A Thrift Shop Murder

by N. M. Howell

  Finn nodded, fumbling in Agatha’s bedside locker and retrieving a notepad and pen. “Okay, who’s our number one suspect. It has to be somebody with a reason to murder Agatha and then means or the influence to cover it up.”

  “Right.” I sat down on the bed beside him and crushed my hands between my knees. “Frankie has a motive; Agatha crushed his dream and threw him out on the street. And it wasn’t the first time his life had been ripped apart. That stuff takes its toll on a person.” I stared at my feet, trying to gather my thoughts. “And he has a direct line to the Chief of Police in the city.”

  “What?” Pussy asked, cocking an eyebrow. “The vet’s assistant has influence over the Chief of Police?”

  “Apparently so,” I said. “Bianca D’Arcy told me yesterday that her dating agency had paired them up and apparently the Chief is head over heels crazy about Frankie.”

  Tom pressed his knuckles against the wall. “Shit.”

  “Okay, that’s a possibility.” Finn scribbled something on the notepad before turning his green stare back on me. “What about Agatha’s cousin, Harlow?”

  I frowned. “Well, if what Bianca says about his debt problem is true, and if it’s true that this place could be worth a lot when the property market changes, I guess he could have wanted Agatha dead for her inheritance.” I tucked my hair behind my ears. “He swore he knew Agatha wasn’t going to leave him anything in her will and he seemed pretty convincing but—“

  “If somebody has the balls to strangle an old lady in her own home, they probably have the neck to lie without cracking,” Pussy interjected.

  I nodded. “Pretty much. And Bianca insinuated it wasn’t the first time he’d been on the wrong side of the law.”

  “Bianca,” Tom muttered. I glanced at him. “Bianca, Bianca, Bianca. She’s really stirring the pot, isn’t she? Dropping all those interesting little hints in your ear. You know she’s one of the wealthiest women in Salem, right? If anyone could pull strings in City Hall, it’s her.”

  Finn shook his head. “But why? She has all the money she could ever want.”

  “And she wasn’t even in the country when Aggie died. She told me she was at a conference in San Francisco that week, addressing hundreds of dating experts every day. Pretty rock solid alibi,” I said.

  The banging on the front door started again, increasing in intensity with every passing second. Tom began to pace the floor like a lion in a cage, anger flaring in his eyes. Every muscle in his bare torso strained against his inked skin as he clenched his fists. “Whoever the hell is behind this, I’m going to find them. I swear to God.”

  I watched him pace back and forth, my stomach flipping and my chest tightening. Did he really care that much about me? I reached for him and grabbed his hand, pulling him onto the bed beside Finn and me.

  “I told you getting angry won’t solve anything, Tom.” I slid my hand along the side of his arm and his muscles rippled under my fingers. My phone buzzed on the side table and I grabbed it, swallowing a curse as Officer Bert’s name flash across the screen.

  “Who is it?” Finn asked. When I didn’t answer, he eased the phone from my grip. His creamy complexion paled to alabaster. “Oh shit, Price, don’t answer.”

  “You think he knows that the media is outside our house?” I asked, my mind spinning. I was definitely going to throw up.

  “Of course he does,” Pussy muttered. “The whole city will know before long. This kind of thing spreads quick, especially once it’s on the news. Once you get the media involved, a frenzy always follows. Price, if they peg you as the murderer, everything is going to change, you do realize? That’s how these things work.”

  “You think I don’t know that, Pussy? This isn’t my fault. I didn’t ask for any of this.” I fell back on the bed and covered my eyes with my hands, breathing in, counting to three, and letting it out slowly through my mouth.

  A shadow fell over my face as something stirred above me and I opened one eye to find Pussy staring down at me with his brows drawn together under his thatch of blond hair. There was no trace of his usual arrogance, his face stripped bare. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to blame you.” His voice was quiet. Soft. I raised my eyebrows and he gave me a tentative smile. “I’m a jerk when I get scared, Pricetag. And I don’t want to lose you. We’ve only just found you.”

