by Sophie Sharp
As Doug handed out Irish coffees, each trucky closed in behind Mia and Molly to hear the update. It was the first time all night the group had been quiet and Molly was grateful. This was not to be missed.
“Oh mercy,” Molly said, clutching for Mia’s hand.
“Maybe they’ve already found the murderer,” Mia said.
“Good attitude, Sweet Pea,” Doug said.
“There’s my truck,” Asil and Sherman said in unison, as if they were famous, but then both groaned when they realized it wasn’t good publicity.
On the screen, Mayor Tully straightened his back and began, “Thank you for joining us. This morning at shortly before noon, Veronica Corsello of Corsello Development was found dead at a vacant lot corner in downtown San Cosmas.”
“Not vacant,” said Molly, but everyone shushed her.
A journalist shouted, “Was she murdered?”
“I’ll turn your questions over to Detective Moat.”
Mayor Tully stepped back and Moat took center stage.
Molly would like to say he wasn’t photogenic and looked horrible on camera, but alas, he looked great. Lacy would say he was made for the big screen. Molly glanced at Mia to see her reaction, but her face looked like it was set in stone.
“At least they didn’t say who found her,” Molly said with relief.
“Yet,” Anthony said.
Good point. The night is young.
“As the mayor said, Veronica Corsello was found dead this morning at eleven fifteen at the corner of San Cosmas Avenue and Yew Street. Foul play is suspected. We will know more after the autopsy.”
“Do you have any suspects?” a reporter asked.
Molly swore that Detective Moat looked straight at the camera and was speaking to Mia. “We are speaking to persons of interest.”
At least he didn’t say her name.
“Who discovered the body?”
Molly saw Mia tense.
“I will not disclose that information at this time,” Moat said.
Molly hoped he didn’t think they owed him anything for that, although it was rather professional of him to keep Mia’s name out of the gutter for now.
“That’s my boy,” Uncle Doug said. “Looking out for my girls.”
Molly rolled her eyes.
“Is the crime tied to the recent proposal by Corsello Development to demolish the parking lot and build a strip mall?”
“We are looking at all angles and motives,” Detective Moat said.
The mayor leaned toward Detective Moat and the mic. “We are asking everyone to avoid speculation or starting rumors. Detective Moat and his team are diligent. They will get to the bottom of this death.”
“Where were you when you heard the news? And what will happen to the city center lot now? You were in favor of Veronica Corsello’s proposal.”
“I heard the news as I was en route from my meeting in San Francisco. As most of you know, earlier today we also buried Opal May Harrison, a matriarch of San Cosmas and part owner of the real estate you’re mentioning. Property decisions remain with Max Harrison, Opal May’s son. On this note, I ask you to please respect Max Harrison’s privacy during this grieving period.”
Detective Moat took the reins again. “If anyone saw Veronica Corsello in the past thirty-six hours …”
Molly stiffened and glanced at Doug, who returned her gaze with a look that said I told you. He broke the stare once they noticed Mia paying close attention to them.
Moat continued, “Or if you’ve seen anything suspicious, contact the police department as soon as possible.”
“Mayor Tully. When did you last see Veronica Corsello?”
Molly leaned closer to hear what he said.
“Last night,” the mayor said. “We had a meeting about the potential development.”
So Nell was right. She had seen the mayor and Veronica leaving his house, but a development meeting didn’t sound like the kind of thing that needed a safe room.
“Mayor Tully,” a journalist said, “today is your sobriety anniversary. Any suggestions for alcoholics and addicts out there who don’t know how to cope with their fears about a murderer on the loose?”
“John,” the mayor said, calling the reporter by name, “I couldn’t be more proud of myself for being able to pick up my twenty-five-year chip this morning. It’s because I’m sober that I’m standing here today. For anyone out there struggling, especially when overwhelmed with horrid news such as this murder, please call your sponsor. And if you don’t have one, call our local Alcoholics Anonymous chapters. There are several and they will open their doors and arms to you.”
“Detective Moat,” another reporter asked, “any advice for the community?”
