I make up my mind then and there. I take out my phone and send him a text. Good morning, Detective. Would you mind stopping by the candy store sometime today when it’s convenient? I have something I want to ask you.
He writes back right away. He must be at the station by now. Sure thing. See you later.
Zack comes into the store at noon. “Time for your lunch break, Mom.”
I look around in mock surprise. “Lunch break? What lunch break?”
“I’m taking over for the second half of the day,” he informs me. “You can take the rest of the day off or you can do your admin work. It’s up to you. Go on. You know you deserve it.”
“Yeah, but….”
He slides behind the counter. “You don’t have to leave. Work on the sale if you want to. I’ll cover the counter.”
I blink up at him in confusion. Should I go along with this? We talked about him taking on more of an equal share of running the store. Now that it comes right down to brass tacks, though, I don’t want to miss anything.
He’s right about one thing. I want to. I have a heap of ordering to do for the sale, not to mention some accounts to catch up on. Him taking over would be a big help. It’s only my fragile ego that doesn’t like releasing my hold on the reins of power.
At that moment, the doorbells jangle and David walks in. He nods to Zack. “Howdy.”
Zack elbows me. “Go on, Mom.”
I hang my head in defeat and shuffle out of the store after David. He walks over to his car and leans on the fender. “What did you want to talk to me about?”
“I think I know who made those stains and tracked the dirt into Scott Freeman’s car.”
“Really?” He raises his eyebrows. “Who?”
“Sabrina Harris. I think she was having an affair with him. She smeared chocolate on the seat and got those cedar shavings on the floor.” I point to the bakery. “If you go look in the alley, you’ll see that the mixture of cedar chips and soil is unique to that spot. There’s nowhere else in the alley where anybody could have picked them up.”
He frowns and rubs his chin. “Do you really think so?”
“It explains why Alan was so all-fired mad at Scott. He hated that guy, and he’s still mad about the affair. I just saw him balling out Sabrina in the back alley. She was in tears. He was also wearing waffle-soled work boots that could match the prints behind the Coffee Canteen.”
He raises his index finger. “Could have. Could have doesn’t mean they do match. Just because she could have smeared chocolate in his car doesn’t mean she did.”
“What are you talking about?” I fire back. “Don’t tell me you’re going to discount my theory again. You said you were going to listen to my instincts and ideas from now on.”
“I am listening to your instincts and ideas, and I agree with you that Alan probably killed Scott. I even agree with you that Sabrina having an affair with him is a pretty good motive and goes a long way toward explaining his behavior. I’m just saying we can’t move on this just yet. We have to construct a case that will stand up in court.”
“What does that mean?” I snap. “Don’t tell me you’re going to let this slide. Don’t tell me you’re going to let a killer and his cheating wife continue in business when we’ve got the evidence to pin the murder on him.”
“Will you calm down? You’re the one flying off the handle here. I’m saying we have to wait to get a match from the crime lab. I already sent the chocolate and the soil to be matched to the bakery.”
I cool my jets in an instant. “You did?”
He cradles his head in his hand with a groan. “Yes, Margaret. How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not incompetent. I’m as interested as you are in catching Scott’s killer. For the love of God, give me some credit.”
I let my shoulders drop. “Okay. Sorry. I should have known you would be on top of this.”
“Yes. You should have. You want me to listen to your instincts and ideas. You need to learn to trust me on this, too. We should be working together, not against each other.”
“All right,” I breathe. “You convinced me. So what do you want to do next? We could go question Scott’s wife. She must know if he was unfaithful.”
He shakes his head. “Not yet. We need some more solid evidence before we confront her. Just leave her alone and let her grieve.”
“Grieve!” I repeat. “I don’t see Sophie Freeman grieving over much of anything.”
He suppresses a smile. He slides his hand toward me and threads his fingers into mine. “You know what I mean. If Scott was unfaithful and she didn’t know about it, you could be doing some real damage to her life by breaking the news to her when we don’t really have any convincing evidence to support it. Just sit on it for a little while. Once we confirm it, we can tell her.”
