When No One Was Looking (Sophie McGuire Mysteries)

by Jenny Rebecca Keech

  “Oh,” I said softly and winced at Gabe’s loud voice.

  She grinned. “Yep, and he’s been on that phone for twenty minutes already.” Melinda chuckled. “How you doing, Sophie?”

  I gave her a tilt of one shoulder. “Not bad.” My bag landed with a plop on the edge of the desk. I followed, settling into the chair beside her. “How did Johanna’s talk with Gabe go?”

  Melinda eyed me over her glasses. “Now Sophie, you know I’m not supposed to gossip. Gabe frowns on it.” She looked down and shuffled several sheets of paper in order, before placing them in a bin marked ‘Gabe’. “Besides, they had the meeting in his office.”

  I grinned. “There’s nothing that goes on in this office that you don’t know about, Melinda.” I tried to look affronted. “And I don’t consider this gossip. It’s more like talk among friends.”

  Everything I said was true. Melinda was the oil that ran Gabe’s office like a fine-tuned machine. She knew every nook and cranny and had a way of knowing what went on behind closed doors even without being told. It was uncanny. Of course, to give her credit, Melinda also protected what she knew. It was true that Gabe disapproved of gossip in the office. But over the past year I had slowly become part of the backdrop with my constant drop-ins and talks with Gabe. I had become a part of the regular scene, and an insider. A friend.

  Melinda’s eyes crinkled as she grinned. She set down the sheets in her hand and motioned me closer. I leaned in.

  She cleared her throat and looked toward Gabe’s office. We could both hear his strong clear voice rise loudly as he spoke. Melinda glanced back at me. “Well, Johanna showed up here about three with Patrick McGill in tow. Patrick should have led the way. He did most of the talking. I’ve never seen Johanna so silent.”

  I have to admit, an image of a silent Johanna was hard to comprehend. “I take it that Gabe didn’t have enough to hold her.”

  “Sophie,” Melinda sighed. “The evidence surrounding this case is damning. Her confession would simply be the icing on the cake.”

  Ice chips felt like they were building in the pit of my stomach. I shook my head. “But doesn’t he think the evidence was placed a little too easy?”

  “What? Like she was framed?” Melinda scoffed. She gentled her tone. “I can tell you this. If it’s one thing I’ve learned from all my years of law enforcement, it’s that if it looks like a duck, walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s probably a duck. We’d all like to believe that our friends and neighbors are nice people who wouldn’t hurt a fly, but the honest truth is that we all have a little larceny in us.”

  “This is about a little more than stealing some bubblegum from the country store,” I ground out. “This is Johanna Butterfield.” I added in frustration, “She’s not a murderer. And if Gabe felt so strongly about the case against her, then why did he let her walk out?”

  Melinda shrugged. “It’s like you said. She’s a Butterfield. They don’t tend to spend that much time in jail. In fact, in eighteen sixty-two Jameson Butterfield never spent a day in jail from the night he was found over his murdered mistress to the day they hung him.”

  Did I mention Melinda’s a bit of a history buff? She spends all her off time at the library or newspaper, digging to validate rumors and innuendo of Merry Hill’s past.

  Melinda continued. “Besides, Patrick assured Gabe that Johanna wasn’t a risk of running, what with all her connections and having a business in the community.”

  “Johanna still maintains her innocence?”

  Melinda removed her reading glasses and pinched the top of her nose. “Of course. I guess she feels that her family will get her out of trouble.”

  I shook my head. “Or maybe it’s because she’s innocent.” I crossed my arms in consternation. This could not be happening. “How do you explain how a person who’s been a model citizen all her life suddenly turns into a murderess?”

  Melinda chuckled at what she apparently thought of as my naivety and leaned back in her chair. It gave a slight creak from the weight shift. “Sweetie, happens all the time.”

  Perhaps I forgot to mention Melinda wasn’t born in Merry Hill. She has roots here in the form of a cantankerous granny who runs the family farm out on Banner Road, but Melinda grew up in Raleigh, which could conceivably be called a big city – especially to those of us from a town the size of Merry Hill. I know, it’s not New York, but it works for us. Well, after spending ten years in the police department there, Melinda decided for a change of scenery after her husband Gary died from a stress heart attack at thirty-five. Her grandmother, Iola, lives out on a small sheep farm she maintains at the age of eighty-two with the help of a small team of herding dogs. Tough old bird. I tried to reason with Melinda, “Maybe in the big city. But this is Merry Hill. Things like that don’t happen here.”

