Crack Of Death (A Rainy Day Mystery Book 3)

by Jeff Shelby

  Instead, I’d poured myself a cup, sat down at my kitchen table with a pad of paper and a pen, and listed out everything I knew about Greta’s death and who might be involved. Of course, Lila and George were the primary suspects.

  But I was beginning to have doubts about Heidi. I sipped my coffee and nibbled on a store-bought chocolate chip cookie and thought. There were things about her that didn’t add up, and not just the fact that she was happy her mother was dead and that she wasn’t curious about the details surrounding her death.

  I tried to recall all the details I’d gleaned about her. Granted, there hadn’t been much but I kept coming back to what Declan had said when he’d been planning Greta’s service. He’d been working on his part of the program, his remarks, but he said that Heidi had supplied the rest: the hymns, the readings and the like.

  I stared into my mug and frowned. Greta passed away on a Tuesday afternoon and Declan had been working on his remarks for her funeral the next day. When he’d come by my house late Tuesday afternoon, he said he’d just notified her next of kin.

  How had Heidi managed to find time to plan the service when she’d just learned of her mother’s death? Less than twenty-four hours had passed between Greta’s death and my visit to Declan’s office, and he’d already been working on it for a while, which meant he’d gotten his hands on Heidi’s portion of it even sooner.

  I bit into the cookie I was holding, munching thoughtfully.

  Heidi was fine with her mother being dead. She was actually happy, by her own admission. She didn’t want anyone investigating, didn’t care to discover the details.

  Could she have somehow been responsible?

  It was certainly possible, but I felt like I needed a second opinion.

  I glanced at the clock. It was almost two am, which meant Declan and Gunnar, my two local choices, were definitely off-limits. I thought about my daughter, Laura, and immediately dismissed that idea. She had no clue what was going on, and I needed to keep it that way. If she knew I was under suspicion of killing an octogenarian, she would demand I leave town as soon as the sun came up, and never return.

  There was one person I could call, I thought. One person who kept odd hours, and who always answered their phone.

  “This must be an emergency,” Mack said, and by the tone of his voice, it could have been two in the afternoon instead of two in the morning. He didn’t sound at all perturbed by the fact that I was calling. In fact, it almost seemed as though he’d been expecting it.

  “Hi to you, too.”

  “I know you,” Mack said. “Ten o’clock and you’re out like a light. Something big must be going on. Have you been in jail this whole time? Just get out on bail or something?”

  “What?”

  He chuckled. “Last time we talked, you said you’d found a dead body. Figured things must have gone south pretty quick.”

  “You’re not that far off,” I told him.

  He immediately sobered. “What? What are you talking about?”

  I filled him in on the events of the week. To his credit, he didn’t interrupt.

  When I was finished, he let out a low whistle. “I can see why you haven’t called. You’ve been a little busy.”

  “Yeah, trying to not be arrested for murder,” I muttered. I took a third cookie from the plastic tray and took a bite.

  “What are you eating?” he asked.

  “A cookie,” I replied, my words muffled by a mouthful of chocolate.

  “I miss your baking,” he said wistfully.

  I smiled. There had been several occasions during my twenty-year tenure that I’d brought goodies in. Everything from cookies to pie, and always, the leftover desserts from my house that I didn’t want sitting around. I always brought him a cake for his birthday, too, my mom’s secret recipe that hadn’t been shared with anyone.

  I let him suffer a little and didn’t tell him that the cookies I was eating were from Nabisco.

  “Sounds you like have a couple of suspects,” he said, refocusing on the reason I’d called.

  “I do,” I said, nodding. “What I don’t have is a sheriff willing to listen.” I paused. “And I actually think I have more than two suspects. If you count Heidi, I have three.”

  “You think she’d off her own mom?”

  I cringed at his word choice. “I don’t know,” I admitted. I really didn’t know what to make of Heidi. “I keep going back to the funeral prep. How could she have managed to get all that done in a single day? Doesn’t that seem a little weird to you.”

  “No.”

  I frowned. “It doesn’t?”

  “People do estate planning all the time,” Mack pointed out. “And plenty of people plan their own funerals ahead of time. What you saw at the service might not have been Heidi’s plans at all: they might have been Greta’s.”

  I was silent. He made a good point, and I suddenly felt guilty about where my thoughts had gone with Heidi. If there was one thing I’d learned about myself after moving to Latney and becoming entwined in the town’s mysteries, it was that I was very good at jumping to conclusions. Too good.

  “So, two suspects then,” I said, correcting myself. “Lila and George.”

  “No, I think you have three.”

  “What?” I made a face. “You just said Heidi wasn’t a suspect.”

  “I never said that.”

  My head was beginning to spin, and I didn’t know if it was his words that were doing it or the fact that it was the middle of the night and I was operating on precious little sleep.

  I blamed Mack. “Yes, you did. You told me she could have just used Greta’s own plans for the funeral.”

  “Right,” Mack said agreeably. “I did say that. But she also could have killed her. One doesn’t negate the other.”

  I dropped my head to the table and the phone clunked against the wooden surface. I managed to keep it held to my ear. “Oh my god, you are not making any sense.”

