Murder by Design Trilogy Read online

  Gilly, eyes shut tight, began compiling the list of things she had to accomplish before her evening shift. The day was going to be a busy one, packing more clothes, giving notice at the boutique, and then lunch back here with Gramps and their guest, Skip Hunter.

  She was anxious to take the measure of the man. So far she liked what she saw even though he was a bit intense, right off the bat irritating the Kitsap officers conjecturing that John Doe had been murdered. More than a conjecture, he stated flatly the man was murdered. “Felt it in his bones,” he said. Nevertheless, she was glad he was coming so she could tell him about the possible intruder early yesterday morning.

  Gilly threw off the covers and scooted down the hall to take a shower. Coco yawned, stretched her back up in her camel imitation, then her hind legs one at a time, pointing the toes of each paw as she did so. After a few licks on her tail and sitting a moment, she trotted to her dish in the kitchen by the dryer. Anne had already left the twin bed next to Gilly and was on her way to Port Gamble.

  Gilly and her mother crossed paths at home, packing up, then peeling off in different directions—Anne to the Tea Room to start prepping ingredients for the day’s menu and to buy a spinach quiche for their luncheon. She was leaving the Tea Room early to be with the family and their guest. Gilly was aware her mom loved her work at the Tea Room and had given up her dream of someday opening her own cafe. Money never stretched to cover dreams. When the lumber mill shut down her mom and dad had to scramble for jobs to keep their house and food on the table.

  After packing the car for an extended stay at Gramps, Gilly raced to the boutique to tell Angela she was leaving. Angela, hearing the news, preferred to think that her favorite, and most productive employee, was merely taking a few classes and would return with even more ideas for all those tourists visiting their quaint town. Gilly was about to leave when Mrs. Churchill, one of her faithful customers and an ardent admirer of her designs, entered the shop.

  “Oh, Gillianne, thank God you’re here,” Mrs. Churchill exclaimed flopping her large tote, an original Design by Gillianne, on the little ice cream table tucked in the corner of the boutique.

  “Hello, Mrs. Churchill. How are you today?” Gilly loved to see her totes in use. She instantly wondered how she might incorporate them into her collection for the competition.

  “Oh, my, let me catch my breath, dear,” she said her hand smoothing her sleek, silver gray hair.

  “I saw you at the wedding several weeks ago. Lovely wasn’t it,” Gilly said with a smile as she sat across the table from Mrs. Churchill.

  “Yes, lovely, but I’ll tell you what was lovely … those bridesmaids’ dresses. Gillianne, you outdid yourself. I heard all about how you designed and worked your fingers to the bone sewing them in time. Saved the day, you did. Personally, I think Trudy Stanhope was lucky those dresses went off to Hong Kong.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Churchill. You said you were looking for me?”

  “Oh … yes. I’ve been invited to a wedding in New York, not the state, the city. A very posh event. My college friend’s granddaughter is going to be married in St. Patrick’s—it’s only the most famous cathedral in the city, or close. I know my schoolmate, my very best friend mind you, thinks I live in the sticks, probably thinks I’ve become some kind of a hick.” Mrs. Churchill sighed. “But, I’ll show them. Gillianne, will you design a dress for me to wear to the wedding?”

  Mrs. Churchill, a trim seventy-three, sat on the other ice cream chair. Her tiny white on gray polka-dot print summer dress showed off her tan arms, with a sunshine-yellow belt around her slim waist.

  “Well, Mrs. Churchill, I’m going to school—

  Mrs. Churchill raised her hand to stop Gilly. She pulled out her checkbook, filled in the amount, signed the check with a flourish and handed it to Gilly.

  “Here, my dear Gillianne, is $600. Now, I know you’ll say yes. I heard all about you’re attending classes in Seattle. A school girl can always use some extra money. That’s your retainer. If my dress turns out to be less than $600, then it’s yours to keep. If it turns out to be more, you just let me know and I’ll drop it off with your mother at the Tea Room. Do we have a deal, Gillianne?”

  “Mrs. Churchill, we definitely have a deal. I’ll call you in a couple of weeks to make a date to take your measurements.”