Molly got goosebumps as his square jaw tightened and his steely blue eyes locked on the camera. “Lock your doors.”
“And for the murderer?”
The detective didn’t budge. “I’m coming for you.”
Chapter Seven
Later that night, Mia lay in the loft bunk of her tiny cottage and stared at the ceiling mere inches away. She kept seeing Moat’s face and hearing his voice saying, “I’m coming for you.” Of course, he was talking to the murderer, not her, but she was a “person of interest.” And that exchange she’d spotted between Aunt Molly and Uncle Doug? Did they know something she didn’t? For the first time since packing her boxes and moving to San Cosmas last November, she was scared about her future.
“Anyone who knows you knows you’d never hurt a flea,” Uncle Doug had said.
Everyone knew everyone else and their dogs in San Cosmas. The trouble was, no one really knew Mia yet. She may be the niece of well-respected and popular Molly Casey-Locks, but she was still new in town—newer than even the detective. As far as anyone here knew, she could be an axe-wielding serial killer. Except, of course, serial killers were almost always men.
She’d Googled the statistics earlier, hoping to make herself feel better. Now she worried it would make her look guiltier if anyone, aka Moat, searched her smart phone’s history. She’d also done searches on Veronica Corsello prior to the animal march. Ugh. She needed Dr. Who’s TARDIS so she could travel back in time and avoid Veronica Corsello and all Google searches.
She inched herself closer to the snoring ball of fur on her pillow and cuddled her cheek against Henri’s back. His little cat body quivered in a blissful stretch, but he didn’t even open an eye.
“I’m glad someone can sleep tonight,” she said. She wished Damion had come over. She could have used his company, but he’d had plans—again. She’d texted him to say she wished he was there, but he hadn’t responded. Maybe he was afraid of hanging around a murder suspect. Or maybe he was up to something after all. How many times had she seen the neighbors of killers tell reporters, “He seemed like such a nice man.” Wouldn’t that be just her luck to go and fall for a murderer?
Maybe she shouldn’t have left L.A. At least there she blended in. She could never be anonymous, of course, not being Lacy Casey’s daughter, but at least in that city of celebrities people were convinced they knew her, knew every little detail of her life. Even if they were wrong about a lot of things, like her being exactly like her mother, at least they’d know she wasn’t capable of murder.
“Who am I kidding?” she told Henri, as if he cared. “If I was in L.A., this would be all over the tabloids by now.”
Her mother would have a field day with that. “There’s no such thing as bad publicity,” she always told Mia. But Mia knew that, for ordinary mortals, that just wasn’t true.
Mia groaned. If this didn’t get settled soon, she’d have to tell Lacy what had happened—and maybe ask for help paying for a lawyer. Right behind being suspected of murder in the list of worst things possible was having her mother jet up to San Cosmas and stick her nose in where it wasn’t needed. Or at least where it wasn’t needed yet.
Mia flipped onto her side and tried to spoon Henri. In response, he got up and resettled at t
he bottom of the bed, just out of her reach.
Great, even my cat has disowned me now.
She’d had such big hopes that moving to San Cosmas would be a fresh start and a chance to finally get her life together. It had been six months since Mia had rented a U-Haul truck and driven herself, Henri, and a shockingly small number of possessions out of the Hollywood hills. She hadn’t cried when she pulled out of Lacy’s driveway or when she’d crested the Sepulveda pass and glimpsed the sprawling metropolis spread out behind her beneath a pale yellow layer of smog. She hadn’t even cried when she got her last look at the beautiful Pacific Ocean tumbling against miles of beach. The steep descent down The Grapevine with the Central Valley laid out for miles ahead hadn’t moved her either. But when she saw the first San Cosmas Next 3 Exits sign, her throat had tightened. And when she finally pulled into the little town with its tree-lined streets surrounded by wooded hillsides, she’d thought, I live here. Then she’d burst into tears and had to pull over until her eyes dried and it was safe to drive again.
Moving had been the first choice she’d made on her own. The first attempt at independence away from the watchful and possessive eyes of her mother. Now it was turning into a disaster of epic proportions.
