The Crêpes of Wrath: A Pancake House Mystery Page 8

  With a sigh, I let my gaze wander out the window. A banana-yellow sports car parked at the curb caught my eye. Only my single-minded eagerness to escape from Goldie and Jonah could have kept me from noticing it as I’d approached the lawyer’s office. It was hard to miss. Considering the size of Wildwood Cove, I would have bet a decent sum that it was the same car that had nearly run me over outside the grocery store the day before.

  A moment later, Lisa hung up the phone, and I nodded out the window. “That’s quite the car.”

  Lisa leaned forward over her desk to follow my line of sight.

  “Ah, yes. It belongs to Chantel Lefevre, the local real estate agent. She does like her fancy things.”

  “Blond hair?”

  Lisa nodded.

  “She nearly ran me down the other day.”

  “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me. She’s always rushing from one place to another. Time is money, I guess.” Her tone suggested that she wasn’t Chantel Lefevre’s biggest fan.

  “Is she from Wildwood Cove originally?” I asked, curious.

  “No, but she’s been here a while now. I think she’s from somewhere in Nevada, but she came here about fifteen years ago when she married a local man, Rex Orman. I was a year ahead of her stepdaughter in school. The marriage didn’t last all that long. Maybe five or six years. But after the divorce, Chantel stayed here and became a real estate agent.” Lisa lowered her voice. “It’s a common belief that she only married Dr. Orman for his money. He’s a dentist and comes from a wealthy family.”

  She cut off her delivery of town gossip when a door across the room opened and a gray-haired, bespectacled gentleman in a suit and tie stepped out into the reception area.

  “Ms. McKinney?” he asked as his gaze settled on me.

  I stood up. “Yes.”

  “Please, come in.”

  He held the door open for me and I passed into his office, leaving Lisa to her work. Once he’d shut the door behind us, Mr. Ogilvie shook my hand and offered me a seat in front of his desk. As I settled into it, my eyes swept over his office, taking it in.

  It didn’t look all that different from the offices at the Seattle law firm where I worked. Several filing cabinets and shelves holding legal reference books lined the walls. Mr. Ogilvie’s desk was made of polished dark wood and all of the furniture appeared to be of high quality. Although I was quite sure that the colored glass lamp sitting on an antique side table wasn’t a Tiffany, it was still beautiful.

  The main difference was the view. While the seventeenth-floor offices of my employers looked out over downtown Seattle, the large window in Mr. Ogilvie’s office faced the street at ground level and was currently shuttered with blinds, likely for the privacy of his clients. Most people probably wouldn’t like to be stared at by passersby as they conducted business with their lawyer.

  Mr. Ogilvie repeated Lisa’s offer of tea or coffee and I declined once again. With that out of the way, he sat down at his desk and rested a hand on a file folder that sat in the middle of his blotter.

  “I was very sorry to hear of Jimmy’s passing. My sincerest condolences.”

  “Thank you,” I said, folding my hands in my lap. “I’m guessing you’ve heard that the sheriff’s department is treating his death as suspicious.”

  “I did, yes. I spoke with the sheriff yesterday.”

  “Did you know Jimmy well?” I asked, curious.

  “Yes and no. I’ve been his lawyer for almost three decades now, but we haven’t socialized all that much over the past ten or fifteen years. We used to get together to play bridge now and then, but both our wives passed away within two years of each other and after that we mostly only saw each other here to deal with business.”

  Not for the first time, guilt gnawed away at me. How many others had Jimmy seen less frequently after Grace died? I’d only been a teenager at the time of her death, but I still wished I’d made more of an effort to keep in touch with him since that time.

  I clenched my hands together and tried to keep my thoughts on track. “I know there’s going to be an autopsy and Sheriff Georgeson told me he wasn’t sure when Jimmy’s body would be released, so I’m not sure what steps—if any—I should be taking in terms of arranging a funeral or memorial service. I was hoping you could tell me something about Jimmy’s wishes.”

