Free 7 Madness in Miniature by Margaret Grace Page B

reschedule dates. I called Henry first. We’d planned to work this morning on a miniature ice cream parlor for the ALHS auction. He was building and painting the box that would hold tiny tubs of crafts clay-cum-ice cream and a counter with the world’s smallest tip jar. I had another reason for calling him—Henry was also likely to know Jeff better than I did. He was too modest to brag about the classes full of students, mostly boys, who for one reason or another didn’t have college in their future, but needed a mentor and a creative outlet for their talents. Henry was the man, and his woodworking shop was the place.
    It was immediately clear that Henry had the same facts that I had about Craig Palmer’s murder, his liaison with the Internet being Taylor. His granddaughter and her hardworking attorney parents lived in the house that Henry owned and Taylor’s mother grew up in, a convenient arrangement for all.
    “How about this turn of events, huh?” Henry asked. “A murder disguised as an earthquake, and a small trembler at that. It’s tragic and so hard to fathom.”
    I agreed. “Craig’s family is in New York. I can’t imagine how hard it is for his parents, learning that their son is dead, and his body is all the way across the country. I hope things will be cleared up so they can at least have some closure.”
    We both paused and I realized I hadn’t taken the time to acknowledge the death of a man barely out of his youth. Henry and I had each suffered the loss of a spouse and knew the toll it took. The death of a relative or a friend or even a business associate changed everything, and a violent death was like an earthquake, rattling the foundation of life for so many people. I couldn’t imagine how much more difficult it would be to lose a child.
    I heard a long sigh from Henry, getting ready to move on. “You were with him yesterday, weren’t you? Before dinner?” he asked.
    “We were introduced; that’s about it, though his name has come up a lot.” I briefed Henry on the after-hours visitors I’d entertained, and then got to my question. “How well do you know Jeff Slattery?”
    “Video Jeff? Nice kid.” I didn’t remind him that the kid was now in his mid-thirties. For most of us, our students were forever “kids” no matter how many children of their own they had. “He hung around the shop a lot,” Henry continued. “In fact, I thought for sure he’d go into woodcrafts more seriously when he graduated. I got him a spot at a school in Oregon where an old pal of mine started a special program that Jeff would have fit right into. He could have gotten an associate’s degree. He kept saying, maybe in a couple of years, but he ended up taking over the arcade instead.”
    “Apparently he had a Plan A that didn’t work out,” I said. “After two years, when his sweetheart, Catherine Duncan, graduated, they were supposed to run off to make their fortune together.”
    “In a land far away,” Henry said, in a tone that called for cueing romantic music.
    “Or in Oregon.”
    “What’s up with you and Jeff? Why are you asking about him?”
    “He called to tell me that Bebe was taken in for questioning this morning, about Palmer’s murder. That’s what I’m assuming, anyway. Jeff isn’t clear on whether or not she’s been arrested.”
    “And he wants your help, I’ll bet.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “Uh-oh.”
    “What is it?” I asked.
    “I’d be offering to take Maddie, but with this sudden summer freeze between our girls, I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”
    I agreed and explained that Maddie had already covered that possibility with a plea to accompany me. “I’m sorry I won’t be able to keep our date to work on the ice cream parlor this morning.”
    “I’m glad it’s not because our fickle granddaughters are on the outs.”
    I laughed as if I hadn’t thought of that myself. “I probably won’t be long with Bebe, but I feel I have to do my best.”
    “I’m free