Scones and Scofflaws Page 5

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Why what?”

  “Why do you trust me?” Evan’s gaze held hers and she gripped her mug more tightly. “I mean, we don’t know each other.”

  “That’s not entirely true. You and I may not be close, but I knew your Aunt Louise. I know other people in town who know you. And I’m a good judge of character. You have an honest face.”

  Anna raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Well, if he was killed, there must be other suspects. Other people who actually knew George, maybe someone who worked with him, or his friends. Just through my own research I know how extensive one individual’s network can be. I worked on a medical analysis of a man who—”

  “I know. We know.” Evan cut her off. “Look, I respect your perspective, but it’s not the same. This is police work, not academic research. It’s what we do. I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news.” Evan put down his mug and stood. “My offer to help clean up in here still stands, if you change your mind. And please don’t misunderstand what I’ve said.”

  Anna opened her mouth to object to his dismissal of her research when a squeak from the door drew both of their attention. Eoin’s head poked through the doorway, his big eyes moving as he stared around the room. With a nod, he stepped through and into the kitchen.

  Shooting a questioning look at Anna, Evan said, “Hello. I don’t believe we’ve met yet.”

  “Evan, this is my cousin Eoin. He’s come to stay with me for the summer,” Anna explained.

  “Eoin,” Eoin piped up, predictably.

  “Oween.” Anna tried again.

  Eoin looked at the floor, shaking his head.

  “Well, Eoin, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Evan put out a hand and the Eoin grabbed it, shaking it vigorously. His eyes grew even wider as he looked up at the large, uniformed man.

  “You’re a copper?” He asked, in the strongest voice Anna had heard him use yet.

  Evan laughed. “I am. Though I’ve never actually been called that before.”

  Eoin’s smile split his face and he pulled out his worn notebook and started scribbling in it. He made his way to the table without looking up from his book and hopped onto a chair while still writing. Evan raised his eyebrows at Anna and gestured at the boy. Anna shrugged and shook her head.

  “You probably want something to eat, don’t you?” She turned to dig through her cupboards. “Let’s see, what do you like? Pancakes? Sausages? Muffins?”

  Eoin put the notebook on the table, folded his hands, and looked at Anna expectantly.

  “Eoin, shouldn’t you be in school at this time of year?” Evan asked.

  Eoin nodded, pushing his glasses up his nose as they slipped. “My school burned down.”

  Anna dropped the bag of flour she was holding onto the counter. “What? You didn’t tell me that.”

  Eoin shrugged and toyed with the edge of his notebook. “There was a fire.”

  Evan moved closer to him and knelt in front of him. “What happened?”

  “We couldn’t go to school anymore. Mum and Da’ said they would teach me at home, but when the man came to set the standards, he said I’d already finished all the lessons for my year.” He glanced up at Anna out of the corner of his eye, and she saw a grin spreading across his face.

  “You’d already done all the lessons? So you don’t have to learn anymore?” Evan repeated, throwing his own questioning look at Anna.

  “I like to read,” Eoin said as if that answered everything.

  “Uh-huh.” Evan stood. “I’ll leave you two to it. Eoin, I’m sure I’ll be seeing more of you. Anna, you might need to do a little research into that story.”

  “No kidding,” Anna replied under her voice.

  Evan took a couple of steps toward the door, then turned back. “I also came by to let you know that Mrs. Hedley, George’s widow, will be by later this morning. She wants to pick up his belongings.”

  “Oh no, I don’t think I could face her,” Anna said.

  “You don’t have to be here if you don’t want to be. I could be here, or arrange for someone else?” Evan looked down at her, his hands resting on his belt. “Would that be better?”

  Anna thought about her options and felt miserable either way. Either she faced the widow of the man who’d just died while eating her scones, or she ran and hid like a scared child. She could tell Evan the truth. Tell him about her fears last night, her late night hunt through the house with a field hockey stick. It would have been nice to have someone else around then, particularly someone as big and comforting as Evan.

