Murder and Marinade: Witches of Keyhole Lake Mysteries Book 5

by Tegan Maher

  I scrunched my forehead. "There has to be some connection somewhere. I mean, he didn't just up and stab himself in the back, and at this point, I'm thinkin' it probably wasn't Al either. What are the odds of havin' two murderers in the same spot at once?"

  Rae lifted a shoulder. "It wouldn't be the strangest thing to ever happen, but I agree—it'd be a stretch."

  "So did you find anything?" I asked Rae when she didn't follow up right away.

  "Oh, sorry. I did find that she and Mac Moore may have had a thing a few years back."

  I about choked on my pizza. She certainly hadn't looked like a woman who'd just ran smack dab into her lover's, or ex-lover', murder scene. Of course, I guess that could be different for everybody, but I'd still think she'd have been either laughing or crying. "Maybe you should have led with that. What makes you think so?"

  She wiped her fingers on her paper towel, then pulled out her phone and scrolled through her gallery. She handed the phone to me and I scooted around so Hunter could see, too. The pics were a little grainy because they were from newspaper clippings, but there were three different competition PR photos that showed the judges and winners. In all three, the judge was standing with his arm around Gregoria and they were both smiling.

  I raised my brows and looked at Hunter. "Yeah," he said, "That's much better than what I found."

  "Yeah, but again, we're swingin' at Gregoria, and we've already established that I shouldn't go to Sheriff Scottsdale with anything else about her that isn't concrete evidence. I mean, what if these pics turn out to be perfectly legitimate? Do you think this is enough yet?"

  "No." He shook his head. "But I think it's enough that we need to do some digging on our own. What paper did that come from, Rae? I assume you got the dates and all that stuff?"

  "Sure did," she said. I have it all written on a Note in my phone, but those were all taken three summers ago. If you scroll through again, I'm sure you'll recognize our very own Bobbie Sue's in one of ’em. It was during our Fourth of July cook-off that year."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  I HAD TO GO TO MY SHOP the next day, if for no other reason than to check on Erol and his pet rat, Norman. Erol was the former owner of my building and was now using it as his post-life hangout, which was okay with me. He was great company, and Norman, who'd turned up unexpectedly a few months ago, was even starting to grow on me.

  When we'd taken down his killer, we'd gotten quite a few of his possessions back, one of which was a big-screen Smart TV. He'd asked me to hang it in the shop because he loved the cooking shows and had a thing for reality TV. Coralee had been in charge of keeping the channels changed for him and feeding the rat, since my shop was right next door to hers.

  I called to Erol as I pushed through the front door, but got no answer. The TV was on, but he wasn't watching it. I stepped back outside and headed over to the Clip N Curl, Coralee's beauty parlor. Sure enough, there he was, hanging out with Belle, the shop's resident ghost.

  She and Erol had that in common—they were both carrying on in their former establishments, though my place as a sandwich shop when he owned it. Watching them debate style was hilarious. Belle was a small-town Southern gal, circa 1940s, and Erol was a modern, Dockers-and-deck-shoes gay guy, so to say some of their opinions of style differed was an understatement. Though strangely enough, they usually agreed on the classics.

  Currently, they were arguing over a girl sitting in Coralee's chair getting a haircut. Erol had his chin in his hand, resting his elbow on the arm crossed over his chest. Belle was scowling. "Bangs would make that nose even more pronounced, and there's never a case for short bangs." She hmphed. "Them things are hideous. Reminds me of when I was five and my sister cut my hair for me."

  Erol rolled his eyes. "You need to step into this century. Or at least the last couple decades of the last one. Short bangs are great if you have the face"—he motioned to the girl in the seat—"and she has the face!"

  Belle scrubbed her hand over her face. "I just ... you're the sandwich man. I wouldn't tell you how to make that special sauce you made for them baloney sandwiches would I?"

  "No, but if you offered an idea to improve my original version, I'd surely give it a shot."

  If looks could kill, he'd be headin' for his second death. I'm sure he didn't mean to high-hat her, but she was sure taking it that way. I cleared my throat before she went for his.

