by Meg Macy
“What box?” I glanced between them, puzzled.
“The one you mentioned to Holly Parker. Out at Richardson’s.” Lauren fidgeted with her shirt again, clearly nervous. “The box with stuff Gina Lawson supposedly bought on eBay, or so Holly claimed. But I bet she’s lying through her teeth.”
“Lauren called me from the orchard,” Jay said, taking my hand as we walked to the Village Green. “What did the carved bird look like?”
I caught my breath, wondering for a moment, before answering. “Pretty crude, blond wood. With a streak down one side, I think.” I tried to recall when Mason had held it up to the light in Holly’s shop. “It might have been a natural flaw in the wood.”
“Outlined darker, right?” Lauren sounded triumphant. “It has to be yours, Jay!”
He nodded. “Back in high school Shop class, I carved a bird for a project, and I promised Lauren could have it after school let out for the summer. But it went missing.”
“Wow.” I glanced at Amy Evans, who was marching our way. “Uh-oh, show time. I had a feeling that bird wasn’t a collectible from eBay.”
“That crude, huh.” Jay laughed at my dismay. “Don’t feel guilty for dissing my first carving. I planned on using it as a prototype for a few more, over the summer. Stashed it in the locker I shared with a friend. Only Holly was dating Ron at the time. I didn’t even realize the carving was gone until I was supposed to turn it in for a grade.”
“So you think Holly stole that bird?”
Lauren broke in before he replied. “It has to be Jay’s carving!”
“Are you ready, Mr. Kirby?” Amy joined us, along with three or four dozen people. “Next up is the Jack Pine Bear. This way, please.”
Jay’s covered sculpture stood in the middle of the Green. The laced boots peeked beneath the white sheet; I’d failed to notice how each bear was mounted on a square platform, painted white. I wondered if metal or wood rods inside the legs aided in the sculpture’s stability. I’d have to ask Maddie or Jay later, since admirers surrounded him. At last Amy signaled for the sheet’s removal. Everyone clapped with enthusiasm when Lauren drew it aside.
“The Jack Pine Bear symbolizes Michigan’s lumberjack history,” Amy read from the flyer. “Jay Kirby usually carves bears, but he was gracious enough to take part in our event. He’ll be available to answer questions about his design. Just remember, in half an hour, we’ll be heading on to the Sunshine Café to reveal the Honey Bear.”
Jay’s bear, in his knit cap, rolled-up jeans, and red plaid flannel shirt, held a heavy chain over one paw that led to a rough bark-covered log behind him on a wooden sled. I was glad he’d managed to add that element. And proud that my sister and I helped bring the costume to life. Jay had washed a light tan stain over the bear’s exposed face, paws, and neck, and then added tiny brushstrokes in a darker brown to simulate fur.
I listened to him answer questions and checked the clothing from all angles. It wasn’t too obvious from a distance where we’d added extra fabric. Dave Fox waved Jay closer to the bear sculpture and snapped several photos.
“I had a lot of help from Sasha and Maddie Silverman,” Jay said. “Their aunt knitted the hat, and my sister Lauren helped me seal the bear’s boots and fashion the sled. I’m thankful to the other artists who participated in the Bears on Parade project, too.”
“Did any of you work together on your sculptures?” someone asked.
“No, but we met several times over the summer to discuss how we wanted to interpret our designs. Some artists chose only paint, others utilized props or other . . .”
“Ms. Silverman?” Detective Mason looked professional tonight in a suit and tie. “Have you got a minute?”
“Sure. I heard you questioned my cousin Matt Cooper,” I said. “Along with the others who took that fishing trip back in May.”
“Yes. Mind if we head over where there’s fewer people?”
I followed him away from the crowd surrounding Jay. “I’ve been wondering about the knife used to kill Gina,” I said once we reached a clear area. “How can Digger know for sure it’s his? I mean, you said it didn’t have any initials or markings.”
Mason shook his head. “That’s not important. I do think you were right about the victim from the get-go.”
“Uh. I don’t understand.”
“Whoever killed Ms. Lawson thought she was Holly Parker.”
Chapter 17
Numb, I leaned against the closest lamppost. “Because of that hoodie.”