I want to argue back. I want to take a hammer to him until he changes his mind, but that’s not going to happen. He might be right about waiting until we get the results from the crime lab, but I don’t have to like it.
He gives my hand a squeeze. “We both better get back to work. Thank you for telling me. We can go talk to Alan and Sabrina once we get the results of the match. See you soon.”
He gets into his car and drives off. I watch him out of sight from the sidewalk, but I’m not about to take this lying down. That’s one thing about David Graham. He’s a police detective. He knows his business, but he’s still constrained by procedure and professionalism. I’m not.
I promised Sophie Freeman I would tell her if I found anything. I’m not about to back down on that promise just because the police want to gather more evidence first.
I stand out on the sidewalk for a minute more, but my resolve already hardens into a decision. I have to talk to Sophie about the clues and about Scott. That’s all there is to it.
14
Zack puts down his butter knife. “What’s on your mind, Mom?”
I pull my gaze away from the window. “Hmm? Oh, nothing.”
“You haven’t said a word all evening. You’ve barely touched your food.”
I put my fork down on my plate. He’s right. I haven’t eaten more than three bites. “I’m sorry, honey. It really was delicious. I suppose I’m just preoccupied.”
“Is it the murder case?”
My head swings up. “What makes you think that?”
“Oh, come on, Mom,” he chides. “I think I know you well enough by now to tell when you’re thinking too much about something. I’d like to think you were obsessed with Detective Graham, but since someone just died in this town under suspicious circumstances, it has to be the murder case. Besides, I can smell burning rubber coming from your ears.”
I blush and fiddle with my spoon. “You do know me well.”
“Do you want to talk about the case?”
“I can’t,” I tell him, “but I’m going over to Sophie Freeman’s house after dinner. I just want you to know that so you don’t think I’m…you know, running around wild.”
He scoffs under his breath. “I almost wish you were instead of tracking down a killer.”
“I’ll be fine. I’m just going to talk to her about some of the clues David and I found yesterday.”
His eyes fly open. “You and David found clues yesterday?”
Now I really blush. I didn’t mean to let that slip out. Now the cat’s out of the bag. Now he knows David and I were working on the case—together.
Zack shakes his head. “All right, then. Just be careful, okay? Whoever killed Scott won’t hesitate to kill again to cover their tracks.”
“Now you’re starting to sound like David Graham.”
He nods. “I suppose that’s a good thing if we’re both telling you the same thing.”
He takes my plate to the kitchen and leaves me sitting there to stew in my own juices. The two men closest to me are both telling me to be careful. Maybe I should listen to them for once instead of charging ahead.
Anyway, nothing will happen just from talking to Sop
hie Freeman about her husband’s antics. What could be more mundane than that?
Zack doesn’t come back. I hear him splashing water in the sink to do the dishes. I take the opportunity to slip out of the house unnoticed. Why does this case make me so thoughtful? I can’t stop turning it over and over in my head. Why?
I cross town in a daze. I don’t come out of my reverie until I get to the Freemans’ house. I knock on the door but no one answers. Maybe Sophie’s not home.
I peek through the windows and wind up looking into the same living room where she and I talked last time. To my astonishment, the room stands bare with not one piece of furniture in it. None of the paintings hang on the walls. Even the fancy woven carpet is gone.
I stare into the room in shock. She can’t be gone, not when I was about to talk to her. Where can she have gone? Why would she just skip town like that?
Of course, she had no reason to hang around. She didn’t have any ties to this town. She and Scott just moved here. They only moved here for his business and now he’s dead. Why shouldn’t she leave town?
I migrate back to the front door. I can’t believe she’s gone! Now what am I going to do? I grab the door handle and give it a peevish yank. To my surprise, it swings open.
