Heaven Preserve Us: A Home Crafting Mystery (A Home Crafting Mystery) Page 20

  "Likewise, making your acquaintance. Please call me George. What a charming young lady, Jude"

  And what a charmer this lovely old man was, I thought as I murmured, "Thank you" He'd be snapped up by some age-appropriate widow as soon as he was ready. Maybe even before. And maybe not even age-appropriate, now that I thought about it.

  Jude reddened at the implication that he might have had anything to do with my being charming. But I was so happy to see George Oxford. Knowing I wouldn't be alone in the house with Jude until Bette and Kelly showed up made me feel way better.

   

  "There should be two more people coming to help Jude move," I said.

  George looked at Jude with surprise. "You're moving today?"

  Jude looked more uncomfortable than I'd ever seen him before, which was saying something. "I was going to tell you this morning, but we missed each other."

  "I see. Well, you did say you expected to be taking over your cousin's apartment a few days ago, so I guess I should have been expecting it. Sure will miss you, son-you've been a real life-saver, being here. And with Hannah gone..." George swallowed loudly and cleared his throat. "Sure will miss you." He turned and went inside, I suspected to pull himself together.

  The house interior was dark and smelled like dust and burned tomato soup and that curious effluvium of old man. Deep green carpet, worn threadbare in spots from decades of traffic, stretched into a living room on the left and a dining room on the right. Beyond, yellow light spilled from the kitchen doorway, and I saw the dull gleam of real Linoleum and the chrome edging of old, yellow Formica counters. The edge of the refrigerator visible from the front door was round, a shape I hadn't seen for years.

  Jude glanced at me as if to see what I thought, but I didn't know whether to feel nostalgic or creeped out by these surroundings.

  "I live downstairs, in the basement," he said.

  Oh, good. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

  The sound of rattling dishes came from the kitchen. Beside me, Jude sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. Ruth had said he helped George Oxford out around the house, and that she thought the older man appreciated Jude's company as well, but I hadn't realized how important Jude's role had apparently become.

   

  "Do you want to go talk to him?" I asked.

  He shook his head. "He's proud. I'll check in with him later, assure him that I'm not abandoning him." He beckoned me to a doorway on the left, and I followed him down a set of old wooden stairs very similar to the ones that led from our kitchen down to my workroom.

  Jude continued. "It's hard for him to take care of this place all by himself, and he gets lonely. I'll still visit."

  We stepped into a large room paneled in dark wood. "That's awful nice of you," I said.

  He whirled and put his hand on my shoulder, not seeming to notice how violently I flinched.

  "No, it's just human," he said. "I mean, everyone ought to be nice to each other, don't you think? I believe if we were just kind to one another we wouldn't have so much crime and hate and violence. In fact, that's one of the new tenets of Heaven House, to promote kindness everywhere. I don't think it would hurt to have a few core values to structure the thinking behind the programs and the way the volunteers interact with the HH clients, do you? More like a mission statement than the Ten Commandments. Of course, some of the directives will overlap. I mean, they would, wouldn't they?"

  I nodded, silent.

  He continued. "Now, don't think I have any problem with religion-based community organizations, because I don't. Heaven House just doesn't happen to be one. But a lot of them work miracles, especially with the homeless and the addicted. I don't know if we're ready to take on some of the big problems like that yet, but someday I want the chance. It has to build, one program upon the next, contacts and networking, like a web of support within the community, putting the energy out there and then letting it come back, synergistically, holistically." His eyes widened. "Heaven House is going to be a perfect example of what a community center is supposed to be. You'll see, Sophie Mae, you'll see."

   

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Wow.

  And ... wow. I'd never heard him put that many words together at one time before. In fact, I was pretty sure I hadn't heard him utter that many words, total, since I'd met him. I'd certainly had no idea he was so passionate about Heaven House. It was beyond passionate; it was almost obsessive.

  Attempting nonchalance, I carefully backed away from his touch. "You're so right. Look at how much you've already done with the place since you've been in charge."

