Chapter Twenty

On Saturday the walk to Schrock Real Estate takes me three minutes, tops, but I contemplate a year’s worth of possibilities on my way. I didn’t give Ken a heads-up that I’m coming in as I’ve learned in the Navy it’s almost always better to take a suspect by surprise. I had a sailor suspected of stealing from the hangar’s snack bar till when I was a junior officer, and I was assigned as the investigating officer for the case. I found the young woman alone as she cleaned up a rusting aircraft panel and was able to get the facts from her in her usual environment far more easily than if I’d called her into my office and grilled her.

I’m hoping Ken won’t take my prying as a grilling.

The scent of cinnamon tickles my nose as I step into the front office and the warm air is inviting. Jenna’s talking on her headset, eyes glued to a computer screen, and the Christmas tree is lit up and ready for Thanksgiving to be over.

It’s only a week since Frannie passed, and it’s business as usual at Schrock Real Estate.

I catch Jenna’s eye and point to the back hallway, mouth “Ken?” She holds up a single finger.

“I’m sorry, I need to put you on hold for a moment. Thank you.” Jenna’s eyes are no longer swollen, and the woman I met months earlier is back. “Hi Angel. Let me see if Ken’s available.” She taps on her keyboard and after a few seconds, looks up. “He is. But only for a few minutes. We’ve had a deluge of clients the past few days. Let me show you back.”

“I’m good.” Maybe she doesn’t recall I was in here last week. The days have to be a blur, no question. But I am stymied by her claim that their business has picked up. I know a realtor’s busiest seasons are spring and fall, with the holidays being the slowest. I had to wait for a number of commercial properties to go up for sale last spring, and jumped as soon as my building popped up on Zillow.

She doesn’t answer as she’s back on her call, motioning me toward Ken’s office.

He’s leaning back in his executive chair, feet on the desk. I see he’s sporting dark-brown acorn print socks. At least someone’s keeping the current holiday. I suppose seeing Thanksgiving and fall decorations calms me as each and every Christmas light or ornament reminds me that the shop opening is that much closer. For some reason Thanksgiving, only one day before the grand opening, is my line between I’ve got it, it’ll all be okay and holy cannoli, I only have a week left to get it all together.

Intent on the phone, his gaze watching the blustery weather through a large window, he doesn’t notice me until I give the doorjamb a little knuckle rap.

He startles, swings to face me. His expression relaxes into a grin, and he makes the circular hand gesture that signals me to come in. But not before I see the stark terror that’s in his eyes.

Who was he expecting?

“I’ll talk to you after the holidays, then. Okay, great.” He ends his call and shakes his head. “I’ll tell you, people want more and more as the years go by.”

“Hi Ken.”

“Uh, oh, Hi, Angel.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “I haven’t thanked you for the soup yet. It fed me and William the first few nights he was home.” I’d dropped off a large container of navy bean soup, along with a fresh whole grain baguette, a few days ago.

“I’m glad. Is he here through the holidays?”

“Yes, through next Sunday, then he has to report back. He’s already been granted Christmas leave, and we’ll have the celebration of life for Frannie then.”

“Who’s handling it?”

“Bruckmeier and Brothers, here in town. She’s… she’s already been cremated.”

I knew the coroner had released the body, but this makes it so real, so final. I’m merely the one who discovered her body. I can’t imagine how Ken’s feeling.

Forget the empathy, get the facts.

“So, Ken, I dropped in to see how you’re doing. You’re back to work already. Jenna told me you’re busy. Is that smart? All of this has been such a shock.”

“Work is my kind of therapy, Angel. I can’t sit home and see the constant reminders of her.”

Hmmm, fair enough.

“I know you get me, since you lost Tom the way you did. You’ve been here.”

“In many ways, yes.” But Tom’s death was a long time coming. Still awful, senseless and incomprehensible, but sadly expected. Not the jarring event of Frannie’s demise.

“I’m fine, Angel, really. I appreciate your concern but you don’t have to check in on me.”

“It’s what friends do, Ken. I’m sorry we’ve lost touch over the years. When I spoke to Frannie that morning I had every intention of getting to see more of both of you.”

He nods. “I know. She texted me the same. It was our last text.” His face is solid granite, no emotion but regret in his slight frown. “Despite what the rest of town thinks, Frannie and I were close.”

“Oh.”

He shoots me a knowing glance. “Come off it, Angel. I know what everyone’s saying. They think I did it.”

