Willow grinned and winked, her cheeks pink as she twisted her long braid of ginger hair between her fingers. “Oh, I’ve heard all about you. You’re Hal’s new beau—and a Southern beau from Texas to boot. A real cowboy, huh?”
He chuckled. “I am indeed Hal’s boyfriend. Real nice to meet you.”
“Anyway, Willow,” I said, sobering. “How are you? I heard the man who was killed was one of your kitchen staff?”
She gripped her temples with her index and thumb and squeezed. “He was. His name is…was, Joey Scarpetti. He was new, but he was really good at his job. One of the best of the staff, actually, and certainly one of the best waiters I’ve ever had.”
I grabbed her icy fingers and squeezed. “I’m so sorry, Willow. Is there anything I can do?”
Her full face became stricken with fear as she wiped her other hand on her mussed white apron. “Can you tell me who would do this? It’s terrified us. We’re afraid to do anything, knowing someone’s running around out there who’s a murderer.”
I found myself launching into the usual questions. “Did Joey have any trouble with anyone? An argument, maybe? Did he seem distressed?”
She leaned into me so she couldn’t be overheard. “I don’t know about any arguments, but he definitely kept to himself. He did his work, he was always pleasant to the guests, and at the end of his shift, he went back to the bunkhouse and that was that. He was a good kid who never made trouble. I told the police the same thing when they questioned us. Everyone who works in the kitchen pretty much told them as much, too. He was just a nice guy.”
The bunkhouse was for the employees who came from out of state. Saul had a work program where kids from all over the country could experience hotel management and all aspects of running a successful business in the hospitality industry.
He did it twice a year, when the tourist seasons were at their heaviest. During the fall for the foliage, and the winter.
We did it at Just Claus, too, when things got hectic just before we closed down in December and we needed the extra help.
“I’ll let you get back to work, Willow. It looks like you have your hands full, but if you think of anything, text me, would you please?”
Willow smiled, her round face lighting up. “Of course I will. Hey, I heard it happened at your place. Is it true? Did he really…” She blanched and swallowed hard. “Did he really fall from the ski lift?”
I blew out a breath and forced the vision of Joey’s body landing at me feet from my mind. “He did.”
Her expression went stricken. “Oh, Hal, I’m so sorry you had to see that. How awful for you.”
I didn’t want to dwell on the actual event. I couldn’t. Mostly because it was disturbing, but also because I really wanted to find out who the woman in my vision was and if it was possible to stop her from what she planned to do. If I hoped to do that (I prayed I could do that), I had to keep moving.
Giving her a quick hug, I patted her back. “It’s okay, Willow. Listen, if you hear anything, text me, call, whatever, okay?”
“Sure thing. I hear you’re the woman of the hour these days, Miss Crime Solver.”
My cheeks flamed hot and I grew flustered. “I’m absolutely not. I just got lucky.”
She cocked her head, her look skeptical. “Three times? Is that luck or skill, miss?”
Wagging a finger at her, I jokingly scolded, “Oh, you. It’s not what you think. Anyway, keep me in mind. And hey, tell Agnes this fellow potty mouth misses her and hopes she’s enjoying her time off. Can’t wait till the new year so we can share a coffee break and the latest swear words she’s learned on TikTok.”
Willow saluted me and nodded with a smile. “You bet, Hal, and if anyone else finds out something or hears something, I’ll send ’em to you.”
But I shook my head, even if I was feeling a small sense of pride that she’d noticed I’d sort of solved a couple murders. “Send them to the police first.”
“Why would I do that when you’re the one who keeps solving all the mysteries in Marshmallow Hollow?” she asked. “You’re a far better bet, my friend, if you ask me. Now, I gotta get back to work. If I don’t see you, have a great holiday, Hal…and Cowboy.” Using her chubby hand, Willow pushed her way back into the kitchen.
Hobbs smiled his devastatingly handsome smile. “Look at you, Detective Lacey. A real superstar, right here in little ol’ Marshmallow Hollow.”
