“Well, if it isn’t my favorite customer. Morning, Izzie.” Theo shoved the bill of her visor back, making the wiry black and gray mop of curls look like a Chia Pet. A blazing red apron covered her from her chest to her ample thighs. The sleeves of a tie-dyed T-shirt popped with orange and pink, while a cute fluorescent green miniskirt barely covered her hips.
Not exactly age-appropriate for the sixty-something Gazette owner, but somehow she managed to pull it off. Very hip, to use the lingo of her generation.
“Hi, Theo. It’s been a long time.” I waved.
“Hey, Squirt!” She slapped me on the shoulder. As she grinned, wrinkles feathered at the corners of her eyes and across her cheeks. “How’s New York?”
I rolled my shoulder. She might be past middle age, but her strength and energy kept her youthful. “I’m taking a break and helping out my sister with her new business venture. How’ve you been?”
Theo pedaled into a ten-minute recap of her ups and downs from the past year while Izzie tapped her foot, faster with each minute, until Theo must’ve gotten the hint.
“I guess you’re here to pay for the ad? Don’t worry. Since I’m feeling kind of sorry for you because of the dead body of my employee in your backyard, I’ll give you a break. You pay for the ad, and I’ll post it in the Gazette whenever you’re ready. How’s that sound?” She wiggled her brows.
“Why, that’s—” Izzie clasped her hands and bowed her head slightly. “You’re a saint. Thank you, Theo. Thank you so much.”
“The least I can do, considering.” She nodded, while scribbling details on a receipt.
“Considering?” I asked.
Theo tugged at her ear. “Fiona was my responsibility and my worst headache. I hired her to write that editorial column. Lord knows I should’ve stopped her when I saw things going south, but I couldn’t. Too late now.”
Izzie’s lips curled. “Why couldn’t you? I mean, if things went south and she was a headache, as you put it.” Her eyes shifted my way for a quick glance.
I agreed. Theo’s choice of words did raise a few questions.
“By going south, I mean a few folks complained. Just a few, mind you. Others actually called or wrote to say they enjoyed her column. Of course, those people weren’t on Fiona’s hit list. Easy to laugh at something that’s not targeting you. As for my headache? Fiona was one of the surliest, most undesirable employees I’ve ever hired. Trust me. I’ve had plenty come and go. She couldn’t step one foot in the door without complaining to me. First, she argued the column should move to the front page. After that, she squawked that she didn’t have enough space in the paper. Then she demanded I give her an office because who could concentrate on writing when people kept coming into the building?” Theo snorted. “Such a pain.”
I inched closer to the counter and Theo. “You say some complained. Did they call? Write? Ever give their names?”
She tapped a pencil on her cheek. “Let me think.” The pencil stilled and silence took over.
The exasperating pause was long enough for me to wonder if she planned to answer or had dozed off, eyes open.
All at once she pointed the pencil at me. “Yes! I mean, no. That is, most were calls from folks who refused to identify themselves. One, though …” She chuckled and wagged her head. “That woman darn well has guts. What she said? Didn’t hold back, I tell you. Spouted off how Fiona should be behind bars for all the garbage she wrote. What’s worse, she warned that if somebody didn’t do something to stop Fiona, she’d take care of it herself.”
Izzie gasped. “Oh wow. That sure sounds like a threat.”
“Can you tell us who? I mean, maybe his or her name should be given to the authorities.” I shifted my weight from one foot to the other.
Complaining about Fiona was one thing, but threatening to stop her was taking words to a whole other level of anger.
“Sure can. It was Gwen. Angrier than I’ve ever heard her. Why, that woman is like Mother Teresa, gentle, never having an unkind word to say.” Theo wobbled one hand back and forth. “Maybe a little weird at times. Talks to herself a lot, you know? But never mean, never violent.”
Gwen? I choked on my breath. How could someone who was soft-spoken, giving, and always looking for the good in people take matters into her own hands, overpower Fiona, and stab her with a paint knife? I tried picturing the older woman sneaking up behind an unsuspecting Fiona and plunging the weapon into her neck.
“Uh, uh. No way.” I muttered to myself.
