by Jessa Archer
“Oh, my dear. I am so sorry to hear this.”
“I don’t think that anyone who knows me could possibly think that I had anything to do with his death. Nevertheless, the sheriff has to make sure I have an alibi. I’m waiting to hear from him regarding an appointment to be questioned at the station.”
She nodded. “And would that be the same Sheriff Logan who was your boyfriend in high school?”
“Yes.” I twisted the bottle of water around in my hands.
“Who would have done such a thing?”
“The man had a lot of enemies. Actually, most people who knew him didn’t seem to like him, so that leaves a lot of possibilities.”
“And your sheriff has to get to the bottom of it.” Madame Sofia shook her head. “I never thought I’d see anything like this in quiet Misty.”
“He’s not my sheriff. He’s married.”
Madame Sofia looked at me. “But you still care for him. And you want to help him.”
I blushed. “Well, I think he needs help. It’s not as though Logan has a lot of experience investigating murders.” I put my water bottle down with a thump. “So I’m going to help him out a bit and figure out who actually did it.”
“Has he asked you to help him?” Madame Sofia looked at me in surprise.
“Definitely not. He doesn’t realize he needs it yet, but once I solve the case, he’ll be grateful. I know it.”
“Just be careful, dear. If this was actually murder...” She put her hand to her chest like the opera diva she used to be. “You could be dealing with a dangerous character.”
“I’ll be careful, Madame Sofia.”
Chapter Fifteen
I could feel my palms getting damp as I entered the police station. I’d known Logan forever, but when we were in high school together and dating, he wasn’t the sheriff. And since that point, I’d only come back to Misty occasionally to visit my mom. It occurred to me now that during most of the past fifteen years, I’d actually avoided seeing Logan. I guess that high school crush had never really disappeared.
I said hello to the deputy at the front desk, a guy named Mel who had been there since I was a kid.
“Hi, Pepper,” he said, waving me in. I walked past him to the glass office door, behind which I could see Logan. He looked really good in his uniform. I silently admonished myself for admiring him. That way lay danger.
Logan stood up, and he looked even better. He smiled at me, warmly but professionally, and opened the door to let me into his office. There was an awkward moment where we both seemed to consider shaking hands and then mutually decided to skip it. I laughed a little bit, and he gestured to the chair in front of his desk.
“Please have a seat, Pepper. Thanks for coming in.”
“Did I have a choice?” I asked, and then immediately regretted it. Snarky wasn’t going to help here.
His expression got a little more serious, and he settled into his chair. “It was my understanding that you are here on a voluntary basis. Is that not correct?”
I raised my hands in a gesture of peace. “Can we start over again, Logan? I know you need to question me. I know you’re just doing your job. I’m just a little... nervous.”
He smiled then and shook his head gently. “There’s nothing to be nervous about. This is just routine questioning.”
“That’s what they tell the perp in the cop shows before they lock him up.”
Logan gave me a slightly exasperated look. “You’re not a perp. You’re the next-door neighbor of a guy that’s doing some construction work on his house, and sadly, someone died. Now would you calm down, please?”
I didn’t care for his patronizing tone, but I knew he was only trying to help me. “I’m calm. And ready for your questions. Fire away.”
Logan picked up the file on his desk and looked down at one of the papers. Before he could speak I blurted out, “Should I get a lawyer?”
He put the file down and raised an eyebrow at me. “Of all the people in the world, should you be asking me that?”
“Anyway, the only other lawyer in Misty is dead,” I said in a pathetic attempt at black humor. This time he just looked at me.
After a minute, I took a deep breath and spoke up again. “Okay. I’m not under arrest, and I didn’t kill Winthrop. And for that matter, we don’t even know if it was an accident or not.”
Something about his face changed.
“Wait. Do we?” I recognized the familiar expression that meant he was wrestling with whether or not to tell me something.
The mask descended again, and he got serious. “Pepper, this is an ongoing investigation. You know I can’t give you any protected information about this matter. That would be highly unprofessional—”
“Aha! I knew that the first thing we had to figure out was whether or not somebody intentionally arranged for that balcony railing to be weak—”
“What do you mean ‘we’?” he asked, and now he looked peeved. “You are definitely not part of the investigating team on the Winthrop murder, Peppe—”
“Aha! You said murder!”
He stood up, looking remarkably angry. He started pacing around the small area behind his desk. “Stop saying ‘aha.’ That’s ridiculous. I’m the sheriff of Misty, and while you may be a lawyer, you’re not qualified to participate in this investigation. That’s a job for the professionals.”
He stopped pacing and leaned over the desk, his arms locked to support his upper body. His voice changed. “And Pepper, don’t you know how difficult it is for me to keep this on a... professional basis with you? I want you to be safe. As a friend, as a resident of Misty, and as a....” He stopped then and turned away.
For a moment I was knocked off center by the implications of what he had just said. Did he think of me as more than a friend? What about his wife, whom he was apparently back with? If he was worried about my being safe, didn’t that mean that this really was premeditated murder? And more than that, why would I be in danger even if Winthrop had been murdered?
