by Nic Saint
I pressed my lips together. “I hope my dad personally handles Gemma’s case. I’m pretty sure Virgil is a lost cause when it comes to solving murders.”
“Virgil told Marjorie the new cop is running point on this one. That’s why he was so eager to blab to his mother about the murder. Chief Whitehouse saddled him with the newcomer and then made him his subordinate.”
I looked up sharply. “New cop? What new cop?”
“I haven’t seen him yet. Apparently he arrived yesterday. Straight from Syracuse.”
“That’s weird. Dad didn’t mention anything about a new cop.”
“Nothing weird about that. Your dad never tells you anything.”
That was true. For some reason my dad thought that civilians had no place in police work and liked to keep me and the rest of the Happy Bays neighborhood watch as far away from his cases as possible. He disliked what he called our meddling, and he was pretty vocal about it. Good thing we had Marjorie Scattering on the committee, who’s Virgil’s mother. Otherwise we’d never know anything about what was going on in this town.
Fee steered the van to Bell’s Bakery & Tea Room, which has been located on Lake Street since its inception in 1938. It’s two streets over from where Fee and I live, on Stanwyck Street. Yeah, all the streets in Happy Bays are named after old movie stars. One of our mayors at some point thought it was a nice touch, and might induce the Hollywood crowd to visit our town. I don’t think it worked out the way they thought it would.
Fee parked the van in front of the bakery and we both filed out. I saw that Mabel Stokely’s red Mini Cooper was already parked two spots over, and I could see Marjorie bearing down on us, frantically swinging her purse. The neighborhood watch committee was present and accounted for and ready for business.
Chapter 2
We took our usual table near the window, and I officially opened this session of the committee. The committee at this point in its existence consists of me, its chairwoman, Fee, Mabel, Marjorie and Fee’s Aunt Bettina. Mabel is a round woman in her late fifties who looks like Nana Mouskouri and takes pride in the fact that she’s the mayor’s secretary. She’s also an inveterate gossip, but then all the members of the committee are, I guess.
Marjorie, a thin-lipped woman of about sixty with a face like a horse, is a librarian and the one who’s got a direct feed to the police station. And Bettina Bell, who runs Bell’s Bakery along with Fee’s mom, is a full-figured woman with hair the color of asphalt and a voice like a foghorn. The three of them are also known to Happy Baysians as the Holy Trinity. Not that they’re necessarily saintlier than the rest of us. Just that they always seem to know all and see all, which makes them perfect fits for the neighborhood watch.
I’d actually started the committee after being turned down by the academy for the umpteenth time, and catching that Ben Stiller movie The Watch one night with Fee. You know, the one where aliens try to take over Ben Stiller’s local Costco. That’s when I figured that maybe I could be a cop, without actually being a cop, if you know what I mean. So that’s what I did. Without the alien invasion and the Costco, of course.
When I suggested the idea to Fee, she wasn’t exactly bubbling over with enthusiasm. The idea of becoming nosy parkers who stick their noses into other people’s lives didn’t appeal to her. It did appeal to Marjorie, Mabel and Bettina, though. But that’s probably because they are nosy parkers, and they love the idea of sticking their noses into other people’s lives. It’s what they do. Fee finally came on board and now we’re a force to be reckoned with. At least with Happy Bays dog owners, as we mostly confine ourselves to patrolling the streets to see who picks up their dog’s poo and who doesn’t.
Hey, you have to start somewhere.
The only one who hates us even more than dog owners is my dad, who seems to think we’re totally out of line. Well, I don’t. I believe the community has a big role to play in keeping the community safe and secure, and that’s exactly what we do. Taking responsibility. Tracking down litterers, jaypooping dogs, public urinators and defecators and all the other scum of the earth.
We watched as Fee placed a tray with cups of coffee and a dish with cream donuts, scones and other bakery goodies on the table. That’s why we like to hold our meetings down here at the bakery: the brain needs sustenance to function properly. We all picked out our favorite brand of poison, and dug in.
“Poor Gemma,” Bettina said. “She was such a sweet person.”