  I pulled myself into a seated position and punched him gently in the stomach, feeling the silky smoothness of his tanned skin under my fingers. “Don’t be stupid, Pussy. You’re not a jerk when you’re scared.” I paused. “You’re a jerk all the time.”

  “Funny, Pricetag, very funny.” Pussy’s voice was loaded with sarcasm but the haunted look had faded from his eyes. He walked across the room and leaned on the windowsill. “Okay, we need a plan.” Pussy gave me a forceful glare. “Under no circumstances can you leave the house, Price. You stay here with us, so we can protect you.”

  I shook my head. “I can hide all I want, Pussy, but as soon as the police get a warrant for my arrest, there’ll be nothing stopping them from coming through that door and forcing me to go with them.”

  Tom smacked his fist into a pillow. “That’s not gonna happen. They have nothing on you.”

  “You look so sure of yourself,” I said.

  “I am,” he replied. His eyes burned like crystal fire as he held my gaze, sending a shiver down my spine.

  My phone buzzed again, this time a text message. “I’m outside, Priscilla. Come to the door.” It was from office Bert.

  I stood and turned my phone toward the guys so they could read the message. Finn stared at the phone. “A text message? What the hell is this guy at? You can’t just text a suspect. My dad’s a cop and he would never…” Finn’s voice faded away as we all stared at him, open-mouthed. He sat back down on the edge of the bed. “My dad is a cop.” He looked at us, his eyes as full as a spring pasture. “I remember his face. He’s a cop.”

  Without thinking, I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around his neck and he buried his face in my shoulder. I ran my fingers through his hair, overwhelmed by the depth of emotion I could feel in his embrace. What the hell had Agatha done to these men? What could they have done that warranted a life sentence in a cat’s form? Maybe she was right, maybe they deserved it, but looking around the room, I just couldn’t believe that. And there was only one way to unlock the door to Agatha’s magic and her memories, and if I went down for her murder... I straightened my back and reluctantly eased myself out of Finn’s warm embrace.

  “I’m going down to meet Officer Fitzgerald.” I held my hands up to silence their protest and lifted my jaw. “Stop! I know you want to protect me, and I appreciate that, but I want to protect you guys too. And you need to respect that. You need to put your faith in me.” Even though my stinking ex hadn’t ever been able to put an ounce of faith in me. I slammed down the memory of Gerard’s curled lip when I told him I was going to need a little more money to keep my juice bar in business, and I clenched my fists. “If there’s any way to make this right, I’ll find it, guys. But it’s my battle. You’ve got to trust me enough to let me fight it.”

  Finn released his hold on my hand, and I stroked one finger along his jaw. “We’ll take later, about your dad.” Pussy nodded to me as I passed, his arms folded tightly over his chest, and his face uncharacteristically sombre. As I reached the bedroom door, Tom broke away from the others and blocked my path. A storm raged in the blue waters of his eyes. I placed my hand on his chest and leaned in, pressing my forehead against him. “I have to at least go talk to him, Tom. You know I do. Hiding inside will just make me look even guiltier.”

  His breath was a groan in my ear as he relented and shifted his body to let me pass. My phone rang and I glanced at the screen. Officer Fitzgerald again. I steeled myself. “Hello?”

  “Priscilla? It’s Officer Bert Fitzgerald.” His voice sounded hoarse and ragged through the phone, nearly as exhausted as I felt.

  “I got your message, what d
o you want, Officer?” I didn’t bother to try and cajole him, it was way too late for any of that.

  “The media got wind of the case, Priscilla. Somebody leaked some of my private notes.” His voice was tight with barely controlled rage. “I need you to let me inside, Ms. Jones.” When I didn’t answer, he pressed on. “You realize I can get a warrant and come in?”

  I ground my teeth together. “Office Fitzgerald, does the Chief know you’re texting a suspect and making repeat house calls without—.”

  “They know about the juice bar, Miss Jones.” Officer Fitzgerald’s voice was softer than I’d heard it before. Almost kind. I leaned my weight against the doorframe and dragged air in through my teeth. “Look, I know it probably doesn’t seem like this, but I’m on your side, Price. Just let me in. I’m alone and waiting I’m at the back door.”

