Purrfect Murder

by Louise Lynn

  For a moment, Hazel thought he was gonna call her ma’am. Thankfully he refrained.

  She walked back to her office and got him the number of the company where she purchased the prop guns, and he jotted it in his notepad.

  His eyes scanned her office, and she wished she’d had time to straighten up. It wasn’t that it was messy, more cluttered in a way that she knew exactly where everything was although it might not appear that way on the surface.

  Her brain seemed to function in the same manner.

  “Anything else, Sheriff?” she asked.

  “Actually, yes. What were you doing right before the shooting happened?”

  She swore she’d already given him the details, but it was part of the interrogation technique to go over it several times. Make sure suspects weren’t lying. That’s what her detective friends on the LAPD always told her. But Hazel wasn’t sure how she could be a suspect if she wasn’t even in the room at the time.

  “Taking engagement photos down on the beach. Do you want me to show you where we were? I’m sure our footsteps are still in the snow,” she said.

  His eyes landed on her equipment bags, which had ended up in the office. Hazel didn’t remember taking them there, but it’s possible she did it without thinking. Her mind had been in a state of shock right after Michael told her what happened, so much so that the aftermath blurred together.

  “Can you show me the photos you took?”

  Hazel nodded, opened the equipment pack and fished out her camera.

  He whistled. “Isn’t that a Nikon D850?”

  Hazel nodded. “Yes. I’m a professional. I’m not going to have a little point-and-shoot.”

  Like she had done that morning, Hazel inserted the memory card into the computer and transferred the photos over.

  She enlarged the photos one by one, and Dirk and Simone’s smiling faces filled the screen. The luscious blue water stood out behind them and the warm glow from the snow and reflective screens shone on their faces, creating a bright, even light which smoothed wrinkles and reflected off their eyes.

  “Not bad. So, what did you think of Dirk and Simone?” he asked, almost casually. Like they were old friends.

  Hazel shrugged. “They were my clients.”

  His breath blew across the back of her neck, and she ignored the shudder that went through her veins. “That’s not what I asked. What did you think about them? Honestly, I found her incessant crying to be annoying.”

  Hazel turned and looked at him, mouth fallen open. “Her fiancé just died.”

  Sheriff Cross smirked. “Yeah, he did. But her eyes were dry. She kept screaming and putting her hands over her face, but she wasn’t actually crying.”

  Hazel licked her lips and thought about that. None of them had been crying when she sorted through the memories from just an hour before.

  What did that mean?

  “If you want to know what I really thought, she was a good twenty years too young for him, so she was probably marrying him for his money. And Dirk? He was car salesman sleazy. The kind of guy who buys a vacation house in Cedar Valley just to show off. I’m not sure how much he liked it here, more that it was expensive, and the town didn’t want him to build. He could’ve gotten a condo in North Lake City, and no one would’ve complained.”

  Sheriff Cross nodded, and Hazel clicked through several more photos. “His housing plan was okayed by the old council then?”

  For being new to town, he sure did know a lot. “Yeah. That’s common knowledge. There was a petition signed by nearly the entire town to keep it from happening. But the council allowed it anyway.”

  “So, there were a lot of people who didn’t like Dirk Barkley?”

  “I guess you could say that.”

  Looking at Dirk’s grinning face sent a chill up her spine.

  “Did you like Dirk Barkley?”

  Hazel froze with her hand on the mouse and let out a long breath. “I didn’t really have an opinion. He was paying me to do his engagement photos. I didn’t say no, and if I have a real distaste for a client I wouldn’t work with them.”

  “Fair enough,” Sheriff Cross said. “Only a few more. How many pictures did you take?”

  Hazel let herself smile. Most people don’t know that about photography. Real professional photographers take hundreds of photos to find ‘the one.’ And a lot of the time it’s a mixture of timing and luck. “Close to two hundred. I was going to take a few hundred more in the studio, but then—” She didn’t feel like finishing the sentence since he knew what she was referring to.