I flapped a hand at Hobbs and dismissed the notion. “You shush. I’m no such thing. I didn’t really figure much out. I sort of stumbled onto stuff like some clumsy Keystone Cop. That’s what I did. I got lucky. Now, no more talk about me. Let’s keep it moving, Texas.”
As I turned to head back toward the lobby, a young woman I didn’t recognize approached. Blonde with blue-tipped ends to her hair, she looked at me with worried eyes as she took quick strides in my direction.
“Are you Halliday Valentine? The lady whose yard Joey— Who owns the property where he fell off the ski lift?”
“I am. Who are you?” I asked as gently as I could, but my clue radar was on full alert.
She twisted her fingers together in a tangle of digits. “I’m Sierra Murphy. I work the front desk. I heard you talking to Willow, and I remembered something I think could be important. Or maybe. I mean, I don’t know. But I figured I’d better tell someone.”
“Have you told the police what you know yet, Sierra?” Hobbs asked.
She gave him a vague smile, leaning back against the walnut paneling, her pale skin standing out against the dark backdrop. “Not yet. Though, I promise I will as soon as possible. But I keep hearing you’re the crime solver in town, so I figure if it helps, you should know, too. I mean, I don’t even know if it’s going to make a big difference anyway.”
Sure. I was a real crime solver. Saying that was like saying Hiroshima was just a little dust cloud. “So what can I do for you, Sierra? How can I help?”
Her eyes got a faraway look as she glanced past my shoulder at all the people in the café. Nibbling at her nail, when she finally spoke, her words were nervous and shaky. “Joey was always so quiet, but he was friendly, you know? He mostly kept to himself but sometimes he’d have lunch with some of us, and he was kind of funny.”
“I’ve heard that from everyone,” I revealed. “That he was a nice guy, but quiet and a really hard worker.
Tightening her green sweater around her small waist, she shook her head. “He was, and I don’t know if what I heard that day means anything, but because Joey was so quiet and nice, I guess it just seemed strange. But it didn’t really stand out to me until today, when I heard…well, you know.”
I reached for her hand and gave it a small squeeze to reassure her she was among friends.
“Anyway, he was on the phone with someone named Sabrina, and he was really upset. He said, ‘Don’t worry, Brina. I won’t let it get any further. They won’t get away with it. I’ll make sure it gets erased. All of it. Every last bit. I promise.’”
Le gasp!
I think we finally had a legit clue.
Holy shitake mushrooms.
Chapter 7
Sierra’s words sent a cold chill up my spine and down along my arms.
Erased? What did that mean? Did it mean anything?
“Is there more, Sierra? Did he say anything else?”
Her cheeks puffed outward when she blew out a breath. “Nuh-uh. When he saw me, I think he figured I heard him, I guess. So he walked off to another part of the lobby to finish his conversation. But those were his exact words. Like I said, I don’t know if it meant anything or even if it’s important to the investigation. For all I know he could have been talking about anything, but he sure sounded pretty upset. Joey wasn’t a guy who riled easily. He was really calm and easygoing, but that phone call was just…” Sierra shrugged. “It was just a different Joey. I’d never seen that side of him. So…intense, I guess would be the right word.”
Okay, so who was Sabrina? A Girlfrie
nd. Friend? Family?
“Do you have any idea who Sabrina could be, Sierra?” Hobbs asked, his voice rife with concern.
Her head vehemently shook in the negative. “No. No, sir. None. He never talked about a Sabrina. He didn’t talk about much at all that had to do with his home life.”
But this begged the question, how well did Sierra know Joey? “How long did you two work together, Sierra?”
“About a week or so. He got here for the hospitality work program about the same time I did.”
Was that enough time to really know if Joey’s demeanor was always quiet and easygoing? A week wasn’t much time to really know anyone. Sometimes a lifetime wasn’t enough, but a week was hardly any time at all.
Still, everyone said the same thing about Joey Scarpetti. He was nice, a hard worker, quiet and easygoing. Yet, he was an odd duck in that he didn’t exist anywhere on social media.
Didn’t they say that about killers? He was so quiet? I mean, Jeffrey Dahmer was quiet and look what happened there.