  “I can’t wait to tell my friend, and my grandson, Edward Churchill. He’s a fashion designer, too. Big establishment in New York. I haven’t seen his work but I want to show off what we, you, can do on this coast, especially in the sticks.”

  “I appreciate your confidence, Mrs. Churchill. Are you sure you don’t want to ask your grandson to design your dress?”

  “Oh, my dear, I’m absolutely sure. If he can’t extend me the courtesy of showing me his work, then I’ll not bother him. However, I think I’ll call my son and tell him what I’m up to. He’ll understand, but not Millicent, Edward’s mother. She’s a piece of work. Coddled the boy. Stunted him for life. My son, his name is Edward, too, works on Wall Street. A broker. His long hours made it easy for Millicent to get away with spoiling their boy. Let me know when you want that appointment. My measurements? Sounds so couture. See you later, dear.”

  Gilly watched Mrs. Churchill stroll out of the boutique. “I’m sure she feels like a queen.” Gilly giggled zipping the check in a secure compartment of her bag.

  ───

  THE MINUTE SHE GOT home, Helen Churchill settled herself into her favorite overstuffed chair. She reached for the phone, her pearl and diamond dinner ring sparkling as she twirled the antique rotary dial with a flourish. Waiting for her son to answer, she thought about the upcoming wedding. She had never had a dress designed for her before, let alone to her measurements.

  “Grandmother, is this really you from, where is it, some place in Washington? Near Seattle I believe.”

  “Edward, you know perfectly well where I live. Too bad you can’t find time to visit my tiny town, a beautiful tourist spot. Is your father there?”

  “Sorry to say he isn’t and I’m not sure if he’ll be home for dinner. Can I give good old dad a message?”

  “Yes you can. Tell him a wonderful fashion designer is going to create a gown for me, for the wedding in the spring. You know, the big wedding in St. Patrick’s Cathedral, New York City?”

  “Yes, I know St. Patrick’s, Grandmother, and I guess you’re talking about the April wedding. I don’t know why everyone is so excited. It’ll probably be another boring affair. But why didn’t you ask me to design your dress? Who is this designer anyway?”

  “Edward, I certainly didn’t want to bother you. I know how busy you are. My dress will be a Gillianne Wilder original. You should come out for a visit. Meet her.”

  “Maybe I will, Grandmother. I’m having a bit of a dry spell. Maybe a trip to a lumber mill will help get my juices flowing again.”

  Chapter 19

  ───

  GILLY DROVE OUT OF Port Gamble singing Danny Boy at the top of her lungs, “Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling, from glen to glen, and down the mountainside.” Taking a breath, she slapped the steering wheel gleefully. “How about that O’Malley? Six hundred dollars in me pocket. Mrs. Churchill wants me, ME, to design a dress for her. Wow. What a morning.”

  Turning down her grandfather’s driveway, she saw a Bassett Hound staring at her slow-moving car. “Would you look at that, O’Malley. That is the cutest dog I’ve ever seen and she’s posing like a model—her right foot turned out, those big brown eyes … and she’s not giving an inch to this tank approaching her.”

  Gilly pulled to a stop about ten feet from the pooch. She was on a leash and the other end appeared in Skip’s hand as he emerged from behind a pine tree squatting down to pet her. He smiled up at Gilly and instructed the dog to go to the redhead who now stood leaning against the car door.

  “What’s her name?” Gilly knelt on the ground as the dog trotted, not too gracefully, up to her, long brown ear
s swinging.

  “Agatha. She’s a real ham so don’t encourage her.”

  “Hello, Agatha. My aren’t you pretty. Oh, you want your belly rubbed. Okay. More? There how’s that. She’s adorable, Skip.”

  “Thanks, but don’t tell her. Her head will get as big as her body which as you can see is tough enough for her to cart around.”

  “Nice to see you.” Gilly extended her hand to Skip. Agatha sat on her shoe, looking up, waiting for another belly rub.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I brought Aggie along. It’s rare I get out of the city for lunch so I thought she might like the feel of real grass.”

  “Not at all, but Coco may get her nose bent out of shape.”

  “Coco?”

  “My tabby. She’ll dive under the bed as soon as she sees Agatha. Come on in.” Gilly led the way to the patio but entered the house through the front door and the hallway into the living room.

