Their eyes met in mutual invitation.
He reached his hand out to hers, locked their fingers together. “I’ve been waiting a long time to hear you say that.”
“Let’s just enjoy being around each other. How would that be?”
“I’m all for that.”
She ran a finger along his arm. “Good. Because you need a shower. You’re not crawling into my bed with all that dirt and sweat on you from…this afternoon.”
“A day like today is a rare occurrence in Coyote Wells. As a rule, we don’t have that kind of thing happen around here too often.”
“I should hope not. When’s the last time there was a murder? Not the excitement from catching the serial killer---a guy who didn’t actually kill here---but one of our own who knocked someone off?” Gemma clarified.
“Walter Medford. About six months into my job, for reasons known only to him, Walter woke up one morning and decided to kill his wife, Loralee. You remember that old couple that used to live on Sands Drive?”
Gemma’s jaw dropped. “Sure. They’d deck their house out for Halloween in orange and black every year and hand out the best homemade popcorn balls for trick or treat. We’d make it our first stop of the night. Then at Christmas Mr. Medford would drag out the sleigh he’d built himself and put it on his front lawn, then dress up like Santa Claus. Parents could take pictures if they wanted.”
“That’s the one.”
“Walter killed that sweet old lady? Why?”
“Turns out, Loralee had advanced breast cancer, had been battling the disease for three long years. According to Walter she was real sick. She didn’t just lose all her hair; the chemo took a toll on her health as well. When I picked him up, Walter told me Loralee begged him to do it. And we found a note that she left backing up his story. But state law is very clear, at least it was at the time. You can’t do that to a person just because they’re suffering from a terminal illness. And back then there was no End of Life Options Act on the books like there is now.”
Gemma swallowed her sadness. “How did he end up doing it?”
“He gave her a lethal dose of her pain medication. She went to sleep, never woke up.”
“Jeez. How sad. What happened to Walter?”
“Three weeks later, he died in jail. Seemed to me he died of a broken heart. And then, not a month after that, I had to lock up Johnny Redmane for almost killing his cousin in a fight. He’s still serving time in Corcoran for assault. But after those two incidents, things settled down. It’s been pretty tame around here ever since, that is, until March when Collette went missing.”
“I keep thinking about what Collette and Marnie had in common…” When he started to reply, she waved him off and added, “Other than Vince Ballard.”
“In the last two weeks since we added Marnie to the mix, all I’ve been able to come up with is one thing. They belonged to the same book club, along with seven or eight other women. They call themselves the Happy Bookers.”
Gemma snickered. “That’s actually a cute name.”
“Cuteness aside, sometimes they’d meet at each other’s houses in the evenings for wine tasting provided by…”
“Vince Ballard,” she completed.
“Yeah, but most of the time they’d stick with daytime book discussions and get together at Orlo’s Drip and Grind in the mornings, even once or twice meeting at your grandmother’s shop during the afternoons.”
Gemma sat up straighter in her chair. “By any chance do you have a list of the women who belonged to this group?”
“Of course, I do. But you’re not getting it. This is a murder investigation, Gemma. Let me handle this…professionally.”
“What happened to your joy at having someone to talk to about this?”
“It went south the minute you started spouting all that psychic woo-woo stuff.”
“Duly noted.” She didn’t intend to argue the point. Why bother? Now that she knew about the club, she’d simply dig the information out of…somebody on her own. Why spoil the rest of the evening arguing over it?
But when she went silent, Lando grew suspicious. “Why aren’t you fighting me on this?”
“You’ve made it perfectly clear you don’t want or need my help. I accept that.”
“Really? Since when?”
“I’m respecting your wishes. After all, what salient information could I possibly contribute when you have the first-rate experience of Payce Davis and the rest of your force to rely on? Then there’s Zeb.”
“If that’s sarcasm…”
Before they launched into a bitter argument, she quickly tried to change the subject. “I always wondered why you and Zeb were so different, especially in the way you each treated your Native American roots. Zeb is all about maintaining his heritage, while you’re almost the complete opposite.”
Lando looked at her funny. “What’s that got to do with what we were talking about?”
“Nothing. But we did agree to get to know each other again. Completely. I didn’t realize that excluded conversation, that it was all about sex.”
Looking a bit chastised, he scratched the back of his head in puzzlement. “I didn’t mean to imply my being here was just about getting you into bed. Sure. I guess we can start over and get to know each other again. It’s just that…I thought you knew everything there was to know about me already without having to ask. You know perfectly well I never went in for the feather and raiment look the way Zeb did. It’s just not me.”
“Fair enough.” To prove it, she curled her fingers around his, and said, “If you’re done eating, how about that hot shower now? I could use one myself.”
“Now you’re talking.”
17
Around seven-thirty, Lando was the first one out of bed, tugging his jeans back on from yesterday with a slight frown. He stuck his nose toward his right armpit and sniffed. “I have to head straight home before work and change into fresh clothes. You were right. This shirt reeks. My jeans are filthy, too. No way I can get away with wearing these a second time.”
“You did spend your Sunday helping dig two bodies out of the ground,” Gemma managed while trying to think clearly through a sleepy fog bank. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything for you to wear. You could keep a few things over here, you know.”