“I haven’t heard that, Ken.” I do know that he had an alibi, though. So it couldn’t have been him.

“I’m surprised. If you want to do me a favor, maybe tell your old school buddy Trinity that I’m innocent.”

“Has Trinity given you any indication that she thinks you’re responsible?”

“No. And she knows my alibi is solid. I was showing a house. But the good ol’ Stonebridge gossip mill can’t resist this kind of grist.”

“What do you mean about the town gossip specifically, Ken? Please tell me to stop if I’m pushing personal boundaries here.”

He shakes his head and I go on.

“I’ve heard that you and Frannie had a rough go of it a few years ago, sure, but I thought you’d patched things up.”

He nods. “We did. I, ah, strayed from our relationship several years ago. It was the worst mistake of my life.”

“I’m sorry, Ken. Tom and I had a happy marriage, but still, there are always tough times in any long-term relationship. It’s called life.” I hope this sounds like I understand. Which for the most part is true except it’s really difficult for me to understand anyone stepping out on their spouse when it’s far simpler to admit the love has died and move on. Or better, talk about problems before they become life altering.

Ken slams his fist on the desk. “I made a real effin’—sorry, Angel—mess of it.”

“Please, don’t even think about it. I was in the Navy.” I know swear phrases that make Ken’s words sound like a nursery rhyme. “How did Frannie find out that you’d strayed?”

“That’s the worst part. I was involved with one of our assistants.”

“Jenna?” Shock straightens my spine. The assistant who put up with Frannie’s less-than-kind bossiness?

“No, no, never Jenna. God no. It was someone who’s left the office. Liza. She had to go, once Frannie found out. Frannie, uh, found out about us, what we were doing.” He doesn’t meet my gaze. “In the break room. But she wasn’t the one to see us…I still don’t know who did.” He offers a hollow laugh. “Nothing escaped Frannie. I swear she had eyes all over this town.”

“I’m so sorry, Ken.” I hope he’s done sharing. I really don’t need all of these details. So far, Ken’s being true to what I’ve put together from Crystal and Trinity. Disappointment wells. I’m not getting any closer to helping Trinity close this case.

“I was the epitome of the guy who had it all, and almost lost it all.” Ken appears prepared to bare his soul. I can’t rush out after pumping him so blatantly for information that really is none of my business. Except for the Frannie being murdered in my shop part.

“That’s in the past, Ken. I’m sure Frannie knew how much you love her.” I cross my fingers under my long scarf. Frannie’s words about Ken weren’t so kind that morning in front of Latte Love, but Ken doesn’t need that information.

“Fortunately Frannie forgave me and we were able to make a go of it again. I went to counseling for several months, of course. And we did marriage therapy together. Plus, Eloise had this couples sexuality yoga class that was a lot of fun.”

I nod, try to appear encouraging. I can’t help but wonder about his and Frannie’s former assistant, Liza. What help had she received, after a person in authority over her became sexually involved with her? I want to keep Ken comfortable, though, so I keep this observation to myself. And make a mental note to ask Crystal if she knows more about Liza.

I can’t think of someone who’d have a better motive to kill Frannie than Ken’s ex-lover.

“How long ago was this?”

“Earlier this year.”

Wait. This is completely different from the timeline Crystal described. Had Ken had more than one affair? And he didn’t seem to know about Max. As in, Frannie and Max. Ugh. I can’t take Ken totally off the suspect list but if he thought they were reconciled and had zero knowledge of Frannie’s fling with Max, why would he want Frannie dead?

I need to find Liza.

The rest of the day is filled with the finishing touches on the construction. Phil and the team agreed to work through the weekend, much to my relief. Phil promises tomorrow is the last day Max and the team will need to show up before the sun does. It’ll give me a few days to perfect the displays, pick the best spots to set up the folding tables with holiday beverages and treats.

I slip out for Saturday Mass, but only because I know Phil will be there when I return. I can’t stomach the thought of coming back into an empty shop like last Saturday. When it was anything but empty.

“That’s just about it, Angel. A couple of these guys will be back in the morning to do a thorough clean sweep, but other than that, we’re done.”

“I owe you, Phil. I realize you don’t usually work weekends.”

“Don’t mention it. It’s the least I could do. One thing you’ll find out is that when the you-know-what hits the fan, Stonebridge comes together. Doesn’t matter who you vote for, which side of any issue you’re on. When it comes down to it, we’re a tight-knit community.”

