “Now I really need to get back to work. Thanks for the seat.”

While Lucy made her way out of the café, Lonnie said, “She acted like you suspect Mickey was up to some hanky panky. I think you ticked her off.”

Outside, the sisters leaned against the side of Harper's truck.

“I’m sorry if I made Lucy mad, but we now have Mickey with opportunity,” Harper said. “He was out of sight during the whole time the bonfire burned. There would have been plenty of time for him to sneak out to the shed and bop the bitch.”

“Or instead of bopping, he could have been boinking. Summer, that is,” Lonnie pointed out.

“That’s true. Lucy seemed embarrassed to admit Mickey was off doing who knows what and don’t most wives know when something isn’t right? I probably can’t get any more out of Lucy or Mickey, but maybe I can get Summer to ‘fess up’ and tell me if she and Mickey hooked up some time on Sunday night.”

“Summer could have bopped instead of boinked,” Lonnie said. “I don't think she’ll be in a big hurry to confess either way.”

Back at the antique shop, Harper flipped on the light in her office, grabbed a bottle of water from the dorm-size refrigerator, and sat down at her desk. Someone must have seen something, she thought. Although it would be difficult to notice much with the crowd milling all over the property. No one stayed in one place for very long.

“Oh, duh,” she blurted, giving herself a mental slap on the forehead.  She had seriously overlooked some of the people who were not milling around much. They were the ones taking turns at the pumpkin wagon in the yard, at the cider table on the porch, and in the dining room serving coffee and cookies. She would question Olivia’s girls: Carly, Tammy, Riley, Mindy and Rachel. One of them might have noticed Grace in an argument or spotted her heading toward the shed with someone. They might also be able to give her some sort of idea on Summer’s whereabouts around eight o’clock.

The afternoon turned out to be busy and Harper didn’t have a minute to herself until almost five o’clock. As the work day wound to a close, Helen settled onto a wooden folding chair in the office and stretched out her legs.

“Not a bad haul for a Thursday afternoon. We sold a carved walnut sideboard, a Wedgwood tea service, and two old quilts. By the way, I’m meeting Marylou Lockridge for a drink after we close up here. Want to join us? Kick back and relax a bit? Thursday is Ladies’ Night, you know, two for one from five till seven.” Helen fetched her hand bag and coat from the office.

“How about a rain check?” Harper begged off, thinking she might be able to catch a couple of the girls who had worked on Sunday before it got too late in the evening.

“Your loss. A few of us old hens are catching happy hour at the Golden Goose.”

Helen slipped into her coat.

“I thought they shut the place down,” Harper said, grabbing her jacket and turning off the lights in the office.

“Oh, everyone thought the Goose was cooked for a little while but they couldn’t trace the food poisoning back to the kitchen. Besides, we don’t eat anything but the nachos.”

“What about the cheese sauce?”

Helen shrugged. “I guess we drink enough booze to keep the bacteria at bay. Sure you don’t want to join us?”

“Thanks, but not tonight,” Harper said as she locked the door. “I don’t have a death wish.”

Helen’s throaty laugh followed Harper as she got in her truck, started the engine and pulled out of her parking spot.

Harper drove slowly down Hamilton Street with her window partially open, enjoying the crisp air. She could smell the smoke from someone’s wood stove as it mingled with the scent of wet leaves and her neighbor’s windfall apples. She had lived at 532 Hamilton ever since the day Eli carried her over the threshold all those years ago and she was thankful he hadn’t fought with her over keeping the place when they divorced. It would have been difficult to pack up her belongings and move away from the quiet neighborhood.

Harper pulled into her driveway and caught sight of Riley Carson walking her dog, Rudy, on the opposite side of the street. Or maybe Rudy walked Riley. The gigantic Boxer outweighed the girl by thirty pounds.

Harper waved and climbed out of the truck. Riley lived a few blocks over from Harper. She waited while the girl jogged across the street with Rudy leading the way.

“Hi, Harper,” Riley said, reining in her dog and slowing her step.

“How are you this evening?” Harper greeted Riley who coaxed the massive dog to sit.

“I’m fine. Rudy and I thought we should take advantage of the decent weather. It will be blowing snow one of these days and too cold for a walk. Rudy doesn’t like the cold.”

The girl stroked the dog between his eyes and Harper swore Rudy smiled.

“Rudy looks like he’d have no problem protecting you,” Harper chuckled.

“His size should scare off any bad guys,” Riley agreed, “as long as he isn’t put to the test. He’s really just a big baby.”

Harper pulled her leather jacket closer as a small whirlwind of leaves scuttled past her feet. Rudy shivered.

“Too bad Grace Potter didn’t have Rudy with her out in the garden shed,” Harper said, smoothly bringing the conversation around to Sunday night.

“Rudy might have saved the day for sure,” the girl replied. “By the way, I feel sorry for your mom. She’s such a nice lady. Besides, I know how my mother would feel if someone had been murdered at our place.”

“It’s been hard for her,” Harper agreed. “You don’t recall anyone arguing with Grace or following her around on Sunday night, do you?”

Riley wrinkled her brow and gazed beyond Harper’s shoulder as if she might be able to glimpse last Sunday.

“I remember seeing her once, around seven thirty or so. It was when Summer and I worked cider duty. Mrs. Potter came up on the porch and took a glass of cider from Summer who started to say something to her but then changed her mind.”

Riley looked down at Rudy who stretched and sniffed at a tree.

“So the two women didn’t exchange any words?”

“We were sorta busy, you know, and I didn’t pay close attention. After Mrs. Potter went on her way, Summer let off a string of cuss words about her. I planned to ask Summer later, you know, when things quieted down after the bonfire started, what the cussing was all about. Later, with all the confusion and deputies all over the place, I forgot about it.”

“Was Summer on the porch right before the bonfire?”

“Hmmm, no, she wasn’t. I figured she took off for a bathroom break or something,” Riley said as Rudy, tired of the smells around the tree, tugged at his leash.

“When did she come back to the porch?”

“I’m pretty sure she didn’t come back. The next time I saw her we were all in the dining room being questioned by a deputy.”

Bingo, thought Harper excitedly. Opportunity.

“Did the deputy question you girls very long Sunday night?”

“Not really. It was Deputy Kennedy who did the questioning. He wanted to know if any of us had seen anything which might be related to the case. None of us had. He said if we thought of anything later to call the sheriff right away.”

“You didn’t notice Summer’s brother-in-law, Mickey O’Connell, hanging around about eight o’clock?”

“No, can’t say as I did. Like I told you, I had to finish up on the porch by myself. I was in a hurry to get out by the bonfire and I didn’t appreciate Summer leaving me in the lurch.”

“Looks as though you’d better get on with your walk. I think Rudy is getting antsy.”

“See you,” Riley said, pulling her jacket hood over her head and loping off down the street with her dog.

Harper reached into the truck for her purse and spotted the bag of yarn she’d picked up for Olivia. Smothering a small curse for forgetting about the purchase, Harper climbed back into the truck. On her way out of town, she drove past the Schultz residence. I might as well see if Tammy is home, she thought, and pulled up in front of the house.

Tammy attended junior college and lived with her parents. Just as Harper parked her truck at the curb Tammy’s father arrived home from his job at the local lumber yard. Wade Schultz beat Harper up the porch steps and held open the door of the older two story brick home.

“Bad time to drop in, right at suppertime,” Harper apologized.

“Not at all. Can you stay for supper? I think this might be meatloaf night and Theda makes a mean meatloaf.”

“Sounds wonderful, thanks, but I’m on my way to my mother’s. I just need a quick word with Tammy.”

“Sure thing.”

Wade called out for his daughter while he led Harper to the living room and then excused himself to wash up.

Tammy trotted in from the kitchen, her face slightly flushed.

“Sorry,” she said, pushing her damp, dark blond bangs back from her forehead. “I'm a mess from mashing potatoes and you know how a ton of steam from draining the water makes for limp hair.”

“This will only take a minute, Tammy. I’m asking around about Grace Potter. Did you notice her in any arguments with anyone on Sunday? Or did she act odd in any way?”

Tammy pointed to a brightly flowered sofa and invited Harper to sit down. She perched on the arm of the sofa and cocked her head to one side.

“Well,” she replied, “no, I didn’t see anything like that. I only saw Grace for a minute, in the dining room. Rachel and I were there when she came inside. There were still a few people coming through for hot coffee since the bonfire hadn’t been lit yet. Grace was one of them. She let me serve her coffee but she never smiled or said anything to me. Not to speak ill of the dead, but I think she was a very rude person. She was ruder to Rachel than she was to me.”

“Did Rachel say anything to her?”

“Oh no, Rachel was on the other side of the room, standing by the patio door and chatting to one of the guests staying at the inn. I don’t remember which guest now. Rachel didn’t even look at Grace, but Grace stared at Rachel. Practically burned a hole in the back of Rachel’s head, she did. Very rude like, don’t you know. Then she brushed past Rachel and flounced all stuck up like through the patio door. I went over to Rachel to say something about how rude the old gal was but Rachel stopped me, said she needed to go hunt for a mop to clean up some coffee she had just spilled by the door.”

Harper turned the conversation to Summer.

“I know Riley and Summer were working the porch when you and Rachel were in the dining room. I suppose they were busy with last minute cider drinkers?”

Tammy considered the question for a minute, and then answered, “I’m sure they were. I saw them when they first took porch duty. It must have been close to six o’clock. I only saw Riley once after that. She came in to grab some Styrofoam cups, around seven. I didn’t see Summer again until we were all in the dining room with the deputy. After that we all got busy and did some cleaning, remember?”

“I do remember. So you didn’t see Summer on the porch at, say, eight o’clock?”

“No.”

“How about Summer’s brother-in-law, Mickey O’Connell?”

“No, I don’t remember him coming into the dining room at all.”

“Well, thanks, Tammy,” Harper said, hearing the clink of dishes in the kitchen which almost certainly meant supper was on the table. Nothing much here, she thought, standing up to leave, but I'm getting a good timeline of Grace’s and Summer’s movements anyway.

“Can’t you stay for supper? My mom makes the best meatloaf and we have a ton of mashed potatoes.”

“I appreciate the offer and it smells delicious, but some other time. You get back to the kitchen and eat your supper. I’ll let myself out.”

Harper drove the two miles to the Inn lost in thought over what she’d learned from Riley and Tammy. Riley confirmed that Grace and Summer were together on the porch a little before eight o’clock. After Grace vacated the porch Summer did, too, and Riley didn’t see her again until all the girls were in the dining room together a little before ten o’clock. Summer would have had plenty of time to meet up with Grace, kill her and sneak back to the Inn. Harper recalled the look of loathing on Summer’s face and the bitterness in her voice when she said the bitch deserved to die.

Someone else with a motive had opportunity, too, however. She couldn’t overlook the fact Mickey O’Connell had left his wife alone and his whereabouts at eight o’clock were unknown.

Harper turned left off the highway and drove a few hundred feet down the gravel road, taking a right into the Bittersweet Inn’s driveway. The glow of lights spilling out of the front windows and across the manicured lawn and flower beds captured the old Victorian in an impression worthy of a Thomas Kinkade painting. The stately house settled into the quiet, calm air of dusk, and if she didn’t know any better Harper would never have believed a murder had been committed here or, according to Alice anyway, a revengeful spirit roamed the grounds.

Harper parked around back and walked briskly through the kitchen door where she found Olivia and Violet seated at the table, thumbing through a few family recipe books.

“Here’s your yarn, Mom.”

“Thanks, dear. Have you eaten supper?”

“I have plenty of leftovers at home.”

“There’s meatloaf in the fridge I can heat up for you,” Violet offered.

Harper wondered if she’d missed the Thursday night meatloaf memo.

“Thanks, but I’m beat. I’m looking forward to a long, hot soak in the tub and a light supper in front of the television,” Harper answered.

“Sounds like a good way to spend the evening,” Ezra said, stepping into the kitchen with a wad of yellow police tape in his hands. “Cops removed the tape today but didn’t get all of it into the trash.”

“It’s nice to know it’s gone,” Olivia remarked. “Maybe there will be fewer meddlers sniffing around the place now.”

“There were only a few nitwits intrudin’ today,” Ezra said. “And I told ‘em there was nothin’ to see so they might as well keep on movin’.”

“Must have been the pitch fork you were holding that convinced them you were right,” Olivia said, her eyes twinkling.

Ezra looked sheepish. Olivia had him there.

Laughing, Harper patted Ezra’s arm and said, “Job well done.” If she didn’t drag her feet she’d have time to question one more person before calling it a night. With a promise to drive carefully, Harper blew her mother a kiss and left.

Carly Albertson lived across the street and down two houses from Harper. It was a little after eight thirty when Harper arrived back at her house. She’d take a chance Carly was home and hoofed it across the street.

Carly was in her late twenties and Harper wasn’t sure a single girl Carly’s age would even be home at this time of evening. But she spotted lights on inside the house and rang the doorbell.

“Hey, Harper,” Carly exclaimed, opening the door holding one of the fattest cats Harper had ever seen. “Come on in. This is Quiggly.”

“Hey, Quiggly,” Harper laughed, rubbing the gray and white cat’s ears. The cat thanked her with a loud purr.

Carly’s makeup looked freshly applied and her jeans and cute sweater suggested hot date instead of comfy evening at home.

“Are you on your way out? If this isn’t a good time I can catch you later,” Harper said, stepping inside.

“I'm not going out. He’s coming over,” Carly replied cheerfully.

“I’ll just stay a couple of minutes,” Harper promised while Carly took the lead into the living room where a dozen scented candles glowed and soft saxophone music drifted from a CD player in the corner of the room. Carly had arranged a tray of fruit and cheese on the coffee table and set an uncorked bottle of wine to breathe next to a pair of crystal goblets.

Harper wasn’t sure she’d want to be in her twenties again, yet she wouldn’t mind snatching back a night or two from the decade when she had put on a Charlie Parker tape and danced barefoot in the candlelight with Eli.

“Too bad you don’t believe in ambiance,” Harper wisecracked as she took the seat Carly offered, and then said, “I’m trying to find out if anyone saw anything out of the ordinary concerning Grace Potter on Sunday night.”

“Like I told Deputy Kennedy, when Mindy and I worked the pumpkin wagon I saw Grace,” Carly said, “but there wasn’t anything unusual going on with her. Unless you count what took place when she ran into Pastor and Mrs. Hart.”

Quiggly jumped onto Harper’s lap and rolled onto his back, begging for a tummy rub. Harper stroked his furry belly. “You saw her talking with Pastor Hart?”

“They ran into each other just a few feet away from me.  Grace appeared to do all the talking. I think Mrs. Hart started to say something to Grace but the Pastor grabbed his wife’s arm and literally pulled her away. I don’t blame him for not wanting to hang around, after all, Grace Potter had a mean mouth. But at the time I thought it was a little odd that Pastor Hart, of all people, would snub someone. And that’s what it looked like. A snub. They walked away and left Grace standing there alone. Then she headed off toward the rest of the crowd.”

Considering the scene Grace witnessed in the church office, Harper wasn’t surprised that Lawrence had hustled his wife away from the woman. He wouldn’t want to risk Grace spilling the beans to Daphne.

“Did you tell Deputy Kennedy about Pastor Hart?”

“No, I didn’t really think about it then. I only told him Grace had walked by the pumpkin wagon before dark.”

“Do you have any idea what time that was?”

“It must have been right before Ezra started the bonfire.”

“And you didn’t notice her again?”

“No. I suppose it wasn’t too long after I saw her that she got murdered, right?”

“Well, somewhere around eight o’clock, according to the cops.”

Carly shivered and Harper realized she’d been hoping the girl would say she’d seen Lawrence follow Grace out to the shed instead of seeing Grace heading for the crowd.

A car door slammed and Harper knew it was time to leave Carly to her date and the wine and the music.

“I don’t think you need me to tell you to have a wonderful evening,” Harper said, winking at Carly and setting the fat cat on the floor.

Carly giggled and introduced her boyfriend before Harper made her exit.

Back home, Harper hovered between taking a hot bath and eating supper.

Might as well eat first, she decided, foraging through leftovers in the fridge where she uncovered a chicken thigh, a half-eaten pork chop, and two slices of cheese pizza.

Maybe I should have taken Violet’s meatloaf offer, she complained out loud.

Tossing all the leftovers into the microwave, she poured herself a glass of milk and planned tomorrow’s strategy. She’d visit Daphne Hart for sure, and maybe Lawrence Hart, too. She would also talk with Mindy Bartlett and Rachel Turnbuckle.

The microwave beeped and she grabbed a tray from the top of the refrigerator. Carting her supper into the living room, she ate while she wondered if the cops had turned up anything worthwhile on Mr. Jersey Simon.

Maybe it’s me looking at things all wrong, Harper thought, forking down the pork chop. Maybe Grace had a secret past and knew this Simon person once upon a time.

Harper considered this as she munched on a pizza slice. What if Simon was a Chicago mobster and somehow Grace found out a little too much about him. The woman pried into everything. But there was nothing connecting Grace to Jersey Simon. Nothing she knew about anyway. Besides, it was tough believing such a scenario. She felt in her gut whoever murdered Grace lived right here in Bittersweet Hollow. Someone who expected Grace to destroy their life in one fleeting week.

Her mind grappled with what she knew. Roy and Glennis had motive and Fred put them in the vicinity of the shed right before dark. Summer had motive and plenty of time to kill Grace before anyone remembered seeing her in the dining room later. Mickey had motive, a quick temper, and enough time to commit the murder.

Lawrence Hart’s motive was as good as any of the others and she couldn’t rule out Fannie Abbott.

Gathering up her dirty dishes, Harper carried the tray into the kitchen. She had just rinsed out her glass at the sink when a startling thought struck her.

Summer, nowhere to be seen at the time of the murder. Mickey, ditto. What if Grace had confronted two attackers out in the shed?

Chapter Fourteen

Harper slipped a light jacket over her long-sleeved tee, grabbed her purse and headed for the front door. Fridays were always busy at Our Earthly Remains and she was running late. Before she could turn the doorknob, however, her phone rang.

Checking the caller I.D. she picked up the receiver and said, “Hey, Mom, what’s up?”

“Mead Hoover just called,” Olivia said on the other end of the line.

Harper felt her stomach tightening. If Mead still planned on backing out on this deal, well, she’d go talk with him right away and try to change his mind. “Not bad news, I hope.”

“No, it’s not bad news,” her mother assured her. “He and Alice are coming to visit on Sunday and plan to stay for a night or two. Hopefully, Alice will get a good tingle, or whatever it is she gets, this time around.”

“That’s great,” Harper said, smiling at Olivia’s word for vibe and feeling relieved Alice must not be totally disillusioned by grumpy spirits.

“Grace has surely ridden her broomstick out of Dodge by now,” Harper retorted.

“You sound like Violet,” Olivia chuckled. “But I didn’t call just to tell you about the Hoovers coming. I’m hoping you’ll come, too. Maybe spend a night. Perhaps you can help me impress upon Alice the only spirits around here are the ones in the wine cellar.”

“Of course, I can stay. I’ll feel better myself if I can help convince Alice nothing is going to go bump in the night.”

Before hanging up the phone, Harper promised her mother she’d be out early Sunday morning.

Glancing out the window to see if she should take her umbrella to work, Harper groaned. Eli was making a beeline from his car to her front porch.

What does he want this morning? Harper wondered as the doorbell jangled. Before the sound died away, Eli opened the door and sauntered across the threshold.

“Hi,” he grinned at Harper. “I always feel silly ringing the bell.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, “it does seem a little odd.”

Harper glanced at her watch and then at Eli, giving him the not so subtle hint to hurry up and state his business.

Eli cleared his throat. “Lincoln called me last night. He said he had talked to you a few days ago and he wanted to know if the cops are any closer to solving Grace Potter’s murder. He’s worried about you and his grandmother.”

“He could have called me if he’s worried,” Harper said with a touch of tartness in her voice.

“I suppose he didn’t want you to know he’s concerned about you,” Eli said. “Anyway, I did assure him there is no mad killer stalking the grounds of the Inn and his grandmother is fine. Besides, no one in their right mind would tangle with Violet if they could help it. He reckoned I was right about that. Lord knows, I wouldn’t care to encounter Violet in a dark hallway with a rolling pin.”

“You sound like you’re playing a board game,” Harper muttered, figuring Lincoln probably asked his father to drop by occasionally to check on her and Olivia without appearing to do so. Or maybe Lincoln was just an excuse for Eli to keep an eye on her. As though she couldn’t take care of herself. Well, she was a big girl and she didn’t need anyone looking out for her. Irritation rolled through her, a normal reaction when Eli was around.

Harper slung her purse strap over her shoulder, grabbed an umbrella out of the coat closet and hurried out the door.

“Make sure it’s locked,” she called over her shoulder as she skipped down the porch steps. Eli could let his own sweet self out.

Why her ex thought he could stick his nose into her life where it didn’t belong she didn’t know. Okay, maybe it belonged there a little bit because of Lincoln and maybe it was nice she and Eli could be civil toward each other. After all, they had shared a lot of good times together, before Mary Moon got her hooks into him. Eli had tried to defend himself with the old ‘I’m having a midlife crisis’ fairy-tale but she couldn’t buy it. So now she flew solo instead of with a co-captain. Picking up his dirty socks and washing his whiskers down the bathroom sink was no longer on her daily to-do list. Really, she had no regrets.

She drove a block and a half, and then called Lonnie on her cell phone.

“Yep, I’m still home,” Lonnie said in answer to Harper’s question. “Paul got home yesterday evening and I told Naylor I’d be in late this morning. Paul just left for St. Andrews and the coffee is on.”

Five minutes later, Harper sat down at her sister’s kitchen table, swearing her to secrecy while she reported on everything she’d turned up yesterday.

