Eve Lloyd's A Deadline Cozy Mystery - Books 1 to 5

by Sonia Parin

  It didn’t mean she was off the hook. When she reached the town, she encountered another squad car. It tailed her until she parked her car.

  She went into the Chin Wag Café, making a point of sitting by the window within sight of the parked squad car, a part of her wishing to be accommodating and cooperative.

  A tap on the café window had her looking up.

  Abby Larkin stood there holding a handful of books under her arm.

  Eve waved and signaled for her to join her.

  “Hi.” She was all smiles but her eyebrows drew down into a slight frown. “I’ve never seen so many police cars. Everyone’s talking about it. They’re saying it has something to do with Richard Parkmore reporting an intruder yesterday.”

  “You haven’t heard.”

  “What?”

  Eve caught her up giving her a brief rundown on everything that had happened since the day before.

  “Your ex? Dead? In your aunt’s house?” Abby leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Did you kill him?”

  “As if I’d tell you if I had.” She took an impatient sip of her coffee. “It’s such an inconvenience. I can’t even use the kitchen.”

  “Eve. How can you say that?”

  “Well, if you’d known Alex, you’d understand. I can’t figure out what he was doing on the island. I haven’t seen him in two years. Suddenly, he’s there. Dead. And I’m being interrogated.” An image of Detective Jack Bradford popped into her head and she felt her body flush.

  “What just happened? Did you think of something? Your face went all red.”

  She sighed. “Have you seen the detective in charge?”

  Abby shook her head. “I’ve never even been issued a parking fine. I’m a law abiding citizen.”

  “What does that make me?”

  Abby gave an easy shrug. “A suspect, of course.”

  “Please don’t joke.”

  “I wasn’t. I’ve read enough crime thrillers to know you have to be realistic. The finger’s pointing straight at you. You knew the victim. He was killed in your home.”

  “Right. So, I lure my ex-husband to the island, kill him, and then trot off to have dinner.”

  “Perfect alibi and perfect blasé attitude.” Abby sat back. “It’s what I’d do. Play the innocent card. Go on as if nothing had happened.”

  “He was killed with a frying pan. My fingerprints will be all over it.”

  “You should be more thorough with your washing.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind next time I plan to kill someone.” She drank more of her coffee and eyed Abby over rim of the cup. “You must be pleased.”

  “Why?”

  “This is bound to put the island on the map. As far as I know, there’s never been even a ripple of scandal. Suddenly, you’re desperate to sell your bookshop and you complain about the island needing to be put on the map. This will definitely do it for you.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “Careful what you wish for because you might get it, by fair means or foul.”

  Abby stretched her arms out. “Do I look like the type of person who’d commit murder?”

  “Don’t assume there is a type.” Huffing out a breath, Eve pulled out her cell phone and the card Detective Jack Bradford had given her and called him.

  His gravely tone had her holding her breath. “Hi, it’s me. Eve. I’m calling to see if you’ve found the murderer yet. I’d like to have my kitchen back, please.”

  She lost herself in the sound of his voice. “You don’t sound at all sorry for the inconvenience. In fact, I get the feeling you disapprove of my request.” She shook her head. “Yes, of course I’m available all day for further questioning. You’ll know where to find me. I’m sure your officers are lodging regular reports of my whereabouts, as if I had anything to do with Alex’s death.”

  An hour later, Eve sat in the living room looking straight into Detective Jack Bradford’s sharp blue eyes.

  “He deserves to be murdered,” he read from his notepad.

  “Who said that?”

  “Apparently, you did.”

  “When?”

  “Over dinner at the pub, two days ago you told Patrick McKenzie—”

  She held her hand up. “Isn’t this where you step down and hand the case over to the CSI?”

  The edge of his lip lifted.

  “Of course not, I’m sure you already realize how ridiculous it would be for me to have killed Alex.”

  “You had reason to dislike him.”

  “I had reason to hate him. And I even had reason to want him dead. I dare you to find a woman going through a tough divorce who wouldn’t entertain the same thought.”

  His eyebrows quirked up.

  “I didn’t mean to say that to Patrick McKenzie. It was a slip of the tongue. I was decompressing.”

  “You’ve been stressed?”

  “You don’t know the half of it. Alex nearly destroyed everything I’d worked so hard to achieve, I had to work day and night to pay off our creditors with only half the staff, the other half I had to let go because I couldn’t afford to keep them on, and don’t get me started on how that made me feel.”

  “How did that make you feel?”

  “Like killing him, of course,” her voice hitched, “It’s only normal.”

  His eyebrows rose again.

  Eve drew in a long breath. “If I had killed him, I wouldn’t be saying that. Surely you can see that?”

  “I only work with facts, Ms. Lloyd.”

  She gave an impatient shake of her head. “Shouldn’t there be someone else here with you to take turns?”

  “Take turns?”

  “Good cop, bad cop. Come to think of it, shouldn’t we be doing this at the precinct?”

  He sighed and flipped his notepad shut. “We appreciate your cooperation.”

  “But?”

  This time, he frowned. “It appears your ex-husband had some serious money problems.”