  Or she could be strong. She could be the woman she wanted to be.

  “No.” She looked up to see Evan watching her closely. “No, I’ll be here. In fact, I’ll go pack up his things. That’s all right, isn’t it?”

  “Sure.” Evan smiled. “Good luck.”

  Anna stood in the middle of the Ocean Room. Poor Mr. Hedley hadn’t really brought a lot of things with him. He was only staying for four nights, to be fair. The closet held two white shirts and a tie. Presumably he’d only brought one suit, the one he’d died in. A pair of sneakers had been tossed against the chest of drawers, either by George or the police who’d searched his room, suggesting he had some more casual clothes in the chest of drawers.

  Looking around the bare space, Anna was struck by the difference between this room and the Gormleys’ room. When they left in a hurry, they’d been carrying not only their two suitcases, but extra shopping bags overflowing with bright beach clothes, shoes, hats and toys that must have been intended as gifts for young friends or relatives. Their room had been a mess, too, thanks to the efforts of the Cape May police. But underlying that mess had been a sense of joyful abandon. Even after only one night in the room, they’d opened all the small bottles of toiletries Anna had provided, made use of all the towels. They’d even taken advantage of the bubble bath, as she’d found the empty bottle lying on its side next to the oversized tub.

  George’s room, by contrast, felt sterile. Drawers gaped open, the closet doors stood ajar, but there were so few items inside them the police hadn’t had to search very hard.

  Moving to the bathroom, she saw that George hadn’t used any of the toiletries she provided, choosing instead to rely on travel-size containers he’d brought with him. The mirror was streaked where he had run his hand across it, wiping away the steam that would have accumulated during a hot shower. Sighing, she opened the toiletry bag that stood on the vanity. One by one, she picked up the small bottles, carefully wiping everything off before putting it in the toiletry bag.

  She paused with a used tube of toothpaste in her hand. Certainly no one would want that. She tossed it into the trash can along with a soap wrapper, then went back to her careful packing. None of the bottles were labeled, each one the kind you could buy in a drug store to fill from larger containers. Very practical. Very neat. She packed bottles she assumed were shampoo, body wash, shaving cream, aftershave. It was highly unlikely Mrs. Hedley would want any of these, but it didn’t seem fair to throw them all away.

  One plastic tub seemed empty. Unscrewing the top, Anna saw that it had contained a lotion of some sort. She thought of his itching hands and figured he’d been using this cream to soothe his eczema. It was cinnamon scented — the smell immediately brought her back to that horrifying moment in the dining room, digging through George’s pockets — but she thought she caught a whiff of a fishy scent, too. She tossed it in the trash, then carried the toiletry bag back into the room.

  George’s small suitcase had been tucked away behind the bed. Anna opened it up on the folding luggage rack. She pulled each item from the closet, carefully packing them, then added in the pair of sneakers.

  She paused before tackling the drawers, but if the police could go through her intimates, she could pack up George’s. In a second drawer she found some more informal wear — jeans and collared T-shirts — which she folded just as carefully.

  She grabbed some papers from the d
esk, noting the name and logo of a company named Varico with a West Cape May address. She stacked the papers neatly and placed them in the suitcase on top of the clothes.

  Making sure everything was well protected, she closed the suitcase, took one more look around the room, and carried the bag downstairs.

  That had, quite possibly, been the saddest thing she’d ever had to do. Even her despair at the death of Aunt Louise had been tempered with the knowledge that Louise had led a long and happy life.

  But George? Certainly not a long life, and Anna wasn’t all too sure he’d been particularly happy, either.

  9

  Anna settled into the lounge, the small suitcase standing on its own, isolated, across the room, waiting for Catherine Hedley. As she stared at the case, she thought about what it contained: the last things George Hedley saw or touched. How awful.

  She tried to look away, to look around the room or out the window instead. At least she’d provided him some beauty in his last days. Hopefully he found the Ocean Room peaceful. This attempt to raise her spirits failed miserably when she realized one of his last views had been of that horrible pastel seagull painting.

