No Ladder What (Witch of Wickrock Bay Book 4)

by Wendy Meadows

  She stared into his deep blue eyes for a few seconds until the clenching in her stomach became too painful to bear.

  “Oh, I’ll see you later then, whenever,” she blurted.

  “Bye for now,” he replied and left.

  Mimi exhaled slowly, trying to relax the grip in her gut.

  What did it mean, “off the case”? As in “sacked”? But no… He said he was heading back to his work…

  That thought soothed her a little. She’d have to catch up with Rob later. This whole situation made her worried about him as a friend and the local chief of the police force. That’s right—chief of police, that’s what he was called.

  Mimi pulled herself together.

  “Okay, Officer…Lieutenant, what can I do for you?” she asked, eager to get rid of the unexpected visitor as soon as possible.

  Orlando London drew his eyebrows together. The line above his nose deepened.

  “Would you like to have an attorney present, Miss Knotley?” he asked her.

  Mimi’s heart flipped.

  “A what?”

  “An attorney.”

  That was a little too much for one day. What would she need an attorney for?

  “What for? Why would I need one?” she asked.

  “If one is being questioned by the law, one should have an attorney present,” he replied.

  The tingling in her face returned and reached the point of near-explosion.

  “Just a second, need a tiny break,” Mimi blurted. She stepped into the back room, finding her way to the sink without turning the light on. She opened the faucet and stuck her hands under the cold water that flew from it. She splashed a generous amount over her face. The cold sensation freshened her and brought her frustration under control.

  Good, because she couldn’t really afford to make verbal outbursts aimed at a police officer from whatever higher office. Not when she was being told she’d need an attorney present.

  She took a deep breath and glanced at herself in a dusty mirror. Her face was pale with reddish patches—the usual sign that Mimi was under the extreme stress of trying to control her firecracker temperament. The water splashed on her top and wet her hair into strands. It made her look silly, but looking silly was far better than insulting some pompous police officer, lieutenant, who was advising her to get an attorney.

  What was going on here?

  Mimi patted her face with some more cold water, welcoming the returning sensations and getting her anger under control. She patted her face dry with the towel, and a couple of minutes later she returned to the shop.

  Orlando London was standing by the window looking out. His back was straight, his hands clasped behind his back. A powerful posture…

  Mimi cleared her throat.

  “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, you were saying something about me needing an attorney,” she said calmly.

  Orlando London turned to look at her. His face was expressionless.

  “You don’t have to if you don’t want,” he said, a little softer than before. Or maybe she was just imagining things.

  “All right then. I don’t want to have an attorney present, firstly because I don’t have one, and secondly because I didn’t do anything wrong. It’s absurd to even think I might need one.”

  “Oh, Miss Knotley, I’m afraid you might be wrong,” he said, observing her.

  Mimi crossed her arms on her chest. Her heart broke into a gallop.

  “Really? But why?” she said, trying to keep her voice under control.

  “May I remind you that this is a murder investigation?”

  “Okay, fair enough. But why me? How come? I haven’t seen the victim for ages.”

  “Indeed,” he replied coldly, retaking his rocking. “When was the last time you saw Mr. Honeycomb?”

  Mimi remembered that moment very well, as it was linked with quite a lot of negative emotions: anger at Drew, sadness and hurt because her property was defaced, anxiety that this had happened out of the blue, and…yeah…fear that she had become a victim of someone’s completely unfounded hatred. Drew’s voice, yelling at her—“Curse you, you little green-head alien!”—still echoed in her mind.

  “That was a few weeks ago, when he smeared some silly graffiti on the windows of my shop.”

  “Ah, yes, that case. I’ve read about it. He claimed there had been an ongoing conflict between you and him. And that you’d been persecuting him.”

  The tingling in her face returned. She gulped to keep it under control.

  “Me? Persecuting Drew? Why? What would I do that for?” she asked as calmly as she could.

  “He strongly believed you’d been sending bad radiation onto him and his shop. And that had caused his customers to stop coming.”

