Julia huffed and harrumphed—sounds I knew all too well—unwilling to let the younger-woman thing go. “Who does Wayne Gundersen think he is? He’s an average-looking man in his late forties, that’s who he is. He’s got thinning hair and beady brown eyes—and his eyebrows are growing together like one long caterpillar. What is this fascination with youth? As if only those under forty are entitled to faithfulness and romance. He was ready to toss Brigit aside, was he? Maybe kill her to get her out of the way?”
“Whoa,” Anika said, holding up her hands. “Wayne isn’t a murderer.”
It hadn’t escaped my notice that Anika, supposedly friends with both Gundersens, was more intent on defending Wayne than his murdered wife. Brigit was a drama queen who saw things that weren’t there, and Wayne? Just a man looking for a less-wrinkled mate. Julia, too, had noticed.
“Why are you defending him?” she said. “He broke his vows.”
“Because I know him, and he’s not a killer. Julia, I can’t believe you’re saying these things. How long have you known Wayne Gundersen?”
“It doesn’t matter how long. Right now I’m seeing him in a whole new light,” Julia replied.
And just like that, Wayne was again Julia’s number one suspect.
“You can’t keep many secrets in a small town like Juniper Grove,” I said, pondering the wisdom of asking my next question.
“Too true,” Anika said, nodding ruefully.
I decided to take a stab in the dark. “Wayne’s cheated before, hasn’t he?”
Anika sucked in her breath. “I didn’t say that.”
And carefully so, I thought. “Brigit wasn’t imagining things. Not entirely.”
Anika relented. “I don’t know who this new woman with dark hair is, or if she really exists, but Wayne did have a brief affair almost two years ago with a woman from Fort Collins.”
“I knew it,” Julia said triumphantly.
“And for the record, Julia, she had light brown hair, not dark, and she moved to Michigan last year. I think Wayne has been trying to recommit to his marriage.”
“What makes you think that?” I asked.
“He was planning to take Brigit away for Valentine’s Day,” Anika said. “He asked my husband, Charlie, for the name of our getaway hotel in Colorado Springs.”
“Did he make a reservation?” I asked.
“He must have. He was excited about surprising her the day before Valentine’s. What man books a luxury suite for his wife and then decides to kill her?”
CHAPTER 4
When we returned to the boardroom, Julia brightened at the sight of three committee members at work on the dance decorations. Deciding to stay and help out, she gave me her pastry box—a risky act—and told me she’d pick it up at my house when we had our six-thirty meeting.
“Anika had a point,” she said before joining the others. “Why would Wayne plan a romantic night for Brigit and then kill her?”
I could think of at least one good reason—like being humiliated by accusatory flyers plastered up and down Main Street—but I kept the thought to myself. If he wanted to have his cake and eat it too, it was possible Wayne was having an affair with this mysterious dark-haired woman and planning to surprise Brigit with a romantic getaway. All the fun of an affair and none of the hassle of divorce. And none of the financial trouble divorce brought cheating spouses.
“I should talk to Charlie Mays, too,” I whispered. “Can you introduce me?”
“That won’t be a problem. He’s on the decorating committee.”
“Is he?”
“Why so surprised?”
“I guess I thought a middle-aged man wouldn’t—”
“Only women and old folks should be on such a committee? That’s the way it’s supposed to be?”
“Now, Julia, you know I’m not—”
“As a matter of fact, Charlie is right over there, talking with Royce Putnam, who heads the committee. Charlie is the younger of the two, of course.”
“Royce Putnam? The man Anika mentioned?”
“The same. He used to head the Records Section and misses the job, poor man. He stops in a lot, even when they don’t need his help.”
I followed her across the room to where the committee members, picking up where Julia had left off, were fashioning more tissue-paper flowers. With a sly smile, she first introduced me to Royce, delighting in reminding me of my bias by pronouncing him the best decorating committee head in Juniper Grove history. He was in his late sixties, I guessed, with neatly trimmed and surprisingly thick white hair, a counterpoint to his black-framed glasses. Dressed in a navy cardigan sweater over a slightly wrinkled red shirt, he was Juniper Grove to the core, choosing comfort over fashion.
