by Sarah Fox
Once I was able to access the Internet, I navigated my way to the website for Wildwood Cove’s community newspaper. As soon as the site flashed up on the monitor, I knew I was in luck; the paper published its articles online as well as in the physical paper. Scrolling down the page, my eyes skimmed over the article about Lisa’s brother Carlos and another column about fundraising efforts for a new playground in Wildwood Park. Continuing down the page, I passed over two more articles before I found what I wanted.
The short news item stated that the local burglaries remained unsolved but were believed to be linked to similar break-ins in Port Townsend and possibly Edmonds as well. The article also included a quote from Sheriff Georgeson to the effect that he and his deputies were continuing to investigate. I scanned past all that information, zeroing in on the date of the most recent break-in. As I absorbed the information, I sat back with a sense of relief.
Jimmy couldn’t have been the thief. The last burglary had taken place ten days ago, when Jimmy was in the hospital. My theory that someone else had stashed the paintings in the workshop had to be right. Now I could tell the sheriff about the stolen goods without worrying about tarnishing Jimmy’s reputation.
Before calling Sheriff Georgeson, however, I decided to take care of some practical matters. A few further minutes spent on the Internet turned up a phone number for Hugh Ogilvie, Jimmy’s lawyer and Lisa’s employer. Grabbing the phone from the desk, I punched in the number and waited for the call to go through. Lisa answered after two rings and when she realized who was calling, she expressed dismay over Jimmy’s death. I wasn’t surprised that the news had already spread through town, but I had to wipe away a tear or two as I accepted her condolences.
After we’d spoken for a few minutes, Lisa offered me an appointment with Mr. Ogilvie for the following afternoon and I accepted. When that call was over, I found a webpage and phone number for a nearby funeral home and made an appointment with them as well.
With those phone calls out of the way, I decided to get my grocery shopping over with. Minutes after hopping into my blue hatchback, I pulled into a free parking spot across the street from the small grocery store. As I took my first step out onto the road, a banana-yellow sports car zoomed around the corner, heading right for me. I jumped back as the car whooshed by, my heart leaping into my throat. I caught a glimpse of a woman with blond hair and sunglasses behind the wheel, but then the car was gone.
Shaking my head at the woman’s crazy driving, I jogged across the now-clear street and entered the store. I decided to get my shopping done as quickly as possible. I wasn’t keen on running into anyone who might recognize me and want to talk about the day’s horrible events. I knew I’d only end up crying, and that wasn’t something I wanted to do in the middle of the grocery store.
Fortunately, I didn’t spot anyone I knew, and I managed to get everything I needed in my cart without anyone saying a word to me. Once I had my two bags of groceries stashed in the back of my car, I settled into the driver’s seat, ready to return to Jimmy’s house. As I put my keys into the ignition, I spotted two familiar faces farther along the street. Creepy Daryl and Sienna Murray’s boyfriend, Logan, stood with a fair-haired young woman outside a small establishment called Johnny’s Juice Hut. Judging by the fact that she had one arm looped around Daryl’s, I assumed that the young woman was his girlfriend, Tina. Daryl was smoking a cigarette, but he tossed it to the sidewalk and ground it under his foot as I watched. Without noticing me, all three headed inside Johnny’s Juice Hut and disappeared from sight.
I was glad they hadn’t seen me watching them. I didn’t need Daryl staring at me with his hooded eyes. The mere memory of encountering him at Jimmy’s place was enough to keep me on edge for a while. I wondered again if he was responsible for the presence of stolen items in Jimmy’s workshop. I definitely planned to share my suspicions with Sheriff Georgeson.
Pushing thoughts of Daryl aside, I drove back to Jimmy’s house. As soon as I’d plunked my groceries down on the kitchen counter, I dug around in my pocket for the card Sheriff Georgeson had given me and dialed his number. I paced the kitchen as the call went through but paused when Georgeson picked up after the first ring.
“Sheriff, it’s Marley McKinney. I found something I thought you should know about.” I told him about the paintings in the workshop and the connection to the break-in at Gary Thornbrook’s home.