  How it must have rankled him to see Philip screwing it up. Did Jude know his cousin had stolen money meant for Heaven House programs? If he did, it would have added insult to injury, and for all he knew the foundation's board hadn't done a darn thing about his cousin's transgressions. Maybe Jude had decided to do something about it himself.

  As these thoughts crystallized, I'd been looking around the room to see how much work faced us. Now I focused on the contents: a sofa and chair, a coffee table and an end table, one ancient bookshelf packed with books, leaning dangerously away from the wall.

   

  I turned to find Jude staring at me. "Is all this going to HH?"

  "What? Oh. No. The books, yes. But that's all. This stuff all belongs to George. I rented it furnished."

  That seemed odd, considering he'd been so insistent about needing my truck in order to move. My discomfort, temporarily banished by George's presence upstairs, came slinking back.

  "Will you keep the furnishings Philip put in his apartment?"

  He looked disgusted. "That stuff is overpriced, pretentious garbage. I'll sell it all, buy something more practical, and donate the difference to a good cause. Maybe fold it back into Heaven House."

  Wow again. It seemed the foundation was willing to support Heaven House programs, and I couldn't see it needed money from selling Philip's fancy fixtures. Then it dawned on me: maybe Jude was trying to pay the foundation back for some of the money Philip had taken.

  "What about in the bedroom?" I asked, growing increasingly uneasy at the absence of Bette and Kelly, especially since he didn't seem to have enough to warrant their help, anyway.

  "Some clothes."

  "Is anything boxed up yet?"

  He shook his head, but didn't look at all sheepish, like I would have. Great. This wasn't so much about moving him as it was about packing up his books and undies.

  I straightened my shoulders. "When are Bette and Kelly going to be here?"

   

  Now he looked sheepish. An awkward pause, and he said, "Well, they might not come."

  I took a deep breath. "Really. Why not?"

  "I, uh, didn't exactly get a hold of them."

  My heart did a little skippity-thump, and a spasm of anxiety made my hand fly up to my mouth. I coughed into it to hide my fear, then crossed my arms and tried to look stern.

  "You lied to me. That's not very nice."

  He looked at the floor. "I'm sorry."

  "Why did you tell me they were coming?" And why had I believed him? I wanted to smack my forehead. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  His shoulders lifted once and then fell back into their familiar slump. "I was afraid you wouldn't help me."

  "But you don't really need my help, do you?"

  "Of course I do." He looked around. "Well, maybe not. But I want your help."

  He sounded a little like Allen when he said that, and my ears strained to make a connection between their voices.

  The flimsy arm of the sofa wobbled as I gingerly perched on it. "I still don't understand why you lied." "

  I thought you might not want to be here with me all by yourself."

  Carefully, I said, "Is there a reason I wouldn't want to be alone with you?"

  An embarrassed smile flickered on his face and then was gone. "Well..." The smile again, just a flash. "I know I've been ki
nd of flirty."

  I stared at him. Flirty? Jude?

   

  "But I'm not going to make a pass at you, I promise. I wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable."

  Launching to my feet, I briskly walked to the bookcase. Good Lord. This guy had so many problems they overlapped each other. I didn't have time to spend all day futzing with his various obsessions and anxieties. If I had a chance, I'd sneak upstairs and ask George about Hannah's beets. Otherwise, I just wanted to get this over with. Peeve had replaced my apprehension.

  "Since it's just the two of us, we'd better get this show on the road, or we'll never get done," I said. "Do you at least have boxes?"

  I knew I sounded impatient and rude, but I felt impatient and rude. Who did he think he was? Nice, having all those great plans to help people he didn't even know, but it was downright obnoxious to fool me into helping him move without even bothering to pack first. If I hurt his feelings, too bad.

  Wide-eyed, he pointed toward the bedroom. "In there."

  No, there wasn't anything frightening in the bedroom. No, he didn't attack me or lock me in. And no, I didn't pack his underwear for him. I set him to work filling boxes with the contents of George Oxford's hand-me-down dresser and went out to the living room to pack books. They were mostly novels, mostly science fiction, and mostly authors I'd never heard of. Jude hauled each box to my truck as I finished filling it.

