Alibi in April (Calendar Mysteries Book 4)

by Camilla Chafer

  "And if it is something to do with that man and you don't tell Detective Logan, and there are more than one set of prints, it will be your fault."

  I placed the flashlight on the small table near the door. "I'll call him later," I decided. "It's probably nothing but I'll tell him just in case. Let's carry on and complete our to-do list."

  We walked through the formal dining room which needed an overall tidy and a clean but not much else. Edie's study and private living room were crammed with all kinds of things on the bookcases and other surfaces. Photo frames spanned the mantel, all family photos, including a lovely shot of my parents, Tammy and me when we were barely toddlers.

  "Who are all these people?" asked Tia, pointing to one. "Is that Edie?"

  "Yes, that's her and Uncle John on their wedding day; and that's them again just before he died."

  "They look so happy."

  "They really were the loves of each other's lives. I'm not sure who these people are but this one is Aunt Edie and her two sisters. That couple might be her parents and this is her and her best friend, Leonard." I counted my way across the frames on the mantel but the only photo I couldn't identify was the one with a couple by themselves in what looked like Edie's yard. The frames were lovely and I decided to ask my parents if they recognized the family members I couldn't name. I wanted to pack up the other photos and take them with me when I left. It would be lovely to have them on display. Another photo frame was tucked slightly behind the rest of them and I moved it into view. "These are Uncle John's relatives. The two little boys are my cousins, Terry and Noah. I wonder what happened to them."

  "These eggs are pretty," said Tia. She was standing by the bookcase as she investigated the small collection of decorative jeweled eggs. "Are they musical?"

  "A couple of them are. If you lift them up, you’ll see a key in the stand. Twist it and it plays a tune."

  "They are so sparkly and pretty. Do you think these are real jewels?"

  I joined her at the bookcase. "I doubt it. Could you imagine how much they could be worth?"

  "Maybe that's what the burglars were looking for? They kinda look like those famous Russian eggs, you know, Fabergé eggs."

  "Aunt Edie's husband bought them for her and he definitely didn't have Fabergé egg money."

  "Maybe you should check on that."

  "Maybe." I turned away from the pretty eggs and headed over to Aunt Edie's desk. She was too old school for a laptop and preferred to do her bookkeeping the old-fashioned way, on big ledgers, but I couldn't find a single one so I assumed they must be in storage. I spotted some notes on top of her writing pad. One read “send card to Tammy for new baby.” Another read “invite Vanessa for Christmas.” Her invitation never came. Edie fell and broke her hip in early fall and she moved to the nursing home as soon as she was released from hospital.

  I opened the drawers, but there wasn't much to see beyond stationery, an old phone and an address book with a floral cover. I also found some very old candy. "There is nothing worth stealing in here."

  "I thought we were supposed to be assessing all the chores that needed doing," said Tia, reminding me of my mission.

  "We're multi-tasking."

  "Gotcha. Look at all these books. This would fill a library."

  "Not so much fun when it comes to dusting," I reminded her. "Edie and I used to sit in here at night and drink hot chocolate. She liked to build a real fire in winter. It was so cozy." I added sweep this chimney too to the list. "Let's go upstairs. I need to open those windows up and air out the house for as long as possible today."

  We walked upstairs, and went through all the bedrooms and bathrooms, pulling off the bedding as we moved, and heaping it all in the hallway. I was right; there was not much to do on the second floor. The plain decor was a welcome sight from the busy, out of style, and sometimes, peeling wallpaper while most of the furniture was on the right side of antique charm. It was old and beautiful with exquisite carvings on the wooden frames.

  We walked into the closets and opened all the drawers, and checked under all the beds, but found nothing of any value. By the time we got to the front bedrooms, the list for the upstairs chores was happily short. It just needed a deep clean and the bedding washed and redressed on the beds.

  Yet as I stepped back into the hallway, with my list ready for action, I felt strangely disappointed. I couldn't see a single reason why anyone would want to break into the house; so why did those two people come over here? What did they think they would find? What did they see that I couldn't? The most difficult problem of all, however, was how could I solve a murder when I couldn't even find a reason for it to have been committed?