“Yeah, she was,” Fee chimed in.
“She did pull my hair that one time, remember, Fee?” I asked. “In fifth grade? When she thought I was going after her boyfriend Chad Harlin?”
“I remember. I stomped her toe so hard she limped to school for a week.”
Fee always had my back in grade school. When someone messed with me, she messed with them. And since Fee was always a big girl, I always felt safe.
“I saw her just the day before yesterday,” Mabel said. “I went in to cash a check and she was right there, vivacious as ever, and sweet as a button.” She shook her head. “What is the world coming to when they start killing off bank tellers? What’s next? Claims adjusters? Budget analysts?” Her eyes widened. “Neighborhood watch members?”
“Do you think her murder is related to her work at the bank?” Bettina wanted to know. “Maybe someone tried to force her to open the vault?”
“Virgil doesn’t seem to think so,” Marjorie said.
“Yeah, why would they kill her if they wanted her to open the vault?” Fee asked. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Because she resisted,” Bettina insisted. “Maybe she told them she wouldn’t do it so they whacked her.”
“Whacked her,” said Marjorie. “Is that the technical term?”
Marjorie is a stickler for the correct terminology. It’s the librarian in her.
“I think it’s in bad taste,” said Mabel, pulling a face. “And disrespectful.”
“You know what I think is disrespectful?” Bettina asked. “Whacking a person. Talking about it? Not so much.” She gave Mabel her best glare.
Mabel lifted her chin. “I think you should treat the dead with respect. And using foul language like that is a sign of disrespect. So there.”
Mabel and Bettina don’t always see eye to eye. Well, nor do Mabel and Marjorie, for that matter, or Bettina and Marjorie. I held up my hands. “Let’s not squabble at a time like this. What do we know about the murder?”
It rarely happened that we were given the opportunity to tackle an actual murder, and I had to admit I was feeling a rush of excitement thinking we might be able to solve it. Not that I was happy that Gemma Weston had been murdered, mind you, but this was my chance to prove I could conduct a police investigation, even though I wasn’t, you know, a cop.
Marjorie sighed. “Virgil said it was horrible. Blood all over the place.”
“How was she killed, exactly?” asked Mabel.
“Blunt force trauma to the head,” Marjorie said.
“What does that mean?” asked Mabel.
“That she was whacked over the head,” Bettina said with a grin.
“Enough with the whacking already,” Mabel groaned.
“The woman is dead,” Bettina said. “I don’t think it matters what we call it. She was murdered and we need to find her murderer and bring him to justice.”
“Him?” Mabel snapped. “Why do you assume it’s a he? For all we know it could be a she.”
“Statistically it’s more likely a male,” said Bettina. “Women rarely hit people over the head with blunt objects. Whacking each other is a male thing. It’s in their genes. Probably from the time they used to drag a club around for whacking bears and lions and such.”
“I think it’s sexist. Why can’t women ‘whack’ people? We have every right to use blunt objects to kill and maim,” said Mabel, heating up to the topic.
“Oh, all right,” said Bettina, rolling her eyes. “He or she killed Gemma and now we have to bring him or her to justice.
There. Are you happy now?”
Mabel pursed her lips mutinously. “I won’t be happy until we solve this heinous crime and remove Gemma’s murderer from our community.”
“And we will,” I told her. “But first we need to know all the facts pertaining to the case so we can start drawing up a list of suspects.”
“I suggest you leave that to the detective in charge of the case,” suddenly a booming voice spoke behind us. I didn’t even have to look up to know it was my dad.
“Chief Whitehouse,” Mabel said with a thinly veiled smile. “How nice to see you.”
“Cut the crap, Mabel,” said the Chief gruffly. He grabbed his belt and gave it a good yank, hoisting up his bulk. “I know what you’re doing.” He pointed around the table at us. “Neighborhood watch committee to the rescue, huh? Well, I’m not having it. This is a murder investigation, not a case of litter and run. So you better make sure you stay out of this.” He pointed at me. “That goes for you too, honey. Don’t get involved.”