  “Absolutely.” Mr. Ogilvie opened the file in front of him. “He stated quite clearly that he wanted to be cremated and have his ashes buried under the memorial tree planted over his wife’s ashes.”

  Hearing that brought me a small measure of peace. It seemed only right that Jimmy would be close to Grace again. “What about a service? Did he leave any instructions about that?”

  “Simply that he didn’t wish for a traditional funeral and that he would prefer a celebration of his life rather than anything too morbid. Those last two words were his own.”

  A hint of a smile made an attempt to pull at my mouth. I could picture Jimmy sitting in the chair I now occupied, giving those instructions to Mr. Ogilvie.

  “So I could go ahead and arrange a memorial service?”

  “Certainly. Then, once the police release Jimmy’s body, the cremation can be arranged.”

  I blinked as tears tried to make a sudden appearance. “What about the pancake house?” I asked. “What’s going to happen there?”

  “Yes, the pancake house.” Mr. Ogilvie peered down at the papers in front of him. “Were you aware that Jimmy had a number of other assets as well?”

  “No. That’s not something we ever talked about. Although I did hear that he left a nice sum to each of his employees.”

  “He did,” Ogilvie confirmed. “He made some smart investments over the years and could have retired comfortably if he’d chosen to do so.”

  I hadn’t realized that. I always figured that if he decided to retire, he’d sell the pancake house and live off the proceeds. It had never crossed my mind that he might have any other significant assets. It wasn’t as if he was ever a big spender.

  “I’ll give you a brief overview of his will and then we can go over everything in more detail.” He glanced at me for a sign of approval. Once I’d nodded my agreement, he continued on. “First off, he named me as the executor of his estate. He made some bequests to local charities, including an animal shelter and Clallam County Search and Rescue. He also left fifty thousand dollars each to his chef and waitress, and the sum of one hundred thousand dollars to Lydia Daniels.” He raised his eyes from the papers. “I understand that’s your mother?”

  “Yes.” Tears stung my eyes again, Jimmy’s generosity overwhelming me.

  Thank you, Jimmy, I said silently.

  I held back my tears as Mr. Ogilvie consulted the papers in front of him again. When he resumed speaking, his words took me by complete surprise.

  “Everything else,” the lawyer went on, “Jimmy left to you, Marley Rose McKinney.”

  Chapter 9

  I stared at Mr. Ogilvie, speechless.

  “I take it that was unexpected,” he said when he took in my expression.

  Another second or two passed before I found my voice. “To say the least.” I pressed the fingers of one hand to my forehead. “Hold on. You’re saying Jimmy left me the pancake house?” My mind didn’t know how to register that.

  Mr. Ogilvie glanced down at the pages of Jimmy’s will. “The pancake house, his home and vehicle, and several hundred thousand dollars.”

  I dropped my hand and shook my head in disbelief. “I don’t…I don’t know what to say. I’m shocked.” I shook my head again. “I figured the bulk of his estate would go to one of his other relatives or possibly my mom, but…”

  “Jimmy did mention that he had some relatives in Maine and New Mexico, but he had little to no contact with them over the past twenty years or so. He considered you and your mother to be his closest family.”

  My sense of guilt made a comeback. I hadn’t come to visit him nearly as often as I should have. Yet, he’d sti
ll left me the majority of his estate.

  The Flip Side.

  Panic grabbed at me. “I don’t know how to run a pancake house,” I blurted out. “I mean, taking care of it for a week or two is one thing; owning it is something else entirely.”

  “Is that what you want to do?” Mr. Ogilvie asked. “Move over here and run the business?”

  “I…have no idea. I have a job in Seattle and I…” I shut my eyes for a moment, my thoughts too muddled to string together a full, coherent sentence.

  “There’s no need to make a decision right at the moment,” Mr. Ogilvie said. His reassuring tone eased away some of my panic.

  “Okay.” I took a deep breath. “I’ll have to think about it.”

  “Of course.”

  “But what are my options?” I asked. “Run The Flip Side or sell it?”

