A Killer Deal (A Seagrove Cozy Mystery Book 1)

by Leona Fox

  They made their way through Sadie’s “treasures,” including a suit of armor from Yee Olde England, and a rather large and rusty water trough from Montana. The water trough was probably just junk, but Sadie had fallen in love with it and brought it home anyway. At the back of the shop was a 1960s Formica-topped kitchen table that she used when examining smaller treasures, she and Chief Woodstone sat on the red and white vinyl covered chairs. Chief Woodstone put the electric branding iron on the table between them.

  “I would have thought an electric branding iron was an impractical tool,” the chief said. “No electricity out where cows are branded.”

  “I’ve only ever seen this one,” Sadie said. “I’m not sure if some knucklehead thought they would sell, or if it was meant as a toy of some sort, or for burning wood instead of cattle. It’s on my list to research, but I haven’t gotten to it yet. But I never sold it so why do you have it?”

  “It was found in the dumpster out back,” the chief said. “Remember the burns on Roger’s chest?”

  “They were made with this?” Sadie felt cold and more than a little sick to her stomach. “But I never sold it.” She got up and pulled out a drawer. Sure enough, it wasn’t there.

  “Someone stole it and used it to kill Roger Roberts?” She sat back down and put her head in her hands. She thought she might cry, but then she realized she was quite angry.

  “Someone broke into my shop and stole that from me. What are you going to do about it Chief?”

  “Zack, Sadie. My name is Zack,” the chief said with a long-suffering sigh. “And yes I do believe it was stolen from you but at the moment the murder is my primary focus, because if we find the murderer we find the thief.”

  “True,” she said. “Find the murderer, find the thief. Punish the murderer and the thief is also punished. I can live with that.”

  “Good. Now I want you to think. Who did you show this to when you got back from Montana?” He asked leaning back in his chair and looking at her under lowered brows.

  “Oh Lord,” she said. “I don’t know. There was a whole crowd of people here when I came back from Montana.”

  “Think hard and make me a list,” he said. “I don’t tolerate murder in my town.”

  “Is there a police chief somewhere who does?” She asked.

  “You’d be surprised what people will do for money,” he said. “Make that list, Sadie, I’m going to need it.” He pushed back his chair and stood up.

  “Sure thing chief,” she said. “But tell me. Did the burns from that thing kill him?” She nodded at the branding iron he’d picked up off the table.

  “Not directly,” he said. “The coroner thinks the pain caused a heart attack. The heart attack killed him. It would take a bloody long time to kill someone with this thing. It would be quicker to strangle someone with the cord than to burn them to death with it. I’m afraid it will be a long time before you get it back again.”

  “I don’t want it back,” she said. “I hope to never see that accursed object again.”

  He left then and Sadie found a pad of paper and a pen and thought hard about the welcome home party and who exactly had been there. Lucy, of course, and Mr. Bradshaw. Good lord, half the town had been there. She started scribbling names.

  It took her most of the day. She’d been considering her next treasure hunting trip, or walking Mr. Bradshaw, or contemplating buying a coffee maker as a replacement for the coffee shop next door, when a name would pop into her head and she’d head back over to the table and write it down. She thought she had them all down when she closed the shop and went upstairs for the evening, but she woke in the night with another name. She padded downstairs in her slippers and added the name to the list.

  Chapter Three

  The next day Sadie taped a note on the door saying she would be closed for the morning and she and Mr. Bradshaw drove to the community college. She leashed Mr. B in deference to college rules and wandered across the quad and through the halls in the Political Science building until she found the door marked Assistant Professor Justin Ives. She knocked, he called out, she and Mr. B went in.

  Professor Ives was an untidy, pleasant looking man in his early thirties. Every surface in his office was covered. Books teetered on chairs and tables and there were papers everywhere. A coffee cup was making rings on a stack on the edge of his desk. There was only a tiny clear spot for his computer keyboard. Sadie wondered how he could find anything in the chaos.

  He stood up and offered her his hand. He had a round smiling face and a warm handshake, he did, however, look confused to see Mr. Bradshaw in his office.

  “I am Sadie Barnett,” Sadie said, “and this is Mr. Bradshaw. He is quite well behaved so I think you should have no worries, unless, of course, you are allergic. Are you allergic to dogs Professor?” She looked around for a place to sit that wasn’t covered in stuff.

  “Call me Justin, Ms. Barnett. Not even the students call me professor. And, no, I am not allergic to dogs, just a little surprised to find one in my office. I am not often visited by dogs.”

  “Mr. Bradshaw goes nearly everywhere with me, prof-, I mean Mr. Ives. He’s invaluable to me as a good judge of character,” Sadie said.

  “What is he telling you about my character? Am I trustworthy?” he asked. Sadie glanced down at Mr. Bradshaw, who was sitting smartly at her heel. His ears were up, his tail was quivering, but he hadn’t run forward to greet the young professor.

