by Meg Macy
My mouth hung open until I realized how foolish I must look. “But we’re having a big sale! We have to be open this weekend. And our teddy bear picnic is at the park on Monday. People have paid money to attend. We can’t cancel.”
“Besides, the shop and the factory are separate,” Maddie said.
“I’m sorry. You’re closed.”
“Detective Mason, we can’t possibly suspend production. We have orders to fill. A big one came in today for our Teddy Roosevelt bear—”
“You’re closed until further notice.” He refused to listen to further protests. “I’ll talk to the sheriff about the picnic, but until we’re done here, the public is off-limits. Don’t remove the crime scene tape, and make sure your employees come in by nine o’clock for interviews. I’m sure you’ll be happy to cooperate with the authorities.”
With that, Detective Mason departed. Rosie had been scrabbling at her cage with her claws, whining in her throat, despite our attempts to quiet her. Maddie suddenly laughed.
“You’d think Rosie suspects him of the murder.”
“Ha. Maybe we should have watched what Digger was doing inside the factory.”
“He booted us out so fast, my head spun. I tried calling Uncle Ross, but he didn’t answer his phone. Should I call him again?”
I glanced up at the wooden clock above the kitchen sink and sighed. “At half past two in the morning? He’d bite our heads off. Then again, if he doesn’t find out till tomorrow morning he’ll be worse mad. I don’t know. I can’t think straight.”
“I’m calling him again.”
Maddie waited, cell near her ear, and then hit the speaker button. “Uncle Ross? Hello? I’m sorry to wake you, but there’s been trouble at the factory—”
He mumbled something like “whaaa the hell” before his voice barked over my sister’s reply. “In the factory? It’s not even morning yet, for God’s sake. Wait—was there a fire? I’ve been worried about the electrical panel for a while now.”
“No. Nothing like that.”
“Then what?”
“Will Taylor,” I blurted out. “We found him. Dead. Inside the factory.”
Uncle Ross didn’t answer for several seconds, but his tone softened. “Oh, God. Are you girls all right? Did you call the cops?”
“Yeah, they just left.”
“What was Taylor doing there at night?”
“We don’t know. And we can’t get through to Mom and Dad,” Maddie said.
“Wait, let me get dressed. I’ll be right there.”
“No,” she said wearily. “We need some sleep. But the homicide detective is coming back early to interview everyone. We figured you’d better know ahead of time and herd them away from the factory. There’s crime tape all over.”
“How about we talk things over at breakfast. Fresh Grounds,” I said.
“What’s wrong with the Sunshine Café? Oh. Better not,” my uncle said. “The chief of police owns it and his wife is in charge. Not that I don’t trust Lenore—”
“I’d rather talk things over at a neutral spot. Unless you’d rather come here?”
“Nah. See you two in the morning.”
Uncle Ross ended the call before we could reply. “I wonder if the police have called Carolyn and told her. I feel horrible about this,” I said.
“Yeah. That’s gonna hit hard. Even if they’ve been having marital problems.”
Maddie plugged in her charger and headed upstairs. Onyx padded after her and slipped into my sister’s bedroom. Good idea. Cat hair on the pillow, ugh. I liked our cat, but no bones about it—I preferred the dog as a sleep partner.
Rolling over, I faced the wall. Nearly a decade ago, while getting my business degree at the University of Michigan, I’d reveled in a whirlwind courtship with a charming and handsome lawyer. Flynn Hanson was charming, sweet, attentive—so like my dad, I thought he was perfect. An expensive wedding and exotic honeymoon fulfilled my dreams. Until I learned that Flynn—named after Errol Flynn of classic movies—also had a womanizing nature. Despite him begging for forgiveness, I gave my husband a bouncing baby divorce before our first anniversary.
I still hadn’t gotten over the deep hurt and betrayal. Maybe that’s why I didn’t trust Will Taylor. He reminded me too much of Flynn. Rosie stretched out, head on the other pillow, her nose touching my hand. I scratched behind her ears, grateful for her loyalty.
Unlike my ex, Rosie never chose someone else’s bed.
