“So, no one can verify what time you were here?” Heather asked.
"I was home alone watching TV," Lucy said. "I could tell you what I was watching, and you could compare it to the times it was on. I was watching this comedy about a dysfunctional family, and in this episode, the wife was angry at the husband again—"
“That’s all right,” Heather said, stopping her. “We appreciate the attempt.”
“And the spoilers,” said Amy.
“But nowadays all recaps of shows can be found easily. It doesn’t prove you were home watching it at the time,” said Heather.
“Oh,” Lucy said, disappointed. “But I hope you’re not considering me a real suspect. I always got along with Tricia. And I didn’t care about the tree sculpture contest like some of the others did. I was just building for fun.”
“Was the tree contest extremely competitive?” Heather asked.
"For some people," said Lucy. "Like for Ray. He really wanted to win. If it's not in bad taste to use the phrase, I'd say he'd kill to win it."
A Ray of Suspicion
After their talk with Lucy, Heather and Amy were eager to talk with Ray about his feud with Tricia and how badly he wanted to win the holiday tree competition.
“It really sounds like it’s him so far,” Amy said. “Do you think it’s possible that we could figure out who the killer is so quickly?”
“It’s been a strange season all around. After all, Mr. Rankle has been surprisingly kind,” said Heather. “Maybe we will catch a break with this case. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Let’s hear what Ray has to say about that night.”
Amy nodded. "But I like that it doesn't seem as though Kendall did it, or Lucy."
“Lucy has a weaker alibi than Kendall,” Heather said, thinking about it. “But she’s also the smallest artist there. I don’t think she could have physically thrown Tricia Mollins so that she would have landed on the unfinished tree tip.”
“Good point,” Amy said, before cringing at her own pun.
They arrived at Ray’s house that should by any rational standard really be called a shack. However, because it was by the ocean, it didn’t seem as lousy a place to live as the slanted walls might have suggested.
There were several large pieces in the front yard that could either have been junk or art. Heather wanted to ask her friend what she thought of them but didn't want to insult the suspect before they got to ask him any questions about the murder.
Ray saw them coming and stomped on to his porch. His hair looked more unkempt than usual, and he was scowling.
“I thought you might be customers wanting to buy some of my statues, but you’re those amateurs from our tree building session,” Ray said. “You’re probably just here to see what gossip you can find out about the murder.”
“We are here about the murder,” Heather said. "But not as curiosity seekers. We're actually private detectives, and we're helping the police on the case."
“They can’t solve it on their own?” Ray asked with a sneer.
"They thought that because we were there earlier on the night that Tricia Mollins was killed that we might be able to offer some insight and help the case get closed sooner," said Heather, evenly. "I think we can all agree that we'd like to see the killer behind bars as soon as possible."
“I guess you’re right about that,” Ray admitted. “I hated Tricia as much as the next person, but being a killer is worse than being a thief. Whoever did this is much worse than Tricia was.”
“You see,” Amy started. “You already admitted that you hated her. That seems suspicious.”
“She gave me reason to dislike her,” Ray said. “I ain’t gonna lie about it. Besides, I’m sure all the other artists knew it anyway.”
“She accused you of stealing her materials and her idea last year,” Heather said.
“I didn’t take anything of hers,” he said defensively. “If she can’t keep track of her own materials, that’s her fault. And I didn’t steal her idea. She stole mine! She just made a bigger stink about it to try and cover up what she did.”
“I guess this contest is pretty important to you?” Heather asked.
"It's the principle of it," Ray said. "I should have won last year, and I didn't. I wanted to win this year."
“I suppose with Tricia out of the running, now it will be easier for you to win?” Heather suggested.
“No,” Ray said. “I mean, probably yeah. But that’s not how I wanted it. I wanted to rub her face in the loss.”
“Suspicious again,” Amy commented.
“Last year she stole my tree idea with the trowels and garden tools for materials. Then, she accuses me of stealing her idea, when it was really mine. And then she won anyway, even though she was a thief. I wanted to beat her at her own game.”
“Are you sure you didn’t settle for making her a permanent Christmas ornament?” Amy asked.
“No,” Ray said. “I didn’t kill her.”
"What did you do after you left the studio last night?” Heather asked.
“I went out for a few drinks,” Ray said.
“Where was that?” asked Heather.
“A few places here and there,” said Ray.
“Do these places have names?” Amy asked, her patience wearing thin.
"I can't remember,” Ray said. “I was annoyed after working and just wanted to relax. I walked around to different bars, and by the end of the night, I couldn’t say where I was.”
“Could one of those places you wandered have been back to the studio?” Heather asked.
“No,” Ray said. “I didn’t go back that night. I promise.”
"Yeah. We’ll just take you at your word,” Amy said.
"Look, I'm having a bad enough day as it is without being accused of murder," Ray said. "My favorite shoes have been missing, and I have to wear these ones that are slightly too small. And I burned my breakfast. And I don't know when we'll be allowed back in the studio because Tricia went and got herself killed."
