by B. T. Alive
“Mr. James,” Cade ground out. His voice was broken with disappointment, but he had steeled it to respect. “You said yourself that she liked to drop hints. I admit that I did have… hopes… but I didn’t know anything for sure. I… even if I were capable of such a crime, I wouldn’t have had a motive. I didn’t know what she was doing with her will.”
“Hmm,” said Ambrose.
“Could you just spit it out?” Cade said. “What are you thinking?”
“I think that’s an interesting choice of words,” Ambrose said. “For sure.” He plucked off his glasses to wipe them clean, and his eyes, abruptly revealed, bored into Cade across the room. “Because the morning that she died,” he said, “Una Graves told me that on the previous night, during a lengthy altercation, she had informed you of her plans in no uncertain terms.” He looked down, focusing on his glasses as he scrubbed the lenses with a cloth that was spotless white. “She notified you of the current will in your favor, and she alerted you of her new intention.” He looked back up to Cade, and his voice went cold. “To leave you without a penny.”
Cade’s face had drained of all expression.
“She only omitted one detail,” said the lawyer. “When, precisely, she would make this change. Because when she called this office the following morning, she expressed considerable surprise that I was available so soon.”
Silence. The lawyer returned to cleaning his glasses, and the soft squeak filled the space like a rat gnawing in a tomb.
The sheriff was breathing hard, and his gaze was fixed on the dark floor. “Is this true?” he said.
Cade said nothing.
But Tina burst into tears.
The sheriff slid her a bleary gaze.
Then, with a grunt of effort, he reached to his belt. For the handcuffs.
Part III
Chapter 18
We all have our own ways of buckling under stress.
“Summer!” cried Elaine, with an ingratiating simper, as I stumbled through her door into Elaine’s Treasure Trove. “Aren’t you early? I thought we’d set our sales session for four?”
I slapped my card on her glass counter. My last credit card.
“Sell to me,” I rasped.
“Oh!” she said. “Okay. I thought you were going to interact with a customer—”
“This isn’t the damn session,” I said. Elaine froze, and she peered at me with new attention. “I want to actually buy stuff,” I said. “For real. As a civilian. And your store has the nicest stuff in town.”
“Oh, well, thank you,” she tittered. “Anything you want in particular?”
“Yes,” I said. “All of it.”
I seized a basket and attacked.
Have you ever tried to give up chocolate?
You get through those days, or weeks, or months, or hours, and you think you’re mostly, pretty much over it, right? Like, “Chocolate? Bah! Take it or leave it. I’m high on life! And I’ve already lost twelve ounces!”
And then Something Happens, like your dog dies, or the nukes fall, or you open the cabinet to get your new favorite snack of dried seaweed and there is, in fact, still chocolate in there, and it’s like the FBI SWAT team kicks in the door. “GO! GO! GO! Clear! Clear!” And you’re gone, you’re rampaging, you’re gnoshing down chocolate like it’s air and you’ve been holding your breath for ten years, and you can’t even taste it anymore, not on your tongue, but your brain, your brain is in chocolate climax, and you have come to the eternal center of all things sweet, the secret of the universe has been revealed at last, and you know that this is your life plan, that this works, that you will be gorging on chocolate for the rest of your life, and also that five minutes after you stop, you’re going to hate yourself for a month.
That’s how it is for me.
And that’s why, about eight-and-a-half minutes later, Elaine was ringing me up a pile of luxury gift items so high that she had to lean around it to comment.
“My goodness,” she said. “I didn’t have to worry about paying for your class. I’ve already made it back and then some!”
The first faint pangs of withdrawal nipped at the heels of my buzz. I took immediate action.
“Do you have any more Tiffany lamps?” I said. “My cat’s bed is adorable, but it needs better lighting.”
“Summer!” cried Tina, bursting through the door and panting over to the counter. “Why’d you run off so fast? I looked everywhere, I went up to your room…” Her voice died and her eyes went round as she took in my mountain of joy.
