When No One Was Looking (Sophie McGuire Mysteries)

by Jenny Rebecca Keech

  “Johanna.” Gabe’s authoritative tone gave her pause. Johanna glanced back with a glare but Gabe appeared undisturbed. “I’d advise you to remember what I said. If you don’t want to talk to me about what this is all about, that’s fine. But you stay away from Rebekah Peterson. If what happened this morning happens again, I don’t care what lawyers or judges you know, your rear stays in jail.”

  Johanna rolled her brown eyes. “What happened this morning won’t happen again, Wyatt Earp. Trust me, Rebekah Peterson will be dealt with. Properly.”

  I sighed. Why did that not sound as passive as it should? I watched Gabe’s jaw tighten. He looked to be holding back a few personal thoughts. Instead what came out behind clenched teeth was, “Then we shouldn’t have a problem.”

  Johanna flicked a glanced toward me. “Forgive me, Sophie but I really have to go. I’m running late enough as it is. I’ll talk to you later.” She dismissed Gabe with a look that bordered on arrogant noncompliance and stalked across the street to her shop, Southern Comfort. I groaned inwardly at Johanna’s awful conduct. Did she want a ticket for jaywalking too? Gabe was in the right mood and she had put him there.

  “I wonder if that conceit is bred into them or if it’s part of their childhood training,” Gabe muttered, his dark eyes narrowed. “I’m leaning toward bad breeding.”

  I sighed. “They’re Butterfields. How many times do you think they were told ‘no’ as children?”

  “Maybe someone should have tried harder.” Gabe’s tone held a touch of anger. “A sense of confidence is fine. That,” he stated with a pointed finger in the direction of Johanna’s shop, “is a pain in the rear to deal with.”

  I placed a hand on his shoulder and applied pressure. Gabe turned his narrowed eyes toward me but took the hint. I followed him as he opened the door and stomped inside and toward his office. Melinda was at her desk, watching the entrance with the vigilance of a fierce, slightly grumpy mama bear. The severe look evaporated as we came through the door and the skin around her light blue eyes crinkled as she smiled. It spoke volumes that I was one of few people outside of law enforcement considered by her as still part of the family. A year of wandering this office had earned me that. “Thomas Butterfield just called,” she yelled out to Gabe. Her smooth voice belied her fifty four years.

  “Take a message when he calls back,” Gabe barked. I winced and followed him into his office.

  Melinda grimaced. “You got it, boss.”

  Gabe took off his hat and tossed it on the hat rack just inside the door, rubbing his hand through his short hair. He went around to the back of his desk stacked with several organized piles and sat down, propping his feet up on a pull out slide. He groaned and leaned back, stretching out his six feet frame. Gabe took several deep breaths before he spoke. “You know the only time I ever regret this job? It involves some issue with the Butterfield clan and how the rules that apply to normal people don’t apply to them.”

  I plopped down into one of two deep leather seats set in front of his desk. They were big and comfortable and smelled of old leather. Many a night I had pulled them together and stretched out as I talked to Gabe about things going on in my life, things I couldn’t talk about to others.

  It seems strange that I should find comfort talking to someone like Gabe who I’ve known far less than other members of my family. Maybe it’s easier. Because I get the sense that he understands my loss. I know that he’s never been married but he was in the Navy for twenty years; hard to miss acquiring some loss during that time.

  He rarely talks about the Navy, though I can see its influence in the way that he carries himself and directs others. Not in the way he dresses, which, don’t get me wrong, is always neat. However there are never signs of any regulated garb. Only his hat and sometimes a vest with the sheriff’s emblem identify him. When I asked him one day, he replied that he had worn enough uniforms to last him a lifetime. However his black hair is always kept short and trim, only the slightest grey showing at his temples.

  I watched him get comfortable and I smiled from my own relaxed position. “You know Johanna’s not normally like that. It’s just,” Gabe raised a brow as I shrugged, “She’s already going to have to answer to her family for this morning’s exposure.”

  Gabe suddenly gave me a grin that seemed reminiscent of Jane’s. “There is that.”

