by Fiona Grace
She sounded a little too keen, like Carla in the B’n’B, but without the excuse of youth to justify it.
“I’m not so sure about that,” Lacey said. “It seems too calculating for Daisy.”
“Ooh!” Brooke said, her excitement ratcheting up even more. “I bet she got him to row her over to the island where there’d be no witnesses, then went berserk-o and killed him!”
Despite how distasteful Lacey felt Brooke was being, she did consider her theory momentarily. But it didn’t quite fit. It seemed too cold for Daisy to have premeditated the murder, not to mention the fact she didn’t seem smart enough to come up with a plan like that. And what about the fact Buck was double her size? If she’d planned to kill him, surely she would have brought a weapon.
“No, it was opportunistic,” Lacey explained. “A spur of the moment thing. I think Daisy found out about Buck’s debts and challenged him. Well, we both know how easily Buck’s pride gets damaged when it comes to money. I think he retaliated physically. Raised his fist. Daisy ran. He got hold of her bag by the handle, yanking it back. But the strap tore, and he fell. A big, unhealthy guy like Buck isn’t going to be able to get up very fast, and Daisy, fearing for her life, jumped on his back and pushed him down into the sand until he stopped moving.”
The whole scenario played out in her mind’s eye. After realizing she’d killed her husband, Daisy rowed back to shore, distraught, where Xavier witnessed her alone and crying. Then she must have pulled herself together and headed to Taryn’s, knowing she’d be captured on the CCTV cameras, providing an alibi, as long as the police didn’t check the clocks too stringently. She either held Taryn up at the store for so long because she wanted as much footage of her as possible, or because she was so freaked out about what had happened she didn’t want to be alone. If Taryn was selling her last season’s stock, perhaps she took her into the back room, with a view over the gardens. Daisy might have seen Gina watering the plants under the moonlight, and leaving the back door unlocked. That would’ve given her the idea to plant the sextant and frame Lacey.
It all fit perfectly! The puzzle had come together, with every piece of evidence Lacey had gathered accounted for, and everything she knew of Buck’s and Daisy’s personalities and financial situation filling in the blanks. For the first time since she’d stumbled upon Buck’s pale, lifeless body, Lacey saw the light at the end of the tunnel. She’d cracked it. It was almost over. She just had to prove it…
Lacey suddenly realized that the other end of the line was silent. It had been silent for so long, she wondered whether the call had disconnected.
“Brooke?” she asked. “You there?”
When Brooke finally replied, her voice was filled with emotion. “Sorry. The way you described it… it reminded me of my ex-hubby.”
Lacey gasped. How could she have been so insensitive! Brooke had told her all about her violent ex, and she’d just put her foot right in.
“I’m so sorry, Brooke. Are you okay?”
The woman sniffed. But then her tone suddenly changed. “You’ll never guess who just walked in.”
“Who?” Lacey asked.
Brooke replied in a stunned whisper. “Daisy!”
Lacey was immediately alert. This was it. Her chance. If she could put the pressure on Daisy with the evidence and theory, then she could get the woman to confess.
She squeezed the receiver tightly, as adrenaline began to course through her.
“Listen, I need you to stall her. Do everything you can to keep her in your tearoom. Lock her in if you have to. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”
She put down the phone and looked at Chester. He quirked his head to the side, flashing her his perceptive expression.
“It’s time to nail this killer once and for all,” she said. “You ready?”
Chester barked.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
“This had better be good,” Superintendent Turner said as Lacey strolled up to him.
He was standing with his ass leaned against his car, parked up on the seafront outside Brooke’s tearoom. She was surprised he’d made it there before her, since she’d driven twice the speed limit to get here.
“Oh, it’s good,” Lacey said confidently. “Like I said on the phone, I’ve solved your murder.”
The detective raised an eyebrow. “I highly doubt that.”
But Lacey felt very certain of herself, and by the way Chester was walking by her side with his chin up and chest puffed out, made her feel that he supported her as well.