“Did you touch anything?” The tone of his voice told me he was taking my report seriously.
“Yes,” I said with a wince. “I didn’t realize at the time that the paintings were stolen. I assumed they were Jimmy’s.”
“I understand, but please stay out of the workshop until I get there. I’ll be there in half an hour.”
I promised I’d stay away from the outbuilding in the meantime and ended the call. While awaiting the sheriff’s arrival, I put my groceries away, my head spinning the entire time. Part of me still couldn’t grasp the fact that Jimmy was gone forever, that he wasn’t still at the hospital recovering from pneumonia, eager to get back home. Yet at the same time, my mind constantly went around and around, wondering why anyone would want to hurt him.
The rumble of an approaching vehicle grabbed my attention half an hour later. I hurried out through the front door to meet up with Sheriff Georgeson as he climbed out of his cruiser.
He nodded at me in greeting. “Ms. McKinney.”
“I can’t open the workshop door,” I told him. “The lock looks new and Jimmy’s key doesn’t fit it. I climbed in through a window.”
If he thought it was odd that I’d gone to such lengths to get inside the building, he didn’t let it show. Instead, he walked around to the trunk of his car. “I can cut the lock off.”
Wearing gloves and with a set of bolt cutters in hand, he followed me over to the outbuilding and snapped off the shiny padlock, keeping it in his hand as he pushed open the door. After he flicked on the light switch, he stepped inside while I hovered in the doorway.
“Careful, there’s some broken glass on the floor,” I warned, but his boot was already crunching down on some of the shiny blue shards.
He crouched down to get a closer look at the glass and picked up a larger piece that he found tucked beneath the workbench. He fished an evidence bag out of his pocket and dropped the shard inside.
“Is that significant?” I asked from the doorway.
“I’m not sure.” Georgeson straightened up and turned his attention to the rest of the workshop. “Where are the paintings?”
I directed him to the far side of the table saw and several seconds ticked by as he examined the two framed canvases. I rubbed my arms and chewed on my lower lip while I waited.
“I believe your suspicions were correct,” he said, setting the artwork down on the workbench. “Both of these paintings match the description of items stolen from Gary Thornbrook’s home. I’ll get one of my deputies over here to dust the workshop for fingerprints.”
I backed out of the doorway as he exited the workshop, producing his cellphone from his pocket.
“The most recent burglary was ten days ago,” I said before he could call his deputy. “Jimmy was in the hospital then, so he couldn’t have had anything to do with the thefts. Someone else must have stashed the paintings here. Daryl Willis, maybe? That would explain why he was hanging around earlier.”
“I’ll have a word with Daryl. Unfortunately, though, I can’t rule out Jimmy’s involvement.”
I stared at him with surprise and dismay. “Why not? He was in the hospital with pneumonia. Ten days ago he could barely get out of bed without help.”
“I realize that, but he could have had a partner, an accomplice. We’ve suspected for some time that at least two people have been involved in the burglaries, and Jimmy was still in good health when the break-ins started.”
My spirits sank like heavy stones dropping to the bottom of the sea. “But there’s no way Jimmy was a thief.”
“I’m sorry, M
s. McKinney. I liked Jimmy and I don’t want to believe he was involved either, but at this time I can’t prove that he wasn’t.”
“I understand,” I said with a frown. I did understand, but it still bothered me.
“I’d like to have a look around the house, if that’s all right.”
Seeing no reason to object—if I even had the authority to do so—I showed him into the house and lingered in the kitchen while he took a quick look in each room. Although I was certain he wouldn’t find any stolen goods lying around inside the house, I still breathed a sigh of relief when he finished his search and had nothing to report.
As Georgeson headed outside to phone one of his deputies, I remembered something and followed at a distance, approaching him once he’d finished the phone call.
“I forgot to mention that Jimmy did make it home this morning. I found his bag.”