“I’m discovering that, actually. I can’t get over how much support everyone is showing me.” After I showed up at the Buddies meeting and made it clear that I wasn’t going to stop until I found the murderer.

Phil nods. “You keep your chin up. The police’ll wrap this up and it’ll be a sad chapter, but a closed one.”

“Thanks, Phil.”

Alone again I get back to my to-do list, which has exponentially grown each day. So many items need to wait until the day before or day of the opening, next Saturday.

My folks surprise me with my favorite restaurant food, takeout, just as I’m about to take Ralph and me upstairs for the night. Since Frannie’s murder, I’m loathe to spend time alone in my office after nightfall.

“Honey, your father and I are here to help. No arguments, please.” Mom and Dad sit at my kitchen table, the remains of our Greek takeout strewn in front of us. I’m taking the last sip of my water, gathering the energy to clear the table.

“Your mother’s right, Angel. You’ve got the girls coming in, Thanksgiving, and the shop opening.”

“And a murder in your shop.” Mom shivers and Dad widens his eyes at her. “Well, it’s true. No use denying what happened.”

“The funeral’s tomorrow.” I know it’s cliché and the result of my favorite streaming documentaries, but Stonebridge is a small place. The chances of Frannie’s murderer being at the ceremony aren’t tiny.

“Her poor family. I don’t know what Marcie’s going to do without her. Frannie was the sun and moon to her and Fred.”

My gut tightens and I blink. When Tom died, I thought I’d used up my tear production quota. Until I lost a friend and colleague in combat. Then the girls left for college. The emotions swirling in my heart feel too close to self-pity, so I side step them. Sure, I’m disappointed that the life change I’m making isn’t going to be able to be as exuberant, but at least I’m still here. As in on planet Earth. Frannie doesn’t have the option.

“Now, Livvie, you can’t fix everything.”

“I know Douglas, I know.”

My parents’ dialogue is as familiar and worn as a favorite pair of slippers. It’s exactly the comfort I need. I gather the empty containers I go to the sink and rinse them.

“You know, honey, I can’t stop thinking about how Frannie’s loss is so much bigger than anyone realizes. Take my eel weir project. She was a voice that I’m afraid I can’t replace.”

“What do you mean, Mom?” I remember that Crystal told me Frannie was certain the weir is authentic, ancient, but Frannie’s motives were different from my Mom’s and most historians, I’d think. Mom wants history preserved, learned from. Frannie wanted to put Stonebridge on the lifestyles of the uber-rich map.

“Frannie didn’t just have connections, she had pull with just about all of them.” Judging from the gleam in her eye, Mom’s about to wax on over the weir. I glance at Dad, who’s quietly listening.

“Hang on Mom, I want to ask you more questions. Anyone want decaf coffee?”

All three of us do, so I put a pot on.

“Shouldn’t we be taking this downstairs with us? We’re here to help with the store inventory.” Mom’s back to running my business. Trying to, anyhow.

“Mom, I’m good. And I’m not going back in the shop tonight. What did you always say before one of us had an exam the next day, Dad?”

“That a good night’s sleep will set anything right again.”

“Exactly.” I pull half-and-half from the refrigerator and frozen green beans from the freezer. Ralph gets a bowl of warm veggies each night. “I’m going to enjoy my time with you and Ralph without worrying about the shop. Besides, I’m just about ready.”

I’m lying. There’s a lot more work to be done. But my mind is otherwise engaged. Figuring out who killed Frannie.

We head into the living room, and I pop on the gas-insert fireplace. It was one of the modern concessions I made, but it’s inside the original fireplace, with the marble mantel intact.

“This is so cozy. You’ve done a wonderful job in here, Angel.” Mom takes the large easy chair and plops her stockinged feet on my blue damask ottoman. Dad takes the sofa, leaning on an overstuffed Belgian tapestry throw pillow that features—what else?—a Santa holding a parrot. It was a spectacular find in Ghent, when I took the girls for weekend afternoons away from the NATO base.

I sit cross-legged on the handwoven silk rug from Turkey, my back to the fire, facing my parents. We’re all holding oversized mugs of varying designs. I still haven’t gotten around to switching in my holiday mugs, though. That’s for after Thanksgiving, and a task I’ll delegate to Ava and Lily, who both enjoy decorating.

“Your store and parts of the house are ready for Christmas.”