“Well, thank you for your time,” Heather said. “We’ll be in touch if we have any more questions.”
“Fine,” Ray said. He walked back into his house, grumbling as he had to walk in his shrunken shoes.
Heather and Amy started to walk away from the house.
“He has prime suspect written all over his face,” Amy said.
Heather nodded. "We still need to talk to the others, but he didn't do anything to make himself looks less guilty. He had no alibi to speak of and hated the victim."
“He wasn’t shy about saying that either.”
Heather paused. She took a closer look at one of the piles of metal in his front yard.
“And there’s something else to make him look like he did it.”
“What’s that?” asked Amy.
“What did Tricia say was stolen from her?”
“Besides her ideas?” Amy said, thinking. “A propeller.”
Heather pointed at something hiding in the pile of metal. It was a boat propeller.
“Just like that one,” Heather said.
The Judge
“It was just sitting in his yard?” Ryan asked.
“Well, it was part of a piece of art,” Amy said. “You needed to look for it.”
Ryan exhaled. “That does make him look more suspicious.”
“You’re the artist,” Heather said, turning to her friend. “But that piece looked to me like it was hastily thrown together.”
Amy nodded. “Some of the paint was still wet, but if it was kept outside, it might have taken over a day to dry.”
“It definitely looks like he took her propeller,” Heather said. “But does that have anything to do with her murder? Or was his theft his revenge for what happened last year?”
"Peters and I will talk to him again, and we'll analyze the propeller more. If we could prove in court that it was the victim's, it could help our case," said Ryan.
“But the propeller was missing bef
ore the murder,” Heather reminded them. “That was what started Tricia’s accusations that night.”
“And maybe that’s what caused Ray to snap,” Amy said.
“Maybe,” said Heather. “Did you and Peters find out anything else that could be helpful?”
She faced her husband. They were all at the police station discussing the case, and looking wistfully at the now empty box that used to contain Spiced Maple Donuts.
“The medical examiner gave us the results of the autopsy. The cause of death was what we expected, but he was able to narrow the timeframe that attack happened to between ten and midnight.”
"I think Kendall's photos with her dog were during that window of time," Heather said. "So, if it helps us eliminate one suspect, that was helpful news already."
"Unfortunately, it’s the only clue that narrows things down,” said Ryan. “We’ve been checking fingerprints found at the crime scene, but there are so many of them in the space. They must be from many artists that have been there before. And other artists could have used gloves.”
“The killer too,” said Amy.
"Was there any DNA at the scene?” asked Heather.
“It’s the same situation as the fingerprints,” said Ryan. “There were many hairs found at the scene, but they could have been there before the murder. We checked the victim’s clothes for clues and came up short. Unfortunately, there was no evidence under her fingernails either.”
“Which further makes me think that the attack came as a surprise,” said Heather. “She didn’t have a good opportunity to fight back.”
It was if there was a collective sigh from the group. They knew that they needed to find some more clues to crack the case, and they were out of donuts.
Luckily, Detective Peters came in at that time with some good news.
“I found her,” Peters said, grinning.
“Who’s her?” asked Amy. “Is it the killer? Is it really a her? Tell me it’s not Kendall.”
“I didn’t find the killer. At least not yet,” said Peters. “But I did find the founder and head judge of the Key West Holiday Tree Sculpture Contest, or K.W.H.T.S.C.”
“That’s not a great abbreviation,” Amy said.
Peters nodded, but then said, "But maybe she could shed some light on the competition, and we could see if it contributed to a motive to murder."
“Is she coming in?” Ryan asked.
“She’s parking her car now,” Peters said. “She should be in any minute.”
“Now, I really wish I had more donuts,” Heather said.
“I was already wishing that,” said Amy.
An older woman entered the station. Her hair was decidedly set in place at the proper curl that she liked, and even though it was still hot outside, she had a fur wrap draped around her shoulders,
“Ms. Wenderly, thank you for coming in,” Peters said, leading her over to the group. “This is my partner, Detective Shepherd.”
“Charmed,” she replied.
"And this is my wife Heather, and her investigative partner Amy. They consult with us on cases from time to time," Ryan said.
“That sounds so exciting,” Ms. Wenderly said. “I’m always looking for something exciting to be a part of. That’s one reason why I began the K.W.H.T.S.C.”
“Right,” Amy said. “You didn’t want to include a word beginning with a vowel in that title? Make it a little more palatable like S.C.U.B.A.?”
“What’s wrong with K.W.H.T.S.C.?” Ms. Wenderly asked.
“Nothing,” Ryan said quickly. “We’d just like to learn more about it.”
“Yes,” Heather said. “What was the other reason that you began it?”
“Pardon?” Ms. Wenderly asked, still distracted by the insult to her contest’s name.
“You said excitement was one reason for the contest. What’s the other reason?” asked Heather.
"You don't miss a beat," Ms. Wenderly complimented her and turned her back to Amy. "I did it to make the island more festive. I'm originally from the Northwest, and I was always covered in snow around the holidays. It didn't seem quite right to be able to be surrounded by palm trees for Christmas, and so I started this art competition to add some more décor. I love supporting the arts, and this allows for a lovely festive display for people to look at."
