A Timely Vision

I lifted an empty, broken blue and white Chinese vase from the floor. It had been on a shelf near the piano. As soon as I’d spotted it, I knew it was where Miss Mildred had stored the documents she’d retrieved from behind the piano. “It was here. I think Jerry beat us to it.”

Chapter 17

“We’re down for the count,” Gramps said. “I’ll call Ronnie now. He should know about this.”

A weird idea popped into my head. “What if we act like we found the power of attorney?”

“What would that accomplish?” Kevin asked.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Maybe if Jerry thought we could stop the auction, he’d make some move that would incriminate him. That could work, right, Gramps?”

“Maybe,” Gramps said. “I suppose it could buy you some time. But you’ll have to be careful, Dae, or the whole thing will backfire on you.”

“What kind of backfire?” Since I assumed I’d be taking all of the risk, I thought I should know.

“Lawsuits. Maybe fraud charges,” Kevin counted out for me. “If you could keep from putting anything in writing and be really careful how you word it, you might be able to get away with it.”

“Right now I only need to get away with something for a couple of days,” I reminded him. “I guess either they take the bait or not.”

“You could be in danger,” Gramps pointed out. “If Jerry was willing to hire someone to kill Lizzie, or whatever happened, he won’t think twice about getting rid of a small-town mayor.”

I hadn’t thought of that. It was a valid point. Who knew what Jerry was capable of if he were desperate enough? I’d be taking on the risk that he might send someone after me. I pushed aside my reservations. “Okay. Let’s do it. Where do you think we should start?”

Gramps laughed. “Probably with Mary Lou. Besides loving turtles, she has an uncommon love for gossip. She makes a good lemon meringue pie too. And she likes to cuddle.”

“That’s about all I need to know on that subject.” I stopped him. “Let’s get going. Before Wednesday, we could have this spread all over the Outer Banks.”

And it was easy. By seven p.m. Monday night, I had heard a short piece on the radio about finding new evidence in the murder case of Mrs. Elizabeth Simpson. I saw pictures of me flash twice on the TV at eight. The reference was vague, but the idea was that I had new information that might stop the auction of the properties and possibly point out who killed Miss Elizabeth.

There were five of us at my house for supper on Monday night when we heard the updated news story. Tim was kind of the odd man out since Kevin and I were there with Gramps and Mary Lou. Gramps had cautioned me against saying anything to anyone else. He didn’t even tell Mary Lou the truth, and I followed his lead.

“Wow!” Tim looked at me. “So what’s this new information in the murder case? Dish it out, girl.”

“You’ve been hanging around with Shayla for too long.” I laughed at his words. “But there’s nothing I can really say about what I know. The DA told me to keep my mouth shut.”

Tim was impressed but disappointed. “I suppose Kevin knows all about it.”

“Not exactly. He knows as much as you do.” I lied, but it was for the sake of expediency. If Tim knew Kevin knew, he’d pout and complain, maybe even tell other people, which would mess up our plan.

The doorbell rang, and since Gramps was dishing out blueberry cobbler, I went to answer it. Chuck Sparks stood on the stairs, glaring at me. “What kind of new information do you have, Mayor? I think I deserve to know.”

I sighed. Another person who felt entitled. But it was a good thing. If Chuck knew about it, then Jerry knew about it. It was what I’d wanted, but it was eight P.M. now and I was beginning to worry. There might be no peace until this blew over. “Would you like to come in, Chuck?”

He nodded and stalked inside. “If there’s something else going on, you can trust me to keep a secret.”

“Really? Why would I trust you with information that could keep you from selling those properties?”

His eyes narrowed. “That’s not fair. This is my first big sale. We’ve gone through a lot to plan for this. Do you know what a case of champagne costs?”

I’d had about enough of his whining. “Does it matter to you at all that the woman they have in custody for killing her sister isn’t guilty? Or that this house has been in her family for several generations and she doesn’t want to lose it?”

He looked abashed for a second or two. Then his real-estate-agent killer-shark instincts kicked in again. “It’s not for us to decide who’s guilty and who’s not. The fact of the matter is that the property belongs to Jerry’s grandfather now and Jerry has his power of attorney to do what’s best with all of the family property.”

I stepped closer to him. We were about the same height. “Did it ever occur to you that someone else might have a legal document that trumps Jerry’s power of attorney? Silas Butler isn’t the only one who wanted someone to take care of his property.”