  She got to the next photo and her breath caught in her throat.

  It had been snapped a few minutes before Simone jumped up from Dirk’s side.

  The thing that made her hand tremble on the mouse was the figure in the distance behind them in the shade of the trees. It wore a dark hoodie, and the face was in shadow, but it looked markedly like the figure at her house that morning.

  “Isn’t it a little late for Halloween pictures?” Sheriff Cross said dryly.

  Hazel licked her lips, mouth suddenly dry. “It’s not a Halloween photo.”

  “Then who is it? I need to question them,” he said, and leaned toward the screen, squinting.

  She pushed her chair back to give him space, and looked at the side of his cheek. He missed a spot shaving that morning, right on his jawline.

  “I don’t know. I honestly didn’t notice them at the time. It’s probably someone out for a walk. The beach here is public.”

  Sheriff Cross blinked several times and looked at her. “Of course. What’s next?”

  Hazel continued to the next few, which were all in the same vein. The figure disappeared suddenly from the background, and she frowned.

  Finally, she got to the last photo from the shoot.

  It was taken as Simone jumped away from Dirk, her face twisted in disgust. Dirk’s eyes were wide with surprise, his mouth dropped open from its usual sleazy smile, halfway to a sneer.

  “What happened here?” Sheriff Cross asked.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Simone got up suddenly, like something bit her, and claimed she was cold. Then we headed back to the studio.” She gave him a pained smile.

  His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, she thought for sure he was going to say he didn’t believe her. Instead he sighed and stood up straight. “Can I get a copy of these pictures for evidence?”

  “Of course. Do you have a USB drive?”

  He fished a black USB drive out of his pocket, and she transferred the photos to it. It only took a few moments, and she stared at the last photo of Dirk Barkley the whole time.

  The expression on his face was twisted with anger and fear, though Hazel had no idea what could have scared him in that moment. As far as she knew, they were alone on the beach that morning save for the mysterious figure in the background.

  But the emotion frozen on Dirk’s face filled her veins with certainty that it had something to do with his death.

  Chapter 5

  “A ghost did it!” Ruth, Hazel’s eight-year-old niece, said, and waved her hands in a spooky motion as she pirouetted from table to table.

  The bakery, Let Them Eat Cake, was thankfully empty, save for Hazel and her immediate family.

  Her mother wiped her hands on her apron and nodded sagely. “She has a point. It could’ve been a ghost. I’ll bet that newfangled sheriff wouldn’t think that.”

  Hazel shook her head and ripped off a piece of crust at the corner of her quiche. Celia was busy at the coffee shop, and it wasn’t as if Hazel could get much work done in her studio considering it was a crime scene. So, she opted to eat a quick lunch at the bakery instead. A quick and late lunch.

  When she made it back home, Anthony Ray was going to be hungry and put out.

  “The sheriff didn’t think it was a ghost, Mom. Because the sheriff’s not crazy,” Esther said, and set a tray of freshly frosted cupcakes in the display case.

  In truth, it was E
sther’s bakery and their mom helped when she wasn’t working in her actual shop down the street, Esoterica, which sold a variety of spiritual items like crystals, tarot cards, and the occasional spirit board.

  “Don’t discount the power of the spirits,” their mom said, and did her own spooky finger thing.

  Ruth giggled, and Esther glowered. “No more talk about ghosts. You might think it’s funny, but I’m the one who has to put up with Ruth getting scared for a week straight and refusing to sleep alone.”

  “I’m not going to get scared this time. I’m not a baby anymore.” Ruth reached for one of the cupcakes.

  Esther deftly moved her hand away. “You’ve had your sugar quota for the day. Go back to those carrot sticks and finish your lunch.”

  With the slightest of pouts, Ruth did as she was told and plopped down in the chair next to Hazel.

  Their mother was dressed in several gauzy layers, including something that was probably a tunic type shirt and a long flowing skirt with leggings and boots underneath. As she moved out from behind the counter, she looked like a good semblance of a ghost herself.

