“Will you stay with me, Lemon? Noreen’s over at the VFW, but I don’t like it there. Too many old government boys.”
I smiled at him and threaded my arm through his. “Of course I will, Cap. C’mon. We’ll go find Coco.”
As we strolled along the boardwalk, seeing so many familiar faces made my heart warm. Figgers knew how to support, and they’d come out in droves. Even some of the tourists had brought single-stemmed roses to place at Abby and Fran’s pictures.
“You got any ideas who hurt Fran, Lemon?”
I stopped short and asked, “Why would you think I’d know, Cappie?”
“Well, you sure like to snoop, don’tcha? Thought you’d have some ideas is all.”
Cocking my head, I gave him a funny look. I didn’t think Cappie paid attention to much other than his beer and government conspiracies. Hearing him admit he’d noticed I snooped astounded me.
“How do you know I like to snoop, mister?”
He sucked his teeth and rocked back on his heels. “Just see ya doin’ it. Did ya hear about what they found on Fran?”
“No one’s heard much of anything that I know of. Technically, it only happened a few hours ago.”
He looked pleased with himself. “I did. I heard the boys in blue talkin’ about it at the VFW hall when they didn’t know I was there.”
Okay. Would it hurt to ask? It would probably be some crazy answer like an alien abduction, but what else was I doing but feeling awkward and at a loss for words?
“So, what did they find, Cappie?”
He gave me a sheepish glance. “Sure you won’t get mad at me, Lemon?”
“I promise I won’t get mad.”
“It’s vampires, Lemon. Just like I said! Frannie had vampire bites on her neck just like Abby!”
Chapter 11
“Cappie!” I admonished in a whisper, pulling him closer to me as people passing by shot us strange looks. “What did I tell you about spreading rumors? Things are just starting to die down, don’t rile everyone up again. Especially today. Please.”
Cappie’s wrinkled face fell. “Sorry, Lemon. I was just repeatin’ what I heard. Thought you’d wanna know.”
“I know, but we have to stop using the word vampire, okay? The marks on Abby’s neck weren’t from a vampire bite, Cap. They were marks from a Taser.”
He scoffed at me with a snort. “Yeah. That’s what Justice was tellin’ Chief Burrows, but I don’t believe him. I still think it’s the V word.”
So, if Cappie’s words were reliable, Fran had been Tasered, too? Fear skittered along my spine and across my arms, giving me goose bumps. This was no coincidence. This group of people was being methodically targeted by someone, and I wanted to know why.
And that someone was the person who’d clunked me over the head. But was it because they thought I knew something?
No. I’d been very careful. There had to be something they thought they’d left behind. A piece of evidence. Like Fran’s barrette? But that made no sense unless the killer was wearing it and potential DNA could be found from hair or something. Then that would also mean the killer was a woman, right?
Trying not to alarm Cappie, I strolled along with him, keeping him close until I saw Justice, who looked as though he’d been trampled by the running of the bulls. He stood against the rails of the boardwalk, leaning on them with his elbows, staring off at the sailboats as they glided by.
With all my questions, I could wear a guy out, and I knew it. So I planned to keep it as light as I could with him, but I had to find out if what Cappie said was true.
Thankfully, Cappie saw someone he knew and felt comfortable enough to leave me before I approached Justice.
“Hey, Justice,” I greeted him softly, approaching with caution as I leaned on the rails to join him.
The warm wind lifted his hair, revealing his furrowed brow. “You really should be at home resting, Lemon. I know there’s no point in telling you that, but don’t overdo it, okay?”
Again, there was that strange concern in his voice. It had a different edge than the concern of days’ past, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it tonight.
With my hand at the side of my head, I saluted him. “Aye-aye, Captain. No overdoing it. How are you? It doesn’t look like you got much sleep.”
“I grabbed a couple of hours at the station. It’s too crazy right now to take any time off for something silly like sleep,” he said on a laugh, though it was filled with irony.