  Melinda snorted. “Tell that to Rebekah Peterson.”

  She had a point, which brought it back to the fact that someone had killed a woman, a stranger to our town. It wouldn’t take long for public sentiment to back Gabe. Everyone would want to find the killer if just to settle their minds. It would be so easy to assign the guilt to Johanna, and Jane and I would find ourselves a very small minority. In the background, Gabe’s voice rose and fell. I rubbed my eyes in irritation. Melinda stared at me with a resigned look mixed with sadness. I glanced down at my watch. Shoot. “Darn it, Mel. I’ve got to get Simon and Steven home before they decide to make an evening meal out of chocolate truffles.”

  Melinda laughed and added, “Or Jane decides to let them help her in the kitchen.”

  I winced. “Bad thought. Very bad thought.” I grabbed my bag and stood, then motioned with my head toward Gabe’s office. “I’ll stop by tomorrow and check with him.”

  “Oh, sure,” She stated with a shrewd grin, “I’m sure you stopped in just to see him.”

  Like I said, Melinda knows everything. I grinned sheepishly and shrugged. “I’ll see you tomorrow, too.”

  I could hear Gabe’s voice rising in agitation as I left. The cold air made me shiver as I started back to the store. I glanced at Southern Comfort. The main lights were off but I could see where the light was lit illuminating from the back. Johanna? I walked across the street and peered in. There was indeed a light. Instead of rapping on the pane, I reached into my bag, grabbed my key and let myself in quietly without rattling the bell. The dark of the interior turned the usually brightly-lit, cheerful abode eerie as I walked past hanging clothes that now resembled lurking strangers. I swallowed and made my way into the back. Johanna was bent over a box rummaging. “Jo?”

  She screamed and jumped back, brandishing a cotton jacket and two silk scarves defensively before her. I stared at the silk scarves and swallowed again. “Jo?” I repeated.

  Johanna stood, closed her eyes, and held the hand holding the scarves up to the bridge of her nose. “Sophie,” she stated in a strained voice, “What are you trying to do to me?”

  I motioned with my hands toward the front. “I just used…you know, you gave me…” I held the key up and shook it in explanation. The look she gave me told me I might be about to lose that privilege. I motioned toward the garments. “Still restocking?” I added quickly.

  “No,” she stated stiffly, “I’m in a quagmire. Johanna held up the scarves. “The thought of selling any of these is now abhorrent. Yet I have an obligation to my vender and a contract-to-sell to uphold.” She held up both hands. “What am I to do?”

  I motioned to the jacket. “And?”

  She looked down and shrugged. “Well, I have a mannequin with this color coat and I was debating the ethics of splaying a scarf about the neck. Yet I also realize that to anyone who’s picked up a paper, the scarves will automatically remind them of that woman’s death.” Johanna gave me a curious glance. “What’s your opinion?”

  “Sales should go up,” I stated with irony, “If nothing more than for curiosity seekers.”

  “But I don’t want a shop known for curiosity ite
ms,” she hissed softly. She stared at the fabrics in her hands. “Aaahh!” Johanna threw everything down atop the box. “I can’t handle this.”

  I winced. “I’m going to guess that the meeting did not go well?” I didn’t see a reason to let on about my talk with Melinda.

  “Not go well?” Her eyebrows shot up. “Yesterday morning did not go well. Today? Well today was an absolute horror.” Johanna’s hand rubbed across her forehead in agitation. “Can you possibly imagine what it is like to sit and see your life crumble around you?”

  I was fairly certain she wasn’t requesting an answer so I kept silent.

  Johanna continued. “Gabe is all but certain that I killed this woman. Killed this woman! Can you believe it?” Her voice rose. “That does it. He can kiss my vote goodbye come election time.”

  “I’m not certain Gabe makes choices based on that particular point,” I stated with hesitation.

