by Sonia Parin
Joyce gave a stiff nod. “When he arrived, I went out into the alley to see if the local strays had made a mess. I do that every morning. I’m quite alert.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “No, I didn’t see anyone. In fact, I remember thinking people must have had a restless night because of the heat and might not get up until later. Just as well because I’d decided to keep the café closed while Harold did his job. The streets were deserted.” Joyce leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Who do you think killed him?”
Chapter 5
“Did you find a murder weapon?” Abby asked as she followed Joshua out the front door.
He shook his head.
“That wound did not happen by itself. So, I assume there is a murder weapon.”
“Oh, yes,” he agreed. “That was a nasty blow to the head.”
And what did that say about the killer? Did they deliver the blow with an extra pinch of rage? “Is there any way to tell if the perp was a man or a woman?”
Joshua glanced at her, his eyes shining with a mixture of amusement and surprise.
Abby lifted her shoulders into a shrug. “I think I’ve been watching too many police procedural shows.” She looked into the distance as she spoke. “Take stab wounds, for instance. The angle of the entry point can assist in determining a person’s height… But then, you know all that and I’m just rambling on. Actually, was it a single blow? It looked quite messy… Multiple blows might suggest a fiery temper.”
Who killed him? Why? Had it been a premeditated act or a spur of the moment attack?
“Are you all right?” Joshua asked.
Abby switched off the whirlpool of questions raging in her mind. “I will be. When I got up this morning, I really didn’t expect to find a dead body.”
“None of us ever do.”
Abby forced herself to smile. “I came to this town expecting to spend my days writing about weekend bake sales and here I am asking about murder weapons.” She sighed. “I suppose you’re now going to follow the usual routine and start knocking on doors.” Abby looked up and down the street. She saw a couple of cars approaching. They slowed down to see what was going on.
No point in going home and saying something had happened in town. People needed a few details. They needed to enhance… embellish their stories with emotions.
“He had two ex-wives,” she murmured, “I guess you’ll have to notify them.” She didn’t envy him his job. How did he handle the situation? Did he blurt out the facts or did he ease into it, preparing the person for bad news?
“Do you know their names?” Joshua asked.
She nudged her head toward the café. “Joyce will know.”
“Can you ask her and then call me?”
“Sure.”
He looked down at the ground. “Let’s keep the details to ourselves.”
Meaning, he didn’t want any information leaking.
Abby nodded and watched him head over to the building next door.
The sound of her stomach grumbling reminded her she still hadn’t had breakfast.
She looked up at the clear blue sky and shielded her eyes from the glare. Another hot one, she thought, and headed back inside the café to get the names for Joshua.
“Unless he handles it with the greatest delicacy, this could cause trouble,” Joyce said. “Make sure to tell him he needs to break the news to them together. Susannah Moorhead is ex-wife number one. She would never tolerate learning the news after Eliza Moorhead.”
“They kept their married name?”
“When Harold re-married, Susannah kept it out of spite and told anyone who would listen she would forever be wife number one. The first Mrs. Moorhead. After Eliza divorced him, she reverted to her maiden name but then she heard Susannah say she was the only Mrs. Moorhead. So, Eliza started using her married name again and flaunted the fact Harold had included a brand-new Mercedes in their divorce settlement. Susannah Moorhead has since been fuming and, if you ask me, plotting her revenge.”
Abby gave her a worried look. “I take it they don’t like each other.”
“Not in the least. Yet, every Monday morning, they can be found at the hairdresser, sitting side by side. What else do I know about them… They both belong to the Alpine Trail Carolers and they never buy their clothes here.”
“Why’s that?”
“Eliza made the mistake of buying a dress from Mannequin. As you know, it’s the only boutique in town. Anyhow, when Susannah saw the dress, she said she’d seen it the day before and had decided it was too garish and only someone with no taste in fashion would wear it. Ever since then, they have avoided shopping at Mannequin. Their rivalry creates friction for them and amusement for the rest of us.”
How far would they take it? Abby wondered. “Are they capable of murder?” She put her hand up. “Never mind.” There were always exceptions. People one assumed would never hurt a fly could suddenly pick up a rock and bash someone over the head with it.
Joyce took a sip of her coffee. “I suppose Joshua will now start compiling a list of suspects and, no doubt, you will investigate.”
“Me?”
“Of course. You were one of the last people to speak with Harold and you were at his house.”
“He did most of the talking,” Abby said.
“Did you see anything unusual at his house?” Joyce asked.
“There’s a miniature version of the town with a train running around inside his house. If that’s not unusual, I don’t know what is.”
“Do you think that could be a lead?”
The suggestion made Abby frown.
“His ex-wives resented his hobby,” Joyce continued. “I would think they’d be the prime suspects. Harold had been generous with them but some people are never satisfied.” Joyce shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe he named Susannah and Eliza in his will. They knew about it and, deciding to work together, expedited his demise.”
“That sounds too far-fetched,” Abby mused.
“Does it? Yes, I suppose they’d be silly to make themselves the obvious suspects.”
Abby’s stomach gave a loud protest.
