"And do they tell you anything?" my God it was torture dragging this out of him.
"Yes, we've got some leads to follow."
"Oh, well that's good then, right?"
He folded his arms across his chest, and rocked back and forth a bit on his heels. He looked thoughtfully into the distance while he did so, and I wondered for the millionth time what was happening inside that handsome head of his.
Finally he blew out a sigh, "Yep, probably good. I'm going to head back to work, just wanted to apologize for earlier," he said and touched my arm briefly. He paused as if to say something else, then shook his head and turned to go. Well, that was odd.
Soon the crew was back and traipsing all over the store, talking on camera about how we had taken the house and developed theme rooms, and showing them off.
On the one hand I appreciated it as great advertising that I hadn't had to pay for. On the other this was not the B roll that I had agreed to.
I followed the crew around silently, torn between saying something to get them to stop, and letting them carry-on. The problem with that was I had no control over what was said about the place. It seemed fine, but every time Bruce told me something, his truthfulness level was just about a bubble off. Finally, I decided to let them be and go get some work done.
Eventually they finished up and dragged their stuff out of the store. It took hours though! Hours! Not what I had signed up for. At all. Bruce stopped at the front where I was sorting books that needed to be re-shelved.
"Thanks. I wonder if we could come back after closing some night to get film with no one here?"
"Um, yes? I guess? Any particular night you have in mind?"
"Tonight? When do you close?"
"Tonight would be ok, we close at 9, except on Saturday night we close at 11."
"Great! Thanks. It won't take as long, we just need a bit of footage with the store empty, then we'll use it and fade into the store full of shoppers," while he said this he had his hands up, thumb to forefinger, forming a box he was looking through as if it were a TV screen.
"All right. I'll be here, see you then."
"It'll just be me and, and my...um Angel," his eyes drifted away for a minute. "No camera man, he takes nights off," he said.
"He decides?" I asked, half joking, I pretty much let my staff do what they wanted to, as long as the shifts were covered.
"Well," Bruce leaned in and whispered, "it is his daddy's show, I live to serve the boss, sonny wants nights off, it's the least I can do."
So, wait the camera guy was the son of the show's what owner? Do shows have owners? Interesting. And he had almost called Angel his...what? Girlfriend? Wife? Partner? Muse? What? Was this guy ever honest? That question, at least, I thought I could answer.
Chapter 7
Bruce turned up just as we were closing up, and shoeing the stragglers out. I waved him and his camera in, Angel was with him, just as he had said she'd be. There, that was two true things. He was on a regular streak.
"Don't mind us, we're just going to film some random shots of the different rooms."
Gigi was hovering nearby because, in her words, "I just don't trust that liar," calling 'em like she sees 'em, that's my sister.
As I wandered here and there, re-shelving books, collecting armloads of magazines that had been paged through and discarded, and collecting coffee cups, I strained to hear what they were saying.
I slipped up the stairs as they went to the bedrooms. I wasn't really trying to overhear. Much.
"Hey babe..." Bruce started.
"Don't babe me, I saw you hanging all over Heather," was Angel's reply.
Oooh, trouble in paradise? I stopped what I was doing.
"There's nothing between us," he insisted.
"There was, and I'm fully aware there could be again," I could hear the pout in her voice.
"You know I love you, you're the one I married, baby."
Married! I knew it, there went his honesty streak.
"I know," she sighed.
"It's better for ratings for people to think there's tension, but I chose you," he was getting quieter now, maybe moving in for a kiss.
I heard a slap.
"Don't baby me! I told you already."
"You hit me!" Bruce hissed, "Do you want to drive me right into her arms? That's a good way to do it."
Good grief, these guys were a hot mess. I wondered idly how long they had been married as I slipped back down the stairs. And also how long they would be married in the future. I wasn't going to find out anything that mattered to the investigation, I didn't think. And I didn't want to know anything about their personal life. I had already heard too much.