  He grabbed the last box of books and tromped up the stairs. The sink, filthy and rust-stained, in Jude's little bathroom downstairs was too gross to use, plus there weren't any glasses. Dusty and sweaty and thirsty, I figured I had a good excuse to take a break and seek out George to beg a glass of water.

   

  And while George played host, I could find out more about what preserves Hannah had left behind when she died.

  George wasn't in the living room or the kitchen.

  "Mr. Oxford? George?" I called. Through the front window I could see Jude rearranging the boxes under the topper that covered the back of my pickup. We'd be on our way soon.

  "George?"

  The house was silence except for the loud tick tock of the huge grandfather clock. I went in the kitchen and opened cupboard doors until I found a glass and then let the tap water run for a few seconds to chill. No ice needed.

  It tasted like ambrosia.

  As I drank a second glass, I spied a closed door that looked like it might belong to a pantry. I padded quietly over to it and opened it. Shelves marched down the walls of the small space, full of cans and cans of red-and-white labeled soup and boxes of breakfast cereal.

  Bachelor food.

  No preserves.

  I wandered out to the living room, ignoring the pull to go back downstairs and get the last box packed so we could leave. I trailed my fingers along the surfaces of side tables, picking up less dust than I would expect. George was a better than average housekeeper for a widower.

  The upright piano held several pictures. George and his wife, mostly. No children. Sad, I thought.

  A crewel embroidery sampler hung over the piano. The stitches were exquisitely executed: French knots and lazy daisies and some lovely couching. The Home Sweet Home design named the inhabitants of the home: George and Hannah.

   

  Where was George?

  His absence raised the hairs on the back of my neck. This was exactly the situation I had been determined to avoid, and yet it appeared I was here alone with Jude.

  Had he killed Philip? He was definitely strange. But did that make him dangerous. I hadn't felt any danger while we'd been together downstairs. Maybe he was just a big, shy, kind of weird guy with bad social skills.

  Taking a deep breath, I shook my head at my rationalizing. Didn't matter. He was the best suspect for Philip's murder so far, with a possible motive plus Hannah Oxford's theoretical preserved beets. I was leaving. Whether it made him suspicious or not, I would tell Jude I'd called home and had to leave right away. Meghan needed me. For what? An emergency massage call? Lame. So what? I'd figure something out. I'd meet him over at Heaven House with his stuff in a couple of hours, or even come by and pick him up here, get the last box or two. Only I'd be sure to bring reinforcements the second time around.

  Just one last check for those beets, and then I was gone.

  A quick glance out the front window showed Jude still shoving boxes around. I hurried back into the kitchen and began opening cupboards. Nothing of any interest whatsoever. Stumped, I set my water glass in the sink and stared out the small window in the back door. The narrow driveway that ran beside the house, half obscured by overgrown rhododendrons, led to a detached one-car garage. I darted a look toward the front door as I slipped outside.

  The breeze picked up a few stray raindrops from a holly bush and flung them against my bare neck. I ducked my head and trotted to the long horizontal window in the garage door. Palms cupped around my eyes, I pressed my forehead to the glass.

   

  Too dark to see.

  With my fingertips, I rubbed at the dirt that partially obscured my vision and tried again.

  No luck.

  Around the corner, a small door accessed the garage from the side. The wobbly round knob turned easily enough, and I was inside.

  "George? Are you in here?"

  The smells of old motor oil and dust, mildew and ancient wood shavings assaulted my nose from the dim shadows. Most of the space was taken up by a champagne-colored Monte Carlo. A lawn mower crouched in the corner. A vast assortment of hand tools arranged with precision on pegboard hooks covered one wall. A shelving unit in the corner held jars of... wait a minute. I edged around the car and inspected the contents.

  False alarm.

  Each canning jar held a specific size of nut or bolt or nail. Shaking one in my hand like a giant rattle, I sighed.