Lonnie almost choked on her Hazelnut Crème. “Wow! Rachel? That’s really too bad. I can’t think of anything much worse than a dark secret hanging over your head and worrying your fiancé will find out about it.”

“It could easily have felt like a disaster to Rachel and her parents,” Harper said, taking a bite out of the English muffin Lonnie placed in front of her.

“And Mona told you Grace gave Roy and Glennis one week to tell Roger? That’s just what she did to Mickey and Summer.”

“Yeh. I wonder what’s with Grace and one week?”

“Who knows. Maybe the next time Grace floats through the Inn, Alice can ask her,” Lonnie said, drumming her fingers on the table while studying Harper’s face. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

Harper brushed some crumbs from the table. “It means Roy and Glennis had a really good reason to shut Grace up, and so did Mickey and Summer, not to mention Lawrence Hart and Fannie. Neither Riley nor Tammy remember seeing Summer at the house around eight o’clock. As a matter of fact, Riley seems to think that was when Summer slipped away for awhile and Lucy says Mickey also disappeared around eight o’clock.”

“And the cops say the murder was committed around eight o’clock. Not looking good for Mickey and Summer,” Lonnie said, refilling the coffee cups.

“Maggie and Fred saw the Turnbuckles right around eight o’clock heading in the direction of the shed.”

“Not looking good for those two, either.”

“I have to talk to Daphne Hart. See if she and Lawrence were together after Grace bumped into them by the pumpkin wagon.”

“Are you going to talk to Rachel and Mindy? One of them might have noticed something.”

“I’ll try to do so this weekend. By the way, Mom called this morning to say Mead and Alice are coming on Sunday for a few days and she wants me to help keep good old Grace’s bad old ectoplasm at bay.”

“Really? Has Alice changed her mind about having Grace’s ghost as part of the decor?”

“Not yet,” Harper replied, “but Mead talked her into giving it one more try on the chance Grace has moved on.”

“I want to join you,” Lonnie exclaimed. “Paul should be around so he can come, too. I’m sure there’s things he can help pack up for Mom and I’d really like to see how Alice handles an encounter with the spirit world.”

“Great, you can help convince Grace to go on her way,” Harper joked, jumping up to leave. Helen would beat her to work again if she didn’t hurry.

A few blocks from Lonnie’s house, Harper spotted Fannie Abbott attaching a sold banner on top of a Wilcox and Wilson Real Estate sign in a well-kept front yard. This was too good an opportunity to pass up. Harper eased to the curb and cut her engine. It was time to dig a little deeper into Lawrence and Fannie’s motive for murder.

Harper climbed out of her truck and strolled over to Fannie who, in spite of the rain and chilly weather, sported a fair amount of cleavage spilling out of the top of her scooped-neck blouse. Harper pulled her jacket a little tighter over her chest. Apparently the cool, damp weather doesn’t cause Fannie’s bare legs to break out in goose bumps, Harper noted sourly. My legs would be bumpier than a hedge apple if I wasn’t wearing jeans today.

“Another sale, Fannie? Good for you.”

“They’ve been few and far between but this one was easy. Nice house, good price, couple of young bachelors,” Fannie said, finishing up the sign and straightening her short skirt.

“Bachelors? Fancy that. Do you have a couple of minutes? Let’s go sit in my truck.” Harper led the way to the Ford.

“You need an agent?” Fannie asked, sliding into the passenger side. “I thought Aaron and James were going to take over handling the sale of the Inn.”

Harper climbed behind the wheel, shutting the door. “I’m checking out a few leads on Grace Potter’s murder.”

“Leads? Grace’s murder?” Fannie sputtered, pulling her cardigan across her cleavage. Harper glimpsed a fleeting look of alarm in the younger woman’s eyes.

“Let me cut to the chase, Fannie, and put it bluntly. I know Grace found out you and Pastor Hart were having an affair.”

Fannie sucked in her breath and squeezed her eyes shut for a few seconds.

“How did you know Grace found out about us?”

Harper sidestepped the question. “She left no doubt she was going to blow the whole thing wide open and expose the two of you.”

“Are you going to tell Bruce?” There was a brittle edge to Fannie's voice.

“I’m not Grace Potter,” Harper retorted, “and I won’t say anything unless I have to.”

“Why would you have to?” Fannie asked, nervously tugging on one of her dangly earrings.

“Somewhere down the line I will have to tell the authorities everything I’ve learned about the murder. One of those things is how Grace caught you and Lawrence, giving him a perfect motive to kill Grace.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Fannie sputtered. “He’d never do such a thing.”

“That’s something the authorities would have to rule out. I’m not judging you or Lawrence. Your affair is your business, not mine. What is my business is a murder happening under my nose in my own mother’s backyard. You and Grace were huge rivals at work. Everyone in town knows how you two would practically scratch out each others’ eyes over who outsold who. Then she catches you and Pastor Hart going at it, in the church office no less. How embarrassing to know your nemesis could be responsible for ruining both of you by writing letters to Deacon Fairweather and to Bruce, leaving nothing to the imagination. You were fortunate she died before she could mail them.”

“So you must have found all this out by somehow running across those letters,” Fannie said, dislike creeping into her voice.

Harper answered Fannie with a question of her own. “Can anyone vouch for your whereabouts at around eight on Saturday night?”

“Are you accusing me of killing Grace Potter? Because if you are, you’re barking up the wrong tree. Look, I admit I saw the witch at the festival. She strutted around the grounds like the damn Queen of Sheba,” Fannie spat out, “but I went out of my way to avoid her.”

Harper stared steadily at Fannie, who finally dropped her gaze and sighed. “Oh, what the heck,” she said, her voice resigned. “Yes, Grace called me on the phone and relished telling me she’d written the letters. She called Lawrence, too. Her big deal was to give us a week to make what she called our ‘confession’ to Daphne and to Bruce. If we didn’t, then she’d mail the letters. But that doesn’t mean I killed her. And it doesn’t mean Lawrence could have killed her. He’s a man of the cloth after all.”

“A man of the cloth who committed adultery,” Harper reminded her.

“What can I say, Harper? I had already steeled myself to tell Bruce but I put it off. I figured I might as well wait until the week was up and build up my courage. I won’t lie and say it wasn’t an enormous relief when someone killed the woman, but I swear it wasn’t me. I was with Bruce the whole evening of the festival and we left before the bonfire burned out. You can ask him but for God’s sake do it tactfully. He doesn’t know about Lawrence and me, and the affair is over and done with now. As for Lawrence, he couldn’t have done such a thing.”

After extracting another promise from Harper to be discreet when she talked to Bruce, Fannie hopped out of the truck and hurried to her car. Harper turned the key in the ignition and slowly drove to work.

So Lawrence and Fannie had one week to confess, too. Really, thought Harper, it must have been one of the best weeks of Grace’s life. She really needed to talk to Daphne now, in order to find out if Lawrence left his family at some time during Sunday night and made time to answer Opportunity knocking on the garden shed door.

When Harper finally arrived at work, she found invoices and shipping orders from the past week stacked on her desk. After spending less than twenty minutes going through them, she pushed some of the bookwork off on Helen.

“You are way too wound up,” Helen observed. “You should have come for drinks with me and Marylou last night. We had a really good time.”

“I probably should have gone with you,” Harper agreed, “but I’d still be wound up. Motives for murder are bouncing around like bumper cars in my head. Come to think of it, this is an excellent time for me to check out another motive.”

Harper pushed back her desk chair, grabbed her raincoat and headed out to her truck. The rain had played itself out but the drizzle continued. Starting the engine, she steered the Ford toward the west side of town. It might have been wiser if she’d phoned ahead, but she’d take her chances Daphne Hart was home and Lawrence was not.

The Harts lived in a neat brick ranch on a street known in town as Ministers’ Row since two other pastors and their families lived in the same block. Up and down the street numerous wooden swing sets, bicycles, and barking dogs confirmed this was a family neighborhood. Harper found it hard to believe a pastor living on this quiet street in the pleasant little town of Bittersweet Hollow could have committed a murder. Yet she was sure someone in Bittersweet Hollow had done just that.

Harper pulled into a driveway in the middle of the block and parked the truck. While she pressed the doorbell she hoped Lawrence wasn’t home.

Daphne opened the door with a sunny smile on her face and a toddler on her hip. Her dark blond hair was pulled back in a pony tail and she wore blue jeans and a faded University of Iowa sweatshirt over her slender frame. Harper wondered how in the world the minister’s wife handled two small children, several church committees, and a couple of weekly women’s groups, yet managed to look so young and so rested. Standing next to Daphne, Harper suddenly felt every one of her fifty-three years.

“Hi,” the young woman smiled warmly, “it’s Harper Reed, right? I’m afraid my husband isn’t here now but won’t you come in anyway?”

“I’m not here to see Pastor Hart,” Harper told her, stepping into the living room. “I’m actually here to see you if you could give me five minutes.”

Harper grinned at the chubby little girl squirming in Daphne’s arms.

Motioning for Harper to follow, Daphne led the way into a clean, cheerful kitchen where she plopped the toddler into her highchair. Grabbing a couple of bowls from the table she shoved them into the dishwasher.

“I was just finishing up some dishes,” Daphne said, wiping off the tray of the highchair.

Harper admired the pudgy little girl’s curly blond hair and round blue eyes.

“Her name is Chloe.”

“She’s adorable.”

“Would you like some coffee?” Daphne inquired, reaching for the pot at the stove.

“No thanks, I’m fine. I dropped by because I’m asking some of the folks I know who were at the Pumpkin Patch Festival if they might have observed anything out of the ordinary that Sunday, especially in the evening and especially concerning Grace Potter.”

Daphne filled a sippy cup of juice for Chloe and said slowly, “I do remember the day very well. Not that my memory is so great but since Grace was murdered that day, well, a lot sticks in my head. It must be really horrible for your mother, a murder happening right on her property. Is she doing okay?”

“She’s all right, although it’s been difficult for her, someone getting murdered a few hundred feet from the house.”

“I would imagine so. Well, to get back to Sunday and Grace. Dusk was coming on when Lawrence and I stopped by the wagon with all the pumpkins on it. One of your helpers was there––the Albertson girl, I believe. Are you sure you won’t have a cup of coffee or maybe some tea?”

“Thanks, I’m still good,” Harper assured her as Daphne wiped juice trickles off Chloe’s chin. A little boy ran into the kitchen carrying a toy truck.

Daphne laid her hand on the chunky boy’s blond curls. “This is Danny.” Making truck sounds, the boy ran out of the kitchen and Daphne continued.

“Anyway, Grace walked by and actually bumped into Lawrence. It was starting to get dark so I’m sure she didn’t intend to, and she apologized, saying something like ‘oh, I don’t know how I couldn’t see you since you were right there in front of my eyes.’

Harper cringed inwardly, knowing the true meaning of Grace’s callous remark. No wonder Carly thought Lawrence acted in such a hurry to get his wife away.

“Had the bonfire started, do you remember?”

“No, it wasn’t quite dark enough yet.”

“I hope your little ones enjoyed the bonfire,” Harper said. “I assume you and Lawrence did stay for that?”

“Oh yes, we did. The children were intrigued by the flames. I enjoyed it, too. Lawrence wandered off a bit before the bonfire started. He wanted to get a glass of cider but later he told me an urgent matter he needed to take care of cropped up on his way back—it seems he always finds someone who wants to bend his ear about something. So he was gone around an hour and missed watching Mr. Sanders light up the blaze. He met us at the car after the bonfire was over but he said it was the best one he’d ever seen. We were getting ready to leave when we heard sirens and saw flashing lights heading toward the Inn. Then the sheriff and deputy cars pulled into the driveway and parked. I told Lawrence he should go see if someone needed a clergyman. Maybe there had been an accident or an illness. But Lawrence said we needed to get the children away and it was certainly past their bedtime. So he slipped out of the car for a minute, spoke with one of the deputies who said we could leave the area, and we came home.”

Daphne wiped up a juice spill on the highchair tray. “I didn’t learn about Grace until the next morning. Wagner Potter called and told Lawrence about Grace and asked him to stop by Marshall’s house later that day.”

Interesting, thought Harper.

Daphne rinsed out Chloe’s washcloth in the sink and said, “Your mother has always been so hospitable and done such a wonderful job with the festival. We’ll miss the gathering next year.”

“The new owners plan to carry on the tradition. You’ll be able to enjoy it next year, too.”

“I’m happy to hear that.”

“I won’t keep you any longer,” Harper said. Daphne had told her exactly what she’d come here to find out. “Thanks for your input.”

Daphne followed Harper to the door. “Tell your mother she’s in our thoughts and prayers. I hope they catch Grace’s murderer soon.”

As Harper drove away, Daphne stood in the doorway and waved, her little boy standing beside her waving, too.

“What a shame if that family’s torn apart,” Harper mumbled under her breath, trying not to judge Fannie and Lawrence, yet wanting to smack them both good and hard.

After Harper arrived back at her shop, she shut herself in the office and sat at her desk, staring down at the notepad where she’d written her suspects’ names. She needed some alone time to sort out her thoughts.

Roy and Glennis. Let’s face it, Harper thought. Some parents might do whatever it took to protect their child’s past as well as their child’s future.

Summer and Mickey. Two lovers might attempt to keep their dalliance secret at all costs, especially if it gave new meaning to the expression ‘family affair.’

Pastor Lawrence Hart and Fannie. Even a man of the cloth might reach a moral breaking point and figure one more broken commandment wouldn’t make much difference in Hell.

If Alice had any moxie at all, Harper thought, instead of worrying about Grace’s ghost, she’d conjure up a vision or two of Grace’s murderer.

Chapter Fifteen

“That’s the last of the customers today,” Helen announced, flipping the sign hanging on the door from ‘Open’ to ‘Closed.’ “I’ll see you in the morning. Thank the Lord we don’t open until ten tomorrow and I can enjoy a Friday night at the movies. You want to join Marylou and me? It’s a chick flick.”

“Maybe next time,” Harper said, waving her hand at Helen. She needed to call Lonnie and fill her in on the dirt she’d dug up at Daphne Hart’s. A nice glass of wine wouldn’t be out of the question either. Why not kill two birds with one stone and meet at Rubino’s?

“Sure,” Lonnie agreed. “Paul won’t be home until seven or so. I’m getting ready to leave work, so I’ll meet you there in fifteen minutes.”

Harper beat Lonnie to Rubino’s parking lot and hurried inside. The doors swished shut behind her as she entered the bar and slid onto a padded stool. She noticed Jimmy Rubino and two county deputies huddled in conversation at the far end of the bar.

Max the bartender threw his bar towel over his shoulder and asked jovially, “What’ll you have?”

“Better give me a glass of white wine.”

“Make it two,” Lonnie said, scooting up to the bar and plopping onto the stool next to Harper. “And why are the cops here?”

Max placed two glasses on the bar and reached for a wine bottle.

“It has something to do with Grace Potter,” he answered. Narrowing his eyes, he lowered his voice. “They’re discussing a person of interest.”

Max filled their wine glasses before turning his attention to another customer.

While the sisters tried to eavesdrop on Jimmy’s conversation without appearing to do so, Kay Rubino joined her husband at the end of the bar.

“You’d think they could talk a little louder,” Lonnie complained, nodding toward the quartet deep in conversation.

“I should have sat closer to that end of the bar,” Harper scolded herself.

After the cops finished their powwow and headed for the door, Jimmy motioned to Max who opened a couple of cans of soda, sliding them across the bar to his boss. Handing one can to his wife, the Rubinos ambled toward Harper and Lonnie.

Jimmy and Kay’s waistlines were walking proof of Rubino’s By the River’s excellent food. Jimmy liked to tell people he worked out daily at the fitness gym in order to save himself to some extent from the customary result of eating too many deep fried foods. Kay, on the other hand, liked to say her downfall was the pasta and desserts, and at fifty-seven she wasn’t trying to impress anyone with a svelte body so why work out?

Both Rubinos had lively brown eyes framed by distinct laugh lines. Harper had never seen either one in a bad mood. Running her hands down the sides of her apron, Kay greeted the sisters with, “Hey, ladies! How are you two?” while Jimmy stood behind his wife, his hands resting on her shoulders. Jimmy, a head taller than Kay, rested his chin on top of her head, ruffling up her sable brown hair which she wore twisted into a topknot. Over the years she’d been a blond, a redhead, and a brunette. She didn’t care what color her tresses were so long as they weren’t gray because––Kay told folks––she didn’t think Jimmy’s dark black locks would ever get very gray.

“We’re doing great,” Harper answered Kay’s question. Nodding toward the backs of the retreating uniforms, she asked, “You guys got trouble?”

“The county guys were asking about some folks who stayed at your mother’s bed and breakfast the weekend Grace bought the farm,” Jimmy answered, gently nudging Kay to one side so he could perch on a stool.

“Why were they asking you?” Lonnie wanted to know.

“She’s not the least bit nosy,” Harper interjected, giving Lonnie a look that told her she was exactly that but it was a good thing.

“It’s kind of a long story,” Jimmy said, pointing to the far side of the lounge. “Let’s go sit at a table.”

After everyone scooted around a cloth-covered table nestled in a relatively quiet corner, Jimmy began talking. “It goes all the way back to the early eighties when Kay’s uncle was murdered on the south side of Chicago. It’s a piece of our past we decided not to broadcast after we moved here. But now, with Grace’s murder, I expect you’ll hear about it anyway.”

Harper interrupted. “What does Grace have to do with Kay’s dead uncle?”

Kay cut in. “Like Jimmy said, it’s a long story. We moved away from Chicago right after Uncle Vito’s murder. Jimmy and I each come from a large family. We love them, sure, but we wanted kids and we didn’t think staying in the big city was such a good idea, especially in light of Uncle Vito’s sudden death at the hands of a shady partner of his. The two of them were bookmakers, did loan sharking and were tangled up in some petty larceny, too.”

Jimmy set his can of soda aside and took over the story. “Eventually they got mixed up with drugs, money laundering, and crooked real estate deals. Vito’s partner wasn’t happy with his perception of how the profits were being split between the two of them. One day, Uncle Vito took a little swim in the Chicago River. Problem was, he couldn’t swim, especially with a forty pound weight strapped on his legs and his arms tied behind his back.”

“The murder evidence pointed clearly to the partner,” Kay continued. “But the cops never located him. My family has kept us up-to-date on the details over the years. Apparently, the partner has done a good job remaining hidden, or he may even be dead by now, but his son still lives in Chicago and has kept the illegal and lucrative family ‘business’ going.”

“And the family name is?” Harper asked but she already knew the answer.

“Simon,” Jimmy replied. “Vito’s partner was Aldo Simon. Jersey is Aldo’s son and he and his wife were looking to purchase some property in this area. Grace Potter was their real estate agent. The authorities in Chicago have been watching him for some time on suspicion of money laundering related to some commercial real estate. The Simons were looking at buying a couple of apartment complexes in St. Andrews. You know, go into the property management business out here, launder some drug money through it, and stay away from Chicago when it suited them.”

“Holy cow,” Lonnie gasped. “Do they think Jersey Simon killed Grace because she found out something about his illegal business?”

Jimmy shrugged his broad shoulders, “They’re looking into anything they think might tie him to her murder. They were hoping Kay and I could give them some information about the Simons, but honestly, we didn’t even know they were looking at property around here.”

Kay nodded in agreement. “It’s not like I really knew Aldo. I’d met him a few times is all. And I barely remember Jersey. Neither one of us were much help to the deputies, I’m afraid.”

The restaurant started to get busy with customers and Jimmy and Kay left to attend to their lucrative, legal business.

“I met the Simons at the Inn,” Lonnie told her sister. “They seemed polite and quiet. They’ve stayed several times during this past year.”

“I remember them, too, and you’re right, they seemed okay,” Harper agreed, “but it doesn’t mean they didn’t have issues with Grace.”

Lonnie took a long sip of her wine. “Do you think this Jersey Simon had anything to do with Grace ending up dead?”

“Maybe. This is probably one reason the cops haven’t been looking at the locals too hard. I mean, if you were a cop and had to look at someone like Roy Turnbuckle or a mobster from Chicago, even a small time mobster, who would you go after? You know, the ‘no guts no glory’ sort of thing. Something like that would ring the cops’ bell. But I still say there are plenty of people here in Bittersweet Hollow who wanted her dead.”

“Which brings us to why we’re here drinking wine in the first place—your chat with Daphne Hart.”

“Right, my chat with Daphne.” Harper switched her thoughts from Chicago mobsters to what she believed was the real issue. “It seems there was a lengthy stretch of time on Sunday night when Daphne and her husband weren’t together. She and the kids watched the bonfire without him.”

Lonnie nodded her head, not in agreement with Harper but at Marni Krohn, one of the bar waitresses. She wanted a refill.

“When will Paul be home?” Harper asked while Marni scurried off to the bar to get Lonnie’s wine.

“Apparently right now,” Lonnie smiled as her husband crossed the room and slipped into the chair Jimmy had vacated.

“Thought this is where I’d find you, you wino,” Paul laughed at Lonnie. “I finished up early for a change. How about we just have dinner since we’re here. And you and Harper can fill me in on what I’ve missed the past few days.”

“Better bring us menus,” Lonnie told Marni when she returned with the wine.

“And a bottle of Bud,” Paul added.

“And I’ll have a refill. By the way, isn’t Summer working tonight?” Harper asked before Marni left to fill their drink orders. “I figured she’d be here on a Friday night.”

“She called in earlier, said she’s still sick.”

“What do you mean ‘still sick’?”

“She’s called in sick the last three days,” Marni said, sprinting away.

During supper, the sisters updated Paul on Jersey Simon. Like his wife and sister-in-law, Paul didn’t think much of the Jersey Simon angle. “I think that’s a real long shot but I can see where the thrill of chasing a mobster would appeal to the county cops. I just don’t know what they would do with him if they caught him.”