She gestured to the automatic glass doors as they swished open. “Gentlemen first.”
Superintendent Turner gave her his dead-eyed look and didn’t move.
“Fine,” Lacey said. ”I’ll lead the way.”
She went in through the automatic doors.
True to her word, Brooke had managed to keep Daisy inside the tearoom. The young widow was clad in her signature pink, and was seated in one of the half-boat booths. By the looks of the various empty dishes around her, Brooke had been plying her with cakes.
Brooke herself was anxiously chewing on her nails. When she saw Lacey entering, she hurried over.
“You took your time,” she whispered frantically. “I’m pretty sure Daisy thinks I’m attempting to date her with all that free cake!” But her expression suddenly changed as her gaze went past Lacey to Superintendent Turner. “You brought the fuzz with you?”
“Someone has to arrest her once I’ve forced her to confess,” Lacey whispered back.
Brooke looked uncomfortable, and Lacey squeezed her friend’s arm.
“Relax. You did your bit. I’ll take it from here.”
“Lacey,” Superintendent Turner snapped. He threw his arm toward Daisy sitting alone in the booth. “What the hell is going on?”
Lacey gulped. “Just… let me do the talking.”
The detective shook his head as if he’d just realized he’d made a terrible mistake coming here, but he followed Lacey as she walked over to the half-sawn rowing-boat nook Daisy was occupying.
At the sound of their footsteps, Daisy’s head darted up. Her fork clattered to her plate. She couldn't have looked more guilty if she’d tried.
“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice trembling. Clearly realizing she was about to be ambushed, she went to stand.
“Please, stay seated,” Lacey said, gesturing for her to sit back down.
Daisy sank into the cushions like a popped balloon.
Superintendent Turner looked more nonplussed than ever. “I’m not sitting in that thing.”
“Sit,” Lacey told him, firmly.
He sighed, and did, perching right on the edge.
Lacey squeezed into the uncomfortable seat beside him.
“What’s going on?” Daisy asked again, looking even more guilty.
Lacey reached into her pocket and retrieved the leather bag handle. She thunked it triumphantly down onto the table.
Silence followed.
“What’s that?” Superintendent Turner said.
But Lacey kept her focus intently on Daisy. She was expecting to see the woman squirm. For there to be some reaction from her. But she was keeping her poker face.
“You recognize it, don’t you, Daisy?” Lacey said.
“Yes,” Daisy replied.
Ha! Lacey thought. I’ve got you cornered now.
“Do you want to tell Superintendent Turner what it is, or shall I?”
Daisy looked bemused. “I don’t know why he’d want to know.”
Karl Turner was starting to look thoroughly frustrated. He turned to Lacey. “Tell me what it is now or I’ll book you for wasting police time.”
“Fine,” Lacey said, casting a cold glance at Daisy. “That is a piece of evidence from the island that your officers failed to find. Chester retrieved it last night.”
She felt triumphant. But Superintendent Turner didn’t react with gratitude at all. In fact, he was almost out of his seat with shock.
“This was on the island?” he exclaimed. “And you touched it? Without gloves?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a glove and baggie, then got to work bagging up the strap, huffing as he did.
“I don’t carry gloves and evidence bags around as habit,” Lacey replied tersely. “I mean, I know I do an awful lot of your job for you, but believe it or not, I’m not actually a police officer.”
She’d been expecting some gratitude, not accusations, and felt put out.
“If that is evidence,” Superintendent Turner said, his face turning red, “you’ve completely invalidated it by getting your dirty hands and slobbery dog all over it!”
But Lacey’s lack of gloves was hardly the matter here. At least it wouldn't be once she’d gotten a confession out of Daisy.
“What even is it?” the detective finished, inspecting the item that was now successfully bagged.
Lacey looked at Daisy again. She was playing it cool. Very cool. Probably thanks to Superintendent Turner blurting out that the evidence was useless. Lacey would have to put the pressure on if she wanted to get her to confess.