  Chapter Eight

  Tia and I cleaned solidly for two hours and by the time we were finished, the main areas of the first floor started to resemble a well-cared for home again. Plenty of sunlight flooded every room and the faint scent of lemon was hanging in the air. On the second floor, we stripped every single bed, creating a small cloth mountain next to the entrance to the laundry room. We vacuumed every rug and threw away the entire contents in the guest welcome baskets.

  By the time we collapsed into a heap on the big, comfy couch, we were both famished. "Salad for lunch was very virtuous but I'm ordering a large pizza with everything on it," Tia told me as she held the phone to her ear. "A pizza with a pizza on it. And a diet Coke."

  "Yeah, because you don't want to get fat."

  Tia hurled a pillow at me and I ducked, laughing. "This is the best workout I've had in a month," she told me. "I'm glad this house is finally looking like its old self. Where did I put the wine I brought?"

  "In the refrigerator. I'll get it and I'm paying for the pizza too." I pushed off the couch and walked into the kitchen, carefully avoiding the French doors. I still couldn't face the job of tackling the veranda although I would have to soon. Instead, I walked through the rooms, closing the windows now that the air was cooling. I didn't want to turn the furnace on quite yet but I didn't want to freeze overnight either. I checked all the doors, rattling the handles and testing the locks, then retrieved the wine and a pair of sparkling clean glasses.

  Depositing those in the living room with Tia, I jogged upstairs and repeated the action, checking to be sure every window was locked tight for the night. No one was getting into the house tonight or ever again.

  "Twenty minutes," Tia told me when I returned. "And I called Melissa and Danielle who said they can't wait to see you. And you know who else is back in town?"

  "Who?"

  "Ally McKellar!"

  "I thought she moved to New York?"

  "She did but she came back... let's see... around six months ago. She opened a restaurant on Main Street called Belle Rose. She and her sister, Sophie... you remember Sophie, don't you?"

  "Yes, I do. She was the year below us at school."

  "That's right. They both wanted to come visit but Sophie just had her first baby. Did you know she married Mark Sweet?"

  "Really? No, I didn't know that. And they just had a baby? That's so nice!" I smiled at the memory of Sophie and Mark who also attended school with us.

  "Isn't it? Life apparently moved on here while we were both away."

  "I wonder what else has happened and where everyone from high school is now," I mused.

  "I've run into a few people since I got back. I'm sure you will too. Be prepared!" teased Tia.

  "I will, especially when the news of the murder gets out. Do you think everyone will know?"

  Tia nodded. "If they don't know by now, they will soon, but don't worry about that. You have enough to do here to keep you busy and we have so much to catch up on. Isn't it fun that I'm sleeping over? To be really honest, I could do with a night away from my parents. They keep fussing over me like I'm a kid again! I keep having to remind them I'm thirty years old!"

  "I'm glad you're here," I told her but failed to add I was also glad I wasn't sleeping alone in the house tonight. I tried not to dwell on the idea
of any prowlers wandering around as I slept but now that I was relaxing and the night was drawing in, it was starting to play on my mind. I unscrewed the wine cap and poured the chilled white wine into two glasses. "What shall we toast to?" I asked.

  "Coming home?"

  "I'm not staying," I reminded her.

  "Then—" Tia looked around "—to Edie."

  "To Aunt Edie," I said, clinking my glass against hers. "Thank you for all the wonderful memories you gave us and for leaving me your beautiful house."

  We spent the night giggling and eating our delivery pizza before falling asleep, and we each snuggled under a thick duvet on one of the couches. When morning came around, I realized there was nothing for breakfast so Tia invited me to her parents’ house to eat but I declined. Going to the supermarket was a good reason to get out of the house, plus, I could pick something up from a café. Then there was the matter of the flashlight I found and promptly pushed from my mind.