They moved on to Harper’s suspect list. Paul was aware of the picture Grace took of Mickey and Summer since Lonnie let him in on it.

“Mickey has fooled around for so many years, one more notch in his belt wouldn’t make a lot of difference to him,” Paul reasoned.

“But this time he got caught with his sister-in-law,” Lonnie said.

“That does put a different spin on it,” he admitted.

Then he almost choked on a bite of steak when Harper decided to share the reason she believed Roy and Glennis had a first-rate motive to murder Grace.

“I wouldn’t have told you, except sometimes a man’s viewpoint can be helpful,” Harper said, blinking her eyes in mock flattery.

“Are you sure Mona told you the truth about Rachel?” Paul questioned, washing the bite of steak down with a swig of beer.

“I don’t think Mona would lie about something as big as Rachel’s pregnancy,” Harper replied, not sure if she was defending Mona for telling or herself for believing.

“I don’t mean to imply Mona is a liar. But look who she got her information from,” Paul pointed out. “Grace loved to upset people and this could have been just another one of her vicious stories.”

“But Fred saw Roy and Glennis heading out toward the shed on Sunday night,” Lonnie said.

“Yes, but a lot of folks were roaming all over the place on Sunday night. Did anyone actually see them enter the shed?”

“Are you saying I shouldn’t consider the Turnbuckles?” Harper asked Paul.

Before he answered, he finished the last few bites of food on his plate and then motioned to Marni for a refill on his Bud.

“No, not at all, I’m just saying you have to be careful. There’s a killer out there and you, Harper Reed, are poking around with a sharp stick.”

After Marni delivered another round of drinks and cleared away the dirty dishes, Lonnie leaned toward her sister and whispered conspiratorially, “Tell him about Lawrence Hart.”

Harper wasn’t sure she wanted to impart that information to Paul. If he asked how she’d learned about Lawrence and Fannie’s affair, it would be uncomfortable to tell him she’d pilfered the evidence. If she kept her mouth shut until she found out who killed Grace, she wouldn’t have to tell anyone about the letters in Grace’s office desk.

Paul stared at her over his beer and raised his eyebrows questioningly. Harper frowned at Lonnie.

“What was that look for?” Lonnie demanded.

“You might as well tell me,” Paul said. “If you don’t, Lonnie will.”

“Oh, all right. But only on the condition you don’t ask me or Lonnie how I came by my information.”

Paul frowned slightly and held Harper’s gaze in his. “I won’t ask if you promise to not do anything reckless or crazy.”

“Now why would I do anything reckless? Okay, okay, I promise. So, it’s like this. I discovered Pastor Hart and Fannie Abbott were having an affair. I confronted Fannie and she admitted it to me.”

Paul emitted a long, low whistle. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“You and Pastor Hart,” Lonnie couldn’t help saying.

“And Grace was going to expose the affair. If she had accomplished that, it would have been incredibly destructive to Lawrence and Fannie.”

“And you believe one of them could have killed Grace?”

“I think Fannie can be ruled out. She said she was with Bruce all evening and they left the festival well before eight o’clock. I don’t have any reason to doubt her. It would be easy to check out. Daphne Hart, on the other hand, told me her husband’s whereabouts were unknown during the time Grace was murdered.”

“Harper.” Paul laid his hand over hers. “I know you’re worried about Olivia and want to get on with the sale of the Inn and move your mother to town where she’ll be safer, but remember you’re dealing with a real murderer here. Someone who won’t take kindly to you sniffing around and asking questions. You don’t want to end up like Grace because you stuck your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Harper smiled. “I’ll watch it. Besides, once I’m sure who did it, I’ll give the cops all the information they’ll need to make an arrest.”

“Don’t forget your promise to me. And stay out of sheds,” Paul advised as he motioned for the waitress to bring the guest check.

At the coat rack, Paul help Lonnie into her jacket, then offered to help Harper into hers.

“How do you tell whose jacket is whose?” Paul asked. “They’re exactly alike.”

Lonnie laughed. “I ordered mine online without knowing Harper was ordering one just like it. It’s nice and cozy on a chilly night.”

“We’re both partial to the same style,” Harper said.

“And you’re both a little crazy,” Paul added as he and Lonnie headed for their vehicles. “Just saying.”

Sitting in Rubino’s parking lot with the truck engine running, Harper mulled over the fact that Summer had called in sick for the past three days. She’d really like to get the lowdown on the young woman’s disappearing act during the time of Grace’s murder.

If Summer could account for her actions, Harper could possibly rule her out. She and Mickey might have hooked up and messed around while someone else met up with Grace and murdered her.

Fifteen minutes later, Harper stood in front of Summer’s apartment door and rang the bell.

“Well, take a look who’s shere,” Summer slurred, opening the door wearing a pair of old sweats laced with holes and a faded sweatshirt stained down the front. Her dark hair tumbled around her face and she didn’t have on a speck of makeup.

“Jush come on in, why don’tcha.”

Stepping backwards, Summer swayed to her left, then to her right, and then fell flat on her rear end. She giggled.

“Are you okay?” Harper leaned over the younger woman and helped her to her feet. The smell of booze slammed her in the face.

“Coursh I’m okay. I’m jush frickin’ dandy.” Summer tried to focus her eyes. She teetered on her feet and weaved across the kitchen to the sink with Harper holding on to her arm. Cut limes, spilled salt, and a puddle of Margarita mix oozed around a nearly empty bottle of tequila.

“Join me for a little drinksy?” Summer asked while she splashed straight tequila into a glass. Twice she tried to grasp a wedge of lime and both times the piece of fruit slipped away from her fingers and slid across the countertop. The third time was the charm and Summer plopped the lime into the glass of tequila, raised the straight shot to her lips, and in one smooth movement tilted her head back and drained the glass. Harper held her breath, hoping the girl wouldn’t choke on the lime. But Summer slogged down the tequila with the flourish of a professional boozer.

“Damn, thash good,” she mumbled, tossing the empty glass into the sink where it broke into several jagged pieces.

Harper groaned. She hadn’t bargained on finding an exceedingly drunk Summer Storm.

“Let’s go sit down in the living room,” she sighed. Maybe I can get her to discuss Mickey and the festival, she thought. She might not be too drunk to talk, yet drunk enough to spill the beans.

After steering the inebriated woman into the living room, Harper navigated the two of them through discarded piles of clothing strewn across the living room floor, stepping around a greasy pizza box and over crumpled fast food bags until they reached the sofa.

“Sit,” Harper commanded.

“No problemo,” Summer belched, plopping heavily onto the overstuffed couch.

“No wonder you called in sick to work.”

“Shick? You bet I’m shick. I’m heart shick.” Summer’s lips trembled and she began sobbing.

Oh, no, Harper thought. Not a crying jag.

“I gave him everything,” Summer sobbed, “and he took it! Mickey took and took and he never gave back.”

Harper spotted a box of tissues on an end table. After clearing a space from the cluttered coffee table so she could sit on it and face Summer, she placed the box of tissues on the weeping girl’s lap.

Summer hiccupped. “I did it all for him, you know. I did the unthinkable for Mickey. Yesh, the unthinkable, and he jush walked away from me.”

“What unthinkable thing did you do for Mickey?”

“Oh, oh,” Summer slobbered and gripped the arm of the sofa. “I gotta puke.”

Harper sprang into action. Grabbing Summer under the arms, she managed to pull her to an almost upright position. Stepping quickly behind her, Harper threw her arms around Summer’s waist and marched the wobbly woman into the bathroom where Summer sank to her knees and draped herself across the john. Harper wisely jumped back as Summer ejected pizza and tequila from her system.

After a few minutes of trying to ignore the sound of vomiting, Harper ran cold water on a washcloth and wiped Summer’s face. Knowing she had only a few minutes before the girl passed out cold, Harper got her to her feet and half dragged her into the bedroom, dumping her unceremoniously on the bed.

“Summer, tell me what you did for Mickey.” Harper sat on the edge of the bed and shook the girl’s shoulders.

“Everything,” Summer muttered. “I did it ‘cause I luff him.” Turning her head into the pillow she passed out.

Damn, I won’t find out anything tonight, Harper grumbled and waited another twenty minutes to make sure Summer wasn’t going to get sick again. She considered picking up the mess in the living room but decided against it. It would do Summer good to clean up her own mess in the morning.

Leaving the snoring woman to sleep it off, Harper drove home and took a hot bubble bath before crawling into her soft bed.

Slipping under the quilt, she tried to get the sound of Summer’s vomiting out of her head so she could get some sleep.

Chapter Sixteen

At ten thirty, Saturday morning, Harper decided to shop for some wood screws.

“Screws? What for?” Helen asked, not bothering to look up as she unpacked a box of salt and pepper shakers just delivered from an antique dealer in Des Moines.

“I’m putting up a shelf in the back room. Got brackets, no screws.”

“Well, as long as you’re going to the store, pick up some light bulbs. We’re burning out. Get those twirly ones.”

Dashing down the street, Harper waved at Naylor, who was standing in the big front window of A Different Wrinkle carefully arranging a display of sweaters. He looked right out of the Age of Aquarius in a lavender shirt and deep purple bell bottoms.

Harper had debated with herself all morning whether or not to confront Roy Turnbuckle with the fact that he and Glennis had the opportunity as well as a motive for murdering Grace. A motive stemming from a secret they’d kept for almost thirty years.

Bells jingled overhead as Harper pushed open the front door of the hardware store. Benny Fuller, the nineteen year old stock boy, looked up from unpacking a cardboard box filled with spray paint cans, pushed a stray lock of long hair away from his eyes, and asked, “Sup?”

I must be getting old, Harper thought as she stifled the urge to tell Benny to stand up and speak proper English.

“Is Roy here?” she asked instead.

“He and the missus are in the back, in his office,” Benny answered, pointing in the general vicinity of the back room before returning to his unpacking.

Harper navigated down an aisle of shelves filled with metal bins full of screws, washers, and galvanized nails. At the end of the aisle, she spotted a door marked ‘Office.” The door was slightly ajar so gave a quick knock and poked her head inside.

“Don't get up,” she told Roy, who was nimbly operating a calculator while sitting behind a cluttered desk as Glennis busily shoved papers into a gray metal filing cabinet in the corner.

“Hello, Harper. What can I do for you?” Roy asked, looking up at Harper.

“I just wanted to stop by and tell you how much we enjoyed Rachel on Sunday. She’s always such a terrific help.”

Roy and Glennis smiled at Harper’s compliment. Roy said, “Thanks. She’s worked with customers here at the store since she was in grade school and she gets along with folks. Usually she’s here bright and early every morning, but with the wedding coming up she’s had a ton of other things to do. We’ll be sure and pass on your kind words.”

“It’s nice to have someone mature around to keep the younger employees in line,” Harper said.

“Sometimes you need that,” Roy agreed, flinching as the sound of several spray cans of paint tumbling onto the floor reached the office.

Harper tossed out a little bait. “It’s too bad about Grace Potter, isn’t it? Our family feels terrible she came to such an end out at our place.”

Roy stiffened his back and swiftly sucked in his breath, while Glennis seemed to freeze with one hand reaching toward a file folder, reactions not lost on Harper. She added, “She was an easy person to tangle with. I know I ended up pretty mad at her a few times.”

“Yes, she had a way with words. She never knew when to quit speaking them,” Roy said, bitterness in his voice.

Harper cleared her throat. “I suppose you had your share of run-ins with Grace same as most of the merchants in town.”

Roy stared for a long minute at a spot on the wall directly above Harper’s head, declining to answer.

Harper changed the subject.

“Glennis, did you enjoy the festival?”

“Yes,” Glennis answered, turning her back to the filing cabinet to face Harper. “We had Roger with us.”

“Do either of you remember seeing Grace on Sunday?”

“Well, yes,” Roy hesitantly admitted, “we did see her but we didn’t stop to speak with her.”

“What time was that?”

“A little before the bonfire started, I guess.”

“You didn’t notice her arguing with anyone?”

“I tried not to notice Grace Potter at all,” Roy said. “So to answer your question, no, I did not.”

Glennis cleared her throat and changed the subject. “How’s your mother doing?”

“Mom’s doing okay,” Harper answered. She took a deep breath, telling herself it was time to ask the hard questions. She needed to plunge in with both feet and deal with the consequences as they came.

“I hear you two were spotted near the shed where Grace was murdered. As a matter of fact, you were seen there around the time she was killed.”

She swung her gaze to Glennis who stood in silence while Roy raised his eyebrows and looked uncomfortable.

“I don’t guess I remember that,” he remarked cautiously.

“Someone very reliable saw you and Glennis in the vicinity of the shed. It gives you opportunity and I know you had motive because of, well, I’m sorry to have to say this, but because of Rachel’s past.”

Glennis turned pale. “I don’t know what you mean about Rachel’s past and we don’t know anything about that horrible woman,” she sputtered, shoving the filing cabinet drawer shut.

Roy pushed back the desk chair and stood up, slipping his arm around his wife’s waist. Glennis swayed a bit and Roy held her tighter.

Harper felt a small twinge of guilt by blurting out Rachel’s name this way—yet Rachel was the reason for the Turnbuckle’s motive for murder.

“Grace always had a nasty way of nosing about until she found out some horrible story to hold over a person,” Harper said. “She’d dig around and uncover ugly details people didn’t want her exposing. Then she’d threaten to tell what she knew. That’s what happened with you, isn’t it? She found out Rachel got pregnant years ago and threatened to tell Roger if you didn’t tell him. Am I right?”

Roy turned beet red and Glennis moaned, “God help us,” before wobbling out of the office.

Roy’s hands began to shake. In a trembling voice he lashed out, “That woman deserved to die, but I’m not about to let you accuse Glennis or me of killing her.”

Harper swallowed hard. She practically felt the fire in Roy’s eyes scorch her face.

“I’ll tell you this, Harper Reed,” Roy growled, glaring into her eyes, “if Grace stuck her nose where it didn’t belong, found out things she didn’t need to know, and died because of it, don’t think for a minute it couldn’t happen to you.”

Abruptly turning on his heels Roy stormed off after Glennis and disappeared among the aisles of hardware.

Harper, shaken, made a beeline out the front door, moving Roy to the top of her suspect list.

Rush hour traffic in Bittersweet Hollow could hardly be described as bumper-to-bumper so Harper’s rush across the street had less to do with dodging cars than it had with putting some distance between herself and Roy Turnbuckle’s outrage. He gave her new insight into the meaning “if looks could kill.”

I guess it’s one thing to blame a murder on someone behind their back and a completely different thing to accuse them of it face-to-face, Harper told herself. She remembered Paul’s words. Stay out of sheds. Good advice.

As she approached Wilcox and Wilson Realty, Deputy Hal Kennedy stepped out through the door, got into his squad car and drove off.

Now might be a good time to drop in on the realty boys, Harper decided. The receptionist’s desk was empty when she walked inside, so she called out, “Hellooo, James, Aaron.”

“Hi, Harper!” James stuck his head out of his office. “We were just discussing your mother. Sort of. Come on in.”

Aaron hovered next to James’ desk and offered Harper a chair.

“Thanks,” Harper said, wondering if there was a reason the men were dressed identically in tan khakis and light blue polo shirts or if it was unintentional.

“I saw Hal Kennedy leaving. Was he here about Grace?”

“You familiar with Mr. Jersey Simon?” Aaron asked, leaning toward Harper and lowering his voice.

“Besides the fact that he and his wife were guests at the Inn several times in the past few months, I only know what I’ve heard. He has a shady past and Grace was in the process of showing him some commercial property in St. Andrews.”

“Yeah,” Aaron growled, sitting on the corner of James’ desk. “Grace dealt with a damn criminal and didn’t even know it. Didn’t even know it.”

“Well, we didn’t know it, either,” James reminded him in a soothing voice. “And we’ve taken the liberty of removing Jersey Simon from our client list.”

“Hal informed us this Simon fellow is a person of interest in Grace’s murder,” Aaron announced dramatically while slapping the heel of his hand on his forehead in a slapstick manner.

James shook his head at his partner and made little ‘tsk tsking’ sounds.

Aaron said, “We handed over Grace’s client file on Mr. Simon to the deputy. She’d shown him a couple of apartment complexes but hadn’t actually drawn up any proposals or agreements, thank goodness. She was determined to beat Fannie to the draw on dealing with the Simons. The woman could be grating at times. Very grating. Could get on one’s nerves. One’s nerves. Not that we didn’t appreciate Grace’s good points––we did. It was just her mouth, you know. Just her mouth. Maybe the cops will get to the bottom of all this soon and arrest the guy for murder.”

Changing the subject, James remarked, “We understand there’s been a hold up with the Hoovers closing the deal at the Inn, thanks to Mrs. Hoover’s belief in, umm, the occult. The two of us have taken over Grace’s clients and we’re going to do whatever we can to convince the Hoovers to sign on the dotted line. We’ve been in contact with your mother and assured her we’re committed to doing our very best for her.”

“We don’t want to be known as the realty company who did business with a money-laundering crook. Especially if the crook turns out to have murdered Grace. Of course, that did save us from having to poison the witch, yes, poison the witch,” Aaron mumbled, almost as though he had forgotten Harper sat within earshot.

“Aaron,” James barked.

“Not that we would have,” Aaron sputtered. “Not that we would have.”

“We all have our fantasies,” Harper replied.

Flipping the pages of the new Antique Trader magazine while chewing on a ham and rye, Harper ate lunch at her desk while Helen sat on a rose-colored Regency style sofa on the opposite side of Harper’s office, munching a chicken salad on wheat. Neither woman wanted to answer the telephone when it rang.

“You’re the closest,” Helen sniffled.

“But I’m the most relaxed right now,” Harper protested.

Helen shoved a large wedge of sandwich into her mouth. “Mouf full, can’t talk.”

Sighing, Harper picked up the receiver. “Our Earthly Remains, this is Harper.”

“This is Lawrence Hart. I’m glad I caught you. Do you suppose you could meet me at the church office this afternoon?”

Raising her eyebrows and shooting a look at Helen, Harper agreed to stop by the Church of the Merciful Redemption at three o’clock.

“What was that all about?” Helen inquired after Harper hung up the phone.

“Lawrence Hart wants to meet with me.”

“About time someone tried to save your soul. I’ll lock up so don’t worry about coming back today. Your salvation might take the Pastor several hours.”

Chapter Seventeen

At precisely three o’clock, Lawrence Hart closed the office door behind Harper.

“The best way to be sure we’re not disturbed would be to lock the door,” Lawrence stated, taking a seat across the desk from Harper. “But there’s no lock, which is the reason Grace Potter was able to walk in on Mrs. Abbott and me the other evening.”

So Lawrence knows I know about his affair, Harper thought. Of course, Fannie would have told him. I wonder if he has any idea he’s on my list of murder suspects.

Lawrence sighed and rubbed his forehead. He met Harper's eyes with a steady if embarrassed look. “I recently spoke with Mrs. Abbott who told me you are aware of our, umm, transgression.”

“I’m truly sorry, Pastor Hart. Believe me when I say I’d much rather have never found out.”

A cheerless smile partially formed on Lawrence’s lips. “I didn’t ask you to come here so I could unburden myself of this sin I committed. Daphne doesn’t know about Fannie and me. I will confess it to my wife, but I’m hoping I can do it in my own time, my own way. Grace Potter wasn’t going to allow me that.”

“She planned on destroying your career, too, didn’t she?”

“Yes, she didn’t want to ruin me half way. The blame is mine, and I own up to that. But to hurt Daphne and Bruce, even Fannie, that was evil. As a minister, I thought I knew all about evil. Until this business with Grace.”

“Grace played the same hand with several people, Pastor. Someone decided to call her on her dirty dealing.”

“I know you think I had a motive to kill Grace,” Lawrence said, wincing at the thought. “Fannie said you brought it up with her.”

Harper felt relieved Lawrence’s motive for murder was out on the table. It would make it easier to question him.

“A threat to destroy everything he holds dear could drive a person to do something he would never consider doing otherwise,” Harper asserted. “With Grace dead you’re in the clear. No letters sent to Bruce Abbott or Deacon Fairweather. And clergy have committed murder before.”

Lawrence smiled grimly. “Clergymen are human, Harper. Sometimes we have to struggle with the weaknesses of our flesh, true, but we never plan to commit sin.”

Harper shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Both Lawrence and Fannie were attractive people which might have been enough for Fannie but somehow she felt it would take more than an eye-catching body to cause the pastor to risk so much. Whatever his reason, she didn’t want to know. She really did not desire to pry into the rationale Lawrence and Fannie had come up with to carry on an affair with each other.

Lawrence spoke again. “Daphne mentioned you stopped by our house and asked her some questions about the night Grace was murdered. She disclosed to you the fact that I was gone during the bonfire, which I understand from Marshall was around the time Grace was murdered.”

“That’s right.”

“This would give me opportunity, of course.”

Harper looked the pastor in the eye and gave him points for being forthright.

“Daphne told you a parishioner came and expressed a need to confer with me. This person said it was urgent so we strolled away from the crowd where we could have some privacy.”

“Yes, your wife mentioned you are always being cornered by folks who need to ‘bend your ear,’ as she put it. She didn’t say someone had actual ‘business’ to discuss with you.”

“That’s because she didn’t want to reveal anything confidential. But it’s exactly what happened. A parishioner needed counsel and that’s my job. I was doing my job.”

“I suppose you can’t tell me who the person is so I can corroborate your story.”

“That’s right, I can’t. You’ll have to take my word for it.”

“Pastor Hart, even if I could take your word, the cops could not. Wouldn’t it be better if you let me check out your alibi and not get the cops involved? Because that’s just what I’ll have to do in order to exclude you. I’ll have to involve the authorities.” Harper wasn’t sure she was ready to involve the cops but it sounded really good and could be a lever to get the pastor to talk.

