by Jane Hinchey
"You believed her?"
"She showed me the deeds. She'd tricked me into signing documents and stupid me signed them without a second thought. Didn't even read them, didn't check. I can't believe I was such an idiot."
"What did you think you were signing?"
"Insurance papers. Whitney had gotten us a good deal on our insurance, so we were changing providers. She slipped them in amongst the insurance documents and I didn't even notice."
I looked at Jackson who glanced my way. He shrugged and tilted his head sideways. Yeah, I nodded in agreement. Seemed Whitney was one crafty broad.
"You're going to have to come down to the station for questioning," Jackson said. "We'll take swabs of the arm for traces of the toxin from the borrio bud plant. Wendy, sorry, but you need to come to. I need you to make a statement repeating everything you've just told us." Bruce hung his head, his expression despondent.
Jackson led them out of the party, no one paying them any attention as they gathered their coats and left. No one except for Christina, Mike, and Lexi, who all watched intently. Then they noticed me noticing and quickly disbanded. My mind was a whirl with the events that had just occurred and also a sense of disappointment that it was looking like Bruce had killed his wife after all. I'd been rooting for him to be innocent because I kinda liked the guy, but then maybe I wasn't such a great judge of character after all.
My musing was disrupted by a commotion on the dance floor. Gran had conjured a stripper pole and was now happily gyrating around it in her massive green and red ball gown, the yards of tulle beneath the skirt flipping up to reveal red and white striped socks and bedazzled Ugg boots. Shaking my head on a laugh, I shuffled forward to watch the display, clapping along with everyone else as my grandmother made an absolute spectacle of herself. Life was never dull with her around, that's for sure.
"Isn't it exciting?" Slapping a plate piled high with pancakes in front of me, Gran snapped her wand and another batch of batter poured into the skillet. "Are you excited? I'm excited!"
"I can see that." I smiled but knew it was a piss poor one. So did she.
"Harper Jones"—she waggled a finger at me—"don't be a Debbie Downer. Today is exciting. The grand re-opening of The Dusty Attic."
"I'm just nervous." It was true, I was. Butterflies danced in my stomach and I felt nauseous. What if no one came? What if it was an unmitigated disaster?
"Stop being a drama queen and eat your food," Gran commanded in that don't-mess-with-me tone. I obeyed, shoving a forkful of pancake into my mouth.
Archie jumped up onto the chair next to me and head butted my arm, giving me a mournful meow. "What?" I looked at him. "You've got food. Over there." I pointed with my fork. "In your dish." He responded by snaking out a paw, hooking a claw into my pancake and dragging it from my plate. Mission accomplished, he jumped down from the chair, taking the pancake with him, purring loudly.
"Thief!" I chuckled. "Lucky I have plenty more or I wouldn't let you get away with that."
“Meow,” he replied.
"I feel like I'm rushing it," I admitted to Gran. "Maybe I should wait till the new year."
"Are you brain impaired?" Gran leaned in close, checking my eyes. "The store is ready. So are you. It's not like you to be lacking confidence. It's all that Simon fella's fault. I'm gonna do that spell to make that asshat's wiener fall off."
I grabbed her wrist before she could rush off. "No, Gran. Don't. You're right. I didn't realize just how much the situation with Simon has affected me, making me question every little thing, always wondering if I'm making the wrong decision."
Her face softened, and she stroked my cheek. "When you're finished eating, I've laid out an outfit for you on your bed."
I couldn't contain my laughter. Gran jumped from one thing to another like a squirrel on steroids. It was exhausting keeping up with her, but I admitted that as nutty as she was, I was one hundred percent glad she was my family. I managed to force down another pancake, but nerves were making my stomach churn.
Pushing the plate away I went upstairs to discover Gran had laid out a rather adorable red dress trimmed with white fur. My knee-high black boots would go perfectly with it. Very Christmassy. I'd been envisioning something gaudy and entirely inappropriate, but for once she'd surprised me.
Changing into the dress, I spent extra time on my makeup and hair, then headed back downstairs when I heard her yell, "You ready yet?"