One thing I knew, Bruce wasn't a man of his word, and even his wife thought so.
Gigi met me at the bottom of the stairs and nodded her head toward the upstairs, silently asking me what was up.
I put my fingers to my lips and shook my head no, indicating we weren't going to discuss it here.
Just as I did they appeared at the upper landing, Bruce first, Angel following sulkily in his wake.
"I think we've got all we need, can't thank you enough," he said as he came down the stairs.
"You're welcome, can I get you something before you go? Coffee, cookie, brownie?" I said in a sudden burst of good manners.
"No, nothing, we're going to get a late dinner back at the rental. Thanks though."
"Okay, be careful driving, in the summer the place is full of visitors who don't know their way around."
Bruce laughed, "Yeah that was us last week. If they don't find the paperwork for the property, we'll be here forever!"
"Paperwork?" Gigi asked.
"Oh, yeah, that's the hold up, no one knows where the deed is."
"It is?" I asked.
"Yeah, basically, I mean the auditors are stopping us, but that's why. The whole file is gone, and the local electronic copies are missing, and well, it's all up in the air at the moment. We can't hang around forever though, we'll have to move on to a new site soon, we have a 13-episode commitment. If we're down too long, we won't make that. There's a little bit of time built in for slips, but not too much," he shook his head. “The boss isn't happy. At all. He wants to pull the plug now. We're hoping to convince him that if we stick this out, it will all come together in a few days."
"Well, good luck with all that," I said as I ushered them out the front doors.
"Man," Gigi said when we locked the door behind them. "That guy lies like it's his job. I think he did it."
"What?" I whirled around, "you think he's the killer? Why?"
"Because he's a liar."
"Come on, be serious, what would his motive be? It's held-up production. And he didn't even know the guy very well. We don't know method yet, we don't know why anyone would do it, and we aren't even sure Luke was killed, maybe he just went for a walk and died?"
"In the cattails? And got his shirt ripped to shreds? I don't think so."
"Well, true, there is that. Still, we don't have any reason to think it was Bruce."
"He's too slick, I don't like him."
"Well, me either," I said staring out into the dark and watching his taillights fade into the distance as he drove down the driveway away from the house. "That doesn't mean he did it though."
"I know, you're right. He gives me the creeps though. And Luke was my friend, I liked him even if no one else did. We had some fun once, and I don't know," she trailed off, "I just remember him fondly."
"I know," I said, patting her back, "I'll tell you what, I'll go see Drake, make sure he has an eye on this guy. I mean not that I think it's him, but you know, just in case."
"Thanks, sis. I know I'm just reacting and not being logical. I'm going to go home now, if you're set here?"
"Yep, drive careful, have a good night."
As I watched her leave I wondered about Bruce and his two girls. I hadn't even told Gigi about his conversation with his wife. Wife! Gigi didn't need any
more ammunition tonight though, and I thought it was best to just let her be.
I slid my hand into my pocket and discovered the business card I had found at the scene. As I walked upstairs I considered again why I was hanging on to it, and what it could possibly mean. Not my call. In the morning when Drake came by to send me on my run, I would give it to him and it wouldn't be my problem anymore.
Chapter 8
The next morning, like clockwork, Drake was at my door. Leaning against the doorframe, he was casual, but the dark circles under his eyes and the faraway distracted eyes totally gave him away.
"You look tired," I said gently.
"Thanks," he said with a wry smile.
"No, I mean, well you know. You're overworked because of this case. But I want to talk to you about it, I think Bruce..."
Drake held up his hand to stop me, "Before you say any more, we have our suspect."
I was so startled I dropped my keys, "What?"
"We picked him up today, early this morning. I'm only telling you so that when you find out later on the town gossip circuit you don't give me a call."
I stood there stunned, "So, who?"
"You know Harold?"
"Old weird Harold from the bar?"