  I scowled at him. “That’s not funny. Johanna’s very nice.”

  He laughed at my expression. “I forget sometimes that you grew up as her friend; you were allowed to enter the Butterfield domain at an early age. I was too busy helping my grandpa work his boat to socialize.” He grinned. “Though you know I really could have cared less about playing with the Butterfields, even as a child.” Gabe’s chuckle was low. “Guess my opinion of them hasn’t really changed all that much. How about David? Did he ever play with you and Johanna?”

  My good friend Gabe may have been born in Merry Hill but years away have left their mark. While viewed by many as a good ol´ boy, there are some (especially the elite) that still see him as an outsider. Ten years older than me, he was outside my social group but always on the edge of my peripheral vision. I remember hearing my mom talk about his parents dying when he was five and being raised by his paternal grandfather, Jackson; a man in whom he had great respect. Jackson Mitchell died when Gabe was seventeen. A few months later Gabe turned eighteen, graduated and signed his life over to the Navy.

  I can also remember having a crush on him when I was eight. As a child he embodied everything to look forward to as a grownup. The crush had simply been an admiration of the future. My true love even then had already been determined. David and I had found each other while young. He simply went from being the boy I played with everywhere, to the teenager I dated, and the man I married. It seems strange to others that I always knew who I would marry even as a child. But David and I had been destined.

  I remember telling my mother this one night when I was seven. I’m not certain that she believed me at the time but the prediction proved true. David and I married straight out of high school, proceeded to have three wonderful children and fifteen years of marriage. Until the past year, I thought nothing could mar that bond. An unknown hit and run driver, a gravestone, and unanswered questions had rocked my world, exploding well laid plans to the wind.

  I leaned back and closed my eyes for a moment like Gabe, letting those images slip away. “David never cared to go ‘play’ with me at Johanna’s house,” I answered quietly, “Even though, I will admit, hide and seek was pretty cool in that house of theirs with the three floors and two wings, especially on rainy days. No, David always preferred to be on a boat with his father, fishing.”

  I appreciated his frankness at the use of David’s name. I think this is the one thing I really like about Gabe. He doesn’t delicately walk around me like I’m fragile china that’s going to break if touched in the wrong place. Others used to accidentally mention David’s name and then quickly manage to look horrified and elsewhere all at the same time – anywhere than at my face. I remember the first time that Gabe spoke his name, right after David’s death. I stopped by to see if any progress had been made in the case, still so uncertain and shaken by the looming future. Gabe had invited me into his office and spoken directly to me, his voice gentle.

  He’d sat down beside me in one of these very leather chairs; elbows on his knees as he leaned close. His dark eyes had never left my face as he talked. That one conversation had done it. Gabe had, without realizing it, made his office one of the few places where I feel comfortable. So many other places I feel the need to appear normal, but not here. Here I can be who I am. A thirty four year old woman with a teenage daughter and seven year old twins struggling to get on with her life without her better half.

  “Did you ever go fishing?”

  I smiled and grimaced. “A few times. I was never comfortable though.” I opened my eyes to find him watching me. “Not because of David and his dad. It was just at the
time, I didn’t know how to swim and deep water bothered me.”

  “You told me you could swim,” he stated with a frown.

  As a Navy man, I could see where this might be incomprehensible to his understanding. I shook my head. “I do, now. Well, I understand the basic principles. I’m still not comfortable with the deep sea. I only learned enough to be able to save my kids if I needed.”

  “But you live in a coastal town,” he stated.

  “No, I grew up outside town on a rural farm,” I explained. We came to town for things, but we never did a lot of water activities. I do, however, ride a horse rather well.”

  “Hmmm.”

  I could tell by his expression that he was more relaxed. “Feeling better?”

  The short moment of stillness vanished. Gabe grinned and took his feet down as he sat up. “Yeah.” He brushed his right hand through short hair and shook his head. “You’d think I’d be used to their attitudes by now.”

  I shrugged as I rose from the soft leather. “Well, I came to help a friend but apparently she doesn’t need that help. I am glad I was able to talk you down from the ledge.”

