Chapter Eleven

We sit for long minutes, Ken’s soft sobs the only breaks in the silence. He leans forward, elbows on his desk, head in hands.

“Frannie might have had one of your keys. She sometimes likes to do follow-up checks on properties. Especially the ones downtown. I’ve begged her to stop, but she claims it’s her right, as she’s the only person keeping Stonebridge on the map. It’s nothing malicious, Angel. She’s looking out for the whole town, truth be told.” He’s speaking to his closed laptop, his voice low. “We’ve had complaints from other clients, after the sale is final. About her uninvited entries. You’re not the first.” His careful choice of words, even in his emotional state, isn’t by accident. He’s given Frannie’s illegal actions a lot of thought, knows she was breaking and entering. Even with a key, she didn’t have my, or other building owner’s, permission. I keep my observations to myself. For now.

So I wasn’t the only one Frannie paid post-closing visits to. And I don’t like it that he already knew this about her but tried to shove it on me. Of course, grief can trigger erratic behavior in the best of folks in the best of circumstances. Ken’s lost his wife of twenty-plus years to cold-blooded murder.

“I’m not complaining, Ken, really. I’m just wondering why Frannie felt a need to do this.” I don’t want to upset him further but I have to know. Without all the possible information, how are we going to figure out who killed Frannie, and why?

“Who knows why Frannie does anything she does.” Frannie is still alive to him. Not the mental state of a murderer. “She’s been obsessed about making Stonebridge the premier tourist destination in Pennsylvania since William was a tot. Her drive to improve the town exploded after he left for the Marines. It’s never been enough for her that our business has made more money than we ever imagined. Hell, we have a lifestyle most folks only see on television.” Ken speaks like a robot, his words coming out stilted and practiced. He’d had this conversation with Frannie before, no doubt.

“You’ve worked hard. You both did.”

“Frannie wanted people to come here, stay here. Spend all their money downtown. The newer business owners don’t want to get wrapped up in all that. They just want to do their work. The long-term owners don’t see a need to increase traffic, foot or otherwise, especially during our busy seasons. Which has turned into all year, frankly.”

“What specifically did she do to try to get the local business owners on board with her vision?”

“There was no persuasion where Frannie’s involved. You knew her, Angel. It’s always been her way or the highway. I tried to convince her to stick to total transparency. She’d stop in at a business, check to see if they’d displayed the Stonebridge Business Buddies’ pamphlets, especially the one about Stonebridge being Pennsylvania’s hidden archaeological gem. The eel weir hasn’t been authenticated, but she didn’t want to wait and Frannie produced it herself, without getting the Buddies’ approval.”

“You can’t fault her for being driven. Or her unwavering belief in Stonebridge.” No matter her motives. If Frannie were a man, less attention, if any, would be given to her more aggressive tactics. Save for the breaking and entry.

“It was illegal according to the letter of the law, and even if everyone around here knows each other, treats one another like family, it was unprofessional. Frannie angered many. Oh, why, why couldn’t she let it go? She’d still be alive.” His head hangs low between broad shoulders.

I stand up and grab a box of tissues—with the same pattern as the ones in the lobby—walk around his desk. I place a hand on his shoulder. Words won’t help, not now. If they did, it wouldn’t matter because I can’t come up with anything.

I’m mulling over the fact that Frannie may have been in the wrong place at the wrong time, all because she wanted to see if I’d set up a local information display. I hadn’t, not yet. She’d only left the brochures that morning.

Not that I ever intended to use precious merchandising space for paper handouts. The Stonebridge Historical Society has its own building, a three-hundred-year-old cabin located two blocks up from the main drag. There’s a quaint information booth in the adjacent parking lot. I’m happy to direct customers there, as I’d assume are the other shop owners. Retail area in our historical buildings is at a minimum and every inch counts.

Before worries about my shop take root in my brain I try to think of what I can do for Ken.

“Have you told William?”

He blows his nose, nods. “The Red Cross is sending a message. I couldn’t reach him. He’s out in the field.” That answers it. Ken doesn’t need my help as he’s already figured out the quickest way to reach his US Marine Corps son.