  “Well, I could’ve told you that. It was never enough for him.”

  “According to his phone records, he’d been in touch with you.”

  She shook her head. “I haven’t spoken with him since well before the divorce.”

  “And yet you received a call from him yesterday. Two, in fact.”

  It was her turn to frown.

  “Is there something you want to share with me?” he asked.

  “There were a couple of calls, but no one spoke.” She held his gaze and remembered to blink. “I guess you’ll have to take my word for it.”

  “How are your finances now?”

  “Isn’t that a bit personal?”

  He tapped his notepad against his hand.

  “I’m comfortable.”

  “I assume your aunt has named you the sole beneficiary in her will?”

  “I’ve never asked and—” she shot to the edge of the chair. “Why bring my aunt into this?”

  “You expressed concern for her whereabouts. You’ve tried to contact her. Has she returned your call?”

  No, she hadn’t.

  Eve shot to her feet. “I’d like to report a missing person.”

  Chapter Eight

  By late afternoon the next day, the crime scene tape had been removed from the kitchen and Eve distracted herself with scrubbing the kitchen from top to bottom. When the phone rang she thought the call might be from Mira and rushed to pick it up without bothering to remove her bright yellow scouring gloves. “Yes?”

  “It’s Jill.”

  “I have a bone to pick with you,” Eve snapped.

  “What did I do?”

  “Hang on, I have to think.” So much had happened, she’d pushed everything to the furthest corner of her mind. And then it came to her. “Why did you tell Jack about me not reporting the break-in?”

  “You’re on first name terms with the detective?”

  “Saying Detective Jack Bradford is a bit of a mouthful, don’t you think? Anyway, answer my question
.”

  “He asked and he’s got this way about him. I think it’s his eyes. They’re gorgeous. And his voice, there’s something compelling about it. It’s the sort of voice you want to hear murmuring in your ear in the middle of the night.”

  “He’s too old for you.”

  “And he’s just right for you?”

  He could be. The thought was enough for Eve to believe she was on her way to eventually trusting a man again, or at least giving him the benefit of the doubt. She’d decide when and if an opportunity opened up. “Be serious. A man has lost his life.”

  Jill chuckled. “I was about to remind you of that.”

  “What do you want, Jill? I’m busy cleaning up.”

  “I rang to find out how you were, and this is the thanks I get.”

  “I’m sorry I snapped. Come around. I could do with the company.”

  “Do you think that’s wise? Us being seen together.”

  Eve had trouble deciding if Jill was being serious or trying to make light of the situation. “I’m not really under suspicion. Are you?”

  “I’m on my bike. Meet me at the bottom of the path, the one that trails off the side of the house.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Why would I be a suspect in a murder investigation? I didn’t even know you before yesterday and I had no knowledge of your husband’s existence.”

  Jill had known of her but hadn’t met her in person. “I’m sure there’s a loophole in there somewhere,” Eve said under her breath. “All right. I’ll meet you in ten minutes.”

  She tore off her scouring gloves and grabbed a jacket. When she made her way along the path at the side of the house, she realized she remained out of sight of the squad car still parked out on the road. Had Jill chosen this path deliberately?

  Eve’s step faltered.

  Reason told her Jill had nothing to do with Alex’s death. But murder rarely stood the test of reason.

  It all came down to motive.

  She didn’t know anything about Jill other than what she’d told her. She cared about her granny and her dogs. She had to be reliable otherwise Mira wouldn’t have hired her. But even innocent people could lapse...

  She trudged her way along the narrow path carved out by daily walkers and noticed how alert she’d become. Her eyes scanned the area as she went and she felt a slight tightening of her shoulders.

  At the bottom of the path, she narrowed her eyes and tried to make out a shape between the trees then she caught sight of movement and what might have been the reflection of a bicycle mirror.

  Eve emerged onto a clearing and found Jill standing there leaning against her bike. She wore black jeans, a black sweater and a black baseball cap tilted to one side.

  “Traveling incognito?”

  Jill pressed her finger to her lips, calling for silence.

  “Is this where you tell me to follow you and you lead me to a trap?”

  “You have a wild imagination,” Jill whispered.

  She led her to another clearing, which happened to be at the edge of a cliff. “Right, this is definitely as far as I go. I hope you don’t expect me to stand close to the edge.”

  Jill stood there gazing out to sea and then turned to her. “Richard Parkmore is having money problems.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I heard him say so.” She set her bike down and came to stand next to Eve. “I was out walking my dogs last night and I heard a voice. I crept up—”

  “You do that often, do you?”

  Jill ignored the remark and looked around them. She lowered her voice. “I saw Richard Parkmore standing right here talking on the phone.”

  “And that’s not allowed?”

  “When he finished, he hurled the phone over the cliff.”

  Now, that was odd. “Maybe it had outlived its use.”

  “Exactly.” She stubbed the toe of her sneaker on the ground. “Before that, he went on and on about how tight with money his uncle was.”

  “And that makes him a suspect. Are you suggesting he killed Alex out of frustration because his uncle won’t give him a weekly allowance?”