  A hot wave spilled in Mimi’s chest.

  Not that nonsense again…

  “Excuse me? Surely you can see that’s just crazy! I don’t send any radiation. Come on. I’m not a radiator or some other electric device. He must have been not quite right in his head,” Mimi fired. “Actually, I suspect he wasn’t right in his head. Ask anyone on this street, any shopkeeper or other inhabitant, and they’ll tell you. Drew Honeycomb had something wrong up there.” She tapped her temple.

  Orlando stopped rocking, but his face was stern and official.

  “Maybe he did,” he said. “But it doesn’t minimize the fact that he reported you hated him. He even expressed fear that you’d come and harm him one day.”

  Mimi’s jaw dropped. She wanted to scream this was all crazy and impossible, but her voice got stuck in her throat. She glared at Orlando London, but his dark eyes remained cool and serious.

  “I didn’t kill him. Honestly. I admit, I did not like him. I hated what he did to my shop. But I didn’t hate him as a person. If anything, I worried about his increasingly strange behavior. He’s one of us: a shop owner and a Wickrock Bay local. In our town, we care about one another. And I cared about him, despite all this. You’re not seriously suspecting me, are you?”

  Orlando London’s eyes opened wide. His shoulders tensed. He pursed his lips and nodded severely.

  “Actually, Miss Knotley, I am.”

  Mimi’s heart sank into her boots.

  Chapter 4

  Mimi stared at Lt. London. Her head was swirling. She buckled her knees and crossed to the nearest chair. She collapsed onto it.

  “Are you all right, Miss Knotley?” he asked.

  “Frankly? No. Of course I’m not. Would you be if you were in my position?”

  He just stared at her, his face indecipherable again, his hands clasped behind his back.

  Mimi bit her lip.

  Why was he still here? When was he going to leave her alone?

  “Is there anything else you need from me?” she asked.

  “Actually, yes.”

  She held his gaze. This was becoming a staring match.

  “And what is it?” she asked coldly.

  “I want you to tell me again about the incident with the graffiti and how you found the body.”

  “But I’ve already told the police.”

  “I need to hear it directly from you.”

  “Straight from the horse’s mouth?”

  He nodded.

  Mimi waved her hand vaguely in the direction of the chair opposite her.

  “Okay, whatever. Why don’t you sit down?”

  He rocked on his feet.

  “I prefer to remain up. It helps me think.”

  Mimi sighed. “Ask away.”

  He pulled a little notebook and a pen from the pocket of his immaculate jacket.

  “Let’s start with the spray paint incident. When was that?”

  Mimi shrugged.

  “I can’t remember the exact date, but I’m sure the local police have a record.”

  He glared at her.

  “Surely you have some idea. Miss Knotley, may I remind you that this is a—”

  “Last month,” Mimi cut in. “Just before my trip to Italy. I fl
ew on the seventeenth, I think.”

  Orlando London nodded again.

  “How did you know it was the victim who did that?”

  Mimi set her jaw. Good heavens, this was going to be a ride…

  “I heard him yelling and banging on the wall, which scared my dog, Baxter…” Mimi paused and glanced at the chair by the window, her pug’s favorite spot. Baxter’s ears twitched at the sound of his name, but his eyes remained closed. “Baxter barked, so I ran downstairs to check what was happening.”

  “Was he there?”

  “No, but his scribbles were.”

  Orlando inhaled sharply. He paused with the notebook open in one hand and the pen in the other.

  “And how do you know it was him then?”

  Mimi blinked. To be perfectly honest, she didn’t know what made her believe it was Drew Honeycomb. Rob must have had his own reasons for arresting him, but…she’d never cared to ask.

  “Not sure…I saw a shadow running in the bookstore’s direction. And then someone making a muffled comment. I recognized his voice.”

  “What did he say?”

  “I can’t remember exactly, but something about me being a green-head alien. He’d mumbled comments about my hair color before.”