  “Mom, we’re here,” she called out.

  Anne came out of the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron. “What do you mean … oh, Mr. Hunter, and who’s this furry specimen? Gilly, would you look at those eyes? Will, Gramps, come here.” Anne smiled up at Skip. “I warn you, Gramps may not let … what’s her name?”

  “Agatha.”

  “He may not let you take her home.”

  “Now, there’s a dog,” Gramps said his eyes lighting up. “Look at those big feet—pointing in four different directions. Will, isn’t she cute. I bet she’d like to stay here with me, wouldn’t you girl? Oh, oh … yes a nice belly rub. Oops.” Coco darted through the living room, down the hall, and dove under the bed.

  Anne and Gilly exchanged a wide-eyed glance and left the men with the dog. Giggling, they finished setting the table.

  “Okay, you guys, come and get it. Lunch is ready.” Gilly called out.

  Everyone took a seat at the kitchen table—one on each end and two in the middle opposite the picture window looking out at the sound. A big red tanker, the water line revealing a black hull, slowly headed north. Agatha flopped in the doorway—back half in the living room, front half in the kitchen. Her back legs stretched out behind her, her ears fanning out over her front paws.

  “This is some view,” Skip said. “Have you lived here long?” he asked helping himself to a slice of quiche, Gilly gripping the pie plate with a hot pad.

  “About thirty years,” Gramps said passing the cheese sauce to Skip. “We bought the place because it was close to my job. At that time I was a planer at Talbots. Betty, that’s my wife, passed away last year.”

  “The lumber mill? Port Gamble?”

  “That’s right. It closed in ’95. Put a lot of people out of work, including Will and myself. Hard times for awhile. Betty and I loved it here in Hansville. Which, young man, brings me to ask you about this theory of yours that John Doe was murdered.”

  “First, let me say, Mr. Wilder—

  “Clay.” Gramps said his eyes smiling as he helped himself to another slice of quiche.

  “Hold on, Dad. I want some more, too,” Will said chuckling.

  Gilly glanced at her father. He looked relaxed today. Maybe this was a good idea, inviting Skip over. He certainly was at ease with everyone. Every time she saw him he appeared taller. Smiles a lot, of course, who wouldn’t with that canine around? And then there was that navy blazer—nobody dressed up around here. My God, but he is handsome. She looked away, a flutter erupting in the pit of her stomach.

  “Not to worry, sweetheart,” Anne piped up. “With three men sitting at my table, I knew one pie wouldn’t be enough. There’s a second in the warming oven. Go ahead, Skip. And for heaven’s sake, let’s everyone get on a first-name basis.”

  “Well, first, I’m the only one who believes he was murdered.” Skip helped himself to the last piece of pie.

  “Skip, with my Irish background, making Gilly half Irish, we believe in our instincts,” Anne said passing a bowl of cantaloupe slices. “Tell us why you feel this way.”

  “Feel. That’s a good word, Anne. I tell you … I feel it in my bones. No one has come forward to ID the body. The slashing of Mr. Hawk Jackson’s car was vicious, but also haphazard. Maybe they didn’t find what they were looking for and in anger slashed away. Could also have been a random act … someone losing big at poker. But, it wasn’t until my article appeared with the picture of the dead guy that the car was vandalized. Mr. Jackson saw the flier on a ferry and notified the police about giving the guy a ride. Same with the Stanleys’ … nothing until after my follow-up article stating that Mr. Wilder, Clay, ID’d the police photo and said the guy asked for the Stanley address.

  “So, you think whoever vandalized Hawk’s car and the Stanley house …”

  “Clay, I wouldn’t say they were vandalized, more like they were looking for something.”

  “We think we had an intruder in the early morning hours Wednesday. Will said. “Trashcan tipped over. Sometimes raccoons get into that can, but we found footprints and trampled flowers. If someone was looking for something, they were scared off with the noise.”

  “But, Skip, what could anyone be hoping to find—here, the Stanleys’, the casino?” Gilly asked, removing the second quiche from the oven, setting it on the table, and handing the pie server to her grandfather.

  “Save some room, Dad. I have a sweet surprise for dessert,” Anne said with a sly grin.

