Slash in the Pan

by CeeCee James

  Every time I’d been by, there’d been construction workers it seemed. But then that was to be expected. It was a construction site.

  Chapter 13

  I really wanted some good news to go to Kari with. I had to find something. I glanced at the time and saw I had about another hour before checkout at the bed and breakfast. I couldn’t stop thinking about that woman from Devon’s pictures. I know that Gertie said the woman she’d seen at the house was Randy Kay, but was it possible she was mistaken? Especially if the woman was wearing a hoodie?

  I thought there was a good chance it was the woman from Devon’s pictures. It made sense. They could have met there for some reason, although I couldn’t think of a good one now. I needed to see if I could dig up more information about her.

  I was approaching my favorite coffee stand, the Vanilla Bean. I had eaten that yogurt, and that’s all I needed for an excuse to treat myself. I pulled into the drive-through and order my usual, a vanilla chai tea. After buying it, I drove around to the back of the parking lot and parked.

  I took a sip of the drink, hoping the scalding heat would kill anything in the yogurt, and brought out my phone. Soon I had the social media site up and was stalking Devon Walter’s page once again.

  It was irritating that none of his pictures had descriptions on them. I scrolled through the comments, hoping for something. Finally, in a moment of desperation, I copied the picture of when they were all college-age kids. I’d seen this on an investigation show, and I hoped it worked for me. I dropped the photo into the search engine and held my breath that it would find a match.

  It did. It was on the same social media page, under one of Devon’s friends. I clicked the link, hoping the privacy setting would allow me to see it. When it did, I was both relieved and alarmed at how people didn’t keep their information safe.

  His photo did have a description—Awesome college days. Even better, it had names. And, since there was only one woman in the group, I now finally had a name for her.

  Wendy Breckenshaw. I took another sip of my tea, remember how she was in quite a few of Devon’s pictures. They must have been really terrific friends.

  Or maybe something more.

  I scrolled through the friend’s pictures, hoping for more of Devon, but there weren’t any. I went back to Devon’s page and searched. Wendy didn’t seem that much older than me. Besides the one where they were college students, there was one with Devon at the restaurant and another with his construction crew. In that photo, a guy had his arm around her. The man wore a ripped tank top and had a large snake tattoo twisting down his arm with its fanged mouth right above the man’s wrist. His hair hung like a horse mane over his face.

  The last photo was super interesting. Both Devon and Wendy stood in front of the Eiffel Tower. This seemed to prove the two were more than friends.

  Very weird.

  I searched Wendy’s name up on the social site. To my surprise, she hadn’t joined. What? I thought everyone was on that site. I typed her name into a search engine and began combing through the half-dozen people that came up from all over the US. But none of them were close to Pennsylvania.

  Finally, I did find a Wendy Breckenshaw in Florida. According to the search engine, she had two kids and a husband, but when I saw a picture of her, she appeared over seventy years old. I blinked a few times. Could that be her? I shook my head. No, that had to be someone else. No amount of sun could do that to a person.

  It made sense because the next link was to an obituary. I clicked and read it through. Wendy Breckenshaw from Florida had died at the age of eighty. I scrolled through the list of surviving relatives to see if I could find any links. Maybe my Wendy was related.

  Bingo! The deceased woman did have a granddaughter with the same name as herself. And now there was a middle name to help with my search: Ann. My fingers furiously flew over the keyboard. As the results showed up, I eagerly leaned forward to read them. Wendy Ann Breckenshaw lived in New York, not three hours from me. I did a silent fist pump in the air, feeling like the trail was hot again.

  This time, I typed in the search bar both her full name and the state of New York. My fingers drummed on the table as I waited for my computer to process. Come on, wheel! Quit spinning!

  Finally, the menu generated some information. My eyes scanned the list and breath caught in my throat.

  There was a mug shot.