“But I thought I was a suspect, Logan. I thought you wanted to question me because you thought I was the murderer.”
Logan sat back down again and ran his hand over his forehead. “Pepper, when I said the word murder before, I misspoke. At this point we’re... we’re calling it a suspicious death. That much I can tell you, because that much will be in the newspaper tomorrow.”
He steepled his fingers and sighed. “You’re not a suspect. I simply want to ask you questions regarding what you might have observed about the operation of the construction site, since you’re right next door. And I know you’re... acquainted with one of the workers.”
At that, my face reddened. The relationship with Jared, such as it was, had ended almost before it started. Two uneventful dates, during which I was flattered to be the object of attention of such an attractive man, followed by the unpleasant scene when he’d plopped a burger down on my table and called it dinner.
I looked over at Logan. “He’s no longer much of an acquaintance.”
Was it my imagination, or did Logan’s expression cheer up a bit at that news?
“Well, in any case, let’s get on with the questions,” he said. He looked down at the file. “About how long do you think the work has been going on beside your house?”
“Maybe... a month?”
“Other than the worker you know—is it Jared Grant?”
“Yes. Jared Grant.”
“Are you acquainted with anyone else involved?”
“The head guy—the foreman, I guess, of the construction crew. They call him Shrimpy.”
“Shrimpy?” He raised his eyebrows. I shrugged.
“That’s what Jared said. I don’t know his real name. And I don’t really know the guy, but you asked if I know who any of the other people are...” I stopped for a second. “Oh, and I’ve met Dr. D.”
“Dr. D?”
“Yes. The doctor who owns the house. Angelo D’Amore. I just met him the other day.
He’s a dermatologist from New York City—seems like a nice guy. Mr. Woogles really took to him.” I had to squelch a feeling of satisfaction at telling Logan about Angelo. “Oh... and he asked me to be his legal representative here in Misty.”
At that, his expression got a little grimmer. He made a noise that sounded like “Hmph.”
“Have you ever seen anything suspicious over there?” he asked.
“Like what?”
“Like... people over there at night, lights inside at odd hours? People coming and going who didn’t look like they were dressed for construction jobs?”
“Well, Dr. D comes there after hours, wears really beautifully tailored clothes, and drives a Jag. Is that what you mean?”
At that, he actually scowled. I felt bad for teasing him a little bit, but not too bad. After all, I was a single woman, and he was a married guy—at least, he was supposed to be—so I had every right to notice handsome men when they came into my orbit.
“You know what I mean, Pepper.”
“Well, considering I’m in a house built in 1892, in which there are occasional bumps in the night from upstairs, and some folks in Misty are convinced that I have ghosts, I’m not sure I’d notice if there were strange goings-on next door.”
At this point he glanced down at his phone, which was sitting on the desk. “I have other people I need to interview in connection with this investigation, Pepper. I haven’t got all day.”
I sat up taller. “Can I help you investigate?”
“I thought you would help me. I thought we could dispense with an official interview, and I could clear you of suspicion, but if you’re going to kid around like this and waste my time... and no, you definitely cannot help me interview people who actually are suspects.”
I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms. “Well, I’d like to help. But I understand your position. And I’m sorry if I’ve been a little bit less than serious. What other questions you have?”
“Where were you and when did you first realize there was something happening on the morning of the death?”
I thought back to that morning. “I was meeting with Trixie Johnson—I mean Trixie Johnson Dingle—and her new husband, Buddy, about the porta-potty incident at her wedding.”
He looked at me. “The what?”
I shook my head. “You won’t believe it. It’s ridiculous. Trixie was horrified when she discovered that someone else had already used the fancy—and apparently very expensive—toilet trailer that had been rented for the occasion, and she wants to sue.”
“She wants to sue because someone used a toilet as a toilet?”
“That’s what I said.”
He put his file down and leaned back in the chair. “So, are you going to take the case?”
“When she met with me, I told her I thought it was extremely unlikely that she would have a cause of action. I did a little research and had to explain that I don’t think she could possibly win. So I gave her the bad news as soon as I had the chance to meet with her again.”
“I bet she was mad.”
“And you’d be right. In any case, Trixie and Buddy were in my office that morning talking about the lawsuit she wanted to bring. In the meantime, my former office manager, Mrs. Grumbauer, was so offended at the thought of being involved with what she called the ‘poop case’ that she quit.” I laughed at the memory. “So she had just stomped out—right after threatening to go work for Roger Winthrop, to which I responded that he was a crook who had stolen money from me. And when she passed the house next door, she saw Winthrop. All I heard was a really loud Teutonic scream.”
“So you didn’t actually see him fall.”
“No. Though Mrs. Grumbauer might have.”
Logan scribbled the note in his file. “Can you see into the house from your own?”
“On the second story I can. I have a window that looks directly into a side window in the other house.”
“Were you up there that day?”
“Well, my bedroom is up there. But it’s on the other side of the house. It’s a big old house.”
Logan wrote something else down. “So what happened after you heard her scream?”