I stare into the front hall. I shouldn’t go in, but the temptation overpowers my good judgment—again. I step inside and it’s all downhill from there.
I creep into the living room. It’s just as empty as it looked through the window. What did I think was going to happen? Did I really believe all the furniture and art would reappear once I got into the house?
I still can’t bring myself to believe the evidence of my own senses. She’s gone. Now I’ve got no one to talk to about this case. I can’t bounce my ideas off anybody, and David told me to wait so I can’t even talk to him.
Without meaning to, I wander into the next room. It’s a large dining room with a long table and twenty matching chairs. A carved oak sideboard stands bare against one wall with its empty drawers pulled out for anybody to see what’s not in them. Wherever Sophie went, she hasn’t taken everything—not yet, anyway.
I blunder through the house. What am I looking for? I couldn’t tell you. My heart sinks every time I enter a room cleaned out of all furnishings. Even the rooms that still contain some stuff dampen my spirits.
Sophie has everything—at least, she had everything. Now her husband is dead and she’s pulling up her roots again. Poor woman. She probably hasn’t had a stable home since she married Scott.
Where will she go? What will she do? Will she ever have a purpose in life beyond skinning men for money? She’ll probably never find the kind of self-sufficient happiness I found with my candy store. She’ll never know the satisfaction of standing on her own two feet. I pity her, but I still wish she was here.
I go upstairs. None of the bedrooms have any beds in them, but the large master bedroom still has a few scattered shoes and hat boxes in the walk-in closet. I find a stack of books in the closet corner. Messy chicken scratch lines every page. I can barely read it. It’s too manic and jittery to be either Scott’s or Sophie’s. Who could have written these pages?
I sit down cross-legged on the floor and open the top book. I have to squint to make out the words. Woke up shaking again this morning….
All at once, a splitting pain stabs me in the head. Fireworks explode in front of my eyes, and I black out with the book still clutched between my fingers.
“Margaret! Margaret Nichols!”
I blink awake to find Sophie Freeman bending over me. Her long blonde tresses brush my cheeks. I moan in agony and my hand flies to my head.
“Margaret!” she calls. “Are you okay?”
I turn my head from one side to the other. Thinking hurts. Everything hurts, especially my head. “What happened?”
“I found you unconscious on the floor. What are you doing in my closet?”
I clamp my eyes shut against the light from the overhead fixture and struggle to put the last few hours back together. I don’t even know what time it is or how long I’ve been out.
Sophie hooks one arm behind my shoulders and lifts me up. “Man, I’m glad you came to. You had me so worried.”
I support my aching head in one hand. “I’m sorry, Sophie. I shouldn’t have come into your house uninvited. I was just so surprised that you moved away. What are you doing here, anyway?”
“I came back to get the rest of my things. That’s when I found you. I was hoping I’d run into you so I could let you know I’m leaving town. I’m moving back to Alabama to take care of my mother. My sister has been taking care of her for the last ten years while I gallivanted around the countryside. Now my sister’s nerves are shot and she’s leaving to move to Idaho with her boyfriend, so I guess it’s my turn to be the responsible daughter. Besides, I’ve got no one else in the world. It’ll be nice to be around someone I know and care about for a change.”
I raise my eyes to her face. So I misjudged her—again. She’s not a heartless troll after all. “I’m glad I got a chance to talk to you before you left. I think I might know something about who killed Scott.”
“Really? What did you find out?”
“Is there any chance….?” I choose my words with care. “Is there any chance Scott could have…. you know, been unfaithful?”
Sophie stares at me in shock for a minute. All at once, she jumps to her feet and snatches a pair of high heels off the shelf. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. He was a workaholic. When would he have time for anything else?”
“Okay,” I murmur. “I’m not saying he was unfaithful. That’s what I came here to ask you.”
Sophie grabs a hat box and rips the top off. She starts stuffing shoes in it right and left. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter anymore what happened to Scott. It’s ancient history and I’m leaving. In a few days, this whole crazy situation will be nothing but a nightmare.”