  It was the Wendy from Devon’s social media page. The crime was listed as breaking and entering, and there was also a domestic violence charge and a drunk and disorderly in public charge. It seemed both her and her boyfriend had gotten into a fight sometime last year, and later, she'd broken into the boyfriend’s house.

  I leaned back and took another sip of my tea. This investigating stuff was making me feel quite Sherlock Holmes-like. Very interesting. The fact that Wendy had been arrested for being drunk in public might indicate that she had some sort of addiction problem. And the physical fight with her boyfriend could show she had anger issues. Maybe she even had a vengeful tendency.

  And that curious picture of both her and Devon at the Eiffel Tower. It wasn’t a place friends usually went to together. There was more to this story, I knew there was. Maybe they’d dated, and he’d broken it off with her. They say there’s nothing worse than a scorned woman.

  So, where was Wendy now? I set down my cup and clicked the next link. I could feel my lips moving as I read, silently mouthing the words. It was an old habit from fifth grade when I really wanted to focus on what I was reading. I’d had a hard time concentrating back then, and the practice stuck with me.

  It seemed that she'd been released a few months later. What had me so excited was that her last known address was listed as Seaton, Pennsylvania, residing with a Sheila Breckenshaw, which I knew from the obituary was Wendy’s mother.

  I couldn’t resist smiling. This had to be it.

  I leaned back in the driver’s seat again and wondered if a trip down to Seaton was in my future. I had to laugh that I’d even question it. I mean, who was I fooling? My best friend was in trouble, and I was hot on the trail of some answers. I could feel it.

  But what would I say when I got there?

  Before I could dwell too much on that, I decided to call Joe. Another thing had come to me during my search. For some reason, that darn hole in the laundry room wall was bothering me. The thing is, it didn’t make sense for that gap to be there. It hadn’t been evenly cut out but rather slightly jagged. It was Joe’s construction, so I wanted to know what Joe made of it.

  Not having his number, I called Kari instead.

  “Hello?” she answered. Her voice was muffled as if she had her hand over the phone.

  “Hey, Kari. Can you do me a favor?”

  “Yeah, what’s going on?”

  “So, I was in that house that Devon died in. And I noticed that there was a hole cut into the laundry room wall. It just struck me as weird, and I wanted to find out from Joe what it was about.”

  “Was it for the hookups?”

  “No. I saw those. This was something else.” I thought for a second. “Maybe some pipe repair?”

  “Okay, I’ll ask him.”

  “How are you doing?” I asked.

  “Good. Hoping you’re finding some good stuff for us. You know, that useful clue stuff.”

  I smiled, thinking of where I was going. “I’m doing my best. I’ll let you know soon.”

  “Oooh, what’s going on? I can hear the excitement in your voice!”

  “Give me a day or two. I swear, I’ll get back to you once I have anything solid. Don’t forget to text me Joe’s answer.”

  “You got it,” she said, and we hung up. I relaxed in my seat and thought about towns I’d be driving through. I needed to know where the bathrooms were because I had a long drive ahead of me.

  Chapter 14

  I drove back to Cecelia’s and flew through flipping the bed and breakfast. With just two guests, it was easier. Bathrooms, check.
Vacuum and mop, check. Clean sheets, check.

  There weren’t new guests scheduled for a couple days, which generally was terrible news for my bank account since I lost out on a wage, but today seems to be a blessing in disguise. It gave me time to drive out to Seaton. After all, what did I have to lose? I might actually get some answers to give to Kari. Maybe even a picture to show Gertie.

  I’d briefly thought of bringing over the mug shot for Gertie to try to identify, but Wendy’s makeup had been smeared all over her face, not to mention how her eyes had been narrowed in a scowl. Coupled with the fact that in all of Devon’s pictures she had on a pair of sunglasses, I thought it might make a positive identification kind of iffy.

