by Sarah Fox
“Everyone who goes to those sword-fighting classes at the community center,” Aunt Gilda said.
“The community center holds sword-fighting classes?” That was the first I’d heard of it.
“Oh, sure. I don’t think they had any during the summer, but the rest of the year they do. Louie talked about signing up, but he hasn’t got around to it so far.”
Rhonda nodded. “Harvey goes. I’m thinking of signing up myself this winter. It seems like a lot of fun. And good exercise.”
I could feel the foundation of my case against Grayson trembling. “So you’re saying there are plenty of people in Shady Creek who own swords?”
“I think there must be close to a dozen,” Aunt Gilda said, and Rhonda agreed with her. “Maybe even more.”
I slumped down in my chair. So the type of murder weapon wasn’t as big a clue as I’d originally thought. That didn’t let Grayson off the hook completely, though. He still had a motive for killing Eric, and so what if other people owned swords? That didn’t mean Grayson hadn’t used one of his to commit murder.
Not wanting to talk about Grayson anymore, I decided to steer the conversation in a slightly different direction. “What about the arsonist? Do either of you know if the police are making any progress on that front? I’ll feel a whole lot safer once the arsonist and killer are behind bars, whether they’re the same person or two different people.”
“You really think the two crimes could be related?” Rhonda said.
“I don’t know about that,” Aunt Gilda said. “I was touching up Giselle Hampton’s roots yesterday afternoon. She lives next door to Barry and Doris Lanik. Barry’s the proprietor of the antiques shop,” she added for my benefit. “Anyway, according to Giselle, Barry’s business was on the brink of failure. Apparently it’s just one in a long line of failed business ventures for him, and Doris is actually relieved that the business is a goner, although Barry’s pretty upset about it.”
“Hmm.” I tucked that information away at the back of my mind.
“But enough of that for now. You go on and take your break, honey. Rhonda and I will be fine here.”
I thanked them both and left with one of the coolers—the empty bottles inside—just as a cluster of tourists arrived at the tent, Juliana right behind them. As I walked over to the Inkwell, I mulled over everything Gilda and Rhonda had said. Maybe Barry Lanik wasn’t as upset about his ruined business as everyone thought. Maybe he’d decided to give up on the venture and burn down his shop so he could collect insurance on the contents. That was definitely something to consider.
As for the murder, I’d thought the choice of weapon had narrowed the field of potential suspects significantly, but apparently that wasn’t the case. Still, if one of Grayson’s swords turned out to be the murder weapon, that would pretty much wrap up the case, in my mind at least.
How long it would take the police to determine if a sword from Grayson’s collection was a match for Eric’s fatal wound, I didn’t know. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if the local force had to ship the evidence off to a bigger center for testing.
In the meantime, I’d have to keep my eyes and ears open for any potential clues and for any further signs that I might be in danger. I didn’t want to have to take Aunt Gilda up on her offer to stay with her. I loved spending time with her, but I didn’t want to get scared out of my own home. Installing security lights would be a good idea, but would they be enough to keep me safe?
Maybe, maybe not.
I had to wonder if the person who had left the gas can outside the mill was the same individual who’d slashed my tires. If Grayson wasn’t behind that incident, then I had no idea who was.
I shook my head, trying to clear it. Everything was such a jumble in my mind. I decided to focus only on the festival for the rest of the day, but as soon as I stepped inside the pub, I knew that wouldn’t be possible.
Seated at a table in the middle of the room, a cup of coffee and a bowl of soup in front of her, was Detective Marquez.
Chapter 15
I dropped into the seat across from the detective. “Do I need to call a lawyer?”
Marquez paused with a spoonful of soup halfway to her mouth. “Not on my account.”
“So you’re not here to grill me?”
She swallowed her spoonful of soup before responding. “No.”
My stomach flip-flopped with alarm. “To arrest me?”
“Should I be?”
“Of course not!”
Was that a humorous twinkle I detected in her dark eyes as she spooned more soup into her mouth? I couldn’t be sure.
“Several people confirmed your alibi,” she said.
“But does my alibi cover the window of death?” I asked, hoping that was the case.
“It does.”
“So I’m officially off the suspect list?”
“You are.”
Relief rushed through me. “I’m glad you’re focusing on more viable suspects now. Reggie Stone and Grayson Blake are both good possibilities.”
“Is that so?”
This time I was certain my words had amused her.
I continued on, undeterred. “What was likely Eric’s ring was found in Stone’s possession, and Grayson certainly had access to swords.”
Detective Marquez finished off the last of her soup and pushed the bowl aside. “We’re looking at the case from every possible angle.”
“That’s good to hear,” I said. “So which one is the most likely culprit?”
“I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation.”
“You can’t tell me anything at all?”
“I can say that Reggie Stone has been charged with theft.”
“But not murder.”
“No.”
“What’s the chance that he will be?”
She hesitated, and I worried she wouldn’t answer the question, but a second later she did. “Very slim.”
“But he followed Eric all the way from Boston, and not so they could go leaf-peeping together.”
