by Sarah Fox
At the end of her street, I slowed to a walk, noting that no cars were parked at the curb in front of the Tran house. That didn’t bode well for my plan to talk with Juliette about the morning of Ida’s death, but I decided to knock on the door just in case she was home despite the absence of her red convertible. I rapped my knuckles against the front door and waited, listening for approaching footsteps, but heard nothing. I tried once more with the same result and left the porch disappointed.
Not ready to give up on my quest for information quite yet, I retraced my steps past Ida’s house and knocked on Sheryl Haynes’s door. I had no more luck there than I’d had at Juliette’s house. Apparently, Thursday afternoon wasn’t a good time to find people at home in this neighborhood. I’d have to try again another time, I decided.
Leaving Ida’s street behind, I settled back into my jog, continuing southward at a steady pace. The farther I got from the center of town, the more space there was between the houses. Some homes were partially hidden from view by towering trees and the driveways grew longer the farther I went. After a few minutes, I reached the edge of the neighborhood, the border created by the Wildwood River, which curved around the back of the nearest houses.
I had the choice of winding my way back through the neighborhood or continuing along a dirt road that disappeared into the trees growing next to the river. It wasn’t a difficult decision. I wasn’t yet ready to head home, and the road through the woods offered the luxury of shade.
As soon as I left the sun behind, I was glad of my choice, immediately feeling cooler. The sounds of civilization faded away and all I could hear around me was birdsong and the rushing of the river, just out of sight beyond the trees to my right. I was enjoying the new route and decided I should come this way more often when out running, especially on hot days.
I continued on around a bend in the road and spotted a clearing up ahead. Although I intended to run past it, something caught my eye and I slowed to a stop. A pile of junk had been dumped in the clearing, closer to the riverbank than the road. I made my way toward it for a better look. The small mountain of rubbish included what looked like yard waste, broken bits of lumber, an old bicycle, a large battery from some sort of machinery, and a cracked canoe paddle.
I turned around in a slow circle, scanning the rest of the clearing. I didn’t spot any other waste or any clues as to who was responsible for dumping the stuff next to the river. Pulling my phone from my armband, I snapped a couple of photos. Then I walked around the junk heap, making sure that none of the garbage had spilled down the riverbank into the water.
It hadn’t, as far as I could tell, but that didn’t douse the flame of annoyance that had flickered to life inside of me. What kind of person would dump trash in the forest? It was hazardous to the environment, the local wildlife, and any people who might pass through this way.
I wasn’t sure whom to contact about the problem. The sheriff, maybe, since I was almost positive it was illegal for someone to dump the trash there. I tried calling Ray’s direct number, but he didn’t pick up and I didn’t leave a message. I sent Brett a quick text message, telling him what I’d found. With that done, I decided to head home, and tucked my phone back into my armband before setting off toward town.
On this leg of my run, I made no stops, keeping my pace steady until I’d almost reached my driveway. I walked the rest of the way and downed a tall glass of cold water as soon as I got into the house. I checked my phone, but I hadn’t heard back from Brett, so I exchanged my running gear for my swimsuit and cooled off by going for a refreshing swim in the ocean. Once I’d returned to the house and changed, I tried calling Ray again. This time he answered, and I told him about what I’d found near the river.
“What did you see in the pile?” he asked, sounding more interested than I’d expected.
I described some of the items I’d recognized.
“Any propane tanks, glassware, or unknown liquids?”
“Not that I noticed. Why?”
“We’ve had some issues with clandestine drug laboratories on the peninsula in recent years. Those items are often indicative of a meth lab dump site. That’s not what this one is sounding like, but if you ever come across a site that does have those things, keep clear and call my office right away. Meth lab dump sites can be extremely dangerous.”
I assured him that I’d exercise caution if I ever came across anything like that. It disturbed me to think about drug labs in the area, but I figured there were probably few places free of such problems. I described to Ray the location of the dump site as specifically as I could, and he assured me that he’d check it out before the day was done.
With the phone call over, I wandered out to the front of the house, Flapjack following me. A large fir tree was currently casting a cool shadow over the two raised garden beds my cousin Jimmy had built near the fence dividing his property from the neighbors’ land to the east. After moving from Seattle and making the blue-and-white Victorian my permanent home, my time had been swallowed up by getting settled and learning the ropes of owning a restaurant, so I hadn’t had a chance to plant the garden I would have liked. All I’d managed to do was put in some kale and carrots, but I had bigger plans for next year. For now, I spent some time in the shade, pulling weeds while Flapjack stalked around the yard, looking for grasshoppers to pounce on.
I gave up on gardening when my phone rang in my pocket.
“Hey,” I greeted Brett as I sat down on the edge of the raised bed.
“I got your text,” he said after returning my greeting. “Have you told Ray about the dump site?”
“Yes, I talked to him a little while ago. He said he’ll check it out today.”
“That’s good. Illegal dumping is getting to be a major problem around here.”
“But why? There are places people can take their stuff legally.”
“Sure, but some people are too cheap to pay the fees that might be required, and others are just too lazy to do the job properly. They have no conscience. They don’t care about the environment or wildlife. They don’t even care if they dump their junk on someone’s private property.”
