Ruffed Up Murder (Pet Shop Cozy Mysteries Book 10)

by Susie Gayle

  “Good luck, Will.”

  “Thanks. Call me if you hear anything else.” I head towards the door. “Oh, and Sammy? This is all off the record. No one can know I’m looking into this, okay?”

  “Mum’s the word, pal.”

  Outside I climb into my SUV, Rowdy waiting on the passenger seat beside me.

  “Why would Blumberg tell him it’s never going to happen?” I ask my dog. “How would he know that?”

  I stick the key in the ignition, but before I can turn the engine over my cell phone rings.

  “Sarah, what’s up? Is everything okay?”

  “Will, I just got a call from Mayor Sturgess. It seems that the cops went around to all of our places last night, and they found a jack with a missing handle that matches the murder weapon.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. It was taken from Sockets & Sprockets.”

  Mr. Casey’s auto shop. “Did they arrest him?”

  “No, not yet. But it seems he’s their new lead suspect at the moment.”

  “Casey did seem awfully blasé about us finding Morse dead.”

  “Will, you don’t actually think he did it, do you?” Sarah asks, incredulous.

  “No, I’m just saying his attitude can’t help his case. I’m on my way to the tree farm now; I’ll call you later.”

  CHAPTER 9

  * * *

  Morse’s tree farm on the southern side of town is about six acres of mostly flat land, gently sloping in some places, and—as you’d probably expect—mostly covered in pine trees, ranging from tiny saplings to tall, sturdy adults. The Morse farmhouse and accompanying barn takes up only a small portion of the eastern edge of the property, with a long gravel driveway leading up to it.

  As I guide my SUV slowly toward the house, I can see I’m not the only one who decided to visit the Morse homestead this morning. A sleek black town car sits close to the barn, and two men in suits stand just a short distance from the porch, one of them carrying a briefcase.

  “Stay, boy,” I tell Rowdy as I get out of the car.

  A young man leans against the railing of the front porch of the home. He’s in his late twenties, early thirties, but otherwise a spitting image of his father—tall and strong with shaggy brown hair.

  And currently, it seems, very angry.

  “I’m only going to tell you one more time,” Kyle Morse shouts at the pair of suited men, “I’m not signing anything!”

  “Mr. Morse,” says one of the two men, clearly flustered, “we’re deeply sorry for your loss, but we had an agreement with your father—”

  “Do I look like my father?” Kyle shouts back at them.

  The two men look at each other, and then back at him. “Well… yes, actually, the resemblance is striking—”

  “That’s not what I meant!” he shouts. “Now I’m going to give you to the count of three to get back in your car and leave before I go grab the shotgun. One…”

  “Please, sir, there’s no need for threats…”

  “Two…”

  “Fine!” The man with the briefcase holds up his hand. “We’re leaving. But you’ll be hearing from our lawyers.” The two frustrated suits get into the car and back down the driveway, passing me as they do.

  Kyle Morse turns his hard gaze on me. He waits to speak until the town car is gone, and then half-shouts, “And what do you want?”

  “I, uh…” I clear my throat. I was so sure a minute ago that Kyle would be signing the agreement that I’m not sure what to say now. “I’m a local business owner in Seaview Rock. I came up here to try to convince you not to sign, but… looks like I don’t have to.”

  Kyle’s stare softens a little. “What business?”

  “The Pet Shop Stop, on Center Street.”

  “Yeah?” He gazes down the empty driveway, and then jerks his head toward the house. “Well, come on then.” He disappears inside.

  I hesitate for a few moments—the guy did just threaten two other people with a shotgun—but I follow him into the home. The interior is classic and beautiful, exposed beams and wood paneling that give the farmhouse the feel of a rustic, cozy cabin.

  “I need some coffee,” Kyle grumbles. “You want some coffee?”

  “No, thanks. I’m okay. But… you don’t seem all that surprised to see me.”

