Victoria Hamilton - Vintage Kitchen 04 - No Mallets Intended by Victoria Hamilton Read Free Book Online Page A

pamphlet, the committee had investigated him and discovered that, though Schuster talked a blue streak about writing local history books, all he had ever done was
threaten
to write books. As one of the few society members comfortable using the Internet, and with her connections at the
Wolverhampton Weekly Howler
, Jaymie had done some research herself and found a wealth of reasons not to hire him. Nan Goodenough, her editor at the
Howler
, told her a story in confidence. Schuster had dug up some dirt on a Wolverhampton politician’s family. Nan did not specify what it was, and Jaymie didn’t really want to know. Schuster apparently went to the woman and threatened her with writing a tell-all story; she caved, paid him off and actually moved away to keep the scandal hushed.
    If it had been something the public needed to know, malfeasance or neglect of duty, Nan’s husband, the newspaper owner and chief editor, who knew the whole story, would have felt bound to print it. However, it was something to do with her family—Jaymie could think of lots of things that were “scandalous” but nobody else’s business—and the
Howler
never exposed her private ordeal. If that was what Dick Schuster thought constituted “history,” then he was not the right guy for the job.
    Haskell Lockland, standing at the front of the gathering among the leading committee members—three women (the treasurer, recording secretary, and subcommittee chair) and Theo Carson—harrumphed loudly to get everyone’s attention. The harrumph was a surprisingly effective method—or would have been had he not been interrupted by Dr. Prentiss Dumpe, a balding, slump-shouldered man, who banged the door open and sidled into the room followed by his slimy son, Iago, a thug wannabe. Everyone ignored Haskell and twisted to see who was making such a ruckus.
    Dr. Dumpe, a local psychiatrist, had told them all that he was going to fight the committee over ownership of Dumpe Manor. He had already tried to get a court order to prevent them from doing anything to the house, since he swore it should have come to him. Haskell Lockland, a lawyer, didn’t believe he had any legal authority behind his challenge, and the court appeared to agree, declining to grant the injunction.
    The doctor’s reasoning behind his attempt to regain the family home was that when his grandmother died in the nineties—leaving the house to her sister-in-law, who was not a Dumpe at all—it would have been passed down to him but for “undue influence wielded over a poor, dependent woman.” When the inheritor in turn left Dumpe Manor to her nephew, he rented it out to roomers for a couple of years, then left the area, virtually abandoning the building to the not-so-tender mercies of nature before finally selling it to the heritage committee. To Jaymie, it seemed that the chain of inheritance was clear and legally binding, and the committee was proceeding with the necessary work on that assumption.
    Haskell, a tall, elegant figure—middle-aged but holding up well—harrumphed again and said, “If everyone will pay attention, we’ll get on with the meeting.”
    Prentiss and Iago found seats, but at the last minute the door opened
again
and Cynthia Turbridge slunk into the room. Jaymie caught Jewel’s eye—the stylish junk shop owner was just two seats away from her—and motioned to the door.
    Jewel caught sight of her friend and whispered loudly, “Here, Cynthia, we’re over here!”
    “Is she okay?” Jaymie asked. “She didn’t seem to want to come to the meeting tonight.”
    Jewel, a fifty-something firecracker of a woman, gave a dirty look toward the front of the room, then bent across Valetta to Jaymie. “Cynthia and Theo Carson were quite the thing when he was first hired,” she whispered. “Didn’t you know?”
    Jaymie shook her head.
    “Oh, yeah, hot and
heavy
. Girl fell hard. But he quickly dumped her for Isolde Rasmussen. You can see why.” She widened her eyes and