“I’ll make you that French toast I promised you.”
Doyle trotted over and settled by her feet. “I think that was probably too much excitement for you today, buddy.”
Doyle huffed out a sigh.
“Yeah, I agree. Humans.” She gave a pensive shake of her head. “They do the strangest things.”
A tap on the window had her turning around. “Faith.”
Faith signaled to the door.
“What do you think, Doyle? Should I let her in?” When Faith gave a loud, insistent rap on the window, Abby went to open the door.
“What’s going on? Why is the café closed? Where is everyone? What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at the office? Where’s your phone?”
Abby laughed. “Sit down. Relax. You sound frantic. Actually, you even look it.”
Joyce approached the table and set down a large serving of French Toast in front of Abby. “Faith! What’s wrong with you? I’ve never seen you so jumpy.”
Joyce could not have sounded more relaxed. Abby hoped the café owner wasn’t suppressing her emotions.
“I blew a fuse last night,” Faith explained.
“How many ceiling fans did you have on?”
“All of them, but that’s no reason… How else am I supposed to stay cool?”
“Did you change the fuse?”
“Yes.”
“So, what’s the problem?” Joyce asked.
“I spent the morning mopping up my kitchen. The refrigerator completely defrosted.”
“Faith. Faith. Faith. You’re here now. You should be happy. Celebrate the moment.” Joyce’s voice hitched and she threw her arms up. “You’re alive. Be happy. Be grateful.”
Abby and Faith exchanged a look of concern.
“I feel I should ask what’s wrong with you,” Faith said.
“Oh, nothing is wrong with me. I ha
ve nothing to complain about. Nothing at all. Life is peachy. The sun is shining.” Joyce’s jaw muscles tensed. “We found a dead man in my alley.”
“You what?”
“Harold Moorhead. Someone killed him in my alley. Right outside my café. Now, every morning when I step outside to see what the local strays have done I will think about poor Harold taking his last breath there. What if he decides to remain there to haunt us for the rest of our lives?”
Bradford came out of the kitchen. “Joyce?”
“I’m fine,” she snapped. “I just needed to blow off some steam.”
Faith turned to Abby. “Harold is dead? When did this happen? How?”
“Chamomile tea, anyone?” Bradford offered.
“I’m going to clean the stove.” Squaring her shoulders, Joyce headed back to the kitchen.
“That’s not a good sign,” Faith murmured. “Joyce’s stove is always clean. Regardless, when Joyce is stressed, she cleans her stove. And if we’re not careful, she’ll turn up at our doorsteps in the middle of the night with a mop and bucket.” Looking up at Bradford, she said, “I’ll take a cup of that chamomile tea you offered.”
“I think Joyce pretty much answered all of your questions,” Abby said although she filled in some gaps with some details about how she happened to end up at the café.
“Another murder in Eden. At least you have something else to write about.” Faith’s eyebrows hitched up. “Hang on. Do you realize what this means?”
Abby gave a small shake of her head.
“You don’t have to print Harold Moorhead’s story.”
On the contrary, Abby thought. Now, more than ever, she would have to print it. Word for word. It was the least she could do.
Chapter 6
They spent about ten minutes trying to talk about something other than Harold Moorhead’s death. Then, they fell silent and stared at each other.
“It’s not going to go away,” Joyce said.
Bradford put his hand on her shoulder. “You’ll find something else to obsess about soon enough.”
“I’m sure I will but I’m also certain I will be scarred for life,” Joyce declared. “Something like this doesn’t go away by itself. I might need therapy.”
“At this rate, I think the town will need to acquire a psychologist.” Faith turned her focus to making a paper hat out of her paper napkin. “I wonder how many deaths it will take to become a regular hotspot for killers?”
“What a ridiculous notion.” Joyce nibbled the edge of her lip. “Although… You have a point. Surely crimes are more random. We’ve had more than our fair share, if there is such a thing as fair distribution of criminal activity.”
They all looked at Abby as if she might be able to throw some light on the matter.
“Surely the rate of crimes in the area is now out of proportion with the population,” Joyce insisted.
Shrugging, Abby said, “Don’t quote me on this, but I don’t think crime is necessarily an exact science.” Abby turned to Bradford. “You’re writing a thriller suspense book. You must have come across some interesting statistics.”
“I can’t say that I have.”
“Maybe we’re too isolated here,” Joyce suggested. “Some people can’t handle the peace and quiet.”
“This is clean, mountain air. Isn’t that supposed to cleanse the soul?” Faith asked. “I feel let down. All these crimes are polluting our perfect little corner of the world.”
Bradford checked his watch. “I wonder how long it will take for someone to blame the internet.”
“Why would we do that?” Joyce shook her head. “For all we know, there is a spring flowing with evil water. This could not have happened at a worse time. We’re supposed to be in a festive mood.”
“I hope you’re not about to blame poor Harold.” Faith inspected her paper hat and tried it on for size.
“Are you going to investigate the crime, Abby Maguire?”
Abby tried not to laugh. “Could you ask me that again when you’re not wearing your elf ears?”
Joyce adjusted her ears. “I’m going to have to put in an extra effort tomorrow.”