“I bet. I hear Fran had the same marks on her neck as Abby.”
He shook his head. “How’d you hear that?”
“A little Cappie told me, I joked, hoping I wouldn’t get him into trouble.
“That guy’s everywhere. It doesn’t matter, though. We’re about to release that information to the press anyway. So yes, she had Taser marks on her neck just like Abby.”
“And I’m going to guess you’ve decided this is no coincidence. As in, someone’s targeting these people who were friends with Abby. Two of them dead can’t be without reason.”
“Or attended her meetings. There’s plenty of those. Abby was well liked because she was so open to almost everything.”
“So, what did they do to make someone so angry, is the question. They’ve been friends for a lot of years, and they looked pretty tight-knit. Maybe they were all a bunch of bullies back in college and now someone’s getting their revenge,” I theorized, only half-joking.
I’d sure like to talk to some people who knew them back in the day but weren’t part of their social group. I’d ask Rupert, but he said he moved in different circles, and when I looked at their Facebook pages, most of the pictures were of them and no one else, except in the later years when Albert married.
But he’d divorced shortly thereafter, and Ivan had never married.
Justice rubbed his hand over the scruff on his chin. “All I can tell you is, if they know something, they’re not saying a word. They all have the same stories they started with and they’re sticking to them like glue. Also something you’ll read in the paper tomorrow.”
“And did Fran die because of the Taser or something else?”
“That I can’t tell you, because I don’t know. Vern hasn’t sent over a report yet. But I can tell you it’s likely, from the way her body was situated on the side of the road, she was pushed from the car. She was pretty scuffed up. We’re hoping we’ll find some DNA on her—something—anything that’ll help.”
My shiver made me rub my arms. It was still rather warm for early evening, but the thought of someone dumping Fran along the road left my stomach in knots.
“What about that chalice? Maybe it’s worth a lot of money and someone wants it back? I mean, it didn’t look like it was worth anything, and I took Thea at her word when she said it was just something the group had kept since college, but it might be something to consider in the investigation.”
Now, Justice looked me in the eye and laughed, his white teeth even whiter in the fading sun. “I knew you knew more than you were admitting. The chalice is essentially a cup. Worth nothing.”
Darn. “Right, and what was in the chalice? One of your guys said it looked like dried blood.”
“Not dried blood. So put that thought out of your head. Just some residual red wine. Probably from that energy release hocus-pocus they told you about.”
“So, we can cross vampires off our list of suspects, huh?” I joked, nudging his elbow with mine.
“I think that’s safe to say.”
It was at that moment I saw someone who looked terribly familiar. She was standing on the outskirts of the group, watching them as they set up a microphone in the gazebo.
Her hair was so glossy, it shone under the lights from the gazebo, thick and dark, and that’s when I remembered why she looked so familiar.
She was the brooding woman from the picture with Matthew Miles.
Her hair was much shorter now, but it was still as lustrous. When I started to share her prese
nce with Justice, I realized he’d turned to talk to someone else. So, I decided this woman from the picture was worth chatting with.
Casually, of course.
Making my way past groups of people, I said hello and even nodded to the small group dressed in Goth attire, their pale skin eerie but their eyes sad.
I wandered up to her carefully, easing my way toward her so as not to look obvious, and so I could observe her without her knowing.
Her body language screamed uncomfortable, from the way she tugged at her lower lip to the wringing of her hands. She wore a dark navy skirt with a steel-gray button-down shirt and black flats. And her hair was as magnificent up close as it had been in the old picture, though it was no longer waist length. Now, it swished about her shoulders in a soft bounce of shine.
Her eyes darted about, as though she wasn’t sure who to approach or what to say if she did. That was my cue—no one could relate to that more than I could.
“Are you here for Abby, Fran, or both?”
I must have startled her, because she put her hand to her throat and gripped a gold chain between her fingertips. “Both. I went to college with them. You?”
“Both, too. I live here in Fig Harbor. I own the Smoke and Petrol. They’ll be missed.”