“They’ll get a hold of him in no time. It’s what they do.”

“That’s what they tell me.” He shakes his head. “I hate to drag him into this.”

“His mother’s death?” How on earth did he think it was dragging his son into it, unless—

“No, no, not that, of course not. Yes, I don’t want to have to let him know his mother’s gone, and especially how she died. But now everything will come out. It always does when people die.”

My mental warning bells are chiming and the tune isn’t Ode to Joy.

“What so you mean by everything?” I ignore my guilt over asking such a personal question when I think I may already know the answer. My respect for Trinity’s vocation increases. I thought I had the corner on professional focus, but trying to investigate a murder is beyond challenging. How does she do this, day in and day out? I’d ask her but that would mean letting her know what I’m up to, and let’s just say that until I can take something solid to her, it’s not worth risking she’ll tell me to cease and desist.

“Come on, Angel. You’ve been back home long enough. I’m sure you’ve heard all about the troubles Frannie and I have had over the years. For all I know, the guy she had the one-nighter with has something to do with this.”

Whoa. He’s confirming Frannie’s affair?

“I’d heard you two ran into a rough patch a few years ago. But, ah, I thought you two worked things out?”

“‘Rough patch.’ That’s a polite way of saying our marriage is over. When the crap hit the fan the first time, several years ago, it was my fault. I strayed. But yeah, we got past it. We decided that we had too much shared history together to throw it down the drain. I thought we were doing so much better. We were. I’m certain of it. That’s why it was so hard when someone I trusted told me about her recent affair. When I confronted her about it, she didn’t deny it, but wouldn’t tell me who it was with. Believe me, in the moment when I found out that she’d stepped out of our marriage, after all that effort, all the counseling, the fancy dates,—he makes air quotes—“I would have welcomed her departure from my life.”

I sit straight up, wondering if it’s this easy. Is Ken the murderer?

“Oh my God.” His eyes widen, lock on mine. “I don’t mean I’d have killed her, though. God, no!” More tears well, making his eyes a brilliant shade of aquamarine. “You know what I mean, you must have been upset with your husband from time to time.” He stops himself short, stands up. Gets us each a water bottle from a mini-fridge.

“I’m sorry, Angel. You don’t need to hear all of this. I’m sorry Frannie picked your shop to do her snooping in.”

“Me, too.” I’m willing to let Ken’s careless comment about Tom go. Ken’s in an ugly place. But my forgiveness doesn’t lessen the sting of his words, the reminder that I don’t have Tom’s arms to comfort me and take away the stress of the last twenty-four hours. Unlike Ken and Frannie, Tom and I had a solid relationship. A loving one. A pang for my claw-foot tub and gallons of hot water strikes. A steaming soak isn’t the same as Tom, but it has its own therapeutic qualities.

“I’ll leave you be for now, Ken. Let me kn—”

“Ken, man, I’m so sorry.” The greeting cuts through my farewell. A burly man about our age stands at the door, his face creased with concern. Ken looks over, waves him in.

I nod at the stranger, then give Ken a quick hug. “Call me if there’s anything you need, no matter how small.”

But he’s already talking to the man I’ve never met. I let myself out, taking the back stairs and exiting onto the side alley. Before I’m back on Main Street, I’m wondering who I should speak with next. And more pressing, I need to find out if it’s true Frannie was in the midst of an extracurricular sexual relationship, as recently as now, and with whom.

What about why?

Nope. Frannie’s motives for cheating on Ken aren’t my business.

Maybe I need to tell Trinity I’m doing some of my own investigating, after all. She’d tell me to let the pros handle it, and I get it, I do. And unless I find out something I think she can use, there’s no sense bothering her. Plus I’m still sensing that while my alibis cleared me of suspicion, I’m not in a position to push my luck with SPD. Not until I know that Trinity completely trusts me.

Finding out some details that could help solve the murder is a great place to start. It’s not like there’s any risk to me.