Mason waved a finger in the air. “And it was dark that night. Foggy.”
“But why would anyone want to murder Holly?”
“Why else? For money, love, revenge. Officer Sykes is on desk duty for now, because Ms. Parker believes he’s targeting her. He did ticket her several times over the past two weeks, and you witnessed his attempt to tamper with the crime scene.”
“Digger doesn’t like her, but it doesn’t mean he’d try to murder her.” I folded my arms over my chest. “But on the other hand, Holly wasn’t happy that Gina kept borrowing her stuff, and who knows what really happened while they worked in the shop. I doubt they were all that chummy, ‘like sisters,’ no matter what she claims.”
“About as weak a motive as Digger’s, but I have other suspects,” Mason said. He must have noticed my raised eyebrows. “Your cousin threatened Holly Parker.”
“What?”
“News to you, huh? Your sister’s a witness, and so is Officer Sykes.”
“When was this?” I demanded.
“Two days before Gina Lawson was killed,” Mason said.
“But why would Matt want to murder Holly?”
“She’s stiff competition with her toy and bookstore. Cooper admitted his business has suffered. And someone used Officer Sykes’s knife to throw off suspicion. Your cousin was on that fishing trip, after all.”
I spread my hands in disbelief. “That was months ago, over Memorial Day weekend. And Matt’s knife disappeared on the same trip.”
“So he claims.”
“This is ridiculous. Where is he? At the station for questioning?”
“He’s being detained as a person of interest.”
“But he’s not under arrest,” I said quickly.
“Not yet. I don’t have time to argue,” Mason added, cutting off my protest. “I thought you might be interested to know your theory is being considered. That’s all.”
“Gee, thanks. And business competition as a motive? Then you ought to be investigating me, because she competed with our shop. I suppose you’re going to search The Cat’s Cradle for evidence, too. Why not come to the Silver Bear Shop while you’re at it.”
“I might.”
The detective strolled off without another word. Good thing. I wanted to pummel my fists against his chest, which would have landed me in jail for assaulting a cop. Instead I stalked in the opposite direction from the Village Green, fuming with every step.
I didn’t acknowledge anyone I passed, strangers or friends, or pay attention to any street signs. When my blind haze of anger cleared, I found myself by the gate-enclosed side garden of Holly’s shop. Thank goodness she wasn’t in the yard or on Theodore Lane. But a group of angry people stood in front of the Italianate’s porch, along with Officer Hillerman. I knew Holly had closed the shop, since she’d been at Richardson’s Farms all day, but she wasn’t among them.
“I’ll file a report,” Hillerman said to the crowd. “Ms. Parker has already contacted us about this matter. It’s time to disperse. Go on home, folks.”
“She doesn’t need this,” someone said loudly. “Vandalism’s a crime.”
He climbed into his squad car and slowly drove off. I overheard muttered complaints from the few people who lingered by the shop’s front steps, and recognized two women who’d been at Richardson’s Farms that afternoon.
“I feel so sorry for Holly. The cops haven’t figured out who killed her assistant, and now they won’t do anything except fil
e a stupid report.”
“Who would paint such nasty graffiti?”
“I can guess who did it,” one woman said with a furtive glance in my direction. “Let’s go. Holly will call us once she buys razor blades to scrape off the paint.”
Once they all left, I slowly walked around the corner and stared at the large black scrawls on Holly’s shop windows. The letters spelled two messages, the first being GET OUT OF TOWN and beneath that, YOUR NINE LIVES ARE OVER. Soapy water dripped down the glass to the siding below. Puddles dotted the sidewalk as well. Holly must have tried to wash off the graffiti, but failed. She’d need a ladder as well as razor blades to reach the highest parts. It looked like spray paint to me, which had to be acrylic. I hadn’t noticed anything earlier today.
How odd that the second phrase referred to “nine lives.” I stopped cold. Matt and Elle owned The Cat’s Cradle. Oh no. Neither of them would have defaced property. Someone had pointed the finger in their direction, though. The murderer?
I hurried home, unwilling to consider that. Rosie’s whining worried me before I could unlock the door. My sweet dog rushed past me and through the yard to her favorite spot. My cell needed charging, so I plugged it in and dialed Maddie.
