Prologue to Murder

by Lauren Elliott

  Something her father had once told her about investigations flooded her mind. In the law, you wait. You listen, and you watch, and eventually everyone reveals him- or herself. Her eyes met Jeanie’s. She flushed and quickly averted her attention to Serena beside her.

  Addie sighed and glanced at the wall clock behind the front desk. It was after eight, and Simon would be here any minute. She stretched out her stiff neck and shoulders and suggested it would be a good time to break for refreshments. The group members eagerly agreed and headed toward the counter. Addie remained in her seat, feigning interest in the book on her lap, and flipped through pages while she surreptitiously watched Jeanie incessantly check her watch. Addie closed the book and stood up. It had been clear to her that although Jeanie was indeed the distraught daughter, there was something else she knew or was hiding, and Addie just happened to have a few unanswered questions, so now was as good a time as any to try to get a few of them answered.

  Addie moved toward Jeanie, who was standing at the end of the counter beside Ida. She reached between the two women for a sandwich. “These look so good. It was really thoughtful of you to supply the food, Jeanie. Too bad your companion couldn’t have stayed. He doesn’t know what he’s missing.” Addie smiled at her and reached for a napkin.

  “As I told you earlier, he had a meeting to attend,” Jeanie said without looking at Addie as she plopped a pod into the coffee maker.

  “Oh, yes, I remember.” Addie positioned herself between the women.

  Ida stopped in mid-bite of her sandwich. “Funny, I thought he owned a travel agency in Chicago. What business meeting could he possibly have attended here?” Addie couldn’t miss the piercing look Ida shot Jeanie.

  “He’s a travel agent—how nice.” Addie glanced back at Gloria, who was deep in conversation with Catherine at one of the tables. “Does Gloria know him, too?”

  “I doubt it.” Jeanie’s shoulders stiffened.

  “I just thought that since they were in the same . . . never mind. What was his name—Peter, wasn’t it?”

  “Steven,” mumbled Ida, pushing the last bit of her cheese and ham sandwich into her mouth. “His name is Steven.”

  “Right,” said Addie. “Peter was Lacey’s blond friend from LA, the one she said could be your friend’s twin brother.”

  Jeanie flinched and stiffened.

  “I was just wondering,” Addie continued, shifting against the counter, “who was the salt-and-pepper-haired man you were speaking with the other day after you left my shop? He could have been Steven’s brother, too.” Addie met her startled look. “I just ask because it’s so weird that three men all look remarkably similar. Does Steven have brothers?”

  Ida glanced sideways at Addie.

  Jeanie looked at Ida, then at Addie, spun on her heel, and walked toward Catherine. She bent forward and whispered something to Catherine, picked up her coat and purse, and left. Ida’s eyes never left Jeanie’s back until the door swung closed behind her.

  She looked at Addie, grinning. “Well, looks like you struck a nerve.”

  Addie’s mouth dropped open. “What just happened?”

  Ida’s eyes twinkled. “I’ve bit my tongue for weeks, waiting to get a shot in at her. Too bad she left. I was ready to jump in and give the knife a good twist.”

  “I just don’t get it. I wasn’t prying, just being chatty. Who is Steven, and what did I say that made her leave?”

  “She doesn’t like to talk about him.”

  “Why? You’d think she’d want to talk about him. He seems to be an important person in her life.”

  “He is, and before that, he was an important person in June’s life, too.”

  Addie leaned closer to Ida. “What do you mean?”

  “She stole her mother’s boyfriend,” Ida whispered, “and a few of us won’t ever forgive her for that. Well, all except Dorothy there.” Her head ticked in Dorothy’s direction. “They’re best friends.”

  “Who? Jeanie and Dorothy?”

  Ida’s birdlike head bobbed up and down.

  “Really?”