I smiled at my dad. “Actually we were discussing the lack of garbage bins near the waterfront. We think putting up a few extra will reduce littering.”
“I’ll bet that’s what you were talking about,” he grumbled.
I caught sight of a man I’d never seen before. He stood watching the scene with a slight smile on his lips. He was tall, with short brown hair, lively blue eyes and a square chin. And he was dressed like most cops in this town were dressed: black slacks, crisply ironed white shirt, a navy blazer, and a serious expression on his face. So this was the new cop Fee had told me about. Not bad.
Dad followed my gaze and gestured gruffly at the newcomer. “Ladies, meet Detective Rock Walker. Rock is joining the police force of our little town. And he’s already engaged himself in the investigation of the Gemma Weston murder case. He’s running point on this one. Rock, meet the ladies of the neighborhood watch committee. Though I probably should call it the town watch committee, as they don’t seem to restrict themselves to a single neighborhood.” He rubbed his gray buzzcut. “Mabel Stokely is Mayor MacDonald’s secretary and just about the biggest busybody in town. Marjorie Scattering is Virgil’s mother and runs the local library. Bettina Bell, whose family owns this bakery, the best one for miles around. Felicity Bell, Bettina’s niece. And this is my daughter Alice. And now that you’ve all been introduced, I’m going to leave you to it.” But not before he directed a warning glance at Rock. “Remember what I told you about this bunch. Watch them like a hawk.”
“Watch the watch. I remember, Curtis,” Rock said good-naturedly, clapping the Chief on his broad back. “And you can rest assured I’ll be discretion personified.”
“You better be. We can’t have a bunch of civilians running amok in this town, inserting themselves into our investigations.”
And with these ominous words, he abruptly turned his back on us and headed straight for the counter. My dad may not have any manners to speak of, but he has a fine taste in pastry, judging from his ballooning belly.
“So, you like to conduct your own investigations, huh?” asked Rock, rocking back on his heels and giving us his best smile.
“That’s us,” I said. “We happen to believe it’s everyone’s responsibility to take care of each other and lighten the load for the police department by doing what we can to keep this community safe, so that’s what we do.”
“And I can only commend you for it,” he said smoothly. “If everyone was as concerned about the safety and well-being of this community, Happy Bays would be an even happier place. Which reminds me, if you have any clues or you hear anything that might help us catch Gemma Weston’s killer, don’t hesitate to get in touch.” At this, he handed me a card. “That’s my personal number right there. Call me, day or night, when you think of anything related to the case. Anything at all.” He fixed me with an intense look for a moment.
“Of course, Detective Walker,” I said dutifully, momentarily mesmerized by his blue peepers. He was cute, I thought. Très cute.
“What have you got so far, Detective Walker?” Mabel asked.
“Yeah, did you find any fingerprints on the scene?” Bettina chimed in.
“And what about the murder weapon?” Fee asked. “Have you searched the garden? I heard the killer got in through the kitchen door, so it stands to reason they would have disposed of the weapon in or near the backyard.”
Rock laughed, holding up his hands. “I’m sorry, ladies, but you heard the Chief. I’m not at liberty to discuss the details of this case in any way, shape or form.”
Mabel narrowed her eyes at him. “So you want us to tell you everything we know, while you give us nothing? That doesn’t seem fair, Detective Walker.”
“I realize that, Mabel,” he said courteously. “But unfortunately that’s the deal. What I can tell you is that I’m going to need the eyes and ears of this community if I want to have a shot at nailing the killer.” He tapped the card on the table. “Whatever you can think of that will help us. All right?”
We all stared after him as he joined the chief at the counter, where Fee’s mom stood wrapping up a paper baggie of donuts for my dad.
“Nice patootie,” Mabel said.
“Great ass, you mean,” Bettina said.
“Language, Bettina,” Marjorie grumbled.
“Language, my ass,” said Bettina. “That’s one fine bootie.”
“And did you see his eyes?” asked Fee. “He’s got really kind eyes.”
“I’ll bet he’s got a killer body underneath that crisp shirt,” said Marjorie.
