Sins & Needles

by Reagan Davis

  “I didn’t fend off anyone. Nothing happened,” I remind him. “Everyone is fine.”

  “Do you need to look for him?” I ask, sitting up to sip my coffee.

  “Every cop on the force is looking for Brooks Wiley,” Eric reminds me, tucking a stray curl behind my ear. “How did he get in here?”

  “He says he picked the lock.” I point to the front door.

  “If he could pick this lock, he could’ve picked the lock on the den at Claire’s rental cottage,” Eric points out, coming to my previous conclusion. “What did he want? Was he looking for the books?”

  “I don’t know if he was looking for the books,” I reply. “He said he wanted to explain himself.”

  “Did he?”

  I nod, then tell Eric about my conversation with Brooks.

  “Do you believe him?” Eric asks at the end of my account.

  “Which part?” I ask. “I feel like lying comes easy to Brooks, you know?”

  Eric nods. “I’m familiar with the type.”

  “He makes a good point, though, about how killing Claire would kill most of his income. It wouldn’t be a smart move, and while Brooks might be an accomplished liar, he strikes me as a smart person. Too smart to kill his biggest source of income.”

  “But she wouldn’t be his biggest source of income if she stopped writing,” Eric points out. “And Jules has a lot more money than Claire. Maybe now that he’s with Jules, he decided Claire was expendable.”

  I startle at the sound of three sharp raps on the door. Heavy shoulders, long arms, I remind myself, letting out a deep breath.

  “It’s probably Ryan,” I say to Eric as he stands up to answer the door. My phone dings, and I glance at it. “Eric! Stop!”

  He stops, and I tilt my phone so he can see it.

  Jules: Are you there? The door is locked.

  Eric blurts out a curse word. “I can’t be here when you talk to her.”

  “Just a sec,” I tell him as I type a response to Jules’s text.

  Me: I’ll be right there. Give me two minutes.

  “Leave through the back door.” I jerk my head toward the back of the store.

  “I’m not leaving!” He sounds offended. “What if Brooks comes back?”

  “He won’t,” I insist, despite having no idea what Brooks Wiley’s intentions are. “I’ll text you as soon as Jules leaves. I’ll be fine. Ryan will be here soon, and if I scream, Phillip will hear me through the wall.” I nudge him toward the back of the store. “Just go. If you don’t go, I can’t talk to her.”

  With a frustrated groan, Eric disappears into the back room. I plaster a cheerful smile on my face and open the door.

  Chapter 22

  “Hi, Jules!”

  “Thanks for reaching out,” she says, leaning in for an awkward side-hug where we touch each other’s shoulders and kind of lean into one another. “You have good timing. I’m leaving town tonight.”

  She steps inside and watches me lock the door.

  “We’re closed on Mondays,” I explain. “I came in today to clean up. The store is in shambles after the book signing. Can I get you a coffee, or tea, or anything?”

  “No, thank you.” Her smile displays a tremendous number of teeth. “I’m fine.”

  “Speaking of book signings, I hear yours went very well on Saturday.”

  “Yes, it was a huge success,” Jules responds, taking off her sunglasses and laying her backpack on the floor at her feet.

  While Jules gives me the highlights of her book signing, I join her in the cozy sitting area with my maple pecan latte. Just like the first time we met, Jules is incognito today. She’s wearing a pair of leggings—the athletic kind you’d wear for running—a pink tank top with a pink running jacket zipped up halfway, and black running shoes. Her auburn hair is tucked into her black baseball cap with the bill pulled down to shield her face. She looks like any other yummy mummy running errands after dropping off the kids at school.

  “Did Brooks Wiley come to your signing and get you to sign a book for him?” I ask.

  A panicked micro-expression flashes across Jules’s face.

  “Who?”

  I can see why she earned an academy award.

  “Tall guy… handsome... expensive Italian suits... face that looks like it was sculpted by a Greek god… bald… sultry accent?”

  She shakes her head. “Doesn’t ring a bell,” she says, “but if he looks anything like you describe him, I wish I knew him.” We laugh.