  “Well he should think about it.” Johanna raised her hands in frustration. “Course he’s probably expecting me to be a guest of the federal government soon.” She cast me a dejected glance as she added, “Convicted felons can’t vote, can they?”

  “Let’s not put the cart before the horse, Jo,” I muttered.

  It took nearly twenty minutes before I could calm her down enough to find out that no, nothing had been found at the crime scene to back up Rebekah’s claim; a claim which had only deepened Gabe’s frown at the whole situation. By the time I finally managed to make it back to the shop, I had come to the conclusion that not only did the evidence look bad but that Johanna wasn’t exactly at her best in the helpful department. She was too busy imaging the worst for herself. As I walked into the back I could hear Jane ordering my twins to various tasks with the precision of an army sergeant.

  “Bring me the eggs. No, the yellow package. They’re the medium sized ones, Steven. Oh, Simon, I need both bowls that size. The other one might be right behind it.”

  I walked into the kitchen and lo and behold, Jane was indeed directing my boys toward a meal of chocolate delights. Since I wasn’t looking forward to putting children down at three in the morning, I held up my hands to halt the production mid stride. “Oh no you don’t, guys. I’m afraid that Jane’s about to be on her own.”

  Simon looked up quickly. “Hey, mom, Jane’s showing us how to make chocolate chunk brownies. She said we could lick the bowl.”

  “Oh, she did, did she?” I shot her a glare. I motioned to the boys. “Time to head home. Grab your stuff, guys, and go out front. I’ll be there in a minute.” I watched their obedience and then turned back.

  Jane had the decency to look vaguely embarrassed. “Uh, hi Soph,” she said with a pink blush. “Your meeting go well?”

  I placed my bag down. “Yes and no. Before I went to see Johanna, I stopped to speak to Mel.”

  “Oh.”

  Jane doesn’t really get along with Melinda. She won’t gossip what happens at the station with outsiders, which is how she views Jane. This of course irks Jane to no end, especially knowing that I am someone whom Mel considers a confidant. I’ve tried to explain the situation, but no go. Now every time I mention Melinda, it’s a little like pouring salt in a wound. An open, festering wound. I smiled grimly at her sudden pinched look.

  “According to her, Gabe’s all but ready to lay the murder on Johanna’s shoulders,” I said, irritated.

  “Really?” Jane genuinely sounded surprised. “I would have thought Gabe might have given her the benefit of the doubt.”

  “The evidence is pretty damning and with Johanna lacking a good alibi, it just doesn’t look good.”

  Jane’s look turned brooding. “It would help if we had other suspects to cause at least a minor hiccup in this speeding train of an investigation.” She bit her lip. “What about the claim of Rebekah’s? That she was the daughter of Tom Butterfield? Can that be verified?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t see why Gabe would pursue it. It doesn’t really matter whether or not Rebekah was Tom’s daughter. All that matters is whether the person who killed Rebekah thought she was. That’s going to be his line of thought.” I leaned against the counter. “We may never know. I doubt the Butterfields will want to do anything. It’s a double bladed sword for them.”

  Jane nodded. “It could clear their family name—”

  “Or muddy the waters even more,” I finished softly, shaking my head. “Johanna is so adamant that her father would not have betrayed her mother.”

  “Maybe she has a point.” Jane slid a bowl back away from the counter and leaned down. “Think about it. What if Rebekah wasn’t Tom’s daughter? Then whose daughter was she?” She waggled her brows. “Get my drift?”

  I drew circles with my fingers. “If Rebekah wasn’t, then that would be because Cindy was with someone else—”

  “Someone who might have recognized Rebekah? The possibility would mean we might have another suspect,” Jane finished with a narrowed smile.

  I cast a bewildered glance her direction. “But that happened years ago. How are we supposed to find this out?”

  “Sophie, there are people in this town who will remember certain facts about that time. If we ask the right people, we’ll be able to put together a picture of who Cindy Peterson was and what actions she most likely would have followed. Who knows? Maybe another man’s name might pop up.”

  I had to agree with her with her direction. “So we talk to people in town who knew Cindy Peterson when she worked with the Butterfields and see if we can find anyone who might be able to give us a lead on people, men specifically, with whom Cindy might have had a special interest.”