  It was half-past one when I finally got on the road headed towards Seaton. The drive was uneventful with the exception of a small truck towing a large travel trailer that swerved into my lane. The trailer had rocked quite a few times before the driver regained control again, scaring me half-to-death. What was it about these tiny vehicles being over-confident in what they were hauling?

  So, besides that blood-raising moment, I had plenty of time to think about what I wanted to say when I knocked on Sheila Breckenshaw’s door.

  The thing was, nothing came to me. How was it possible that I talked to strangers for a living, yet still couldn’t think of how to start a conversation up with this woman?

  Maybe because you think her daughter’s a murderer, I thought, my lips pressed together wryly. My flower in the holder bobbed in agreement.

  The town of Seaton welcomed me with a big sign, and I got off the highway. Things got a little dicey at a round-about—I really hate those—but the GPS soon had me on my way through town.

  Ten minutes later, I turned on to her street. The houses here were ancient and set off the road. There were no driveways, just a long sidewalk in front of the homes with private paths leading up to each of the front doors. I suspected there was an alley behind the houses where the cars parked.

  I slowed to nearly a crawl and squinted to read the house numbers. Quickly, I hit my brakes as I came to 2671. This was the house. This was it. A shiver of self-doubt ran through my body. I didn’t know what I was about to face. I could picture anything from screaming angry women, to getting the police called on me for trespassing.

  I pulled to the side of the street and jerked on the emergency brake. Heart pounding, I studied the house.

  It was a two-story white clapboard, similar to nearly every other one on the street. I could just catch a glimpse of a corner of the separate garage behind the house, validating my hunch about the alley.

  The house’s siding was rough and appeared in need of paint, and the roof was missing some shingles and had been patched with tar paper. There was a blue-and-white “Vote Schools!” sign in the front yard.

  Hedges growing along the property line spiked out branches that practically begged to be pruned. Flowerbeds skirted the sidewalk to the front door in a mess of leaves and dead blooms. One rosebush twisted around a window. I couldn’t see inside because the glass was blocked with blinds.

  I tapped my hands on the steering wheel and wondered what I should do. It’s not too late to change your mind, my inner voice warned. You’re just going to become tongue-tied.

  Like that’s ever stopped me before, I thought to myself. With the caffeine running through my veins from a double-shot espresso I’d procured along the way, I hopped out. I had to find a bathroom soon anyway so I might as well just get this over with.

  The sidewalk was cracked, and a hint of humor gripped me as I stepped over it, the old childhood rhyme running through my head. Step on a crack and break your mother’s back. I straightened my shoulders and walked up the stairs.

  Trying not to hyperventilate at what was waiting for me inside, I knocked on the door and then started picking at my cuticles in nervousness.

  The door opened, revealing an older woman who seemed to be in her sixties. Her gray hair was pulled back into a ponytail high on her head.

  “Hi, there,” I said giving her my biggest smile. It was the same smile I used for my guests at the bed and breakfast. The sign in the front yard inspired my next sentence. “Hey, I’d like to talk to you about the levy for the school that's gonna be on the ballot this year.” I was utterly bluffing about the school vote. But knowing how the ballots ran in my county, I figured I probably was close to the mark.

  She didn’t smile in return. “We already mailed in our ballot.”

  My eyes flew open as the woman started to close the door without another word.

  In a panic, I blurted out, “Okay, that's fine. Thank you for voting. I just like to go door to door to encourage everyone who may have had the issue slip their mind. So, is everyone who lives here a registered voter?”

  My words completely missed the target. The woman narrowed her eyes in an expression of irritation.

  “If you’ll excuse me. I really have to go.” The woman continued to shut the door

  I’d just driven hours for this moment. I couldn’t let my chances slip away. I blushed at how I was pushing the envelope, but I tried one more time to engage her.

  “Thank you again for your time. By the way, you have a lovely rosebush out here,” I said.

  “Momma? Is that lady bothering you?” A voice came from behind the woman. A second later, another person appeared in the doorway.