"We're afraid that one of the participants in this competition has been killed,” said Ryan.
“Detective Peters mentioned that,” Ms. Wenderly said, frowning. “Do you think it’s possible it has something to do with the contest?”
“That’s what we’d like to find out,” Ryan said.
“What’s the grand prize?” Heather asked.
“It’s five hundred dollars,” Ms. Wenderly said. “It’s not nothing, but I’m not sure it’s something to kill for. Depending on the materials they choose to use, some artists might spend close to that on their statue. Of course, others are more resourceful and find inexpensive ways to make beautiful art. I always thought that artists were more in it for the pride than for the prize.”
“Pride might have been a motive,” Amy said. “We just saw a sample of the emotions the artists were feeling the night before the murder.”
Ms. Wenderly didn’t turn to face Amy, but did respond with, “I wanted to inspire good and beauty with this contest. I wouldn’t like to think it led to this horror.”
“Would someone have wanted to stop Tricia Mollins from winning a second year in a row?” Heather asked.
“Quite possibly,” said Ms. Wenderly. “But I would have thought that they would have done it with their art.”
“Do you remember an entry last year that was similar to Tricia’s?” asked Heather.
“Yes, actually,” said the older woman. “There was another garden tool themed tree, but it wasn’t as fully realized as hers. In fact, it helped to convince me of the genius of simplicity of her design. She used the tools of gardening to create something that should have come from a garden.”
“That does sound like a nice art piece,” said Amy.
Ms. Wenderly allowed her a look. “It really was.”
"And you're the judge of this contest?" Ryan asked for clarification.
“I’m the head judge, but I have two other helpers,” she said. “It helps to keep things more balanced.”
They thanked her for her help and were about to send her on her way when Ms. Wenderly offered one more helpful tidbit.
“I’m not sure if there are still pictures of the prize winner, but Tricia Mollins did make some lovely small-scale models for tourists to buy. Apparently, after winning the contest, she did quite well with her Christmas business from selling them.”
“So, there still could be a motive for killing to win the contest,” Heather said after she left.
“Right,” said Amy. “It helped her to sell her art and increase her business.”
“And money is always a motive for murder,” said Heather.
Another Artist
“I’m Heather Shepherd, and this is Amy Givens. We’re private investigators, looking into the murder of Tricia Mollins. Do you mind if we ask you some questions?”
Horatio looked at them but didn't say anything. He leaned on his doorframe, considering it.
“We’re trying to catch a killer,” Amy said, trying to keep her temper. “And we need some more information to do it.”
“We really would appreciate your help,” Heather said.
“You can either talk to us or the police,” Amy said. “But if you don’t talk to us, it does look like you’re hiding something.”
Horatio still didn’t say anything, but he held the door open for them to come inside his house. He led them to his kitchen table where there were enough seats for them all to sit down, comfortably. The table was covered with art supplies rather than food.
“Thank you,” Heather said. “First, I’d like to ask you if you knew Tricia Mollins well?”
Horatio shook his head, and finally answered, “Just st
udio.”
Amy looked at her friend. “Do we have another Geoff Lawless on our hands?” she asked, referring to Jamie’s old boss, who was another large man of few words.
“And did you get along with her?” Heather asked.
Horatio nodded.
"We'd like to talk to you about your artwork," Heather said.
“Destroyed,” Horatio said, quietly.
"Yes," Heather said, suddenly feeling a slight pang of sorrow for the man after seeing his expression. "Unfortunately, the police did have to disassemble the piece in order to move the body."
“It was supposed to be good,” he said. “Not for that.”
“Why did you decide to use sharp pipes like that for your piece?” Heather asked.
Horatio stood up and looked around the room. He scanned his pile of sketchbooks and then picked one up. He opened it to a drawing and showed them. The sketch was of several pipes intertwining to form a star.
“This was what you were planning on making?” Heather asked.
Horatio nodded.
“It’s beautiful,” Amy said. “I love how all the pieces come together.”
He looked down, clearly having mixed emotions about how the piece could have looked and what became of the work-in-progress.
"We heard that you stayed late at the studio,” Heather said. “You and Tricia were the only artists to do so.”
“She and Kendall were alive when I left,” he said. “Didn’t know it would happen.”
"What time was that?”
"Eight-thirty. Around,” he said.
“Honey, what’s going on?” a woman asked, coming into the room.
“Police,” he said.
“Well, private investigators working with the police,” Amy said. “But close enough.”
“Wife,” he said to them. “Halina.”
“I hope you’re not grilling my husband,” she said. “He doesn’t like to talk much.”
“We’re not trying to inconvenience anyone,” Heather said. “But we are trying to solve a murder. Your husband’s sculpture was used the murder weapon, and he was one of the last people to leave the studio that night.”
Spiced Maple & Murder: An Oceanside Cozy Mystery - Book 11 Page 4