Gwen must’ve been angry and frustrated when she called. After all, she’d taken a huge hit in sales. Who knew for sure whether it was the fault of Fiona’s column, though? Besides, lots of people said things they never intended to act on.
“Wait.” I frowned and turned to Izzie. “Didn’t Dad say something about Gwen’s letter to the editor?”
“I’m getting to that,” Theo added. “The following week after our call, I received an email. Gwen requested I put her letter in the paper. I hesitated, suspecting what a storm her words would stir up.” She lifted her chin. “Still, I believe in the First Amendment. Free speech is the backbone of democracy. So I printed the darn thing.”
Great way to handle a sticky situation. Just pass the problem along to others. In this case, the others being the good people of Whisper Cove. “By the way, how did readers respond to her letter?”
Theo scoffed. “Pick a side. That’s what folks do. Some called to complain Gwen was too harsh, others to praise her courage. A couple of people even went so far as to say if they were her, they’d give Fiona what she had coming.”
“But Fiona had to have the last word, didn’t she?” Izzie asked.
“Yeah, you probably read her response in the following week’s column.” Theo scratched her curly mop with the pencil. “Boy, did I get heat from that decision. Again, made a mistake I can’t take back.”
Disturbing thoughts made me tremble. “When was this?”
“Her column about Gwen, you mean? Why, the week before last. Boy, you should’ve seen Gwen and Fiona go at it the day after. Right here in front of me. They threw words back and forth like they were shooting darts and arrows at each other. I was ready to call nine-one-one but then, all at once, Gwen stormed out of the building. If I were to judge, I’d say Fiona won that battle, hands down.”
I rubbed my arms to take away the chill running through me. One thing was for sure, Gwen had plenty of motive to make her the number one suspect in Fiona’s murder.
Chapter Six
I poured a scoop of kibble into Max’s bowl and filled another dish with fresh water. “He said to come to the shop right away? Maybe he’s finally going to let you open for business.” I combed fingers through my messy bed hair, then tightened the belt of my robe.
Izzie had popped into my bedroom to wake me, then chattered on about her phone conversation with Detective Barrett. She must’ve grown tired of avoiding his calls and finally answered. I heard her grumble something about this one being the tenth since last night.
Izzie plopped in a chair. “Nothing like getting up before sunrise to hear his voice. The man barks orders like a commander in the army.”
I chuckled. “No please and thank you?”
She lowered her lids to stare daggers at me. “Obviously not. He pushed until I told him I had a perfectly good alibi for that night and a speeding ticket to prove it.”
“Oh? You never told me about that.” I leveled my gaze at her. Yet another secret. “It’s been six days since the murder. Why did you wait this long before telling him?”
“It’s embarrassing and not something I felt comfortable sharing. Anyway, time-stamped at eight forty and about twenty minutes from Whisper Cove puts me in the clear. At least he seemed satisfied with that bit of information because I refused to tell him where I’d been or who I’d seen.” Izzie gave her head a firm nod.
“Yes, I know. You made a promise to whoever.” I sipped my coffee. A queasy feeling unsettled my stomach, and it
wasn’t from heavy doses of caffeine. Adding thirty minutes to the time she got the ticket meant Izzie would’ve returned to town between nine and ten after. That was twenty to thirty minutes before I discovered Fiona’s body. That ticket wouldn’t prove anything to Detective Barrett, other than Izzie had been out of town at some point before the murder.
“You should get dressed. I promised we’d meet him in a half hour.”
I snapped out of my meandering thoughts. “We, huh?” Receiving another disapproving stare, I tapped my forehead with the side of my hand in a salute. “Yes, ma’am. Sergeant ma’am.”
Swinging her arm, she tossed a dishtowel at me, but Max jumped up and caught it between his teeth, growling. “Ha. The pooch scores with a quick interception.” Izzie grinned and pointed toward the hallway. “Now go.”