“Royce, I’d like you to meet my friend Rachel Stowe. She’s fascinated by our decorations.”
I shot Julia a scathing look.
“Nice to meet you, Rachel,” Royce said, rising several inches from his chair before settling back down. “I’ll teach you how to make them if you want. They’re easier than they look.”
“Royce can make a perfect rose in sixty seconds,” Julia said.
“But at that rate my old fingers give out in ten minutes,” he said with a grin. “I need to pace myself.”
“Where are you going to put all these flowers?” I asked him.
“Some will be worked into a garland, others into wreaths. Though we’ll have some real flowers too. Can’t do without those on Valentine’s Day. No, sirree.”
I glanced around me, noting the decorations the three committee members had added after Julia had left for the bakery. “I think it’s stunning. Everyone’s going to be amazed. You’ll transformed Town Hall.”
The threesome beamed.
“I’m Charlie Mays,” the younger man said, extending his hand while remaining seated. He cracked a quick smile with his thin lips before turning his attention to Julia. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard about Brigit Gundersen.”
“We have,” Julia said. “Rachel found her body, and we were just talking to Anika.”
Charlie pulled in his chin. “Oh, really? Anika? Why is that?”
It struck me as a little odd that his Oh, really? was in reaction to me talking to Anika, not me finding Brigit’s body. Royce and the third committee member had a different reaction. The woman gaped at me, and Royce, rather gobsmacked, said, “You found Brigit’s body? What a shock for you. It must have been very disturbing.”
“Rachel has seen bodies before, Royce,” Julia said, making me sound a tad ghoulish. As if bodies turned up wherever I went.
Okay, maybe they did. And Officer Underhill had pointed out at Brigit’s house that I had a talent for finding bodies.
“Does everyone in Juniper Grove know about Brigit?” I asked.
“Word gets around quickly,” Royce said. He gave me a knowing tip of his head. “And Brigit’s antics this morning helped. Everyone was already talking about her and wondering how she was doing.”
“What are they saying about her murder?” Julia asked.
“Just what you’d think,” Royce said. “They’re pointing a finger at Wayne without a shred of evidence. The wise ones are keeping their suspicions to themselves and waiting for the facts.”
Already I liked Royce.
“The killer could be anyone in Juniper Grove,” I said.
“What about a stranger, Rachel?” the woman said. “I’m Cassie Everton, by the way, Royce’s daughter-in-law.” Her small, neat fingers, the nails polished in cobalt blue, continued to work as she talked.
“Nice to meet you, Cassie. I don’t think a stranger would drive to Juniper Grove, pick a house at random, and murder a random woman. This town isn’t on the way to anywhere. It’s well west of I-25 and even 287. No one gets here by accident.”
“An excellent observation,” Royce said. “This was an in-towner murder.”
“Which is why everyone is pointing fingers at Wayne,” Charlie said. He picked up a white glob of a tis
sue-paper flower from the table, stared disdainfully at it, and tossed it back down. “It’s not up to your standards, Royce. It looks like it’s been chewed by a goat.”
“It’s just flowers for a dance, Charlie. It looks fine.”
“Julia got the hang of it right away,” Charlie said.
“Well, I learned from the best,” Julia said. Smiling at Royce, she reached up to play with one of her short gray curls.
“And you’re an excellent student, Julia,” Royce said. “Nimble fingers, and you have an eye for art. You should head the committee next year.”
I stared. Then I told myself to close my mouth before the flies got in. I’d seen Julia’s hand-to-hair move before. Every woman knew what it meant, though it was often an unconscious mannerism. For Julia, in fact, it was almost entirely unconscious—and reserved exclusively for the handsome Chief Gilroy, in whose presence she reverted to being a teenager. “It doesn’t matter how old I get,” she often said to me. “I know a handsome man when I see one. You’ll understand one day.”