Chapter 7
I woke the next morning, groggy, from a hard shake. “Come on, Sash,” Maddie said. “It’s almost time to meet Uncle Ross at Fresh Grounds. Up and at ’em, madam! Move!”
“Gaah.”
I stretched, yearning to return to the odd dream I’d had, some elusive thread about a missing teddy bear with broken spectacles. Rosie wasn’t on the bed. I heard birds trilling outside the open window, and the lace curtains rustling in the breeze. I disliked mornings. Spending a little time after the alarm went off was something to savor. But Maddie snatched the light coverlet away and yelled in my ear.
“Get up! Now. We’re supposed to meet Uncle Ross for breakfast.”
“Ugh. I can’t think of food after what happened a few hours ago.” I staggered to the bathroom, stood under the shower, and finally opened my eyes. Maddie hollered from the stairs. “I’m coming,” I shouted back, and brushed out my hair. “Some of us can’t bounce out of bed like a jack-in-the-box. Not naming any names!”
I checked the clock. Ten minutes till seven. That made around four hours of sleep. I’d need a few triple espressos to stay awake for the family powwow. With the shop closed, I pulled on my rattiest jeans and a navy-and-white-striped T-shirt. Jammed a favorite straw hat on my wet hair and slipped bare feet into sandals before I ran downstairs. Maddie had already taken care of Rosie, who wagged her tail from the kitchen’s window perch. Onyx gave me a cold stare. My sister always cleaned the cat litter and fed her, while I got the stank eye.
The car’s honking horn drew me outside. While I fastened my seat belt, Maddie tore out of the lot toward Fresh Grounds. Given the early hour, she passed traffic heading to the freeway and jobs in Ann Arbor or elsewhere. I rubbed my eyes, wishing I had time for a quick nap.
“You’re wearing two different shoes, Sash.”
“I am?” I sighed. “Why didn’t you tell me before we left?”
“Nobody will notice except me. By the way, I put up a sign on the factory door, and on our back door in case anyone didn’t get the text message. Uncle Ross called Deon, who texted everyone. I’ve gotten three phone calls already. Mary Kate called when you didn’t answer your phone. Both Abby Pozniak and Jodie Watson called me. Word’s getting around fast.”
I dug in my purse and came up empty. “Dang. Didn’t I put it on the charger?”
“Yesterday. It’s still on the kitchen counter.”
“I’m sure Mary Kate told Elle, if it’s true gossip’s going around.”
Maddie shrugged. “I’ve heard plenty—Will was shot, stabbed, strangled, but no matter what, he’s dead. And we found him. Jodie heard he’d gotten in a car accident along with Carolyn, who wasn’t hurt. Abby wondered if it was true we stumbled over his corpse in the garden.”
“Oh, brother.”
We parked on the street before Fresh Grounds, which looked empty. I figured we had half an hour before the usual crowd started lining up at the counter and out the door. We all loved this shop with its tall windows, the long counter painted mint green, and its butcher-block top; it matched the polished oak floor. White beadboard walls marched around the room, with built-in benches attached. Slabs of wood served as tables, and short metal stools provided seats on the other side. A few framed photographs of lush green coffee fields marched in a row toward the French doors that led to The Cat’s Cradle, closed this early in the day.
The chalkboard greeting today had a huge heart with Welcome to Caffeine Heaven! written in swirling cursive letters. “Morning,” Garrett Thomp
son said with a nod. “Sorry to hear about Will Taylor.”
I nodded my thanks. We headed toward Uncle Ross and Deon in the bay window’s alcove. Formerly a milliner’s shop from the early 1900s, Fresh Grounds still had the original wood plank floor. Garrett’s uncle Gil opened the shop forty years ago; now he manned the counter with his nephew in the mornings. A short, pudgy old-timer with a huge schnozzle and a bigger infectious laugh, Gil made everyone smile.
“Hey, girls. Good to see you two,” he called out before banging out used espresso beans. “Got your order coming right up.”
Garrett capped one drink and started another. Tall and lean, dark-haired, with black-rimmed glasses—he’d given up on his contacts—he was quiet compared to outgoing Mary Kate. Her reddish-blond hair caught in a ponytail that flipped around while she dished up baked goods and cashed out orders. But she looked worried when she approached our small table in the window’s alcove, smoothing down her black apron over her white blouse and black capris.