“It’s the handle of a bag,” she explained. “A bag stocked in Taryn’s boutique. A bag in last season’s dusky pink. Daisy’s favorite color.”
Superintendent Turner looked at Lacey, aghast. He started shaking his head. “Don’t. No. Don’t tell me you dragged me out here because you think Daisy...” He stopped speaking and huffed loudly.
“You think I’m what?” Daisy asked, looking perturbed.
Superintendent Turner looked like he was about to explode with rage. “She thinks you’re a killer,” he said, scathingly. “Because of your fashion choices! Even though there’s CCTV footage that corroborates your alibi.”
Daisy’s bottom lip started to quiver. “You think I killed Bucky…?”
Lacey frowned at the detective. “The clock on the machine must be wrong. Either that, or the time of death is incorrect.”
Daisy burst into tears.
Superintendent Turner didn’t seem to notice though. He was focusing all his attention, anger and fury at Lacey.
“You’re so big-headed that you’ll assume a computerized machine and a skilled mortician are more likely to be wrong than you? This is unbelievable!”
A sudden thunk made Lacey and Karl jump. Daisy had slammed her bag onto the table in front of them. Just as Lacey had expected, it was the dusky pink one.
For a second, Lacey thought the woman was about to confess. But then she realized Daisy had a very different reason for slamming her bag in front of them like that. She was showing off the handles. The two very intact handles.
A sudden, awful dawning came over Lacey. Had she got it wrong? But… everything fit! Didn’t it?
“I didn’t kill my husband,” Daisy squeaked. “I loved him, even if he was a crook.”
Lacey and Superintendent Turner exchanged a glance.
“Oh come on, you all know it!” Daisy exclaimed passionately. “He was a fraud. His first car lot went bust after Christmas. He said it was fine, the other three would soak up the trade and we’d be back on our feet in no time. But then the second lot went bust. Then the third. It seemed like the more they failed, the more he spent, as if he had to prove a point. I tried everything to get him to stop. If I’m guilty of anything, it’s not knowing how to help.” She looked up, and mascara streaked from her eyes as her tears fell. “I thought if I kept pushing him to spend on more and more stupid stuff, eventually he’d reach his breaking point. I mean, I even dragged him to your auction because I thought he might just see that the last thing we needed to buy was an antique frickin’ boat thing!”
As she listened to Daisy’s desperate story, humiliation started to build in Lacey’s guts. She’d gotten it so, so wrong.
“But why did you look so guilty when you saw us?” Lacey said.
“Because I just ate about 2,000 calories worth of cake!” Daisy wailed. “And I’m not even supposed to eat gluten! But now Buck’s gone, I just don’t care anymore…”
She broke down, her head flopping into her arms across the table.
Lacey didn’t want to look at Superintendent Turner. She side-eyed him. He was tight-jawed, glaring at her.
Without saying a word, he stood and paced away.
Lacey flew to her feet and hurried after him.
“I’m sorry,” she said, reaching for his arm and stopping him in his tracks.
He swirled to face her with a thunderous expression. “Sorry isn’t going to cut it when the widow of a murdered man sues the police department for accusing her of murder on little more than a pink bloody bag strap!”
He stormed out of the cafe.
Lacey watched him go, her chest heavy with humiliation.
She was back at square one.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Brooke placed the cappuccino down in front of Lacey and took the bench opposite.
“I’m sorry your theory didn’t play out,” she said. “That whole altercation looked super uncomfortable.”
“It was embarrassing,” Lacey said, glancing over at the vacant nook Daisy had previously occupied. She turned back and smooshed the coffee froth art with her spoon. “I was so certain I’d cracked it.”
“If it’s any consolation, I thought you had as well,” Brooke replied.
Lacey took a sip. The coffee was divine. Brooke really did make the best coffee in Wilfordshire.
She placed the cup back on the saucer. “I just keep thinking, if the strap wasn’t from Daisy’s bag, then whose was it from?”
