by Sarah Fox
“Unless she was happy to find him dead,” a voice whispered, just loud enough for me to hear.
My eyes darted over to Vera as she covered her mouth to unsuccessfully hide her quiet snigger. Alma frowned, but no one else seemed to have heard.
I swallowed hard as I handed a Huckleberry Gin to Alma. “It really was a terrible shock.”
“And Grace King at the Creekside Inn said the young man was so hopeful that the two of you would be getting back together,” Vera said, loud enough for the whole room to hear this time. “And then boom.” She snapped her fingers. “His life is over.”
Gilda and Shontelle both frowned in Vera’s direction, but she didn’t notice.
“He was staying at the Creekside Inn?” I said.
“Didn’t you know?” Vera’s eyes glittered in an unnerving way.
“I never actually spoke to him,” I admitted. “I was at Aunt Gilda’s birthday dinner last night, and then this morning . . .” I had to swallow again to keep my emotions in check.
Alma patted my arm. “We shouldn’t be digging up all this unpleasantness for you. We just wanted to let you know that we’re sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
“Now,” Alma said, taking charge, “time to get down to business.”
“Just one more thing before we get started,” Harriet said as I handed her the green Lovecraft cocktail, named for horror writer H. P. Lovecraft. Made with Midori liqueur, the drink balanced a sweet melon flavor with a citrus tang.
The other members of the club leaned forward in their seats as she raised the glass to her lips. She closed her eyes as she took a sip. We all waited in suspenseful silence for her judgment, my heart beating harder than normal. I wanted so desperately for every aspect of the pub to be a success, and I knew I’d be upset if the themed cocktails were anything but a hit.
Harriet kept her eyes closed for another second or two, but when she opened them, she grinned. “Horrifically fabulous,” she declared.
I exhaled with relief, and Harriet winked at me before I left the room with my empty tray, pulling the door shut behind me. That, at least, had gone well, and I was able to return to the bar with something close to a smile on my face.
* * *
Thankfully, by the time I’d closed and cleaned up the pub later that night, I was so tired that I slipped off to sleep as soon as I rested my head against the pillow. I expected to have nightmares, or at the very least unsettled dreams, but I remembered nothing of the sort when I woke up the following morning. It seemed like only a minute or two had passed from the time I closed my eyes to the moment when four little paws padded their way up my side and a furry face nestled against my cheek.
“Mrrgh,” I said to Wimsey without opening my eyes.
As usual, he wasn’t put off that easily. When his meows failed to get me out of bed, he resorted to pawing at the covers in an attempt to get them off me.
With a sigh of defeat, I forced my eyes open and gave Wimsey a scratch on the head. He purred loudly, enjoying the attention for a moment before deciding that we’d wasted enough time.
With a pointed meow, he jumped down from the bed and trotted to the doorway. He paused there, looking back at me, so I did as expected, throwing back the covers and undertaking the difficult task of getting myself out of bed.
Once His Lordship was fed to his satisfaction, I ate my own breakfast of oatmeal—liberally sprinkled with chocolate chips— and dressed for the morning in jeans and a T-shirt. Despite all that had happened the day before, I didn’t have time to wallow in the jumbled emotions that Eric’s arrival and subsequent death had triggered. The opening of the Autumn Festival was only two days away now, and I had a long list of things to do before then.
Wimsey followed me out of the apartment and down the stairs, so I went out through the back door, and he settled on the step to watch the birds flitting about at the edge of the forest. I tipped my face up to the sky, hoping to find some warmth, but the sun wasn’t yet high enough to reach me between the mill and the forest. The chilly morning air seeped easily through the fabric of my T-shirt, and I considered running back upstairs to grab a sweater, but in the end, I decided to get moving. A bit of physical labor would warm me up in no time.