  I killed the call and ran down the back stairs, gesturing for the men to stay in my bedroom and ignoring their shouts for information. True to his word, Officer Fitzgerald was waiting in the alley. I opened the door to let him into the apartment, but he gestured toward the thrift store instead. He closed the door softly behind us and I made for the velvet chair but he called me back. “It’s better if we stay right here, Miss Jones. We can’t be seen from this angle.”

  “Okay,” I said. I walked back slowly, not certain I wanted to be alone with the cop in a place I couldn’t be seen by anyone else. I stopped several feet away from him. “Why are you here, Officer?”

  Officer Fitzgerald crossed his arms over his broad chest. “I’ve been a cop for a very long time, Miss Jones. I started my career in Portland and I gave twenty years hard service there; I’ve always prided myself on being a damn good cop. But a few years ago, in Portland, I came up against a number of cases… Well, let’s just say the cases were solved, but maybe I felt we didn’t put the right people behind bars. Maybe there were powerful people pulling strings from high up.” He paused and looked me straight in the eye. “Maybe they were trying to conceal the fact that there supernatural elements at play.”

  I drew in a breath, choking on my own spit and collapsing into a fit of coughing. “I’m sorry, a supernatural element?” My eyes burned as I blinked away tears of shock. If I’d been expecting the portly officer to drop a bomb on me, it certainly wasn’t that one.

  Officer Fitzgerald’s cheeks colored slightly. “Look, Miss Jones, I know how crazy that sounds, and I don’t expect you to believe me, but I need you to know that these people, the ones evading the law and bending the police force to their will, they’ll do whatever it takes to pin the blame on somebody else. Anybody else.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick wad of paper, folded in half, and handed it to me. I opened it and glanced at the first page before folding it over again. I didn’t need to read the words, I’d read the file a thousand times before.

  The officer nodded to me as he reached for the door, turning back before he pulled it open. “I’m not saying you had anything to do with Agatha Bentley’s murder, Miss Jones, all I’m telling you that somebody made sure that file landed on my desk this morning. Somebody who very much wants me to know about your money problems and the skeletons in your closet.”

  I nodded, and he stared around the thrift shop. “Agatha Bentley died in this room, Miss Jones, and it was either Mrs. Bentley knew so she didn’t put up a struggle, or somebody who’s able to use some serious voodoo to make it look that way. Somebody damn dangerous, so if you have anything you need to get in order before my superiors hand down the order to bring you in for questioning; any alibi you need corroborated, any people you can call, now’s the time to do it.”

  I was still standing inside the thrift store when the back door banged shut and the three guys eased themselves into the space around me, waiting patiently for me to speak. I held the wad of paper out woodenly and let them take it from me. Even my voice was tired. “I think things might be even worse than we thought.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “You did what?” Pussy’s voice was raised higher than usual, his expression unreadable.

  “You don’t understand,” I said slowly, letting out a deep breath. “It wasn’t my fault, it was my dickhead ex-boyfriend. He had offered to set up my insurance, because he had done it already for his own business. He promised he had it set up two years before, so after the fire burned down my business and I put my claim in, well…”

  Tom rubbed his eyes with his hands, letting out a disgruntled breath. “Let me get this straight.” His body was unnaturally still. “Your ex set up your insurance policy in both your names and the next week your business burned down and you made an insurance claim against it. A business that hadn’t turned a profit in the entire time it had been open. Is that right?”

  I swallowed hard and nodded. The sinking feeling in my gut deepened. “Yes, but I had no idea Gerard had only just set up the insurance or that he’d requested a waiver on the wait period before a claim could be made. I had believed it had been set up for years. I know how bad this looks, but I swear to God, I had no idea.”

  “No shit, this looks bad.” Pussy dragged his fingers through his hair. “You buy insurance, and the next week your failing business burns to the ground and you set up a claim? Jesus, Price.”

  Finn grimaced. “And now Agatha leaves everything to you randomly, you show up a couple of weeks later, and she dies.” He dropped into a crouch against the wall. “Shit, Price. That looks like a pretty bad coincidence.”