  I heard the slide of glass on wood from the front and stood up. My voice rang out. “Boys. Stay out of the display cases. You’ve had enough chocolate. You’ll ruin your meal.” I heard a distinctive ‘told ya she could hear’ from what sounded like Steven. They both chorused, “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well this is interesting,” I groaned, “but I’ve got to get the twins home before they find themselves in more trouble.”

  Jane shrugged. “It’s just a little chocolate.”

  I smiled and grabbed my bag. “There’s no such thing as ‘a little chocolate’ with seven year olds.” I laughed at her frowning face. “Don’t worry. It’s just that next time I’ll make you come home with me and stay up with them till they finally fall asleep in the wee early morning hours of dawn.”

  Steven blinked as we exited the shop. Various boats roamed the harbor and coastal area. Sails of diverse colors and shapes hovered over some. He looked up. “Mom, when are we going to pick out our kite to fly this year?”

  Such little words. They seemed so innocent yet there is a quick plunge of pain at the mention of Kite Day at Reeve’s Field. David was the kite enthusiast who pulled the boys into the magic of flying colors and pulling strings. I sighed. Another hurdle to cross. “Uh, I had forgotten,” I stuttered quickly, thinking madly as I envisioned the fight to find the perfect kite so late before the day. David had had more energy and patience than me. “That’s right around the corner, isn’t it,” I added with a wince. “Sure you guys wouldn’t rather watch this year?” I added with a hesitant smile.

  They both looked suitably horrified, enough that it answered my question immediately. Of course they didn’t want to watch. They wanted to experience the love of kite flying they had come to know since they were three. The only problem: me. I’ve lived in Merry Hill all my life and never learned the art of the kite. That wasn’t to say I hadn’t tried – David had many a chuckle over my antics that normally ended with a crashed kite and me and the string coiled as one. It was yet another responsibility to accept. One that had once been shouldered by another. I sighed and gave myself a mental pep talk before addressing Steven, his upturned face lined with excitement. You can do this, Sophie. “Sure, we can get a kite.”

  “How about today,” Simon piped up.

  “Uh, well…”

  “Dilly at school said she got hers at the
hardware store yesterday and that they still had a few,” Steven added earnestly.

  I looked from one cherub face to the other and crumbled. “Sure, why not.” We trudged on down the sidewalk even, as I pondered how I so quickly found myself in this predicament. The answer was simple: with losing their dad, I was doing everything thing I could to make their world as normal as possible. Not that me flying a kite was anything normal, but it would be a moment of consistency to their shattered lives. I watched as the twins skipped over fractured cracks in the sidewalk. I found myself following their example. I’m sure to others we resembled children at a game

  Hannon’s Hardware is run by Mayor Hannon and his wife, Delores. Benjamin Hannon has been mayor of Merry Hill for the past fifteen years. His wife was manning the front counter as we came in, the bell heralding our presence. Her short, light brown hair wrapped her face in a graceful bob. Laughter lines highlighted bright brown eyes.

  “Hi, boys,” she exclaimed with a grin.

  Delores Hannon is a quiet woman by nature, who spends much of her time helping her husband run the store. She is very protective of her Ben. Try to insult him and you’ll quickly find her in your face. She also does a little of the social scene. Again, more for Benjamin than a love of societal fine points.

  The boys promptly knelt by Sebastian, the Hannon’s Great Dane, who happened to be dozing peaceably on a braided rug by the counter. “Hi, Mrs. Delores,” they chorused,

  “Mom’s gonna let us pick out a kite.”

  I had the good grace to blush at her skeptical look.

  Delores tilted her head down and looked over her glasses. She gave a nod. “In the back, boys, down the left side next to the fishing poles.”

  Simon and Steven tore off.

  Delores sighed and took off her glasses. They landed on the counter next to the register. She fixed me with an attentive gaze and spoke, her words soft, “Must be hard. David usually did this, didn’t he?”

  Did I also mention that Delores can at times be extremely upfront and truthful, to the painful end? I didn’t take offense, though. My smile was weak. “Yeah. The twins so look forward to it I hated to say no.” I shrugged. “The only problem is—”