As I drove home along River Road, the grass was completely flattened and sullied brown along the edges, showing how far the water had risen over its banks. I had to use the wipers every now and then to clear the mud-splattered windshield.
When I arrived in Millbury, I parked outside the house and hurried toward the store. As I passed Tony Z’s barber shop, I did a double take.
Cyril Mackey was sitting stiff-backed in one of the red vinyl chairs.
I couldn’t help it. I stopped dead in my tracks and watched open-mouthed as wet pieces of his long gray locks fell to the mottled vinyl flooring.
Cyril glared at me, hard enough to crack the hand-lettered glass.
I waved and chuckled as I walked on.
Hey, wait a minute. I took a surreptitious step back and checked out his attire. Was Cyril wearing a new jacket, too? It hung on him somewhat, but it was a definite improvement on the old one.
It wasn’t until I’d unlocked the door of Sometimes a Great Notion and started the coffee brewing that I realized where I’d seen that particular green tweed jacket before.
Chapter Fourteen
I willed Eleanor to appear so I could share that tidbit with her, but the universe wasn’t listening. She must have actually decided to open her own place and do some work for a change. Martha didn’t show up with any baked goods either, so I dug into my emergency supply and poured a bag of M&M’s into a glass bowl.
I treated myself by admiring the dollhouse for a few minutes, which I hadn’t had a chance to do before, and then spent the next several hours printing out and filling orders received through the website. I’d make a run down the street to our tiny historic post office before it closed at 5 p.m. with my stack of neatly wrapped packages.
Later that afternoon, when the sun was shining once more through the front windows, I was greeted by a welcome “Yo!”
“Patsy!” I threw my eyeglasses down on the sorting table and rushed to meet her. “Congratulations on doing such a great job at the auction on Saturday. I know I told you at the time, but I’m saying it again for good measure.”
She grinned. “Thanks again for recommending me. I couldn’t believe how much money I made. Sure beats waitressing.”
“No one else could have pulled it off the way you did. Although I’m sorry you missed Martha’s party.”
“Ah, it’s okay. The kid and I had one all by ourselves. We built a fort in the basement with chairs and blankets, made popcorn, and crawled in there and talked for hours. I wouldn’t have missed that for the world.”
I smiled, thinking about Claire, and put on a pot of coffee. I’d better get ready. Visitors usually seemed to come in waves.
Patsy leaned on the ten-drawer seed counter and watched me work. “Daisy, I heard something that I think you ought to know. Whispers that Jimmy Kratz was involved in some serious gambling. And that he got in over his head.”
“Really?” I stared at her, the coffee filter dangling from my fingers.
Did Jimmy make up the whole crooked estate company story for his wife because he didn’t want her to know how deeply in trouble he really was?
Martha burst in, barely shutting the door behind her. “You are not going to believe this. I was just in Sheepville and saw Reenie Kratz and Betty Backstead chatting on the street. Chatting! I must say, I’m not sure I’d be so chummy with the wife of the person who supposedly murdered my husband.”
I gritted my teeth. “Okay, for one thing, Angus didn’t kill Jimmy, which Reenie knows as well as you or me, and for another, it wouldn’t be Betty’s fault even if he did.”
Martha sniffed. “I know. Just think it’s weird, that’s all.”
I took a deep breath and said the serenity prayer. The smell of roasted coffee beans percolated through the store as the machine dripped hot liquid into the pot. The doorbell jangled as Eleanor arrived. The universe must have told her the coffee was ready.
I leaned on the counter facing Patsy. “So maybe his plan was to sell the pens, pay his debts, and get himself off the hook, but the gambling ring took him out first.”
“Back up the truck!” Martha held up a plump hand. “Whose plan? What ring? What are you going on about now?”
“Jimmy Kratz,” I explained to her. “Sounds like he had a gambling problem. That may have been why he was killed.”
“Yeah? And you think there’s some big scary Mafia-type syndicate running an operation around here?”
We all looked out of the front windows at the sleepy, bucolic village basking in the golden afternoon sunshine. Apart from the paved road, it could have been a scene from the early 1900s. The quiet street mocked me in its innocence.