“Do they seem to think it does?” I asked.
“Ms. Delia was in a high dudgeon about the bank’s refusal to sell her the property,” she said. “Not sure the bank agreed with her about the importance of having a museum to her family history.”
“I thought she wanted it for a sanctuary for the emus,” I said.
“That, too,” she said. “An emu sanctuary on the land, and a pottery museum in the old house. I’m not saying those are bad ideas. If they’re willing to pay what the bank wants for the land, they can do what they like with it. But if they can’t pay the freight, they don’t get to boss the rest of the town around.”
“According to what Miss Annabel said, it wasn’t a question of not paying what the bank asked,” I said. “The bank wouldn’t even talk to them about selling.”
“No law says they have to,” she said, with a shrug. “Maybe the bank’s got other plans for the land. Not sure what, though. I remember when they first repossessed the land, they sent a geologist up there to see if there were any minerals worth mining, but nothing ever came of it.”
“Maybe they hope to sell it to a developer for a resort or something,” I suggested.
“You think that’s a possibility?” She sounded surprised, and not displeased at the idea.
“The place has a million-dollar view,” I said. “But still—doesn’t seem likely to me. Maybe the bank thinks differently.”
“Doesn’t seem likely to me, either,” she said. “More’s the pity. The town could use the jobs. And it’s not as if a Lee Family Museum would do much for the tourist trade.”
“You never know,” I said. “The Biscuit Mountain Pottery Works was famous. Still is to pottery collectors. People pay hundreds of dollars for some of those little bits of pottery.”
“Seriously?” The idea seemed to unsettle her.
“Seriously. Check it out on eBay.”
“I just may do that,” she said. “My mama’s got an attic full of the stuff. A lot of her family used to work there, back in the day. Maybe she could earn a little mad money by selling it.”
“If she has an attic full, she might be able to put her grandkids through college by selling it,” I said. “And did you know the Lees were among the first potters in America to make porcelain in addition to stoneware? Maybe the museum wasn’t such a crazy idea after all. You could turn the place into a tourist site. Get some potters working up there in Colonial era costumes. You know how big historical tourism is in Virginia.”
“Good point,” she said. “Maybe Ms. Delia had something there after all. But with her gone, I don’t think any of that’s likely to happen. Not unless Miss Annabel finds someone else to help her with it. A very nice lady, Miss Annabel, but Ms. Delia was the mover and shaker. With her gone…”
Her voice trailed off and she shook her head.
“Speaking of Ms. Delia’s death,” I said.
“Death,” she said. “Not murder? I thought you shared Miss Annabel’s belief that I’m a lazy, incompetent investigator who is ignoring irrefutable evidence that her cousin was murdered by one Theophilus Herodotus Weaver.”
She didn’t sound angry. Maybe a little sarcastic. I wondered if she’d have reacted more strongly if Stanley had been here.
“I share her concern that we find out exactly what happened to Cordelia,” I said. “I don’t have any preconceived notion that it was murder, or who’s responsible if it was.”
“But Miss Annabel does,” she said. “On both counts.”
“Miss Annabel doesn’t think what she saw could have been caused by a kerosene lamp igniting gasoline vapor,” I said.
“Neither do I,” she said. “As I’ve tried to tell her more than once. It’s a little hard to get the point across shouting through a heavy wooden door.”
“Then what do you think happened?” I asked.
“I think someone whacked Ms. Delia over the head, poured gasoline over her dead or unconscious body, and set her on fire,” she said.
I was speechless for a few moments.
“So you think it was murder?” I asked.
“I know it was murder.”
“No chance of an accident?” I persisted. “Like if she spilled gasoline while filling the generator and it caught on fire?”
“No chance of an accident,” Chief Heedles said. “Because there was no reason at all for Ms. Delia to be pouring gasoline out there. It was a propane generator.”
She let that settle in for a while. She seemed to be enjoying my astonishment.