  She shuddered and stared once more at the bag. Who had he been, really, she wondered? She knew so little about this man who had died in her dining room. Who the police think she might have accidentally killed. He’d seemed odd, no doubt, creepy even. But she shouldn’t judge him by his appearance. Maybe he was simply shy. Awkward. Uncomfortable around other people.

  She’d known plenty of people like that. Scientists who went into academics because they were more comfortable interacting with a microscope and specimen than other human beings. Or men and women who kept illnesses hidden from friends and family because they were embarrassed or afraid of the treatment. Or couldn’t afford it, a situation she’d come across far too often in her own fieldwork. She’d met all kinds of people and had found something to respect and admire in everyone.

  She felt the tears well up in her eyes again and pulled out her phone to distract herself. Skimming through her emails didn’t help, as bill after bill popped up on her screen. Water, heating, electricity, gas, insurance... the list went on. She’d been counting on this week’s income to pay most of those. Not only was she not getting that income now, she was out the money and time she’d put into groceries and preparations for those guests. She tried to swallow down the feeling of despair that rose within her.

  This was not healthy, she finally told herself. Mrs. Hedley could still be a couple of hours away, since she was coming down from Trenton.

  Anna marched back upstairs and launched herself into the arduous process of stripping the linens in all the rooms. She focused on her work, trying to ignore the voice in her head telling her this was a waste of time. Why clean rooms that no one would ever want to stay in again?

  She shook her head and worked harder, wiping down every surface in each room as she finished stripping the beds. She scrubbed showers, tubs and toilets, dusted under beds. As she worked, she started to feel better. As if she could scrub away this horrible launch of her B&B and start fresh. She needed new guests, she needed a new start.

  She stopped to stick her head out the front door periodically to check on Eoin. He sat in one of the Adirondack chairs on her front porch, his feet kicking at the air far above the ground. He’d finished the book he’d picked up at the library yesterday and was now engrossed in another history of the area.

  When she’d finished every other room, Anna dragged herself to the Ocean Room. Realizing it would be futile to try to ignore what had happened, she let herself indulge in her grief, tears slipping from her eyes as she bent over the toilet. A man was dead. It was right to grieve. Even if she didn’t know the man.

  For the first time, she realized she felt regret for not having known George better. That was good, she told herself, better to think of him as someone who could have been a friend instead of someone who could have been a pervert.

  She found herself breathing a little heavier as she heaved the laundry basket filled with towels and sheets down two flights of stairs leading to the large washer and dryer in the basement. At least with chores like this she wouldn’t have to worry about joining a gym!

  Two hours later, she was sweating and sore. She’d lost count of how many times she’d been up and down the stairs or bent over the washer digging the clean linens out of the back of the machine, heaving them into the dryer, ironing and folding. The steam from the iron had left her long, red hair in ringlets around her face and she felt the sweat gathering on her brow and the back of her neck.

  She let out a sigh and grabbed the last basket of clean sheets and towels, heaving it onto her hip and starting the trek upstairs. She was halfway up the main stairs to the second floor when the front doorbell jingled.

  Anna turned on the steps, laundry basket still balanced on her hip, to see who’d come in.

  The woman in the foyer stood perfectly still, looking as if she’d been standing there for hours instead of seconds. She stood with her legs pressed tightly together, her brown skirt just covering her knees, her feet in plain, thick-soled shoes. She wore a short raincoat tied tightly at her narrow waist. Her hands were clasped around a triangular purse that she held in front of her body like a shield, her knuckles turning white with the pressure.

  For a moment, the woman seemed frozen, but Anna soon realized that even as she stood perfectly still, tears streamed down her face.

  Anna shook herself out of the daze she was in and trotted back down the stairs, dropping the laundry basket on the floor at the foot of the steps. The woman started, as if noticing Anna for the first time.

  “Mrs. Hedley?” Anna ventured, offering a hand.

