When No One Was Looking (Sophie McGuire Mysteries)

by Jenny Rebecca Keech

  *

  “No, Soph,” Gabe muttered with a chuckle as I attempted to hoist his two hundred and twenty pound weight against me and bend. I groaned, released, and watched with a sour look as he stepped back with a grin. “Don’t try to take me over across your back and over your shoulder unless your intent is to throw your back out. Remember. You’ve got to slide my weight across your hip.” He sighed. “Look. Grab my arm, haul me against your backside, bend over and look to one side as you do it. Let nature do the rest.”

  I groaned. “Could nature by chance involve a call to my local sheriff’s department? Or perhaps to the Sheriff, who just happens to be the wonderful neighbor who lives right behind me?”

  “What if wonderful me just happened to be unavailable? Or you’re unable to reach a phone?” Gabe directed a dark look my way. It made me squirm. “Sophie, if you won’t think about yourself, think about your kids. What would you do if someone tried to break in to your house?”

  “Hide in the closet with my kids and let them take what they wanted,” I assured him. I hated that he brought up David’s absence, even if unintentional. The reminder of David’s death hovered close by the lack of mention of his name with the rest of my family. I could see that Gabe realized it as soon as the words were out of his mouth. His lips compressed into a thin line. However he’s not the coward that I am at times like this.

  Gabe motioned with his arms. “Okay. Again.”

  I sighed. “Haven’t we spent enough time proving I can’t throw you? You’re too big.”

  “Size doesn’t matter. You can throw me. And even disarm me, if necessary.”

  I squinted suspiciously at him. “What does ‘if necessary’ mean?”

  Gabe shrugged. Then answered nonchalantly, “It means that if a person pulls a gun or knife on you and asks for your money, pocketbook, I don’t know… the chocolates in your hand, that you give said person what they requested. Immediately.” He pointed a finger at me. “However, if in the event that you believe that this person intends you harm no matter your compliance, you should know the proper moves to remove the threat – the weapon or the actual individual – and allow yourself time to flee the scene without harm.”

  My mouth had fallen open. “Wow. You should teach classes, Gabe. You sound so authoritative when you talk like that.”

  “I am the Sheriff,” he stated. “It was one of the requirements for the job.” Gabe shook his head and sighed. “You’re not getting off that easy. Come here, Soph.”

  One of the requirements. Hah. The town had been lucky to hire Gabe. Recently retired from the Navy, he’d returned home just two months before the unexpected death of Hoyt Rogers, the late Sheriff. When no one came forward immediately, Gabe stepped up to take the tasks, and the town never looked back. They didn’t have to. Gabe had assumed Hoyt’s duties and made the office his own. The interesting thing to me is that Gabe has never acted like a man ready for retirement. I sometimes wonder why he left the service but I never ask; it never feels like the right time. Or, maybe I just don’t want to know more than I already do about Gabe Mitchell. He’d become too much a part of my life in the past year.

  I stretched my shoulders and dragged myself over in front of his large frame. I knew what Gabe was trying to prove with his constant prodding. He wanted me to feel like an independent and confident woman who was moving past her husband’s murder. This strategy of his had started about five months after David’s death. At the time I was making it through the day. I took care of the kids, helped with the startup of mine and Jane’s business, The Chocolate Drop, and spent any open parts of my day immersed at Gabe’s office to see what evidence the department had uncovered about David’s hit and run. Gabe, apparently, had felt this was not enough of a life.

  I stood in front of him, turned and braced myself for his coming move. Deep inside I knew, it wasn’t that he was tired of seeing me. Well, okay, there was the occasional flicker of guilt that rippled across his face at certain times when he didn’t think I was looking. I know he hates not to be able to close David’s case. And it’s not that he hasn’t tried; I’ve watched Gave wear himself into the ground trying to find a lead, any lead, on the hit and run, but there’s simply been nothing. Still I come. It’s just that going to his office had simply become a part of my life, my survival. Gabe has took it upon himself to simply refuse to let me to become some bitter woman who would hang the rest of her life on a discovery that might never happen. Who knows? Maybe he’s right. Maybe without him and my friends I would have become an eccentric spectacle of despair. Gabe must have sensed my distraction.