I shot a glance at Royce’s left ring finger and saw a wide gold band there. That ring, and the fact that he had a daughter-in-law, Cassie, meant Royce wasn’t available. Didn’t Julia know that? His ring was hard to miss. He was a rather handsome man for someone nearing seventy, but I knew Julia, and she would never even consider flirting with someone else’s husband. Period, end of story.
Charlie picked up his glob of a flower again, made a fist, and crushed it. “I learned from the best too,” he protested, “and it didn’t help me.”
“Don’t give up,” Royce said. “Each flower will get better.”
I had my doubts. Charlie looked like a man who made a rough living. I would have said as a longshoreman, but this was land-locked Colorado. He was on the short side, but his chest was broad and muscular. With his large, stubby fingers, he was pushing the limits of his capabilities trying to craft delicate paper flowers.
Julia had released her hair and was now sitting next to Royce at the table, concentrating on folding a new flower. Royce was observing her efforts, smiling, nodding, offering words of encouragement.
But he was spoken for, wasn’t he? Or was he? Maybe he was a widower and couldn’t yet bear to part with his wedding ring, or maybe he had recently divorced. My curiosity roused, I decided to ask Holly what she knew about him at the first opportunity.
But for now, Brigit Gundersen’s murder was my prime mystery, and one of her friends, curiously unmoved by her murder, was sitting in front of me.
“Charlie,” I began, sitting down across from him, “Anika said Wayne was planning a getaway for Brigit and asked you for the name of a hotel in Colorado Springs.”
“That’s right.” Charlie arched an eyebrow and let go of his latest attempt at a flower. “Why did she tell you that?”
“Brigit asked Rachel to discover who her husband was having an affair with,” Julia said.
“Intriguing,” Royce said.
Julia grinned. “Rachel is fulfilling Brigit’s last request.”
“How’s the hotel going to help?” Charlie said. “Wayne was taking Brigit, not . . . What I mean is, he was taking Brigit. That’s why he asked me. To take Brigit.”
Charlie did not have a poker face. Or tongue. “So Wayne was having an affair,” I said. “With that dark-haired woman.”
“How do you know her hair color?” Charlie asked.
“Brigit,” I said simply.
“I don’t know who she is, so don’t even ask,” Charlie said, a note of distaste in his voice. “She probably doesn’t live in Juniper Grove.”
“Then how do you know about her?”
“I saw them together—just once. In Wayne’s car. And that’s all I’m going to say because it’s no one else’s business.”
His mouth set in a hard line, Charlie returned to his flower. I wasn’t going to get anything more from him, not with the other committee members around, but at least I now had confirmation that Brigit had been right about her cheating husband. I said my goodbyes, grabbed Julia’s pastry box, and headed outside.
As I sat in my Forester, watching shoppers on the sidewalk, I tried to work out my next step. Aside from a glimpse into the Gundersens’ bank accounts, assets, and debts, which was not going to happen, I couldn’t think of a way to discover what Wayne stood to lose or gain financially through Brigit’s death. Except for the obvious. If Wayne had fallen in love with this dark-haired woman, he had reason to want Brigit out of the way. If he could avoid years of alimony payments, so much the better.
But why risk a lifetime in prison when all he had to do was divorce Brigit? Sure, he might lose his house and have to pay alimony, but at least he’d have his freedom and a future with this new woman. Then again, Juniper Grove, with a population of only twelve hundred, was indeed a small town, and if word got around that Wayne had dumped Brigit for another woman, his real estate business might go south.
On the other hand, if Wayne could portray Brigit as the victim of an unknown killer, then he would be seen as the tragic widower in need of support and consolation.