Georgeson asked to see it, so I let him inside again and showed him the black bag sitting in the foyer. I mentioned how I’d found it in the middle of the stairway to the second floor.
“I thought maybe someone had interrupted him on his way upstairs. Maybe his killer knocked on the door.”
“Could be,” Georgeson agreed.
“Although, if that’s what happened, why did Jimmy then go to Myler’s Point with his killer? If he went voluntarily, he must have known whoever it was.”
“I talked to some of the neighbors earlier,” the sheriff said as he set Jimmy’s bag down on the floor. “I’ve yet to find anyone who saw or heard anything, but I’ll keep asking around.”
I followed him back out onto the front porch, but when his deputy arrived, I returned to the house. After setting out some dinner for a purring, appreciative Flapjack, I flopped down on the couch and stared out the large family room window at the blue-gray ocean, its waves topped by whitecaps.
The day seemed endless; the sun hadn’t even set yet. I felt as though I’d somehow failed Jimmy. I thought the timing of the latest burglary would clear his name, but it hadn’t, and if word got out about what I’d found in Jimmy’s workshop, his name would no doubt be tarnished.
I couldn’t let that happen, I decided. Somehow I’d find a way to clear his name.
While I was at it, maybe I could find his killer as well.
Chapter 6
The exhausting emotional toll of the day served me well by sending me off to sleep soon after I shut my eyes that night, saving me from further thoughts about its unpleasant events. When my alarm woke me the following morning, I didn’t get up right away, instead enjoying the warmth of my bed and the comfort of a purring Flapjack nuzzled up against my shoulder.
Eventually, reality encroached upon my sleep-hazed cocoon, reminding me of Cousin Jimmy’s death, the murder investigation, and the stolen paintings. My bed no longer the haven it had been a moment before, I wriggled free of Flapjack and threw back my covers. The chill of the morning seeped through my skin and chased me the rest of the way out of bed.
After a quick shower, I wrapped myself in a towel and stared morosely out my bedroom window at the dark world outside. With my spirits as heavy as a leaden blanket, I forced myself into action, pulling on my favorite jeans and sorting through my collection of graphic tees before choosing a purple one with a stylized seahorse on the front.
One of the perks of working at the pancake house was that I could dress my favorite way—casually. Dressing professionally for my job in Seattle wasn’t a terrible chore, but I always shed those clothes as soon as I arrived home at the end of each day. I much preferred wearing jeans and a T-shirt, with a hoodie over them for extra warmth if needed.
When I’d first spoken to Jimmy on the phone about taking over The Flip Side temporarily, he’d assured me that I didn’t need to dress up at all for the job. For my first day at the restaurant I’d worn black pants and a sweater, not sure if the townsfolk would really appreciate me showing up in casual wear. It hadn’t taken me long to feel overdressed, and the next day I’d switched to my favorite jeans and a gray T-shirt with a silver embossed skull on the front. I’d immediately felt like I fit in better and I appreciated the fact that I could be myself while taking care of The Flip Side. Soon I’d have to go back to office attire, but while in Wildwood Cove I planned to enjoy the more informal work atmosphere.
Once dressed, I tamed my tangled curls and put out some food for Flapjack. Realizing that it was already nearing six o’clock, I decided to have my breakfast at The Flip Side.
The sun wasn’t up yet, and while there was some light showing in the sky, the beach was shrouded in darkness. I’d quickly learned to keep a small flashlight in my tote bag and now used it to light my way across the sand. Waves crashed nearby, but otherwise everything was still and quiet.
A few minutes later I reached the promenade, dimly lit by a nearby streetlamp. I traded my flashlight for my keys and let myself into the pancake house. While the dining area was mostly a jumble of shadows and dim shapes, light spilled out of the kitchen, allowing me to find the main switch with ease. Through the window to the kitchen, I spotted Ivan hard at work and I raised a hand in greeting. I knew he’d likely been there for a couple of hours already, preparing the batter and toppings for all the delicious breakfasts he would cook up in the hours to come.