“Of course I ran off,” I said, humiliated. “Did you want me to help with arresting Cade? Or just stand there gaping until the sheriff actually started crying?”
Behind the counter, Elaine perked up like a hound who’d scented prey.
“Summer…” Tina said, kindly, and then my wave of pain must have hit her, because she shuddered and tensed.
“I’m fine, Tina,” I said. “I appreciate your concern, but—”
“Elaine? I’ll take that card,” Tina said, and she held out her hand.
“Hey! No!” I said. “Elaine, that’s my card.”
“Oh, ah…” Elaine burbled, clutching my card and looking back and forth between us like a cornered mouse. “I already started the transaction, I think.”
Tina leaned around the pile, squinted at the register screen, and hit a button. “Canceled,” she said, and she plucked the card from Elaine’s grasp and sprinted out of my reach.
“Tina! You’re crossing the line,” I snapped.
“So come get it,” she said, with a taunting smile, holding the card wrapped in her bare fingers that she thought I wouldn’t dare to Touch.
“Seriously. Don’t go there. I swear, you’ll pay for this,” I said.
“I sure will,” Tina said, with a wave of the card. Then she snorted and started to giggle.
I groaned.
But it was too late. My righteous indignation was seeping away. Sometimes her dumb sense of humor is a superpower all its own.
Tina slipped the card in her side pocket. Then, slowly, like I was a skittish horse, she came to me with arms outstretched, and she carefully wrapped me in a skin-contact-free hug. (We’ve practiced.)
Grudgingly, I hugged back.
“See?” she said, as we rocked a little.
“See what? Never mind, don’t say anything—”
“Hugs are free.”
I winced.
Then she winced, empathically suffering my pain at her own cheesiness.
“Ha. Gotcha,” I said. “Can I have my card back now?”
“Summer, put yourself in my shoes,” Tina said.
“I’ve tried.”
She broke the hug and crossed her arms. “Friends don’t let friends—”
“Stop,” I said. “Whatever you’re going to say, I get it. Done. Fine. But only if you don’t finish that sentence.”
“I’m sorry, I’m confused,” Elaine called, stranded behind my abandoned purchase. “Should I ring all this up again?”
“Apparently not,” I said. “It seems my sponsor here has some even better plan than a retail binge.”
“Oh, I do,” Tina said, with a dark chuckle that was strangely creepy. “I have a plan for sure.”
Chapter 19
“Review the suspects?” I snapped. “That’s your dark, chuckley plan?”
“Well,” Tina said primly, “have you done it yet?”
I did not deign to reply. Instead, in dignified silence, I scooped another mound of spinach cheese dip.
We had climbed back to Tina’s tower, like two kids escaping to their clubhouse, and I was finally eating my first meal of the day. Carrots and spinach cheese dip may not sound gourmet, but the carrots were a sweet, local baby variety that were too soft to be grown industrially, and Tina had made the dip herself, and both the spinach and the cheese had been made in Wonder Springs. My palate was piqued, swooning a little at the novel combination of the sweet plants and the daring cheeses (
yes, more than one). I felt like a demure ingenue affecting not to be under the sway of her first exotic adventurer with his tales of distant lands.
But then, that was how I felt at almost every meal around here. My family may claim they aren’t technically magicians, but they have yet to explain their preternatural mastery with food.
However, Tina hadn’t brought me up here just to relax in her cozy viewing nook and savor a symphony of taste while the river sparkled below. We had work to do. Especially while Keegan’s cage was shrouded and he was mercifully asleep.
“Fine, you win,” I said. “Suspect number one: Cade.”
“Okaaay,” Tina said cautiously. She was stretched on a cushion that curved beside another window, her hands behind her head, watching a far-off falcon soar at about our eye level. “What about Una herself? How do we know for sure that she didn’t commit suicide? She’d just changed her will and had that huge fight with Cade. Her hopes had to be dashed… maybe it was all too much.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But wouldn’t she have left a note? And she’d only asked Jamie and Paris to visit after she’d changed the will. Wouldn’t she at least have waited until they left? Besides, Frannie sounded certain that Una never would have killed herself.”