She was just tossing over to her other side to see if maybe she could fall asleep that way when she heard a noise outside her window. It sounded like something—or someone—tapping on the glass. She bolted upright, knocking her head on the low wooden ceiling. Through the thin white curtains at the window, she could just make out a shape. A human shape. Someone was outside the door. Best case scenario it was Damion, her aunt, or her uncle. Worst case, it was a murderer. “Lock your doors,” Detective Moat had urged. She had locked her door, hadn’t she?
Making use of the years of expensive ballet lessons Lacy had insisted she take, Mia eased herself onto the ladder of her bunk and tip-toed silently to the floor. In the semi-darkness, she looked for a weapon. Uncle Doug kept a baseball bat by the main house’s front door, but that didn’t do her any good in the backyard studio. All Mia could lay her hand on was a paintbrush snatched from the easel where she’d left it. She brandished it like a dagger and tiptoed to the door. If needed, she could poke their eyes with the bristles.
“Mia,” she heard a low voice hiss. In the midst of slasher-thriller movie adrenalin rush, it took her a second to recognize it.
“Auntie Molly?” Right there was proof she was a nervous wreck. She was twenty-one and had just said Aunt-ie. She hadn’t done that for years.
“Shh. Let me in.”
To make sure her ears weren’t playing tricks on her, Mia peeked through the gap in the curtain to find Aunt Molly pressed against the glass, looking furtively up and down the garden.
When she opened the door, her aunt practically fell into the room. Despite the warm weather, she was wearing pale pink flannel pajamas printed all over with cherry-topped cupcakes. Mia was willing to bet they’d been a gift from Uncle Doug.
“What are you doing out here?”
“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Why aren’t you asleep? It’s like …” Mia blinked as her eyes adjusted to the moonlight, looking for her phone.
“It’s two a.m. I can’t sleep.”
Mia flopped into a chair and sighed. “Me neither. I can’t stop thinking about everything.”
Aunt Molly squeezed her shoulder. “I don’t want you to worry, okay? We’ll get this all taken care of. The autopsy and time of death will clear you. I’m sure.”
But the way her aunt’s breath hitched toward the end, she didn’t sound sure. Mia nodded. She wanted to believe her Aunt Molly, but so far, things weren’t looking too good.
“Aunt Molly, what was that look between you and Uncle Doug during the press conference? Just after the detective urged everyone who’d seen Veronica Corsello in the past thirty-six hours to come forward.”
Aunt Molly hesitated. “Well, when Nell was getting her hair done earlier, she mentioned that she’d seen Veronica at the mayor’s house last night. Wait,” she said when Mia began to scowl, “it gets better. But you have to pinky swear that you will not repeat this out of respect for your uncle. That, and I promised Nell I wouldn’t repeat it.”
“Now I’m really curious.” Mia stuck out her pinky.
Pinky shake official, Aunt Molly said, “Nell said Veronica was leaving a ‘safe room.’”
“What’s a safe room? Like James Bond stuff? And what’s this got to do with Uncle Doug?”
“It’s some secret room, maybe like a storage room for confidential stuff. I don’t know. Nell’s never even been in it. Doug worked on it confidentially, so he won’t tell me anything. I asked him about it earlier, and he was determined that I should tell Detective Moat that the mayor had seen her last night in this special room. But as you know,” Aunt Molly lifted her chin, “I’m not the kind to throw someone under the bus. Nell didn’t mean to tell me. And what happens in Glam Van …”
“Stays in Glam Van. Now you don’t have to tell him anything. I’m sure the mayor told Moat already.”
“That’s exactly what I suggested to your uncle after everyone left tonight. I’ll tell the detective about the blackmail pictures once I talk to Anthony. So that’s almost everything.”
Mia picked up on the nuance. “Almost?”
“Listen,” Aunt Molly said, perching on the edge of Mia’s only other chair and switching on the lamp, “I have something to tell you, but I don’t want you to get your almond croissants in a twist.”
Mia had a sinking feeling she wasn’t going to like this.
