Mrs. Scanlon and Eileen Matthews both patted her arms in solidarity for her tireless efforts to make our town the best it could be. Alex nudged my knee again, and I looked to my right to see his eyes glazing over. Males never understood how these kinds of conversations could go on for so long. I knew he had gotten something he thought he could use and wanted to flee from that room and those women, but I had a sense they might be able to give us something even more.
“It’s such a shame about Samuel. Can you imagine anyone wanting to hurt such a sweet man?” I asked as I frowned and shook my head, mimicking the four women in front of me.
They all agreed that it was terribly shocking, and Eileen Matthews asked, “Did Samuel have any enemies? I have such a hard time imagining anyone wanting to hurt that dear man.”
Her question was met with silence for a few moments, giving Alex the cue that it was time for us to leave, but as he moved to leave, Mrs. Scanlon quietly said, “Not to speak ill of the dead, but I can only imagine how upset Ralph Martin was when Samuel put up that new sign of his that juts out so far that it hides the Martin’s Pharmacy sign. You can’t even see Ralph’s sign when you’re driving up Main Street coming from the south. I’m sure it’s hurt his business.”
Alex sat down again as she spoke, and when she finished, he and I looked at each other wide-eyed. I would have never given a single thought to the idea of hard feelings between Samuel and Ralph Martin over a sign. I had feeling by the look of surprise on Alex’s face that he wouldn’t have either.
“That’s incredible, Mrs. Scanlon,” I said, honestly complimenting her. “I never thought of that, but you’re right. You can’t even see the Martin’s Pharmacy sign when you’re driving up from the police station. I never realized that until right now.”
She beamed at my words but gave credit where it was truly due. “Mr. Scanlon noticed it, actually, and as soon as he pointed it out to me, I said to him, ‘That’s going to cause a problem for poor Ralph Martin’ and he agreed.”
Alex gave me a look that told me he’d heard enough and needed to get out of there before he began to speak his mind. The last thing we needed was the town gossips working against him and his official efforts, so I nodded and stood from the couch when he did.
“We have to go, but thank you so much for all your help, ladies. We appreciate you taking the time to help us today,” Alex said in his best respectful tone.
“Oh, it’s our pleasure,” Mrs. Scanlon cooed, still happy that I’d said such nice things about her ability to see things neither Alex nor I had.
“We all look forward to your reception, you two,” Eileen said as she stood up to escort us out. “I just know it’s going to be a beautiful day.”
“Thank you, Eileen,” I said, suddenly feeling bad for what I thought about her earlier.
She walked us to the front door, and after Alex thanked her again and said goodbye, she took me into her arms in a hug I hadn’t expected. I returned the embrace, surprised at her sudden show of affection. She had always said I was one of her favorite students, though.
Then just before I walked out, she whispered in a low voice, “I was meaning to ask you something, Poppy. I know you probably sat me with the ladies in there, but would it be possible to seat me at another table with other people at the reception? It’s hard, I know, because I’m attending alone, but I’d really appreciate it if you could. I’m okay even if you put me with cousins you don’t even like.”
I nodded and smiled. “I can handle that for you. Are you sure it won’t be a problem with the ladies in there?”
She shrugged at my question. “I’m not worried.”
Maybe Eileen hadn’t changed as much as I thought. Maybe there was hope for her after all. I had a nice middle-aged cousin who had RSVP’d that he was coming to the wedding alone. Perhaps seating her next to him at the reception would be a good thing for both of them.
At the very least, it would be getting her away from the town gossips for a few hours.
The romantic in me liked that idea a lot. It would mean rearranging the tables a little, something I didn’t relish doing just a few weeks out, but for romance, it would be worth it.
Chapter Eight
We headed into the police station with a host of questions to seek answers for. Had Samuel hired a private investigator to follow his wife? And if he had, was it because he suspected her of being unfaithful? And what about that sign he put up at the end of last winter? Had it caused a rift between him and Ralph Martin?
More than anything else, did either of these possibilities come anywhere close to making someone want to kill Samuel Morrow? And if so, why did the murderer take my wedding band from the jewelry store?
Neither Alex nor I had mentioned the missing ring when we questioned Eliza, her beefcake driver, or the Founders’ Day committee ladies. For my part, I hadn’t said anything because I’d grown to loathe questions about the wedding and all the plans that surrounded it. I hadn’t asked Alex why he never brought it up to any of the people we’d spoken to, but I suspected it had more to do with keeping that part of the case under wraps for now than not wanting to discuss how his soon-to-be bride wouldn’t have a wedding band for him to slip on her finger on the big day.
And that said something since every time anyone in town even began to broach the subject of our wedding, he cringed. More than anything else, Alex Montero was a private man. That he happened to be marrying me made safeguarding that privacy a Herculean task, for sure.
“Poppy, I’m going to get working on getting Samuel’s bank, credit card, and phone records. Since he didn’t use a cell, we only have to get a hold of the store’s phone records and the house phone records, for now.”
“But what if that’s in his wife’s name?” I asked, suspecting nothing was in Eliza Morrow’s name.