“Sasha, Maddie—gosh, how horrible.” She hugged us both. “Are you okay?”
“Sort of.” I blinked, still fuzzy. “I think.”
Mary Kate signaled her husband. “Coffee is coming right up.”
Uncle Ross looked haggard. He wore the usual Hawaiian shirt, khakis, and boating shoes along with his hat. “Still nothing from Mom and Dad,” Maddie said, glancing up from her phone. “Have you heard anything from them, Uncle Ross? Did you try to call them this morning?”
“Plenty of times. Damned if I know what’s going on, or where they are. I left at least half a dozen messages.” He scratched his gray beard and grabbed the coffeepot Garrett brought over along with two china cups. “Got more cream?”
“Yessir.” Garrett set down a small jug before him, then passed around the specialty coffees. “Triple-shot Mint Mocha for Sash. Teddy Bear for Mads. Back to the grinder for me, but I’ll catch the details later.”
“The real story,” Maddie said, “not the silly rumors running around town.”
“Like Will hanging himself from the rafters in the factory?” Mary Kate asked. “I’ll be right back with some muffins and toasted bagels.”
“Hanging himself? Now I’ve heard everything.” I sipped my espresso, wondering if a little brandy in it would calm my nerves. “What will they think of next?”
My sister shrugged. “That a ghost knocked him off, I suppose.”
Maddie looked fresh and energetic, in a white-and-blue-patterned dress that reminded me of Delft china. As if losing sleep after finding a dead body didn’t bother her at all—maybe that was unfair. But I truly resented her bubbly morning persona. Until I had at least two cups of morning coffee to fortify myself. How had I missed noticing her outfit in the car? I glanced down at my mismatched shoes. At least I remembered to wear pants. And underwear.
“I bet Will let his killer inside. Does he have a key, Uncle Ross?”
“Not that I know.”
“He must have gotten one, then.”
“Tone it down, Mads.” I waved a hand. “Really. I can barely see, much less think.”
Mary Kate returned with a big platter of bagels and muffins. “Sunshine lemon for Uncle Ross,” she said, and perched on an extra stool. “Your favorite. Maddie gets the blueberry, and Sasha’s is the streusel cinnamon.”
“Thanks! I’ll take one of the toasted bagels, too.”
I spread a thick layer of cream cheese on the warm, crunchy halves. My stomach grumbled before my first bite of muffin. Mm. Brown sugar and cinnamon crumbles, cakey goodness. Twenty minutes ago, I couldn’t think of food. Now I was starving. Go figure. I polished off the muffin and started on the bagel.
“So what really happened?” Mary Kate asked. “Spill.”
Maddie dove into the story, since my mouth was full. I filled in the gaps whenever I could get a word in between bites. Uncle Ross didn’t say anything, only sipped coffee. I studied him, pondering about his perspective on the situation.
“I can’t remember if there ever was a murder in Silver Hollow before—”
“Yes, there was.”
When I twisted around, I almost slid to the floor. Dave Fox poked the wire-rimmed glasses on his nose with a huge grin. He joined us, dragging another stool over and setting his iPad on a small space not filled by plates and cups. Dave jotted notes constantly with his stylus while he talked.
“This is the second, in fact. After three decades of peace and quiet,” he said. “Domestic violence gone bad. Not at all like Taylor’s murder.”
Uncle Ross glared at him. “What happened thirty years ago?”
“Wife beater got shot. Damn shame he bled out so fast.”
“Are you implying Will Taylor’s a saint? Because he isn’t. I’ve heard and seen plenty of arguments between him and his wife.”
“But Carolyn couldn’t have killed him. There’s photos to prove it.” Maddie brought out her cell and booted up Facebook. “Her friend posted a selfie last night.”
I peered close at the screen, which showed a blurry picture of several ladies laughing, holding drinks in hand, cleavage showing, arms around one another’s necks. I recognized Carolyn in the center. “Where is that?”
“Quinn’s Pub,” Uncle Ross said, although he hadn’t glanced at the photo.
“How do you know?”
“I was there. They were the loudest group in the whole place.”