“That’s so frustrating. Can’t anything be done?”
“There are a few things. My dad knows a guy who works for the Department of Natural Resources, Bill Archer. I know he’s been involved with trying to prevent illegal dumping in the county. I’ll make sure he knows about the site you found.”
“Thanks.”
At least all the interested parties would be informed, but my frustration hadn’t disappeared. I loved the Olympic Peninsula, and especially Wildwood Cove, and I couldn’t stand the thought of people harming the area with their junk and their laziness.
I spent a few more minutes talking with Brett, but then he had to go to one last job site for the day. I asked if he’d be free later, but he needed to go to Port Angeles to get a new part for his tractor mower. With Brett busy and the garden all weeded, I called to Flapjack and returned to the house to spend the evening with my feline pal.
Chapter 7
The next morning, I opened The Flip Side at seven o’clock as usual. Patrons trickled in at first, but it didn’t take long for business to become steadier. The day before, I’d been distracted by my discovery of the illegal dump site and hadn’t put much thought into how to find Ida’s killer and clear my name. Now I itched to get started on my investigation, but there wasn’t much I could do while serving meals and pouring coffee.
In the early afternoon, as the lunch rush petered out, Lisa Morales came in the door and claimed a small table next to one of the front windows. She waved to me from her seat, and I smiled and returned the wave before jotting down another patron’s order.
Lisa was one of the first friends I’d made when I’d arrived in Wildwood Cove back in March. She worked as a legal assistant—my previous profession—and typically came by The Flip Side for breakfast or lunch once or twice each week.
Once I’d relayed an order f
or bacon cheddar waffles to Ivan and Tommy, I ran my eyes over the dining area, assessing how things were going. With The Flip Side currently only at a third of its capacity, I knew Leigh and Sienna had everything under control. Tucking my notepad and pen into the pocket of my apron, I crossed the room and slipped into the chair across from Lisa just as Leigh finished taking her order.
“How are things going?” I asked as Leigh headed for the kitchen.
“Great,” Lisa replied, tucking her dark hair behind one ear. “Especially since you’ve got air-conditioning in here.”
“Another scorcher out there?”
“Yep. I thought I’d melt on the way over here, but the thought of Ivan’s delicious cooking kept me going.” She took a sip of ice water, eyeing me over the rim of her glass. “How are you doing?”
From the way she asked the question, I suspected she already had an idea.
“What have you heard?”
She set down her glass. “That somebody killed Ida Winkler and you found her body.”
“That’s it?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
“It would have been plenty. Unfortunately, that’s not the end of it.” Even though no one else was close by, I lowered my voice. “At the moment, I’m considered a person of interest.”
Lisa’s brown eyes widened. “That’s nuts!”
“But still true.”
“All because you found the body?”
“Remember how I mentioned last week that the building was vandalized and I thought Ida was responsible?” When Lisa nodded, I continued. “There was more vandalism this week. Plus Ida was prank calling The Flip Side and she stole an antique lamp base off my front porch the other day. I went over to her place to talk to her, and that’s when I found her body. It also doesn’t help that the lamp base was most likely the murder weapon.”
“So they think you might have killed her because she’d been causing trouble?”
“It seems so.”
Lisa frowned. “Do you need a lawyer?”
The mere thought tied my stomach into knots. “I sure hope not.”
“If you do, I can give you a few names.”
“Thanks. I’ll let you know, but I’m hoping it won’t come to that.”
“I’ll be hoping the exact same thing.”
We paused our conversation as Leigh delivered a plate of strawberry banana crêpes and a glass of iced coffee to Lisa. As I eyed the crêpes—my favorite kind—my stomach rumbled with envy.
“I’ll get a plate of those made up for you too,” Leigh told me with a smile.
“Thanks, Leigh,” I said as she left our table.
Lisa cut into her crêpes. “Any idea who actually did kill Ida?”
“Not at the moment, but it wouldn’t surprise me if she had a whole host of enemies. She wasn’t exactly a pleasant woman.”
“She definitely wasn’t.”
“You knew her?”
Lisa chewed and swallowed her first bite. “I live across the alley and two houses down from her place.”
“Oh, right.” I hadn’t made the connection before, but I’d been to Lisa’s cute white-and-green house a couple of times and could now picture where the two houses were in relation to each other.
“I didn’t know her well,” Lisa went on, “but we crossed paths now and then, and I can’t say I wanted to know her any better.” She paused for a sip of iced coffee. “Still, it’s sad that somebody killed her, and to tell the truth, I’m a bit creeped out by the fact that a murder happened so close to my home.”
“I don’t blame you, but hopefully Sheriff Georgeson will catch the killer soon. Preferably before my business goes down the drain.”
“Are you really worried about that?”
I didn’t reply right away, because Leigh appeared with my crêpes and a tall glass of iced tea. I thanked her and inhaled deeply, enjoying the scent of fruit, cream, and crêpes. When I took an experimental sip of the iced tea, I smiled. Leigh had filled the glass from my private stash of sweetened peach tea.