Alex smirked. “I have a feeling everything was in our victim’s name. She hasn’t worked since they moved here over twenty years ago. I’d bet the utilities, credit cards, and the mortgage were all in his name.”
I nodded, but the setup all sounded so old fashioned. Maybe I’d been single for too long, but the thought of everything in my world being in my husband’s name sounded completely foreign.
As he worked the phone to get Samuel’s bank and phone records, I mulled over our interview with Eliza Morrow. I’d thought of her as severe, but as she spoke to us sitting in that beautifully decorated living room, at times she’d been downright icy. I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt since I knew as well as anyone that mourning was an intensely individual matter. The problem was that nothing in her behavior said she was mourning.
And how likely was her claim that she hadn’t been inside her husband’s jewelry store in years? I tried to imagine my husband’s business being less than half a mile from my home and never once stopping in over the years, and it seemed improbable. Had she said that just to make sure we didn’t think she could be the murderer?
If so, it had backfired.
Then again, Eliza had rarely been seen walking anywhere in town, so perhaps as Bruno Carter drove her out of town each time, likely passing right by Morrow’s Jewelry, she never told him to stop so she could pay a visit to her husband. Perhaps she and Samuel preferred to keep his business life and their personal life separate.
That I could certainly understand.
And what about that driver, Bruno, who looked like a model and had a body that made me think he spent hours each day at the gym? Who was this guy and why was he driving a woman twenty years his senior around? While it seemed to be a full-time job for him, he couldn’t be making good money being a driver and resident car washer.
And speaking of being a resident, did he live at the Morrow’s too? If not, did he live nearby and walk to his work as a driver? That would be strange, at the very least.
I wished I knew how Samuel had felt about his wife’s driver. Unfortunately, we’d never been that close, so we’d never spoken about anything other than jewelry or small tal
k in passing about the weather and other pleasantries. Now that he was gone, I regretted not making more of an effort.
Was it possible that he suspected his wife of having an affair? I didn’t think she and the beefcake were sneaking around behind his back, but something seemed off about that guy. He seemed too protective of her and not like he cared at all about Samuel Morrow being murdered.
Alex got off the phone and turned to look at me. “You look a million miles away right now. What’s on your mind?”
“Eliza and her driver.”
“And what do you think?” he asked, cocking one eyebrow and smiling like he was amused by something.
“I’m not sure. All I know is my gut is telling me something’s off with them. I don’t know what, though.”
“Do you think Mrs. Morrow was having an affair?”
I thought about it for a moment before answering, “I don’t know. If so, they make one of the oddest looking couples I’ve ever seen. I’m having a hard time picturing them together.”
He chuckled at me. “I find it better, overall, not to picture most people together.”
“Well, I’m not sure about them cheating. All I know is I had a sure sense something was off between them.”
“I trust your gut, Poppy, so I’m not ruling anything out yet.”
“Thanks,” I said, beaming a smile.
Nodding, he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “Hopefully we won’t have to wait too long to get a look at those phone and bank records. If Samuel was having a private investigator watch his wife, we’ll be able to see that somewhere in them.”
“Until then, what are we going to do?” I asked, antsy to get really moving on this case.
He thought about my question for a moment and sat forward in his chair. “I’ll tell you what. Since you look like you’re about to jump out of that seat, how about you take a walk up to Martin’s Pharmacy and strike up a conversation with Ralph Martin? See if Mrs. Scanlon is onto anything with that idea of hers that Samuel’s sign was a thorn in Ralph’s side.”
I jumped up from my chair, thrilled to not only get out of his office but also that Alex trusted me enough to let me go interview someone for the case. It wouldn’t be anything official and wouldn’t hold up in court, but I wasn’t going to be trying to extract a confession from Ralph Martin. Alex wanted my sense of how he felt about Samuel and his sign, and that made me feel more valuable than I ever had on any case we’d worked together.
“Okay! I’ll take a walk up there and see what I can find out. Maybe we can grab a bite to eat when I get back,” I said as I headed toward the door.
“Oh, yeah. That sounds fine. I didn’t expect you to run out like this, but I’m happy that you’re enthusiastic about going to talk to him. Just be careful.”
I spun on my heels and smiled at Alex. “Not that I’m trying to get away from you or anything, but this is the first time you’ve ever had me do anything like this on a case. So I’m pretty excited about it. And it’s broad daylight, so I think I’ll be fine walking up the street.”
As usual, Alex showed his cautious side and held his hands up to slow me down. “Don’t get crazy with this, Poppy. Remember, you aren’t officially a cop. You’re just a deputy. I’m not even sure if he says anything to you that it would be admissible in court. I just trust your gut enough that I want to know what you think Ralph is feeling about Samuel’s death.”
“It means a lot to me that you think my gut is trustworthy, Alex. I won’t let you down.”
I made a move to leave but heard him say, “I love you, Poppy.”
Looking back at him, I blew him a kiss. “I love you. See you in a little while.”