“Here’s another one,” Maddie said. “Carolyn’s half falling off her chair.”
“Not surprised, she was so drunk,” my uncle said.
Dave Fox cleared his throat. “So what about Taylor?”
“What about him?”
“Getting whatever details I can from the horse’s mouth.”
Pete’s dad kept his dark hair in a short ponytail, Paul Revere–style, favored blue denim button-down shirts and navy chinos, but always wore beat-up sneakers. They looked ready to fall apart any day, with rips and holes, although he laced them well. His Silver Hollow Herald only came out once a month—twice if there was any special news—so we all knew what he wanted. A camera was looped around his neck in case he had to snap something without preparation.
Uncle Ross snorted. “No comment.”
“Come on, what happened?” Dave glanced at us one by one. “Pete told me about the fireworks at the staff meeting you had after work. How you threatened Taylor—”
“Better check with Detective Mason,” Maddie interrupted. “He might not be happy if you repeat certain rumors and make his job harder.”
“Fine.”
Dave stalked out with his iPad. My sister breathed a sigh of relief. “So what are we going to do about Mom and Dad? Maybe they were in a car accident!”
“Don’t blow this out of proportion,” Uncle Ross said. “They’ll call.”
“I talked to the Hilton desk clerk in Hasbrouck Heights, the one where the trade show was being held. Mom and Dad checked out after Will Taylor left. So they must be traveling between New Jersey and Sarasota.”
“Did you try the condo complex?”
She shook her head. “The manager wasn’t in.”
“Maybe Mom and Dad decided to travel. Out of the country, or on a cruise.” I wanted to believe that, since Mom had talked Dad into spontaneous trips in the past. “If only we had the phone number of a neighbor for emergencies like this.”
Maddie suddenly poked me. “Hey. Flynn moved to Clearwater Beach, or was it Tampa? Why don’t you call him?”
“Why don’t I stab myself with a fork instead.”
Mary Kate handed me a dirty spoon. “This will have to do,” she teased. “Really, Maddie, leave Sasha’s ex out of this. She’s had enough grief—”
When Uncle Ross slammed a fist on the table, I jumped. “Augh. What now?”
“Maybe something bad did happen,” he said.
“You said not to blow this out of proportion.”
“Well, how else are we gonna find out if we can’t get hold of them? So call that miserable s
on of a gun. It’s the only option we have right now.”
“But—”
Uncle Ross cut me off. “He owes you, Sasha, big time. Call all the hospitals within fifty or a hundred miles of their condo. But first see if he’ll check out their place. He can go pound on their door, see if they’re hiding. It’s the least he can do.”
I closed my eyes. My world had gone berserk.
Chapter 8
Joan, Flora, and Harriet crowded around the moment we arrived back at the Silver Bear Shop & Factory. “Ms. Silverman! What happened last night?” I climbed out of the car to a flurry of questions. “Is it true Mr. Taylor was murdered?”
“Give us a little room to breathe,” Maddie said.
“Oh, sorry.”
Still bleary-eyed, I noticed the sewing crew dressed in their usual black pants and silver logo T-shirts. “We’re the ones who are sorry. The police have closed us down to continue their investigation. No idea if we’ll open tomorrow, either.”
“But what happened?” Flora demanded. “How did he die?”
“We found him under the stuffing machine.” I avoided their gazes. “It was either the fiber in his throat or—Where’s Lois?”
I knew someone was missing from the group, although Pete wasn’t anywhere in sight, either. The ladies shrugged. Deon’s motorcycle roared into the parking lot, followed by Uncle Ross’s Thunderbird. Both men stalked toward the factory but kept clear of the yellow tape swaying in the warm breeze. Clouds scudded across the sky. Today wouldn’t nearly be as warm as yesterday. Maybe. Michigan weather could change in an instant. I wished now I’d brought a second triple Mint Mocha espresso from Fresh Grounds. My head pounded.
“Let’s all go inside.”
The ladies followed me. I should have brought a box of muffins, too, and kicked myself for not thinking of it sooner. Maddie carried in two large bags, however, filled with bagels, plus a cardboard tray of coffee cups she’d stashed in the backseat. God bless my sister. Maybe being an early bird wasn’t so bad.