Asking Fur Trouble

by Ally Roberts

  “Right.” I nodded. “But yeah, their relationship.”

  She thought for a minute and then sighed. “Like I said, not good.”

  “No?”

  She shook her head. “They’ve been married for quite a few years now and it seems like they were always arguing about something. Money, time spent working. Heck, they even got in a fight about what color to paint the living room. Caroline wanted to paint it blue and Daniel thought they should stick with a more neutral color, like cream or gray.”

  I thought about Daniel. That sounded about right, based on the little I knew of him.

  Amber continued. “They argued up until the day she died. I’m sure that’s probably contributing to how he’s feeling right now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She hesitated. “The day before she died…they had the biggest argument I’d ever heard.”

  SEVENTEEN

  Amber stepped off the stoop, her keys gripped tight in her hand.

  But I wasn’t about to let her leave, not when she’d just dropped that bomb.

  “They argued?” I asked. I took a step toward her, not exactly blocking her path but not clearing the way for her either.

  “Yeah.” She moved to find a path around me, then stopped. “Oh, wait.”

  I looked eagerly at her.

  “I forgot his other toy.” She glanced down at Arrow. “Do you need your Kong?”

  He cocked his head and his tail thumped.

  “I’d say that’s a yes,” I said.

  It did look that way, but I was also at the point where I’d say anything to keep Amber from leaving. I needed answers.

  She pivoted back toward the house and this time I followed her, up the steps and back into Caroline’s home. I looped Trixie’s leash around the door handle, knowing she wouldn’t take off, especially with Arrow out there with her.

  If Amber thought it was weird that I’d come inside with her, she didn’t mention it. Instead, she set her purse on a table across from the front door and then hurried into the living room. Almost immediately, she dropped to her knees and lifted up the skirting around the couch.

  “He always loses that thing under here,” she muttered as she leaned down for a closer look.

  I waited. I didn’t want to pepper her with questions while she had her nose stuck under the couch.

  I glanced around the room as Amber moved to the matching loveseat and lifted the fabric skirting. It was the first time I’d really taken stock of the room. The first time I’d come in, when I was returning Arrow, all I’d really seen was Caroline on the floor. And the second time, when Amber and I had sat at the kitchen table together, we hadn’t ventured into any of the house’s other rooms.

  I let my gaze travel across the space, taking in the furnishings and décor. The first thing I noticed was the sheer number of quilts in the room. There was one draped over both the couch and the loveseat, and then there was a wide flat basket on the floor with quilts folded and neatly stacked. There were at least four of them, if I was counting correctly. None were t-shirt quilts, which is what Caroline had built her business around, but it was clear that this type of sewing had been a passion of hers.

  There were other things I noticed, too, small touches that spoke to the person she had been. A curio tucked against one wall was filled with porcelain figures of birds, all painted in muted pastel shades. The shelves of the entertainment center housed what looked to be family photos, as well as a glass jar brimming with seashells.

  To the left and directly under the living room window was a credenza with even more photos. I inched closer, trying to see who was in the images.

  As I did so, though, Amber got to her knees and then pushed to her feet.

  “Found it,” she said triumphantly, holding the dusty red Kong as if it were some kind of trophy.

  I smiled, but not before I noticed something else on the credenza.

  Or, rather, noticed what wasn’t there.

  Because off to the right, there was a large space that indicated something had once sat there. Recently, too, I thought, considering there was a circular shape of dust-free wood that indicated whatever had once been there was moved within the last couple of days.

  I pointed. “What used to be there?”

  Amber’s eyes followed. “What?”

  I moved toward the credenza. “Right here. It looks like something is missing.”

  She frowned. “Well, that’s odd.”

  “What?”

  “That’s where Caroline’s statue sits.”

  “She has a statue?” I asked. “Of herself?”

  Amber’s frown deepened. “No, of course not. It was a statue of a woman sitting in a rocking chair, quilting.”

  A shiver ran down my spine. “And it used to sit there? You’re sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure.” She sounded a little miffed. “I’ve dusted that thing a thousand times.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to point out that the credenza looked as though it hadn’t been dusted in quite a while, but I refrained.

  “Where do you think it is?”

  “I have no idea.”

  I swallowed. The twisting in my gut that I’d felt earlier intensified. “Do you think…someone stole it?”

  She chuckled. “Her statue? Who in the world would steal that?”

  I had no idea. I didn’t know Caroline.

  Amber did.

  “I highly doubt someone stole it,” she said. “That doesn’t make any sense at all. I don’t even know that it was very valuable.”

  She started toward the front door, Kong in hand, and looked expectantly back at me.

  I had no choice but to follow her out of the house.

  She left quickly, then, whistling to Arrow, who got to his feet and followed her to the car. She opened the back passenger door and he hopped inside. After a quick wave to me, Amber got in behind the wheel.

  Trixie and I were back on the sidewalk now and I watched as Amber pulled away from the curb and drove away.

  Trixie looked at me, waiting to get started with our walk again.

  I didn’t move.