  I showered quickly and grabbed the flashlight from where I left it. I put it in a plastic bag and hopped into my car, driving to Main Street. It wasn't far to walk but I had to buy groceries and I didn't want to carry them all the way home. Never mind how much my muscles ached from all of the previous day's hard work. I parked near the Coffee Corner Café and headed inside for a quick bite.

  "Morning, what can I get you?" asked the assistant, a pretty brunette with “Candice” on her name tag.

  "A flat white and a chocolate chip muffin," I told her. "Both to go, please."

  "Coming right up! Do I know you?" she asked as she placed the coffee cup on the counter and lifted the glass cloche lid to retrieve a muffin. "I know you're not a regular but you look really familiar."

  "I used to live here a long time ago," I said as I counted out the change to pay her. I took my breakfast and left, eating the muffin as I walked along Main Street towards the police station, pausing only when the I saw the newspaper stand.

  MURDER AT DERELICT HOUSE screamed the awful headline. The photo was obviously The Blackberry Inn and it actually looked worse on the front cover than it ever did in real life. I stuck a coin in the slot and grabbed the newspaper. Heading over to a nearby bench, I sat down and read the article quickly. Most of the facts were right but there was a lot of conjecture too. The reporter asked if the dead man was a burglar, a squatter, or had something to do with me. "Wait! What?" I mumbled as I read ahead, scouring the print for more information. "The former Blackberry Inn was recently inherited by a distant relative of the previous owner. Sources reveal the new owner may have allegedly had a disagreement with the mystery man that ended in his murder!" Almost as bad as the story was the small photo of me set into the copy. I was looking incredibly scruffy at my front door, and talking to Detective Logan. Taken from a distance, it was hard to tell it was even me, but that didn't matter. Everyone would know who it was. My jaw dropped open. What if my parents read it? What if the Petersons next door read it? The newspaper was virtually suggesting to the whole town that I was a cold-hearted murderer! In a panic, I ate my muffin and tucked the newspaper under my arm. Instead of walking, I changed my mind and jumped back into my car. I hastily drove to the police station, parking at the curb outside. I hurried inside nervously, wondering what kind of disposition Detective Logan might be in and what he would say if he saw the newspaper headline too.

  "Hi, I'd like to speak to Detective Logan," I said to the uniformed officer at the desk. His badge said Ortiz and he looked like the same officer who responded to my call yesterday.

  Officer Ortiz looked up from the jigsaw puzzle he was putting together and raised his eyebrows. "Regarding?" he asked.

  "Regarding the murder at The Blackberry Inn."

  "What? There's been another murder?"

  "No, yesterday's murder." I flapped the paper and pointed to the cover. "This one."

  He narrowed his eyes. "That you in the photo?"

  "Yes."

  "Not very flattering," replied Officer Ortiz. "Wait here." He took off, leaving me at the desk. I tipped forwards to get a better look at the jigsaw he was piecing together. The entire thing was all one color: red. No images, no pattern, just red. Weird.

  "Miss Wright," said Detective Logan as he followed Officer Ortiz back to the desk. "Can I help you with something?"

  "Have you seen the morning paper?" I asked.

  "Yeah. Not very flattering."

  "I know." I restrained the urge to pout at another man pointing out how unflattering the photo was, then I remembered it was entirely unimportant. "I had no idea they were taking a photo of me! They must have been hidden somewhere, maybe in a passing car."

  "I meant the house," said Detective Logan. "Is this article what you wanted to ask me about because I'm busy investigating a murder. I'm not going to hound the press."

  "No, I mean, yes. That is, I found this." I dropped the bag with the flashlight on the desk. "I found this in the house yesterday and I think it might belong to the dead man or possibly his partner."

  Detective Logan peered inside the bag. "A flashlight? Sure it doesn't belong to the house?"

  "No, I don't think so. I thought you could dust it for fingerprints."

  "Did you touch it with bare hands?"

  "Yes, I picked it up but if you eliminate my fingerprints, maybe you can work with whatever is left."

  "And if they were both wearing gloves?"

  My shoulders dropped. "I hadn't thought of that."