But Joey wasn’t a suspect in his own murder. It simply struck me as so strange that everyone had an identical opinion of him. It felt purposeful. As though he wanted to remain nondescript for a reason.
“I definitely think you should tell the police, Sierra. My best friend works for the Marshmallow Hollow Police Department. His name is Stiles Fitzsimmons. If you’ll give me your phone, I’ll put his number in your cell and you can contact him with the information you have. Okay?”
She nodded and pulled her phone from the pocket of her green sweater, handing it to me. As I tapped in Stiles’s number, she inhaled sharply. “Wait! I just remembered something else. Oh, I can’t believe I forgot this part!”
I frowned. “What’s that?”
“When Joey was walking away and telling Sabrina not to worry, he said he found an awesome purple Christmas ornament he’d bring to her when he came home. Almost like he was trying to make her feel better, and the color purple would do it.”
I froze at those words, and Hobbs stiffened beside me.
Purple.
The girl in my vision had a purple bedroom with purple pillows and a purple and white purse.
I knew my vision was somehow connected to Joey’s death, and now I was more convinced than ever. We needed to talk to Stiles right away.
Stiles looked tired when he met us at the café. We waved him over to our table and flagged the waitress to grab him a cup of coffee and a sandwich.
It was mostly empty now, with the exception of two or three couples, the cheerful Christmas music louder without all the chatter from the guests.
He slid into the red vinyl chair opposite me at our small, round table with a miniature Christmas tree in the center. “Afternoon, guys. You two okay after this morning?”
“Forget us, how are you, buddy?” Hobbs asked. “You look like a wet noodle.”
Stiles ran a hand over his face and the stubble forming on his chin. “It’s been a hectic day from the minute I put my feet on the floor at five a.m. So what’s up? You guys been snoopin’ around? Got somethin’ for me?”
I told him about my vision and the woman in it and the connection I thought there was between her purple room and Joey Scarpetti.
He reached across the white Formica table and grabbed my hand. “Man, Cupcake, that sounds pretty scary. You all right?”
“I’ll be okay when we find out who she is. I’m terrified I won’t find her in time, Stiles. I have to try and find her.”
Stiles leaned back against the chair. “Then you don’t know if this has happened yet?”
I fought the sudden onslaught of tears. “No,” I whispered, trying to keep my voice even. “But I need you to let me help you, Stiles. And I need you to help me and give me all that sensitive police information you say you can’t share with me when you’re investigating, because I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t try and figure out if I can stop this and something happens to her because I didn’t get there in time.”
As the waitress dropped off his egg salad sandwich and coffee, he gave me a sympathetic look. “That’s a lot of pressure to put on yourself, Hal. If this has already happened, there’s nothing you can do.”
I sat up straight in my chair and looked directly at him. “And if it hasn’t? Do I want to look back and say if only I’d done something? I can’t live with that.”
Stiles’s reaction said he was going to tell me no, but I cut him off. “Stiles, you know my visions are real, and you know I would never, ever betray your confidence. No one has to know you’re giving me information. I swear I won’t utter a word.”
He wiped his mouth with a red paper napkin with Santa Claus’s face in the center. “It’s not that and you know it, Hal. You know I trust you, and I believe in your visions. I guess it’s just my sense of duty, and the possibility I could tell you something and you’ll pursue it, then get hurt. Then I won’t be able to live with myself.”
I grabbed his hand and tightened my grip. “Then let’s make a deal. I swear on our friendship if I come across something that needs investigating, I’ll tell you. I won’t make a move without you. Girl Scout’s honor.”
His lips went thin, his eyes skeptical. “You weren’t a Girl Scout, Hal.”
I rolled my eyes. “Right you are. But I was a Brownie. Is there really a difference?”
He gave me a lopsided grin. “For like twelve seconds, until Peggy Pullman made you mad and you turned her lunch into a—” He stopped short, remembering Hobbs was there.
“Pile of worms,” I finished, wincing. Yeah. That had been an abysmally bad day. “Overreaction…”
“Uh, ya think?”