"Yeah, that's him. We have video of him talking to Bruce inside, and then video of Bruce giving someone a ride and we think it's Harold."
"You think it is? Like it also might not be? What does Harold say?"
"He doesn't remember."
"Anything?"
"Well, not much past say 11 o'clock that night."
"That's it, that's all you've got?"
"We have prints, he was in the car. Maybe some sneaker prints too. Those are being processed. Ivy," he put his hand on my arm, gentle but firm, "let this go, we have the guy on video."
"You don't have it on video that he killed Bruce," I said as I shook his hand off me.
"No, we don't have that, but we pretty much never do. If we got video of murderers, our lives would be much easier," the eye roll was implied, "Harold got loaded and we think there was an argument. As it turns out he was in a lot of debt. We think Bruce was pressing him for the money and Harold just...lost it."
"That's ridiculous," I sputtered. How could he think old weird Harold, the nicest drunk I've ever met, was responsible for this horrible crime? He had to be wrong.
"There's a lot of pressure to solve this. It's tourist season," he said, as if reading my mind. "we have video of them together just before Bruce was killed. They left the bar together, we have his prints in the car. Let the jury decide, we think we have our guy though."
"You're wrong, Drake. You're my friend, but you're wrong."
Drake shook his head wearily, "I've been working on this every waking minute since you found the body, and "he glanced up at me, "most of my minutes have been waking ones. If I think there's anything else I should be looking at I promise I'll check it out, but right now, it looks like we've got things under control."
"Ok," I looked at his sneakers and sweat pants, "I'm going to run alone today, if you don't mind," I was annoyed that he was being so myopic. This was just not right, he had the wrong guy and wouldn't see it.
"Yeah, sure," he seemed a bit startled, but didn't ask me any questions, "I'll see you later. Be careful, two miles," he held up two fingers as he trotted down my steps and across the parking pad to his truck.
Whatever, I'd run as far as I wanted. My plan was to run into town today, and I started off at a gentle jog. There was plenty to think about to keep my mind off of the actual running, and I ran to the beat of the doubt that ran through my brain.
I knew it wasn't weird Harold, I just knew it. But I had no evidence to the contrary. My own suspect, Bruce, was just as likely to be innocent, and I had nothing on him either. Except he gave me the shivers, and not in a good way.
Once I got to town I slowed to a walk and passed the coffee shop, then up the road to Bertie Q's. I didn't stop in anywhere but I kept my eye open for cameras that might have filmed what happened the night Luke was killed. I didn't see any, and in fact I had to walk around back to spot one at Bertie's. I wondered if that was the only one? If it was, there was a whole lot of parking lot between the front door of the bar and where the camera would pick up folks traipsing out back for their cars.
Gigi and I sat having our coffee, I had run and showered and changed, and we were having our mid-morning chat. She was just as shocked as I was about Harold, and she didn't believe it either.
"He's kind of a drunk and a bit of a deadbeat, but he's a nice guy," she cocked her head to the side, "although he doesn't really sound nice when I put it like that I guess, but he is. He's just down on his luck."
"That's what I thought. I was all about it being Bruce, but I guess... No, I'm not wrong. I mean I might be about Bruce in particular, but I'm not wrong about it not being Harold."
"Yeah, I'm not buying that either, Bruce is so sketchy with his girl..."
"Oh! I forgot to tell you, he's married to one of them!"
"One of the designers?"
"Yeah!"
"Which one, the tall one who thinks she's a goddess or the short one who thinks she's tall?"
"Gigi!" I smacked her arm.
"I know," she giggled, "but they're so full of themselves."
"Angel, he's married to Angel."
"She's the short one who thinks she's tall."
"That's probably true. In any event, I was surprised. He seems so...chummy with both of them."
"He does. I wonder if it causes trouble on the set, or at home?"
"Well, I overheard some conversation about how he used to be with the other one but he's married to Angel now. And he also said they had to keep it secret so that the audience would want to watch the tension on the show. So, I imagine he thinks he can flirt up a storm with both of them and be exempt from any problems. What a..."