I saw her standing by the front door with Archie sitting at her heels. "What are you wearing?" I stopped mid-descent, shocked. She looked...normal. She was wearing a pair of navy pants, black court shoes, and a navy and white striped twin set. I'd never seen her in anything so understated in my entire life.
"Oh." She looked down at herself. "Don't you like it? I thought you would. I wanted to be normal for you today."
"Oh, Gran." I rushed the rest of the way down the stairs and hugged her. "Your normal is everyone else's crazy. I love your normal. Please don't change because of me."
Her cheeky grin was back. "Well, in that case, I do have a backup outfit." With a flick of her wand, her outfit changed into garish parachute pants, a bright yellow sequined boob tube, a pink feather boa, topped off with a chunky, hand knitted cardigan that hung almost to her knees in a green and white snowflake pattern. This time her Ugg boots were bright blue.
"That's more like it." Kissing her cheek, I hooked my arm through hers and led the way to the car, Archie trotting along behind us.
When we arrived at The Dusty Attic I was amazed to see a lineup of people waiting for the store to open. My heart leaped in my chest and a rush of adrenaline shot through me. Maybe my launch wasn't going to be a flop after all.
Gran high fived everyone while I unlocked the door and flicked on the lights. It was freezing inside. Again. I rushed to the storeroom and flicked the thermostat back on. I had no idea why it kept turning off, but I really needed to do something about it. Customers wouldn't hang around if it was colder in my store than what it was outside.
"Gran, can you light the fire in the fireplace, please?" I whispered, taking up position by the door, ready to greet my customers. A roaring open fire would warm the place up in no time.
With a flourish, I swung the door wide and beamed, "Welcome to The Dusty Attic!"
A cheer rang out and I felt the blood rush to my cheeks. I hadn't expected such a warm and enthusiastic welcome and I had to blink a couple of times to clear my vision. I shook everyone's hand as they filed into the store. Soon a fire was crackling, the coffee pot was on, and the shop was full. Not as full as my heart though. Archie had curled up into a ball on the rug in front of the fire. Several customers had snagged a book and were sitting in the armchairs, noses buried in the pages. This was exactly how I'd imagined it to be.
I'd just rung up another customer when Gran slid an arm around my waist. "It's going well, don't you think?" she asked.
"It's going brilliantly!" I beamed. "Thank you so much for your help, Gran. I couldn't have done this without you."
"Nonsense," she protested, but I saw the way her chest puffed out in pride.
By lunchtime, the crowd had thinned and my nerves were gone. I'd sold an amazing number of mystery books and almost every person in my store had asked about the book club, so much so that I knew I'd have to arrange it sooner rather than later. I'd overhead people speculating about Whitney and trying to guess where her body had been found and I realized that had been part of the attraction, but almost everybody had purchased something, so I couldn't complain.
Jenna called by at lunchtime, bringing sandwiches with her.
"Thank you so much!" I said around a mouthful of ham, cheese, and pickle. "I'm starving."
"Thought you might be. Here's a tip as a small business owner—don't forget to take breaks and stop to eat and drink, or you'll never last the day."
"If interest keeps up, I'll look at getting someone in part-time." Because what Jenna had said was true. Right now, I was starvin
g and I needed to pee. Both things highly inconvenient if you're running the store on your own.
"I can help!" Gran piped up.
"Gran, you're so busy as it is, I don't want you to feel like you have to come in here and work. You've done so much for me already." Slinging my arm around her shoulders, I hugged her into my side.
"You're right." She backtracked on her offer. "I'm not missing my pole dancing classes for anyone!"
Jenna poured us all a coffee and carried them over to my desk where we were gathered. "So, have you heard?" she asked, glancing around, her voice low.
"Heard what?"
"That Bruce was released."
I'd filled both Jenna and Monica in on what had happened at the Christmas Party last night but hadn't had the chance to touch base with Jackson yet and find out anything new.
"No, I hadn't heard. There was a buzz in here this morning, but it was more around the fact that Whitney died here." Wrapping my hands around my coffee cup, I took a sip, sighing in delight. Delicious.