“I saw something today,” Aunt Molly said. “The coroner gave Detective Moat something that he found in Veronica Corsello’s hand.”
“What sort of something?”
“A necklace.”
“So?”
“I’m only ninety-eight percent sure,” Aunt Molly said, “but it looked an awful lot like one of yours.”
“Mine?” Mia’s hand flew to her throat, as if she expected to find something there.
“One of your creations.”
They turned in unison to the wooden work bench Uncle Doug had built for Mia. Pinned to a cork board was a thin silver wire threaded with tiny pieces of blue and green sea glass shaped like the tail of a mermaid. She’d been planning to finish the piece tonight and add it to her display rack in Mia’s Corner. The necklace had been her best seller to date. She couldn’t keep them on hand.
Mia’s voice shook. “Like that creation?”
“That creation,” Aunt Molly said.
Not long after Mia had arrived in San Cosmas, Aunt Molly and Uncle Doug had taken her up the coast to show her around her new neighborhood, and they’d stopped at a small beach. The Pacific was so much wilder here and Mia had hopped out to watch the waves crash between the rocks and up onto the beach. And then she’d noticed it. The beach was an unusual color, and when she hurried down the rough wooden steps, she discovered it was not covered in sand but in millions of particles of colored glass.
The idea that the glass had once been part of a larger object, tossed by the sea and broken into a smaller, unique shards intrigued her. How far and long had each piece travelled as it was tumbled, tossed, pushed, and pulled by the tide and waves, then chemically altered by the sea water, and finished by the beach sand? Uncle Doug had told her that each piece of frosted glass could have taken anywhere from five to fifty years to wash up on land. Given her own state of transition, she couldn’t help but feel an affinity with the little wonders that had morphed from rough pieces of glass into beautiful frosted stones. She’d gathered some blues and greens and, that night, she’d arranged them into a mermaid. Aunt Molly had gone nuts for it and so Mia had bought some jewelry-making tools and turned it into a pendant.
The first day Aunt Molly had worn it to work, she’d been showered with compliments, and Mia received her first sale. Tabitha had bought it straight off Aunt Molly’s neck with the promise that Mia would rep
lace it. She still hadn’t, due to demand and time. Her modest jewelry business helped supplement her Glam Van wages and gave her a little cash to spend. But more than that, it gave her a sense of pride. It was the first time she’d had her own money—earned, not given—and from something she’d made with her own hands. It wasn’t exactly what she wanted to do for the rest of her life, but it gave her a taste of real freedom and made her feel that she could accomplish something amazing all by herself. It had made her feel like an adult.
Now her beautiful creation was evidence in a murder case. Such cruel fate. It would provide one more notch in Detective Moat’s handcuffs.
“This is bad,” Mia said. “This is like really bad.” She blinked back the threat of fear tears—that’s what her mother called them for acting, only Mia wasn’t acting. She couldn’t cry in front of Aunt Molly or the pair of them would be blubbering idiots in seconds. Her aunt always cried at a hint of tears from Mia. But right now, she felt really, really, really sorry for herself. “That necklace is going to make me look even more guilty.”
“Uh-huh.” Even Aunt Molly, who could find a way to look at the bright side of the end of the world, couldn’t come up with anything reassuring to say.
Except for one important point: Mia was innocent. She couldn’t lose sight of that, no matter what. She hopped up and paced the entire three feet of her pink rug, turned, and paced back. “I’ve got to figure out who did this,” she said. “I’ve got to give the police someone other than me.”
Finally Aunt Molly found something to say. “Let’s play devil’s advocate—like your Uncle Doug did with me earlier. Maybe we shouldn’t get involved. Maybe we should let Detective Moat do his job.”
“But what if every time Detective Moat detects, he finds one more clue that points to me? He knows about my history with Veronica. He’s got me at the scene, holding the weapon, and now one of my necklaces. What’s next, one of my hairs on Veronica’s boots?” Mia blanched as soon as the words were out. Veronica had been wearing those boots at the protest, and Mia’s long blond hair was notorious for getting everywhere.