  "Tell you what I'll do," said Detective Logan, "I'm going to take this into evidence but I doubt it'll be of much use. We’ve dusted a ton of fingerprints but most of them were smudged. There's nothing to suggest this flashlight belonged to the victim or his associate, at least, not yet, but I'll hang onto it anyway."

  "Okay," I agreed even though it was disappointing that the detective wasn't more excited about my discovery. "Did you find out who he is yet?"

  Detective Logan shook his head. "Not yet. I'm still waiting on the fingerprints to come back so I can see if he was already in the system. There was an IT glitch and things are running a little slower than normal. If he's known to law enforcement, we should find out soon."

  "Will you let me know when you do?"

  "I will."

  "I walked through the house again yesterday and I still can't see anything that could possibly be of any significant value," I said since it seemed important to share that information.

  "Maybe they were looking for somewhere to lie low and got spooked when they realized the house was suddenly occupied. Can I help you with anything else?"

  "No, thank you. I better get going."

  "Take care," said Detective Logan, turning away before I could begin to leave.

  "Is it true you inherited that old house?" asked Officer Ortiz.

  "I did."

  "There’s a local guy here named Nate Minoso. You should hire him to fix it up. My parents had him build a deck and the detailing he did for them is beautiful."

  "Good to know," I said, anxious to leave before he could tell me how wonderful Nate was. With that task completed, I jumped back in my car and headed to the grocery store. Inside, I grabbed a basket and filled it with essentials: milk, bread, ground coffee and filters, sugar, a bottle of lemonade in case any unexpected guests wanted a cold drink, a pack of cookies, some apples, some deli ham for a sandwich, and a couple of microwave meals for the days when I needed a quick fix. I hadn't had a chance to see the condition of the oven yet but the microwave was clean and working. At least I wouldn't starve when I got back to the house.

  "Vanessa!" I looked up and spotted Sally O'Hara, one of my mother's friends. She was in the same queue as I was and waiting to check out. "Your parents told me you were home. How are you settling in? I mean, apart from the murder?" Tammy and I both babysat her two children when we were in our teens and it felt nice to see another familiar face.

  "Apart from that, great," I replied, hoping to avoid the murder conversation.

  "Terrible business. Appalling
article in the newspaper too but your mom assured me it's as much a mystery to you as it is to the police. That house needs a lot of work but I'm sure you can get it done nicely."

  "I've already started cleaning inside but I might need to hire someone to do the exterior."

  "Get a bid from Minoso Construction. He does excellent work," she told me. "Do you want his number?"

  "No, I have it. Thanks anyway," I told her as she packed her bags. She paid, grabbed her bags and waved as she left.

  A few minutes later, I followed her out of the store and got in my car to drive home. Inside, I unpacked my meager groceries and put the perishables into the fridge. I retrieved my coffee pot from one of the boxes I loaded into my car for the trip over here. In my annoyance over the newspaper article, I left my flat white in the car and it had already grown too cold to drink. I needed a coffee to get me started. While I waited for the coffee maker to heat up, I spread the newspaper out again. This murder was probably big news for the quiet town, so it made sense to emblazon it across the front page.

  I made my coffee, pouring it into one of Edie's pretty china mugs and took it into the living room to drink while I checked my to-do list. I was halfway through it when the door knocker banged.

  Putting down my cup, I went to answer it, finding a gaggle of bizarrely dressed elderly people at the door.

  "Vanessa? Or is it Tammy?" asked the littlest lady standing at the front. She wore Coke bottle spectacles, brown harem pants with what looked like elephants dancing across them and a mustard-colored blouse. Next to her, a woman wore a bright orange dress with what appeared to be paint splashes.

  "Vanessa," I confirmed.

  "I never could tell," said the little lady. "Which one did all the work for Edie?"

  "Me."

  "I'm Anne Cunningham. We used to come to Edie's artist retreats even though most of us are locals." The crowd behind Anne waved. One of them held up a paintbrush. "When are you starting the retreats again? Will you be serving margaritas?"

  I frowned, wondering what I missed. "Starting what?"