"Christina has been telling everyone that Bruce and Wendy were arrested," Jenna murmured. "We need to have a meeting of our murder club."
I nodded. "Yes, we do. And they weren't arrested. Bruce was taken in for questioning and Wendy to give a statement. I don't think either of them was arrested."
"Yet." Gran said as if it were a done deal. "It's always the husband who did it."
Chapter Ten
I'd just locked up the store, Archie tucked under one arm, purse slung over my opposite shoulder when I heard a man’s voice calling my name. I turned to see Bruce Sims waving and hurrying down the sidewalk. I paused, waiting for him to reach me. It was dark and eerie, despite the early hour. I'd thought to keep my store open to cater to the after-work crowd and last-minute Christmas shoppers, but the streets were empty. Seemed late night shopping had yet to reach Whitefall Cove.
"Sorry," he called out, drawing closer. "Thanks for waiting."
"Not a problem," I called back. Archie meowed and wriggled in my arms, but I held tight, I didn't need him scampering off into the night. He'd get free rein once he was in the car. I'd already discovered he loved being in the car; traveling with him was no problem at all. And I also discovered that I liked having him around. The customers did too. He got a lot of free pats and fusses today, and Gran had whipped up a litter tray, bowls, and food to keep at the store.
"God, I need to take up jogging or something," Bruce puffed, reaching me. He bent over, hands on knees while he fought to catch his breath.
"You’re not alone there," I told him in sympathy. I badly needed to begin some sort of exercise regime if I didn’t want to stack on the pounds living with Gran and her cooking.
Straightening, he gave me a lopsided smile.
"What can I do for you?" I asked.
"It's about Wendy." He twisted his hands, then slid them into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "I'm worried about her. All of this stress isn't good for her. Or the baby."
"No, I imagine not," I agreed, "but I can't see what that has to do with me."
"Oh no, I didn't mean it was your fault," he protested, "not at all. This mess is of our own making, but well...now the town knows." He shrugged. "She's been struggling with morning sickness as it is, and then Whitney dying the way she did. Despite everything, Whitney was her friend and I know she misses her terribly."
"Did the two of you have a plan?" I asked, beyond curious about what they thought would have happened, "because Wendy's pregnancy wouldn't have stayed a secret for long. Were you intending to tell Whitney? About Wendy and the baby? Or keep your involvement out of it?"
"We were, yes." He nodded emphatically. "We'd decided we were going to tell her before Wendy even got pregnant. I'd wanted to do it six months ago, but Wendy wanted me to at least try and get some of my assets back."
"And did you?"
"Sort of. I discovered one investment property that hadn't been switched over. Whitney must have missed it. That was going to be our nest egg to rebuild. Whitney could think she had the rest, but I was going to fight her for it in court. And then Wendy got pregnant, and it was a bit iffy there at the beginning and I didn't want her to have the extra stress of the blow up with Whitney and the townsfolk gossiping."
He puffed out his cheeks and looked sheepish. "And now look at the big rotten mess we're in. I know it looks bad for me, but I swear, I didn't kill Whitney. Yes, I wanted her out of my life, but I wasn't prepared to risk going to jail for it. I've got plans. With Wendy. Being sent away for murder is not one of them."
I was thinking that now Whitney was dead it had worked in Bruce's favor. Their combined assets were now all his. But as he said, he wanted to be with Wendy. He wouldn't risk being sent to jail, to be kept away from her and their baby.
I'd lapsed into silence, pondering it all when a car roaring past shattered the quiet. A loud popping noise had me turning my head, thinking the car had backfired, when Bruce shouted, "Get down!" and dived at me. We went down in a tangle of limbs, Archie clutched to my chest. I lay there winded, looking up at the night sky and blinking. Bruce groaned and rolled off me.
"Are you okay?" I asked, shocked at what had just happened, and winded from the fall and weight of him. Archie meowed in protest and I ran my fingers over his fur, checking he wasn't hurt but refusing to let him go.
Bruce groaned. "Think I'm hit. Hurts like a bitch."