The offer was out of her mouth before she could take it back. If he seemed surprised at the notion, he hid it well.
“That’d be great. Nothing major, just a toothbrush and a change of clothes.” He came around to her side of the bed, sat down on the edge. “No need for you to get up to see me off. I’ll stop somewhere between here and home and get my own coffee.”
She tugged on his shirt to pull him closer. “You sure? It’s no problem. I’m awake anyway.”
He placed a tender kiss on her forehead, then on her cheek before moving to her mouth. “Nope. I’m fine. Better than. You go back to sleep.”
“Be on your way then. Keep the town safe while you stay safe, Chief. Call me if anything earth-shattering comes up.”
“Like what?”
“Like finding a killer.”
He grinned. “I’m surprised you think I’m capable.”
“I’ll ignore that. It’s way too early to fight with you.”
He stood up and turned to go. “Have a great day making chocolate.”
“Oh jeez. According to Gram’s notes, I was supposed to make a new batch of Mayan Indulgence, at least four dozen pieces.”
“How does that work anyway? Marissa left you a schedule?”
“Something like that. This is prom season. She left a detailed account of peak times and off-peak. She wanted me to know the ins and outs of the business so I could make the most of those times. Turns out, prom season is a gold mine for giving chocolate to your sweetie. Who knew?”
“Prom’s not until next Saturday. You have plenty of time until then. And if not, I’m sure the kids will settle for what you have on hand. Look, I gotta go. Want me to let Rufus o
ut the back?”
“That’d be great. Thanks.”
With that, he left her to begin her Monday morning filled with all that curiosity leftover from the night before.
Crawling out of bed, she did a little happy dance in front of the mirror that she’d had sex and resisted telling Lando anything about conducting her own investigation. If he found out she’d been talking to suspects, she’d be staring down Lando Bonner’s fiery temper. She shuddered at facing his wrath. Suffering the consequences meant he’d likely give up on her for good. As bad as that would be, it wasn’t enough to keep her from interfering.
She had to find out the person in charge of the local book club and get the list herself. If Lando wouldn’t provide it, she’d do a go-around. Since Collette and Marnie had that in common, it might mean they’d spent time talking about something other than the obligatory plotlines and re-reading thought-provoking passages from bestsellers.
After putting on a pot of coffee, Gemma let the dog back in before heading to the solarium. She started rummaging through Marissa’s desk until she found an address book with the number for the town librarian. If anyone knew about a book club, it was Elnora Kidman.
The woman had been a staple at the Coyote Wells Public Library for more than thirty-five years. She’d been the one to mention Marissa’s journals. In Gemma’s mind, Elnora knew just about everything about any topic you could name. That meant she might be the smartest and wisest female in town, holding a master’s degree in literature and a Ph.D. in library science.
Gemma jotted down Elnora’s address and called for Rufus. She had just enough time to pay Elnora a visit since her house was a couple of streets over. If she hurried she could catch the librarian before she headed off to work.
Instead of walking the two blocks, she took the Volvo, and for the second time, couldn’t resist driving up and down the streets looking for a blue sedan parked in the driveways of houses where she’d played in the front yards as a kid. It made the search surreal. If only she knew more about makes and models of cars in general. All she knew for certain was if she ever spotted the vehicle again, she’d know it on sight.
After spending an hour combing through every neighborhood, the only thing she turned up was a midnight blue SUV and a similar colored pickup truck. But no sedan. She was beginning to wonder if people drove such cars anymore.
Disappointed, she turned her attention to locating Elnora’s house. Two blocks east of downtown on Fillmore Street, she parked in front of a cute little bungalow with a red front door. She left Rufus in the car and headed up the walkway.
Elnora opened the door with a nervous twitch and a suspicious nature. “What do you want? If you’re selling something---”
“I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Marissa’s granddaughter. Marissa Sarrazin. I’m Gemma Channing. I was at the library the other day and checked out a bunch of books.”
The librarian squinted through the screen door to get a better look. “Didn’t you used to wear pigtails?”
“I did? Yeah, I guess I did. I’m sorry to bother you so early, but I was wondering if you could tell me who belonged to the book club here in town. I need the names of the participants who met regularly with Collette and Marnie.”
Elnora wrung her hands in worry, but opened the door. “Why? Did you find out we’re the target? The group’s down three people because we lost Collette first, and then your grandmother, and then Marnie, in that order.”
Gemma’s eyes widened in surprise. “Gram was a regular contributor?” She thumped her forehead. “Why did I not remember that? Of course, she was. Gram was the one who founded that group.”
“Absolutely. The club was her idea. She started it twenty years ago. Back then things seemed simpler. We devoured Maya Angelou’s poetry, discussed Schindler’s List almost line for line, and read through The Joy Luck Club---twice. After that, your grandmother negotiated for more mysteries. And we took up the works of John Sandford and Tony Hillerman. There’s only seven of us left now. I don’t mind telling you we’re all scared to death, reacting to every little sound at night. Even before they found the bodies yesterday, we all agreed not to go out in the evening, not even to the grocery store. What if someone wants us all dead? That’s the perfect time to grab us, just like they did Collette and Marnie. We don’t want to be sitting ducks just because we’re meeting up to talk about a book. No, thank you. We’ll forego discussing John Grisham’s thriller until this thing is solved.”