I watch her whizz around the closet in a frenzy. She reminds me of something, if I could only remember what it was.
I spot the book lying crumpled and upside down on the floor next to me. I pick it up. The first page lies bent at an angle, but now I can clearly make out the words on the first page. Woke up shaking again this morning….
“Whose books are these, Sophie?” I hold it up.
She doesn’t even turn around. “I must have been on drugs when I married Scott. When I look back on those years, I don’t even recognize myself. My instincts told me not to, but I didn’t listen.”
She stops dead in the act of pulling another hatbox off the shelf. She jerks around to stare at me. “Margaret?”
“Yeah?”
“What were you doing passed out on my closet floor?”
I look around me one more time. Now that I think about it, I can’t explain what happened. “I sat down here to read this book. Then there was a sharp pain in my head and everything went black.” My hand flies to the back of my head. I feel a lump the size of a golf ball.
“Someone must have hit you.” Sophie’s eyes dart sideways to peer around the closet.
The truth dawns on both of us at the same time. “Someone must have been in the house.”
“But who?” she whispers.
“Your front door was unlocked.” I struggle to my feet. “Come on. We’re getting out of here. It’s not safe for either of us in this house.”
15
Zack presses a bag of frozen peas into my hand and guides it to my swollen head. He holds it in position for a moment before he stands up. “Keep that on the bump for twenty minutes, Mom. It will help take the pain away.”
He goes to the kitchen and comes back with a tray. He places a cup of steaming tea in Sophie’s hands. He sets a plate of cookies on the coffee table and heads upstairs to leave us alone.
Sophie watches him out of sight. “That kid is gonna break some hearts one of these days.”
I wince when the peas touch my skull. “I think he already is. He’s jus
t too considerate to let his mother know about it, so he keeps it hidden from me.”
“He’s a very nice boy. You’re lucky.”
“I know it,” I reply. “He’s a mother’s dream.”
She gazes out the window at the dark. “I wish I had kids. Maybe then I would have some reason to keep living. Now Scott’s dead and I probably never will.”
“What are you talking about?” I cry. “You’re young. You’ve got all the time in the world to meet a nice guy. You’ve got the rest of your life in front of you.”
She shrugs. “I’m no good with men. I’m not good at picking the right ones.”
“Ha!” I snort. “You and me both.”
She blinks at me. “Really? You seem like you’ve got it all together.”
“Me! That’s a laugh. I’m the biggest failure there is at choosing the right man.”
“But what about….” She looks toward the stairs. “What about Zack’s dad?”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about. He was the biggest loser on the books. Scott was a prince compared to him.”
She won’t stop staring at me in amazement. “What did he do?”
“Oh, nothing very serious. He just controlled me and demeaned me and robbed me of my self-esteem. He made me believe I couldn’t survive without him. He told me he was a hundred times more intelligent and capable and worthy than I was. He made me believe it, too. It took me twenty years to snap out of it and start living my own life.”
Her eyelids pop. “Wow. I always think of Scott as some kind of oddity. I never thought there could be others like him..”
I see the walls start to crumble, and I take the hint to press her for more information. “What was he really like? He must have been more than just a workaholic. What was he like when he wasn’t working?”
She bows her head and studies her hands knotted in her lap. “He wasn’t a workaholic—not really. He worked long hours when he was first opening a new franchise, but the rest of the time he worked normal hours like anybody else. I just tell people that so I don’t have to explain what he was like when he was at home. He was domineering and insulting. If I ever disagreed with him, he threw handfuls of hundred-dollar bills into my face and told me to shut the heck up. He refused to let me travel to visit my family. I wanted to go back to school to get my degree in art, but he said I was too stupid for that. He said my job was to sit around and look good for him—that and to put out in bed. He said I didn’t have the right to say no, not even when was sick with the flu.”
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