  Wait a minute. I squinted in the darkness. There. On the bottom shelf.

  Bingo.

  Excited, I squatted on my haunches and rearranged the dusty remains of Hannah Oxford's preserves. All the jars were unlabeled, but the contents were easy to ascertain. Cucumber pickles. Picalli- lly relish. Green tomatoes. Marinated mushrooms. Green beans. Jellies and jams.

  No beets.

   

  But there wouldn't be any beets. Jude wasn't an idiot. He'd have disposed of them.

  Okay, enough was enough. I rose to my feet. Time to get the heck out of Dodge. I turned.

  And froze.

  Jude stood in the doorway, face obscured, utterly silent. He leaned one shoulder against the door jam, arms crossed, blocking my exit.

  "Hi!" I said. "Ready to go?"

  "What do you think you're doing?" His voice was so soft I had to strain to hear.

  I licked my lips. Then I jammed my fists onto my hips and demanded, "What kind of a question is that? I was looking for George, and I couldn't find him in the house. Thought I'd check the garage to see if he was out here."

  "He left."

  "Really." I approached him, all Miss Chatty. "Without his car? Sure hope it doesn't rain."

  Now I could see Jude's eyes. The cold gaze was less than encouraging. He didn't budge, so I couldn't get out the door without physically pushing him aside. He was a lot taller than I'd realized. I smiled up, a big friendly grin.

  I was so tense I could hardly swallow.

  Then he looked down at the ground and shuffled his feet. The familiar gesture was oddly comforting. "George is a hardy soul. He doesn't mind getting a little wet."

  Once again, I wondered about Jude leaving George so abruptly, and with such little notice. Anyone who would beat up Ruth wouldn't stop at hurting George.

   

  Jude reached for me then, and without thinking about it, I drew back. His gaze probed mine, and I tried another breezy smile. I could feel it waver on my face, lips twitching. Fear radiated from every pore, coming off me in waves. His eyes flicked to the shelving unit in the corner.

  He suddenly looked unbearabl
y sad. "So you know."

  "Know what?" I asked, too quickly.

  He shook his head. "Don't even try, Sophie Mae. I can tell. I knew it was too good to last."

  That comment threw me. "What was?"

  "Finally having what I wanted. What I deserved. And I really liked you a lot. If you weren't dating that cop, I'd have asked you out."

  I crinkled my eyes and tried to look accessible. "Barr and I aren't that serious, you know."

  "Stop it. I'm not an idiot."

  I held my hand up. "I'm only saying. Don't think I haven't noticed you're a pretty good-looking guy."

  "Shut up!"

  I shut up. Which was just as well because I'd started shaking in the cool air of the garage, and I had to clench my teeth to keep them from chattering.

  Every nerve was tuned to a sudden move from Jude while my mind worked over the walls and windows, searching for a way out. The garage door wasn't an option; I'd never get it open before Jude managed to stop me. Again, I noted how big he was.

  Funny how I'd never really noticed that before.

   

  He backed out of the doorway, and I wanted to throw myself past him. "Come on," he invited. He didn't sound very friendly, though.

  "Where?"

  "I have to pick up something at HH."

  "You can take my truck, if you want. I'll finish packing."

  He looked at me, and I knew there would be no more packing. "Come on," he repeated. "You're driving."

  Fine. Just get me into the open air, and I'd run like a deer. I ducked as far away as I could as I passed him in the doorway, but it wasn't far enough. His hand shot out, fingers hooking into the sleeve of my sweater, twisting until the grip started to cut off my circulation.

  "Ow. Stop that"

  His grip loosened an iota, and suddenly his other hand was in the pocket of my jeans.

  "Hey-" I protested, trying swing away. God, what did this weirdo have in mind?

  He removed his hand and jingled my keys in my face. "We're going out front, and you're going to behave. We're getting in your truck. You're going to drive me to Heaven House. Park in the alley. We'll both go in, and I'll get what I need, and then we're going to leave again."