While Gemma couldn’t completely alleviate Elnora’s fear, she had to say something to make the woman feel less afraid. “You know Lando’s working on it. I’m sure he’ll figure it all out very soon.”
“Humph, I’m not so sure about that. Marissa thought she’d figured out why Collette was killed but she’s not around anymore, now is she?”
“What do you mean? Did Gram tell you that?”
“Not outright, but she said little things that hinted at it. We all knew Marissa had a knack for figuring things out for herself.”
“By any chance, did she announce that at one of the meetings?”
“Well, she did say she thought she was on to something. That was in early April right before she died. Horrible thing losing Marissa that way. She didn’t seem the type to fall, but I guess she was pushing seventy. Not a very bright future for any of us. You know, our friendship went back a long time. I knew Marissa back in the day when she and Jean-Luc still lived above the chocolate shop.”
“It makes me so glad to know that she had so many friends who loved and cared for her. But right now, I need to know the names of everyone in the book club.”
Elnora ticked off the list. “There’s Ginny Sue Maples, Mallory Rawlins, Natalie Henwick, Paloma Coyote, Lucinda Fenton, and Holly Dowell. Holly’s new and had only been with us since last Thanksgiving. Since she was recommended by Mallory we welcomed her into the fold. And then there’s me. That’s seven.”
Gemma knew all the women except for one. “Who’s this Holly Dowell?”
“She’s Louise’s sister who moved up here from Ukiah.”
Gemma realized it would take a great deal of time to run down each woman individually and interview them separately so she came up with an idea. “Do you think you could persuade them to meet again…during daylight hours?”
“Sure. Where?”
“The Coyote Chocolate Company of course. I’ll provide the refreshments.”
“When?”
“How about this Wednesday afternoon at two o’clock? You could do it during your lunch hour. A two-day notice should be sufficient time to finish reading the current book of the month. What did you say it was?”
“John Grisham’s The Whistler.”
“Perfect.”
Gemma was ten minutes late opening up. With Lianne taking the week off for Collette’s funeral, she had the shop to herself again. She got to work on whipping up the Mayan Indulgence, a sweet and spicy filling sandwiched between layers of dark chocolate. Making up the recipe should’ve taken her mind off murder, but a jumble of suspects kept running through her head instead.
Could someone in the book club have committed cold-blooded murder? Could the killers be women? Lando believed Vince Ballard was the guilty guy. But Vince didn’t drive a blue sedan. Neither did Billy Gafford, and she wasn’t sure Billy even had a motive. She kept circling back to the reading group. Collette and Marnie and Marissa had interacted with everyone on a regular basis. The killer had to be someone in the group. Nothing else made any sense, but then murder rarely did. Maybe someone in the book club had help from the person who drove a midnight blue car.
After melting the chocolate to its delicate texture, she poured the mixture into molds and topped off each piece with the glaze-swirled imprint in the shape of a coyote---the company logo.
“There. Finished,” she muttered to Rufus, who’d curled up in the corner of the shop’s only dining area for a nap.
With that done, Gemma sat down at the computer to sor
t through pictures of sedans. After more than an hour scanning online photos, she settled on the right make and model. In her mind, the killers had used a 2009 to 2011 Nissan Altima to transport the bodies to the dump site. Stubborn to a fault, she refused to believe the vehicle wasn’t a genuine piece of the puzzle.
She spent the rest of the day waiting on customers in between taking inventory. Checking the pantry, she noticed she was running low on dark cacao, and booted up the laptop to contact her supplier online. After that, there were the books to balance and checks to write to vendors. Maybe she should think about computerizing the accounting portion and go strictly to online banking. Doing it that way might save a lot of time. She’d have to check into it. With so many tasks to sort out, she wasn’t sure how her grandmother had managed running a business. To her, it seemed like owning your own store meant there was always something to do. And yet, her grandmother had showed a never-ending supply of energy.
“Another reason I don’t think Gram fell,” Gemma murmured aloud as she hit the send button on the email to her supplier, ordering several more pounds of cacao beans.
When she looked up from her laptop, she smiled at Paloma Coyote, who’d been standing nearby patiently waiting to get her Monday chocolate fix.
“What do you mean you don’t think Marissa fell?” Paloma questioned as she plopped down at the nearest table in a huff. “What are you keeping to yourself, girl?”
“It’s just a theory. But you might as well know I’m trying to get the medical examiner to change her cause of death to homicide or at least undetermined.”
Paloma’s dark brown eyes glistened with fury. “You’re saying Marissa didn’t trip and fall? You’re suggesting someone waited for an opportunity to attack her in her own garage? That’s what you’re saying.”
“Do you know anyone who wanted to hurt her? Was she getting close to finding out what happened to Collette Whittaker?”
Paloma’s face showed she was beginning to catch on. “You’re thinking the murderer of those women also killed Marissa.” The statement wasn’t a question.
Mystic Falls (A Coyote Wells Mystery Book 1) Page 17