  “Hear me out,” Mack said. “You’re missing a pretty big clue.”

  “Clearly,” I retorted. “Since you’re telling me the one I was looking at is moot.”

  “There’s another one,” he promised. “I can’t believe you haven’t seen it.”

  I lifted my head. “There is? Where? What did I miss?”

  “I don’t know if I should tell you,” Mack said. “I mean, this could be training in action here.”

  “Mack,” I warned. “This isn’t the time to play games. What am I missing?”

  He didn’t respond immediately and I wondered just how loud I’d have to yell—or how hard I’d have to cry—to get him to answer me. But then he let out a soft chuckle.

  “Remember what we talked about before?” he asked. “A few months ago?”

  “Yes. You don’t like your new office manager, you miss me, and you wish I’d come back.”

  “Yes to all of those things,” he said. “But I was talking about something else. Something from the last case you worked on.”

  “I haven’t worked on any cases!” I said, exasperated.

  “Fine…situations you were involved in,” he clarified. “When that girl was missing, and I told you to look at her family. Does that ring a bell?”

  “Well, yeah,” I said, “but Vivian wasn’t involved, remember?”

  “I know. And family isn’t always responsible for crimes. But just because you have a plausible excuse for Heidi’s actions at the service doesn’t mean you write her off as a suspect. Because she has plenty of motive.”

  I frowned. “The only motive I see is that she wanted her mom reunited with her dad. In heaven or whatever.”

  “That just might be enough.”

  I pulled another cookie out of the sleeve and held it in my hand. Mack had said there was another clue, but he still hadn’t told me what it was.

  “So what’s the clue I’m missing?”

  “What?”

  “The clue,” I repeated. “You said I was missing a big clue.”
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  “I just told you.”

  “What? No, you didn’t. There was no clue.”

  “Yes, there was,” Mack said. “I told you to look at family.”

  I groaned. “I already was! That’s why I called you, to hash everything out.”

  “And then you were ready to dismiss her the minute I refuted your one angle.”

  “Well, because it was a good point, and one that I hadn’t thought of.”

  “That’s why they pay me the big bucks,” he said. “But here’s the thing: just because one lead dries up doesn’t mean you don’t look for another. If your instincts are telling you something is off about this woman, you gotta trust ‘em.”

  I sighed. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I’d wanted Mack to turn on a flashing sign, with an arrow pointing to the one clue that would help solve the mystery of Greta’s death and clear my name.

  And all he’d told me was to trust my instincts.

  The problem with that, though, was that I was pretty sure I didn’t have any.

  TWENTY NINE

  I was at Toby’s the minute they opened.

  After hanging up with Mack, I’d spent the rest of the wee hours of the morning reorganizing the kitchen. I’d been too worked up to go to sleep, and I needed something to focus on instead of my complete ineptitude as a pseudo investigator.

  I’d turned on some music, brewed another pot of coffee, and tackled the pantry cupboards. After sorting all of the boxes and cans of food, I’d made a list of things I needed, especially with fall right around the corner. There were soups and stews to make, breads and muffins and pies to bake, and I wanted to be sure I had everything I needed for that first fall-like day, when the oven offered a welcome warmth from the chill in the air.

  I felt positively zombie-like as I pulled out a cart and pushed it through the double doors of the market. There were no other customers, but a couple of employees were busy stocking shelves.

  I headed directly to the baking aisle and grabbed the things I needed: sugars and flour, nuts and spices. I needed some canned goods, too, and maneuvered the cart to that aisle.

  Within fifteen minutes, I was done with my shopping and on my way to the checkout. My sleepless night was beginning to catch up with me, despite the copious amount of coffee I’d consumed, and I was pretty certain I was going to crash the minute I got home and unloaded the groceries. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

  There was only one checkout lane open and I steered the cart toward it. I had just passed the paper products aisle when someone jumped out in front of me.

  Martha, the surly pharmacy worker, was standing within an inch of my cart, her left hand held out like a traffic guard.

  I yanked back on the cart to avoiding running her over.

  “Whoa,” I said, my eyes widening. “I almost hit you. Sorry about that.”

  She frowned. “What are you doing here?”

  “Uh…grocery shopping?” I glanced down at the obvious evidence supporting my statement.

  She peered at my cart and said nothing.

  “Is there a problem?” I asked.

  “Do you just have groceries? Food products only?”

  A growing sense of unease was building inside me, and I had the urge to throw myself into the cart and hide all of my purchases from her prying eyes. What did it matter what I was there to buy?

  “I am buying items for sale in this store,” I said coolly.

  Martha continued to stare at my cart, cocking her head in various positions, as if this would somehow help her see everything in it. I pulled on the cart and brought it behind me.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “What are you doing?” I countered.

  She leaned to her left, still trying to look inside my cart. “You buying anything besides food?”

  My temper was beginning to flare. “What I purchase is my business, and my business only,” I retorted. “I’d like to speak with your manager.”

  Martha offered a snide smile. “He isn’t here yet. I am the supervisor on duty.”