  “The whole mess broke June’s heart.” She wiped crumbs from her mouth, scrunched the napkin into a tight ball, and tossed it on the counter.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Addie finished wiping down the counter and looked at the clock. It was well past nine, and there had been no word from Simon. She stretched her stiff neck and shoulders, thankful the meeting had ended earlier than anticipated. If only she’d had more time to talk to Ida about the bombshell she’d dropped. Jeanie had become involved with her own mother’s boyfriend? That revelation just moved Jeanie and the mysterious chameleon of a man, Steven, to the top of her list of suspects. This was something she needed to tell Marc. She pulled her cell out of her pocket, began dialing his cell number, and stopped. Her shoulders sank, and she slipped the phone into her pocket again, ignoring the pain in her heart.

  She retrieved her purse and jacket, turned off the lights, and had begun setting the alarm at the back entrance when a pounding noise echoed through the building. Heart beating in her throat, she crept toward the rear entrance door.

  “Addie, Addie, are you still in there?” an excited voice shouted from the other side.

  “Simon?” She flung the door open, laughing. “I’m afraid you missed the book club, it was—”

  He pulled the door open, wrenching it from her grasp, and stepped inside, banging it closed behind him.

  “What is it?” She placed her hand on his arm. “You look shaken. What’s happened?”

  His eyes dropped, and he sucked in a deep breath and shook his head. When he raised his eyes, they held a tortured look that sent instant prickles rushing up Addie’s spine. “What’s happened?”

  “I think I’d better take you directly home.”

  Her eyes narrowed, and she recoiled. “Why? What’s happened?”

  “There are people waiting for you.” He looked at her, his face taut and pale. “I came to warn you.”

  “What people? You’re not making sense.”

  “The police. If they’re not there now, they will be shortly.”

  “The police? Why would they be at my house? Oh, God no.” Her hand flew up to her gaping mouth. “Have I been broken into again?”

  He shook his head.

  “Then what?” She sank onto a wooden storage crate and stared up at him. “What is it you’re not telling me? Is it Serena? Has that witch Lacey—”

  “No, it’s that . . . it’s, well . . .” He sat down beside her and took her hand in his. “I stopped by the police station on my way here to drop some dinner off for Carolyn. She’d forgotten hers at home, and her husband can’t leave the kids alone, so . . .” He stroked the back of her hand. “Apparently, an anonymous tip had come in to the station.” He took a deep breath. “Someone reported that you are in possession of the shovel believed to have killed June Winslow.” He squeezed Addie’s trembling fingers. Her mouth dropped. “Marc was in the midst of obtaining a search warrant when I bolted out of there and came directly here to warn you.”

  Addie couldn’t move. She stared at Simon with unseeing eyes. “You’re joking, right? Someone’s pranking me?” She glanced around the room. “Who is it? Serena? Lacey? I bet it’s Lacey.” She stood up, her knees wobbling.

  He leapt to his feet to steady her. “I’m afraid this is no prank, Addie.” His hands gripped her shoulders. “Come on, I’ll drive.”

  Addie gulped and willed her shaking legs to behave, but her knees rebelled and gave way. Simon looped his arm around her shoulders and escorted her into the front seat of his car. Her mind reeled, and her stomach churned. She sat forward in the passenger seat, her head between her knees. Simon stroked her back as she played out the evening in her head, trying to recall who had said and done what. Had she offended someone tonight? This had to be some kind of cruel joke, but there had to be a reason that had forced somebody to make such a claim. Had she gotten too close to the truth with her qu
estions? She flashed over the names written on her blackboard. Was it someone on there who felt threatened? She bit her lip and came up with a mental list of people who would fit into the anonymous tip category. By the time they pulled down her driveway, she had a list to supply Marc with. Surely he would listen to her and see just how ridiculous this all was.

  She stepped out into a barrage of blue and red flashing lights. Officers and dogs were scouring the estate grounds. Every light in the house and the garage beamed into the darkness. Her chest constricted. Simon supported her elbow as she marched up the stairs and across the porch and stood frozen in the open doorway. Just breathe; keep breathing, she repeated over and over in her mind, but then she spied the splintered doorframe, and indignation at the intrusion unleashed within her as she stepped inside.