Her eyes darted to Thea, who’d apparently found her pillow to place on the stool behind the microphone. “I can’t believe they’re gone. Both of them, and Josiah Kent. Though, I heard he passed of cancer. What a bad bout of luck. They were all friends, you know. Thicker than thieves back in the day. I guess they still are.” She nodded her head toward Thea, Albert, and Ivan.
I nodded, looking for any hint of malice in her tone. But I didn’t sense anything other than sadness. “Yes. I saw the Facebook pictures of them all on a memorial page for Abby.”
Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. They did have a page for Abby, and now Fran, but I wasn’t sure if they had any pictures of them as a group on it. I just wanted to get to the subject of pictures.
“Hah, Facebook! I hate that, and Twitter. We don’t communicate with each other anymore unless it’s with a meme or a picture of our food. We don’t go out and do anything together. We do it all on a place that claims to be social, but is about as social as solitary confinement.”
Now I heard malice. “Not a fan of social media, I take it? I’m Lemon Layne, by the way.”
She made a face and wrinkled her nose. “Rebecca Thibodaux, from Bremerton, and not even a little. Thank goodness for my daughter or I wouldn’t have been able to figure the darn thing out. I posted on Thea’s page by mistake because I’m so inept. Though, I will admit, it was nice to see some of the pictures from college. I found myself eating them up—lost almost an entire day simply doing nothing. Which is exactly why I deleted my account right after I posted. We need to see each other’s body language, hear each other’s tone of voice, you know?”
I dug my phone from my purse and pulled up the screenshots I’d taken of Matthew Miles with the odd comment beneath, guessing Rebecca was the commenter and the picture of the group with Rebecca looking so broody. “I do, and I mostly agree with you. As much as I love being in touch with people I can’t see often, I don’t love the arguments that break off because someone’s misinterpreted something or taken it out of context.”
She stuck a lean finger in the air. “That’s exactly how I feel.”
Hedging my bets, I decided to ask about Matthew. “Speaking of Facebook, would you mind if I showed you something?”
She took a step back in clear hesitance, her brow furrowing. “Showed me what?”
“These pictures and the comment beneath this one of Matthew Miles. Is that the comment you were talking about? Jayne Dough?”
Then she smiled, and when she did, her face went from gloomy to brilliant in seconds. She covered her laugh with her hand, her cheeks flushed red. “In all my Hemingway-inspired words, yes, that was me. I didn’t want to put my real name up because it felt too much like getting sucked into the mess Facebook is, and then I felt like an idiot. So I had my daughter delete it and decided to find out how better to pay my respects.” She paused a moment then let her finger trace the picture of Matthew’s face on my phone before she pulled it back and folded her hands. “Gosh, that was so long ago. We were such silly kids. But wow, I was over the moon for him.”
“About Matthew Miles?”
She sighed forlornly and looked off into the clusters of people. “Truth be told, he was one of the reasons I didn’t want to come. It brings back so many memories, but now that I’m here, I realize how stupid that was. No one was laughing at me. That was just my insecurity rearing its ugly head.”
Laughing at her? Maybe my bully theory wasn’t so far off the mark. Maybe they’d bullied her? “But he died, didn’t he? Why would he keep you from wanting to come tonight?”
Her eyes welled with tears before she caught herself and sniffled. “Yes, he died, and it was sudden and heart-wrenching, but Matthew…well, he wasn’t what we all thought. What I thought. He was older than us—very worldly and wise. Believed in all sorts of things that fascinated me at the tender age of twenty, which I now think are utterly absurd, like the afterlife and self-healing and ghosts. But back then it was dreamy and so romantic. Like living in some kind of romance novel. Crazy, right?”
I shot her a sympathetic smile of understanding. “They say you never forget your first love. Does that mean you were a part of their group in college?”