  Coralee gave me an oh thank God look; I couldn't imagine how stressful it must be to try to work while also ignoring two ghosts who were sniping at each other and at me, while the person in the chair had no idea what was going on. I'd have indigestion by ten every morning.

  The girl in the chair smiled and waved, and I said hello. Personally, I didn't think bangs would look that hot on her, but then I didn't really like them on anybody. I wouldn't voice an opinion one way or the other for love nor money, though. Another thing Belle and Erol had in common was that they could hold a grudge. No thank you.

  Erol finally caught onto the dark looks Belle was firing at him. "I think I'll just go see what's on Food Network," he muttered before floating through the wall between our buildings.

  "Yeah," Belle said, "I think that's a good idea. Maybe you'll learn somethin' about how nobody should wear bangs."

  "Now you're just bein' difficult," he said.

  She just crossed her arms and hmphed as he popped out of site.

  "So what you doin' today, sugar?" Belle asked me as if nothing had happened. "It's good to see ya. Welcome home."

  There was no way I was going to tell her I was only there lookin' for Erol, and I since I couldn't speak directly to her because of the clueless girl in the chair I kept my gaze on her and said, "Hey ladies. I just figured I'd stop in to say hi, and to see if Alyse had time to squeeze me in for a pedicure."

  Alyse, Coralee's nail girl, popped outta the back. "I sure do, sweetie! Lemme finish up my lunch and I'll be right out."

  "Take you time!" I called as she pulled her head back into their break room.

  "Have a seat," Coralee said. "Tell us all about the craft show you went to this weekend." The way she smiled and referred to it as a craft show rather than the barbecue competition or fair let me know that she wanted to hear about how I did but that the good stories weren't for public consumption. That was a hard-and-fast rule: what happened in Keyhole Lake—or to Keyhole folks—stayed in Keyhole Lake. No talking dirt in front of strangers.

  So I told her all about it, and then mentioned I'd stopped at TJ and Moira's on the way back. She raised a brow at that, and said to remind her that she had something for her. I wasn't sure, but I as pretty sure that was code for I heard something about them, too.

  Of course, with Coralee, it could just as easily be that she picked her up a birthday present. I'd stopped trying to guess what was going through her head years ago.

  Within just a few minutes, Alyse came out and flipped on the pedicure well, adding a few drops of sweet, floral-scented oil to the water. Within just a couple minutes, the relaxing smell had permeated the room and she patted the seat, motioning for me to climb up.

  I slid my feet into the tub and sighed. I hadn't intended to do anything other than say hi and see if Erol was there, but I was glad I'd changed gears. The tension drained from me as the eddies of water massaged my feet. There was just something about even a mini spa day that was good for the soul.

  Coralee finished up the girl's haircut—sans bangs—and sold her a couple products before ushering her out the front door. The echo from the bell above it still hung in the air as she spun toward me and settled in her barber chair.

  "Good. I have the next hour free. We need to pow-wow. What did you learn about the suspects?"

  I closed my eyes and leaned back in the chair, then told her everything we'd learned. Make no mistake—Coralee was head of Keyhole Lake's gossip community, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. She had connections and could ferret out information faster than a Google search, depending on what you
needed.

  "So the main suspects right now are all barbecue competitors," she said. "That makes sense, except for one thing. It's too broad. I could see a man giving him a beat-down, but killin' him seems a little, well, overkill."

  Alyse snapped her gum, earning her a glare from Coralee.

  She cringed. "Sorry!" It was one of the few things that drove the older woman batty, and in one quick gulp, the gum was gone.

  "How many times do I have to tell you not to do that?" Coralee asked, drawing her brows together. "You're gonna glue your intestines together."

  "I don't think that's really a thing," I said before I could stop myself.

  "Yeah, well since you're thinkin', put it to use. Tell me more about this Gregoria woman and why you think it was her."

  Alyse was massaging the arch of my foot and I would have paid a hundred dollars to be able to relax and forget about the murder and everything that went with it just long enough to get through the next fifteen minutes in peace. But that wasn't to be. Resistance was futile.