  The woman ignored the hand but nodded, a slight movement but at least it was something.

  “I’m Anna McGregor. Please, come in.” She gestured toward the lounge and Mrs. Hedley’s eyes followed the gesture.

  For a moment longer, neither woman moved. Anna felt herself fidgeting, shifting her weight from foot to foot, glancing around the room and into the lounge where she could see the edge of George’s suitcase as it sat next to the door.

  “Mrs. Hedley?” Anna finally spoke again, this time putting her hand on Mrs. Hedley’s shoulder in a friendly gesture. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  Mrs. Hedley jerked away and turned her head to look Anna full in the face. Anna wished she hadn’t. The anger she directed at Anna was so strong, she took a step backwards and raised a hand in defense. Mrs. Hedley’s eyes almost glowed with hatred and the skin on her neck turned a dark shade of pink.

  When Mrs. Hedley spoke, it came out in a low, angry hiss. “How dare you?”

  10

  Catherine Hedley sat primly on the edge of the deep sofa. Anna had finally managed to move the petite but extraordinarily powerful woman into the lounge. Anna perched on a chair opposite, waiting for Mrs. Hedley to say something else. Anything. To explain her earlier outburst.

  “Can I offer you a cup of tea?” Anna asked. “I have Earl Grey, English Breakfast, or maybe an herbal—”

  "No,” Mrs. Hedley cut her off. “Thank you.” She continued to clutch her purse tightly in front of her, her feet flat on the ground, her knees pressed closely together. “I’m sorry for my reaction just now. I’m… well, in shock, I suppose.” More tears rolled down her cheeks and she brushed them away with one hand, the other still clutching her purse. “This has been very difficult for me.”

  “I understand,” Anna nodded. “Please, take as long as you need.”

  Mrs. Hedley pulled a tissue out of her purse and dabbed at her nose and eyes. “I didn’t expect this…” Mrs. Hedley took a deep shuddering breath.

  “No, of course not, how could you? Perhaps… would you like to tell me about George? I didn’t get to know him very well.”

  Mrs. Hedley’s back straightened, though Anna was surprised it could straighten more than it already was, and she stuffed the used tissue back into her
purse and snapped it shut. “I will handle my loss on my own terms, thank you. I won’t stay. I will simply collect my husband’s possessions and leave.”

  Anna gestured toward the suitcase. “It’s all in there, I packed everything up.”

  Mrs. Hedley’s eyebrows shot up and she turned in her chair to look toward the suitcase, then returned her glare to Anna. Her anger hadn’t faded, it seemed, simply moved temporarily into the background. “You did what? How could you?”

  “Mrs. Hedley… I don’t understand…” Anna was at a loss for words.

  Mrs. Hedley stood in one fluid movement. She turned as if to leave the lounge, then looked back toward Anna. “Show me to his room.”

  Anna jumped up and lead the way upstairs, still at a complete loss to understand the widow’s anger. She knew that anger was one of the stages of grief, but she’d never seen someone express it like this before. She stole a peek at the woman behind her but could reach no conclusions with so little evidence.

  “Here it is, the Ocean Room.” Anna allowed Mrs. Hedley to enter first.

  “It’s been cleaned.” Mrs. Hedley said.

  “Yes, the police finished with their search of the room and said I could clean it. But as I said, I packed up all of your husband’s things very carefully.”

  Mrs. Hedley walked over to the window, then to the bathroom. She rested one hand on the doorjamb and leaned into it. For a moment, Anna thought maybe the woman had been overcome by her grief, but when she spun around her rage had only increased.

  “How dare you?” She repeated. “First you kill my husband, then you pack up any evidence. I… I …” Mrs. Hedley started to sputter, her face turning deep red, her lips pursed. “I will tell the police about this.”

  “But the police said I could,” Anna repeated, feeling her own anger growing in defensiveness and trying to keep it down. “I got permission from them before I did anything. And Mrs. Hedley, please, I did not kill your husband. How could you think such a thing?”