“I’m aware of that, but Mr. Stone didn’t arrive in Shady Creek until very early on Wednesday morning. We have receipts and gas station security footage to confirm that he was still in Boston when Mr. Jensen was killed.”
“So you know exactly when Eric died?”
“Not exactly, but we’ve narrowed down the window.”
I waited, hoping she’d share it with me, but she didn’t. “What about the ring?” I asked.
“We believe Mr. Stone stole it from Mr. Jensen’s room at the Creekside Inn, after the murder took place.”
That made sense, especially considering the uncharacteristic mess I’d found when Cordelia showed me Eric’s room.
Another question popped into my head. “But why did Stone stick around? Once Eric was dead and he’d stolen the ring, why not go back to Boston?”
“Apparently he met a woman while having a drink at the local pool hall. He decided to extend his stay here so he could . . . spend some time with her.”
“Ah,” I said.
While the detective sipped her coffee, I stared at the books on the shelf behind her, turning everything over in my mind. With Reggie Stone out of the picture, that left Grayson all alone at the top of my suspect list. But I still had another question about the thug.
“How did Reggie Stone know Eric was coming to Shady Creek? If he didn’t arrive until Wednesday, he didn’t literally follow behind Eric’s car.”
“Mr. Jensen posted about his intentions on his Facebook page, which wasn’t private, as so many aren’t.”
That explained it.
Detective Marquez set down her empty coffee cup. “Now, if you’re done grilling me, I need to get back to work.”
She paid for her meal and went on her way. Once she was out of the pub, I could finally breathe more easily. Even though she’d said she wasn’t there to question me, I hadn’t completely trusted her. I was relieved now, though, knowing for certain that I was
no longer a suspect.
“Everything okay?” Mel asked a moment later when I joined her behind the bar.
“You mean because of the detective being here?”
She nodded as she filled a pint glass with Sweet Adeline.
“It seems to be. They haven’t caught the killer yet, but I’m not a suspect anymore.”
“That’s an improvement.”
“I’ll say.”
Mel delivered a tray of full pint glasses to a table of customers while I carried the cooler into the kitchen and restocked it with ice and cocktails.
“Who do you think killed Eric?” Mel asked when she joined me in the kitchen to fill two bowls with soup.
“Grayson Blake had a motive. Plus, Eric was killed with a sword . . .”
“And the police seized Grayson’s swords this morning,” she finished.
“You heard about that?”
“It’s been the talk of the town for the past hour or two.”
That didn’t surprise me. News traveled fast around here.
“But he’s not the only person with access to swords in Shady Creek,” Mel said.
“So I’ve been told. Apparently there’s a whole class of sword fighters at the community center.”
“Yep. Stage combat, I think. I’ve seen them there when I’ve gone to use the gym. It looks like a lot of fun. I might join them the next time a class starts up.”
A plan took shape in my mind. “When are the classes?”
“Wednesdays and Sundays, I think.”
“Sunday. That’s today.”
“The class starts at six and runs for an hour and a half. Are you thinking of checking it out?”
“Maybe.”
Actually, it was highly likely that I would, but not because I was eager to learn stage combat.
Mel left the kitchen to deliver the bowls of soup to hungry customers, and I followed after her, heading out the door with the cooler. When I returned to the tent, Aunt Gilda and Rhonda lingered for a few more minutes, but then they set off to enjoy the rest of what the festival had to offer.
By the time the tent shut down at six-thirty, I was almost twitching with impatience. As much as I enjoyed being at the festival, the community center was where I really wanted to be.
I packed up the coolers in record time and hauled them both back to the pub. Mel had already left for the day, and Damien was at work, manning the taps. Fortunately—in light of my immediate plans, at least—the Inkwell was only moderately busy, probably because many locals and tourists were staking out prime spectator spots at the elementary school’s playing field, where the Autumn Festival’s fireworks display would be taking place that night.
The sun had already set behind the hills, so I grabbed a coat from upstairs before telling Damien that I needed to go out for a while. Then I hurried off toward the community center, located a couple of blocks beyond the far side of the green, within sight of Shady Creek Elementary.
I walked quickly, chilled by the evening air despite my coat. The activities on the green had shut down for the night, but there were still several clusters of people out and about, many heading in the direction of the school. When I reached the community center, I jogged up the front steps and entered the brightly lit reception area. A young man sat behind the desk to my right, talking on the telephone, but I bypassed him, heading straight for the hallway that led to the main floor’s activity rooms.
I’d been to the center only a couple of times since I’d moved to town, once for a Chamber of Commerce meeting and more recently to watch one of Kiandra’s dance classes at her request. Although I didn’t know for sure where to find the sword-fighting class, I figured it wouldn’t be difficult to track down.
I was right. As soon as I entered the hallway, I could hear the clash of blade upon blade. The door to the third room on the left stood open, and when I poked my head in, I saw that I’d found the right place.
Five men and three women stood in two lines, facing each other. They all wielded swords, going through what appeared to be choreographed movements. Some of the students moved cautiously, as if afraid of hurting their partner, while others went through the moves with gusto.