Brooke drummed her fingers on the table, obviously trying to think it through as well. “This might sound a bit out there, but is there a chance it was from her bag, but she had the handle fixed to cover up the fact it was torn?”
“That’s a good idea,” Lacey said, pondering it. “But I wonder if that would’ve even been possible, given the time frame. It’s not like a boutique item can be fixed by the local cobbler.”
“Well then that could be why she went to Taryn’s in the first place?” Brooke suggested. “To swap it with one that wasn’t broken?”
It was an interesting theory, and Lacey mulled it over. It might explain why Daisy kept Taryn in the store so late, if she was trying to find an opportunity to swap the bags when the clerk wasn’t looking.
“Thing is,” Lacey said, “the bag is from last season’s stock. Taryn said she specifically had to fetch last season’s stuff because it was the only things she owned in pink. So the bag wouldn’t have been on general sale anymore, and Daisy would have had to ask her if she wanted a replacement. Taryn would have mentioned if Daisy had come back asking to buy another out of season handbag, I’m certain. Any reason to gossip.” Lacey paused, as a sudden thought hit her. “Although… the handbag wasn’t one of a kind. Taryn must’ve sold the same model to loads of different locals during the spring season. Maybe we could find out who bought one, and narrow down the suspect pool.”
She looked at Brooke, expecting her friend’s usual eager enthusiasm. But instead, Brooke’s lips were twisted to the side. She looked uncomfortable. Troubled even.
“What’s wrong?” Lacey asked.
Brooke hunched her shoulders. “I just worked out who did it.”
“What? Who?” Lacey asked, her eyes widening.
Brooke looked even more uncomfortable, like she really didn’t want to say it aloud. “Taryn.”
Lacey’s first instinct was to laugh, assuming Brooke was joking. But she could tell by the look on Brooke’ face she was dead serious.
“Taryn?” Lacey repeated. “But she’s…”
She stopped speaking. Was Brooke actually on to something? Taryn was a jilted business owner who’d been left out of pocket by Daisy’s expensive purchases. She had a proven mean streak that bordered on psychotic, like the time she’d gotten her ex-convict handyman to prowl Lacey’s cottage at night. Heck, maybe she’d gotten him involved in this as well? Hired him as a hit man to bump
off Buck? Unlike Daisy, who didn’t seem smart enough to plan a murder, Taryn was conniving to the bone. She may well have witnessed Gina’s late night garden watering sessions and scattiness over locking the door, and come up with the plan to plant the sextant in the antiques store and frame Lacey.
But what about her state-of-the-art security system? It was Daisy’s alibi, and that made it Taryn’s alibi as well. Unless … Of course! As the owner of the system, Taryn had administrative powers to alter the clock!
Lacey gasped aloud as she realized Taryn fit neatly into the middle section of her Venn diagram.
“Daisy wasn’t using Taryn as an alibi…” Lacey exclaimed. “Taryn was using Daisy!”
She was on her feet now, filled with adrenaline. Chester jumped up at her sudden excitement.
“Where are you going?” Brooke asked, looking perplexed.
“To follow up this lead,” Lacey told her, excitedly. “Who knows, maybe I’ll catch a killer by the end of the day, after all.”
And with that, she hurried away, leaving Brooke blinking in her wake.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
The weather had turned since Lacey had first entered the tearoom. It was starting to get quite cloudy, and she could feel humidity building in the air. Her hair would be a ball of frizz before long, not that the condition of her hair mattered all that much; there were far more important things to deal with now.
She marched along the high street, which was darker than usual, since most of the stores had closed. The camp shop was still open, a tent pitched up outside to market how great their equipment was in the typical English spring drizzle. Lacey strolled past, feeling a bit sorry for the poor store clerk who had the unenviable job of sitting on a waterproof chair under waterproof awnings in a waterproof hat, jacket, pants and boots. The sandwich board beside him read: It’s May! May as well assume it’s going to rain!
As she went, Lacey looked down at Chester. He was walking obediently beside her with his chin held high, looking very purposeful.