When I didn’t say anything, they all turned to me. “You’re awfully quiet,” Fee said with a glint of amusement in her eyes.
I shrugged. “He seems nice.”
“Nice?” Bettina cried. “He’s the hottest thing to arrive here in years!”
“Maybe you can speak a little louder,” Mabel suggested. “I don’t think he heard you.”
“He is very attractive,” I admitted. And he was, in a hunkishly male way.
“You’ll have to forgive Alice,” Fee said. “She’s completely sworn off men.”
“Oh, right,” Bettina said. “Still recovering from the Reece Hudson thing, huh?”
Now they were all quiet, trying not to stare at me. Reece Hudson was a genuine Hollywood movie star and had briefly been my boyfriend and even my fiancé. Of course that was before he’d gone and made a movie with Angelina Jolie, fresh off her breakup with Brad Pitt. It hadn’t taken Reece long to fall for her, and he’d promptly called off our engagement. I hadn’t heard from him since. Not that he ended up with La Jolie, though. According to People Magazine he was pursuing a Kardashian. Not sure which one.
“I think he likes you,” Fee now said, motioning to Rock Walker as he nodded a farewell at us and left the store along with my dad.
“Why would you think that?” asked Bettina.
Fee shrugged. “Just a hunch. What?” she asked when I rolled my eyes. “I have hunches. I do. I get them all the time.”
“I hate to say this, but your hunches rarely prove right, honey,” said Bettina.
“They do, too,” said Fee stubbornly.
“Yeah? Like that time you thought we were going to have a quadruple wedding,” Marjorie said bitterly. “You, Alice, Virgil and me. Look how well that worked out. The only one who’s still engaged to be married is you.”
“I think Rock Walker is married,” I said.
“He doesn’t look married,” Mabel said. Then she brightened. “Why don’t I look it up? It’s a matter of public record. What else do you want to know?”
“Nothing!” I said. “Like Fee said, I’ve sworn off men. For good.”
“You can’t just check the man’s records, Mabel,” Bettina said. “That’s not nice.”
“I think it’s a matter of prudence,” Mabel insisted. “What if he’s already married? What if he’s a bigamist? We need to know who we’re dealing with here, you guys.”
And while the other
ladies quibbled over whether Mabel should or shouldn’t access the man’s records, I watched Rock Walker get into the squad car with my dad. He caught my eye and gave me a quick smile and a nod. In response, I gave him a pinky wave and then blushed with mortification. Dang. I caught Fee’s grin. “He likes you,” she mouthed.
Chapter 3
Felicity had to work, and so did the others, so I decided to go and take a look at the Gemma Weston place. See if I couldn’t get a feel for the crime scene and take it from there. In cop shows they’re always pottering around the crime scene and they always seem to catch the killer, so I figured why not give it a try?
Gemma had bought a nice little house on Hutton Street, and had fixed it up into something really beautiful. The place had belonged to a widower who’d taken good care of it, so the renovation hadn’t set Gemma back a lot. In fact I don’t think she’d done more than fix up the garden, which had been overgrown with weeds, and have the outside of the house repainted from the hideous brown old man Morrison had liked to a fresh and lively yellow with pink trim.
I rode my bike over to Hutton Street and parked it in Gemma’s driveway. That’s right. I don’t drive a car. Like police academy, I’ve flunked my driving test more than a few times. I don’t know what it is about taking the test. Somehow knowing that I’m being graded makes me freeze up and run red lights, almost run over people on crossings and generally become a menace to the public. I still intend to pass the test one day, though. Maybe the day they change driving instructors down at the Safe2Go Driving School. None of the instructors take my money anymore. Apparently my name is on the black list.
I parked my little pink bike against the hedge and went exploring. Virgil had told Marjorie who had told us that Gemma had been killed by the kitchen door. In her words, blood was everywhere. Now I’m not particularly keen on finding blood everywhere, so I steeled myself for the upcoming horror show.
I walked around back and headed straight for the backyard. It looked gorgeous. She’d put in hibiscus, petunias, zinnias, amaranths and a lot of flowers I didn’t know. The result was a riot of color and scent.