  “Focus,” he said softly.

  A moment later his right arm came into my peripheral vision. My center of attention became a pinprick as I launched into his instructions. Down inside of myself, I wanted Gabe to be right. I wanted to be the confident woman who could survive her mate’s unexpected death and become more. I felt the moment that Gabe’s balance was shifted. Unfortunately when he went down, it was on top of me. And trust me, there are times that a two hundred pound blanket does not feel good, especially when it smothers as it presses you face first into the damp grass. I groaned and patted the ground. The air required to speak was absent.

  Gabe slid off me quickly. “Come on Soph. Up and at em.”

  The look he got in return was an intense smolder. Still, I gradually gained an upward bearing, breathing heavy and holding my back as I watched him in growing aggravation. “Gabe—” I began.

  “Ready?” he said with a pointed look.

  Have I mentioned the man has the unrelenting tenacity of a pit bull? My mind went blank on possible signs for discouragement. I surrendered, sighed and turned, grateful that I was wearing sweats. April was ready to start in a few days and the mornings were still cool and damp. I could swear that Gabe chuckled even as I caught his forward movement out of the corner of one eye. My eyes narrowed.

  Thirty minutes and two actual throws later, he called it quits. My aching body rejoiced as I followed him up the steps onto his deck and through the door into his kitchen. A veritable greenhouse greeted us. Pots hung from the ceiling, the tops of cupboards and even the window above the sink. There were some included at various spots on counters and even the floor. It was seriously funny and I grin every time I step inside.

  “Girly,” I stated with a smile.

  Gabe stopped at a coffee pot that was still in the process of gurgling final drips. He grinned as he always does at my words and pulled out the pot as he turned to me. “Can I help it if orphan plants cry out to me?”

  “Orphan plants,” I snorted. “Don’t you mean everyone’s garden rejects?”

  He poured two cups and handed me mine. Gabe waved his hand through the air. “Do these look like rejects? They are in the prime of life. Veritable lush models of being.”

  “Of being?” I rolled my eyes and fixed my cup with plenty of sugar and a dash of milk. “They’re plants, Gabe.” I decided to lay off my riling and laid the spoon down and took a sip. “Mmm, good.”

  “Thanks,” he said softly.

  I watched him take a sip of his own bitter dark brew, and shuddered. Gabe caught the movement and smiled into his cup as he took a second sip.

  “You’re doing better with the throw, Sophie.”

  I felt the heat of color rise to my cheeks at the compliment. I shrugged self-consciously. “You’re the pushy one,” I muttered.

  “Pushy?” he commented with a look of amazement. “It took me three,” He held up said number of fingers, “Three months to convince you to just consider letting me teach you some self-defense. Then it was another month before you agreed to try a session together.”

  “See. That’s what I mean. And it only worked because you are so pushy,” I added defensively. I felt heat rise on my skin and quickly took several gulps of the coffee, blinking as the hot liquid burned my throat. My eyes trailed to the red digits blinking at the base of the pot. I cringed. Shoot. Late again. “Thanks for the lesson,” I stated w
ith a choking cough, “But I’ve got to get to the shop before my partner files a missing person report.” Though it was doubtful. For some reason, in Jane’s kitchen time ceases to exist for her, especially when she’s working on some new creation.

  Gabe smiled. He understood. He knew Jane almost as well as I did. “Thursday?” he asked softly. I nodded, held up the cup in thanks.

  At the back door, I glanced back warily. I hadn’t planned to mention anything about last night but I guess I just can’t help myself. “Did you find anything else that might point to who the murderer is?”

  He hesitated, then shrugged. “We have nothing new to add at this time.”