Lawrence groaned softly. “Give me a little time and I’ll see if the parishioner will step forward and vouch for me. It’s all I can offer you right now.”

“Fair enough,” Harper agreed. She truly hoped Lawrence Hart had nothing to do with Grace Potter’s murder. However, she wasn’t quite ready to let him off the hook.

Taking Helen at her word to close up shop, Harper steered her truck toward home. She felt exhausted. Two confrontations in one day were enough for any novice sleuth. She wanted a quiet evening of down time.

Driving past the apartment complex where Roger Strumsky lived, she recognized Rachel’s Mazda parked along the curb.

Oh, why not? Harper asked herself. Might as well go for three. Besides, I’m not confronting Rachel about anything, just asking questions about Summer and Grace. That shouldn’t provoke her. Lord knows I’ve provoked enough Turnbuckles for one day. Besides, Roger might have noticed something. He seems like the observant type who would take note of his surroundings.

After checking the names on the mailboxes inside the foyer, Harper climbed the stairs to the second floor and knocked on the door of 2C. In a couple of minutes, Roger greeted her with a jolly smile on his round face.

“Come in, come in. Rachel and I are having a disagreement about new curtains. Maybe you can settle the argument.”

“I’m probably not the best person to dish out decorating advice,” Harper cautioned. “Not about window treatments, anyway.”

“Oh, hello, Harper,” Rachel said, coming in from the kitchen carrying several swatches of material. “We’re trying to decide on kitchen curtains.”

“Striped, plaid or plain. It’s a tough decision,” Roger laughed.

Harper winked at Roger. “Just remember, Roger, when Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.”

“That’s the truth of it,” Roger nodded. “Guess we’ll go with the stripes, Rachel.”

Flashing a blissful look at her fiancé, Rachel patted Roger’s arm. “Wise choice, dear. And thank you, Harper. You saved us at least an hour of arguing.”

“Glad I could help.”

“I’m forgetting my manners,” Roger said. “Would you like a glass of tea or a cup of coffee?”

“Thanks, but I’m good. I only stopped by to pick your brains about the day Grace Potter was killed.”

“Oh? Well, pick away,” Roger said.

“Anything seem out of the ordinary to you that day?”

“No, can’t say as it did.”

“Grace rambled around the grounds all afternoon and must have gone out to the shed right before the bonfire started,” Harper said. “Did you see her at all?”

“Yes, up by the house. I was with Roy and Glennis. We’d just come from the dining room. Remember, Rachel? I made you serve me a cup of coffee.”

Rachel smiled at Roger and he continued. “That was probably a half hour or so before the bonfire. Don’t remember seeing her any other time.”

“How about you, Rachel?”

“Let’s see, I must have seen her a couple of times. I noticed her over by Ida Aldwinkle’s candy cart during the afternoon when I changed places with one of the other girls. Then she came into the dining room a few minutes after Roger and my folks left.”

“That must be right after I saw her,” Roger said, offering Harper a chair.

“I suppose it was,” Rachel replied as Roger sat down on the sofa.

Harper switched from Grace to Summer.

“Did you notice if Summer hung around on the porch toward the end of the evening?”

“She and Riley worked their last shift on the porch,” Rachel volunteered.

“I know they did. I’m wondering, though, if Summer might have slipped away for a few minutes.”

Rachel laughed. “If you’re asking if she skipped out to meet up with someone, I did see her and some guy having a few words out toward the edge of the pumpkin patch. But it was dark by then and I’m sure Riley didn’t need Summer’s help. I don’t want to get Summer into any trouble, you know.”

Harper gave Rachel a friendly smile and laughed, too. “I’m sure Summer can get into plenty of trouble without your help.”

“We’ve all enjoyed working for Olivia. I’ll miss that,” Rachel said as she laid the swatches on the coffee table and perched on the arm of the sofa next to Roger

“I’m sure the Hoovers will need experienced help for the festival. They’re nice folks. And Mom will give all you girls a good recommendation.”

Rachel put her hand on Roger’s shoulder, gently massaging it in small circles.

“That’s nice of her,” Rachel said absently.

Give her a few months, she’ll get tired of rubbing his neck, Harper smiled to herself.

“Okay, thanks for the info. I’ll be going now. Have fun with the curtains.”

When Harper stood to leave, Roger politely popped up like a cork in water. “They’re practically hung,” he chuckled.

An hour later, Harper stepped out of a relaxing bubble bath, toweled off and slipped on a pair of soft pajamas. Wiggling her feet into a pair of wooly socks, she headed for the kitchen and poured herself a glass of Moscato. Back in the living room she dug through her CDs, choosing a Bruno Mars album, and curled up on the couch.

Damn, she thought, stretching her legs, at my age it takes longer to rest than it did to get tired.

When the phone rang, she hoped it wasn’t someone inviting her to go out, or worse yet wanting to drop by. This is why I don’t date, she muttered to herself as she answered the call.

“It’s Mom, dear,” Olivia spoke on the other end.

“What’s up, Mom?”

“I think I came up with a wonderful idea. Since the Hoovers are going to be staying here this weekend, I decided to have a nice Sunday dinner for a few people. You’re coming out that day anyway.”

“Sure. Who are the few people?”

“You, Lonnie, Paul, Mead and Alice, and Aaron Wilcox and James Wilson.”

“That sounds like quite a little party.”

“With Violet, Ezra and me, there will be ten. A nice, even number––perfect for a dinner party.”

“You cooking up a plan to help James and Aaron convince the Hoovers to close the deal?”

“No, just cooking up a nice standing rib roast. If James and Aaron are as clever as I think they are, they’ll go far in persuading Alice all’s well out here. They’re around the same age as the Hoovers and young people tend to believe their peers instead of us old coots.”

“I hardly consider myself an old coot.”

“No, of course you’re not, but you’ve got close to twenty years on Alice. Besides, I have a feeling she’ll be more susceptible to the charms of two attractive young men than she is to the unfriendly aura of a dead woman.”

“And Mead won’t get jealous of James’ and Aaron’s charms?”

“My dear daughter, there’s a difference between a charming man and a lecherous one.”

Too bad Summer couldn’t tell the difference, Harper thought.

“I asked my guests to come around noon. We’ll have a little chat first and eat at one o’clock.”

“Sounds like a plan. Tell Violet I’ll give her a hand tomorrow.”

“That’s nice, dear. Your sister said the same thing.  ”

After Harper hung up the phone, she poured herself another glass of wine. Taking a long, slow drink, she set the glass on the coffee table and got comfortable on the sofa again.

A couple of rapid taps on her front door made her groan and she pulled herself up and off the sofa. Now who on earth would be at her door at this hour? If it was Eli she was going to give him a good piece of her mind before she slammed the door in his face. She was sick to death of his interfering. She jerked open the door and stared into the face of Mickey O’Connell.

“Oh,” was all Harper could say.

“Sorry to bother you. It seems I really did, too. I should have waited until tomorrow, but I wanted to get this over with.”

Well, he seems calm enough, Harper thought, remembering how his temper flared the other day. With some trepidation she held open the door and motioned for Mickey to come inside, wondering what could be on his mind at this time of night. She offered him a chair and considered offering him a drink, but before she could decide whether to or not, he spoke up.

“I don’t know how you decide who’s guilty and who isn’t, at least when it comes to murder. As far as adultery, I’m sure you have a supply of stones ready for Summer and me.”

“It’s not like that, Mickey. I don’t really care what you or Summer do with your private lives. I’m not like Grace Potter who has to know what goes on in other people’s bedrooms.”

“You could have fooled me,” Mickey jeered.

“Is that the reason you came here this evening? To sneer at me because you think I’m sitting in judgment on you because of your affair with Summer?”

“No. I got a call from Lawrence Hart. He said you visited him. I guess you thought he might have had a hand in killing Grace Potter.”

“Look, Mickey,” Harper began, but Mickey held up his hand.

“I came here to tell you I was the person Lawrence Hart was talking to at the time Grace got her just rewards.”

Sitting down on the sofa, Harper gaped at Mickey. Wow! He was the one wanting pastoral counseling? What a shocker.

“I decided to line up this counseling thing with Hart,” he explained. Looking down at his hands, he sighed. “I don’t think I need to tell you why. I told Lucy I needed to go to the bathroom but instead I met up with Summer right around dark. I called it quits between us. She was mad as heck but I have to take care of my family first.”

“Did you tell her you planned on getting counseling?”

“Yes, I did. She laughed at the idea, said I was full of, well, full of it. I’d seen Lawrence Hart wandering around with his family and I decided to ask him that night if he’d see me and Lucy for marriage counseling. I didn’t want to chicken out. Of course, I wanted to ask him in private. I wasn’t ready to tell Lucy anything. So after I left Summer, I found Lawrence and asked him to meet me on the far side of the Inn, where it would be dark and we wouldn’t be seen. We talked until the fire had mostly burned itself out.”

“Guess that would seem to clear you and Pastor Hart,” Harper said. But it doesn’t clear Summer, she thought as Mickey stood to leave. Harper walked with him to the door.

“So we’re good? You can quit thinking I was in the shed with Grace?”

“Appears that way,” Harper said, glad this disgusting man was leaving her house. She watched him walk down the porch steps, climb into his truck and drive away.

Bastard, she thought. If he really wanted to take care of his family he would have kept it in his pants and not in his sister-in-law.

Feeling totally exhausted now, Harper curled up on the couch again and finished off her glass of wine. She contemplated going for another glassful, but before she could reach a decision, Bruno had serenaded her to sleep.

Chapter Eighteen

Harper opened her eyes, squinted at the Sunday morning daylight slicing through the chocolate brown bedroom drapes and shoved back the ivory quilt. Stumbling into the bathroom, she hopped into the shower, letting the spray of water hit her in her face to wake her up. After toweling herself off, she briefly considered throwing on a pair of warm, snugly sweats. Instead she dressed in brown tweed slacks and a rose-colored sweater. She’d taken Naylor’s advice and bought the paisley scarf, now knotted loosely around her neck. After slapping a little makeup on her face, she picked out a set of antique gold earrings to wear. They were expensive and her favorite pair.

Giving herself one more glance in the bedroom mirror, Harper decided she looked good enough to do justice to Violet’s rib roast later in the day.

The weatherman had promised sunshine with above average temperatures. Still, the early morning air was chilly and Harper dug a navy pea coat out of the closet before driving to the Inn where Olivia welcomed her into the warm, familiar kitchen.

While Harper slipped out of her coat and poured herself a cup of coffee, Violet sniffed contentedly at the still warm pie resting on a cooling rack at the back of the kitchen counter.

“If that isn’t one of your better peach pies, Olivia, I’ll eat my apron.”

“It did turn out pretty,” Olivia admitted, eyeing the lightly browned crust. “I hope it tastes as good as it looks.”

“If smell is any indication, it has to taste delicious.”

“Your roast smells wonderful, too,” Olivia said kindly.

“I told Jack Morgan I wanted his best one to feed ten people. And have a few leftovers, too.”

Olivia laughed. “It looked like half a cow when you put it in the roaster.”

“Shepherd’s pie for supper,” Violet said as she checked her yeast rolls.

“They need to rise a little longer and then I’ll slide the pan into the oven,” she said. “I baked a coconut cream cake, too, Harper. I want this dinner to speak to young Alice Hoover. I want it to say ‘welcome to this wonderful old house where you can hang your hat and feel at home.’ We get all the cooking and baking odors drifting through the rooms today and Grace Potter won’t have a chance of coming through.”

“Grace didn’t get herself murdered out here on purpose,” Olivia reminded Violet.

“Hmmph. The way that woman stuck her nose into everyone’s business and broadcast rumors all over town, it’s no wonder she got hers,” Violet snorted.

Olivia shook her head and looked at Harper who interjected, “Well, Violet, if your roast and cream cake can’t soften up Alice Hoover then nothing can.”

Violet glanced out the kitchen window and stared at the distant garden shed. “I don’t think it depends as much on Alice as it does on Grace,” she muttered.

Ezra strode in from the dining room and announced, “I got the two big tables pushed together and ten chairs ready to go. It will work out real nice for seating. Plenty of room for all.”

Violet and Harper retrieved an oversized table cloth and matching napkins from the cupboard in the butler’s pantry and took them into the dining room. After spreading the white damask over the tables, the women put the napkins in place while Ezra, under Violet’s direction, maneuvered the chairs around the table.

Violet slipped pink tapers into two highly polished silver candlesticks and arranged them on the table. She placed the old Waterford family silver tea service on a sideboard by the kitchen door.

Olivia laid out the good china dishes and cut glass stemware. She finished off the table with two cut glass crystal bowls which she filled with late Autumn Sunset roses that Ezra had cut for her.

Standing in the center of the dining room and surveying their handiwork, Ezra remarked to the three women, “It’s too pretty to mess it up with eatin’.”

“We haven’t put something like this together for a long time,” Olivia sighed, soaking up the beauty of her table.

Ezra practically strutted. “It's a work of art, if I do say so m’self,” he boasted.

“Just as long as we don’t get any uninvited guests, or should I say, ghosts, we’ll be fine,” Violet snorted on her way back to the kitchen.

Harper saw Olivia roll her eyes at Ezra who said, “If Violet can’t see it, feel it, hear it or smell it, well then, ‘it’ just doesn’t exist for her. In this case, ‘it’ is the ghost Alice thinks she sees. Or feels. Whatever.” He shrugged his shoulders and left to put on a fresh shirt.

A few minutes later, Lonnie and Paul walked into the kitchen. Paul came to a sudden stop, closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

“Ahhh, is this the best day ever or what?”

“The way to Paul’s heart is definitely through his stomach, Violet. He’s talked about your roast all morning.”

Violet patted Paul’s arm and smiled but didn’t say anything.

“It will be a pleasant little dinner,” Olivia assured them. “James, Aaron and the Hoovers are all nice young people and I’m sure the boys will come across as more than acceptable replacements for Grace Potter. I talked with them at length the other day. Hopefully, this transfer will go smoothly.”

Paul put an arm across his mother-in-law’s shoulders. “So, Olivia, you’re setting the stage by serving home-cooked food with the graciousness of the Inn as a backdrop? Can’t you just point out to Alice how the Inn is a money maker and they’ll make a comfortable living here?”

Before Olivia could answer Paul, Lonnie cocked her head to one side and cut in. “We’ve been married all these years and you still don’t understand a woman’s way of thinking, do you? It’s more than just money a woman invests in to secure her future. If the tree isn’t right, Mrs. Bird won’t build her nest in it.”

“Bird? Nest? I guess you lost me.”

“Well, never mind then.”

“Harper,” Paul asked, turning toward his sister-in-law, “my wife never does answer my questions. I asked her this morning if this sweater I’m wearing makes me look preppy. She never answered me. So I’ll ask you. Does it make me look preppy?”

“Does anyone still use the word ‘preppy’?” Harper laughed.

“Look at his shoes,” Lonnie said, pointing to Paul’s feet. “Those old brown loafers are almost worn out. They’re horrible.”

“And don’t even think about throwing them in the trash,” Paul commanded.

“Throwing those shoes in the trash isn’t something I need to think about at all, dear. It’s one of those no-brainers.”

“I hear a car drivin’ up,” Ezra said, poking his head into the kitchen while he straightened his bright red bowtie. Harper smiled at the sight. Ezra seemed determined to help set the stage for the Hoovers, too.

Everyone trooped into the foyer where they could observe the arrival of their guests through the heavy lace curtains covering the tall front windows. They watched Aaron park his car and scoot out from under the steering wheel. He adjusted the crisp collar of his shirt and smoothed a lapel of his navy sport jacket. James, looking well-pressed in his sport jacket and carrying a black leather briefcase, slid out of the passenger’s seat.

The Hoovers pulled up a minute later and parked their Ford Explorer behind Aaron’s car. Mead’s long, lanky legs tumbled out of the vehicle, followed by the rest of his lean body. Harper watched him walk around to the passenger side where he opened the door for his wife.

“Check out those spiffy manners,” she commented to the others.

Alice’s descent took a bit more effort as she wiggled to the edge of the seat, swiveled her short pudgy legs around to the outside, and dropped several inches to the ground. Mead heaved a large suitcase and a duffel bag from the back seat. After Mead declined James’ and Aaron’s help with the luggage, the foursome traipsed up the front porch steps.

Olivia greeted her guests in the foyer and urged everyone to join her in the front parlor.

“I always wondered what a front parlor looked like,” Aaron said. “It’s just a living room, isn’t it?”

“In the old days, houses had front and back parlors,” Olivia informed him. “Guests would visit in the front parlor, then eat in the dining room, and finally retire to the rear parlor after dinner.”

“Is there a rear parlor here?” James asked.

“Yes, it’s used as a family room now. It’s where Harper and Lonnie watched television and played the piano when they were growing up. And where Harper’s son, Lincoln, and Lonnie’s daughter, Claire, did the same when they were young and would come stay overnight.”

“Would you like me to show you around the house?” Harper asked Aaron and James who readily accepted her invitation.

“Who wants to join us?” Harper directed her question at the others.

“I may as well,” Alice said.

“Me too,” Lonnie chimed in.

Mead declined. “Ezra has promised to give me some hints on the autumn care of roses. We’ll be out by the patio.”

“I’ll go with Mead,” Paul offered.

“Then Violet and I will just take care of a bit of last minute maneuvering in the kitchen,” Olivia said, motioning for Violet to follow her out of the room.

Harper led the way upstairs. “I’m so glad everyone could make it today. Violet and Mom knocked themselves out in the kitchen.”

Harper opened the door to one of the guestrooms and everyone trooped across the threshold.

“This is a very nice room,” James said. “If they’re all this pleasant I can understand why you get such high ratings from your guests.”

“The Bittersweet Inn has always gotten good reviews,” Lonnie agreed. “It’s been a labor of love for my mother. And Violet and Ezra, too.”

After a thorough tour of the six guestrooms, with a quick peak at Ezra and Violet’s personal suite of rooms on the top floor, James asked if he could take a quick stroll on the upstairs porch.

“Sure,” Harper replied. “The door is right over there.”

James stood on the upper porch which spanned the width of the house.

“I love this porch,” he crowed. “It’s private up here. The view is great, too. I can see all the way to the timberline along the river.”

Harper agreed. “Lonnie and I spent a lot of time out here when we were kids. It was a great place to hang out.”

“I think it’s a very nice feature of the house,” Alice remarked.

“When this place is yours, you can sit out here and enjoy it whenever you’d like,” Aaron noted encouragingly. Alice didn’t reply.

Violet’s voice boomed at them from the bottom of the stairs.

“The food is ready. Come on down.”

James offered Alice his arm and everyone made their way downstairs and into the dining room.

Not to be outdone by James, Aaron held a chair for Alice to be seated. She flashed him a smile while Mead, Ezra and Paul scurried in and took their places at the table.

“Thank goodness,” Ezra breathed. “I’m about to starve.”

“It smells delicious,” Mead said graciously.

“You won’t forget Violet’s cooking,” Lonnie said. “Or my mother’s either.”

Serving the meal family style, Violet’s rib roast took center stage on the table surrounded by sides of garlic mashed potatoes, butternut squash gratin, roasted carrots with shallots, and steamed green beans topped with almonds. Hot, flaky cloverleaf rolls and sweet cream butter completed the main menu.

During the meal, Aaron and James took great pains to be solicitous toward Alice. Passing the serving dishes around the table, Paul turned the conversation to real estate and business.

“Aaron, I hear there are some new stores opening up in town.”

“That’s right. We’re getting a Pet Palace,” Aaron told him. “You know, pet food, treats, supplies, grooming. That’s going in the old Ben Franklin store which closed a couple of months ago. Yes, a couple of months ago.”

“There’s a new pizza parlor opening after the first of the year,” James added. “It will be located a block off the main drag. I hope they have delivery service.”

“Always good to get new blood in town,” Aaron smiled at Mead. “There are so many wonderful shops up and down Main Street; a person can buy anything they need, anything they need. Of course, if you want to shop in a big town once in awhile, why, St. Stevens is only ten miles to the north and St. Andrews is ten miles to the south. Quick drive either direction. Yes, it’s the best of both worlds right here.”

Mead nodded his head, a determined look on his face. “Alice and I have been anxious to move to Bittersweet Hollow. Isn’t that right, Alice?”

Alice, who had barely touched her food, briefly held her husband’s gaze before contemplating her plate. Her hair curled around her plump, pretty face and Harper thought the young woman seemed sad.

Alice looked across the table, focusing on Olivia. “I fell in love with this wonderful old place the first time I came here with Grace,” she began. “For a long time Mead and I dreamed of owning a bed and breakfast and we had barely begun our search for the perfect location when we stumbled across a Wilcox and Wilson Realty advertisement.” Alice smiled at James and Aaron. “Your house, Olivia, seemed ideal. The structure was well-maintained and we knew we wouldn’t have to sink a bunch of money into refurbishing it. Mead and I did our research and concluded the Inn has a reputation for being a first-rate BandB. Grace kept singing the praises of Bittersweet Hollow and that’s when we decided to make you an offer.”

Alice paused long enough to drink some water from the cut glass goblet by her plate.

“I realize it wasn’t Grace’s fault she got herself murdered,” Alice continued, “and I know none of you here believe in ghosts. But can any of you say with certainty that spirits don’t exist?”

Violet snorted and stabbed a carrot with enough force to split it in half. “I’m sorry, girly, but I really don’t understand how you can believe in ghosts at your age.”

Harper poked Violet’s leg under the table with the toe of her foot and Lonnie scowled at her.

“There’s coconut cream cake for dessert,” Ezra piped up

“And peach pie,” Paul added hastily.

Mead cut in smoothly. “Seems such a shame, though, doesn’t it, Alice. Here we were, all happy and excited about finding the Bittersweet Inn. You would make such a good hostess with your flair for providing all kinds of cozy and inviting amenities to our guests. And we were looking forward to running our very own business.”