  “I’m afraid he hasn’t made up his mind. Perhaps if you were to offer me a seat and give him a gentle pat.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” His face turned an unbecoming blotchy red. He grabbed a stack of papers off a small red leather armchair and set the papers on the floor.

  “Please sit down. I’m afraid students just sit wherever they want, and I’ve lost my ability to interact with polite society.”

  “Oh, I’d fight against that if I were you. The ability to make one’s guests feel at ease is very useful.” Sadie sank into the little armchair. It was surprisingly quite comfortable. “I’ve come here to ask you about your disagreement with Mr. Roberts.”

  Mr. Bradshaw was still at her heel, Sadie noted. He wasn’t at all sure about this young man’s character. Interesting.

  “Mr. Roberts? Oh, you must mean Mr. Rogers. The man that owns the bakery. Is that right?” he asked.

  He glanced at his computer monitor and tapped surreptitiously at his keyboard with his right hand. Sadie wasn’t sure if this was considered rude anymore. People were so connected to the internet that it might be normal for his generation.

  “The gentleman who owned the Bakery was named Roger Roberts. I know this for a fact because he was my neighbor and breakfast companion for many years. It used to upset him a great deal that people couldn’t be bothered to get his name right.” Sadie looked at Professor Ives severely.

  “I know. I’m awful with names. If I get the wrong name stuck in my head I never can get it right after that, no matter how hard I try,” he said.

  “Perhaps you need to learn to focus,” Sadie said severely.

  He shrugged and Sadie classified him as someone not interested enough in other people to try. She felt sure if he tried to remember Mr. Roberts’s name he would have been able to.

  “You said he was your neighbor. What happened to Mr. rog-, er Roberts?” he asked.

  “Mr. Roberts was found dead on my back stoop the day before yesterday. You didn’t know?” she asked.

  “No. No, I didn’t.”

  The red faded from his face and was replaced by a ghastly green tinged white. He was staring at his hands now. Sadie wished he would look up so she could read his face.

  “I apologize for being abrupt. Did you know Mr. Roberts well?” She knew he could not possibly have known him well or he would have gotten the name right, but she wanted to hear what he had to say.

  “Not well, no. Sometimes in nice weather I plan to meet my classes at the park across the street from the bakery. We’d go in
and buy coffee and pastries and carry them over to eat on the grass. He recently started complaining that we were disturbing the traffic flow. We don’t even have traffic in this town.”

  “I did hear he wasn’t happy about classes in the park,” Sadie said.

  “How did you know about this? Did he tell you?”

  “I ran into the college dean at lunch yesterday. He told me,” Sadie said.

  Professor Ives grew very still. “He told the dean he didn’t like me holding classes in the park?” he asked.

  “He did. But I don’t think you should worry about it. The park is a public place and I very much doubt anyone else was disturbed by it.” Sadie paused to get his attention. “Unless you killed Mr. Roberts, then you should worry,” Sadie said.

  “You think I murdered Mr. Rog – Roberts? How can you think that?” he asked. His face had flushed deep red and he looked angry.

  “Don’t take it personally, I do not know you, Mr. Ives,” she said. “I don’t know what you are capable of, or what you might do when threatened. I’m sure Chief Woodstone will find the perpetrator. If you are not the murderer, you don’t have much to worry about.”

  “Except false imprisonment, he said. “You hear of people being falsely imprisoned all the time.”

  “I don’t really think that happens all that often,” Sadie said. “Especially to college professors.” She could have added young, white, male, college professors, but that would just be rude.

  “What should I do?” He sounded just a bit panicked, which pleased Sadie and then made her feel ashamed of herself. He seemed like a nice enough young man, if a bit self-centered.

  “Go to the police station and tell them what happened between you and Mr. Roberts. Give yourself an alibi if you can,” she said. “It will be much better if Chief Woodstone hears about your disagreement with Mr. Roberts from you and not from the dean of the college like I did. Also, be sure to call him Mr. Roberts. We must treat the dead with respect.”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” he said. “When do you think I should go to the police?”

  “As soon as you are able,” Sadie said. “Now, if at all possible.”

  “I have office hours now, but I can go later this afternoon.” He looked at his watch.

  “Good for you, Mr. Justin,” Sadie said, standing and letting out Mr. B’s leash.

  “Justin is my first name, Ms. Barnett,” he said. “Justin Ives.”

  “Oh my, I’m so sorry Mr. Ives. I don’t know what I was thinking.” She held out her hand.

  He looked confused for a moment, and then took her hand. Sadie thought he would get the point of her ‘mistake’ a minute or two after she left.

  Sadie stopped by to see Chief Woodstone on her way back to the shop. Mr. B walked briskly at her side down to his office, the leash back in the car where it belonged. She often felt that she had been extraordinarily fortunate to have been discovered by Mr. B. He was a surprisingly well behaved and extremely intelligent canine. She didn’t know how he had come to be separated from his original owner. Perhaps they had had a personality clash, the thing she did know was that it couldn’t have been due to Mr. B’s behavior. He was better behaved than many people she knew.