  “Where is Chief Chandler?” She glowered at a young officer in the foyer. “I want to see him and the search warrant immediately.”

  The young police officer nodded and headed down the corridor to the kitchen.

  Addie glanced at Simon, who was standing silently beside her. His focus appeared to be on the two officers conducting a search of the living room. Her shoulders tensed.

  “Miss Greyborne.” Marc’s voice from the porch behind her cut through the airless foyer.

  She spun around, greeted by a set of unyielding, dark eyes. Without ceremony or explanation, he handed her a tri-folded sheet of paper. She reached for it, but her trembling hand gave away the dread building inside her. Simon snatched it from Marc’s fingers and scanned it. His eyes met hers, and regret waved across his face. “It—” He cleared his throat. “It seems to be in order.”

  Marc looked from Addie to Simon, then to Addie again. “Miss Greyborne, the search warrant also includes your vehicle. Where might my officers find it, in order that they may complete the property investigation?”

  “It’s still at my shop.”

  He tipped his cap and stood back, waving his arm in a motion for her to lead the way.

  “What, no handcuffs?” she sneered sideways at him.

  “Not at this point. Provided you cooperate.” He escorted her to his patrol car.

  “What about my house? I can’t leave it unsecured.” She looked back at the splintered doorframe. “You know, since you and your men decided to make such a grandiose entrance.”

  “I’ll stay here,” Simon called from the porch. “Call me later if you need anything.”

  She nodded back at him as Marc pushed down on the top of her head, guiding her into the back seat.

  He went around and got into the front. Their eyes met as he glanced into the rearview mirror. She glared at him. Nothing was said between them on the drive to her shop. When they arrived, they were met by two officers in another patrol car.

  Without a word, Marc reached over the back seat, his palm open. Addie’s lip curled up as she fished around in her purse and plunked her car keys into his outstretched hand. “Stay here” was all he barked before he joined the search team at the rear of her Mini Cooper.

  Addie was numb. This couldn’t be happening—and why was Marc treating her like a criminal? He knew her better, and this was an obvious setup. Why couldn’t he see that, and why was he taking this whole stupid thing so seriously? She leaned forward, trying to see what was happening with her car. Marc returned, started the engine, and without a word, began driving down the alley, then turned on Main Street right into the police station’s rear parking lot.

  “Now what? Am I under arrest? Do I get booked, thrown in a cell?” She looked up at him as he swung her door open.

  He still didn’t utter a word as he took her by the arm and led her up the stairs and through the rear door into the station. “Marc, talk to me,” she pleaded, but he only swept past the front counter into his office and shut the door.

  “Have a seat, Miss Greyborne.” He motioned to the chairs, went around behind his desk, and sat, his hands folded on the desktop.

  She stood by the door, mouth gaping open. He motioned again. “Sit, please.”

  She edged her way to the closest chair and slumped into it.

  “Thank you.” He retrieved a file from his in-basket. “Now, it seems we have a bit of a problem.”

  “I don’t think it’s we that have a problem,” she said with a tick of her head. “I’d say it’s you that has the problem.”

  Marc tilted his head, a puzzled look in his eyes.

  “I do believe that even with a search warrant, the police can’t legally break into someone’s home.”

  He lifted a brow, shuffling some papers on his desk, appearing amused by her statement.

  “That’s right, isn’t it?”

  “Not entirely.” He chuckled and sat back in his chair. “The truth is according to the law if police have reason to believe that drugs or something else might be hidden on the property. In this case, it was possible evidence in a murder investigation. We only have to knock and announce our presence and then wait for a reasonable amount of time for the occupant to come to the door. Depending on the seriousness of the crime the wait period is generally less than a minute.”

  “What? You only give people that long to reply. What if it’s a big house like mine?”