  “Look on the bright side, dear. At least the sheriff doesn’t suspect you.” She laid a gentle hand on Hazel’s shoulder.

  Hazel sighed. “Yet. And even if they don’t suspect me, the crime scene tape around my studio is enough to put off business. It was just starting to pick up too.”

  That was the thing about moving into a small town, even a small town she’d lived in as a child. Not everyone knew her, and she had to build up trust with her local clientele. Tourists as well. There was no saying they wouldn’t just hire a photographer from Reno or Sacramento to come shoot their engagement or wedding photos at the famous lake if she was implicated in a murder.

  “I thought you said business was fine this summer,” her mom said. Her hair flowed around her head in a wispy strawberry blonde mass that reminded Hazel far too much of her own when her curls were undefined.

  “It was, but I’d like to do more than shoot Old West pictures every day for the rest of my life,” she said, and ripped off another piece of crust, this one with a healthy amount of cheese stuck to it.

  “Oh, you sound like your father.”

  Hazel couldn’t help but smile at that.

  She remembered the stories her father used to tell of when he worked as a photographer at the Sears department store. They sounded like horror stories of the family portraits he shot. The clients who wouldn’t listen to anything he asked of them. A request for a smile was met with a scowl and so on.

  Then, he hadn’t been personable either. Which was why he made a much better wildlife photographer than he did anything else.

  But Hazel knew it would be nice to have his insight now.

  Ruth crunched on a carrot stick and brushed her short bright copper hair behind her ear. She took after the rest of the family with her coloring. “I thought you liked the Old West stuff, Aunt Hazy,” she said through a mouthful of carrot.

  Hazel let out a long breath and chewed on an oversized piece of quiche before she answered. “I do. Mostly. But I need to build rapport with everyone to get where I want to go, and it doesn’t help when one of my clients is killed in my studio.” She hoped Esther didn’t get mad at her for speaking so bluntly.

  The news about Dirk Barkley’s death had already spread around town once Hazel made it to the bakery. She wasn’t surprised. Cedar Valley wasn’t particularly large. There were only around a thousand full-time residents, with a thousand or more vacation owners each season added on top.

  Not to mention the looks that Hazel had gotten as she trudged down the street to the bakery. The questioning glances didn’t instill any hope in her heart. Especially since if they knew Dirk was dead, they now knew where it happened. And they might even think she had done it.

  “She has a right to be worried, Mom. How would you feel if someone died in your shop?” Esther went about wiping down her counter for the fiftieth time since Hazel had arrived.

  Their mom waved her hand in the air. “I’d hold a séance, of course. Business would be booming if someone died in my shop. I could market it as a haunted location and have tours.” Her eyes sparkled behind her wireframe glasses at the very notion.

  Hazel puffed out her cheeks. “I don’t think that’s gonna work for me.”

  She decided not to mention it was mostly because she didn’t believe in the same sorts of hocus-pocus her mom believed in. Tarot cards, psychics, and all that sort of thing. She often wondered how her father and mother made it work when he, while being an obvious artist, had such a scientifically focused mind, and their mother didn’t.

  At that, their mom hopped up and flitted to the display case and pulled out a vanilla bean cupcake with vanilla frosting. Then she plopped it in front of Hazel as Hazel finished her quiche. “That’s all very well and good, we don’t have to follow the same path in life, as I’ve told both you girls on multiple occasions. But what are you going to do to fix it?”

  Hazel groaned and stared at the cupcake. She’d heard that question so many times in her life that if she had had a quarter for every instance she’d be a millionaire by now. At least, that’s what it felt like.

  She crashed her bike into a tree on accident when she was ten, her mother had asked, “what are you going to do to fix it?” When one of her doll’s legs broke off she got the same question. Again, and again.

  Of course, it wasn’t that her mother wouldn’t gladly help, but she wanted both her daughters to be problem solvers in their own way. So, really, Hazel expected it.

  She swept her fingers through the fluffy white frosting and let it melt on her tongue as she thought.