  Kyle pours himself a mug as he says, “I’m not. You’re not the first person from town to come visit this morning to see if I’d sign.” He turns to me sharply. “And I’ll tell you the same I told them: you can go back into town and let everyone know, Kyle Morse is not his father. My dad was foolish. I love this farm, and I love this town.” He laughs bitterly. “I mean, I just turned down a million dollars.”

  “Yeah. You said I’m not the first? Who else came to see you?”

  “Uh, let me think… the fellow that owns the grocery store, Miller, he came by. Sylvia, who runs the coffee shop, she was here. And the mayor… but that was more to express his condolences about my dad.” He takes a long sip and adds quietly, “They went way back, the two of them.”

  “So I’ve heard. Kyle, can I ask you something else? Do you happen to know who your dad might have told about his plans to sell?”

  He shrugs. “I can’t say for sure. I know he told the mayor as a courtesy, on account of them being friends, but I wouldn’t doubt it if he went and ran his mouth off to other folks too. He was just so proud of his big payday.” Kyle shakes his head. “I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn’t listen to me.”

  “Do you happen to know if…” I clear my throat. “Do you know if anyone might have threatened him over it?”

  Kyle narrows his eyes and scrutinizes me as if he’s just now noticing me for the first time. “You’re thinking that he blabbed to the wrong person and got himself killed.”

  “Yeah.” At least, now I am, since I found out that Kyle has no intention of selling his land to Sprawl-Mart.

  “What did you say your name was?” he asks.

  “I didn’t.”

  Kyle grins. “Well, Mr. Pet Shop, that’s precisely what I think happened. Unfortunately, that means that it could have been just about anyone in town that did him in.” He takes another long swig of black coffee. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to start planning a funeral.”

  CHAPTER 10

  * * *

  “So now you don’t think it was Kyle Morse?” Sarah asks me as she cleans out a kennel.

  “No, not anymore. I mean, the guy has a lot of anger. I guess it’s possible that it was him, to stop the deal, but… my gut’s telling me it wasn’t.” I mean, the guy did turn down a million bucks. Money is a great motivator, but I’ve never heard of anyone killing someone else to avoid getting money.

  After leaving Morse’s tree farm, I headed right back to the Pet Shop Stop to report to Sarah and think about my next step. Dennis mans the register, and the two of us speak quietly on the other side of the shop so that he can’t hear us.

  “The problem is, we don’t know who Logan Morse told about his deal,” I continue, “which means that Kyle is right; it could have been anyone.”

  “Well, not anyone.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Sarah pauses and glances up at me. “Let’s assume that it wasn’t Mr. Casey, since being at the Runside last night implicated him as a suspect anyway. So whoever did this fits three criteria. One: they stole a jack handle from Sockets & Sprockets. Two: they were able to stash the body at the Runside at some point early yesterday before Holly opened at eleven. And three…” She glances over at Dennis to make sure he’s not eavesdropping. “They know about Dennis and his comic, and mimicked the crime.”

  “True. But there’s no way to narrow down the people that might have read Bill Mulligan, so let’s just look at the first two. The jack handle could have been taken by any of the mechanics that work there. Or it could have been anyone that’s gotten their car fixed lately…”

  Sarah s
ighs. “It could have just plain been anyone. It’s June; they leave the garage bay doors open in nicer weather. Who’s to say someone didn’t just wander in when no one was looking and take it?”

  “Okay, that’s a valid point, but… why? I mean, of all the possible murder weapons to whack someone in the head with, why add the risk of stealing a particular… oh.” A light bulb goes on in my head.

  “Oh what?”

  I take her hand and pull her to her feet so that we’re almost nose-to-nose. “Sarah,” I tell her quietly, “I think we’re looking at this the wrong way. It’s more than the sum of its parts. The jack handle from Mr. Casey’s business… the body found at the Runside, which Holly owns… and the crime carried out in a way that mimic your brother’s comic. All of this was to murder a man who found a loophole in the proposal that the three of you approved.”