I sat up. "What?" Sure enough in the light from the street lamp, I could see a smear of blood on the sidewalk and Bruce was clutching his thigh, blood oozing between his fingers. With shaking hands, I dug around in my purse for my phone and dialed.
"Hey, Harper," Jackson answered on the second ring.
"I'm with Bruce Sims outside my store," I said, my voice shaking. "He's been shot."
I heard a clatter then Jackson saying, "Where was he shot?"
"Outside my store."
"No, Harper," he said with exaggerated patience, "where on his body? Is he alive?"
"Oh." I could feel my face heat at my own idiocy. "He's alive, yes. He was shot in the leg. A car drove by. I didn't pay any attention to it and then a popping sound—gunshots—and Bruce dove on me and told me to get down. Or possibly the other way around. He yelled to get down and then pushed me to the ground. But most likely it happened simultaneously." I knew I was rambling but couldn't stop my runaway mouth.
"Ambulance is on its way," Jackson reported, multitasking behind the scenes. "Are you hurt?"
Despite a throbbing on the back of my head where I'd cracked it on the pavement, I was not hurt. "I'm fine." Just ignore the wobble in my voice. He did.
"I'm on my way. Tell Bruce to apply pressure to the wound."
"Okay." I disconnected the call and dropped my phone back into my purse. I whipped off my coat belt and wrapped it around his leg as a makeshift bandage, then placed both hands on the top and pushed. I'd had to let Archie go and I kept one eye on him worried he might wander out onto the road and get hit by a car, but as if sensing my mounting distress, he moved to the doorstep of the store and sat, watching us with his big golden eyes.
"How are you doing?" I asked Bruce, trying to sound brave, but my hands were shaking as I pressed them to the wound on his leg, trying to stem the bleeding. The belt wasn't doing much good.
"I'm fine," he lied, his face bathed in sweat. "You know, if she weren’t already dead, this is the type of stunt I'd expect Whitney to pull."
"But who would want to kill you, Bruce?" Because despite what he'd been telling me, I'd really been leaning toward him being guilty, despite all his protests and despite the fact that I actually thought he was quite a nice guy. He and Wendy had so much motive to want Whitney out of the way it wasn't too much of a leap to think he'd killed her.
A car with a flashing blue light lodged on the dashboard screeched to a halt at the curb. "Hi, Jackson." My voice wavered, and I cleared my throat, trying not to show how utterly freaked out I was. He crossed the sidewalk in two big stride
s and crouched by my side, scowling when he saw the stain on my dress. "It's not my blood," I told him. I knew it wasn't mine because I'd freaked out when I first saw it too, until I realized Bruce had bled all over me when he landed on me.
"What happened?" Jackson directed the question to Bruce as he examined his wound, removing my ineffectual belt. "No arterial bleed," he murmured more to himself than us. "Through and through."
"Dark sedan. Couldn't see the driver," Bruce grunted. "Partial plate though. BC1 and it ended in the number one as well."
Jackson pulled out his phone and typed in what Bruce had told him. I hadn't even thought to get the car’s license plate. Hell, all I knew was that it had four wheels and an engine and that was only because I heard it.
The ambulance arrived, pulling in behind Jackson's car and two paramedics climbed out. One examined Bruce while the other turned to me, but I shooed him away. "I'm fine, seriously. He's the one who’s been shot."
"She hit her head," Bruce told on me. "It made a hell of a crack when we went down."
Jackson's head snapped toward me. "You didn't tell me that."
I shrugged. "It's not important. I'm fine, seriously, a little headache is all." The paramedic shone a light in my eyes, then felt around my scalp. When his fingers pressed on the swelling egg beneath my hairline, I couldn't hide the wince.
"We'll take you to the hospital as a precaution," he told me. "Maybe a scan to make sure you don't have any bleeding on the brain."
"What?" Jackson and I said in unison.
Then I regained my senses. "No. I don't want to go to the hospital. I told you, I'm fine."
"Will you just let them take care of you!" Jackson ran his fingers through his hair and stood over me, doing a very good impression of an intimidating cop. I was sufficiently intimidated.