  They found the Chief sitting in his office reading his mail. He looked up through his reading glasses and smiled.

  “Hello, Sadie,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

  “Hi Chief,” Sadie said. “I’m reporting in.”

  She sat in a chair across from his desk and Mr. B jumped up and sat on the other. This was normal behavior in Chief Woodstone’s office – Sadie and Mr. B were not infrequent visitors and the usual niceties had been waived upon mutual agreement months ago.

  “Zack, Sadie,” the chief said. “What do I have to do to get you to call me Zack?”

  “Sorry, chief – uh, Zack,” she said. “It’s my brain. It’s not as flexible as it used to be. When I see you, it’s like you have a neon sign over your head flashing Chief over and over. My brain is not what it once was and I’m having a heck of a time remembering to call you Zack.”

  “There is nothing wrong with your brain, Sadie Barnett. You call me Chief because you enjoy calling me Chief and Zack doesn’t give you the same pleasure. Now, what did you come here to tell me?” He leaned his elbows on his desk and steepled his fingers, leaning forward ever so slightly.

  “You really shouldn’t flatter me, Chief, it will go to my head. It’s about Justin Ives,” she said. “Apparently Roger ratted out Justin to his boss.”

  “How did you come by this information?” Zack asked.

  “I was eating lunch at the bar the other day and Johnathan Crossgrove sat next to me,” she said.

  “Johnathan Crossgrove? I don’t think I know him,” Zack said.

  “He’s the dean of the college. Anyway, he told me that Roger Roberts had complained to him about Professor Ives holding classes in the park. Didn’t like that for some reason.”

  “And was there disciplinary action or anything like that?” Zack asked.

  “I don’t think so, but Justin is going to come down here to talk to you later today, so you can ask him yourself,” Sadie said.

  “And what do you think, Sadie? Is Justin Ives the kind of person who would murder over that kind of thing? After all, Roger could have lost him his job.”

  “I don’t think Justin has that kind of passion. And anyway, if he was telling the truth Crossgrove never spoke to him about it. He didn’t know that Roger ratted him out. Although apparently Roger was not happy with Justin. He was another one who had trouble with the two first names thing.” Sadie sighed.

  All it took was a little effort to show some respect. So many people weren’t willing to make that effort. She stood up and Mr. Bradshaw jumped down from his chair and gave a little bark.

  “Can Mr. B have a little treat?” Zack asked. He rustled around in a drawer and came out with a small dog chew.

  “Sure,” Sadie said, “But make him do a trick first.”

  “Mr. Bradshaw,” Zack said, “Come here.” Mr. Bradshaw ran around the desk and stood at alert his tail high over his back and quivering.

  “Sit pretty,” Zack said. Mr. B did as he was told and sat on his haunches and lifted his front paws in the air.

  “Good dog,” Zack said and gave the treat to Mr. B, who took the chew from the chief with perfect manners.

  “Don’t you ever wonder who trained this dog?” Zack asked.

  “All the time,” Sadie said. “But even if I knew I’d never give him back. He was in appalling condition when I found him. Come on Mr. Bradshaw, it’s time to open the shop. Bye, Chief.”

  Sadie thought she heard him sigh as she left and realized she’d called him chief again. It wasn’t that she didn’t like calling the chief Zack. It was a good enough name. It was just that he had always been the Chief to her and she didn’t see that changing. She wondered if the Chief was as upset about it as Mr. Roberts had been. Well, she would have to try harder.

  She and Mr. Bradshaw walked back to the shop in the early afternoon sunshine. It was a lovely day. Maybe she would pull a chair out onto the sidewalk and mind the store from there. It was such a pity to be inside when it was so delightful outside.

  And outside on the sidewalk was where she and Mr. B were sitting when the phone rang. Sadie got up and went inside to answer a call from Rosie Tricare.

  “Oh Sadie,” she said. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve just remembered someone else who had trouble with dear Roger.”

  Sadie found it amusing that Roger, who did nothing but badger Rosie in life, had become dear Roger in death. And at that moment the bell on the shop door rang announcing an arrival.

  “Just call Chief Woodstone, Rosie. I must go, I have a customer.” She hung up and went to find Olivia Brown fingering a brass paperweight in the shape of a frog.

  “Can I help you find something, Olivia?” Sadie asked.

  “Do you remember when you came back from Montana, Sadie, you had this s
trange branding iron with assorted tips? I think it was electric?” Olivia asked.

  “Yeah, I do remember that,” Sadie said her Spidey senses on high alert.

  “I’m making a new sign for the farm,” Olivia said, “and I thought it might be nice to burn some symbols around the edges. I’d like to buy that from you if I may.”

  “I don’t have it anymore, Olivia,” Sadie said. “I’m sorry.”