“Why didn’t you tell me about Matt?” I asked, before she could say hello.
“What about him?”
“He’s being questioned at the police station, and might be arrested—”
“What?” Maddie sounded as angry as I did. “No way!”
“How come you never told me that Matt threatened Holly? Mason said you witnessed it, along with Digger Sykes.”
“It wasn’t a big deal. It happened when Holly was moving in, when Digger wrote out those parking tickets. Matt happened to drive by, and he said a few words to Holly about her competing with The Cat’s Cradle. Digger blew it all out of proportion.”
“Someone painted graffiti on Holly’s shop windows,” I said. “And anyone with half a brain would put two and two together and blame Matt. One message said, ‘Your Nine Lives Are Over.’ How crazy is that?”
“Oh. Em. Gee.” Maddie groaned. “I am never speaking to Digger again. Matt was angry, but he didn’t say he’d kill Holly. Only that she’d be sorry one day.”
“Things have gone from bad to worse. I’m going over to Elle’s right now. Are you still pulling another all-nighter at Kip’s?”
“Yeah, he had to get more paint. I’m waiting, but I’m so tired. Kip’s got to finish tonight. He needs to put sealer on and give it enough time to dry.”
I snapped my fingers, half-listening to her. “I wonder if Holly painted the graffiti herself. What do you think? Possible or too far-fetched? I mean, it looked like spray paint, and maybe she did it before she came out to the farm today for face painting.”
“But why would she—no, don’t answer that. We both know Holly’s crazy enough, and she must have heard about Matt being a suspect. Go to Elle’s, and let’s worry about all this tomorrow. Maybe the cops let Matt go already. Should you call over there first?”
“Nah, I’ll take Rosie with me. That will make a good excuse, letting the kids play with her. In case you’re right and Matt’s already home. I sure hope so.”
I hung up. Next I texted Jay a brief message about why I’d left early. After grabbing the dog’s harness and leash, I searched for car keys in my purse. Dang. Not in the ceramic bowl by the door, or my upstairs bedroom, or the office. I grabbed two small bears, stuffed them into a logo bag, and left a note for Aunt Eve about gifting them. But where were my keys?
The screen slammed shut behind me. I stood on the back porch and stared at the empty spot where my car usually sat. Oh. I scanned through the contacts on my phone for Mom’s cell number. “Hi, did you or Dad borrow my car?”
“Yes, we’re driving home right now,” Mom said. “We wanted to scout out a few condos around the area. Have you talked to Flynn? He called you three or four times today, why didn’t you answer? He’s inviting us to dinner so we can all talk—”
“I’m not going to dinner with him.”
“Honestly, Sasha. You’ve got to let him explain.”
“There’s nothing to explain,” I said. I so did not have time for this, but tried not to lose my temper. “Flynn’s dating a weather forecaster. I saw them together at Quinn’s.”
“You know he’s such a flirt—”
“Flynn and I are done, Mom. I’ve moved on, I’m dating Jay Kirby. But I need my car to get over to Elle’s house. Right now.”
“All right! We’re parking outside.”
I punched off the phone, shielding my eyes from the flash of headlights, and whistled for Rosie. Harness and leash on, we dashed out to meet my parents at the car. Dad coughed hard, one hand on the hood, and then doubled over to breathe.
“Sounds like you need a treatment.” I snatched the keys from his hand. “Hey, Matt’s going to need a lawyer. He’s been detained at the station and might be arrested.”
“What for?” Mom grabbed Dad’s arm. “Good heavens, not murder.”
“Just call Mike Blake or Mark Branson and have one of them go over there. I’m going to see Elle right now. She’s probably freaking out over this.”
Dad gave a thumbs-up sign. “Sure, honey. We’ll take care of it.”
“Come on, Alex. Into the house, let’s get that treatment started.” Mom supported him all the way to the porch. “We’ll call the Legal Eagles.”
“Maddie’s helping Kip tonight, by the way,” I called out, and boosted Rosie into the car. “Come on, baby. We’ve got to spread some good doggie cheer.”