  Was it just my imagination or was Gabe holding back? I gave him a slip of a smile, nodded and slid out the back door. I wasn’t worried. With his dispatcher/secretary Melinda in my court, I’d find out soon enough. I could hear Comet barking from inside the house as I crossed across our two back yards. Dude bounded against the chain link fence that linked to the back door and gave him running room when no one was home. He was the kids’ dog, though like many parents I, along with my older daughter Paige, had become central care givers. My twin boys were still working out their caretaking roles. Considering how young they are, there was little for them to do besides feed, water and love their dog. It’s not like I could ask the boys to walk a dog who outweighed them both. That just reeked of disaster.

  I dashed into the house, changed my clothes, checked my makeup, petted both dogs and was walking toward downtown less than fifteen minutes after giving my goodbyes to Gabe. It looked to be a beautiful spring day in Merry Hill.

  4

  The shop was quiet as I slipped in, but as I turned from closing the door, I jumped. Jane stood directly behind me like a sprouted leprechaun with a spatula held aggressively in her hand.

  “Well,” she stated tartly, “what do you have to say for yourself?”

  For a second I had the faint hope that perhaps I’d left something out to spoil.

  I was backed against the door. I mean,” Jane ranted, “I had to find out from Leah Briarcliff when I stopped in to grab a quick coffee from Annie’s. Leah Briarcliff.” Jane’s grip on the spatula threatened to snap it in two. “She’s like the bottom of the totem pole. By the time Leah knows, its front page news.”

  “It was late,” I worked in weakly.

  “Late!” she exploded, “That’s why they make telephones.” She sniffed. “You could have called.” Jane gave a dramatic pause and held up the spatula like a royal rod. “However,” she stated solemnly, “You can make up for it. Just let me have it all, right from the horse’s mouth as they say.”

  I tried to throw her off the scent. “You mentioned front page news,” I mumbled, looking around. “You didn’t by chance pick up today’s paper, did you?”

  Jane whipped out the paper from behind her back so quickly that I felt the wind from it. The headline read, ‘Stranger Found Dead at B&B’. Jane glowered. “Like I said, even the paper beats Leah Briarcliff,” she said stiffly.

  I pulled the paper from Jane’s fingers. She’d left wrinkles from her tight grip. My eyes scanned the writing, and winced. Elizabeth Sauls, the owner, is a good journalist. However, her honesty, at times, lends her to not be a favorite with the Butterfields. She doesn’t appear to give a rat’s rear end about their power and today it showed. I cringed as I read that the only person who appeared to have known the deceased was Johanna who’d had a violent clash with the dead woman only hours before her demise.

  Oh, Johanna was going to love this, I thought. I finished scanning the article. Great! Elizabeth just had to mention that I’d been with Johanna when the body was found. I wondered who had informed her of that. Not Gabe. More than likely the culprit was Charlene, who was all but spitting venom because of the body. I didn’t quite see how she could view it as our fault but considering the dead body had taken up residence at A Stone’s Throw, I could understand her distress over the situation. I didn’t like it but I could understand. I fumed as I finished and handed the paper back to Jane who waited expectantly with her arms crossed.

  She raised a brow. “Well?”

  I pointed to the paper and shrugged. “You have the story. I’ll give Elizabeth this: she’s honest to a T.”

  Jane looked at the paper in her hand and scowled back at me. “Oh, no you don’t. What happened? Why in the world did you let Johanna talk you into going over there? Did you leave them alone for a second? And why didn’t you call me like any good friend would do so I could watch?” She frowned. “Come on Sophie, give me the details.”

  I shrugged. “Jane, there’s nothing much to tell. Yes, Johanna did talk me into going over there and yes, it was over my objections. But when we got there, this Rebekah Peterson was already dead. End of story.” I moved past her and slid my bag into a cabinet under the counter. “I can’t believe you’d think Johanna capable of murder.”

  “You didn’t see her yesterday at Annie’s. She was pretty hot.” Jane eyed me speculatively. “Johanna didn’t by chance mention why she was, did she?”

  I kept my face clear. “Uh, no.” I leaned down and looked in the display case for the off chance that my pile of truffles had fallen and would need restacking. No such luck. When I leaned back up, Jane’s eyes had narrowed.