I remained in the doorway, watching. I noticed Rhonda’s boyfriend, Harvey, dressed in sweats and a black T-shirt, swinging his blade around. His movements looked a bit wild, but he appeared to be enjoying himself.
Moments later, a deep voice called the class to a halt. The students lowered their swords and turned their attention to one end of the room. I leaned farther through the doorway to see the instructor. My eyes widened when I recognized Jason, head of security at the Spirit Hill Brewery, wielding a sword and demonstrating movements for his students.
Ducking back out into the hallway, I leaned against the wall, thinking. Maybe Grayson wasn’t the only person from the brewery to deserve a spot on my suspect list. After all, when Grayson had wanted me removed from his property, Jason had carried out the task. What if he’d done the same with Eric?
I’d wondered before if Jason knew about his boss’s involvement, but what if he himself was the guilty party? Just how loyal was he to Grayson and the brewery? If he believed, as his boss did, that Eric was there to steal recipes, might he have killed Eric to eliminate the threat to the brewery?
That was a definite possibility.
Jason and Harvey weren’t the only people in the room I’d recognized, though. Carl Miller was also there. He was partnered with Harvey, and from what little I’d seen of the class so far, he appeared to be one of the more confident sword-wielders in the room.
Since finding out that Reggie Stone was the one who’d stolen the ring Eric had bought for me, I hadn’t given any thought to Carl as a suspect. I’d always assumed that his motive to attack Eric would have been robbery.
I shouldn’t have discounted him so easily, I realized now, even though he’d told me he’d gone straight from the Inkwell to the pool hall with his friend Greg. I didn’t know exactly when Eric had died, but if my alibi cleared me, the murder had happened between a few minutes past nine o’clock—when Eric left the Inkwell—and a little before eleven.
Just how long had Carl stayed at the pool hall?
Even though Stone was the one who’d ended up with the ring, that didn’t mean Carl couldn’t have made an attempt to get it from Eric. Maybe he’d only meant to use his sword to frighten Eric into handing over the jewelry, but if Eric resisted, or if Carl realized that Eric didn’t have the ring on him, he might have become agitated, leading to an unplanned attack.
I returned to the doorway, watching the class for several more minutes. It actually did look quite fun. If Rhonda ended up attending the classes, maybe I’d give it a shot too. The class schedule wasn’t great for me, though. I slipped away from the pub now and again for short spells, but I wasn’t sure I could manage a couple of hours away on a regular basis.
Oh well. I still had my bicycle to help keep me in shape.
Harvey spotted me watching and waved. I smiled and waved back, deciding it was time for me to be on my way. I needed to return to the Inkwell to help Damien.
As I left the community center, I paused on the front steps, wondering if I could spare a few more minutes away from the pub to do more investigating. I didn’t want to ask Carl what time he’d left the pool hall, because I couldn’t guarantee that he’d tell me the truth, and if he was Eric’s killer, I didn’t want him thinking I was on to him. I hadn’t exercised that type of caution with Grayson, but I should have. Somehow the brewer got under my skin and made me act in ways I wasn’t entirely proud of.
The best way to get the information I needed was to go to the pool hall and ask people there about Carl. I only had a vague idea of where the pool hall was located, but surely it couldn’t be too hard to find any place in a small town like Shady Creek.
Deciding to give it a shot, I resumed my path down the stairs and turned left onto the sidewalk, away from the elementary school. When I reached the end of
the street, I turned left again. I had my eyes on the clearing sky, where bright stars were beginning to show through the thinning clouds, which was probably why I walked right into someone.
“I’m so sorry!” I said as I took a quick step backward.
In the light of a nearby streetlamp, I got my first look at the person I’d collided with. My second apology died away on my tongue.
“Not going to the fireworks?” Grayson asked.
I cleared my throat, buying myself a second or two since my tongue seemed oddly tied up. “No,” I managed to say. “You?”
“I thought I’d go check them out.”
Neither of us moved. We stood there looking at each other, only a foot of space between us. He was clean-shaven tonight, and I noticed—not for the first time—that he had thick, dark eyelashes that I would have liked to have as my own. I also noticed that he wasn’t scowling at me, which made a change from earlier in the day.
“Clearly you haven’t been arrested yet,” I said before I could stop myself.
Maybe it was a trick of the light from the streetlamp, but his blue eyes seemed to darken.
“Clearly.”
I took another step back, adjusting my purse strap over my shoulder and clearing my throat again. “I’ll let you go on your way, then. Do you happen to know where I can find the pool hall?”
His forehead furrowed. I told myself it wasn’t a good look for him at all, but my treacherous heart disagreed and did a little flip-flop in my chest.
“Why would you want to go there?”
“That’s not really any of your business, is it?”
He stared at me for a moment, sending my heart into another somersault. Probably because I was alone with a potential killer, I decided. Definitely not because of the intensity in his eyes.
His forehead smoothed out, and he half-turned away from me. “I’ll go with you.”
“I asked for directions, not company,” I pointed out.
My mother would have been horrified to hear me being so rude, but I couldn’t help myself.