  “It’s rather unusual,” Orlando observed. “I mean, your hair color.”

  That was the first personal comment from the Stiffy Orlando. So he was capable of being human?

  “Yeah, I like to add color to my life,” Mimi murmured. “But going back to the incident, that’s how I guessed it was Drew.”

  “Did you report it immediately?”

  “Yes. I rang Ro—that is, Chief Thompson.”

  Orlando London scribbled something in his notebook.

  “I see, and—”

  The sound of the main door opening cut into the conversation. London stopped mid-sentence and stared at the person walking through the door.

  Mimi turned in her chair.

  “Mimi, my dear, how are you?” a familiar voice filled the silence. The British accent was unmistakable.

  “Lacy, good to see you,” Mimi said, rising from her chair to greet the retired English and art teacher who led the local Wine and Art classes, often held in Mimi’s shop. “How can I help you?”

  Mimi glanced at Lt. London. She should still be allowed to serve her customers, shouldn’t she? He hadn’t told her to close the shop or anything…

  “I just…eh…just wanted to…” Lacy stuttered, her gaze shifting between Mimi and the lieutenant. “But if you’re busy…”

  Mimi smiled. “I am in the middle of something, but I’m sure I can find a couple of minutes to help you find that perfect present, if that’s what you need.”

  Lacy fluttered her eyelids.

  “No, no. I just wanted to check if you were okay…” She glanced at London again. A line appeared on her pale, tall forehead. “I mean, okay for the next Wine and Art class to be held in your shop, that is.”

  Mimi blinked. That wasn’t what they agreed.

  “But I thought the venue would rotate.”

  Plus, some ladies were a little apprehensive about returning to Mimi’s shop following a murder…

  Lacy pursed her thin lips. Her long face looked even longer.

  “Of course, but then I was wondering if you’re okay with it. You know…if you don’t feel offended or anything.”

  Mimi shifted her weight from foot to foot. This was a strange conversation. She inspected Lacy’s face for a clue as to what really was going on. The retired teacher’s gaze still flicked between Mimi and Lt. London, but otherwise was difficult to read.

  What a strange day! Not only was she suddenly a suspect in Drew Honeycomb’s death, but familiar people behaved in unfamiliar ways. How unsettling!

  “Yes, I’m totally fine,” Mimi replied, adding a smile that she hoped looked reassuring. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “You’re busy, right?” Lacy asked, pointing at Lt. London with her long chin. “This gentleman is…is an important customer, right?”

  Ah, so this was what it was all about! Mimi suppressed a smile that pushed onto her lips. Good old small-town gossip!

  “This is Lieutenant London, from the state police,” Mimi said. “It’s in connection with Drew’s death.”

  “I see.” Lacy’s voice took on an impersonal note. “Lieutenant,” she said firmly. Her voice echoed in the room. “If it’s of any use, I wanted to say that Mimi is a well-regarded member of our community. A thoroughly good person, incapable of harming anyone.”

  Lt. London stared at Lacy blankly.

  “Yes, that’s what I wanted to say,” Lacy added. Then she turned on her heel and marched out of the shop.

  Mimi winced as the front door slammed shut behind the woman.

  “Let’s get back to your questioning, Lieutenant,” Mimi said. “As you can see, I’ve got work to get back to.”

  “Indeed, indeed. Now, where was I?” Lt. London opened the notebook he was holding. “Ah, yes. The graffiti incident. How did you conclude it was Drew?”

  Mimi blinked. It felt like a déjà vu.

  “Didn’t I just tell you?” she asked.

  “Not quite. You told me you’d made an assumption.” He paused and glanced at her from above his notebook as if to make sure she got the emphasis. “Or, in fact, several assumptions. First, that the voice in the dark, calling you, I quote, ‘a green-headed alien,’ was Mr. Honeycomb’s. And also that it was him who defaced your window. You saw a shadow running in the bookstore's direction. How certain are you this was the victim?”