  Sarah shakes her head slowly as realization dawns. “This wasn’t just a murder.”

  I finish her thought. “It was a message.”

  “A message of what, though?”

  Suddenly Mrs. Blumberg’s eerie warning flashes through my mind. There are those that can be quite… resistant to new ideas.

  “That you’re changing too much, maybe. It might make some people nervous.”

  “Changing too much?” Sarah scoffs. “Everything I’m doing is to help this town!”

  “I know that, but—”

  “And what, they think that justifies murder?”

  “It’s just a theory, Sarah—”

  “People feel nervous? Not yet they’re not. Wait until I find who did this. Oh, they’ll be nervous, alright.”

  “Hey. Relax a bit, okay? We’re not going to get anywhere with you…” I glance over her shoulder as the door to the pet shop swings open and Patty Mayhew enters. “Hi, Chief.”

  “Hi, Will. Sarah.”

  “What, uh, brings you by? Have you found anything?”

  “Yes, we have, Will.” She turns on a heel to face Dennis. “Mr. Cummings, would you mind coming with me down to the station?”

  “Me?” The color drains from Dennis’s face. “Why?”

  Patty flashes a friendly smile. “I just want to ask you a few questions.”

  His gaze flits nervously from me to Sarah to Patty. “Can I… can I say no?”

  “Of course you can.” Patty puts her hands on her belt, and I can’t help but notice that one of them is dangerously close to her handcuffs.

  Dennis glances helplessly at me. I know that he doesn’t have to go with her or answer any questions. I also know that it’s within Patty’s authority to arrest him for suspicion and detain him temporarily if she wants. If Dennis has nothing to hide, the best course of action is probably for him to go along with her and be helpful, if he can.

  I nod to him slightly. He gulps.

  “Alright. I’ll come with you.”

  “Thank you, Dennis. I appreciate it.” Patty leads him out the door of the Pet Shop Stop to the cruiser waiting at the curb.

  I follow her out just as she’s letting Dennis into the car.

  “Patty, is this really necessary?” I ask her.

  She whirls on me. “I’m disappointed in you, Will.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Don’t play dumb. I’m certain you know about his… comic thing and how it relates to this murder.”

  “Obviously someone else set that up. Dennis didn’t do anything—”

  “Then he has nothing to be afraid of,” she shrugs. “But right now, I have to follow every lead. I just want to know what he knows—especially since he had his oil changed at Sockets & Sprockets just two days ago.”

  Oh.

  I didn’t know that part.

  “By the way,” Patty tells me before she gets in the car. “I did run down the lead on that courier service that sent the cupcakes to Sarah.”

  The cupcakes. I’d forgotten about them again. I need to get myself a notepad or something.

  “They’re located in Bridgeton, so someone went outside of town to send them,” she tells me. “Unfortunately, whoever it was paid in cash, and apparently slipped the clerk a little extra to not include a name or return address. Don’t worry; the couriers will be fined appropriately.”

  “What a relief,” I mutter. “They couldn’t give you anything about the person that sent them?”

  “Will, that was a month ago now. They deal with a lot of customers and they don’t keep security footage around that long. Luckily, they did remember the cupcakes, by virtue of it being an odd request, but the only thing they could say for certain was that it was a man that sent them. The clerk vaguely recalls him being younger, like late twenties, early thirties, but he didn’t sound very confident.” She opens her car door. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.”

  She gets in the car as Dennis stares dolefully out the window at me.

  “Of course,” I say quietly to myself. I get it now. Logan Morse’s murder was a message… and so were the cupcakes. The note that accompanied them had thanked Sarah and the council for the work they’ve done so far.

  Whoever sent them intended, or at least hoped, that she would share them… with the other council members.

  “What now?” Sarah asks, coming up beside me and startling me a little.

  “I have a couple of leads,” I tell her. “Kyle Morse said that other people visited him this morning, so I’m going to pay them a visit and see how they found out about the deal. With a little luck, we’ll find out who knew about it before Logan Morse was killed.”