“If people really start to believe that I could be a murderer, then the restaurant could suffer.”
“It won’t come to that,” Lisa said with confidence I wished I could match.
I took my first bite of the crêpes and savored the delicious taste, letting it distract me from my worries. We ate in silence for a minute before Lisa spoke up again.
“You know, now that I think about it, a couple of funny things happened at Ida’s place recently.”
That piqued my curiosity. “What kind of funny things?”
“Four days ago I was taking the trash out to the alley in the evening when I heard her arguing with a man. I wasn’t close enough to hear much of what was said until Ida yelled at the guy to get off her property. The man yelled, ‘I won’t let you get away with this.’ Then a door slammed, and that’s all I heard.”
“Do you have any idea who the man was?”
“None. I didn’t even see him.”
I chewed thoughtfully on a forkful of crêpes. “If he threatened Ida, he should be on the suspect list.”
Preferably above my own name, I added to myself.
As I took a sip of iced tea, I remembered Lisa’s earlier words. “You said a couple of funny things happened.”
Lisa nodded as she swallowed a bite of food. “My next-door neighbor Joan told me that her dog was barking like crazy the night before Ida’s death. Apparently there’d been a prowler in the alley. When she went out to see what her dog was barking about, she saw some guy peering through Ida’s back gate into her yard. When he realized she was there, he took off.”
“Did she report the prowler to the sheriff?”
“I’m not sure.”
I considered the story. “I wonder if it was the same guy she argued with earlier.”
“Could be.”
“Do you think Joan would talk to me?”
“I don’t see why not. Just tell her I sent you. She lives in the yellow house to the north of mine.” Her crêpes polished off, Lisa drank down the last of her iced coffee. “I have to get back to work, but you can call or text me anytime. I’m sure your name will be cleared soon.”
“I hope you’re right.”
I stood up, and Lisa gave me a quick hug before heading to the cash counter to pay Sienna for her meal. I cleared up her dishes along with my own and took them to the kitchen, thinking over everything Lisa had told me. If I could figure out who the prowler was—and who had argued with Ida, if he wasn’t the same person—I could put Ray onto his scent and hopefully move the official investigation in a direction that led well away from me. It wasn’t yet closing time, but as soon as I could, I’d see if Lisa’s neighbor was willing to have a chat with me.
The dining area had quieted down, only four tables now occupied. My gaze wandered to the front windows and the people dressed in shorts and tees who walked and jogged along the promenade. The foot traffic was heavier than usual, and I remembered then that it was the first day of the farmers’ market. Usually the market took place on Saturdays, but because Wildwood Cove’s annual flower show—a big draw for tourists—was this coming weekend, the market was running for two days rather than one.
Maybe I’d take a few minutes to browse the stalls and clear my mind. It would help me pass the time until I had a chance to head over to Lisa’s neighborhood and get to work on clearing my name.
Leaving Leigh and Sienna to take care of the diners, I shed my apron and stepped out into the bright sunshine. The rows of stalls lining the promenade started only a stone’s throw from The Flip Side, and within seconds I was browsing the goods on offer. The displays included crafts, local produce, natural skin-care products, jams and jellies, and baked goods. One stand offered churros and another hot samosas. The delicious smells mingled together, tempting me despite the crêpes I’d finished mere minutes ago.
I took my time going from stall to stall, occasionally chatting with a familiar vendor. Halfway along the row of
stalls, I found Patricia Murray seated at a table displaying several of her driftwood carvings.
“You made it,” Patricia said with a smile when she saw me.
“The Flip Side’s not busy at the moment, so I thought I’d come take a look around.”
“There’s a lot of great stuff to see here.”
“So I’ve found.” I focused on Patricia’s art pieces. “These are incredible.”
There were birds and sea creatures, along with a few land animals like cats and bears. A seahorse drew my eye almost immediately. I’d always been fascinated by seahorses and knew I wouldn’t be able to resist this one. I checked the price on its tag and dug my wallet out of my tote bag.
“I definitely need the seahorse,” I told Patricia.
As I handed her some bills, my gaze settled on a delicate hummingbird carving. I loved hummingbirds and knew Lisa did too. She had a birthday coming up in August, so I decided to get that one as well. Once I’d paid Patricia for both carvings, she wrapped them up for me and I placed them carefully into my tote bag. We chatted for another moment or two about her artwork before Patricia asked how Sienna was doing with her job at The Flip Side.
“Great,” I said with enthusiasm. “She’s wonderful to work with, and having her there makes my life a lot easier.”
I remembered what Sienna had said when I’d asked her and Leigh if they knew Sheryl Haynes. Maybe I didn’t have to wait until the end of the workday to start my investigation after all.
“Do you know Sheryl Haynes?”
“Sheryl? Sure. We’re not close, but we have a few friends in common. Why do you ask?”
I didn’t answer right away because two women approached Patricia’s stall and spent a moment looking at her carvings and chatting with her. One of the women purchased a driftwood orca, and the two of them moved on.
“I guess I’m more interested in Sheryl’s daughter,” I said, quietly enough that my voice wouldn’t carry beyond Patricia. “Did you hear about Ida Winkler’s death?”