  His deep brown eyes sparkled but then his expression grew somber. “You want to help Johanna? Tell her to stay away from this Rebekah Peterson. I don’t know what’s going on between the two of them but I have this feeling that the less they see of each other, the better. I even had Pete take Rebekah’s statement at Annie’s to keep them apart.” He sighed, even as his face tightened. “I meant what I said to her, Sophie. She wants to test me? That’s fine. I have no problem placing a Butterfield in jail. Try to make Johanna understand that.”

  I grabbed my bag and shouldered it. “I’ll do my best. You do understand, though, as a Butterfield she’s not the best listener or taker of advice?”

  Gabe nodded with a smile. I turned to go.

  “Hey, Soph?”

  I flicked a glance back.

  “Don’t forget tomorrow morning?”

  I furrowed my brow. “Is it Tuesday already?”

  “Soph,” Gabe said, threatening.

  I grinned. “Just kidding. See you in the morning.”

  His eyes narrowed. I made my escape, waving to Melinda.

  She arched a brow, her gaze wary. “He in a better mood?”

  “I’d refrain from letting a Butterfield in for the rest of the afternoon,” I said with a chuckle. “Other than that, don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll be right as rain by the morning.” Her laughter followed me out. My eyes blinked at the bright sun as I glanced down to read my watch. With determination I headed across the street to Southern Comfort.

  2

  The door dinged as I entered. Johanna was nowhere to be seen, but several Merry Hill citizens were circulating the room like piranha in a feeding frenzy. One of them happened to be Charlene Kirkwood, who’d been so informative with Jane. Perhaps before I spoke to Johanna I should learn more about the morning’s circumstances, and who better than her?

  “Charlene?” I called out softly in greeting as I made my way slowly over.

  Charlene wears her brown hair short, with her many layers tousled and highlighted blonde. I suppose it’s done in what’s intended to be a sexy tangle but to me it always looks like she’s wandered in straight out of a wind storm. Dark brown, perceptive eyes followed the sound of my voice as she looked up from a rack of hip cut cotton slacks in shades of dark brown, blue, black and grey. A smile quickly followed. “Hello, Sophie. It’s been a while.”

  I shrugged as I launched straight into conversation. “I heard I missed a one of a kind moment this morning.”

  Charlene glanced around to see if Johanna was present before leaning toward me. “Fascinating just doesn’t quite cover it,” she stated dryly.

  “Unbelievable would be a more realistic word,” said Marissa Sutherland, her fingers flicking through a rack not far from ours, from which dangled colorful spring jackets. Marissa happens to be married to Seth Sutherland and is one of those women who fall quite naturally under the category of beautiful. And by that I mean beautiful with a capital B. Picture long, dark wavy hair that falls perfectly to the middle of her back and a figure that all but screams model perfect but with shape, though part of her enticement is the way she carries herself. Marissa didn’t grow up here in Merry Hill, which means I don’t really know a lot about her. But her husband did and I do know him. He’s grown a lot from the weak, skinny child I remember from Johanna’s parties and proved himself to be someone who’s concerned about the future of this town.

  Seth Sutherland was born here. His parents were reasonably well off, though not really in the league with the Butterfields. Then again, not many people are. His family has always had money. Old money, I believe it’s called. Seth decided to take it up another notch and a completely different direction. His father was a cultivator of rare and exotic blooms. Seth is a software designer. He acquired his father’s nature, though, and does a lot of the work from home unless he has to go off to consult at his plant in Raleigh.

  He tends to prefer the solitude that staying at home with Marissa provides. She does all she can to make Seth’s life as easy as possible, which can be difficult since Seth has a weak heart. Something I didn’t realize as a child. The doctors have always been doubtful of his living a very long life. But I have seen a change in him since he started dating some mystery woman and came back from Raleigh married to Marissa.

  It was true, she had taken one of the most eligible bachelors in the county. For a while, some of the busybodies had a few nasty things to mutter behind her back. But Marissa handled it like she handles everything: with class and dignity that treats malicious gossip like water off a duck’s back. It’s sweet to watch her tend him, as if she values everything about Seth. For that I find it hard to view her with anything but friendly eyes.