  It was Wendy. I recognized her dark hair right away, along with the scowl. I guess that expression wasn’t just for mugshots.

  “My name’s Georgie,” I said, holding out my hand for her to shake.

  She raised an eyebrow. “Is there something you need?”

  I swallowed hard. “I’m just here to encourage a vote for the school.”

  “School? What school?” she asked.

  I felt the blood leave my face as rapidly as it had entered. Wendy was calling my bluff! I had no idea what the name was. “Uh, Seaton school district.”

  “Really?” She drew her mom in by the elbow and leaned out to reach for the screen door. “I didn’t realize Seaton had a school. I thought we bussed all the kids to the next town over. News to me.”

  Oh crap. “Yeah. Uh—” Just get out of there, Georgie! “They’re thinking of putting one in. With the taxes. You know, the ones you are voting on.” I was rambling.

  Wendy squinted her eyes. Quickly, I backpedaled off the steps, nearly falling as I missed the last one. I caught my balance and tried to finish with some dignity. “Anyway, I'm just leaving. Thank you again for voting.”

  I turned and walked rapidly down the sidewalk. The door slammed behind me. What should've been my moment of shining glory was thoroughly beaten by defeat. I sank into the driver’s seat of the VW bug with a heavy sigh.

  The thing was, I wasn’t so upset about how the conversation went. It actually went well, from an investigative point of view. I’d gotten the information that I needed.

  It’s just that the evidence was so disappointing. What had me so bummed out was what I'd seen around Wendy’s ankle.

  A monitoring device. She must be under house arrest. Which meant there was no way she could have been at the house last week.

  Chapter 15

  It was a long ride home, and the entire way I was trying to talk myself down from plummeting into hopelessness. It’s okay. Just because it wasn’t Wendy doesn’t mean the door has closed. We still have that Mikey guy. Hey and there’s Randy Kay. Maybe Gertie really did see her.

  I arrived back into Gainesville at around five, and I was starving. I only had ramen waiting for me at home, so I rolled through one of my favorite drive-thrus for a burger off their dollar menu.

  I peeled off the wrapper and scarfed it quick. A few minutes later found me back outside the house Devon had been murdered in.

  Idling, I rolled past the house, examining it once again. That back fence was tall, probably six feet. Where had that woman gone after jumping it? Had Gertie really seen Randy Kay or someone else?

  I turned at
the end of the block and then turned again until I was driving down the back side of the new construction. The houses on this street were somewhat more modern, built in the mid-level entry that was so popular in the eighties. There were kids everywhere, so I slowed to a crawl.

  “Geez you guys, isn’t it time for dinner?” I murmured at a basketball game going on up ahead in the middle of the street.

  Suddenly, right in front of me, a kid bumped off the curb on his bike and raced across the road. I flinched as a horrible new story flashed through my head of how the local tourist guide accidentally ran over someone.

  I rolled down my window and let the summer evening air in. I was surprised to hear hammering sounds on this side of the street.

  A moment later, it wasn’t hard to see why. The fence from the first street of new construction was shared with more building sites on this street. I wondered just how many houses there were in the Ridgeline Hill development.

  It was a big job, and I could see why Devon had been upset when Joe outbid him. I got that Joe’s knife had been used, but it still didn’t seem like enough evidence to suspect Joe. What motive would he have? It seemed like the motive would be the other way around, that Devon would want Joe dead.

  I still couldn’t figure out why Devon was in that house. It seemed like the last place anyone would think he would be.

  What if Devon asked for a meeting with Joe, and things got heated. Devon would have been desperate because of losing the job and the money he owed Mikey McCoy. What if Joe did do it, but it had been in self-defense?

  A woman came out of a house with her hands cupped her mouth hollering something. I glanced about, expecting to see a kid run up.

  What I saw instead was a fluffy orange cat that darted straight out in front of me. I slammed my brakes. My seatbelt locked, biting into my collarbone.