  All I could think about was that statue.

  Because a new thought had occurred to me.

  A statue was missing from Caroline’s living room.

  Statues could be heavy.

  It was in the room where she’d been found dead.

  I didn’t have a hard time jumping to conclusions.

  If the statue was missing—and had gone missing recently—did that mean it could have been used to kill Caroline Ford?

  Amber had said she’s suffered blunt force trauma.

  A statue could definitely do that.

  I tugged on Trixie’s leash, bringing her around the other side of me as we turned away from the beach.

  The ocean would have to wait.

  I needed to figure out where that statue was.

  Because I was convinced that if I could find the missing statue, I would find the killer.

  EIGHTEEN

  I didn’t go on a statue hunt.

  Mostly because I didn’t have a clue where to look. Sweetwater Island might be my hometown, but I hadn’t lived there in a dozen years, and trying to figure out who might have taken a statue from Caroline Ford's house or where they would have stashed it was a mystery.

  I had my suspicions, of course. Based on everything I knew at that moment, I was ready to venture a guess that Daniel might be worth a much closer look.

  He made sense as a suspect. His wife was divorcing him, which he was not happy about. They fought constantly, so it was clear that he could be provoked. And Amber had heard them arguing the day before I found Caroline. Couple those things with the fact that Daniel had access to the house, and therefore the statue, and it seemed like a pretty cut and dry case to me.

  I wasn’t advocating he be arrested, of course. There was a lot of investigating to do. But it seemed like he should be considered suspect number one, not me.
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  And I was determined to let Chief Ritter and Detective Simcoe know this.

  Which was why I was currently on my way to the Sweetwater Island police station.

  It had taken me a while to come to the decision that going directly to law enforcement with the information was the best route. I wasn’t in any position to investigate—and I didn’t know what I was doing, either. Besides, if I showed up there and offered information, they would see that I was both making myself available and being as transparent as possible. I was hiding nothing from them.

  Yes, going to them was the right thing to do.

  The only thing to do.

  The police station was on the main road on the island, Claymont Street, a cozy mile-long stretch that housed the heart and soul of Sweetwater. Clancy’s was on the far end of the road, closest to the beach, along with a few other restaurants. Plenty of new businesses now occupied the buildings, stores that hadn’t been there when I was growing up. It looked as though things had changed far more than I’d realized during my initial cursory drive through downtown. I noticed a teashop, an olive oil and spices store, a secondhand shop that looked like it was filled with all manner of shabby chic, repurposed furniture, and a cupcake shop that I was almost tempted to stop at before continuing on to the station.

  “Not now,” I mumbled to myself. A nice cupcake could be my reward, I thought. Turn over the information I had, get myself out from any suspicion, and then celebrate with a double chocolate cupcake.

  Finally, I reached the police station, a single-level brick building that was adjacent to City Hall. Twin palm trees were planted out front on either side of the entrance, their fronds blowing in the breeze, and neatly trimmed hedges surrounded the building.

  I parked in one of the visitor spots and got out of my car. I’d changed clothes when I returned home, choosing something that might look a little more respectable than leggings and a t-shirt. Glancing down, I didn’t know if my jeans and nicer t-shirt looked any better, but it was too late to do anything about that now.

  A receptionist greeted me as soon as I walked in, an older woman with shoulder-length brown hair and a suspicious smile. “Help you?” she asked.

  “I’m here to see Chief Ritter,” I told her.

  She arched a brow. “It’s Saturday.”

  “Does that mean he’s not here?”

  “No one is supposed to be here,” she said, pointing to a sign.

  The hours posted indicated that the office was indeed closed on Saturdays, and to call the emergency number if assistance was needed.

  “Oh. Then why are you here?” I couldn’t help but ask.

  “I had a few things to take care of,” she said, a little impatiently. “Guess I didn’t lock the door behind me.”

  I stood there for a minute, feeling a little deflated. “So does that mean the chief isn’t in?”

  She stared at me. “Who are you? And what do you want?”

  I thought I’d asked a simple yes or no question. “Um, my name is Wendy Walker. I…I have some information about the Caroline Ford case…”

  I didn’t know what registered: my name, or the fact that I’d mentioned the murder case.

  Whatever it was, her eyes widened slightly and she nodded. “Sit tight,” she told me as she got to her feet.

  I wasn’t sitting, but I nodded anyway.

  She hurried away from her desk and disappeared down the hall. Maybe she was grabbing a business card for me. I had Detective Simcoe’s, but I didn’t have the chief’s. Maybe she’d tell me to call him at home or something.

  A few seconds later, I heard her heels clipping down the hallway.

  But she wasn’t alone.

  She rounded the corner and reappeared with Chief Ritter following close behind.

  With Detective Simcoe trailing both of them.

  So much for the station being closed on a Saturday.

  Neither man smiled. Chief Ritter nodded a greeting and Detective Simcoe just stared coolly at me.

  “You’re here,” I said lamely. “I mean, it’s the weekend and I thought…”

  “We’re working on a case,” Simcoe said gruffly.