Alice sighed. “I’m just asking you to understand how Grace Potter might ruin our business. She could do so quite easily, you know. Not many people care to sleep in a haunted house.”

“We understand why you don’t want to buy a place where you feel Grace’s presence might drive off paying guests and make you uncomfortable to boot, but if she goes away then you’d have no problem with the purchase, right?” Harper asked.

“Yes, that’s right.”

Harper beamed at Alice. “Well then, I promise you we’ll put a speedy end to Grace Potter’s unwelcome spirit hanging around here.”

“How’s that going to happen?” James asked, sounding a little incredulous.

“Yes,” Aaron chimed in, “I heard the police aren’t any closer to an arrest than they were a week ago.”

“I’ve been doing some digging, talking to people,” Harper said. “In the process, I’ve found out some very interesting things.”

“Excuse me, I don’t want to be rude,” Aaron declared, “but if you think there is another avenue the authorities should explore, shouldn’t you let them in on it?”

“I don’t think they’d go along with me now. They’re pretty much focused on Jersey Simon.”

Mead had been listening attentively. Between bites of beef, he asked Harper, “You have someone specific in mind?”

“No. Yes. Maybe,” Harper answered.

“Harper, dear,” Olivia cut in. “Don’t you think it’s dangerous for you to ask questions, dig around as you say? I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

The concerned look on Olivia’s face made Harper wish she hadn’t said so much in front of her mother. “Mom, you don’t need to worry. I’m following a few leads, that’s all. I think something will break loose soon and I’ll go to the police then. Honest,” Harper promised.

“My, my,” Olivia clucked, her mouth forming into a tiny pucker.

“Cream cake or pie?” Lonnie spoke up quickly, shooting a pointed look at Harper that said, ‘way to go, dummy.’

“Of course, dessert,” Olivia muttered, nodding at Violet. The sisters began to clear plates and Alice insisted on helping. In short order, the dirty dishes were carried into the kitchen and dessert was on the serving cart ready to wheel into the dining room.

Alice glanced out of the window and stared toward the garden shed.

“I know I’m standing in the way of your move into town, Olivia. Everyone is making concessions for me and treating me so kindly when deep down you all are probably furious with me.”

“We’re not furious with you, Alice. Not at all.” Olivia put her hand on the young woman’s shoulder.

“It will all work out,” Harper assured her. “Our family really wants you and Mead to have this place. It seems perfect for you. You seem to fit so well here.”

“I truly believe Mead and I belong here in this lovely old house, too. But Mrs. Potter’s spirit made it perfectly clear to me she has no intention of vacating the premises until the authorities nab the person responsible for her death. I’ve come into contact with spiteful, unforgiving spirits before and have never known one of them to back down on its resolve.” She sighed. “I know how badly Mead wants this place so I hope you’re right, Harper, and you figure out who murdered Mrs. Potter soon. I’m just not sure I can sign those papers until I’m certain she’s gone from here.”

Harper studied Alice’s face. She felt empathy for the girl and could tell she wasn’t trying to fool anyone. Quite simply, Alice believed Grace intended to remain right where she was until whoever had murdered her was taken into custody.

“Let’s get this in to the men,” Violet said, rolling the dessert cart, “before Ezra becomes apoplectic. He loves his cream cake.”

Halfway across the dining room, Alice abruptly stopped and turned as pale as one of her ghostly apparitions. Perspiration glistened on her face and her eyes grew large and blank.

“Oh, good Lord,” Violet yelped, reaching out for Alice as the young woman crumpled onto the floor in a faint.

Lonnie caught her breath. “My God, do you think she saw a ghost?”

Harper knelt down and patted Alice on the cheek, saying, “Alice, Alice, can you hear me?”

The men jumped up from the table but Mead beat them all as he raced to his wife. Olivia calmly instructed him to carry Alice to the family room and lay her on the sofa.

“Should we call an ambulance?” James asked.

“Let’s see what’s going on first,” Ezra replied.

In a few minutes, Alice came around. She bolted upright on the sofa and leaned her head on Mead’s shoulder.

“I feel like such a fool,” she said to the women hovering over her. Lonnie quietly slipped out of the room to let the men know Alice appeared to be okay.

Violet plunked down on the sofa and put her arm around the still pale girl. She patted her arm. “You gave us quite a scare, missy. Must have taken ten years off me, I swear.”

“I’m so sorry,” Alice whispered.

“Have you ever fainted before?” Harper asked.

“No, never. Although this past week I’ve felt like I might a few times. Just now I felt so hot and then I got lightheaded all of a sudden. Everything seemed to drift far away. Do you think it was the dead woman trying to tell me something?” Alice turned her huge brown eyes toward her husband.

“I don’t know,” Mead squeezed her hand. “You hardly touched your food. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. In fact, I feel so hungry right now I could eat a horse.” Alice smiled sheepishly at Violet and asked, “Do you think I could have some leftovers before I have cake and pie?”

Violet blinked. “Absolutely. You go sit down in the dining room and I’ll fix up a plate for you.” Rolling her eyes at Olivia, she took Alice by the arm and led her out of the room.

Mead looked worried. “Well, I wonder what that was all about.”

Harper had a pretty good idea and one look at her mother told her Olivia had the same idea. They would let Mead and Alice figure it out on their own.

“I think your wife will be just fine,” Olivia said kindly. “I wouldn’t worry if I were you. Why don’t we go finish our dessert?”

“Yes, of course,” Mead said.

By the time they returned to the dining room, Alice was chatting quite happily with Paul, Ezra, Aaron and James.

Mead stood in the doorway and watched his wife. He spoke quietly to Harper. “Whatever might have caused my wife to faint certainly hasn’t affected her appetite.”

I bet Alice wouldn’t notice Grace Potter right now if the old girl pulled up a chair and sat down beside her, Harper said to herself as Alice earnestly dug in to a plate piled high with roast beef and mashed potatoes. A pair of dessert plates sat close by, one holding a double slice of coconut cream cake and the other a gigantic slab of peach pie.

Harper said quietly, “Maybe soon Grace will get tired of staying in a house where she isn’t welcome.”

Mead smiled grimly, then said, “And maybe she won’t.”

Chapter Nineteen

Alice finished her meal without incident while Mead watched his wife fork every bite into her mouth. Harper saw him actually wince when Alice shoveled in the last of the roast beef and started on the desserts. After coffee, Aaron and James rose to stretch their legs and asked Mead to join them in the family room where they planned to look over the paperwork on the Inn one more time, sans Grace.

Alice didn’t go with them, going upstairs to lie down instead. However, she made it clear she would hold off signing anything until she was certain the house was “welcoming once again” as she put it. Harper felt thankful Violet had disappeared to see about the cleanup in the kitchen and didn’t hear Alice’s remark.

Aaron and James took their leave shortly thereafter, but not before profusely thanking Violet and Olivia for the excellent meal. Harper and Lonnie joined them in the foyer.

“Not often I get a meal like I devoured today,” Aaron raved. “Dessert was out of this world. Out of this world.”

“Thanks so much, ladies,” James said. “I doubt if I’ll ever feel hungry again after such a feast.”

Aaron nodded his head in agreement. “Good heavens, I’m with you, James. I feel absolutely stuffed. Absolutely stuffed.”

As the two men trotted down the front steps, Harper heard one of them belch loudly.

“That’s the last of the dishes,” Harper said, shaking out the damp dish towel she’d used to wipe them dry. Lonnie pulled the plug on the dishwater while Violet finished sweeping the kitchen floor. Ezra bundled up the last of the trash while Paul and Mead came into the kitchen, their hands full of soiled napkins and the tablecloth.

Ezra announced his plans for the afternoon included fall yard work and he offered to show Mead which flowering bulbs needed to be dug before winter. As the weatherman had predicted, the afternoon was sunny and surprisingly warm, beckoning Harper and Lonnie to find something to do outside as well. Paul offered to stay inside and help Violet pack up some of the heavier household items stored in a back closet. He mentioned he also wanted to stay close to the bicarbonate of soda in the kitchen cupboard.

“Why don’t you have a little rest,” Harper told Olivia, convincing her mother to lie down awhile.

“I shouldn’t be tired,” Olivia insisted. “No one let me do a darn thing to clean up after we ate.”

“That’s exactly how we planned it,” Harper said, kissing Olivia on the cheek. “Now go rest a bit and then we’ll find something for you to do.”

Lonnie put her arm around her sister. “You and I should take a walk about the property. It might be one of the last times we’ll get to.”

Harper held open the kitchen door for Lonnie. She followed her across the back porch and down the steps. “We’ll come out now and again and visit Alice,” she said.

Lonnie kicked at a clump of grass. “It won’t be the same.”

Harper laughed at her sister’s disgruntlement. “I’m sure Alice would love our company. She’s friendly and sociable.”

“She seems to be in a good mood today. Maybe Grace got tired of waiting around here and went to give the Devil a piece of her mind.”

Snickering at the thought of Grace putting the Devil through Hell, Harper and Lonnie strolled leisurely across the lawn, occasionally kicking at the fallen leaves.

“I had company last night,” Harper told her sister.

“No way! Are you seeing someone and didn’t tell me?” Lonnie demanded.

“Nothing like that, I can assure you. At least not with this creep.” Harper filled Lonnie in on Mickey’s visit and his revelation of talking with Pastor Hart during the bonfire in order to line up some marriage counseling sessions.

Lonnie sniffed. “I don’t care how much counseling that weasel gets, he’ll still be a slime ball.”

“And a crafty one at that. He takes the lead on this and gets the upper hand not only with Lucy but also with Summer.”

“Do you think he’s going to quit seeing her?” Lonnie wondered.

“He says it’s over. I think before Grace was killed he planned to make a full disclosure to Lucy and say ‘I’m sorry but, hey, I made appointments so we can get marital counseling so forgive me’. Of course, now with Grace dead he might just keep his mouth shut and not go ahead with seeing Pastor Hart.”

“I wonder if Lucy would have. Forgiven him I mean.” Lonnie shook her head. “If Paul pulled such a thing on me, any forgiveness would have to come from the jury who tried me for his murder.”

“This only bolsters Summer’s motive to kill Grace,” Harper said.

“How so?”

“Well, Grace cost Summer the guy she thinks she’s in love with. Mickey tells her it’s over and he’s going to confess to Lucy. So Summer doesn’t need to keep the affair quiet anymore. She blames Grace for making Mickey end their affair. That would be harder for Summer to take, in my mind anyway. Being threatened with exposure wouldn’t be quite as bad as actually losing her lover.”

“So you’re really suspicious of Summer now?”

“Yeah, but I’m also really suspicious of the Turnbuckles, too.” Harper felt relieved she could share her thoughts with Lonnie. It was difficult keeping all these suspicions straight and Lonnie made a good sounding board. She could brainstorm ideas with her about who committed the murder.

Harper and Lonnie strolled toward the pumpkin patch. Ezra had carted off the corn shock bundles and raked away the remains of the bonfire days ago. The pumpkins were all picked, too, and the pumpkin patch looked bare and somewhat forlorn. Harper did some calculations in her head. She pictured herself standing in an oversized baseball diamond. Where she currently stood would be home plate, the Bittersweet Inn at her back. The bonfire took place down at third base, on the edge of the pumpkin field. The garden shed stood between the pitcher’s mound and second base, approximately three hundred feet away from the bonfire. The dense clump of maple and hackberry trees at the side of the shed extended out into right field. Center field stretched toward a stand of timber with the Big Bittersweet just beyond. Maggie and Fred had snuggled on the hay wagon parked close to first base.

“If Grace stood at third base waiting for Ezra to start the bonfire, and we can assume she did since Carly saw her walk in that direction, and if she noticed someone heading toward the shed it must not have been quite dark yet. She wouldn’t have been able to see far after dark,” Harper said mostly to herself.

“What the heck are you talking about, third base?”

Harper shared her idea of the baseball diamond with Lonnie.

“Maybe the bonfire had already taken off,” Lonnie remarked, trying to be helpful.

“I doubt it. Ezra waited until it was completely dark to light it. It must have been eight o’clock by then. The cops put the time of death at eight or a little after. Daphne said it was getting on to dusk when she and Lawrence ran into Grace, and Carly corroborated that. It must have been between seven thirty and eight then.”

“Maybe Grace saw Mickey or Summer roaming about and decided to follow them.”

“Maybe. Maggie and Fred spotted Roy and Glennis heading in the direction of the shed right before dark,” Harper said, chewing on her upper lip. “That leaves Lawrence. Even though he and Mickey alibi each other, Daphne affirmed her husband was off doing something unknown around then, too.”

Lonnie grinned. “I have the answer. All five did it.”

“Well, they all would have wanted to do it,” Harper agreed.

Lonnie surveyed the grounds.

“Where do you think the murderer went after he killed her?”

“He could have left the shed and disappeared among those hackberry trees real easy, then high-tailed it across right field, circled around first base, and ended up at home plate. There were plenty of hay bales, corn shocks, and shade trees in the yard to hide behind.”

After considering the layout, Lonnie offered an opinion. “Everyone stood around the edge of the pumpkin patch and watched the bonfire except for Maggie and Fred who seem to have had other things on their mind. Riley thought Summer slipped off to potty or something but instead Summer could have lured Grace out to the shed, cornered her, and––whack! Then Summer ran back to the house unnoticed, resumed her place on the porch, and no one was the wiser. Besides, no one would think twice about seeing one of the worker bees out here buzzing around.”

“According to Riley, Summer never made it back to the porch,” Harper pointed out. “Riley didn’t see her again until later when everyone had gathered in the dining room with Deputy Kennedy. And Summer did say she thought Grace deserved to die.”

Suddenly Ezra’s voice boomed out across the yard.

“You girls standin’ there waitin’ for Christmas?”

“Just enjoying the nice weather,” Harper answered loudly.

A minute later, Alice joined Harper and Lonnie, while Ezra and Mead set off for the one of the rose gardens.

The three women strolled toward the shed. When they reached the little building, they walked around the exterior a couple of times, then opened the door on its creaky hinges. After the yellow crime scene tape was removed, Ezra had cleaned the fingerprinting dust from his workbench and tools, and scrubbed away all traces of blood. Harper knew as far as Ezra Sanders was concerned, no corpse had ever taken up floor space in his shed. The jury was still out as far as Alice was concerned, however.

Alice stood in the middle of the shed, the late afternoon sun filtering through the dusty glass of the window. Her gaze lingered for a moment on the tool bench before warily gliding around the rest of the room. When she faced the west wall, she pointed toward the floor directly underneath the window and said in a strong, firm voice, “That’s where she fell.”

Harper felt a tingle at the realization that Alice had picked the exact spot where Grace had lain. Harper and Lonnie had seen Grace’s body but this was Alice’s first trip to the shed. She certainly hadn’t been out here at the same time as Grace’s body.

Lonnie glanced around the small shed. “Grace must have faced her murderer since she was attacked from the front.”

“You’re right,” Harper said. “Lonnie, let’s act out what probably happened. I’ll pretend to be Grace and you pretend to be her killer.”

“Okay,” Lonnie said, picking up a small hammer from the workbench. “Imagine this is the murder weapon,” she said, turning sharply and taking small, deliberate steps toward Harper.

“She might have begged for her life,” Harper exclaimed and dramatically held out her hands, palm upwards.

“But it would have been too late,” Lonnie hissed fiercely, raising her arm and crossing the room with a menacing look on her face. “The killer had already decided to kill. Did Grace recognize her foe? Did she try to escape? Go ahead, try to stop me if you can.”

Lonnie clutched the hammer and purposefully closed in on her sister. Harper reached out and grabbed the front of Lonnie’s shirt, a feeling of panic suddenly flowing through her veins as the scene began to feel real. Harper opened her mouth and sucked in her breath, struggling to stop an actual scream from rushing out of her throat. Instead of Harper’s scream, however, Alice’s shriek filled the shed. Harper and Lonnie jumped aside as Alice moved rapidly across the floor to the window. She’d turned deathly pale, her eyes as big as Mars.

“Yes,” Alice wheezed in a raspy voice. “I feel it. It happened exactly that way.”

How the heck does she know? Harper asked herself right before Alice crumpled in slow motion onto the floor, landing on her back, her right arm flung out to her side, her body positioned in the very way Harper recalled seeing Grace when she peeked in the window before the sheriff arrived.

Harper sat down on the floor and took one of Alice’s hands in hers. Unexpectedly, a bone-chilling cold seemed to seep up through the old wooden floorboards and goose bumps popped out on her arms. She shivered as Alice opened her eyes and stared blankly around.

“Where am I?”

“You’re in the garden shed,” Lonnie told her, holding out a hand to help Alice to her feet. Alice pulled herself up, gave her head a shake and, with Lonnie’s help, slowly walked over to a low bench where she gingerly sat down.

“Are you okay?” Lonnie asked, noting the color had returned to Alice’s cheeks.

“Yes, I’m okay,” Alice responded. “When the spirits want to make a point they’ll do most anything to get your attention. It’s passed.”

Harper, still in a sitting position on the floor, rolled onto her hands and knees in order to push herself to her feet. The effort caused her to groan softly.

A snigger escaped Lonnie’s throat. “Need my help to stand up?”

“No, I do not,” Harper shot back. A few of her joints creaked as she gently positioned herself on her knees. She’d have to be careful on the rough, wide flooring planks so she wouldn’t snag her slacks.

She began to shove herself upward when an object close to her right hand caught her eye. The thing lay nestled in a gap between two of the old flooring planks and she knew immediately what it was. Reaching out her hand, she used her fingernail to pop the item out of the crack. After struggling to a standing position, she contemplated the object resting on her palm. Lonnie edged next to Harper and stared at it, too. Harper held a novelty button which looked like a real acorn.

The three women hurried back to the Inn and the comparative tranquility of the sunny kitchen. Harper placed the button in the middle of the kitchen table and the three stood looking at it as if it might explode or at the very least say something. If only it could say something, Harper thought to herself.

Lonnie voiced Harper’s thought. “If that button could talk.”

Alice touched it with her finger. “How cute. It looks just like a little acorn.”

“Mom sewed them on all of the aprons to be worn during the pumpkin festival,” Harper enlightened Alice before walking over to the butler’s pantry and opening the drawer where Olivia kept the aprons. Counting the freshly laundered, neatly folded butternut-colored garments, she called over her shoulder, “I only have five here. There should be six.”

“Are any of them missing buttons?” Lonnie asked, excitedly.

Harper rummaged through the aprons again.

“These all have their buttons in place.”

“I suppose we need to ask Violet where the missing apron went,” Lonnie mused.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” Harper stared at her sister.

“One of our happy worker bees wearing one of our aprons killed Grace. You’ve suspected Summer for awhile. And Summer wore an apron.”

“Let’s consider the evidence,” Harper said, glancing from Lonnie to Alice. “What do you think, Alice?”

“If the button came from a server’s apron, it looks as though one of them must have been in the shed during the course of the evening.”

Lonnie interjected. “It doesn’t mean one of them killed Grace.”

“It might have been lost last year,” Alice said, her voice thoughtful.

“Look at the damn thing,” Harper sputtered. “This button is way too clean to have been there a year.”

“Maybe a server was there earlier and left before Grace was killed,” Lonnie suggested while Alice nodded her head in agreement.

Harper disagreed. “When would they have had time for that? None of them got here until it was time to go to work and they were busy right up until the bonfire was lit. No, the servers were all pretty much accounted for the whole time, except for Summer.”

“Maybe it fell off during some other event,” Alice theorized.

“The aprons are only worn during the festival,” Lonnie informed Alice.

“Well, then, there you are,” Alice sighed.

“I wonder why the cops didn’t find it,” Lonnie mused.

“Well, if I hadn’t been down on my hands and knees in that particular spot, I wouldn’t have seen it wedged in the crack,” Harper said.

“Feel anything when you look at the button?” Lonnie asked Alice.

“No,” Alice told her, “but it’s a nice button. It’s so distinct.”

“Yes,” Harper agreed, “and that’s the problem.”

“We don’t tell Mom about this,” Lonnie insisted.

“No, we don’t,” Harper agreed, “or Violet. Let’s just keep it to ourselves for now.”

“It would be great if we could keep my little fainting spell quiet, too,” Alice said. “I know I felt a presence out there and I’m convinced it was Grace, but there isn’t any reason to worry anyone else about it, is there?”

“As long as you’re feeling okay,” Harper said.

“Oh, I’m fine now,” Alice assured her as Mead came into the kitchen looking for her.

“Sweetie,” he said, putting his arm around her waist, “Ezra wants to show us how he winterizes the roses. We want to keep them healthy and growing.”

Throwing the sisters a conspiratorial look, Alice left the kitchen with her husband. Harper slipped the acorn button into the pocket of her slacks just as Violet and Olivia entered the kitchen to prepare a pan of Shepherd’s pie. Lonnie and Harper helped out in the kitchen for the rest of the afternoon and everyone spent a good part of the evening eating leftovers until no one could swallow another crumb.

Yawning, Alice said she felt tired to the bone and turned in around nine o’clock. Mead soon followed.

“Listen,” Lonnie said quietly to Harper after the Hoovers were upstairs. “I’ve talked Paul into the two of us spending the night here, too. Since Violet always keeps our old rooms made up it wouldn’t be a bother to anyone. Heck, I’ve still got pajamas in my dresser. And I’d like to stick around in case Grace pays Alice a visit tonight.”

“But you don’t believe in that supernatural stuff,” Harper said.

“No, but Alice does. You have to admit it would be extremely interesting to see a little paranormal phenomena taking place. Besides, it might lead to a clue. You never know.”

“That’s what I thought when Mom asked me to spend a night,” Harper agreed. “How did you get Paul talked into staying?”

“He’s so stuffed from eating all evening he’s happy to climb into bed in a few minutes. He’s practically asleep on the sofa right now.”