  “Weird,” I comment. “I’m sure I saw you making out with him in the alley beside the store on Wednesday.” I reach for my phone on the coffee table. “In fact, I think I have a photo of you kissing with his hand on your backside.”

  “Let’s cut the crap, Megan,” Jules says, her tone business-like. “Fine. I know Brooks.” She points to my phone. “Delete the photo.”

  “There is no photo,” I admit. “I wanted to see how far you’d take the lie.”

  She’s not amused. Even her exhale sounds annoyed.

  “I go to great lengths to protect my privacy,” she explains.

  “It’s too bad you don’t go to the same lengths to protect other people’s privacy,” I counter.

  She narrows her eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?” she asks, defensive.

  “It means you gave Piper Peters the address and directions to Claire Rivera’s rental cottage.” Jules’s face softens, and her shoulders slump. “Why would you do that? Brooks told you Piper was unstable and had a history of threatening Claire.”

  “Look, it wasn’t my finest moment,” Jules admits. “I knew about Claire’s trouble with Piper. Brooks told me about the disturbing letters and emails Piper sent. I empathize. I’ve dealt with more than my fair share of obsessed fans. A few months ago, when Brooks told me Piper showed up on Claire’s doorstep, I reached out to offer Claire support.”

  “Moral support?” I ask.

  Jules shrugs one shoulder. “Yes, and other support. I have a first-rate security team and legal advisers. They deal with fans like Piper Peters on the regular. I offered Claire their services. Free. No strings attached.”

  “Did Claire accept your generous offer?”

  She shakes her head. “She didn’t even respond to my offer. Brooks said Claire thought that if she accepted my offer, I’d use it as leverage to pressure her into selling me the Familia movie rights.”

  “That doesn’t explain why you disclosed Claire’s location to Piper.”

  “It made sense at the time. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision,” she justifies. “I saw Piper waiting in line, and the idea jumped into my head. I acted without thinking it through,” Jules explains, sitting up a little straighter. “Claire wouldn’t talk to me at all. She wouldn’t reply to emails, accept phone calls, or even meet with my representatives. I thought if Piper showed up on her doorstep in Harmony Lake, it would frighten Claire enough to contact me and take me up on my offer to help her.”

  “And the line of communication between you and Claire would be open,” I conclude.

  “That was my plan.”

  “That was a dangerous plan, Jules,” I say, shaking my head. “What if Piper used the information you gave her to kill Claire?”

  “I know.” Jules raises her hand in a stop motion. “I realized it was a horrible idea as soon as I did it. I regretted it immediately.”

  “But you didn’t regret it enough to warn Claire that Piper knew her location?”

  “It never occurred to me that anyone would die!”

  “Where were you when Claire was murdered?” I ask without warning so I can gauge her response.

  “I was busy,” Jules replies, shrugging one shoulder. “I’m always busy.”

  “Can you be more specific?” I urge. “If the police can account for your whereabouts, they’ll eliminate you as a suspect and leave you alone.”

  “Let’s see.” Her gaze shifts to the right, like she’s trying to remember something. “Thursday morni
ng, I had a call with New York about an upcoming project.” She drums her meticulously manicured fingers on her lap. “Then I went swimming in the hotel pool.” She looks at me. “The hotel manager closed the pool just for me.”

  “Did anyone swim with you?”

  “No,” Jules replies.

  “What time did you finish swimming?” I ask.

  “Lunchtime,” she replies. “I went back to my room, showered, and got dressed. I ordered soup and salad from room service. My manager sat with me while I ate, and we went over my schedule for the New York project. After lunch, I had a massage and a facial.” She smiles.

  “At a local salon?”

  Jules laughs. “No. I have my own people. They do everything for me. I received the spa treatments in my hotel room.”

  “You didn’t mention Brooks. Was he with you on Thursday?”

  She presses her lips into a thin line and shakes her head. “I didn’t see Brooks until Thursday evening.”

  “Brooks says he was in your room all day on Thursday, starting from late morning.”

  “Which room?” she asks.

  “How many rooms do you have?”