My first task of the day was to deal with the pumpkins I meant to use as indoor decorations. With the help of a bucket of water and an old cloth, I cleaned off the pumpkins and gourds, wiping them dry with another cloth once they were free of dirt. It took me several trips to get them all inside the pub, and by the time I had each one placed where I wanted it, I was more than warm enough.
Back outdoors, Damien had just arrived on his motorcycle, ready to get back to work on the catapult. I met him at the shed, unlocking the padlock and pulling open the double doors.
“Wow,” I said, impressed. “It looks like you’ve already made good progress.”
“I got a fair bit done yesterday.” Damien tossed his leather jacket onto the workbench.
“I’ll say.” He already had the base and part of the frame together. “What do you need me to do?”
“Hold pieces in place while I secure them?”
“Sounds good to me.” That was about the only job that would match my construction skills. “How many of these have you made before?” I asked as he collected some screws from a glass jar.
“This will be my fourth.”
“Has the pub ever won the competition?”
“Nope. We came in fifth last year. That was our best ever finish.” He cast a sidelong glance my way as he attached a bit to his drill. “Have you got your eye on the top prize?”
“Heck, no. I’m just in it to show community spirit.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wondered if I’d said the wrong thing. “Are you hoping to win?”
“I’m always hoping to win, but I won’t be cut up about it if we don’t. Like you said, it’s really about the community spirit.”
For the next while, I simply did whatever Damien instructed me to do, and we soon had a pivoting beam attached to the frame and a sling and pouch affixed to one end of the beam.
“What’s left?” I asked when we paused for a break.
“Just the counterweight. This is a trebuchet we’re building. In the past, the catapults I’ve made have been more like giant slingshots. I’m hoping this will be more accurate.”
I eyed the plans he had spread out on the workbench, covered with numbers for measurements and angles.
“It’s definitely going to be more accurate than anything I could have built on my own.” I pulled my phone from the pocket of my jeans and checked the time. The morning was half gone already. “Do you need any more help?”
“No, you go on. I’ll attach the counterweight in a couple of days. And I’ll get our booth set up on the green tomorrow. For now, I’ll get tidied up here and then head off until my shift starts.”
“All right. I’ll see you later then. Thanks, Damien.”
Leaving him in the shed, I wandered outside and turned my eyes to the sky again. Maybe I’d need a sweater after all. Over the past hour or so, clouds had moved in, blotting out the sun. But instead of heading indoors, I decided to nip across the road to see how things were taking shape for the festival.
As soon as I’d crossed the footbridge, the sound of distant hammering reached my ears, a sign that Damien and I weren’t the only ones gearing up for the festivities. I followed the sound across the street to the village green, where nearly a dozen people were already hard at work. A handful of people from various local businesses were busy setting up booths where they would display their goods and share information with the festival attendees. At the western end of the green, beyond the bandstand, several other people were in the midst of setting up a large white tent.
I struck off across the grass, heading for the half-raised tent. As I approached, I spotted Rhonda among the workers, and I waved when she glanced my way.
“Morning, Sadie,” she said as she left the oth
ers to meet me. “I had a great time at the book club last night.”
I smiled at that news. “I’m so glad. I’m hoping all the clubs will be a success.”
“I’m sure they will be.”
“I’m guessing this is for the beer tasting,” I said with a nod toward the tent, where two men were hammering metal stakes into the ground.
“Yep. The adults-only area. I think Vera Anderson wants to talk to you about that.”
“Oh?”
One of the men helping with the tent called out Rhonda’s name.
“Sorry,” she said to me, already heading back to the others. “Vera wants this ready within the hour, and we don’t want to get on her bad side.”
I could understand that. I’d been told Vera was the head organizer for the Autumn Festival and had been for several years running. She was efficient and organized, but I doubted she’d hold back on some rather sharp comments if someone didn’t live up to her expectations.
I retraced my steps across the green, a hint of indignation burning at my cheeks as I recalled Vera’s whispered comment the night before. The fact that someone could even suggest that I might have wanted Eric dead both shocked and irked me. Vera had never been one of my favorite people in Shady Creek, but I was now on the verge of seriously disliking her.