Alone in her room later that night, Harper took the button out of her pocket and reflected on what it might mean. This could just cook someone’s goose, she thought. Tomorrow she would talk to Summer again.

Harper climbed into bed and snuggled under the same mauve flowered comforter she’d snuggled under in high school. She smiled. The whole room hadn’t changed much over the years. While she relaxed, beginning to feel warm and cozy, she thought about the cold chill she encountered earlier in the shed. She hadn’t said anything to Lonnie about it because she would have felt a little silly mentioning it since she didn't think she believed in ghosts. She’d never seen an apparition and she was more than happy to leave that area to Alice. But remembering the icy blast, she got up and threw another blanket on her bed.

It was after midnight when screams brought Harper out of bed. At first she wasn’t sure if she was dreaming or not but hearing footsteps pounding on the stairway and in the hallway upstairs convinced her it wasn’t a dream.

After taking the stairs two at a time, she dashed along the dark hallway until she could just make out the shadowy figures of Mead and Paul standing next to Alice. Lonnie, only steps behind Harper and puffing heavily, almost careened into her sister’s back.

Footsteps clattered behind Harper and she swung around, stifling a scream as she witnessed what appeared to be some sort of apparition hurtling down the stairway from the third floor, its white gown billowing out at the hemline, its long straight hair flying out in all directions from its head.

“What the heck is going on?” the specter demanded to know, not sounding ghostlike at all to Harper but actually sounding suspiciously like Violet. When Ezra bolted down the stairway and stood next to the vision, Harper realized the ghost in the murky light was indeed the housekeeper.

In the meantime, Mead muttered, “Alice, Alice,” and grasped his wife’s arm before turning back toward their room. Alice moaned slightly.

“Is she awake?” Paul asked quietly as he followed Mead to the Hoover’s room.

“She seems to be asleep,” Mead said.

By then, Olivia had made her way up the stairs and followed Mead and Paul into the bedroom.

“I think we can all use some chamomile tea,” Violet said, starting down the back stairs to the kitchen followed by Ezra, Harper and Lonnie.

By the time Mead, Paul and Olivia joined them at the table, everyone was well into their tea. Ezra and Harper wanted coffee but Violet told them it wasn’t going to happen. They would never get back to sleep if they drank coffee now, she said. Harper wasn’t sure she could go back to sleep anyway but knew better than to argue with Violet.

“I guess Alice was sleepwalking,” Mead said as he sat down and took a cup of tea from Violet.

“Has she ever gone sleepwalking before?” Harper asked.

“No, never,” Mead replied, rubbing the back of his neck with his hands. “I wonder if anything happened this afternoon which might have upset her. Made her scream in that way? I can’t believe with a shriek that loud she didn’t wake herself up.”

Harper and Lonnie exchanged a look and Harper decided full disclosure at this point was the only way to go.

After explaining about the strange occurrence in the shed, she finished up by saying, “I have to admit I felt something myself. I can’t put it into words, but it became extremely cold there on the floor. It was almost as though I felt a presence of some kind.”

“Great,” Violet snorted, “now we have another one who feels all spooky!”

“Really, Violet,” Olivia chided, “Harper isn’t given to fancy.”

“I saw something when we were in the shed,” Lonnie whispered, her eyes wide. “I didn’t want to say anything because I wasn’t sure at the time. But now I’m certain I caught a brief glimpse of a figure standing where the sunlight came through the window. It wasn’t much more than a shadow but it was where there shouldn’t have been any shadow at all.”

“Well, it sure wasn’t a ghost,” Violet grumbled. “No matter what you all might think.”

“Now, Violet,” Ezra scolded his wife. “We all have our little idiosyncrasies. Remember your mamma?”

“Leave my mamma out of this,” Violet barked. Grumbling under her breath, she shot a withering look at Ezra before taking off her apron and flinging it over the back of a chair. Then she stomped out of the kitchen. Ezra shook his head and followed his wife.

“Come on, Lonnie,” Paul said. “I’m sure it was only your imagination. It’s easy to get carried away about creepy things after a murder.”

“I should get back to Alice,” Mead said, looking at the tea things on the table.

“Go ahead,” Harper told him, “I’ll clean up down here later. No problem.”

Harper helped Olivia back to her room and waited until her mother settled in. Then she returned to the kitchen and gathered up the cups and teapot. Before flicking off the light, she picked up the apron Violet had draped on the chair and hung it on a hook by the door to the butler’s pantry. Something plucked at the back of her mind. Something to do with aprons perhaps? She couldn’t quite put her finger on what it might be. And she was much too sleepy to worry about it now. She’d tackle it tomorrow. As she headed for her bedroom, she yawned, suddenly feeling almost too tired to make it back to bed.

Chapter Twenty

The following morning, Violet served a light breakfast in the dining room. By the time Harper made her way to the table, Olivia, Lonnie and Paul were making inroads on apple cinnamon muffins and toasted homemade bread with Olivia’s strawberry jam––washing it all down with fresh, hot coffee.

“How are all of you this morning?” Harper asked.

“Okay,” Lonnie replied. “Considering the excitement last night, I actually feel rested. I’ve got to get in to the store soon.”

“I’m off on another two hour road trek to earn money so I can keep my wife happily living her exotic lifestyle,” Paul bantered. “And tonight I am sleeping in my own bed where I can be certain to have a complete night of peace and quiet.”

“I’m feeling all right,” Olivia said. “I hope the Meads are feeling okay, too. Oh, by the way, you girls do remember this Wednesday we’re having our post-festival tea for the girls.”

“Goodness, with all the commotion of the past week I’d forgotten all about it,” Harper admitted.

Every year, a few days after the Pumpkin Patch Festival, Olivia played hostess to a tea for the helpers as a way of thanking them for all their hard work.

“Maybe this year, a paycheck is enough,” Lonnie suggested.

“Nonsense. All the more reason to do something everyone enjoys. It will help take our minds off the murder, for an afternoon anyway,” Olivia said.

The unexpected sound of a door slamming shut made everyone jump. Harper listened to footsteps rapidly descending the stairs. Violet joined the others at the table in time to glimpse Alice scurry downstairs and storm through the front door. Mead, moving somewhat slower, followed his wife but instead of going outside he made his way into the dining room.

Olivia threw him a concerned look.

“Alice says she felt a very strong, cold, presence in the hallway upstairs last night,” he told them. “She doesn’t remember sleepwalking but swears she had a vision. I might have to go drag her out of the Explorer to get her back inside.”

“Ezra probably left a window open,” Violet snapped, as Mead headed for the front door. “He was upstairs checking the storm windows yesterday.”

“I didn't have any window open,” Ezra said, coming down with the Hoover’s luggage and wisely following Mead out the door.

“Oh, dear,” Olivia muttered, “this isn’t good. And really, Violet, have a little compassion for the girl. Especially in her condition.”

Paul’s eyebrows shot up. “What’s her condition?”

“Never mind right now,” Lonnie told her husband. “We’ll discuss it later. You have to leave, remember.”

Harper walked outside to the Explorer and tried to help Mead convince Alice to spend at least one more day at the Inn. Alice, however, insisted Grace was more irate than ever.

“You promised you’d not say anything to Mead about what happened in the shed. Of course, you also promised you’d figure out who the murderer is,” Alice chided Harper. “Until you find that out, I can’t stay here again. I’m not used to such angry spirits. I’m truly sorry but I think all this tension is making me sick. Mead doesn’t know it, but I threw up this morning.”

While Mead stood on the porch and said goodbye to Olivia, Harper tried again. “I’ll keep at it, Alice, until I uncover the killer. I think I’m getting close.”

Expelling a deep sigh as the Explorer disappeared down the driveway, Harper knew she must ramp up her sleuthing if she was going to keep her promise to Alice.

I need to get nosier, she told herself firmly. I have to shift into Grace Potter mode.

Mindy Bartlett left Naylor’s store on Monday afternoon and trotted across the street. Harper had spotted the young woman through the plate glass window of the antique shop and opened the door to call her name and wave for her to come closer.

“Hi, Harper,” Mindy chirped as she quickly closed the gap between them.

“Nice to see you, Mindy. You got a minute?”

“Sure, I don’t work today.”

Harper motioned the young woman inside the shop.

“I sure love the smell of the candles and the dried eucalyptus you use to decorate the shelves in your store,” Mindy chirped. “I like to window shop here. Someday I’ll be able to afford to buy a few antiques to decorate my apartment. That will impress Ronnie, my boyfriend. You know Ronnie, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course I do. He seems like a really nice guy. The reason I wanted to talk to you, though, is about the day of the festival, because of the murder. Did you notice if Summer Storm was any place she shouldn’t have been?”

“Oh, oh. Did Summer get busted?”

“Busted?”

“You know, for sneaking off for awhile?”

“Did you see her sneaking off?”

Mindy looked down at her shoes. “I don’t like to rat on Summer but I won’t lie to you. I didn’t actually see her sneak off. I just happened to see her out by the pumpkin patch when she should have been on the porch. I was carrying a trash bag to the dumpster. Jack Morgan asked me if I would do that for him and of course I said yes. He always gives us a free hot dog.”

“Right. When you noticed Summer, had the bonfire started?”

“It was right before, I think.”

“Okay, thanks, Mindy. You have a good day now.”

“I hope I didn’t get Summer in any trouble.”

“No, you didn’t,” Harper said, thinking Summer managed to do that all on her own.

Customers kept Harper busy all afternoon and it was after five o’clock before she had the chance to even consider getting away to question Summer. Harper called Rubino’s to inquire if she was on duty.

“Nope,” Max said. “This is Summer’s night off.”

She’s probably home, Harper thought, hanging up the phone. I hope she’s also sober.

It was five thirty by the time Harper drove to Summer’s apartment building. Dodging a few pots of bright coral geraniums on the front stoop, she made her way up to the third floor and knocked on the door of apartment 3A.

Music blared from inside and Harper knocked loudly several times. She raised her hand to knock again when the door swung open.

Summer appeared sober and from what Harper could see, the apartment was tidier than during her visit the other night.

“Well?” The chill in Summer’s voice was defiant, almost threatening, and Harper thrust her hand into her jacket pocket, feeling for the acorn button she’d found in the shed yesterday. Clenching her fist around the hard plastic strengthened her resolve to get to the bottom of who murdered Grace, although Paul’s words to not be reckless or crazy flashed across her mind.

“Hello, Summer.” Harper thought about smiling but somehow she felt Summer would know it was an insincere gesture so she didn’t bother. “Look, I stopped by to see if you inadvertently took home the apron you wore during the festival.”

“The apron? Why would I bring home the apron?”

“Don’t know. We’re missing one. Thought it might be yours that’s missing.”

Summer didn’t move a muscle, but her left eye began to twitch. “Have you asked the other girls? It’s probably one of theirs.”

Harper lied. “They all said it wasn’t theirs.”

“Well, I didn’t bring it home and I didn’t lose it. Violet probably misplaced it. Now I’m busy.”

“Okay, fine. One more thing. Did you lose a button off your apron during the evening?”

“Cripes, Harper,” Summer snapped at her, a scowl creasing her forehead while her eyes gleamed angrily. “I didn’t lose a button, I didn’t lose an apron, but I am losing my temper. You’ve come at a bad time. G’bye.”

Harper placed her foot between the door and the jamb, wincing when Summer pushed. Putting her weight against the door, Harper pushed back and said, “I have one more question.”

“You already asked your one more! Why are you being such a bitch, Harper?”

“Did Mickey break up with you on Sunday night?”

Summer sucked in a breath. “Bitch! None of your business. Now get out of my face!”

Harper moved her foot and Summer slammed the door in her face.

That could have gone better, Harper thought, but I guess she answered my question. And if Summer had to slam something in her face, better it was a door than a hammer.

On Tuesday morning, Harper woke early and stumbled into the kitchen. She didn’t feel very well-rested. The phone rang as she grabbed two slices of bread and shoved them into the toaster. Seeing her mother’s name on the caller ID, she grabbed the receiver and said, “Hi, Mom. Is everything okay?”

“Of course,” Olivia replied smoothly. “You worry too much. I’m calling to let you know Ezra is itching to get down in the basement and sort through the things we’ve stored down there over the years. You might want to come out and see if there’s anything you can use for the shop. I’m not sure anymore what’s down there, but I can’t take it with me.”

The basement had always been a treasure trove of goodies so Harper said excitedly, “I’ll be out this morning.”

“That will make Ezra happy. Now there’s one more thing.”

“Shoot.”

“Violet and I have been planning the tea party. We’ll set out the nice china and silver again, have little sandwiches and cakes. But I’d like your input, too. Violet’s so happy she’s practically skipping around.”

Harper smiled at the thought of stocky Violet skipping anywhere.

“That sounds wonderful, Mom,” Harper declared, happy her mother and Violet were keeping busy with something to take their mind off the murder.

“We found a lovely china tea set hidden away in the upstairs closet the other day. But listen to me rattle on. I’ll let you have breakfast and we can go over all of this when you get here.”

Yawning, Harper slathered her toast with butter followed by globs of peanut butter and poured herself a glass of orange juice. She wished she’d slept better. Maybe if she was better rested, her mind would be clearer and she might figure out what she was missing about the damn aprons. Shaking off the nagging feeling she concentrated on the goodies awaiting her at the Inn.

Digging out an old pair of jeans and an even older sweater suitable to wear while mucking around in the basement, Harper dressed and then called Helen.

“Don’t you worry about the shop,” Helen told her. “I’m going to be very excited to see what you find in the basement. After all, your mother’s treasures got Our Earthly Remains started in the first place.”

The day turned bright and sunny and Harper’s mood reflected the good weather. Thinking about discovering the acorn button invigorated her. All she needed to do now was prove the button had been attached to the apron that had been attached to Summer Storm.

When Harper arrived at the Bittersweet Inn she found Olivia and Violet sitting at the kitchen table going over recipes and planning the menu for the tea.

“I wanted to try my hand at some crumpets,” Violet told her. “But then I checked out what a crumpet is and decided against that. But we will definitely have little no-crust sandwiches.”

“We’re going to use the lace cloths on the tables,” Olivia said just as Ezra tramped into the kitchen.

“That’s all these two women have been jabberin’ about,” he said, rolling his eyes. “An afternoon of yakkin’ females doesn’t sound like my idea of a good time.”

“You’ll have to hide out in town,” Harper laughed. “Or hop over to Rubino’s and have a cold one.”

“I’ll hop over to Maggie’s and help Fred shovel out the horse barn. It won’t be as deep in there as it will be over here.”

Olivia ignored Fred’s observations while she leafed through the cookbook that Violet shoved under her nose.

“I’ve invited Maggie. We’ve set the time for four o’clock. Does all this sound okay to you, Harper? Are we leaving anything out?”

“I’d say you two have it under control as usual, but I’m ready to help if you need me.” Harper motioned to Ezra. “Let’s get down to the basement,” she said, leaving the two older women in the throes of party planning.

A full basement ran under the old house and thanks to updated electrical work it was well lighted. Ezra kept it clean even if a few dust bunnies hid out in the corners. Ezra wandered off to a storage room where rows of home canned fruits and vegetables once filled the wooden shelves in Olivia’s younger days but now served as a converted wine cellar.

Ezra began digging through a few stray boxes stacked on the floor, calling over his shoulder, “If you need me to be movin’ anything, give me a holler. I'll help you carry stuff upstairs and put it in your truck when you’re ready.”

Whenever she could poke and pry into little used basement corners and hunt for lost treasures, Harper was in her element. By the time Ezra finished up and returned to her side of the basement, she stood next to a nice pile of forgotten riches ready to pack into her truck.

Ezra carried the first load up the stairs while Harper took one more look around the basement. A large twenty-gallon Red Wing crock stood forgotten in one corner. That would sell like cold lemonade in the Sahara, Harper reasoned.

She put her back into carefully sliding the crock away from the wall. She was elated to see it still had its lid on top, something that made it even more valuable. Picking up the edge of the lid, she peeked inside. There was something in there, perhaps another great find, and she reached in very warily. She didn’t want to disturb a Daddy Long-legs and have him scoot up her arm. Cautiously she touched what looked like a neatly wrapped package. It felt like some kind of material. Harper clutched one edge of the bundle and lifted it out. She stared at it for a few seconds. It wasn’t a package at all, but a butternut-colored apron, folded several times. Comprehending what it was, she clutched, her hands began to shake and she realized she was holding her breath. Her legs felt heavy yet light and wobbly at the same time.

Moving slowly, Harper plopped down onto a wooden packing crate and smoothed the apron across her lap. First she checked the straps. An acorn button was missing from one of them. Next she held the apron up to the light, exposing rusty colored spots running across the front of the bib. Her stomach lurched. She knew she was looking at Grace Potter’s blood which had stained the material when someone splattered her head like an overripe pumpkin.

Harper clutched the apron and thought how Grace must have watched, horrified, as the person wearing it moved stealthily across the shed floor, hammer in hand, coming closer and closer. She surely tried to fend off her attacker, must have grabbed the acorn button, tearing it loose as she fell to the floor, the button slipping from her lifeless hand.

How long Harper sat staring at the apron she wasn’t sure, but she didn’t move until she heard Ezra’s boots hitting the stairs. Jumping up from the crate, she hastily stuffed the apron inside her jacket.

“I have enough for now, Ezra. I’ll be out again later for the rest of it.”

Not waiting while Ezra tried to persuade her to let him finish loading the rest of the treasures, she took the stairs two at a time. Puffing “I’ll be back later” to a startled Olivia and Violet, she hurried out the door. She needed to get home to think what she should do next.

In record time, she pulled into her driveway, hid the apron in the back regions of her hallway coat closet, hopped back into the pickup and headed toward Main Street. She wanted to talk to Lonnie. First, though, she stopped at Our Earthly Remains where she found Helen polishing a set of silver candle sticks.

Helen laid her polishing cloth down when she saw Harper’s flushed face.

“You must have found something really good.”

Harper hoped her voice sounded normal. “You could say that.”

Helen lifted her eyebrows slightly but didn’t press for information.

Harper asked, “Have you eaten your lunch yet?”

“Just finished a bit ago. You?”

“No, and I need to run over to Naylor’s and talk with Lonnie. I parked the truck out back. You can look through the stuff if you want. I’ll help with the heavy items later.” While Harper talked, she fidgeted, moving from the counter to the displays by the front window and back to the counter again. “Oh, by the way, it’s not a full load. I have to go back. I might be gone awhile, not sure.”

Helen’s eyebrows shot higher but her voice sounded casual as she asked, “Something up your sleeve?”

“Just planning a tea party at the Inn,” Harper called over her shoulder as she scuttled out the door.

“Must be some tea party,” Helen called back, heading for the stash in Harper’s truck.

Harper strode into A Different Wrinkle with an invitation for Lonnie to join her at home for leftovers if Lonnie would drive them there.

“Hear this stomach rumble? I accept your offer. You do have more in your kitchen than half-eaten TV dinners don’t you?” Lonnie asked as they slid into her car.

“I happen to have some really delicious deli meat and cheese with some good bread to put it on. There’s three-bean salad, too. And brownies for dessert. And a whopper of a surprise.”

“Really? What’s the surprise?”

“You’ll see. I was at Mom’s this morning, scouting through the basement for items for the shop when I ran across something very, very interesting.”

Lonnie couldn’t pry anything more out of her sister until they stood in Harper’s living room.

“Get ready,” Harper commanded. “The surprise is in the hall closet. Follow me.”

“This better be good. Gooder than food.”

“There’s no such word as ‘gooder’ and let’s just say it’ll take your mind completely off food.” Harper opened the closet door and grabbed the apron. She gave it a twirl and a flourish that would make a bullfighter proud. Waving it in front of Lonnie, she announced, “I found Summer’s apron.”

Gaping at the apron, Lonnie asked, “How do you know it’s Summer’s?”

“It makes sense it’s Summer’s. I went to her place yesterday after work.”

“You did?” Lonnie cut in, surprised. “Is that where you found it?”

“No, I told you I found this down in Mom’s basement this morning. But when I was at Summer’s, I just came right out and asked her about the missing apron and the missing button. I told her a little fib, that all the other girls said it wasn’t their apron.”

“Wow, how did she answer that?”

“Heatedly and loudly. She insisted she didn’t know anything about a missing apron or a missing button and then she slammed the door in my face.”

“Are you thinking the lady doth protest too much?”

“Me thinks she doth.”

Lonnie started pacing the living room floor, keeping her eyes riveted on the butternut-colored apron. “Where in the basement did you find it?”

“Over in a corner, stuck in a Red Wing crock.”

Lonnie’s stomach growled.

“Let’s eat,” she said, marching into the kitchen.

Rummaging in the fridge for deli meat, Lonnie exclaimed, “Hey, you have potato salad.”

“I asked her if Mickey broke up with her,” Harper said.

Lonnie removed the lid from the plastic container and sniffed at the contents. “I think it’s still good, too.”

“It’s all good,” Harper replied, retrieving a loaf of multigrain bread from the cupboard. Harper poured some iced tea into a couple of glasses. “What do you think I should do?”

Lonnie didn’t answer. Instead, she set meat, cheese, pickles, bean salad, hardboiled eggs, and mustard on the counter next to the bread and potato salad while Harper opened a bag of potato chips.

For several minutes, the women were too busy building sandwiches and scooping salads onto their plates to bother with conversation. Carrying their food and glasses of iced tea to the table, they settled down in their chairs before Lonnie finally answered Harper’s question.

“If Summer killed once she can kill twice. Besides, how would you handle that? Knock on her door again and say ‘guess what? I’ve got you with blood on your apron.’ She’d probably do more than slam the door in your face!”

“You have a point,” Harper conceded.

“If you go to the cops, they’re going to ask you why you tampered with evidence. Not only tampered with it, as is the case with the apron, but in the case of the button you actually hid evidence.”