Rebecca looked surprised. “By group, do you mean did I believe in the things they believed in? No. Not really, I guess. I just went along for the ride. But they believed. They still do, as far as I can tell from Abby’s website. They weren’t really my kind of group. I just hung around them because of Matthew. He was like their…guru, I guess you’d say. We all hung on his every word. As a kid, it was like listening to this handsome prince read you mystical fairy tales of worlds beyond your reach, while his devoted subjects gathered at his feet. Nowadays, I think it’s just a bunch of bunk. I’d see a doctor before I’d try to self-heal or eat some ground-up herbs to take care of whatever ailed me.” She shook off the memory and regained her composure. “Anyway, I didn’t really hang around them much after that night the group picture was taken. I was too humiliated.”
I nodded and smiled, even though my Spidey senses were tingling like I’d just given my nerves a good loofah scrub. “Do you mind if I ask why you were humiliated?”
Rebecca grimaced, her lips going thin as though the memory still hurt. “That was the night I found out Matthew was gay—and everyone knew but me.”
Chapter 12
That stopped me cold as my emotions took hold. How awful to find out after everyone else already knew. How sad. How crushing to someone so young.
My heart instantly went out to her. “He told everyone but you? That’s so cruel.”
Rebecca shook her silky head of hair and held up a hand. “Wait. Let me back up. He didn’t tell his friends first. They just all knew, as in, it didn’t come as a surprise to them. It was me who didn’t know. We’d been dating for a time, probably about four months or so, and I was sure to my core he was the one. That night, he’d had a lot to drink, which accounts for my sourpuss in that picture, and shortly after that picture was taken, he let it slip that he was gay and there was someone else.
“I felt like my world was crumbling around me, but in hindsight, he was the tortured one. I guess, after all these years, it still hurts a little to remember. Don’t get me wrong. They were all very nice and supportive the night it happened—they didn’t make fun of me for not knowing. But I was so in love, so insecure, I couldn’t take the humiliation. So I transferred to another school and tried to forget him, and that was that. Matthew died shortly after. If I regret anything, it’s that I didn’t at least tell him I understood and it was okay.”
As the wind began to whistle, someone tapped the microphone, suggesting they were about to begin the memorial. “Do you know of anyone who might want
to hurt them—the group, I mean? Did they ever play a prank or do something to anyone else that might make them a target for murder?”
“You know, I thought about that because it sure doesn’t seem like a coincidence that both Abby and Fran are dead, within days of one another to boot, but they were all so full of peace and love, I can’t think of a single person who’d want to hurt them.” Then she smoothed a hand over the front of her shirt and said, “Listen, Lemon, it was a pleasure to meet you, but I think I’ve managed to summon the guts to go say hello. I’d better do that before I chicken out.”
I stuck out my hand and took Rebecca’s, enveloping her fingers and giving them a warm squeeze. “Thank you for sharing with me, Rebecca. I’m so sorry about Abby and Fran. My best to you and yours.”
I left after that and watched Rebecca approach the group with hesitance at first, until I saw Thea open her arms and give her a long hug, while the others gathered around and did the same.
So they weren’t a bunch of bullies. It’s not that I wanted them to be bullies, mind you. I was glad to hear they were as nice as they appeared, but bullying was motivation for someone to want them dead.
But what worried me most right now was this: Who was next on the hit list, and how could I connect them when nothing but their friendship tied them together?
* * * *
I helped serve food at the VFW along with Coco and my mom, our moods somber after Thea’s beautiful speech for her friends. All I can say is, if Thea’s a killer, she’s diabolical—her eulogy was that beautiful.
The long table was chock-full of dishes everyone had kindly donated, CorningWare as far as the eye could see. Someone had moved Abby and Fran’s pictures inside, setting the easels by the stage, decorating them with the flowers brought by mourners.
I loved the VFW hall, with its old pictures of veterans hanging on the wall in the entryway, my father’s, Chains Forney Layne’s, included. I loved the smell of the history here, the medals proudly displayed in glass cases, the click of shoes on the white tile floor.
Play That Funky Music White Koi (A Lemon Layne Mystery Book 2) Page 12