Not wanting to waste my time thinking about the woman’s petty words, I decided instead to focus on my festival preparations. I stopped at the nearest half-assembled booth, where Joel Whitten, owner of the local hardware store, was busily hammering a sign to the front of the booth, the name of his business painted across it in bright red letters.
“Morning, Mr. Whitten. I don’t suppose you know where the Inkwell’s booth is supposed to go,” I said once he’d glanced up from his work.
He had two nails clamped between his lips, but he spat them into his hand before responding. “Nope. Sorry. But Vera will tell you.”
He gestured over my shoulder, and when I cast my gaze that way I saw Vera bustling across the grass, clipboard in hand, heading for Rhonda and those helping her with the tent. I thanked Mr. Whitten and set off after her.
At her brisk pace, Vera reached the tent within seconds. She only spent a brief moment talking to Rhonda before noting something on her clipboard and striking off across the grass again, this time heading for Mr. Whitten. I intercepted her before she could reach the hardware store owner.
“Mrs. Anderson, whereabouts should we be setting up the Inkwell’s booth? Damien’s planning to work on it tomorrow morning.”
“In the tent.” She jabbed at the air over her shoulder with her pen, not slowing her pace at all.
I hurried to reach her side again. “Isn’t that where the Spirit Hill Brewery booth will be?” I asked with some confusion.
“Exactly.”
“You mean we’ll be sharing the space?” The idea of being stuck in a tent with Grayson Blake for a big chunk of the upcoming week didn’t appeal to me in the least.
Vera finally drew to a stop, though not without a huff of irritation. “It’s a large space, Ms. Coleman. There’s plenty of room for both booths in there.”
“Yes, of course,” I said quickly. “But I just assumed the Inkwell would have a booth out here with the rest of the businesses.”
“Obviously you assumed wrong. The pub’s booth needs to be in the tent with the brewery’s. Festival attendees interested in one will most likely be interested in the other. Plus, I understand you intend to serve alcohol. That has to take place in the tent so we can check IDs before people go in.”
“I guess that makes sense.” I couldn’t keep a note of disappointment out of my voice.
“Of course it makes sense.” Vera took a step toward Mr. Whitten, who was back to hammering away at his booth, but then she stopped and faced me again. “I suppose the police will be interviewing you again, if they haven’t already.”
“The police?” It took me a second to adjust to the new direction of the conversation. “Why?”
“Because of the change in status of the investigation.”
My heart shifted from a normal rate to a galloping one in an instant. “What change in status?”
“You mean you haven’t heard?” She smiled, taking obvious pleasure in delivering the news. “The police now consider your ex’s death to be a homicide.”
Chapter 7
“Homicide?” The word came out as little more than a horrified croak. I cleared my throat before speaking again. “Are you sure?”
“Of course, I’m sure.” Vera glared down her pointy nose at me. “I’m not one to spread idle gossip. My nephew Eldon is on the police force. This is the first homicide investigation in Shady Creek since he became an officer.”
“But who would want to murder Eric? He didn’t even know anyone here in Shady Creek.”
Vera shrugged her thin shoulders. “Perhaps it was a robbery gone wrong or some such thing. But I’m sure the police will want to rule out the possibility of a targeted killing.”
I struggled to find my voice again. “That shouldn’t be hard to do. Like I said, Eric didn’t know anyone in Shady Creek, except for me.”
A smug smile tugged at Vera’s rose-pink lips. “And that’s why I’m sure the police will want to talk to you again.” She tucked her clipboard under one arm. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a festival to organize.”
She hurried off, and I stared after her, probably doing a good impersonation of a fish, opening and closing my mouth as all the things I wanted to say tumbled around inside my head, never quite managing to make it out into the cool air. Vera didn’t look back, her chin up as she strode across the grass, somehow managing to stay completely steady despite the fact that she was traversing uneven ground in high heels.