  “Did they prove it was arson?” Tom’s low tone was as heavy as thunder.

  I shook my head. “It wasn’t arson, I swear to you, I would never do a thing like that. I loved that stupid juice bar, even if it never made me a dime. And I didn’t even get to keep the stupid money from the claim, I gave it all to Gerard to cover the money he’d poured into the place before it went bust.” I stared at my feet. “I barely had enough money to cover my bus fare to Salem. Who the hell is going to believe I wasn’t desperate enough to get rid of Agatha?”

  Tom grabbed the paper from Finn’s hands and flicked to the last page. “Not you, Price.” He stabbed a finger at Gerard’s signature. “Him. Did he burn your business down? He’s the one who got the money, he’s the one whose name is on every damn piece of paper.” I closed my eyes against his question, the same one that haunted me every night since the fire department had called my phone. But I couldn’t answer it, because if I did, if I admitted he’d done something so vicious, I’d have to admit to myself that I’d wasted ten years of my life on a man who didn’t give a shit about me. And I wasn’t sure that was a truth I could come back from.

  Finn crossed the room and grabbed Tom’s shoulder, shooting him a warning look. “Let it go, man. It’s not the time.” He turned to me and cupped my face in his large hands. “Price, what else did Officer Fitzgerald say? Why did he give you this? Why not just take you in for questioning?”

  I stared into his green eyes, my calm in the storm. “He said he was on my side. That he didn’t believe I was guilty but somebody higher up was making it impossible to ignore me as a suspect.” I frowned, remembering his bizarre story. “He’s pretty crazy, he seemed to think he’d been involved in other cases where the wrong person was convicted just to hide some supernatural element.” Pussy’s head jerked up and Finn stared at Tom over my head. “What?” I looked around at the three men. “He’s just a crackpot.”

  Pussy took a step forward. “Says the woman who lives with a witch and her three familiars.”

  “That’s different,” I argued. “He didn’t even mention anything about ghosts or magic in this case and it’s hardly like Agatha is pulling any ghostly strings. The woman spends her time giving unsuspecting pedestrians the middle-fingered salute and flashing her knickers at the delivery man.” The three men didn’t look convinced. I spread my arms wide. “Come on, guys, get real. I know Agatha fancies herself as some big bad witch, but she doesn’t have any high-powered magical enemies. She’s an old woman who owned a thrift shop an
d was practically a recluse.”

  Finn frowned. “That’s not true.” He looked at the other men for support and they nodded. “I mean, maybe for the last few months after she fell out with her doll-making friends, but she was hardly ever at home before that.”

  “She loved getting in her car and tearing around the country,” Pussy agreed. He pressed a hand against his stomach and made a face. “She was such a bad driver.”

  Tom smirked. “The worst.” His lips thinned. “She was pretty low the last few weeks though. She kept trying to leave the house but she just… couldn’t. She couldn’t make herself walk out those doors. And then Frankie left.” He shook his head. “She only started to come round again when she found out you’d accepted the job.”

  “Yeah,” I muttered. “Another genius decision from Price Jones.” Something tickled my memory as I imagined a depressed Agatha, unable to leave the house no matter how much she wanted to. Officer Fitzgerald’s words came back to me like a bad dream, somebody Agatha knew or somebody with serious voodoo. Magic. Somebody with magic. I stared at the guys. “Agatha would never have been so depressed that she would…” The three men gave me a puzzled glance and I pursed my lips. “Is there any chance Agatha could have used magic to end her own life?”

  “What? No,” Finn said. He glanced at the others. “Right?”

  Tom looked slightly less convinced. He pressed his lips together. “Maybe we need to talk to Agatha about what you’ve uncovered so far.” He raised his eyes to the ceiling and called, “Agatha?”

  “Aggy?” Pussy joined in. “Agatha, we’ve got liquor…”

  The ghost didn’t appear. Finn pushed the door open. “Back when she was alive, when she would get stressed out, she would lock herself away for hours in her study doing her scrapbooking or whatever the hell it was she did with all those clippings of hers.”