  “You wouldn’t lie, on top of not informing me about last night’s activities?”

  I gave her the most relaxing smile I knew. And yes, lied. “Jane, don’t you think Johanna knows how inquisitive you are? Johanna didn’t want to tell me because she knew you’d be pestering me about it.” My look turned prim. “Besides, you expect me to keep your secrets. Don’t you think Johanna expects the same?”

  “Of course I expect you to keep my secrets. We’re best friends,” Jane stated with a roll of her eyes. “What’s this got to do with Johanna?”

  I wish I could solve the personal issues between these two women. But that has as much chance of happening as me figuring out the secret ingredient in Annie’s chicken and pastry. I shook off the thought and laughed, “She just happens to also be a best friend.”

  “I think there ought to be a rule about the number of best friends a person can have,” Jane grumbled as she turned and stalked into the kitchen.

  I followed her into the brown and cream tiled room with its numerous counters, large ovens, several stoves and spacious room. I grabbed an apron from one drawer and tied it around my waist as I opened a cabinet and pulled out a bowl.

  Jane raised her eyebrows at my actions. I usually save mornings for office work and maintaining the front counter and save off cooking till early afternoon. I shrugged. “Paige is dropping the boys off after school. She has to go to the library to study.” I grinned wryly. “Don’t ask me how it came about but somehow a promise was wrangled out of me to make Simon and Steven triple chocolate chunk cookies.”

  “Oh, to be young and manipulative,” Jane sighed, “those were the days.” She frowned, “But don’t you have a room in your house vaguely reminiscent of this?” she asked with a wave of her hand as it encompassed the room. “You know? We call them, kitchens.”

  I smiled at her sarcasm as I pulled a package of chocolate from a sealed container. “Yes,” I said with a laugh, “I do have a kitchen. But this way I can make them, give them a few as a snack and leave the rest to sell.” My smile blossomed into a grin. “It’s a win-win situation for everyone: the boys, the shop and my waist.”

  Later that morning, I placed a plate of the finished cookies and another one of cream scones with chocolate chunks in the display case and untied my apron. Jane had already been to Annie’s and she’d reported that Southern Comfort looked closed for business today. Her words gave me pause and concern flourished as I tried to imagine why Johanna had decided to take a sabbatical. Had Gabe decided he needed more answers? It wasn’t like Johanna to hide from trouble. She was a Butterfield. Trouble didn’t faze them – it usually didn’t even affect them.

  The moment I stepped out of the s
hop, the smell of the ocean and the sound of gulls drifted with the steady southeastern wind. I made my way toward the corner. Myra Choe, the manager of Butterfields, was laying out various baskets of flowers and bulbs atop small tables. She waved as I went by. I nodded, smiled back, and made my way up the street to Johanna’s store. I tried the handle. Locked. I peeked through the glass. No movement and no lights.

  I sighed, glanced at my watch and continued down the street. I was tempted to stop and see Gabe or Melinda. I knew that one of them should be useful. I wanted to know what he’d been hesitant to mention this morning but I was cautious to follow that line of investigation. The last thing I needed was a cross examination; I was sure Gabe was still upset from my involvement last night. So I walked past his office and moved on up the street.

  Johanna’s home is a quaint, small two story Charleston style with double porches overlooking one side and a wide, deep porch on front. It’s surrounded by white picket, of course. It doesn’t exactly scream wealth but it’s tasteful and elegant in design, which is pure Johanna. I pushed the gate in and walked up the stone pathway. The thud of my heels echoed on the wide wood steps as I climbed up to the crisp white door with glass insets and rapped my knuckles against its frame. Several seconds passed. I rapped harder. It took a number of knocks before I heard feet thumping on the wood floor. A moment later Johanna’s frowning face appeared, peering out from one side panel. Her frown deepened, but a second later I heard the lock unclick. The door was pulled in and Johanna stuck her head out. She was as undone as I’ve ever seen her for this late in the morning. “Yes,” she snapped.