  I watched as Marissa flicked by a pale blue coat with a zipper and pulled out the next, a simple cut fuchsia coat with buttons. She studied it intently as she spoke. “Who would have thought the day would come when Johanna Butterfield would deign to lower herself to a common brawl in public?” There was a touch of confusion in her smooth southern drawl.

  Charlene nodded energetically with the barest hidden smile. It wasn’t really friendly. More like the kind the devil gave Eve. “I couldn’t believe my eyes, and with no warning?” She tsked. “I sat there nearly for a minute thinking, ‘this must be an illusion’.”

  I bet. Still: focus, Sophie. I furrowed my brow. “What do you know about this Rebekah Peterson?” I stated mildly. “I don’t believe I’ve heard the name mentioned before.”

  Marissa turned in my direction, her gaze direct. “This morning is the first time Seth or I have heard it,” She admitted. She glanced toward Charlene. “How about you?”

  Charlene took another look toward the back of the store. My eyes followed the direction. Johanna was still in the back. Her part time help, Beverly Sauls, worked the register. Olivia Merino was in the process of checking out with a handful of purchases. She and her husband run The Merino Café situated on the waterfront. Olivia’s not one prone to gossip – at least that was what she would have everyone believe. The truth of the matter is Olivia gossips only with those of her society level. She and her husband moved down here from New Jersey some years ago. She likes being a big fish in a little pond if you ask me. And little me? Well, I’m not a big fish, so Olivia and I rarely discuss deep feelings. David and I used to eat at the Café occasionally. It’s good, but personally I tend to like old south cooking.

  Satisfied she had privacy, Charlene turned back. I noticed that Marissa had stopped her perusal and tilted her head to listen. “Well, I don’t know if either of you have heard but Rebekah Peterson is staying at the B and B. She asked for a room on the second floor. Said she wanted the view it would give her of the town.” Charlene’s face took on a pinched look, “Though I told her that all the rooms would afford her an excellent view of our town.” She sniffed. “Michael said she was probably afra
id there was a greater chance of being robbed on the first floor. Hummp,” She muttered, her tone riled. “Robbed? I will have you know that our B and B has never been robbed.” Charlene sniffed again, “Like she had something someone might want. Drove up here in some old ninety-five Chevy piece of junk.”

  The last piece seemed to indicate Charlene’s opinion of Rebekah Peterson.

  “I’m sure Michael’s wrong,” Marissa said soothingly. “Perhaps the girl simply did wish to have a particular excellent view. Merry Hill is such a lovely town.”

  It was just like Marissa to settle the situation. Though personally, I was with Michael. The girl couldn’t be up to any good. She’d done something to provoke the fight Johanna had generated, I was sure of it.

  Charlene apparently agreed. “Knew I shouldn’t have rented the room. Something about her just struck me the wrong way, if you must know.”

  “She didn’t mention why she was in town?” I inquired. Marissa was looking at another coat but I could see that her head was turned to catch Charlene’s answer.

  Charlene shook her head. “Until this morning I had no idea there was some connection between her and the Butterfields.” Her eyes widened. “Though I admit to being curious as to what could provoke Johanna to go to such lengths in public.”

  “Excellent question,” Marissa murmured in agreement.

  The bells rang once more as Michael Kirkwood pushed open the door. Like most tall men, he stooped to enter without thought. Michael’s an attractive man, with sandy brown hair and white mustache and goatee. But at six feet five inches, he towers over most people, including his five foot four inch wife. Talk about intimidating. He looked around the room with an annoyed expression. But he was in a woman’s boutique and I’ve heard that can aggravate even the most genial of men. Sighting Charlene he headed in our direction. “You ready?”

  Charlene pulled out a pair of dark grey slacks and folded them over an arm that already contained what looked like two shirts. “I need to pick up Melissa’s dress for the party. Johanna called to let me know it had come in and was ready for pickup.” She moved toward the register. I gave a polite nod in Marissa’s direction and followed.