  “Those are two options, another being that you could hire someone to operate the pancake house. That way you could keep the building and the business yet still live your life in Seattle. Another alternative would be to close the business and lease out the building. No matter which option you settle on, I can help you with all the necessary arrangements.”

  “Thank you.” My words sounded distant, bogged down by the enormity of the decisions I’d have to make in the near future.

  Mr. Ogilvie shut his file folder. “Perhaps we should leave the details for another day so you have more time to absorb everything that has happened.”

  “Yes,” I said somewhat absently. “I think that would be a good idea.”

  Mr. Ogilvie pushed back his chair. “Lisa will make another appointment for you. Perhaps for Monday or Tuesday? We don’t want to leave things sitting for too long.”

  “Monday or Tuesday would be fine.”

  I grabbed my tote bag and Mr. Ogilvie walked me to his office door.

  “See you next week, Ms. McKinney,” he said as he held the door open for me.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  After Lisa scheduled another appointment for me, I exchanged a few more words with her and then left the office, stepping out into the bright but breezy afternoon. Once on the sidewalk, I stood there, unsure of what to do with myself.

  Go back to Jimmy’s place was the first idea my stunned mind came up with, but then I gave myself a mental shake and decided I wasn’t quite ready to go anywhere. I needed a chance to process everything Ogilvie had told me first.

  After a quick check for traffic, I jogged across the street and entered Johnny’s Juice Hut, nestled between the antiques shop and a shoe store. The menu above the counter listed several types of bubble tea, fruit juices, and smoothies. That suited me well, since I was craving something juicy and sweet.

  The only current customer, I stood back from the counter and took my time reading over the selections. A moment later, a man with a bald head and a gold ring in one ear emerged from the back, a white apron over his jeans and T-shirt. “What can I get you?” he asked me.

  “Mango bubble tea with pearls, please,” I said, fishing my wallet out of my bag.

  He accepted payment from me and then set about making my drink.

  “Have a seat,” he said when he saw me lingering by the counter. “I’ll bring it to you when it’s ready.”

  “Thank you.” I chose a seat at the narrow bar set up by the front window so I would have a view of the street.

  Jimmy left me the majority of his estate, I told myself, still having trouble believing it.

  Tears welled in my eyes as a rush of gratitude nearly took my breath away. I hoped he somehow knew how grateful I was, that I’d loved him even if I hadn’t visited him as often as I should have.

  I drew in a steadying breath and blinked my eyes until the threat of tears lessened. I didn’t want to cry in public, even if I was the only customer in Johnny’s Juice Hut at the moment.

  Mere seconds after I managed to get my emotions under control, the bald man came over and set my bubble tea in front of me.

  “Enjoy,” he said with a smile.

  “Thank you.”

  I took a sip of the slushy mango concoction. As a burst of refreshing flavor hit my taste buds, my mind became more alert. Nothing seemed quite real to me at the moment, but it would all sink in with time, I knew. There was no point in trying to make any decisions about the pancake house at present. I simply wasn’t up to it. In a day or two, everything would make more sense. Or so I hoped.

  As I rolled one of the tapioca pearls across the roof of my mouth, I did my best to relax. Across the street, the door to the real estate office opened and a woman emerged onto the sidewalk. My eyes zeroed in on her. Was she Chantel Lefevre, the woman who had almost run me over? She had the same straight blond hair as the driver. It reached an inch or two below her chin and not a strand was out of place. She appeared to be about fifty and carried a few extra pounds beneath her pale pink pencil skirt and matching blazer.

  Sure enough, after slipping on a pair of sunglasses, the woman circled around the yellow sports car and opened the driver’s-side door. Seconds later, the engine roared to life and the car zoomed off down Main Street toward Wildwood Road.

  I hadn’t met the woman, but I had a gut feeling that I wouldn’t warm to her if I did. Was she the only real estate agent in town? I hoped not. If I did end up selling either of Jimmy’s properties, I didn’t think I’d feel comfortable going to Chantel Lefevre for help. Although, maybe I was being unfair. She drove too fast and Lisa didn’t seem to be a big fan of hers, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t good at her job.