It took a few moments, but eventually I shut my mouth and turned toward home. I must have walked across the green and back over the footbridge, because I found myself at the Inkwell’s large red door, but I didn’t remember the journey. Vera’s news had left me numb and stunned. My mind seemed incapable of any sort of coherent thought, and for a minute or two, I simply stared at the door, time flowing past me, steadily moving onward while I went nowhere.
When I finally managed to shake myself out of my stupor, I grasped the door handle, the metal cold against my skin. The sensation startled me into greater awareness. I yanked at the door, but when it didn’t budge, I realized that it was locked. As I dug around in my pocket for my keys, I heard the tap-tap-tap of high heels on the wooden footbridge.
“I came over as soon as I heard the news,” Shontelle said as she hurried toward me. The moment I was in within arm’s reach, she pulled me into a hug. “It’s so terrible. How are you doing?” Before I had a chance to answer, her eyes widened. “You have heard, right? You look shocked enough.”
“If you’re talking about Eric and the fact that the police are now conducting a homicide investigation, yes, I just found out from Vera Anderson.”
Shontelle frowned. “I bet that made her day.”
“I think it did.” I unlocked the door and yanked at it with greater success than my last attempt. “It must have been a random killing. Nothing else makes sense. Maybe some drunkard was passing through town and tried to rob Eric.”
While sharing that theory, I headed for the bar and slipped onto a stool, not trusting my legs to hold me much longer. My numbness was ebbing away, but it hadn’t yet left me completely.
Shontelle bypassed the stools and made her way behind the bar. “You look like you need a drink.”
“Something strong,” I agreed.
She grabbed a bottle of peach brandy and poured some into a snifter before pushing the glass across the bar. I wrapped one hand around the snifter and took a sip. The brandy chased away the remaining vestiges of my shock, and by the time I’d emptied the glass, my tense muscles had relaxed, and I no longer felt quite so off-kilter.
“Are you going to be all right?” Shontelle asked as she came out from behind the bar. “I hate
to do this, but I’ve got to get back to the shop. I closed it and put out a sign saying I’d be back in fifteen minutes.”
“I’ll be fine,” I assured her. “The drink helped. You go on back to your shop before you lose out on any customers.”
“We’ll have a good talk later.” She squeezed my arm as she passed by on her way to the door. “And text me if you need me.”
“Thank you,” I called out before the door fell shut behind her.
Now that I was alone, silence settled over me like a heavy blanket. I stared into my empty glass, thinking about Eric’s family and how this new information would only hurt them further. It was bad enough that Eric had been taken away from them so suddenly, but to know that someone had deliberately ended his life added an extra stroke of cruelty to an already terrible situation.
I probably would have stayed there on the barstool, ruminating on Vera’s news until Mel showed up for her shift if a loud knock on the pub’s door hadn’t interrupted my thoughts. Thinking it might be tourists hoping to get into the pub early, I replaced what was most likely a melancholy expression with something close to a smile. It slipped away half a second later when I discovered Detective Marquez on the other side of the door.
“Ms. Coleman, do you have a moment? I’d like to ask you a few more questions.”
I stared at the detective for a couple of seconds before giving myself a swift mental kick. I really needed to stop letting myself get so shocked by everything. Otherwise the whole town would start to think I was a few bricks shy of a full load.
“Of course. Please, come in.” I held the door open for her, and she headed straight for the table we’d occupied the day before. “Coffee?” I offered, even though I didn’t have any ready.
“That won’t be necessary, thank you.” She pulled out a chair and nodded at the one across from her.
Obediently, I took a seat, folding my hands in my lap. “I just heard the news. About Eric’s death being a murder, I mean. Was it a random attack? It had to be, right?” I clamped my mouth shut, realizing that I was on the verge of rambling, if not already over the edge.