“But is all that really proof?” Tina said.
“Come on, Tina,” I said. “I only met Una that one time, but you’d seen her around, hadn’t you? Do you really feel like she was the type to kill herself? Or that any jury is going to look at all those millions, and the shenanigans with the will, and Cade living in her house, and not want to prosecute for murder?”
Tina sighed.
“That’s what I thought,” I said. “Which brings us back to Cade. What’s the big murder triad? Means, motive, and opportunity, right?” I counted them off on my fingers. “Means: the gas oven. Cade has two hands; either one would work to twist the knob.”
“Maybe that’s too much detail?” Tina said, doubtful.
“Motive: he’d get two million dollars,” I said. “Plus the orchard that he’s been making his life’s work.”
“That could only be his motive if everything happened exactly like Mr. James said,” Tina said.
“What do you mean if?” I said. “You were right there! Didn’t you get a pretty big wave from our stoic Mr. Vault?”
Tina pursed her lips, but she nodded.
“Not to mention that he’d eliminate Una, who was micromanaging his life because she was needy and infatuated,” I said. “Get rid of her and get her fortune? Cade couldn’t have had a more incriminating motive if he tried, if he’d gone to the Motive Store and they were going out of business with a fire sale.”
“She wasn’t his wife,” Tina pointed out. “Isn’t that the big one? The most common motive?”
“Sure. Probably. Okay,” I said. “If we find some other guy who was also going to inherit all two million dollars and the orchard and plus was her husband, he’ll move to the head of the line.”
“Thank you,” Tina said.
“Which is impossible,” I said. “And that brings us to opportunity. Una was passed out. Cade was the only one with the code to the house. And he could just give the knob a twist before he walked out to take me on a freaking date.”
“Summer—”
“Done. Case closed,” I said. “I’ve got a major crush on a murderer.”
“Summer! You don’t really think that.”
“I don’t know what I think,” I said. “If Cade didn’t do it, then who? Who else even could do it?”
“Hmm,” Tina said. “The means part is easy—anyone could turn the knob if they got into the house.”
“That’s huge!” I said. “Only Cade and Una knew the code.”
“We don’t know that for sure,” she said. “Not until we check with Jamie and Paris. The real problem is opportunity. The killer would need to know that she’d be alone in the house and Cade would be gone, and that she’d be passed out from drinking.”
“The Cade part is simple,” I said. “He always went to that movie night. But who would know for sure that she’d be passed out?”
“I don’t think that was quite so secret,” Tina said. “Not with the people close to her, anyway. Oh!” She sat up, her face bright. “Oh, this totally works!”
“What? What works?”
“You and Cade,” she said. “You were out in public, walking to your date. Anyone who saw you and knew anything about Una could have guessed that she was taking it hard, staying at home alone and getting drunk. They could have made the whole plan on the spur of the moment—jogged over to her house, knocked hard to see whether she was awake, and then, when she didn’t answer…”
“Okay,” I said. “That could work.” My pulse was racing; I hated to admit how desperate I was for her theory to be true.
Too late… Tina was already giving me a sympathetic look.
I frowned and tried to sound objective. “But we still need a motive and we also need that code. Who else would have both?”
“Start with her family, right?” Tina said. “If Una was dropping all these conflicting hints, who knows what they thought was up with her will? Maybe they thought they were about to lose everything.”
“Maybe,” I said, doubtful. “Or maybe Paris thought she’d lose it to Jamie, or vice-versa.”
“Yes!” Tina said. “Exactly! We know Una had just talked to them; they both flew in! And we also know that Una did not tell them her full plan, because they were totally shocked when they finally heard the will. And—ha! They’d also be the most likely to know the code.”
