And wasn’t it too far-fetched to believe that she might’ve enlisted the help of not one, but two other people? Could three people despise Trisha enough to want to kill her and keep it a secret? Surely, not all of them were lacking in moral fiber to that degree.
Several times, I paused mid-stride, a sneaking feeling crawling over shoulders and neck. But the streets were quiet apart from the occasional dog barking or a passing car.
I arrived at the closed café a few minutes past 7pm and found Didi waiting with my handbag and the keys to the Sunny Side Up.
“There you are,” she said, and let out a relieved sigh. “I was worried something had happened.”
“Why?”
Didi pulled a face. “Trisha was murdered the other day. It could happen again, you know.”
“I thought this place was super safe.” I took my stuff from her. “Do you need a ride home?”
“Sure, that would be great, thanks!” Maybe, Didi was coming to her senses about the dangers in Parfait.
We piled into Aunt Rita’s Beetle and took the quick trip to the beachfront cottages in silence. “See you tomorrow,” she said, and waved as she hurried up the steppingstone path that led to her mother’s cottage.
I waited until she was safely inside before heading back to my aunt’s place. It was silent, but I’d left the porch light on in anticipation of coming home at this hour. Bodger was—wait, what was that?
I blinked, clutching the steering wheel, my hands clammy against the plastic. Was that a note taped to the door?
“Relax,” I muttered. “It’s probably nothing.”
I cut the engine, grabbed my belongings, then hurried up onto the porch. A single piece of folded paper had been fixed to the front door. It hadn’t been addressed to anyone. I put my things down and removed the note, opening it along its fold.
Untidy handwriting scrawled across the page.
Everything is taken care of.
I flipped the note over, but there was nothing on the back.
“What on earth?”
I reread it, but the words held absolutely no meaning for me. What had been taken care of? What was this in relation to? I doubted that the guys who were meant to fix the air-conditioning at the café would’ve left me a mysterious, unsigned note.
But that was the only thing I could think of that might—
Unless… Oh wait, unless this note wasn’t for me. What if someone had placed it here thinking that Aunt Rita was in town? It might be for her. But from whom? And why?
An impatient meow yowled from inside the cottage, and I quickly tucked the note under one arm and fished out the cottage key.
“Coming,” I called.
It wasn’t good to make Bodger wait for his dinner.
But as I let myself into the cottage, the note pressed against my side, I couldn’t help wondering who had written it and why.
20
That weekend…
I yawned, rubbing my eyes and checking the time on my pearl-faced watch, trying not to let the morning grumps get to me. I’d run out of coffee in the cottage and I’d been run off my feet at work the day before, so I hadn’t had the chance to get more.
Not a good thing, since it was the morning of the Everglades trip, and I was expected to be social, bright, and happy.
Bodger sat in the living room doorway, eyeing me like a tuna fish out of water.
“I’ll be back on Sunday evening,” I said.
Bodger flicked his tail but said nothing.
“Emilia will be here to fill your water and food bowls. Try not to attack her when she arrives, all right? I don’t think she’s the type who’ll buy into your mood swings. She has a toddler. They’re even more high maintenance than you are.”
A slight hiss that turned into a yawn. Somehow, through great effort on my part not to invade Bodger’s personal space and always feed him on time, we’d managed an uneasy truce—as long as I kept my door locked at night.
On Thursday evening, I’d completely forgotten and simply left it closed. Bodger had opened the door, and I’d woken to him sitting on my chest, his claws inches from my throat, and his growling loud and obnoxious.
I’d nearly had a heart attack.
A car horn honked outside, and I waved to the maniac cat, grabbed my bag and headed out the door. I’d be gone for one sleep and the better part of tomorrow, but I’d packed for every occasion minus high heels, since, rationally , I probably wouldn’t need heels on a hike.
Nick, Didi, Yuli and Karl—two of the other servers at the restaurant—sat in Nick’s Jeep, chatting happily while they waited for me.