  “Now, Anne, you know I’m watching my waistline.”

  “Ha, of course. You’re watching it get bigger,” Will said offering the pie plate to Skip. “We decided to take your warning seriously, even if it’s just a twinge in your bones. We’re all staying here with Dad until John Doe is identified and you, or the officers, come up with a cause of death that seems plausible … especially to your bones.”

  The three Wilders smiled at Skip. Suddenly Agatha jumped up, let out a deep-throated howl, and swaggered to the patio door.

  “Oh, that must be Taylor, our mailman. I’m expecting a couple of books I ordered on Amazon for school,” Gilly said, following Agatha.

  Taylor stood on the other side of the door, back a few feet, as Agatha continued to bay.

  “He’s okay, Agatha. Friend. Friend. Taylor, come on in.”

  Agatha kept howling as she darted from the living room to the patio, her tummy bumping the slight rise at the entrance from the patio.

  “I don’t think so, Ms. Wilder. I’ll just leave this against the door. Nice day.” Taylor backed away and trotted up the few steps to the guesthouse and then jumped into his mail truck.

  “Agatha, what’s the matter with you?” Skip was kneeling next to his dog who was kissing his face as if it was the first time today she had seen her master. Coco peeked around the door rubbing against the frame never taking her eyes off the big, furry bully with the funny feet.

  “Gilly,” Skip whispered.

  “Why are you whispering?”

  “I just had a thought.”

  “In your bones or your head?” she giggled.

  “Funny. Not. What would you think about Agatha staying with your grandfather for a couple of weeks? It’s obvious she thinks she’s on guard.”

  Gilly giggled again. “Honestly, Skip, barking at a mailman hardly means she’s on guard. Can we stop whispering?”

  “Sure. But, is it okay with you if I suggest it. Clay seems to like her and after what you said happened the other morning you all might feel safer.”

  Gilly shrugged and flashed a conspiratorial smile at Agatha.

  Skip and Gilly walked back to the kitchen, Agatha bumping along close behind, Coco slinking from doorway to doorway.

  “Our bone-ified reporter has something to ask you, Gramps.”

  “Is that so. Was that Taylor, Gilly?”

  “Yes, and he was terrified of this floppy-eared wonder dog.”

  Skip made his offer of loaning Agatha to the Wilders as a watch dog. He sweetened the deal adding that it would be like a mini vacation for the dog to be with people inst
ead of alone all day in his apartment.

  “Oh, now, son, you may want to reconsider that offer,” Gramps said. “You see I have a way with dogs, and Agatha may not want to go back to the city after she gets a taste of life in the wilds.”

  “Sir, I know I’m taking a chance, but I’ll rest easier working on the case if I know you and your family have some protection.”

  “Well, I can see those bones of yours are talking to you. I accept your offer. Can she have a raw-hide treat once in awhile?”

  Gilly leaned over and whispered in Skip’s ear so everyone could hear, “Agatha is going to be spoiled rotten. She will be ruined for life.”

  Skip leaned into her whisper. She quickly pulled back. Her lips had touched his ear sending a shock through her body.

  Chapter 20

  ───

  SUNDAY. A DAY OF REST. Gramps, a week after his spell, planned to kick back and enjoy watching the pleasure boats heading north through the waters of Puget Sound. In a few days many would be pulled out of the water for winter storage.

  But it was not a day of rest for everyone.

  Pulling her sweater across her chest, Gilly trotted up to the guesthouse in her white T-shirt and jeans over fluffy, pink kitten slippers. Agatha swung her little legs in rhythm trying to keep up. Juggling a coffee cup, muffin, and sketchpad, Gilly managed to open the door and the two scooted into the cold workroom.

  “Brrr. Let’s get some heat in here, Agatha.” Turning the thermostat up, Gilly rubbed her arms as the electric baseboard crackled in response. She laid her pad on the table and pulled up a chair. She had spent the better part of the morning finishing her initial sketches for the Academy competition while her parents and grandfather were at church. She had decided to include her design of Helen Churchill’s dress either at the beginning or the end of her five-piece collection, but she hadn’t figured out how to weave her designs together into a story. Her instructors had pointedly mentioned the importance of telling a story on a show’s runway.