  While she may have known the question was coming, it didn’t mean she had an answer. It felt like the yellow crime scene tape wasn’t just blocking off her studios, but also surrounding her brain as well.

  That was silly. She could clean the stain from her studio. As long as she could get it back in running order as soon as possible. The longer the police tape stayed in place, the more people would know about it and the worse it seemed.

  That left her only one option.

  Hazel peeled the paper back from the cupcake and ate it.

  “She’s had a traumatic morning. You don’t have to force her to come up with a solution right away. At least give her twenty-four hours,” Esther said, and flopped the cloth she had wiped the counter down into a bin.

  “I never said she had to give us an answer now. I just wanted her to be thinking about one.”

  Hazel swept the last of the cupcake crumbs from her lips and nodded. “I have to find the murderer.”

  Ruth’s eyes grew into orbs, and Esther’s lips pulled into a frown. “That sounds dangerous. Mom, tell her it’s too dangerous. That’s what the police are for. I thought you were going to say something reasonable like you’d use the studio in your home. Don’t you have one in your garage?”

  Hazel shook her head. “I have a developing studio in my garage, not an actual photo studio. There’s a difference. And how else am I supposed to clear my studio’s name? The sheriff pretty much said the only way they’ll take the police tape down is if they’ve caught the murderer.”

  “Let the police do their job, maybe?” Esther’s voice rose in pitch at the end.

  Their mother hadn’t said anything, which could have gone either in Hazel’s favor or against it. She wasn’t sure.

  “Mommy? Is Auntie Hazy a detective now?” Ruth said, and a slow grin spread across her lips. “I can loan you my Nancy Drew kit. It has a magnifying glass, and a fingerprinting kit and—”

  “That won’t be necessary, Ruth, because Auntie Hazy isn’t going to be doing anything crazy. Or illegal. Right, Hazel?” Esther said between gritted teeth.

  Hazel sighed. Why was it the younger sister was the more practical of the two? Probably because that was the way Esther took after their father, and Hazel took after their mother. Not to say that Hazel wasn’t practical—just when s
he got an idea in her head she felt compelled to follow it through.

  “I think it’s a wonderful idea. And it’ll give me a chance to pull out the spirit board and ask around. You must be there, of course. But only Hazel. We wouldn’t want your younger sister to get too frightened and not be able to sleep alone,” their mom said, and winked.

  Esther threw her hands into the air and they landed on her hips. “I said Ruth was the one who was scared, not me.”

  Ruth giggled and covered her mouth to hide it.

  Esther looked like she was about to argue, but Hazel put up her hand and shook her head. “I don’t need the spirit board. Yet. And, Esther, if you can think of a better way for me to get my studio back, let me know.” She met her sister’s eyes dead on.

  Esther let out a heavy sigh that blew her bangs into the air, and her shoulders slumped. “Fine. I can’t think of any other solution. Just don’t do anything to get in trouble.”

  Hazel smiled. “I wouldn’t dream of it. And it’s not like I want to get on a worse side of the new sheriff than I already am.”

  Their mom nodded. “Esther told me you met the handsome new sheriff. And why didn’t you hit it off with this one?” Her eyes got a distinctly more dangerous sparkle then when just talking about ghosts and spirit boards.

  Hazel shook her head and got up. “I am not discussing that with you, mother. I have to go home and feed Anthony Ray.” She glanced at her phone.

  Yes. Way past lunch. Hopefully he’d forgive her if she gave him some tuna. She hurried to the door and threw on her coat, scarf, and gloves.

  Her mother followed. “I’ll walk you out, dear. I have to get back to the shop anyhow.”

  Just as they were leaving, a group of tourists wandered in, stomping their feet on the mat by the door to free them of snow. They got the same look as everyone the first time they stepped into that bakery, their mouths turning up into expressions of pure bliss.

  Hazel smiled.

  Now, if only she could get the people who stepped foot into her photo studio to feel the same way and not to associate it with murder, and blood, and dead bodies.