Nick leaped out of the car and helped me get my bag into the back, then opened the passenger side door for me.
“I get shotgun?” I asked.
“Sure,” Yuli called from the back. “You’re the oldest, Miss Charles. You get to sit in the front.”
“I’d prefer to be younger and sitting in the back,” I replied. “Is that something that can be arranged?”
The servers laughed.
The Everglades Luxury Bungalows were about an hour from Parfait, and our drive was filled with laughter, the occasional bout of singing, and snacking. Thankfully, Didi’s mother had had the forethought to pack a whole range of snacks, including a flask of coffee that went down a treat.
By the time we pulled up to the cluster of thatched-roofed wooden bungalows, my mood had improved threefold. It was hot and muggy, but the sounds of nature overwhelmed my discomfort, and we piled out of the Jeep.
A lanky man appeared on the porch of the reception building next to the parking area. He was handsome, with sun-bleached hair, bright green eyes, and an even tan that spoke of hours in the sun.
“There you are, Nick!” He strode up to us, and I caught sight of his nametag.
Michael.
My eyes widened. Surely, that wasn’t the Michael? As in Frances’ son Michael?
“How was the drive down?” he asked.
“All good. Right, gang?” Nick grinned around at us.
Everyone nodded and smiled.
“You’re in bungalows three through seven,” he said. “No charge thanks to Nick over here.”
“Thanks to you, buddy,” Nick said, clapping a hand onto Michael’s shoulder. “You’re the one who gave them to us free.”
“Yeah, well, I owed you one, didn’t I?” Michael’s grin took on a strange quality, and I stared at him. “I’ll leave you some time to get settled in,” Michael continued. “But the nature walk starts in a half hour, so meet back here for that if you want to take part.”
“We sure do,” Nick said.
Michael handed over our keys, and Nick shared them out among the group. We each had our own tiny bungalow, and we split off to go drop off our things and check the place out, the air zapping with excitement for the day ahead.
I was in bungalow number five, right between Nick’s and Didi’s, and I let myself into the small space. It contained a bed, a bathroom with a rustic shower and wide showerhead, and two thatched armchairs in front of a low coffee table.
The bed, with beige sheets and two thick pillows, was comfortable, and I flopped onto it, tucking my hands behind my head. The smell of the thatch roof was relaxing—completely different to anything I’d experienced before, and I kind of liked that. Any time I’d gone on vacations with Damon, we’d wined and dined at luxury resorts or hotels. We’d never ‘roughed it’ or gone hiking.
Michael is here. The thought rose out of the blue.
Frances had said that her son had left and was far away. That she hardly ever saw him. But he was just one hour away, and there’d been those boots right next to her front door. And why was Michael being so nice to Nick? What had he meant by ‘he owed Nick big time?’ What had Nick done to deserve a favor like this?
“You’re too suspicious,” I whispered. “Just relax.”
Once the allotted relaxation time of a half hour had passed, I pulled myself out of the cool bungalow and marche
d over to join the others at the Jeep. Nick, Yuli, Karl and Didi were already waiting, and Michael appeared as I arrived, striding across the grass, a broad smile on his handsome face.
He spread his arms. “Everyone ready to go?” he asked. “Excited for some fun?”
“Will we get to see an alligator?” Karl’s arms were folded. As the youngest of the group at around nineteen-years-old, he still had the willowy form of a teenaged boy who hadn’t gotten a lot of exercise. “I told my brother I’d get to see an alligator.”
“We’ll probably see a few when we go on the airboat ride tomorrow,” Michael replied. “Today, you might get to see Wood Storks and other native birds. I’ll talk you through it as we go. All right? Follow me, everyone.”
We did as we were told, filing in pairs behind him as he led us to a small trail that wound through the underbrush. It was humid between the trees, but the sounds of birds chirping bought a peace to the oppressive heat.
Michael fell into step beside Nick, who was just ahead of Didi and I.