  “We can’t take the chance that the person or people inside might try to dispose of the evidence we’re searching for before they answer. If we’ve followed the knock-and-announce rule, we then have the authority make a forced entry.”

  “You could have at least called and told me what was going on, and then I could have met you there and let you in.” Her eyes flashed with outrage.

  “What,” he said, shaking his head chuckling, “and tip you off so you could get rid of anything you were trying to hide from us?”

  “You can’t be serious, Marc. This is me. I’m no criminal, and you know that.”

  He leaned forward, tapping his pen on the folder in front of him. “Actually, Miss Greyborne, I’m beginning to wonder how well I really did know you in the first place.”

  She jumped to her feet. “You can’t be serious?”

  “I am taking this very seriously. As one of my officers pointed out, this was a very sleepy town until you arrived, and now . . . well, let’s just say it’s not what it used to be.”

  “You can’t really think that I . . .”

  “Sit down.” His lips twitched into a half smile. “Please.”

  She flopped into her chair and smoothed her clammy palms on her knees, her mind whirling as she tried to get a grasp on what game was being played out here.

  “Look.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, his eyes meeting hers. “We didn’t find anything. Obviously, the lead was false and meant to scare you off and lead us down a different path of investigation. But it does concern me. Someone knows you’re investigating, which is exactly what I told you not to do.”

  “But I haven’t been, I promise.”

  “Nothing?”

  “No. Well, aside from asking questions of a few people and keeping track of suspects on my board.”

  “Then I’m guessing one of those people thought you knew too much and was trying to take our—and by our, I mean the police—investigation in another direction so that should you stumble across anything, it would show a lack of credibility on your part and anything you found would be tossed out.”

  She slouched back in her chair. “I guess the good news is I must be close to discovering something.”

  He stood up and walked to the window behind the desk. “Too close. I tried to warn you to leave it alone.”

  “I know, but—”

  “No buts, Addie.” He spun around. “This is a cold-blooded murderer we’re talking about, and now he has his sights on you. What’s next?” He leaned his hands on the desk, glaring at her. “Do we have to get Serena or me or Simon to identify your body?”

  She cringed and sank back.

  “Seriously, Addie,” he said, sitting down in his desk chair, “another thing I asked you was to br
ing any and all of your findings to me.”

  “Well . . . things haven’t been exactly . . . that close between us recently.”

  “No.” He coughed, clearing his raspy throat. “No, they haven’t, and I think that’s for the best right now, considering. . .”

  “Okay, if that’s the way you want it, fine. We’ll just keep things professional and both be happier.”

  He looked down at his notepad. “So, you were about to tell me,” he began, looking up and holding her gaze, “what you have discovered that has made someone nervous enough to set up this wild-goose chase.”

  “I did find out that Dorothy and June, as close as they were, had some disagreements, and June basically fired her from working on the book, from what I can gather.”

  Marc pursed his lips.

  “And that Jeanie’s boyfriend was seeing June before her. As Ida said, Jeanie stole him from her. And that Lacey knew someone in LA who looked exactly like him.” She edged to the front of her seat. “Except for the hair color. And I’ve seen him with both black and salt-and-pepper hair, so . . .”

  Marc scribbled something in his notebook.

  “And no one seems to know where June’s original manuscript is, and I think it holds a clue to who the murderer is at least and why they wanted her dead and—”

  “Wait, let’s go back to this boyfriend of Jeanie’s. What else do you know about him?”

  In a rush of words, she began. “Only the changing hair color thing, and of course the fact that he was beside us at the restaurant that night and appeared a bit too interested in our conversation, if I say so. And Ida told me he was a travel agent, and Gloria is a travel agent, too, but when I asked Jeanie if they knew each other, she bolted from the meeting. So Gloria might be a lead, too, and Lacey’s brother, Dean, because he was one of the only two council members known to have read the original book draft.” She paused and took a deep breath.