“I usually don’t like doing any Christmas decorations before Thanksgiving. But this year I had to start early, for the store’s sake, don’t you think?”

“For this year, sure. Your father hates that they put out Christmas before Halloween these days.” Mom’s code for I hate it.

“I hear you, Mom.” I lean in. “Mom, what were you saying about the weir and Frannie?”

Mom’s eyes narrow. “I think I’ve expressed my opinion. Why don’t you tell me what you’re looking for, honey?”

I laugh. There’s no pulling anything over on Mom.

“Bam! Right in the kisser.” Dad’s exuberance makes all three of us laugh.

“I’m wondering if Frannie’s push to make the weir a big tourist attraction angered the wrong person.”

Mom blinks. Dad sucks in a breath.

“Honey, don’t tell me you think anyone in the historical society is capable of murder?” Mom frowns, then rolls her eyes. “We all love history and Stonebridge is rich with it. But not enough to commit a crime over!”

“What about when you staked out the meeting house against the wishes of the police, Livvie?” Dad’s face is expressionless but his eyes glimmer with repressed glee. He loves teasing Mom about her sometimes over-the-top methods.

“That wasn’t illegal, per se, Douglas, and you know it. How else were we going to catch the graffiti artist?”

“But you didn’t catch him or her. And you crushed Marilyn Carver’s prized rose bushes. She was expected to win first place, you know.”

Mom says some words that rival the saltiest sailors I ever knew. “You’re just stirring the pot, Douglas.”

Dad is, but it’s the best entertainment going in front of my fire tonight.

“Honey, you should go talk to Mel if you’re interested in the weir. And especially Frannie’s involvement in promoting it. He might be able to give you more information than me.” But her tone reflects her doubt.

“Mel? The same Mel who’s always run it?” The man I’m thinking of can’t possibly be alive. He was ancient when I grew up here.

“Same man, yes. He’s nearing ninety-five, I think. But he doesn’t look a day over ninety, truly.”

Mom’s eyes are guarded, so I do what all good daughters do. I press her. “You really don’t think Frannie’s pressure on the town was enough to send the wrong person over the mental cliff and harm her?”

Mom’s mouth twists, puckers, rests in a straight line. “I think a lot of people would have preferred she stay out of it, at least until we confirm it’s thousands of years old. We tried to explain to her that even if it’s only a colonial rip-off of the Native originals, it has its place in Stonebridge history and the story, all of it, needs to be told. But you know Frannie…” Mom sips her coffee. “Or rather, knew her.”

“How so, Mom?”

“I think your mother’s trying to say that Frannie only saw what she wanted to see, and expected others to fall in line, no question.” Dad doesn’t usually speak for Mom like this so I know this must have been a topic of conversation between them. As in, Frannie annoyed the heck out of Mom.

“Is Dad right, Mom?”

“Pretty much, yes.”

We sit in companionable silence for several minutes and I soak it all up. It might the quietest moments I’ll have in a long while. It’s certainly the most relaxed I’ve felt since last Saturday afternoon.

“Tell you what, guys. I’ll take you up on your offers.”

“Which one, Angel?” Mom sounds like she’s holding her breath. Dad’s quiet, watching me with his steady gaze.

“Both. Dad, you can go pick up Ava in Pittsburgh on Wednesday. Mom, you can take the train, same day, to get Lily.” Lily, at Temple, was an easy two-hour train ride away. “I’ll switch my ticket to your name.”

“Wonderful! You know I love the train. I can knit the whole time.” Mom’s been working on secret Christmas projects but we all suspect we’re getting matching ski caps. Last year she made us scarves, with our names duplicate-stitched over the premium cashmere blend yarn that Bryce claimed was “one of a kind” from a “small quantities producer.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t take anything that will distract you, dear. You have to get off at the station in Philly to change trains.” Dad can’t help from making sure Mom’s enthusiasm doesn’t steer her off course, even almost a week out.

“Do I have to remind you who the Temple alumna is?” Mom’s eyes sparkle. She pushes back the ottoman, stands up, leans over the sofa to plant a big one on Dad’s mouth. Dad blushes and I get up on my feet.

My quiet interlude is kaput.

I’ve got another person to interview first thing tomorrow. Luckily for me, the historical society is open especially for the holidays and I can make a quick jaunt there in between stocking my shelves. Will Mel be the one that leads me to Frannie’s murderer?