“It’s possible,” I said. “We’ll see. But we’ve still got the problem of opportunity. Especially with Jamie. Dang it.”
“What?”
“It can’t be Jamie. She was literally sitting with us the whole time.”
“Really?” Tina said. “You’re sure?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Well… could she have done it right before? She could have been hiding out in the woods, waiting for Cade to leave…”
“Tina, she glommed onto Cade within two minutes after we walked in. She would have had to sneak behind us on the path, pretty super close, without either of us hearing.”
“But it’s possible,” Tina said.
“I really don’t think so,” I said. “And that’s if she knew the code.”
“It’s possible,” Tina said. “What about Paris?”
“You mean, the Paris who didn’t fly in until the day after she died?”
Tina frowned. “We can check on that.”
“How?”
“We’ll figure it out. Next?”
“Next?” I said. “That’s it. Who else would want to kill Una? Besides… oh crud.”
“What?”
“It can’t be Jamie or Paris. Not with that stupid Wilson rhyme. Murder lurks in one you trust… how could I trust either of them? I never even met them before—”
“Summer,” Tina snapped, in a rare burst of exasperation. “Mr. Wilson is an old sweetie, but we are not going to use that vague poem as evidence. All right?”
I shrugged.
“I mean it,” Tina said. “It’s super important.”
“Okay, okay,” I said. She was right. Right? Of course she was right. Even if the memory of the old man versifying gave me a shiver every time.
I took a deep breath. “It’s hard to see who would actually kill Una if they weren’t expecting to inherit.”
“What about her land?” Tina said. “It must be super valuable, right next to Main Street.”
“True,” I said. “Natisha did want to expand.”
“Natisha?”
“Yeah, she was even talking to Cade about a sublet,” I said. “And come to think of it… I don’t remember seeing her at the theater.”
“No way,” said Tina. “Grandma’s known Natisha for years and years. Natisha is awesome, she’s not going to kill anybody!”
“Oh. Good, then,” I said. “That was
easy. You should do this professionally.”
“Summer! I mean it. She wouldn’t even know for sure she’d get the land. It would only be a chance. A crazy risk.”
“Yeah, that’s what she said,” I said. “But it also might be her only chance. She’s an entrepreneur, Tina. That tea and yoga business is her life. And it’s not like she can take it online. If she ever wants to grow, which is the core meaning of an entrepreneur’s existence, she’s either got to start all over again somewhere else or find a way to get that little piece of land. What’s one more risk to a crazy small business owner? When the payoff is so huge?”
Tina frowned. “I still say, no way. And she’d need the code.”
“Fine,” I said. “It doesn’t have to be Natisha. It could be any of those small business owners desperate to double their square footage. But I bet you’ve known all of them since you were five, and they’re all just too super-sweet Wonder Springs perfect. Right?”
Tina looked reflective.
“Seriously?” I said. “There’s no one?”
“I’m thinking.”
Far below us, on Main Street, a lunch crowd of tourists was sauntering in the summer sun. An elderly woman had set her purse down by the fountain and had dug out coins for her gaggle of grandchildren (I assumed) to toss in. After the toss, they all set off down the street, but the woman forgot her purse, leaving it alone at the fountain’s edge.
Within seconds, three separate bystanders rushed forward to return it, calling after her. After a brief, spirited discussion, all three returned the purse together, joining the woman and her grandchildren in a huge group hug.
“Maybe there’s something in the water,” I muttered.
“I’ve got it!” Tina said. “Harriet.”
“Harriet?” I said. “The hairdresser?”
Tina nodded. “Harriet’s a bit of a jerk.”
“And so… she’s a murderer?”
“Oh, no! Golly!” Tina said. “No, she’s just really into gossip. If anyone has any dirty secrets, she’ll know.”
“I believe it,” I said, remembering how the stylish hairdresser, who couldn’t stop touching Elaine’s merchandise, had deftly derailed my class. “Should we wake up Keegan?”