Harper nodded her head. “Damned if I didn’t,” she agreed, thinking about the letters she found at Wilcox and Wilson and how she’d squirreled them away. Not to mention the prying she’d done in Grace’s desk, removing the picture of Mickey and Summer. After munching for a minute and taking a sip of tea, she continued, “So there’s only one thing for me to do.”

“Which would be what?”

Harper looked directly at Lonnie. “I need to get a confession out of Summer. Once I have it, well, it won’t matter so much about why I removed the apron—without really thinking, mind you, since I was in shock—and the cops will just be glad I actually found the button which is more than they got done anyway.”

“And how in God’s name are you planning on wrangling a confession out of Summer?”

“I’m thinking we can use Mom’s tea party to do it.”

“And how is that?”

“I still have to work out the details to get Summer to confess. Don’t worry, it’ll come to me. Why don’t you meet me out at the Inn after you get off work? I have to go back and get the rest of the stuff for the shop. We’ll iron out the details on exactly how we’ll pull one over on Summer and trap her. Okay?”

“What’s with this ‘we’ stuff? You got a mouse in your pocket?”

That evening, Harper, Lonnie and Ezra lugged the last of the collectibles up from Olivia’s basement, scooting the boxes into the back of the Ford. After dismissing Ezra to find more relaxing things to do before supper, Harper quietly led Lonnie back into the basement.

“There,” she pointed to the Red Wing crock sitting in the corner where the apron had been hidden. Harper worried Ezra might want to carry the crock up for her or wonder why she didn’t want it but she had kept him busy enough with the things she did want. She would definitely get the crock later, she promised herself.

“So, what’s the plan?” Lonnie asked, squinting at the crock as though it might hold the answer.

“At the tea, when we’re all sitting around the table, you and I can drop a few casual remarks about cleaning out the basement.”

“What are we going to say?”

“Something like ‘tomorrow we’re going to really clean out the basement’ or whatever.”

“Yeah, you could say something like ‘Mom is letting me have all the stuff down there and we’re going to haul it all out tomorrow.’ How’s that?”

“That’s good,” Harper agreed. “I’ll stuff the apron in the crock, then I’ll hide down here and when Summer sneaks in to retrieve the evidence, I flip on the lights and we have her. Then she’ll confess and we can call Hal Kennedy to come arrest her.”

“And when will Summer come for the apron?”

Harper looked a little surprised. “Why, later that night, of course.”

Lonnie gave her sister a look that said ‘you’re nuts.’ “You can’t know for sure,” she scolded. “You sound as though Summer will happily make a reservation to be in the basement at ten o’clock tomorrow night.”

“Just listen up a minute,” Harper grunted. Lonnie made a habit of going off half-cocked instead of hearing her out. It was one of those annoying little-sister traits which had hung around for over fifty years. “If you were Summer and you found out the only piece of damning evidence from the murder you committed was in jeopardy of imminent discovery, what would you do? And when would you do it?”

Lonnie shrugged and then sighed. “Okay, I guess somehow I’d try to sneak down into the basement and grab the goods before the cleaning people invaded and beat me to it.”

“Exactly!”

Lonnie shoved her hands into her jeans’ pockets and paced back and forth, broaching the subject of what might happen if Summer decided to have two victims instead of just one.

Harper smiled. “I have a gun. It’s actually Eli’s gun. A little .25 caliber Colt. He bought it years ago and when we divorced, he wanted me to keep it. Said it was more of a woman’s weapon and maybe I’d feel safer living alone if I had it in my dresser drawer. I’ll put it in my jacket pocket and I’ll be holding it when I confront Summer.”

Lonnie looked appalled. “What if you accidentally shoot her?”

“I’ll keep the safety on. Besides, I’m sure just looking down the barrel of the Colt will be enough to keep Summer in place until the cops show up.”

“How do you know the cops are going to show up?”

“You’re going to be on lookout and when you see Summer—she’ll probably park down the road a ways and sneak across the yard to the house—you’ll call 911. It should only take a few minutes for the sheriff to get here from St. Stephens.”

“How are you, or rather we, going to keep Mom in the dark about all this?  And Violet and Ezra, too?”

“They won’t catch on to what we’re saying. We’ll tell Mom tomorrow there are a few more things I want to get out from the basement on Thursday. Then she won’t think anything is unusual about what we say at the tea.”

“It sounds reasonable,” Lonnie admitted. After a brief pause, she asked, “Harper, do you really think Summer will come down here for the apron?”

Harper nodded at her sister, “I don’t think she'll have any other choice.”

Chapter Twenty One

Harper and Lonnie arrived early on Wednesday morning and offered to help Olivia and Violet, although Harper knew everything would be under control and most all of the tasks would be completed for the party.

Olivia draped a runner made from old Irish lace—in the Waterford family for over one hundred years—across the antique sideboard in the dining room.

Violet smiled. “I polished that piece of furniture with a mixture of beeswax and lemon, and if I do say so myself, it gleams like new.”

Harper surveyed the dining room. “The room looks lovely,” she told her mother and Violet. “You have certainly outdone yourselves today.”

Olivia placed a small two-tiered crystal stand in the center of each of the three linen-covered tables Ezra had pulled close together so the tea partiers could “chatter and not miss out on each other’s gossip.” Olivia filled the stands with the petit fours she and Violet spent most of Tuesday afternoon creating. Each little sponge cake was iced with butter cream frosting and decorated with pastel fondant flowers.

“My, they do look quite delicious,” Olivia declared after she finished placing the petit fours.

Violet piped up. “I thought we were going to need to hide them from Ezra yesterday. Didn’t you notice how he kept popping into the kitchen? He’d been sniffing those cakes all afternoon and I just knew he was biding his time until we turned our backs on them. Then, wham, half of them would disappear.”

Olivia laughed. “After all these years, I know Ezra pretty well. I had a few extras set aside for him,” she said. “He deserved some cake after all the extra work he’s done around here lately. He even scouted down by the river for extra bittersweet yesterday so we could add it to the vases with the mums and asters.”

“You’ve been a thoughtful employer and good friend all these years,” Violet sighed. “Ezra and I will miss all that. It’s time, though, for us old horses to settle down in a nice quiet paddock. We’re done kicking up our hooves.”

Olivia smiled at Violet. “But it doesn’t mean the three of us are ready to be put out to pasture.”

“Well, I heartily agree with you,” Violet said.

The rattle of plates preceded Lonnie as she wheeled the serving cart into the room and placed the last of the tea items on the buffet table. She eyed the layout. “The food looks super.”

“What’s to eat?” Harper asked.

“Well, we have open-face cucumber sandwiches, shrimp salad in pastry, open-face prosciutto finger sandwiches, and deviled ham and asparagus lady fingers,” Violet rattled off the menu.

“We’re also serving lemon scones with raspberry butter and clotted cream,” Olivia added. “And along with the petit fours, our desserts include stuffed strawberries with white chocolate crème as well as chocolate raspberry mini bunt cakes.”

“Good grief,” Harper exclaimed. “How did you two find the time to do all this?”

“Well, dear, we started early Monday morning. And to let you in on a little secret, we didn’t do all of this ourselves.”

“That’s right,” Violet cut in. “We had some help. Maggie volunteered. She knows who to contact to get out-of-season items like the asparagus and strawberries. After your mother ordered a few supplies from her, well, Maggie drove over here and offered her help with the baking and prepping.”

“We have three kinds of tea, too,” Olivia mentioned as she struck a match and lit the candles on the sideboard. “If this is our last hurrah, we decided to make it a mighty fine one.”

Violet flashed a big grin at Harper. “Olivia wants me to be a guest, too. How sweet of her is that?”

“After everything you’ve done for Mom all these years, Violet, you should be the guest of honor.” Harper put her arm around Violet’s broad shoulders and gave her a hug.

Blushing, Violet muttered, “I hear guests arriving,” and she hustled out to the foyer to show the guests in.

Mindy and Carly were the first to show up.

“Oh, my Gawd,” Mindy squeaked as she took in the elegance of the formal dining room, the mums, asters, and bittersweet adding colorful touches to the cut glass vases. “This is like so awesome.”

“It looks like I’m in a dream for sure,” Carly said softly, taking in the sparkle of the crystal and fine china on the tables, the sheen of polished silver, and the soft glow of the lighted candles.

Tammy drifted in a few minutes later, followed by Riley and Rachel. They offered compliments on the décor.

“It’s very nice,” Rachel commented. “Very pretty.”

“You really went all out,” Tammy chirped, roaming around the room and taking note of everything so she could report back to her mother.

“Very romantic,” sighed Riley who was between boyfriends at the moment and feeling the need to find a new one. After Maggie walked into the room and everyone commented on the big sparkly diamond ring on her finger, Riley sighed again.

Summer, last to arrive, got there right at four o’clock. Ignoring Harper, she greeted Olivia warmly and then engaged in conversation with Riley and Rachel.

With the last guest there, Olivia cleared her throat and announced, “Ladies, we’ll begin. Look for your name on the place cards.”

Olivia had arranged to seat Harper at a table with Mindy, Rachel and Riley. Lonnie joined Summer, Tammy, and Carly at the second table, while Olivia, Violet and Maggie made up the third. For several minutes, the sound of muted conversation was accompanied by the clink of silverware on china as each guest filled her plate with a sampling of tiny sandwiches and sweets.

Thoroughly enjoying every bite of her food, Mindy offered Harper the perfect opening. “How are you doing with the packing, Mrs. Waterford?”

What a good girl, Harper thought. Setting down her cup of Earl Gray, she listened as her mother replied she was almost finished. Then, casually, Harper remarked, “We’re down to the basement on the packing now. As a matter of fact, I sorted through a few things yesterday. I plan to finish the job down there tomorrow.”

Lonnie jumped in right on cue. “That’s right. I’m helping, too. Then we’re going to do a thorough job of cleaning.”

Harper stole a peek at Summer who took a bite out of a cucumber sandwich. Summer didn't bat an eye. She’s a cool customer, Harper thought to herself.

“In fact,” Harper went on, looking directly at Summer and pushing as hard as she could, “we’ll sweep down the walls and scrub out the corners. Very thorough we plan to be.”

Olivia nibbled on a strawberry. “Why, dear, you and Lonnie don’t need to clean the basement. Ezra did such a good job cleaning down there last week.”

“But once we get everything moved out of there, we’ll need to clean again. After all, Ezra didn’t clean under the stuff, he just cleaned around the stuff. There won’t be any stuff left when we get done,” Harper said pointedly.

Talk soon turned to Rachel’s wedding. The bride-to-be became animated as she relayed the plans for her big day to the other girls.

“I didn’t realize how much work a wedding is. I just hope everything goes as planned,” she told Riley.

“It must be wonderful to know you’ll walk down the aisle in a lovely bridal gown,” Riley mused dreamily. “Lots of lace and a long train. That’s what I want anyway.”

Olivia joined the conversation. “I remember how busy we were before each of my girls got married.”

“The hubbub lasted for weeks before each wedding,” Violet said crisply, “and then it was all over in one day.”

“I can’t wait until I find the right man and get married,” Riley sighed.

“Sometimes the right man can be the wrong man,” Summer blurted out, her voice quivering with emotion.

Tammy looked at Summer and frowned slightly. “If the man is the wrong one, how can he be the right one? Doesn’t make sense to me,” she protested.

Summer shot Tammy a dirty look. The gesture wasn’t lost on Harper. She watched Summer’s shoulders slump as though a heavy cloak of misery settled across her back. Summer remained quiet during the rest of Olivia’s tea party and Harper wondered if the silence was nerves over worrying that telltale evidence was about to be uncovered.

At six o’clock, Olivia handed each woman a small gift bag of handcrafted soaps and sachets along with her thanks for having helped the festival run smoothly over the years.

“I’m going to miss coming here,” Tammy said while everyone gathered in the foyer to say goodbye.

“I don’t think the Hoovers will make a lot of changes around the place,” Olivia assured all of them. “In fact, I know they want to keep the Pumpkin Patch Festival going. I’m sure they will need a few helping hands during that time. I’ll give you all good recommendations.”

“Hopefully there won’t be any more murders out here,” Mindy said tactlessly.

Carly and Tammy quickly replied in unison, “I’m sure there won’t be.”

Rachel muttered, “Of course not.”

Riley proclaimed, “No way,” and Mindy, blushing at her faux pas, silently nodded in agreement with the others.

Harper wasn’t surprised when Summer didn’t add a word to the conversation, only turned on her heel and stomped out the door, a look of contempt on her pretty face.

The early evening shadows spilled across the lawn while the sisters hid out on the front porch, away from Violet’s prying eyes and Olivia’s questioning ones. Harper pulled her jacket collar up around her neck. The air was chilly as it swirled around the house.

“I tell you, I know this will work!” Harper crossed her arms, her face stony.

“I hope you’re right,” Lonnie said. “But why do I have to hide in the shadows here on the porch while you get to sit in a warm basement? It’s getting cold out here.”

“Well, your jacket should keep you warm enough but if not, you can go grab a blanket and wrap up in it. Someone has to be on the lookout for Summer and since it’s just you and me, and I have to be in the basement, you’re elected to be on watch. Now do you remember what you’re supposed to do when you spot her?”

“First, I make sure she can’t see me, next I send you a text, then I call 911 and tell the dispatcher to send the sheriff or a deputy.”

“You got it,” Harper exclaimed as Violet and Olivia stepped out onto the porch.

“She got what?” Violet asked. “Seems like you two have been acting mighty strange since the tea party ended.”

“Are you sure you aren’t up to something having to do with the murder?” Olivia questioned Harper. “I don’t think you should be asking any more questions of folks. You should leave that up to the proper authorities.”

Violet narrowed her eyes. “Seems like you’re hanging around here pretty late. We got the cleanup done. Thought I picked up some words you girls were whispering to each other earlier. Words like ‘hide’ and ‘element of surprise.’”

“How silly, Violet. We were only talking about how we were going to handle the basement clean up,” Harper said reproachfully. Taking Lonnie’s arm she escorted her sister inside, holding the door for the older women.

“We’re going to size up the job right now, Mom. See what we need to do tomorrow. No dirt will hide from us.”

“Right,” Lonnie piped up, “we’ll scope the basement out now so there’s no element of surprise tomorrow.” She grinned at Violet as the older woman hoofed it into the foyer.

Harper put her arm around Olivia’s waist and said sincerely, “It was a great party and you worked hard. Why don’t you and Violet call it a day? Lonnie and I will be out of here soon. We’ll lock up.”

“I am tired,” Olivia conceded. “And I know Violet is, too. It turned out very well, didn’t it? I’m going to miss the gentle charm of this old house.”

Climbing the stairs after Olivia, Violet groaned, “I’ll miss the charm but I sure won’t miss these stairs.” She turned and faced Harper. Holding her index and middle finger in a vee, she pointed to her eyes and then to the sisters, who knew very well what the gesture meant.

Creeping quietly across the basement floor to where the twenty gallon Red Wing crock sat wedged into the corner, Harper and Lonnie put their plan into action. Harper stuffed the carefully folded apron back into the crock, exactly where she’d found it.

Then she chose a spot along the adjacent wall to stack several packing barrels and crates.

“Just like a little fort to hide behind,” she told Lonnie as they piled on the last crate. “And there’s a light switch on the wall right beside me.”

Lonnie, still a little miffed at having to wait outside in the cold, grumbled, “There’s a can of bug spray on the floor right beside you, too. If you see any crazy, murderous spiders you can hold them until the bug cops get here. I hope Summer doesn’t drag her feet. I want to get this over with.”

After sending her sister off to the porch with a pat on the back, Harper sat down on an overturned bucket behind her makeshift fort of crates and packing barrels and waited. After what seemed a very long time, she checked her watch. Almost twelve thirty. Maybe Lonnie was right and Summer wouldn’t show up tonight. Yet how could she not if she possessed any brains at all. Harper and Lonnie had made it very clear at the tea party how they would clean out every nook and cranny down here hoping to plant a seed of worry in Summer’s mind. If Harper had committed the murder and hid the apron, she’d break her butt to get down here and snatch it back. She’d get the blood-splattered evidence and she’d burn it. Any sane person would.  But maybe Summer wasn’t sane. Harper hadn’t considered that. Summer didn’t come off as insane, just slutty. Harper pondered the difference between falling in love with a man like Mickey versus falling into bed with a man like Mickey and then pulled her cell phone out of her jeans pocket. Still no text from Lonnie.

She’d sat on the overturned bucket long enough. She needed to stretch her legs. Leaving her hiding place, Harper meandered around the basement. Lonnie would let her know when to return to her fort. She stuffed the cell phone back in her jeans pocket. She had set it to vibrate when Lonnie sent her the text message. In the meantime, she cautiously picked her way around in the deep gloom, dodging a few old pieces of furniture and other items which would probably find their way to the junkyard.

It was dark but Harper’s eyes had adjusted enough to the gloom so she could just make out the form of her old tricycle, the one she’d ridden around and around for hours on the big front porch when she was three or four. Riding on the wooden porch seemed so much easier than peddling down the gravel driveway. The trike had lost one of its back wheels and had seen better days. Next to the tricycle sat a small, discarded wooden chest, a few of its slats broken. Harper smiled as she recalled how years ago her father convinced her it was a treasure chest and once belonged to a pirate. She’d believed him until one day, turning the old chest upside down, she’d seen the words Made in Joliet, Illinois. So much for bottles of rum and dead men’s chests full of gold. Harper smiled at the memory and squinted her eyes. On top of an old table in the middle of the junk pile sat a broken carriage clock that once graced the mantle in the dining room. Harper remembered how one of her chores had been to dust the mantle and the clock when she was young. She and Lonnie actually squabbled over who got to do the dusting because their father told the sisters he purchased the ornate timepiece at a rummage sale held in the Queen of France’s castle. Harper chuckled and stretched out her hand, lightly touching the clock face, remembering how long ago she had to stand on tiptoe, stretching to reach the dining room mantle.

That’s when the truth hit her like a bad smell on a hot night. There it was, the answer to the nagging little tickle pricking at the back of her brain the past few days. Why hadn’t she seen it before? It all made sense now. All the pieces of the puzzle fell into place and there was no doubt in Harper’s mind who killed Grace Potter.

Unexpectedly and with no warning, the sharp creaking of the basement door gradually swinging open sliced through the silence. What the heck? Harper thought. She hadn’t felt the vibration of her phone alerting her to Lonnie’s text. She realized with a start Lonnie probably hadn’t sent her one. And now she had stupidly wandered to the far side of the basement and it was a long walk through the inky darkness before she could reach the safety of the packing crate fort.

Moving carefully, Harper kept her head turned toward the basement door and watched the slim beam of a penlight dance down the stairs ahead of stealthy footsteps. She held her breath and listened. Damn, it was dark down here. She couldn’t see across the room, couldn’t make out who stood behind the light beam floating downstairs. The penlight seemed to be carried by the spectral hand of an invisible ghost.

A frightening thought poked around inside Harper’s head. What if it was Grace Potter who walked softly down those stairs? Goosebumps popped out on her arms. Don’t be stupid, Harper Reed, she barked the order to herself. You know damn well it’s the killer carrying that light. Not that the knowledge made the situation any better. Where was her text from Lonnie? Had Lonnie even called 911 like they’d planned?

In the darkness, Harper ran her shin into the corner of an old steamer trunk. The disembodied footsteps stopped halfway between the stairs and the corner where the stained apron in the crock waited to be claimed. Taking a deep breath, Harper stiffened her spine. It was imperative she move and move quickly. Adrenalin pumping, she sidestepped behind a thick wooden upright beam bracing the floor, holding her breath as the penlight searched the area where she had stood just seconds before.

The light made its calculated search to the wooden joist that she now hid behind, then deliberately moved to the opposite side of the basement. Harper deftly slid behind a worn overstuffed chair and crouched there as the beam of light slowly, carefully inched farther away from her. Sweat trickled down her armpits while she waited until the footsteps resumed their march toward the Red Wing crock.

Harper watched the thin glow of the penlight work its way across the floor until it reached the corner. She knew she had to scramble back behind her fort and she had to do it pronto. Praying nothing was in her path, she silently made her way from the old chair to the stack of crates. Peering over them, she watched spellbound as the light danced across the crock’s lid. Stealthily, a slender hand reached out, thin fingers reaching toward the knob on top. Harper’s own fingers slid inside her jacket pocket, feeling for the Colt. She wrapped her hand around the cold hard weapon and pulled out Lonnie’s cell phone.

Her mind could scarcely take in the fact that she stared at an iPhone5 instead of a Colt .25.

What the heck? she thought. Lonnie and I must have mixed up our jackets. Now what am I going to do?

Thinking quickly, she picked up the can of bug spray and then lightly rested her hand on the switch plate on the wall. Barely allowing herself to breathe, she waited until she saw the apron being pulled from its hiding place.

“Hello, Rachel,” Harper said in the inky darkness a second before flipping the switch and flooding the basement with light.

Rachel Turnbuckle, her brown eyes dazed, stood hugging the bloody apron to her thin chest. She dropped the garment. For a second she stood very still, a soft guttural sound escaping from deep in her throat. Then, throwing back her head and arching her spine, she screamed and screamed, like the hounds of Hell had finally found her.

Startled at the intensity of the scream and the look of absolute revulsion on Rachel’s face, Harper took a step backwards, but Rachel, moving quickly forward until she stood only inches away, wrapped her hands around Harper’s throat with an uncanny swiftness. Falling back onto a packing crate with Rachel on top of her, Harper heard the wood splinter.

This woman who had every reason to hate Grace Potter enough to murder her now clutched Harper in a death grip that belied her slender hands. Rachel held on to Harper’s neck for dear life and Harper struggled to breathe. Fighting to remain conscious, darkness began to creep in around the edges of Harper’s vision and her lungs burned.