“You can’t just say that and leave us hanging,” Faith complained. “What are you going to wear?”
“Telling you would spoil the surprise. And you know I’m all about making those first impressions count.”
Faith tweaked her hat and then put it back on. “People are bound to ask why you closed the café today. I can’t remember you ever closing the café. What are you going to say?”
Joyce tilted her head. “I’m sure Detective Inspector Joshua Ryan wishes us to be discreet.”
Abby laughed. “In other words, you’re looking forward to saying no comment.” Looking toward the window, she added, “I’m surprised people aren’t lining up outside.”
“It’s the heat.”
“Oh… Right. Well, I would have said that but I’m not allowed to talk about the heat.”
Faith leaned forward. “You’re not allowed to complain about it. There’s a difference.”
Abby got up and stretched. “I guess Faith and I need to get back to work.”
“Oh… No… Don’t go. Stay for lunch. I need to keep busy.”
Abby understood the need to be around people. Death had a way of strengthening bonds and uniting people in grief. It seemed easier to accept something inexplicable when others shared the same confusion.
“I didn’t know him that well but he’s left a void,” Joyce explained.
“It’s scary to think one of us killed him.” Faith scrunched up her paper hat. “I don’t want to think about it but I keep going back to it. This sort of thing makes one suspicious and paranoid. My neighbor told me her husband went to visit a friend. What if she killed him and we don’t find out about it until years later?”
“We can’t just sit here moaning about what’s happened.” Joyce surged to her feet. “Abby, you’ve been instrumental in helping the police with their investigations. What are you doing here? You should be out there trying to uncover the killer’s identity.”
“Um… You just told me to stay.”
“Well, that’s no excuse.”
Abby looked out of the window. “You want me to go out there, into that heat?”
“Sooner or later, you will have to get used to it or pack your bags and go back home.”
“That’s harsh,” Faith said. “You know this heat is extreme.”
Joyce mouthed an apology.
Abby nodded. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but we’re in the mountains where it’s supposed to be cooler.”
“As Faith said, this is extreme and… unusual. Fine, I’ll apologize. I’m sorry. This is all so… surreal.” Joyce clapped her hands. “Hop to it, Abby Maguire.”
Before Abby could talk herself into getting up, Joyce sunk down.
“I swear he was alive when I left him. What if this all comes back to bite me?”
“Joyce, you have nothing to worry about,” Bradford assured her.
Her eyes widened in shock. “People have been wrongly accused.” Straightening, she slammed her eyebrows together. “I am the last person to see him alive. I knew this day would come. Every time I go to the hairdressers I put my life in their hands. One wrong word from me, and they could plant my hair in the scene of a crime.”
Bradford laughed. “Right. Because they just happened to have one tucked right up their sleeves.”
“Laugh if you like, but that alley is filled with my DNA. One eyelash is all it would take for the police to connect me to Harold’s death. And that’s not the worst scenario. Anyone could come into the café, discreetly poison a cup of coffee and then point the finger of accusation at me.” Joyce turned to Abby, her large eyes beseeching her.
“Fine. I’m going, I’m going.” Abby turned to Doyle. “You should stay here where it’s cool.”
Doyle huffed out a breath and rested his head on his paws. A second later, he jumped to his feet.
“At least I’ll be driving my own car.” She looked at Bradford. “It has real air-conditioning.”
Jumping to her feet, Joyce scurried into the kitchen and returned with a couple of bottles of water. “Stay hydrated. And for heaven’s sake, wear a hat.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Stepping outside, Abby tipped her head down and walked as fast as she could. “There’s really nothing to it, Doyle. We get to the car as quickly as we can. That’s our target. There’ll be no stopping along the way to sniff the pavement.”
She saw a few people heading toward the bakery and while the other stores were open, their doors were kept closed to keep the heat out.
Looking up, she focused on her car sitting outside the pub. “Just a quick dash across the street, Doyle, and we’ll be on our way.” Scooping Doyle up, she unlocked her car and dove inside only to yelp. “It’s an oven in here.” Turning the air-conditioner to the highest setting, she sent Joshua a message and got them on their way, but it took a good ten minutes to cool the inside of the car.
Along the way, she stayed alert by trying to figure out who might have had the opportunity to kill Harold Moorhead. She assumed the detective would be able to establish people’s whereabouts that morning and take it from there. Or would he work in reverse? Would he try to come up with a motive for murder?
Tapping the steering wheel, she wondered out loud, “How would he do that?” Abby glanced down at Doyle. “What do you think? Will Joshua try to find out if Harold had something someone else wanted?”
Doyle tilted his head from side to side.
“You’re wondering why I ask? I can’t help it. It’s my job. People don’t get killed for no reason.”
Despite wearing sunglasses, she still squinted against the bright light of day. Driving along the straight road leading out of town, Abby wasn’t surprised to find she was the only one out and about. Anyone in their right mind would stay indoors. The air didn’t just feel hot, it felt thick with heat.
Trying to avoid the feeling of drowsiness that came with driving in the heat, she kept her mind engaged by looking at the scenery.