“I’m getting ahead of myself,” I said aloud. First I needed to find out where Wayne was at the time of Brigit’s murder. If he had a solid alibi, my suspicions were heading down the wrong road. A talk with Chief Gilroy was in order.
CHAPTER 5
“The chief just got back,” Underhill said the moment I entered the station. He frowned and stared down at the glazed donut in his hand.
“Bad donut?” I asked in jest.
“No, I think it’s a regular donut. Same kind I usually have.”
“What is it, then? Worried about your date for the Valentine’s Day dance?”
His gaze shifted from his donut to my face. I grinned.
“Very funny, Rachel. Has Julia been talking? Or is it Holly this time?”
“People want to know.”
“There’s nothing to know.”
“You’re not coming to the dance?”
“I didn’t say that.”
I leaned across the chest-high front desk. “Who is she? Do I know her? Does she live in Juniper Grove? How long have you been dating?”
“You’re nosy. You know that, don’t you?” He took an enormous bite of donut, ensuring not another word would come out of his mouth, and then pointed toward Gilroy’s office.
“Never mind, I’ll find out soon enough. The dance is in two days.” I strode to Gilroy’s door and knocked.
“Enter,” he grunted.
I did as I was told and shut the door behind me. “Enter? Since when do you talk like that?” I said with a chuckle.
“Last time I looked, this was a police station,” he replied.
“So ‘Enter’ is police talk?” I sat in the wooden chair across from his desk. “I’ll have to remember that.” I was still smiling. Gilroy hadn’t started.
“I’m busy right now, Rachel. What can I help you with?”
The man was terse, but not rude. Especially to me. Something out of the ordinary was bothering him. “Well, first of all, I wanted to say hello. So, hello.”
“You’re here to ask about Brigit Gundersen.”
“And to say hello. And ask the man I love if he can take time for lunch.” I checked my wristwatch. “A very late lunch.”
His expression was skeptical. “It’s too early for any kind of report. You know as much about Mrs. Gundersen’s murder as I do. I’m sure you examined the scene.”
“How could I help that? I found myself part of the scene, James.”
He leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers over his abdomen, his eyes narrowing. “Why is that?”
“I told you why.”
“You didn’t have to visit her. You knew Underhill drove her home and her car was still downtown. You knew she wasn’t going anywhere.”
I shrugged. “So I decided to go over there. It’s not like I knew I’d find her body. She asked me to find out who her husband was cheating with.”
“I’ve found bodies before, James. And what do you mean by ‘Don’t do that’?”
He looked back. “Just what I said. For once, leave this to me, Underhill, and Turner. You’re a civilian, Rachel.”
“It can’t hurt for me to find out who this mystery woman is.”
“What mystery woman?”
“I told you. Wayne Gundersen’s affair. A dark-haired woman who may or may not live in Juniper Grove.”
“And you don’t think that’s interfering in the case?” He stood suddenly, glared briefly at me, and strode to the window.
“What’s eating you?” I asked.
Still gazing out the window, he said, “I’ve been very clear about that.”
“This is your idea of clear?” I joined him at the window. “Honestly, I don’t know what the problem is.”
“I’m always clear.”
Still trying to lighten the mood, I laughed. “No, you’re not. Believe me. Now tell me what I’ve done.”
At last he turned to look at me. His expression was granite hard. “I didn’t say you did anything. Up to now, that is. I’m asking you to let this go and leave it to me.”
I opened my mouth—I was foolishly on the verge of informing him in a rather snotty manner that he knew very well that I never let anything go—but I quickly clamped it shut and tried to divert his attention by staring out his window at the sky, presumably watching the storm clouds move in from the west. “I think we’re going to get snow.”
“What were you going to say?”
“That we’re going to get snow.”
“No, before then.”
“Just ruminating.”
Gilroy shoved his hands in his pockets. “Rachel Stowe, you’re hard to figure out.”
I stood ramrod straight. “I am not. I’m quite simple. Well, not simple like, you know, simple, but I’m not complicated.”
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