  Further thoughts about the real estate agent flew from my mind when the door to Johnny’s Juice Hut opened and Michael Downes came inside. He paused to remove his sunglasses. As he ran a hand over his dark hair, his unshaded gaze flicked in my direction. Recognition flashed across his face and he raised a hand in greeting as the man behind the counter—I had no idea if he was actually Johnny or not—called out, “Hey, Michael. What can I get you today?”

  Michael stepped up to the counter to place his order and pay, but soon claimed the empty stool next to me. “Hey, Marley.”

  “Hi. How are you?”

  “Can’t complain.” He set his sunglasses on the bar. “I heard about Jimmy, though. It’s a real shame. I’ll miss him.”

  “So will I.” I sipped some more bubble tea through my straw as the man in the apron came over and set a deep purple smoothie in front of Michael. When we were alone again, I said, “Was everything all right with you the other day?”

  Michael’s brow furrowed. “How do you mean?”

  “You left The Flip Side in such a rush. I thought something might be wrong.”

  His face cleared. “Oh, that. When I saw the date on the paper I realized it was the last day to renew my vehicle insurance. I wanted to get it done before I went to my first job of the day.” He took a drink of his smoothie. “How about you? Are you holding up okay? I hear the sheriff’s conducting a murder investigation now.”

  “He is. And I’m doing all right, considering.”

  “Any idea what happened?” he asked.

  “No, and I don’t know why anyone would want to hurt Jimmy.”

  “Maybe it was a random thing.” Michael paused to take another drink. “A deranged transient or something. Or a robbery gone wrong. A few houses have been broken into lately. Maybe someone thought the place would be deserted and Jimmy surprised them.”

  “Could be.” I didn’t mention the fact that some of the loot from the burglarized houses was stashed on Jimmy’s property. Instead, I focused on drawing three tapioca pearls up through my straw. As I chewed and swallowed them, it occurred to me that Michael might be a good source of information. “Do you know of anyone Jimmy had a problem with?”

  “Nah. Not really. Unless you count Gerald Teeves.”

  I didn’t recognize the name. “Who’s that?”

  “He owns the property next to Jimmy’s.”

  “Ah,” I said, remembering the garish new house. “The mansion.”<
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  “That’s it. I know he and Jimmy weren’t exactly friends.”

  “How come?”

  “Teeves is all about modernization. Jimmy thought he was trying to change the character of Wildwood Cove too much. Then again, lots of people think that. Teeves isn’t the most popular guy around town.”

  “That doesn’t seem like a reason for Teeves to kill Jimmy.” Unless there was more to it than differing viewpoints.

  “No, it doesn’t,” Michael agreed, “but that’s the only person I can think of who Jimmy didn’t see eye to eye with.”

  “What about Daryl Willis?”

  Michael’s forehead furrowed. “What about him?”

  “I found him lurking around Jimmy’s workshop the other day. I understand you know him well.”

  “I do.” Michael hesitated, the creases across his forehead deepening before smoothing out again. “He probably didn’t mean any harm.”

  “Maybe not,” I said, doubtful, “but it was kind of…unsettling.”

  “He’s a bit of an oddball, but he listens to me and does what I tell him. I’ll make sure he stays away from Jimmy’s place from now on.”

  “Thank you. I’d appreciate that.” I took a sip of my bubble tea. “I heard that he and his girlfriend rent a room from you.”

  “Yep. Like I said, Daryl’s a bit of an oddball, but he’s not that bad. He played on a softball team I used to coach. He didn’t have a great upbringing and I thought maybe I could help give him some direction. So I gave him a place to live and he helps me out with my work now and then.”

  “What type of work do you do?” I asked.

  “I’ve got my own plumbing business. Daryl seems interested enough. I’m hoping he’ll get certified one day.”

  “It was nice of you to take him under your wing.”

  Michael shrugged. “Just helping out where I can.”