I sprinted across the kitchen floor and out of her reach while Max trotted ahead of me, towel hanging from his mouth. Izzie and I hadn’t talked much about our visit with Sammy. The situation with Gwen was a different story. Mom and Dad wanted to hear all the details about the weeks-long feud that had crescendoed into the blowout argument between her and Fiona. We all agreed the authorities would take a closer look at the Go Fly a Kite owner when they learned the details about her and the columnist. Small-town news traveled quickly. No doubt, Detective Barrett had already heard the story. Maybe that was another subject he wanted to talk about. Gwen’s shop was next door to ours. Of course, she hadn’t attended the painting event that evening. As was the case with Izzie, though, not attending didn’t mean much. In fact, almost anyone could’ve called Fiona to meet behind the shop. Townsfolk, outsiders, anyone.
At a little after eight, Izzie and I pulled into a parking space along Whisper Lane and around the corner from the paint party shop.
Detective Barrett’s vehicle sat out front. With both arms crossed, he leaned against the car door, eyes closed, head tipped toward the sky.
To the left of Paint with a View, a closed for business sign remained in the window of Go Fly a Kite. No details as to when Gwen might reopen were posted. Given the disturbing account of Theo’s story, I worried about our next-door retail neighbor’s emotional state of mind. Maybe she needed help, but no one was close by to give it.
As I approached Detective Barrett, I got a better look at him. The other evening, dealing with a dead body and facing a barrage of questions, had left me too unsettled. The image of Fiona’s body was stuck on instant replay, and I had struggled to keep focused on anything or anyone. Other than Barrett’s brown eyes and hair and tanned skin.
I sized up the trim and well-built detective now. He most likely kept fit by working out at the gym or chasing down criminals on foot. Definitely, he wasn’t a member of the donut-eating stereotype. I chuckled. This morning, he was dressed in casual pants, sneakers, and a short-sleeved, collared shirt unbuttoned at the top. I imagined there was a dress code, even for detectives, but maybe he liked to tweak the rules a bit, especially on a hot, muggy day in June.
“Good morning, Hunter.” Izzie spoke first.
The use of his first name and the irritated edge to her voice made me curious.
A lazy smile crossed his lips, and he eased his eyes open. “Hi, Izzie. Long time no see.”
“You two know each other?” My eyes widened as I stared at Izzie. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Her secrets kept adding up and made me nervous. I might be the impulsive type, but I liked to know what went on around me, kind of like my security blanket. People keeping secrets threatened to mess with my comfort zone.
She shrugged. “Nothing to tell. Hunter and I graduated together. Don’t you remember him? Scrawny, short, Coke-bottle glasses, and a serious case of acne.” She shot Detective Barrett a smug look.
“That’s harsh,” he said.
“Can’t take a little teasing? I remember you and your friends loved to dish it out.” Izzie threw back her head and laughed.
I puckered my brow, searching my memory. Being a year ahead of Izzie in school hardly qualified me to recognize any underclassmen, which, in this case, didn’t matter. Detective Hunter Barrett in no way fit her description.
“Yeah, this is Hunter Barrett, all grown up.” She smirked as she rummaged through her bag and pulled out a ring of keys. “Are we going inside?”
Something told me high school wasn’t the most recent encounter they’d had, but I left my questions for another time when Izzie and I could be alone.
“Actually, we’ll be going around back.” He led the way alongside the shop.
I followed right behind him, while Izzie shoved the keys back in her bag and hurried to keep up. My heart pounded. This would be my first time visiting the crime scene since that night.
“What’s this all about, Hunter? Is your team close to collecting all of whatever it is you expect to find so I can reopen my shop?” Exasperation filled Izzie’s tone.
Detective Barrett shook his head as he stepped through a narrow doorway leading to the area immediately behind the building.
Walls made of weathered hardwood, measuring several feet high, bordered both sides of the property, allowing for a bit of privacy. The compact dumpster sat along the back, flanked by tall shrubs. I wrinkled my nose. Odors of paint and turpentine, mixed with the pungent, musky smell of lake water and plant life carried inland by the breeze, filled the air. I gave myself a mental slap as the image of Fiona lying on the concrete flashed in my head.
Barrett pulled out his phone and swiped the screen. “Here. Take a look at the photo.” He handed the device to Izzie.
I stepped closer to look over her shoulder at what appeared to be the image of a food wrapper and a bottle. “What’s this? Besides somebody’s lunch trash.”