"Ivy!" Gigi shushed me.
I shrugged and gathered our cups, put away the sweetener, and stored the cream in the little fridge under the bar.
"So what's next?" Gigi asked me.
"Well, Drake said to drop it," I shrugged.
She stared at me and started to laugh, "Okay, well I know you're not going to, right?"
I smiled, "Busted, you're right. I'm not going to drop it. I want to talk to Bruce, see what he was up to that night."
"Are you sure? We have no reason to suspect him, except that we don't like him. Don't do anything dangerous."
"True, but maybe not liking him is good enough? He’s lying about his wife, that's a pretty big lie. I wonder if he's being honest about other things?"
"Hmmmm," Gigi was tapping her finger along her lower lip. "Let's invite some folks to dinner. We'll go out to the Purple Crab, sit on the deck, have some wine and a nice seafood meal."
"And ask a thousand questions?"
"Well maybe not a thousand, but a few. We'll invite both girls, see if we can get a sense of his relationship with them. Since we feel like something isn't right there, this seems like a good way to find out," she nodded to herself.
"Okay, I'm in. Let's call some other people too, so it's not so obvious. We can call Carter, I've been meaning to talk to him anyway. And we can call Luann. I know she's a massage therapist and not a shrink or anything, but I feel like she's insightful. I think his number was on that stupid card. I'll get it and give him a call."
"You still have it?" she asked.
"I was going to give it to Drake, I really was. This morning in fact. But he decided he solved the case, and so..."
"And so you didn't."
"No, and he made it clear he doesn't want my help."
"Oh brother."
"Oh brother, nothing. He's being stubborn. He says it's handled. I'm just obeying his wishes."
"Obeying and Ivy Bloom don't belong in the same sentence."
"Look, it's just a general production business card. No one's name is on it, these things are all over town by now. I'm not doing anyt
hing wrong."
She gave me her best side-eye, "Whatever. You have a phone call to make. Once we know the crew is in, we can invite the others and make some reservations."
I went upstairs to get Bruce's number and call the restaurant to arrange a dinner on the deck. Fresh seafood, warm ocean air, wine and conversation. Maybe the time together would give the evidence a shove in the right direction. I made a mental note to call Luann and Carter and see if they could join us, once I had the others onboard.
Very little in life is predictable, but I knew two things for sure. One, is that no matter what I'm in the middle of, good or bad, this too shall pass. The other is that eventually—somehow, someway—the truth is always bound to surface. I smiled to myself as I entered my apartment, happy to think that maybe in this case I would be giving the truth a little push.
Chapter 9
The deck of the Purple Crab was one of my favorite places on the planet. No joke. Gigi and I walked into the restaurant and met the hostess at the small front podium. The hostess, Sherri, a friend of Jenn's, gathered menus and chatted with Gigi as she led us through the modern restaurant to a series of sliding glass door panels. The doors were edged by white gauze curtains that drifted gently in the breeze. The restaurant overlooked a sheltered bit of Cape Cod Bay, and the warm sea air wrapped itself gently around us as we walked to the large table that was set and waiting.
With multi-level decks, there was no such thing as a bad view at the Purple Crab. We had called ahead and requested a prime spot on the lower deck. The summer evening held the promise of a spectacular sunset and I looked forward to seeing it from here.
From the deck we could see a glimpse of the road leading to the restaurant and I noted the production company van as it arrived. It was nearly five minutes later that they all appeared on the deck and I wondered briefly what had held them up, but there was no graceful way to ask, and anyway I was just being nosey.
Bruce and the ladies sat, with him in the middle. As always. He stretched out calmly and rested an arm behind each chair while they ordered drinks.
Snakes & Snails and Deadly Cattails: An Ivy Bloom Mystery (Ivy Bloom Mysteries Book 2) Page 4