“Did you get my note?” he asked Nick.
“Note? Nah, can’t say that I did, Mike.”
“Oh, that’s weird. I left a note on your front door yesterday,” Michael said, then gave a sheepish laugh. “I was worried you’d try calling me. I don’t have a phone.”
“What happened to it?”
“Lost it weeks ago,” Michael shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. You guys are here now, and we can, uh, we can talk about stuff later.”
“Cool.”
Michael turned and walked backward through the green grass to talk to us about what we could expect from the rest of the hike, but I didn’t hear a word of it.
The note had been from Michael? And it was for Nick?
Everything is taken care of. That was what the note had said. He’d obviously stuck it to my aunt’s door rather than Nick’s by accident.
It was proof that Michael had been in Parfait recently, and that he could get in and out with ease.
So why had Frances made it seem otherwise? And what had Michael taken care of for Nick?
21
That evening, after a successful hike and a lot of fun, we gathered around a firepit to roast marshmallows after a dinner of barbecued meat, grilled corn, and mashed potatoes. I was full and satisfied, but that didn’t stop me from watching Nick and Michael like a hawk.
They’d been acting natural around each other, but I’d noticed them sitting together at dinner, their heads bent toward each other, conversing quietly.
What if I’d been wrong about Nick? What if he was capable of murdering Trisha?
Stop. Just relax.
I turned my stick over the crackling fire, swatting an occasional fly or mosquito away from my face, the stars bright in the inky sky above. We’d doused ourselves in bug spray and had been rewarded with relative peace from bug bites.
Didi gobbled down her marshmallow, grinning at the sticky, oozy sweetness. “This is great,” she said. “Didn’t I tell you these getaways are super fun?”
I shifted my booty on the wooden log that was our makeshift bench. “It’s awesome,” I agreed. “It’s nice to get out in nature once in a while.” I wasn’t used to roughing it, but I had to admit that being out here was charming, bugs and all. We’d seen plenty on our hike, with Michael gesturing and tell us the names of the animals in question.
There had been Wood Storks and Snail kites, and other birds whose names I’d forgotten because I’d been staring suspiciously at the back of Michael’s head.
“We should make s’mores,” Didi said, and grabbed the back of crackers she’d brought with her. “We just sandwich the marshmallows in these. What do you say?”
“Sounds great.”
Nick had already gone to bed, but Karl and Yuli were amid an animated conversation, and a couple of older married folks sat on a log to our left, roasting their marshmallows and murmuring.
A door slammed nearby, and Michael appeared, striding toward us. He took a seat on my right, smiling. “Hello,” he said. “Mind if I steal some of your crackers? I was thinking of making s’mores.”
“You read my mind,” Didi beamed. “Help yourself.”
He speared a marshmallow and held it over the open flame in the pit. He turned it evenly, the firelight reflected in his eyes.
Michael had worked as Trisha’s assistant. And Frances, his mother, had despised Trisha, especially because she’d treated Michael badly when he’d worked for her. Was that enough motivation for them to work together to get rid of her?
It seemed like Michael had a good gig here. Why would he ruin that by killing Trisha? And how was Nick involved?
“You’re about to lose your marshmallow,” Michael said.
And he was right, my marshmallow had burned black one side and drooped off the ended of my stick. “Whoops. Thanks.” I drew it out of the flames and took the proffered cracker from Didi. I deposited my marshmallow onto it, placed another cracker on top and squished it into a s’more without the chocolate.
“See?” Didi grinned, already eating hers. “They’re great.”
“Michael,” I said, “are you Frances’ son?”
Didi went pale around the gills and looked down at her cookie, checking out of the conversation.
“I sure am. You know my mom?” he asked, ruffling his blonde hair. “I hope she hadn’t given you any trouble. My mom is kind of set in her ways.”
“She’s great,” I said. “We had tea with her the other day. She mentioned that you were working out of town and that she misses you a lot.”
