The Unkindness of Ravens by M. Hilliard (fastest ebook reader txt) 📕

told me to get in touch immediately if I came across anything else. It had a strong undertone of “and keep your nose out of a police investigation” but the words were gracious enough.

Nothing untoward had happened to my car engine while I was on the phone, so I headed back to Raven Hill. I turned onto Main Street and heard the noise again. Mentally checking my bank balance, I veered off Main onto the little side road leading to Darryl Brothers Import Motor Works.

Lawrence, the eldest brother, waved at me from the garage bay. Joanna and I had had a running joke about the brothers, riffing on the old Newhart show. I could hear her voice in my head, intoning “Hi, I’m Larry, and this is my brother Darryl, and this is my other brother Darryl.” It would have been awful and snobbish if she hadn’t shared the joke with them. As it was, she’d blurted it out the first time she brought her car in, and they’d responded by refusing to admit the two younger brothers had any name other than Darryl. A guessing game commenced, with Joanna putting forth a new set of names whenever she came in. The last pair was “Erasmus and Cornelius.” The Darryls remained steadfast in their denial. She was relieved they all had a sense of humor. A good mechanic was hard to find. I felt a stab of melancholy that the game had come to an end.

I handed my key to Lawrence and told him what was going on. He promised to call me later and offered a lift to the manor. One of the things I missed most about the city was being able to walk everywhere, and it was a nice day, so I declined. I decided to treat myself to lunch at the Java Joint before the horrifying reality of the car repair bill hit. It would give me a chance to check in with Jack and Meadow, and see what news had come through their doors. They’d both been too busy to talk the previous morning.

Joni Mitchell greeted me with the refrain from “Coyote” when I walked in the café door. The album cover to Hejira was propped behind the glass by the register, though I knew Jack used what he called an iThing to do the Java Joint’s music—no top 40 radio for his customers. It was late for breakfast and early for lunch, so I had the place to myself. Jack and Meadow were at a big table in the back going through piles of receipts. They waved me over. Meadow wasted no time.

“WHAT is going on up at the manor?”

Jack got me some coffee and I filled them in. I gave them a firsthand account of what was public knowledge. They likely knew most of it, and were equally likely to have picked up additional information from their customers. I did mention I’d heard there was bad blood between Joanna and Ed Dexter, glossing over how I’d come by the information.

“Well, now, that is interesting,” Meadow said. “He was here just the other night.”

“Dory said she saw him at that new Italian place on Tuesday,” I said, “but he left early on. He told me he’s never been to Raven Hill.”

“Then he’s lying. He was here in the café.” Meadow turned to Jack. “You remember—I pointed him out.”

“Hmph,” Jack said. “I think so. Skinny, twitchy guy? Hung out by the window. Seemed to be waiting for someone.”

“That’s right. Ordered a large dark roast and a sugar cookie. Didn’t think he needed either the caffeine or the sugar—he was practically vibrating as it was. It was a slow night with all the rain, so I kept my eye on him. He looked familiar, but I knew he wasn’t a regular. Took me a little while to figure out where I knew him from. He looks better on TV. A car pulled up outside and he got in. That’s the last I saw of him.”

“When was this?” I asked.

“Sometime between eight-thirty and nine on Tuesday.”

The same night Dory had seen him—this time much closer to the manor.

“Are you sure it was Tuesday?”

“I’m sure, because Jack had to inventory the beans for an order on Wednesday.”

“Besides,” Jack said, “we usually get a little rush when the Friends of the Library meeting ends, so I was trying to get the inventory done early. But we didn’t have the usual crowd, just a couple of people.”

“The meeting ran late,” I said, trying to remember if Mary Alice had told me the exact time she had locked up.

“Who did come in?” I asked.

“Felicity Prentiss was here early on, with that woman with the pixie haircut. The one who always orders the decaf soy latte.” Meadow uttered the last bit with an air of “why bother?” and Jack nodded.

“Lawyer,” he said. “Julie? Something like that.”

“Julia Wainwright?” I remembered the bent business card in Vince’s pocket.

“That’s it. Later a few of the other ladies came in.”

They rattled off names, occasionally checking details with each other. A couple of kids who lived in the village and went to local colleges were in and out as well.

“But not Joanna?” I asked. If I could place Joanna and Dexter here at the same time on the night of the murder, I might have the thing solved.

Meadow shook her head.

“I didn’t see her at all.”

It was a long shot. There was still a slim chance Joanna had run into Ed Dexter, but it was more likely she had gone into the manor late afternoon on Tuesday and never left. It was possible they’d arranged a meeting, but that would be tough to prove without a witness.

“Didn’t anyone see anything?” Meadow asked. “I know the place is big, but someone who didn’t belong there late at night would be noticed.”

Her statement hung in the air for a moment, and she sighed.

“I know. Joanna was probably killed by someone she knew. Someone we know. It’s awful.”

I decided to