  “The entire top floor of the hotel,” she replies as if it should be obvious. “I need a lot of rooms, Megan.” She counts on her fingers. “A room for me, a room for my manager, rooms for my security team, rooms for my glam squad, a room for my publicist, a room for my agent….”

  I raise my hand in a stop motion. “I get it. You have an entourage.”

  “He could’ve been there, and I just didn’t see him,” she surmises. “But if he was there, someone saw him. My team is pretty busy. Lots of comings and goings.”

  “Jules, you need to let your team talk to the police. Unless someone says they saw Brooks at the time of Claire’s murder, he’ll stay on the suspect list. He needs your help.”

  “It’s not up to me,” she explains. “It’s up to the lawyers.”

  “The lawyers work for you,” I remind her. “If you tell them you want to cooperate with the police, they’ll listen to you. Don’t you want to help Brooks? He’s on the run. He’s practically a fugitive, and he’s making poor decisions.”

  “Is that why he’s not returning my texts?” she asks.

  I get the sense Jules Janssen isn’t very concerned about her boyfriend’s legal problems. At all. It’s like he’s just another member of her entourage.

  “Jules, he lied about his alibi to protect your privacy. He loves you.”

  “Lots of people love me.” She shrugs.

  “But I think Brooks believes you feel the same about him.”

  “He’s so sweet.” She tilts her ear toward her shoulder and smiles. “Brooks knows our situationship is casual.”

  “Situationship?” I ask.

  “An undefined relationship situation,” she explains. “Hanging out with Brooks is fun. And lord knows, he’s hot.” She fans her hand in front of her face. “We bonded over the common goal of making Familia into a movie, but I’m not looking for anything permanent. I made it crystal clear to him. If Brooks caught feelings for me, that’s his problem. I warned him.”

  Sounds cold. I almost pity Brooks. Maybe he killed Claire to make Jules love him. Maybe, he thought with Claire out of the way, he’d be able to secure the film rights, and Jules would fall head over heels for him. Was Claire’s murder Brooks’s attempt to be Jules’s knight in shining armour?

  “Do you think Brooks loves you enough to kill for you?” I ask quietly.

  Jules shrugs. “How would I know? I didn’t ask him to kill anyone for me.” Jules pulls her phone out of her jacket pocket and checks the time. “I have to get going.” She stands up and grabs her backpack. “You didn’t reach out to me to tell me what Claire said about the gift, did you?”

  “It was my secondary reason,” I admit. “She accepted the gift, but said she’d only give up the film rights over her dead body.”

  “Creepy,” Jules remarks with a shudder.

  Before she leaves, Jules agrees to give me the names and phone numbers of the people from New York who she spoke with on Thursday morning. I open my planner to a blank note page and hand her a pen. Using her phone for reference, she jots down five names and phone numbers.

  “And I’ll talk to my lawyers and ask them to be more cooperative with your local police,” she says.

  “Thanks,” I reply. “One more thing,” I say before I unlock the door. “At your book signing on Saturday, you told the mayor you were confident you’d acquire the film rights to Familia because you just eliminated a major obstacle. What did you mean? Were you referring to Claire?”

  “No,” she replies, laughing. “Of course not. On Saturday morning, I secured one of the best directors in the industry. I won’t tell you his name, but I guarantee you’ve seen lots of his movies. He’ll impress whoever ends up owning the Familia rights.” I unlock the door. “That’s all I meant.” She waves. “Bye, Megan.”

  “Bye, Jules. Safe travels.”

  I take a picture of the names and numbers Jules wrote in my planner and text them to Eric. He asks me how our visit went and whether I learned anything that might help solve Claire’s murder.

  To be honest, I don’t know.

  Was Jules honest with me about everything she said, or was she acting? If she can sneak around town incognito to visit me, make out with Brooks, and talk to Piper without being recognized, she could easily go to Claire’s rental cottage with no one noticing. And I’m sure Jules’s team will verify her alibi; their livelihoods depend on it.

  Other than Jules agreeing to let her entourage cooperate with the police, our conversation didn’t rule out or further incriminate any of the suspects. Who killed Claire, and why, is still as clear as mud.