  I don’t tell Sarah, but I also plan to talk to old Mr. Blumberg, and find out exactly how he knew that the deal was never going to happen.

  CHAPTER 11

  * * *

  I decide to start with the closest lead and work my way out, so I head down to the local coffee shop down the road, Better Latte Than Never. My phone rings as I park; it’s Georgia Strauss calling.

  “Hello?” I answer flatly.

  “Will, it’s Georgia Strauss.”

  “Yes, I’m aware. Cell phones have this magical feature called ‘caller ID.’”

  “Touché. There’s a missing German shepherd I’d like you to follow up on.”

  “I can’t right now. I have more important things going on.”

  “Like Logan Morse’s murder?” she asks.

  I hesitate. “How do you know about that?”

  “Let’s just say I like to keep my finger on the pulse of this town. Anyhow, I understand, but I’d very much like you to check it out as soon as you’re able.”

  I sigh. “Sure, text me the address.”

  “I will. Goodbye.” She hangs up succinctly. What an odd woman.

  Back to business. I get out of my car and stride into Better Latte Than Never, shoving the door open hard, ready to march up to the counter and demand to see the owner, Sylvia… but I’m unprepared for what I find inside.

  At a table on the far side of the small shop, each sipping from a Styrofoam cup, is my best friend Sammy and, across from him, Karen Bear. Karen, my real estate agent. Karen, my friend. Also, Karen, my ex-wife.

  Neither of them notices me, so engrossed they seem in whatever conversation they’re having. Karen says something and he laughs, and then he reaches across the table and touches her hand. Not holding it; just a slight touch, but Karen blushes and says something I can’t hear.

  This is the last thing I need right now.

  Suddenly I’m standing next to their table and saying loudly, “Hi friends.”

  Sammy gasps audibly. “Hey Will,” he says, a bit too warmly. “How’s it going?” Karen stares at her coffee cup, her jaw clenched.

  “Good, good. How are you two?”

  “We’re just having coffee, Will,” Karen says.

  “Yeah, I see that. Last time I saw you two, it was just a drink at the Runside, right? And now it’s just coffee.” I know how I sound, and I don’t like it, but I also don’t like th
e feeling that my best friend might be keeping something like this from me—whatever “this” is.

  The smile never leaving his face, Sammy looks up at me and asks, “What are you trying to say, Will?”

  “Nothing,” I mutter. “I don’t have time for this.” I turn and march up to the counter, where a young woman smiles politely and asks how she can help me. I was hoping that my friend Ham Dobes would be working today, but I forgot that he only works weekends ever since he started college.

  “Is Sylvia in?” I ask her.

  “I’m sorry, no. Sylvia is out of town.”

  “Oh really?” I challenge. “She just left this morning?”

  The girl furrows her brow. “No, sir, she’s been gone for two days now.”

  “Uh-huh. Do you know how can I reach her? It’s very important.”

  The girl hesitates, still smiling politely. “I’m sorry… I can’t give you that information.”

  “Sure.” I turn on a heel and march right back out of there. This means that either Kyle Morse was lying about Sylvia visiting him earlier that morning, or Sylvia is lying to her employees about her whereabouts. Either way, I don’t like where it’s heading one bit.

  As I unlock the door to my car, a familiar voice calls out to me.

  “Hey.” I turn to see Karen standing behind me, all five-foot-three of her looking furious, her arms folded across her chest. “Just who do you think you are?”

  “Karen, I really don’t want to do this right now—”

  “Oh, we’re doing it, pal.” If there’s one thing to know about Karen, it’s that she’s stubborn as a mule, and her words can kick like one too. “I’m thirty-seven years old, Will. And you’re pushing forty—”

  “Ouch.”

  “Well, it’s true. And that means that we’re adults, and I can spend time with whomever I darn well please, same as you. I’m sorry if you’re not comfortable with it, but that’s your problem; not mine, and not Sam’s.”