As I carried on toward the office, my thoughts remained with Ivan. Ever since his last assistant had quit to move to Colorado with her fiancé, Ivan had been putting in extra hours to keep up with the restaurant’s demands. He arrived by four each morning and was sometimes still in the kitchen when I left the pancake house in the mid to late afternoon.
Although Ivan never uttered one word of complaint, he couldn’t be expected to shoulder such a workload for long. As soon as the chef’s last assistant had left, Jimmy had started the process of finding a new employee. From his hospital bed, and with Ivan’s input, he’d narrowed the applicants down to three candidates. In accordance with Jimmy’s instructions, I’d scheduled interviews for all of them, interviews that were supposed to take place the next day.
Dropping my tote bag on the floor by the desk and plunking myself down in the swivel chair, I wondered what the heck I was supposed to do about the interviews now. Cancel them? Reschedule? Go ahead with them?
I slumped back in the chair and rubbed my forehead. At the moment, I had no idea what would happen to the pancake house down the line, but for now at least The Flip Side would remain open for business and Ivan needed help in the kitchen. So I decided to go ahead with the interviews. Future business-related developments would have to be dealt with when they arose.
With that decision made, I left the office and set about preparing the dining area for the day. It was strange and sad knowing that Jimmy wouldn’t take over the restaurant’s reins ever again, but the familiar morning routine distracted me from my grief and brought me a measure of comfort. As I worked, Ivan came out of the kitchen, scowling at me.
“Didn’t think you’d be here today,” he said, his voice gruff.
I couldn’t tell whether he disapproved of my presence or was simply making a statement. “I’d like to keep busy,” I said, a freshly filled napkin dispenser in my hands.
His dark eyes drilled into me for an unnerving second. Then he nodded once and disappeared back into the kitchen. It took another second or two for me to recover from the encounter, but I shook it off as best I could and continued on with my preparations.
Leigh arrived a half hour later, rushing in through the front door, dark rings under her eyes.
“Car still not working?” I guessed as the door shut behind her, blocking out the chilly, damp air.
“Greg thinks it needs a new battery,” she said, referring to her husband.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” I knew as well as anyone how expensive cars could be to fix and I suspected that Leigh and her husband weren’t exactly rolling in money.
She headed for the break room, taking off her jacket on the way. As she disappeared into the back hallway, I thought I g
limpsed a shimmer of tears in her hazel eyes. Concerned, I set down the bottle of syrup I had in my hand and followed her into the break room.
“Leigh? Are you okay?” I asked as she hung her jacket in her locker.
Tears spilling from her eyes, she sank down into the nearest chair and dropped her face into her hands. Alarmed, I hurried to her side and put a hand on her back.
“What’s wrong? Is this about Jimmy?”
Leigh let out a long, shuddering breath and raised her head, wiping at the tear tracks on her cheeks. “In a way.”
I waited as she grabbed a tissue from the box on the windowsill and dabbed at her smeared mascara. Her lower lip trembled, but she closed her eyes and took another deep breath.
“The sheriff thinks I killed Jimmy.”
“What?” I stared at her, dumbfounded.
“Ridiculous.”
The growled word came from behind me and nearly sent my heart jumping out of my throat. Ivan stood in the doorway, taking up the entire space with his bulky frame, his face set in an even deeper scowl than usual.
Leigh wiped at a fresh tear with her crumpled, mascara-streaked tissue. “The sheriff doesn’t think it’s ridiculous. According to him, I had motive and opportunity.”
I grabbed a chair and sat down. “But that’s crazy.”
Ivan nodded his agreement from the doorway.
“The sheriff told me that Jimmy left fifty thousand dollars each to me and Ivan in his will.”
“He thinks you killed Jimmy for money?” Ivan’s thunderous question boomed through the small room. His level of disbelief matched my own.
“I didn’t. I swear.” Leigh’s eyes glistened with desperation as well as tears.
“Of course you didn’t.” I rubbed her back but then stilled my hand as I recalled her earlier words. “He thinks you had motive and opportunity? But you were here all morning.”