He read from his notebook. “One empty soda bottle labeled Fizzy Orange and a sandwich wrapper from Bob’s Barbecue Pit.” He lifted his head to stare, waiting.
I shrugged. “Is this supposed to mean something important?”
Izzie squinted. Spreading her finger and thumb on the screen, she enlarged the photo. “The bottle and wrapper are sitting on top of my dumpster.”
“Actually, one of my team members found the wrapper sticking out from under the lid. Looks like someone was in a hurry to get rid of the trash, or maybe was interrupted.” He stuffed his notebook back in his pocket. “Do either one of you take lunch breaks out here?”
“Why would we?” Izzie tapped her heel. “What are you implying? Fiona’s killer had a craving for barbecue and Fizzy Orange soda right before they stabbed her in the neck? You think one of us did it? I’d never eat such a heavy meal while at work, and soda of any kind is poison.”
I winced as her voice screeched. Out of control Izzie was back.
“Look, Detective Barrett, anyone could come back here at any time. No reason to assume one of us is the fast-food junkie, right?”
“We need to collect all the evidence.” He nodded and his jaw grew rigid. “Just as I need to ask questions, no matter how you might take them. It’s procedure, Miss Abbington. I take a look at all the information and create the possible scenarios, hoping one of them will stick.”
I scratched my chin and pointed. “Like the killer decided on a late-night snack from Bob’s Barbecue while waiting for his victim to show up?”
“That’s one of them.” He lifted a pair of sunglasses from his pocket and put them on. The act was slow and deliberate, as if to give himself time to think. “Don’t suppose you know who likes barbecue and could’ve hung around here that evening? Maybe even done so more than once?”
“Don’t look at me. I only got back in town a couple of days ago,” I said. “The other night was the first time I came out here, period.”
“Maybe you should talk to Bob,” Izzie suggested. “Although I’m sure he doesn’t keep track of everyone who stops by.”
“Already did.” Barrett pushed his sunglasses farther up his nose, then plucked a toothpick from his pocket. He chewed on one end.
“Sinc
e we’re standing here and you’re asking us, I’m guessing Bob was no help.” Izzie clicked her tongue. “Seems the theory of a killer with a craving for barbecue isn’t working for you.”
He held up his hand. “I don’t give up that easily. I’ll keep asking around. Somebody might’ve noticed a trespasser entering your property. Maybe your neighbor next door? We haven’t had a chance to talk.”
His innocent look with widened eyes didn’t fool me.
“She’s probably at home.” I pointed. “As you already noticed, her shop is closed. We have no idea when she’ll reopen, do we, Izzie?” I shifted my attention.
“Nope. No idea.” Izzie emphasized with palms turned up and a shoulder shrug.
Barrett rolled the toothpick in his mouth. “Then I guess we’re done here.”
“What about opening my shop?” Izzie stepped forward.
“I’ll be in touch.” He waved as he walked to his car.
“Dammit. That man still fumes me.” Izzie screwed up her face and huffed.
“I’d say so.” I gawked at her. “Something tells me there’s more to your story.”
“Maybe, but I don’t care to talk about it. I have other worries on my mind.” Izzie faced me and bit on her thumbnail. “Megan loves Fizzy Orange and Bob’s Barbecue.”
“Lots of folks do.”
“True.” Her head tipped back and forth. “But not the way Megan does.”
I blinked. “What other way is there? You either like a food or you don’t.”
We reached the jeep and Izzie opened her door. She rested her chin on the top edge. “Whenever Megan is upset, nervous, or depressed, she eats. If Bob’s is open, she’s there getting her usual order.”
“Fizzy Orange and a barbecue sandwich.” I tapped the hood of the car. “Still …”
“Barbecue with lots of yellow mustard.” Izzie hiccupped. “You didn’t notice, but I did. Maybe Hunter said nothing on purpose. Maybe he wanted me or you to mention it. Or who knows? Maybe he’s not as great a detective as he thinks. I saw the yellow mustard stains on the wrapper, Chloe. Who else eats barbecue with mustard? Nobody.” She slid behind the wheel.
A Brush with Murder Page 7