  Of course she was. I took a deep breath, hoping I could calm myself down enough to walk away from her without exploding. I swung my cart back around, aiming it once again at the sole open checkout. The clerk, a middle-aged woman with short brown hair, was trying not to stare at us.

  Martha put her hand on my cart, stopping me from moving forward. “You have any drugs in there?”

  “Any what?”

  “You heard me,” she barked. “Drugs. Medications.”

  “Why on earth does it matter?”

  “Sheriff wanted me to let him know if you come in here buying drugs,” she informed me, straightening herself and tugging on the hem of her work shirt. “I’m just doing my civic duty here.”

  “What you are doing is harassing customers,” I said evenly. “And you are asking questions that are illegal.”

  She blinked. “No, I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are,” I told her. “And I don’t have to answer you. Now kindly step out of my way or I’m afraid I’ll have to run you over with my cart.”

  Her eyes widened and she gasped. “Are you threatening me?”

  “Yes,” I said simply.

  Her gasp was louder this time. “Well, I never.” She folded her arms across her chest but wisely stepped to the side. “You can rest assured that the sheriff will be hearing about this.”

  “I’m sure he will,” I muttered.

  I had not made a friend in Martha, that was for sure.

  But one thing I’d realized living in Latney was this:

  I’d been far better at making enemies than friends.

  And they had the potential to make my life miserable.

  THIRTY

  Gunnar was in the parking lot when I wheeled my cart outside.

  I stopped dead in my tracks, already positioning myself so that I could pivot and head back into the store.

  Because this was the first time I’d seen him since the kiss we’d shared in my yard.

  I’d had a lot on my mind since then, a lot that had conveniently allowed me to forget what had transpired between us.

  But here it was, front and center, because Gunnar had spotted me. Even from where I stood, at least fifteen yards away, I could see him lift his hand in a half-wave, could spot the dimples in his cheeks as he flashed a grin in my direction.

  “You can do this,” I whispered under my breath. “You are a grown woman, not a teenager.”

  The pep talk didn’t really help. I knew my cheeks were on fire as I guided the cart to my car. Thankfully, it was warm and muggy outside, so the color in my cheeks could in theory be from the heat of the sun. At least that’s what I would claim if he asked.

  “Rainy,” he said as I got closer. “Nice to see you.”

  I nodded and smiled. “You, too.”

  It was about seven different kinds of awkward, standing there next to him in the parking lot. All I could think about were his lips on mine, which didn’t exactly help make for an easy segue into normal conversation.

  “Saw your light on last night,” Gunnar said. His brow furrowed. “Everything okay?”

  I nodded again, grateful that he’d opened up a line of conversation that didn’t include rehashing our liplock from the other day. “Yep, just couldn’t sleep.”

  “I was worried something was wrong.”

  There were lots of things wrong, things that had indeed kept me up all night long.

  “So nothing’s broken, nothing needs fixing?” he asked, a worried look on his face. “Because you know you can call me whenever.”

  My life was the only thing that was broken and needed fixing, and I was pretty sure Gunnar couldn’t help me with that.

  “Nothing’s broken,” I told him. “And you’d be the first person I would call if it was.”

  He smiled. “Good. You know you can count on me.” His eyes drifted back to mine and, instantly, the frown was back. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem a
little…stressed.”

  I stole a glance back at the entrance of the store. The doors had slid shut but I could just make out Martha’s shape looming behind it. I wondered if she was waiting for me to leave or if she was on the phone with the sheriff, telling him to come and search my bags before I headed home.

  “Rainy?”

  I turned back to look at Gunnar. He was still standing there, one hand in his pocket, the other resting lightly on my cart.

  The words he’d just spoken echoed in my head.

  You know you can count on me.

  I didn’t know if it was because I was punchy from lack of sleep or if I just needed to bare my soul. But I decided to take him up on it. I’d deal with the potential consequences later.

  “Martha thinks I’m stealing drugs,” I blurted out.

  Gunnar’s eyebrows lifted. “Martha? Drugs?”

  “Yeah, she’s the pharmacy clerk,” I said. I leaned against the cart and closed my eyes. “And she thinks I’m stealing medication from the pharmacy.”

  “Why would she think that?”

  “Because she’s insane,” I said. “Because everyone in this town is insane.” His one eyebrow lifted higher at this statement and I added, “Okay, not everyone. But close enough.”

  “You wanna tell me why she thinks you’re stealing drugs?”

  I didn’t. I didn’t want to repeat the sheriff’s crazy theory about me. I didn’t want to tell him that, from the looks of things, Sheriff Lewis was doing everything in his power to pin Greta’s murder on me. And, as I’d voiced silently to myself the other day, I didn’t want to depend on him for one more thing.

  But I also didn’t want to pretend everything was okay, either. I was too tired for that, both mentally and physically. And I didn’t want to fight this alone. Sure, I had Declan, and I had Mack, too, but I needed more people in my corner. A lot more.

  I took a deep breath. “Greta was murdered. Just like the sheriff originally thought.”

  Gunnar blinked, then swallowed. “Okay,” he said, nodding his head slowly. “So what exactly does that have to do with you?”