“I didn’t mean to turn her sandwich into worms. I meant to turn it into spinach. Peggy Pullman hated spinach,” I explained. “But in my defense, she was really mean, Stiles. She tied those stupid knots we were learning at Brownie camp with my shoe laces. I fell and whacked up my face pretty good, remember? Busted up my nose and split my lip.”
Hobbs finally burst out laughing as he nudged me. “Worms?”
“Wait!” Stiles almost shouted when he realized we were talking about my magic out in the open. He leaned into me, talking out of the side of his mouth as he thumbed his finger at Hobbs. “Dainty knows…about?”
“Oh! I forgot to tell you. I told Hobbs everything last night.”
“Everything?” Stiles squeaked, his eyes wide.
“Everything,” I confirmed with a nod and a smile.
“And this happened after your last crime-solving caper where you nearly gave me a heart attack?”
I grinned at him. “Yes, Stiles. After that.”
He looked at Hobbs and tipped an imaginary hat to him. “Well, you didn’t run off to parts unknown, so I guess you’re taking this okay?”
Hobbs winked. “I won’t say she didn’t knock me for a loop.”
“Didja ask stupid questions?”
Hobbs cocked an eyebrow. “Like?”
“Like, does she ride a broom,” Stiles cackled.
Hobbs gave us a sheepish glance. “I mean, c’mon, man. When you found out, wasn’t that the first thing you wondered?”
Stiles barked a laugh. “When I could actually speak again, that was my very first question. Remember that, Hal?”
Now I laughed. “I sure do. What is it with you two and your obsession with brooms?”
“Aw, c’mon, honey,” Hobbs said in protest, wrapping an arm around me. “I think it’s a fair question. I mean, who didn’t grow up watching Bewitched? Right, Stiles?”
Stiles stuck his square jaw out at me. “Yeah. What Dainty said. See? You made fun of me, too, but that was the first thing that came to mind. You riding on a broom in a silhouette across the moon.”
“That’s a TV show, you knuckleheads, and no witch I know wiggles her nose to cast a spell,” I whispered with a scoff, looking around to see if we’d drawn any attention.
Stiles rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Either way, I’m glad yo
u know, buddy, and you didn’t head for the hills, or I’d have to hunt you down for hurting my BFF.”
My heart warmed. Stiles always looked out for me. “Okay, all the protective big brother stuff aside, will you let me help with the investigation? Let us help? People are more likely to let their guards down and talk to a couple of nobodies than they are the police. Think of it that way.”
Stiles took the last bite of his egg salad sandwich and popped a chip in his mouth, crunching on it as he quite obviously pondered.
“If you don’t want me to hear anything, I can hit the bricks, bud,” Hobbs offered.
Stiles wiped his mouth. “Nah. It’s fine. As long as you both promise to keep your mouths shut, I’ll tell you what I know. But you have to swear to me you’ll be careful, Hal. Swear it.”
“You wanna do a blood oath?” I asked with a smug grin. He’d made me do it once when he made me swear I wouldn’t tell Zeke Barns that Stiles was in love with him.
When we pricked our fingers with sewing needles to seal our deal, Stiles gagged and almost passed out. Stiles wasn’t great with the sight of blood—which always made his profession choice a curious one to me.
He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “That’s gross.”
“Baby,” I taunted like the days of old.
“I was ten, Hal.”
I stuck my tongue out at him and stole a chip from his plate with a facetious grin. “So was I.”
Hobbs rolled his eyes. “Okay, you guys. Y’all stop whizzin’ on each other’s trees and let’s make a deal so we can figure out what goin’ on with this woman Hal saw in her vision.”
We both straightened at that and tried to keep serious faces, but Stiles nudged me with his feet under the table, making us both fight to keep from laughing.
“Knock it off!” I whisper-yelled at him, widening my eyes. “I promise, okay. I swear it on my favorite throw pillows. I promise I’ll be careful and not take any unnecessary risks. I didn’t mean to take the ones I took in the first place. They just happened.”
But Stiles reminded me, “You didn’t just happen to follow that car to the last murder, Kitten. That was a risk you meant to take. It was no accident.”
Carnage in a Pear Tree Page 6