  A heavy brick settled in the pit of Mimi’s stomach. This was going to be a difficult and long conversation. She crossed back to her chair and plopped onto it.

  “Well, let me think,” she said, feeling her chest deflate. How on earth could she explain her thinking process from a month ago? “I really don’t know. I think it was the shape of that shadow. He was tall and stooped with long limbs.”

  “Was there enough light outside for you to notice these things?”

  Mimi closed her eyes. She tried to recall that night, but her memory refused to cooperate.

  “I’m really not sure. You’re questioning everything,” she said, opening her eyes again. Irritation crept into her voice and she struggled to contain it. “Why are you asking me all these questions? What’s the importance of a single, isolated, however unpleasant but in fact quite harmless, incident?” she asked.

  Orlando London closed his notebook with a little clap.

  “May I remind you again, Miss Knotley, that this is a murder investigation?”

  Mimi puffed out her cheeks. Words pushed onto her tongue, words she’d better not speak out loud if she didn’t want to be arrested for insulting a police officer. She exhaled slowly.

  Lord, give me patience…

  Baxter jumped off the chair and trotted toward her. He stood by her feet and gave her a curious look.

  “Want to jump on my lap?” Mimi asked, grateful for the distraction. “You’re not really a lapdog, are you?”

  Baxter just tilted his head and kept staring at her.

  Mimi let out a sigh. She sat up and tapped her lap. “Okay then, come on, Baxter boy.”

  The little dog jumped up and curled into a ball on her lap. Interestingly, this time his eyes remained open and fixated on Lieutenant Orlando London.

  Was Baxter defending her?

  This simple act gave a little boost to her level of confidence.

  “Where were we?” Mimi asked. “Ah, the shadow and the voice in the dark. So yes, that’s how I concluded it must have been Mr. Honeycomb.”

  Lt. London opened the notebook again.

  “Let’s move on. Can you now tell me about the cleaning? He was ordered to clean the graffiti from the window.”

  “That’s what I was told by the police.”

  “Did he do it himself?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you see him do it?”
/>   Mimi closed her eyes again, trying to recall the day in question. Her head swirled. Thinking was becoming harder and harder.

  “No, I don’t think so. I just saw the final result.”

  “So how do you know it was him?”

  Mimi bit her lower lip and opened her eyes. Her face was tingling again.

  “Why are you asking? What’s the relevance of all this? Why don’t you ask me about Drew’s bizarre behavior in the weeks leading to the incident?” she asked.

  Orlando London stiffened.

  “Are you questioning my methods?” he asked coldly.

  Oh, for Pete’s sake…

  Mimi opened her mouth, ready to fire off a comment or two, but then Baxter growled. Mimi winced.

  “Baxie, what’s the matter?” She turned her attention to her dog.

  Baxter gave her a strange look and let out a low rumbling noise. Mimi patted his head.

  “That’s okay, puppy. The officer is just asking me some questions. This is not a cross-examination in the court, don’t worry. Just a few friendly questions,” she rattled off, not even trying to contain the sarcasm.

  “Miss Knotley?” Lt. London’s voice cut into the thickening in her head. There was a note of urgency in it.

  Mimi lifted her head. She wished she could send a couple of daggers straight into that puffed-out chest of his.

  The front door opened again. Mimi’s head jerked to the left.

  Scott Thomas, her neighbor and the owner of the café next door.

  “Hey, Mimi, just checking if you need any lunch or anything,” the young man said. A broad smile adorned his long, bearded face. His voice contained its usual energy, but his green eyes were cautious. “I’m thinking of closing for the afternoon and didn’t want my regular customers to end up with no lunch.”

  Mimi blinked. That was strange. Scott had never popped in to check if she needed any food. And why would he? She often went to his café for a coffee but not so much for food.

  “Thank you for your concern, Scott. I’m fine.”

  Scott glared at Lt. London.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  No, she wasn’t. Or rather, she was pretty sure she wasn’t fine. A mix of frustration and fear clamped her stomach.