Happy to go out and do field work on my own, I headed out of the station and up Main Street toward Martin’s Pharmacy. As I walked up the street, I noticed the flower baskets hanging from the lampposts that the Founders’ Day committee had planned to put up in advance of the events next month. I had to admit that those ladies sure did good things for the town, even if the price we all paid was having them lord over everyone with their gossip.
The pink, yellow, and white flowers in the baskets made me even happier, so by the time I reached Ralph Martin’s pharmacy, I had to remember to dial back my joy since I was about to speak to him about the death of his business neighbor. It wouldn’t do to be discussing poor Samuel’s demise with a silly smile on my face.
Martin’s Pharmacy felt like someone had frozen it in time and protected it from much of modern day America. Unlike major chain pharmacies, Martin’s didn’t carry much more than drugs and medical supplies. A few grocery items, but no makeup or seasonal goods like rakes, shovels, or sand pails made their way onto the shelves of the store.
No, like drug stores of old, Martin’s offered any kind of over the counter medicine for headaches to back pain, along with ACE bandages in a variety of sizes and a selection of canes that couldn’t be found anywhere else in Sunset Ridge. And behind the counter of the pharmacy, Ralph filled any prescription you handed him.
He carried greeting cards for a while when I was a little girl until Gladys McMullen opened her stationery shop called The Write Way at the other end of Main Street. Shortly after at a town council meeting, they came to an agreement that she wouldn’t carry anything that could be considered medicinal and he wouldn’t sell cards so as not to intrude on her business. Since then, any time anyone asked about greeting cards, Ralph happily pointed them down the street to The Write Way and told them to say hi to Gladys. In return, she dropped the Martin Pharmacy name in any conversation she could in her shop.
I walked toward Ralph’s store and looked up at Samuel’s sign hanging over the sidewalk. Just as Mrs. Scanlon had said, I couldn’t see the much smaller Martin Pharmacy sign behind it. I stopped in front of the business and looked in through the windows. Just like it always looked, the walls were painted a pristine white, and the fluorescent lights lined the ceiling, illuminating the store.
The bell on top of the front door jingled as walked in to see if I could speak to the owner himself. Rows of white metal shelves to the left and right of a main aisle stood meticulously stocked and ready for any physical malady customers might have. A handful of customers milled about checking labels and tossing their chosen purchases into the metal baskets they held in their hands. At the far end of the store up on a level about three feet higher than the rest of the store a half wall painted white to match everything else separated Ralph and the pharmacy section from the floor below.
I craned my neck to see him standing behind the wall, the top of his head the only part of him showing. He hummed the tune playing low on the store’s speakers, a Muzak version of Donna Summer’s She Works Hard For The Money, as his thin hair bounced to the tune. I chuckled at the image of him dancing his heart out to an eighties tune behind that wall.
“Mr. Martin? Do you have a minute to talk?” I called out loud enough so he could hear me.
He immediately poked his head around the end of the half wall and smiled warmly at me. “Poppy McGuire, the soon-to-be bride! What can I do for you today?”
At that moment, I realized I hadn’t thought of any cover story for my visit, so I quickly scrambled to come up with something believable. “I was wondering if you had anything to brighten my teeth a little. I’ve always thought they were just fine, but next to my wedding dress, I feel like I look like some backwoodsman who’s spent the last ten years chewing tobacco.”
Ralph walked around the wall and came down to stand behind the register sitting on the glass case in front of me. “That’s crazy. You have a gorgeous smile, Poppy, but if you really want to brighten up your teeth a little, look in aisle three. I hear customers like the strips the best.”
He pointed in the direction where the toothpaste was displayed, and I pretended to pay attention to where I could find what he suggested. After looking over at aisle three, I turned back to face him and nodded.
“Thanks, Mr. Martin. How hav
e you been? I haven’t seen you in a few weeks.”
“Well, I’ve been good. Thank you for asking, Poppy,” he said with a broad smile before catching himself and forcing a serious expression onto his face. “That is until yesterday. I’m still in shock.”
I nodded again to let him know I shared in his disbelief at what had happened to Samuel. “It is so terrible. It’s almost too much to think about. Samuel was such a wonderful man.”
“He was. This town will miss him.”
I watched as Ralph spoke about his next door neighbor in the business district and spotted no hints of pleasure that Samuel had been killed and no trace of anything resembling resentment toward him. He appeared to be genuinely unhappy that the jeweler had been killed.
However, I pressed on, knowing that even the most ordinary of people could successfully pretend to be something they weren’t.
“Were the two of you close, Mr. Martin?” I asked, keenly focused on his face for any changes in his expression when he heard my question.
But he simply nodded and smiled. “I think we were. Samuel Morrow was a true businessman in every sense of the word, and that included how he interacted with the rest of us here on Main Street.”
“What do you mean?”
“Not many people know this, but whenever Samuel planned on having a special sale in his store, he always approached every other store owner on the street to ask if they wanted to participate in some way. He sold the most profitable merchandise in town, yet he never failed to include everyone else in his success. That kind of professionalism isn’t as common as it should be.”
I’d never heard that about Samuel, but it didn’t surprise me. His goodness came through loud and clear every time you entered his store or saw him on the street.
The Finest Hour Page 8