I rammed the gas pedal to the floor, my stomach clenched tight. I’d forgotten to eat. Again. My tires squealed when I backed the car onto Theodore Lane. Rosie hung her head out of the window, tongue lolling. I passed the group of Holly’s friends, who were scraping paint off the windows in the light of several electric lanterns. Not an easy job. Where was Holly, anyway? The least she could do was help them, but I didn’t care.
I headed west on Kermit Street. Once past the Quick Mix factory, I turned right and headed to Franklin Street. At last I pulled into my cousin’s long driveway. No sign of the girls playing behind the house in the large yard, so that wasn’t good. Rosie jumped out the minute I opened the car’s door and gave several sharp barks.
“I bet you’re looking for your favorite friends.” I raised my voice louder. “I wonder if Celia and Cara are in bed already. Where could they be, Rosie?”
“Here we are, here we are!”
Both girls had burst out of the house and raced to hug Rosie. I waited for Cara to open the backyard’s gate while Celia twirled in excitement. Cara unhooked Rosie’s leash and handed it to me; she took that job so seriously every visit. I watched the kids play for a few minutes with my dog, chasing her around the fenced-in yard, before I climbed the porch and walked into the bungalow. The acrid smell of burnt toast hit me hard.
Elle sat in Matt’s battered recliner in the living room, hands covering her face, weeping. Her shoulders shook, and she’d curled up into a ball. I set my purse and the logo bag on the sofa and walked past her, into the kitchen. I couldn’t tell if the police had searched the house. Maybe, but I thought Elle would have managed to tell me that much. For now, I’d let her emotions run their course and focus on menial tasks.
I gathered plates with uneaten, cold scrambled eggs, macaroni and cheese, and blackened toast crusts, dumped the food scraps in the garbage, and soaked a dishcloth with hot water. Dark crumbs coated a sticky trail of honey across the table. After I scrubbed it down, then washed and dried the dishes and flatware, I warmed the rest of the macaroni and cheese in the microwave. Beggars couldn’t be choosers. Not half bad, either, although my mother would be aghast. She’d never resorted to boxed products, not even from the Quick Mix factory.
I parked myself on the back porch’s top step. The girls rubbed Rosie’s belly and rolled on the grass, trying to evade her slobbery kisses, which was hilarious. My dog lov
ed these kids and would let them do pretty much anything; Celia hugged her neck tight, although Rosie shook free and then chased the ball Cara threw toward the fence. It bounced, and my dog caught it midair. The girls both squealed with joy. They all raced around the yard again, tumbling once or twice, and scrambling up to start over. All three would soon be worn out. I hoped.
The porch light flickered on, probably on a timer. A few pesky mosquitos buzzed around my face, so I swatted them away. My cell phone pinged. I read Jay’s text reply with relief. Hang in there, family first. I’d felt so guilty leaving without telling him in person. That took a huge weight of worry off my mind. What a keeper.
At last I heard the screen door squeak. “Hey.” Elle sniffled and blew her nose.
“You all right?” I glanced at her when she dropped beside me on the step. “Um. Maybe that’s a dumb question. Did the cops search the bookstore?”
“Yeah, and they came here. They took Matt’s laptop. Some papers.” She wadded the tissue in her fist. “What am I gonna do, Sasha? What if they do arrest him? Matt’s never hurt me or the kids. He’d never kill anyone.”
“I’m going to prove he’s innocent. That’s a promise.”
“How can you—”
She dissolved in tears again. Elle rested her head on her knees, face turned away from me, and rocked back and forth. I hugged her. Mom expected me to clear the mayor’s name, and now I’d have to help my cousin. But I felt like I’d been spinning my wheels.
I had no idea who might want to kill either Gina or Holly.
The girls followed Rosie up the porch steps, so I shooed them inside. Elle crept back to the recliner once more; I handed her the box of tissues. Cara and Celia stared at their mom, not able to understand why she wasn’t functioning. I clapped my hands.
“Time to get ready for bed!” I summoned a cheerful smile. “You’ll have to take a bath tomorrow night, okay? Let’s go.”
“But we’re dirty,” Cara said. “Mom always gives us a bath.”
“You can wash up at the bathroom sink.”