  Chapter 23

  April: The bakery is DEAD today. I’m sooo bored!

  Me: As soon as I finish here, I’ll come visit you!

  April: Yay! I want to hear about everything that happened last night.

  Me: Want me to call you? We can talk while I re-shelve the yarn.

  April: I can’t talk right now. Guess who is here again?

  Me: Give me a hint.

  April: She’s blonde, bubbly, and loves lemon meringue tarts.

  Me: Dina Langley?

  April: Yup! She’s been here all morning. Just her and me. All alone.

  Me: Where’s T?

  April: She drove to Harmony Hills to load up on baking supplies. She’ll be back later.

  Me: I hope Dina hangs around until I get there. I want to ask her about some things Brooks said.

  I just flattened the last box, and now I’m tying all the flattened boxes together with twine so they’ll be easier to drag to the curb on recycling day.

  Two sharp raps on the back door startle me, and I almost cut myself with the utility knife. I’ll be less jumpy when Claire’s murderer is off the streets.

  “Who is it?” I shout through the locked door.

  “It’s just me, Megan.”

  “Hi, Ryan,” I say with a smile when I open the door. “Thanks for fitting me in. I know it’s last minute.”

  “Pshaw.” He flicks away my comment with his hand. “That’s what family is for.”

  Ryan and I aren’t family in the biological sense of the word. Or in the related-by-marriage sense of the word. Ryan’s dad is Archie. Archie is Connie’s partner. Connie is my surrogate mum. According to Ryan, this makes us stepsiblings. Ryan is part of my modern, non-traditional family.

  “Phwoooooh,” Ryan whistles. “She sure did a number on this lock.”

  “Can you fix it?” I ask.

  “Let me take a closer look,” he replies, squatting and putting his face up to the broken mechanism. “If I have to replace it, I have locks in my truck. Either way, you’ll have a functional lock when I leave.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “It’s a weight off my mind.”

  While Ryan works his magic on the back door, I walk to and from the back room, carrying skeins of y
arn from the storage closet to the store. When he’s finished fixing the lock and announces he’s leaving, I’ve already re-shelved all the bulky, Aran, and worsted weight yarns.

  I’m challenging myself to carry the last of the lace weight yarn in one armload when someone taps three times on the front door. It’s busier here than at Grand Central Station. The knocking is followed by intense scratching; whoever it is has Sophie with them.

  “Just a sec!” I holler from near the lace weight yarn shelves.

  I dump the lace weight yarn into the shelves, creating yarn chaos, and jog to the front door.

  “Hi, Dad!” We kiss cheeks. “Hi, Soph!” She puts her front paws on my knees, and I rub her. I stand aside so they can come in. “Where’s Zoe?”

  “Grocery shopping. She said to tell you not to worry about dinner tonight, she wants to cook.”

  “That’s nice of her,” I say. “Sometimes I wish you guys lived closer.”

  “So we can cook for you?” he asks, laughing.

  “It would be a nice perk,” I reply. “But it would be nice to see you more often.”

  “Even if we lived up the street, you wouldn’t see much more of us,” he reminds me. “We travel most of the year.”

  “I know.” I sigh. “What brings you and Sophie into town?”

  “It was time for Sophie’s midday walk, and I thought she could stay here while I take one of my favourite daughters out for lunch.”

  “I’d love that,” I say, smiling.

  “Can we go in a few minutes?” I ask. “I want to finish shelving this yarn.”

  I return to the yarn I shoved into the lace weight shelves and sort it by colour and brand as fast as I can.

  “Ouch!”

  “Dad, are you OK?” I ask from the back of the store where I’m finding shelf space for a few rogue skeins of yarn.

  “Mmm-hmm,” he replies with the tip of his index finger in his mouth.

  I grab the first-aid kit and rush to his side.

  “What happened?” I open the first aid box.

  “I pricked my finger with that thing.” He points to my felting needle. It’s on the end table in the cozy sitting area, next to my almost-finished Sophie figurine.