  “I think there’s something significant about the conversation I heard. It can’t have been coincidence. Somehow, it has to be linked to... something.”

  “Sounds to me as if you’re forcing the dots to join. You think he killed Alex because of course he knew him from way back—” Eve frowned. Hadn’t Richard Parkmore mentioned recognizing her?

  They’d lived and worked in the same area in the city. Maybe he’d come into the restaurant. He might even have been a regular. Maybe he’d known Alex. In fact, when she’d first met Richard, she’d compared him to her ex. Richard was just the type of man Alex hung out with, all full of themselves and pretending to be more than they were...

  “Did I happen to mention I’m here to relax?” Eve rubbed her neck. The knot there had tightened. “Everyone has money troubles. Living in New York doesn’t come cheap.” And Richard had mentioned coming to live on the island so he no longer had that concern. In fact, living here probably cost him nothing.

  Eve folded her arms across her chest. “How are you holding up?” After all, Jill had found the body.

  “I haven’t been sleeping much,” Jill said, “I’ve no idea how you could stay in that house knowing someone’s died there.”

  “The house is over two hundred years old. Many people have died there.”

  “You’re very pragmatic.”

  “And you see something wrong with that?” She brushed her hair back. “It’s a coping mechanism. Honestly, if you really think about it, someone, at some point in time must have died right on this spot where we stand.”

  Jill jumped back. “Eww.”

  “Did you tell Jack about Richard Parkmore’s phone conversation?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?” Eve noticed Jill’s breath was coming hard and fast. Was she scared?

  “I’ve had other things on my mind.”

  “Such as?”

  Jill bit the tip of her thumb and again looked around them. Almost as if trying to make sure no one was around to hear them. “You left a message on Mira’s answering machine.”

  Eve slammed her hands on her hips. “It was you. You erased the message.”

  Jill nodded. “Only after I listened to it.”

  “When?”

  “The same day I met you. I’d actually popped in earlier. You were out, but I noticed there was something odd about the house. You know that feeling of someone having just left a place. Maybe it was your perfume lingering in the air. Anyway, I listened to the message and erased it by mistake. It just happened automatically. I do it all the time at home because if I don’t the machine fills up. Anyway, I panicked and left. Then I felt guilty and decided to go back to see if you’d returned. I wanted to explain, but then there was the break-in, so it slipped my mind.”

  Eve searched her mind trying to remember the message she’d left for Mira. She’d been so tired from her long drive, and thinking about spending time in this out of the way place and having to make so many decisions...

  She’d left a message saying she was coming to stay. And then she’d said something else. What had it been?

  Eve groaned.

  Mira had spent her entire life writing about love. She had made the Beatles’ song her motto.

  All you need is love.

  And that was the last thing Eve wanted to hear about.

  She loved her aunt, and her well-meaning ways but sometimes, her positive outlook could be too much. It had been a year since her divorce had become final, but the wounds remained fresh. She simply wasn’t ready.

  I’ll kill you, Mira.

  “You know I didn’t mean it,” Eve finally said.

  “That’s what you’d say, of course.”

  “Are you thinking of blackmailing me?”

  “More pancakes?” Eve offered.

  Jill shook her head.
>
  “Still refusing to talk to me?”

  “Throw in some dinner and I’ll rethink my silent treatment.”

  “Which you just broke.”

  “How else am I supposed to bargain?” Jill set her fork down. “I still can’t believe you think me capable of blackmailing you.”

  “It makes sense. You’re young. You don’t appear to have a real job. I know Mira is generous but you can’t be earning enough to make a decent living.”

  “I live with my parents. It doesn’t cost me anything. And—” She lifted a forkful of pancakes to her mouth.

  “And what?”

  “These pancakes would have been so much better with blueberries.”

  “If I’d known I was going to have to make peace with you, I would have stocked up on blueberries.” Eve poured herself another cup of coffee. “You were going to say something else before.”

  “I paint.”

  “As in art?”

  She nodded.

  “Did you go to art school?”

  “I’m self-taught.” Jill drained her cup and gestured for more. “Go on, ask me what you really want to know.”

  “Are you any good?”

  “My paintings sell.”

  “That’s wonderful. You should be living in New York right in the heart of the art scene.”

  “I don’t paint the sort of pictures you see hanging in museums. I do pretty beach scenes. The tourists love them. And I’m happy painting them.”

  “How did you get into it? Is it like a hobby?”

  “Sort of. I actually went to college. Graduated top of my class. Got an internship at a fashion magazine. Then I burned-out.”

  “What?” she asked even as she tried to digest everything Jill has just revealed.

  “It all got too much for me. The highly competitive environment. The backstabbing. The constant monitoring of one’s appearance. The constant bickering over who was getting ahead and who wasn’t. I exploded. It got to the point I didn’t even want to get out of bed. I came back to the island and one day I picked up my mother’s paint brushes and started dabbling with painting.”

  “How exactly did it get too much for you at the magazine?”

  “Everything fell apart for me. I came undone and developed an eating disorder. It wasn’t so bad because I didn’t go into denial about it.”