  "Well, the first time I ran into her was at the murder. She seemed ... cold, I guess. Then I saw her giving Al the what-for, and based on what Max heard, she threatened him to boot. Then Max and I both saw the flash of yellow close enough to the murder scene to, at the very least, open the possibility to her being there. There wasn't another bright yellow anything at the barbecue—I checked."

  I groaned when Alyse wrapped my foot in a towel, indicating the good part of the pedicure was over.

  "And that's it?" she said as she dried my toes and stuffed the little Styrofoam separators between them.

  "Oh! I almost forgot. Raeann found pictures of them gettin' cozy at a few different barbecue competitions a couple years ago."

  "Aha," Coralee said. "Now we're gettin' somewhere. Scorned women have left a bloody trail through history."

  I arched a brow at the drama, but couldn't deny that she was right. That was at least as viable as a man killin' him for money."

  "And no offense," Alyse said, "but stabbin' him in the back is somethin' I'd think a woman would be more likely to do. I may be way off, but it seems to me a man would do it face-to-face. ’Specially a man like Earl."

  "Yeah," I said, thinking about a comment Hunter'd made in passing. "And she's the right height. The sheriff told Hunter that the killer was likely a man because of the height and angle of the wound. Approximate height would be about five-eleven. That's about how tall I'd guess she is."

  "Good lord," Alyse said. "The woman was that tall and wore bright yellow?"

  "Yeah," I said, holding up a hand. "And she has orangey-yellow hair and junk in the trunk."

  Coralee heaved a big breath and I knew what was about to come out of her mouth, but she snapped it shut. "I'm not even gonna say it. Just keep diggin' and I'll ask around. See what I can learn. Buddy's sister lives in Coatesville, so maybe she knows them."

  "Thank you."

  "I almost forgot—what did the reporter want? Was he lookin' for dirt on Earl, or what?"

  Coralee giggled. "He may have been in the beginning, but he started by askin' me to tell him what I knew about Earl. By the time I made it through when he got his front baby tooth knocked out when he fell out of a tire swing, he was ready to leave."

  I couldn't help it—I burst out laughing. Never let it be said there wasn't more than one way to skin a cat. Proverbially speaking, of course. I love cats.

  “You said you had something for TJ,” I said.

  “Oh,” Coralee replied, waving her hand. “I just wanted to give you a gift certificate for a salon day. I know it’s her birthday, and I’ve heard she’s been havin’ some trouble settlin’ in over there, too.”

  “Yeah, she is,” I said. “She touched on it briefly, but I don’t know what’s really going on.”

  Alyse finished painting my toes, and by then the whole murder conversation was exhausted. I'd told her about Ranger, and she was a little surprised. "I hadn't heard anybody move into the old Svensen place."

  I grinned. It wasn't often I got one over on her. "Well don't feel too bad. They're older and they seem relatively low-key, but I get a great vibe from them. I hope to see more of them.

  "Next time you see the missus, you tell her to come in for a free girly day. Hair, mani-pedi, the works. I feel bad I ain't rolled out the welcome mat for ’em yet."

  "I'll do that," I told her, thinking how much Stella would enjoy that. She seemed like one of those women who was a giver, but rarely took the time to take anything for herself. Both of them did, for that matter.

  "And Noelle?" she said on my way out the door.

  I turned with my hand on the door. "Yeah?"

  "Gum really will glue your intestines shut."

  My mouth twitched. "Noted."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  I HEADED BACK OVER to my shop, thinking about the effects of gum on your insides, and almost dropped my bag on Norman. He was on the counter pilfering a marble out of my pen holder.

  "Hey big guy," I said as he looked up at me with his bright little eyes. I swear he was trying to smile at me, sitting there holding the round piece of blue glass in his paws. He'd been Erol's pet before the murder, and had managed to survive for almost a year on his own before we'd discovered him a couple months before.

  He'd scared the daylights out of me one night by brushing up against my legs and I'd almost taken a broom to him before Erol stopped me. Since then, he'd managed to change my opinion about some rats. I still wasn't a fan of the ones that managed to get in the dark bottoms of my feed barrels in the barn, but Norm was okay.