With a huge effort, Harper managed to raise her right arm until her hand was even with Rachel’s face. Praying the can was pointed in the right direction, she pressed down on the nozzle of the insect spray. Rachel screamed again, then began making choking sounds as she released her hold on Harper’s neck in order to frantically wipe at her eyes and nose.

Harper was trying to struggle to her feet when a firm but gentle hand grabbed her arm and steadied her. Sucking in as much air as she could, relief flooded Harper as she looked into Maggie’s worried face. Fred had Rachel in a stronghold with no intention of letting go. Rachel struggled for a few minutes, trying to kick Fred and break loose. Then panting heavily with a little drool sliding from her lips, she went limp. She seemed to realize it was useless to struggle with Fred. There was no fight left in her.

At the top of the basement steps, Lonnie uttered a moan. “I didn’t call the cops, I didn’t call the cops. My phone is a gun.”

“Well, take mine and call now, woman,” Maggie shouted, grabbing her cell phone out of her coat pocket and tossing it deftly to Lonnie.

Lonnie rapidly poked the numbers into the phone. By the time she reached the dispatcher, Violet had made her way down from the third floor to the top of the basement steps.

“What in the world is going on down here?” she demanded, hands on her hips. Olivia, eyes enormous, stood behind her while Ezra shoved his way around the two older women and ran to help Fred.

Sobbing, Lonnie put her arms around Harper. Rubbing her throat, Harper croaked, “I’m okay, honest. But, Lonnie, where is my text?”

Chapter Twenty Two

“I almost feel Grace Potter marinating in posthumous publicity,” Maggie joked, offering Harper a muffin still warm from the oven.

“You know it,” Harper agreed, taking the muffin and pouring herself a cup of coffee. It felt good to relax in Maggie’s snug country kitchen. Lonnie and Paul were also invited for coffee and while she waited for her sister and brother-in-law to join them, she let the worries of the previous two days evaporate as she sniffed the aroma of Maggie’s excellent home baking.

Fred meandered into the kitchen, enticed by the aroma of the blueberry muffins and fresh, hot coffee.

“The morning paper is on the counter,” Maggie told him as he lightly skimmed the top of her head with a kiss, a gesture of intimacy Harper sometimes missed.

“I see Rachel Turnbuckle made the front page again today,” Fred observed, unfolding the paper on the table while Maggie poured him a cup of coffee. “Says here she’s undergoing a psychiatric evaluation. Why waste the time on that? We all know she’s crazy.”

Harper grimaced and touched her neck. “I’ll say.” The memories of Rachel trying to strangle her wouldn’t fade away as quickly as the bruising.

“We’ve known Rachel for such a long time,” Maggie remarked. “It’s difficult to believe she could have attacked you, Harper, much less killed someone.”

“She could have killed Harper,” Fred declared. “Did you ever stop to consider as you laid your trap that whoever showed up might have a gun or knife? And the only weapon you were able to arm yourself with was a can of insect spray.”

“Ah, but I did arm myself,” Harper said. “With a Colt .25. The snafu to the plan happened when Lonnie and I grabbed the wrong jackets. She ended up with my gun and I ended up with her phone. Besides, it’s water under the bridge. I came over here this morning to tell you about my visit with Deputy Kennedy yesterday afternoon. Hal and I talked for quite some time and since the evidence I ‘stumbled’ across really had nothing to do with Rachel, I’m not going to get into any trouble with tampering.”

“You mean I don’t get to visit you in jail,” Maggie teased. “How boring.”

“Boring’s good,” Harper stated. “Hal interviewed Rachel’s parents along with a few other people in town, and yesterday the two of us were able to put in place the pieces of the puzzle surrounding Grace’s murder. You deserve to know the whole story since you saved my life, Fred. And I know neither of you will go spreading gossip after I tell you who was doing what with whom.”

Fred laughed. “Sounds intriguing already.”

“But I want to know why you and Maggie got to the Inn so quickly. Lonnie told me a little bit but she didn’t know everything.”

A knock sounded on the back door and Lonnie poked her head inside.

“We’d have been here sooner,” Lonnie apologized, “but Paul spent a lot of time looking for a pair of old shoes.”

“Yeah,” Paul smiled as he followed his wife into the farm kitchen. “She thought she could hide them from me, but I tracked them down.”

Paul stuck out a foot and looked admiringly at the worn leather loafer.

“Harper’s about to tell us everything we need to know about Grace Potter’s murder,” Maggie told them, filling two more cups with coffee and setting them on the table while Paul and Lonnie shrugged out of their coats.

“So start already,” Lonnie demanded, taking the coffee from Maggie.

“Well,” Harper began, “everyone knows Grace was a busybody but she was a bigger busybody than anyone in town suspected. She’d spent years sticking her nose where it didn’t belong and had actually kept notes on the dirt she dug up. Then the week before she was murdered, she stumbled onto not one but three juicy affairs.”

Fred raised his eyebrows. “Love affairs?”

“Yep. Two current, one past.”

Harper took a sip of her coffee. “Before I go on, I want to hear from you and Fred, Maggie. Thank goodness you were at the Inn when you were. You couldn’t have timed it better.”

“We went to bed later than usual that night,” Fred said. “Maggie insists on keeping the bedroom window open a few inches, even when it’s cold. Anyway, about midnight I got up to go to the bathroom. On my way back to bed, I decided I had enough fresh air. I just started to close the window when the light from the half moon revealed a shadow moving along the edge of the timberline. I stood and watched for a minute, until my eyes adjusted to the dim light. I realized it wasn’t a deer but a human shape moving as stealthily as a ghost across the property and onto Olivia’s land. That’s when I woke up Maggie.”

Maggie refilled Fred’s coffee mug and took up the story. “We threw on some clothes and hurried downstairs, pulled on our boots and grabbed our jackets. Fred snatched a flashlight from the kitchen cupboard and we hurried outside. We jogged across the yard to the edge of the timberline where Fred said he’d last seen whoever or whatever it was.

“I huffed and puffed trying to keep up with Fred,” Maggie laughed. “By then whoever it was had disappeared ahead of us and there was no way of knowing if we still followed them or not. Fred took my hand and we ran along a well-worn path between the two properties. In short order we spotted a figure crossing Olivia’s pumpkin patch. So we slipped behind the garden shed and watched the figure sneak to the back door of the house. That’s when Fred shouted ‘Come on! Hurry!’ and we took off running.”

Lonnie spoke up. “And when you reached the backyard you gave me quite a turn. I was shivering despite my sweatshirt and jacket, and I felt sorry I let Harper talk me into something so totally stupid. I’d been picturing Summer snug and warm in her own bed while I sat freezing to death on the front porch. The whole thing was just insane. There was no guarantee crazy Summer would show up or Harper’s plan would work even if she did sneak into the basement. I looked at my watch and saw it was already past midnight. So I decided nothing was going to happen that night and left my chair on the porch. I walked around the side of the house just to check things out. At first all I heard was a bullfrog croaking and an owl hooting. But when I reached the backyard I became aware of other sounds—heavy breathing and pounding footsteps. Believe me, it stopped me dead in my tracks. I reached into my pocket to get my phone and send Harper a text and darn near wet my pants when I realized I held her gun instead of my cell. That was when I caught sight of a man and woman sprinting across the lawn so I jumped into the shadows beside the house to hide.”

Lonnie paused. Paul sat tapping his fingers on the table, a perturbed look on his face.

“Everything came out okay, don’t look so upset,” Lonnie said, patting Paul’s arm. “Anyway, I thought, damn, Summer brought Mickey with her! Why hadn’t we considered that? Discretion might be the better part of valor but the thought of those two losers overtaking my sister down in the basement overruled good judgment and without thinking of the consequences, I switched on my flashlight and shone it directly in their faces.”

Maggie laughed. “You assumed the stance of a Ninja and yelled ‘Halt now!”

“Your flashlight startled me,” Fred cut in, “and I almost yelled right along with you.”

“Instead, you shouted, ‘Someone just broke into the house,’ and I shouted, ‘Harper’s down there and it’s the murderer you saw,’” Lonnie exclaimed.

“That’s when we heard such a bloodcurdling screech as ever there was coming from the basement. We all three froze in our steps,” Maggie declared.

“But just for a second,” Lonnie affirmed.

“So now you know how we came to be in the right place at the right time,” Maggie said. “It’s your turn, Harper. Tell us how you figured out Grace knew about the three affairs.”

Harper stretched her legs out in front of her and nodded ‘yes’ to Fred’s offer of a refill on her coffee. After a couple of sips, she said, “I caught on to the first one when I found two letters in Grace’s office desk. She’d written one to Deacon Fairweather and the other to Bruce Abbott.” Harper put down the muffin she’d been nibbling on and paused for effect. “She’d caught Pastor Hart and Fanny Abbott going at it on the pastor’s desk.”

“Oh, good grief. That’s kind of disgusting,” Maggie groaned.

“The minister doing it with a parishioner or Harper’s snooping?”  Paul asked Maggie in all innocence.

Harper cast a sideways glance in his direction before continuing her story. “I talked to Fanny and found out Grace gave her and Lawrence one week to confess to Daphne and Bruce or else the letters would get mailed. Fanny insisted she was with Bruce the entire evening and I believed her, although I planned on checking her story out with her husband. But when Daphne told me her husband disappeared during the time Grace was killed I figured he could have been off breaking one more Commandment.”

“Busy week for busybodies,” Maggie muttered.

“I don’t suppose either one of them thought that even if they did confess, Grace might have mailed the letters anyway,” Fred said.

“Gosh, Honey.” Maggie raised her eyebrows and looked wide-eyed at the man she loved. “You would make a very evil blackmailer.”

“Good thing I’m so darn nice, isn’t it?” Fred smiled at Maggie while he grabbed the coffee pot to refill all the cups.

After finishing the last bite of her muffin and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Harper went on with her account. “So now, Lawrence stuck out like a sore thumb. He had motive even though it was hard to believe a minister could do such a thing. But I figured the thought of knowing everything he held dear was in jeopardy might have pushed him beyond his limit of tolerance. And he had opportunity.”

“So you kept up your sleuthing even though you had two suspects,” Fred scolded.

“Well, there wasn’t any concrete evidence pointing to them having been in the shed. And then I stumbled onto the next batch of evidence,” Harper said picking up her blueberry muffin.

Lonnie gave a snort and poked her in the ribs. “You’re among friends. Tell exactly how you stumbled.”

“Okay, okay,” Harper said. “I uncovered a picture of Mickey and Summer in Grace’s desk at her house. I confronted Summer and Mickey about the photo. Summer admitted to the affair and said Grace threatened to tell Lucy about the two of them but gave them one week to tell Lucy themselves. Perfect motive since Lucy would have ripped what little heart Mickey has out of his chest and fed it to him. Then she’d have ruined his business. Later, I found out both Summer and Mickey had the opportunity during the festival to kill Grace.”

“Mickey O’Connell always was a cocky jerk,” Fred interjected.

“True,” Harper agreed. “And it might not have bothered Summer if people learned she was doing it with her brother-in-law, but it would have put an end to the affair and she was in love with Mickey. The chances Mickey would have picked her over his wife, kids, and business were slim and she had to know it. Anyway, Grace was murdered before the week deadline was up, and I really suspected one of them.”

Paul spoke up. “You assumed Mickey and Summer met up in the shed, Grace found them there, and one of them killed her.”

“Yes. But then Mona Potter dropped a bombshell and implicated Roy and Glennis Turnbuckle.”

“Roy and Glennis? Bombshell?” Fred looked puzzled.

“Grace apparently stumbled onto some counseling notes in Pastor Hart’s office. She discovered Rachel became pregnant when she was a teen and gave the baby up for adoption. She pulled the old ‘give ‘em a week’ routine with Roy and Glennis, too. If they didn’t tell Roger everything, then Grace would. It was motive and thanks to you and Fred, Maggie, I knew the Turnbuckles had opportunity.”

Fred looked perplexed for a minute. Then the light went on. “You mean when I saw them walking out toward the garden shed around the time Grace was murdered.”

Harper nodded. “The finger of guilt pointed to them, also.”

“Wow,” Maggie exclaimed. “That bit of news must have really excited Grace.”

“So Rachel never entered your head?” Fred asked.

“Not then. Just Lawrence and Fanny at first. Then Summer and Mickey. Later it was Roy and Glennis. I never did believe the police were on the right track with Jersey Simon and looking at him was a waste of time.”

“Maggie and I wondered about that line of thought,” Fred admitted. “If Simon was a big time crook we didn't figure leaving a bloody body behind was a probability. He’d have done it cleaner and neater.”

Paul nodded in agreement with Fred and laid his arm across the back of Lonnie’s chair.

“Tell them why you settled on Summer as the killer,” Lonnie coaxed Harper. “Even though it turned out it wasn’t Summer.”

“Lonnie and I recreated the murder scene out in the shed.” Harper shivered at the memory of the cold spot she encountered while kneeling by the unconscious Alice that day, as though she’d felt Grace’s cold, dead spirit. Casting a look at Lonnie she knew her sister was thinking of the unexplained shadow she'd seen. The sisters shared a covert glance before Harper continued.

“I discovered a button which Lonnie and I recognized as belonging on one of the aprons the servers wore only during the festival. Why was it on the shed floor? If Grace had struggled with her killer and pulled the button off the apron then it stood to reason the killer must be one of the girls working that night. The only one with any motive was Summer, or at least that’s what I thought at the time. She undoubtedly felt the old witch put a major hitch in her relationship with Mickey plus threatened to destroy her relationship with her sister. Why wouldn’t she hate Grace enough to murder her? When I found out Summer disappeared for awhile from her place on the back porch, it sewed it up in my opinion. I figured she either saw Grace go out to the shed and followed her or else she met Mickey out there and Grace caught them.”

Maggie posed a question. “So when did you find the bloody apron?”

“Mom called and said she was ready to clean out the basement. She wondered if there was anything I might want for the shop. I found the crock with the apron stuffed in it.”

“Harper went to Summer’s apartment and made sure she knew we knew an apron was missing,” Lonnie volunteered. “Then she came up with the plan to make sure Summer knew we were going to go through every nook and cranny down in the basement, where we’d obviously find the bloody evidence.”

“You used the tea party to lay the bait!” Maggie exclaimed. “That was clever.”

“I planned to hide in the basement because I knew she’d show up to reclaim the apron. Lonnie was supposed to be the lookout on the front porch, text me when she saw her coming, and then call the cops.”

“You know it all makes sense in some odd sort of way,” Fred said.

“An odd female sort of way,” Paul added, blinking as three pairs of female eyes turned on him. “Just saying,” he muttered.

“You never tumbled to it being Rachel?” Paul asked.

“I did actually,” Harper smiled, “right before she came down the basement steps! I ran across an old clock and I thought about how I used to reach up to dust it on the mantel when I was a kid. It was then I remembered Rachel picking up a lit candle from the mantel in order to blow out the flame. She complained because she dripped some of the hot candle wax onto her white blouse. I could see her standing there holding the candle, not wearing an apron. That’s when I remembered talking to Rachel at her apartment where she told me she saw Summer that night out by the pumpkin patch after dark, something Rachel couldn’t have seen if she’d stayed in the dining room where she was supposed to be at the time. It all fell into place then.”

“So Rachel killed Grace to keep her from telling Roger about the pregnancy,” Maggie mused.

Harper nodded and continued. “Yeah. Here’s what Hal and I figure happened. Rachel often went in to work early at the hardware store. She was there the morning Grace came in and threatened Roy and Glennis with exposing her to Roger. Roy and Glennis didn’t know she was there since she was busy with planning the wedding and had been taking a lot of time off from work. She must have overheard the whole thing with Grace. I can imagine how it ate at her. She’d finally found Mr. Right but before she got the chance to walk down the aisle and claim him, Grace Potter planned to ruin it all.”

“How she must have hated the woman,” Maggie said.

“Around dusk on the night of the murder, Grace saw either Mickey and Summer or Roy and Glennis walking out by the shed. Curiosity made her follow. We know Rachel was standing by the patio door in the dining room—Tammy pointed it out. Rachel could easily see Grace from there because it wasn’t quite dark yet. She came up with the excuse she needed to fetch a mop to clean up some spilled coffee. Instead of getting a mop, she sneaked out and followed Grace to the shed where she waited, then confronted her and killed her. Coming back to the house, she spotted Summer. Tragically, what she didn’t know is that Roy and Glennis came to the conclusion that the only answer to their dilemma was to come clean with Roger. They walked about the property that night discussing how to go about telling him, and were actually in the process of spilling it all to Roger while the bonfire burned. Roger loved Rachel and he truly didn’t care about what had happened thirty years earlier. The three of them agreed to tell Rachel everything before the week was up.”

“So it would have all worked out for her even if Grace got to Roger.”

“Right. For awhile, the Turnbuckles were thankful for Grace’s death. Until they found out Rachel had done it, of course.”

Harper looked out of Maggie’s kitchen window. A spattering of cold rain left marks on the glass. A few brown leaves left on the maple trees shook in the north wind as it picked up steam. It looked as though Old Man Winter was preparing to steal autumn away.

Harper continued, “Apparently, when Mickey hooked up with Summer out by the shed, he dumped her. After he got done with that little errand, he ran into Lawrence Hart and spent the better part of an hour talking to the Pastor about how he wanted to get marriage counseling for himself and Lucy.”

Lonnie chuckled. “He wanted to do a little pre-emptive ass saving and be the one to suggest pastoral counseling to Lucy. Admit all to his wife, beg forgiveness, and take the first step with counseling so she would be less likely to castrate him.”

“Ouch,” Paul winced, pulling Lonnie toward him and kissing her temple. “It definitely pays to be a faithful husband.”

It definitely does, Harper thought to herself, considering Eli for a moment before saying out loud, “I learned through Hal that Lawrence Hart and Daphne are leaving in a few days to attend a couple’s seminar in Missouri. Perhaps he’s confessed to his wife, but whether or not she or his conscience demands he tell the church board about his affair, well, I guess time will tell.

“Bruce and Fanny are still together and I have a feeling Bruce will never hear the truth from his wife about her affair with Lawrence. I ran into Fanny yesterday at the grocery store. We chatted for a minute, and then she told me she’d bought Grace’s Lexus from Marshall.”

Maggie started to laugh and Lonnie joined in.

“What’s so funny?” Paul asked.

“Oh, nothing much, Paul. But if you listen closely you’ll hear Grace spinning in her grave because her biggest business rival is now driving her new car,” Harper explained.

“Every time Fanny shows a house for Wilcox and Wilson Real Estate, she’ll drive there in the Lexus,” Lonnie said, grinning.

“So, Harper, have you heard any news about Lucy and Mickey?” Maggie asked, still chuckling over Fanny’s car coup.

“So far, Lucy hasn’t kicked Mickey out of the house and I heard Summer gave notice at Rubino’s because she’s moving to St. Andrews. I don’t know if Lucy found out about Mickey and Summer, but I’m sure she won’t hear about it from either of them.”

“What about Glennis and Roy? And Roger?”

“Hal Kennedy said Roger swears he’ll stick by Rachel. The Turnbuckles are hoping the psychiatric evaluation she’s undergoing will find she wasn’t in her right mind at the time of the murder. They plan to list the hardware store with Wilson and Wilcox Realty. They have to sell in order to pay for either Rachel’s psychiatric treatment or her legal defense, depending on how the evaluation turns out.”

“Poor Roy and Glennis. Looks as though their retirement dream won’t come true anytime soon,” Maggie mused.

“I’m just glad it’s over,” Lonnie declared, glancing around the table at her husband and friends, her eyes resting on Harper.

“On to better news,” Harper piped up. “Mead and Alice have signed the papers to close on the Inn. They did that yesterday. And they also announced they are expecting. They’ll have more than fireworks at the Inn by the Fourth of July. Mom plans on moving to the townhouse next week.”

“What wonderful news,” Maggie beamed. “We’ll miss Olivia next door but it’s nice to know we’re getting a nice family for neighbors and Olivia will finally move to town.”

“Since we are sharing good news, I’d like to make an announcement,” Fred beamed. “Maggie and I have set the date.” He raised Maggie’s hand to his lips.

“Well, heck, let’s celebrate!” Paul laughed merrily. “How about Lonnie and I take you to dinner at Rubino’s this evening! You free, Harper?”

Harper grinned from ear to ear, “I wouldn’t miss it! Champagne’s on me.”

“So when’s the wedding?” Lonnie wanted to know.

“May eighteenth. It will be a very small ceremony. We’re planning on holding it and the reception here at the farm.”

“Oh, it sounds wonderful,” Lonnie laughed. “Think of all of the spring flowers we can decorate with. Providing you let Harper and me help you,” she added, shooting a questioning glance at Maggie.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Maggie answered. “That’s what friends are for.”

Lonnie grinned at Harper and squealed, “I can’t wait! This is so exciting. After all, what can possibly go wrong with a Bittersweet Hollow wedding?”

THE END

About the Authors

Annie Irvin has enjoyed a nomadic life and after inheriting her grandfather’s large collection of books still managed to always find room in the U-Haul for every last page even if it meant leaving behind the kitchen table. Eventually Annie ended up where she began—a small town in Iowa where gossip is king and scandal has ruined more than one good woman, although no one has yet resorted to murder.

Rae Sanders once consulted an honest-to-goodness fortune teller who predicted she’d be married three times and wouldn’t find true happiness until she lived near the water. Not a swimmer, Rae scoffed at the idea. However, she is now happily married to husband number three and lives in Minnesota, Land of 10,000 Lakes. When she isn’t writing, she’s fishing for supper.

Annie and Rae are sisters who became addicted to reading cozy mysteries while in their teens. Today they enjoy every minute spent creating the characters that live, love, and, alas, die in Bittersweet Hollow.

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For information about other Cozy Cat Press books, visit our website at:  www.cozycatpress.com