  “What brings you here, Miss Walker?” Chief Ritter asked.

  “Oh, well, I found some new information that might be helpful,” I told him.

  The two men looked at each other and then Chief Ritter crooked a finger. “Follow me.”

  The receptionist watched as I moved toward them. She’d sat back down at her desk but her eyes were wide and she was furiously chewing a piece of gum I hadn’t noticed before.

  The chief led me past a large room filled with workstations and then down a short hallway, past a break room that smelled like stale coffee and burnt popcorn and then into a small office.

  He sat down behind his desk, a metal piece of furniture that didn’t have a spare inch visible under the stacks of papers and files currently littering its surface.

  He pushed his chair back so it was touching the wall behind him and kicked up his feet on the desk. If the papers on it were important, he didn’t seem to care.

  He cut right to the chase. “What new information?”

  Detective Simcoe had slipped into the office and was leaning up against a wall, his eyes on me.

  I shifted my weight nervously. They were watching me like hawks, and suddenly I wasn’t so confident in my decision to come there.

  “Well,” I said, taking a deep breath. “I was at the house today and I talked to Amber.”

  “The house?” Simcoe asked. “What house?”

  “Caroline’s.”

  His caterpillar eyebrows shot up. “You were there? Why?”

  “I was walking my dog,” I explained. “Amber was leaving and we talked for a few minutes.”

  “Why?”

  I frowned. “Because I wanted to know how Arrow was doing.”

  Simcoe stared at me, his face impassive. I turned my attention to the chief. “And…well, I noticed something was missing in the house.”

  “How did you get in the house?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  The chief had his hands locked behind his head. “You said you were walking your dog. How did you suddenly find yourself in the house?”

  “Oh, well, Amber was looking for one of Arrow’s toys so I followed her in. Because we were talking,” I added.

  Chief Ritter’s eyes narrowed but he said nothing.

  I licked my lips. “So I was talking with her and I…I noticed a statue was missing. A statue from the living room.”

  “Oh, did you now?”

  “Yes,” I said firmly.

  “How did you know it was a statue that was missing?” he asked.

  I folded my arms. “Because Amber told me. I saw a circle on the wood, a little area that was dust free. I asked what had been there and she told me a statue.”

  “Hmm.” Chief Ritter studied me for a moment. “How convenient for you to notice.”

  I gaped at him. “You think I took the statue?”

  “I have no idea,” he said mildly. “Did you?”

  I shook my head so hard it hurt. “No! Of course I didn’t take the statue. I didn’t know about the statue.”

  “You just told us about it,” he pointed out.

  “Only because Amber told me what had been sitting there.” I sighed. “You know what? Just forget it. I was just trying to help.”

  I spun on my heel but Detective Simcoe pushed off the wall and put himself between me and the door.

  “What are you doing?”

  “It’s a good thing you came in today,” he said. “We were going to come and pay you a visit.”

  My mouth went dry. I swallowed, trying to moisten it. “Why?” I finally managed to ask.

  Simcoe looked at the chief. “You have it handy?”

  The chief dropped his legs to the floor and wheeled his chair closer to his desk. He rummaged through the stacks of papers and finally produced what looked to be a photograph.<
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  He got to his feet and walked it over to me.

  I looked at a picture of a man I didn’t know.

  “Who is that?”

  Simcoe snickered. “Like you don’t know.”

  I whirled to face him. “I have no idea who that is.”

  “Good thing we do,” he said. “This here is Oliver. Oliver Ford.”

  He must have noticed my eyes widen because he smirked. “Yeah, that Oliver.”

  I hadn’t put two and two together until now.

  Oliver Ford was Caroline and Daniel’s son. Or maybe just Daniel’s, considering it sounded as though Caroline was his second marriage.

  I’d gone to high school with Oliver Ford.

  We didn’t have many classes together—he took every AP class that was offered—but during our freshman year we both had art during the same period. We barely spoke, and the only real interaction I’d ever had with him was when I ran into him at the bowling alley in town. He’d asked if he could join me and my friends, and none of us knew how to say no. He’d bowled a game without saying a word to any of us, then thanked us and left.

  “What does this have to do with anything?” I asked. “I’m telling you there is a missing statue that might be the murder weapon, and I think I might know who did it.” An image of Daniel flashed in my mind. “Someone who was upset with her, who might have felt like he needed to get even with her.”

  My impassioned words had no visible effect.

  “Get even?” Simcoe asked. The smirk was back. “You know who I think was looking to get even?” He paused for dramatic effect before saying, “You.”

  “Me? What did I have to get even for? I didn’t even know Caroline!”

  He jabbed the picture Chief Ritter was holding. “But you knew her son. You dated him.”

  My mouth dropped open.

  “And maybe you decided to kill his mother for his breaking up with you.”

  NINETEEN

  Detective Simcoe had lost his mind.

  That was the only conclusion I could come to.

  “Dated him?” I repeated. “Broke up with him? I barely even knew him.”