“Yeah,” Michael shrugged. “I’ve been meaning to visit her, but I never get the chance. This place keeps me busy. Best job I’ve ever had.”
“Better than when you worked for, uh, for Trisha?” I asked, trying to broach the topic of conversation casually.
Michael stiffened, an incremental shift in his posture that relaxed a second later. “What do you know about Trisha?” he asked. “Aren’t you new in Parfait?”
“I know she was a pain in the neck,” I said. “She came into the Sunny Side Up the other day and she was difficult to deal with. Just before she, uh, you know. Died.”
Michael blinked. “Trisha’s dead?” he asked.
“Yeah. She was murdered.”
He dropped his stick and lost the marshmallow in the fire pit. “What?”
“Yeah, I thought you knew. Everyone in Parfait knows. I suppose, though, you’re not really in Parfait anymore, are you, so how would you know?” I gave a chuckle that was too high and too squeaky. “Yes, it’s really unfortunate. Someone poisoned her.”
“When?”
“A week and a bit ago,” I said.
“Wow.” Michael shook his head, blinking repeatedly. “Wow. Well, that’s news to me.”
“Your mom didn’t tell you?”
“I haven’t called her in a while. So, no, I had no idea.”
And the police hadn’t come out here to talk to him? Surely, Detective Garcia would’ve considered a disgruntled ex-employee a person of interest? And what about the dirty boots next to Michael’s mother’s door? They couldn’t have been sitting there for longer than a week, shoot, or even a few days.
Was Michael lying?
“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to break the bad news to you. I was curious what it must’ve been like working with her.” I gave another awkward laugh. “I guess everyone’s been talking about what happened so much that I’m kind of used to it as the chief topic of conversation.” Did that sound like a good excuse for bringing up Trisha? Boy, I hoped so.
“Right.” Michael got another marshmallow and stick from the piles nearby. “Working for Trisha was challenging. I’ve got to say, I’m not surprised someone…” He drew a finger across his throat. “She was a piece of work. Always in a mood, always threatening people.”
“Really?”
“Oh yeah.” Michael rolled his eyes. “She fired me, but I’ve got to admit I was glad I didn’t have to w
ork for her anymore.”
“Why did she fire you?”
“I didn’t post her picture with the right hashtags,” he said, shrugging. “But I wasn’t cut out for that kind of job. I felt sorry for the chick who took over for me after I left. Bebe, I think her name is. I heard a rumor that her and Trisha fought like cat and dog too.”
“They did,” Didi squeaked. “They fought all the time.”
“You know, you look super familiar,” Michael said, turning his attention to Didi. “Did we go to school together?”
Didi colored peachy pink. “Yes, we did. You were… um, a few years ahead of me.”
“Right. Didi. I remember you. You always wore that cute little beret.” He winked at her.
I excused myself from the potential third wheel situation, taking my s’more with me, and headed for my bungalow. Michael had given me a lot to think about.
He was happy, so clearly not disgruntled about being fired, but somehow hadn’t known Trisha was dead even though it was the talk of the town, and his mother had hated her and argued with her on the morning of the murder.
The fact that he didn’t know, or hadn’t known, would’ve made sense except he’d said he’d heard a rumor that Trisha and Bebe had fought a lot. So which was it? Did he have enough contact with his mother, or other people in Parfait, that he heard the rumors or not?
I ate my cool s’more, relishing the gooey sweetness and the crumble of the cracker.
Hopefully, everything would be clearer by the light of day. And hopefully, that light of day wouldn’t reveal that Nick had been involved in Trisha’s demise.
22
The Sunday afternoon drive back from the Everglades was spent with less laughter. We’d had fun but were tired from a morning airboat ride and the excitement of having seen alligators. And Nick’s behavior had changed too. He’d gone from happy-go-lucky to somber, and the closer we drew to Parfait, the worse it got.
Murder Over Easy (A Sunny Side Up Cozy Mystery Book 1) Page 9