“We all ran out the door and through the hedges into the next yard. At that point, Winthrop was on the ground, and Dr. D’Amore had already started CPR.”
“So Trixie, Buddy, and Mrs. Grumbauer can all verify your whereabouts at the time, correct?”
“Yes.”
Logan closed the file and stood up, pushing his chair back. “Thanks, Pepper. I appreciate your help.”
I reached out to shake the hand he extended and felt the warmth and strength of his grip as I did so.
I wasn’t at all sure he would appreciate it, but I intended to give him a lot more help with his investigation.
Chapter Sixteen
I stepped into the waves, feeling the bite of the water against my feet and ankles. It was a very warm day, but the chilly shock gave me goosebumps.
I looked back to make sure that Mr. Woogles was happily settled on his blanket under the umbrella. I’d given him water and treats. He was a good doggy. He wouldn’t wander.
As I went deeper into the water, I reached a rocky section that made me walk gingerly so as not to hurt my feet. And then I reached the smooth sand, and it was delicious. Soon it was deep enough that I left the velvet floor of the Sound beneath me and started to float. I stretched my arms out against the gentle waves, easing into a relaxed crawl.
It was wonderful to finally get into the water. I had been so busy this spring and summer between drumming up legal work, taking singing lessons, and thinking about Winthrop—before and after he died—that I had hardly gotten a moment to actually swim. And what was the point of living right across the street from a beach if I wasn’t going to swim?
I gazed down the length of the beach until I spotted Misty’s lighthouse, a compact edifice that was currently run by the Coast Guard. On one day every summer, it was opened up for visitors. As a kid, I had made sure to climb up to the top every year until I reached the hot, tight compartment that housed the actual light.
One fateful summer when I was fifteen, I discovered Logan waiting on the other side of the huge rotating lamp. He had snuck up there first to surprise me, encouraged by one of my friends. I could still remember the excitement of that first kiss, the heat of the lamp, and how his lips were scary and irresistible all in one sweet package.
I shook off those teenage memories and tried to concentrate on the present. Logan belonged to somebody else. And I really needed to figure out this mystery.
It seemed as though someone had deliberately killed Winthrop. Or at least tried to do him serious harm... and succeeded. Even though Logan knew it wasn’t me, despite my clear dislike of Winthrop, other people didn’t.
I had to clear my name. And I had to do it quickly. My law practice would be as good as dead if most folks in Misty believed I was mixed up in some kind of plot to kill Winthrop.
I started to make a mental list. Who were the suspects? Obvious names would be the whole crew over at the future spa. That included Jared, of course. Even though I was no longer a fan of his, I couldn’t believe he was guilty of murder. For one thing, he didn’t really seem to me to be smart enough to carry out a plot like that without being discovered. But I had to keep him on my list, which meant I’d have to question him. Well, maybe if I did a little sweet-talking, I could get him to come by and answer some questions.
I had seen another nine or ten guys over there during the last month, working on the house. There were probably more, between the actual construction, electrical work, and plumbing required. I figured that a spa would need lots of showers, toilets, and probably a Jacuzzi or two—along with many small rooms to allow for the various treatments offered.
At this point, though, they were doing mostly structural work to divide the old house into separate spaces. The only other person I’d heard about by name was Shrimpy, the foreman. He looked a l
ittle peculiar, with his broad body and short legs, but that didn’t make him a murderer.
What did a murderer look like, anyway?
Naturally, Dr. D would have to be on Logan’s radar as a prime suspect. That was painful to contemplate. I still didn’t have an official agreement about representing him. Was I simply going to help him out regarding local resistance to his business? I wasn’t an experienced criminal law attorney. We would have to nail down exactly what the scope of my work would be. But in the meantime, it was definitely in his interest, and my own, to find some answers.
Who else? No one else suspicious came to mind. Roger Winthrop had been very unpopular, but I couldn’t imagine most of those people were angry enough at him to kill him.
I flipped over in the water and closed my eyes, feeling the power of the sun. Fortunately, I had put on a boatload of skin protection. It was one of the downsides of being a redhead. I burned in the blink of an eye. So even with lots of lotion on, I would have to get out soon.
I started to stroke back toward the shore, resigning myself to talking to all of the people who could be considered suspects. Somewhere along the way, I was bound to find some clues. And I had to, because I couldn’t afford to wait for Logan to solve this case. And I was going to have to do my best to make sure he didn’t know I was nosing around town asking questions. I knew he wouldn’t be pleased.
I’d start with Jared. He’d be able to give me the names of the other guys who worked on the house. They’d have to talk to me, because Dr. D would tell them to cooperate if I asked him to. It made perfect sense that I’d be conducting my own investigation in order to make sure that the construction could begin again as soon as possible and so that Dr. D wouldn’t continue to be under suspicion.
I had almost reached the shore, and I floated along until my feet hit the velvety sand again. I let the shallow waves help me drift lightly past the rocky section, and then I was walking out of the water. Shielding my eyes to search out my umbrella, I looked for the spot where I hoped Mr. W was waiting contentedly for me.