  I pulled a cheese cracker out of a box I had on a shelf and offered him one, laughing when he looked back and forth between the cracker and the marble. It was a quandary for him for sure.

  "Give me the marble and take the cracker. I'll make sure it doesn't roll away while you eat, and you can have it back when you're finished."

  He dropped the marble in my hand and took the cracker. Erol was watching Pickers on TV—one of the inspirations behind my shop.

  "Noe, look at this," he said. The guys were in a large barn surrounded by great furniture, but since that wasn't really their thing, the camera panned over it to get the cars in the background. I tried to take a closer look at the furniture in the background, but had no clue what he was talking about.

  "What?" I asked.

  "Have you ever considered making something for a man-cave using the bench seats outta old cars? I bet those'd sell like hotcakes."

  I considered it. "Huh. You may be onto something there. I'll keep an eye out and if I come across any, I'll try to work out the technicalities to see if I could make it work."

  "You could. And I'm tellin' ya, they'd sell. You know what else would be funny? Makin' some kinda clothes rack out of exercise-bike handlebars. That'd be a hoot."

  Rolling my eyes, I just kept walking to the back, where I had several different pieces in various stages of completion. I hadn't been in any hurry because I'd finally built up a little surplus, but since I sold everything at the craft show, I was gonna have to get crackin' again.

  My stomach growled as I was pulling out the sander to get to work on a set of old school desks that I planned to refurbish and sell as they were intended—desks to put in a kid's room for them to do homework at. I figured I'd paint them funky colors and maybe do something fancy with the top, then lacquer over it. But first, food.

  Since it was Tuesday, that meant Rae had chicken Waldorf sandwiches on special, and that sounded like the perfect light, cool meal after five days of heavy barbecue and junk food. I was pretty sure I'd gained a couple pounds over the weekend.

  Her shop was only a few blocks down from mine, so I figured I'd go grab a couple sandwiches and go have lunch with Hunter. I'd pick up some pastries for Peggy Sue, too. On paper, she was the clerk for the KLPD, but in reality, she was the cog that kept the entire county running. She had her fingers in pretty much every pie over there, and there wasn't a question you
could ask that she couldn't find the answer to. Most of the time, she didn't even have to look.

  She'd taken good care of me right after Hank was killed and I was about to lose the farm to taxes, and again when I bought the shop, and the only way I could repay her was in pastry. Lucky for me, she considered that a good trade.

  The day was beautiful. Not too hot yet, and I decided to walk.

  "Hey guys," I told Erol and Norman, "I'm goin' down to Rae's, then to the courthouse. I'll be back in a bit."

  Erol took a glance at the time. "Sure. It's not like you're running a business or anything." He was a stickler for keeping strict business hours and it drove him nuts that I came and went as I pleased. To appease him, I'd bought one of those be back by signs for the door, and I made a big deal of setting the hands for an hour later.

  I locked the door behind me and reminded myself to take Coralee something for watching the place for me while I was gone. She'd changed the channels for Erol and made sure Norman had food and water, so I figured I'd make her one of her favorites—strawberry cupcakes—when I got back. There was a nice kitchen area left from when Erol ran the place, and it served me well when I wanted to bake and work at the same time.

  The sun on my face felt great as I strolled down the sidewalk, and I smiled when a familiar voice called my name.

  "Hey Noelle! What's doin'?"

  Angus, one of the best-hearted people I'd ever known, floated along in front of me, holding hands with his life-long love, Trouble. In life, Angus had been known to prefer a liquid lunch. And breakfast and dinner, for that matter, and he kept the benches warm in the park. I'm not sayin' he was the town drunk, because he was way too kind and community-oriented for me to ever be that mean.

  Trouble had been his first love, but he'd lost her when they were young. She'd found him again after he'd passed, and it had turned his post-life around. I felt sad that they'd both waited a lifetime, literally, to find each other again, but he said everything worked out the way it was supposed to. He was happy as a pig in a puddle, so I took his word for it.