Bark Once For Murder: A Pet Shop Cozy Mystery, Book 1 (Pet Shop Cozy Mysteries)
Page 5
“Enough. I don’t want to hear anymore. And I don’t want to see you again. We might have to live in the same town, but if you see me coming, you’d better turn and walk the other way, or else I’ll make sure everyone in Seaview Rock knows what you’ve done.”
I storm off again. This time she doesn’t follow.
CHAPTER 11
* * *
I should be back at the shop. I should be taking inventory or changing bedding or letting the dogs run around the store. I should call Sammy, so I can get some advice from a sane person. So that he can tell me what I should do next.
Instead of any of that, I walk down to the beach. It’s pretty close to the Runside, and I just can’t help feeling that a good walk and some sea air will help clear my head. I think about Sarah, sitting in a holding cell in the police station, alone and probably scared out of her wits about what’s going to happen next.
Then I think about Karen, and my blood boils anew. Somehow, in my mind, her duplicitous plot to “win me over” is worse than the first time she hurt me. Deliberately trying to put me out of business, destroy my livelihood? I’d rather have discovered there were a dozen affairs.
Oh, but she tried to talk Dobson out of it! Like that would work on someone like him. Even threatened him, she says. What would Karen possibly have to threaten Derik Dobson with?
Unless…
Wait a second.
No. I try to push the thought out of my mind. There’s no way that Karen is a murderer. If she threatened him, it was likely with a warning of going to the town council, or rallying Seaview Rock’s citizens. Not violence.
But then again, four years ago I never would have thought she would have an affair. Twenty minutes ago, I never would have thought that she would deliberately and painstakingly plan to put me out of business.
Could she?
Just then my cell phone rings. It’s a number I don’t recognize, and for the briefest of moments, I hope that it’s Patty, telling me to come pick up Sarah.
It’s not.
“Will? Will Sullivan? It’s Sharon Estes. My assistant just got your message that you found my wallet.”
“I did. I have it on me now.”
“Oh, thank god. Listen, I’m home now, and I shouldn’t really drive without it. Can you bring it by soon?”
“I can bring it by your place within the next half hour or so.”
“Great. Wonderful. Thanks again. You have no idea how worried I was! I already cancelled all three of my credit cards. Anyway, I’m at the Seafoam Condominium complex, number 212.”
“See you soon.” I hang up. I really don’t want to see Sharon Estes right now, no more than I’d want to see Karen again, but I have a responsibility to return her wallet. Still… that doesn’t mean she can’t wait a bit longer.
I stroll a little further down the beach, occasionally picking up a pebble here and there and tossing it side-armed into the ocean. I’ve mastered the art of skipping stones. Seriously, I could be a world champion if skipping stones was a sport. Four or five skips is a bad throw for me, even against the gentle waves that roll in. The best stones are usually the ones in the surf, rather than on the shore, because they’ve been worn down more, eroded by the constant flow.
As I’m plucking up stones and tossing them into the water, something catches my eye. It’s pretty uncommon to find trash on our beach; clean-up crews are very vigilant around here, which might be why this particular object stands out so much among the dark sand and pebbles.
It glints in the bright sun, half-submerged in wet sand. I dig it out.
It’s a knife. A kitchen knife, with a black handle and silver rivets.
I stare at it for a while. How did it get here? And why are there so many mysteries surrounding kitchen knives? First the one near Dobson’s body, then the missing knives from Sarah’s set, and now a random knife on the beach.
As my mind is spinning, my cell phone rings again. This time it’s Sammy.
“Hey, Will! I just dropped by the shop, but you’re not there—”
“No, I’m out. What’s up?”
“Have you heard what happened?”
“Yeah, Sam. I have.”
He’s silent on the other line for a while, sensing the tension in my voice.
“How about an early lunch?” he asks. “We’ll talk.”
“Not sure I’ll have much of an appetite today,” I tell him. “But I’ll be back at the shop in about an hour. Come by when you can.”
“Will do.” He hangs up.
I rinse the knife in the next wave that comes ashore, pat it dry on my jacket, and stick it in my pocket. I don’t know what it means, but I plan to find out.
The answer might be the only thing between Sarah and a murder conviction.
CHAPTER 12
* * *
To get to Sharon’s, I first have to walk back to the police station, where I left my SUV. As much as I want to go inside and plead with Patty to let me talk to Sarah, I know it’s pointless. Her notion of us “being in cahoots” still lingers in my mind. (Also, who uses the word “cahoots” anymore?)
I get in and drive out of Seaview Rock to the Seafoam Condominiums. The condo complex is a massive, U-shaped building that looks more like a resort than high-end apartments. It had to be built outside of town because of our dedication to preservation, but a lot of the older, upper-class citizens promptly moved out of town in favor of the condos. I’ve never been there, but I hear the amenities are extensive, and it doesn’t hurt that the whole thing was built near the edge of a seaside cliff.
I also know that despite Sharon’s alleged commitment to our town, Seafoam is the crown jewel of her career. She was the agent that convinced the developers to build here, and negotiated the land lease deal.
The whole complex is gated, and before I’m granted access I have to give a guard my name and who I’m visiting, and then he has to call them and confirm. It takes about two solid minutes of waiting before I can even get inside, and the place is so big that I have to ask the guard how to get to Sharon’s unit so I don’t get lost.
Once inside the complex, I park in a visitor’s spot and follow the directions to unit 212. I knock twice, and Sharon opens the door, her hair in its trademark bubble and her face a mask of relief when I hold up her wallet.
“Oh, thank you!” she gushes. “Please, Will, come in and have a cup of coffee or something.”
“No thanks,” I tell her. Between Sarah’s place this morning and the Runside with Karen, I’m coffee-ed out.
“I insist,” she says. “It’s the least I can do to thank you.”
And because I’m polite, and also because I barely slept the night before, I nod and she lets me in. The inside of the unit is pretty much everything I’ve been bred to despise: tons of natural light, floor-to-ceiling windows, lots of white walls and appliances, and a clear view from the foyer all the way through the kitchen and dining room to the balcony in the rear. (Open concept, ugh.)
“Nice place,” I tell her.
“Yes, well, it suits me.”
“Does it?” I turn to face her. “I thought you cared about this town. You’re on the council, for crying out loud.”
“Oh, Will.” She smiles sweetly. “You must hate me.”
“No, Sharon. I don’t hate you. I just want to know, why?”
She sighs and motions for me to sit at one of the swiveling stools lining the kitchen counter, but I remain standing and fold my arms across my chest.
“Because,” she says, “this town can’t stay this way forever. It’s going to die without change in the right direction.”
“You don’t honestly believe that, do you?”
“Tourism has been declining slowly for the last five years. You must have noticed. This is the worst season yet. We’ve fought so hard for so long to keep these companies out, but they bring in people. Places like Sprawl-Mart and Pet Emporium, sure they’re big corporations, but once
upon a time they started as mom-and-pop stores, just like yours.”
“That may be true, but they’ve become something else now. The world is about more than money.”
She shakes her head. “You don’t honestly believe that, do you?”
I scoff and turn away. The view beyond her balcony window is impressive, hanging out over the cliff and looking out to the ocean.
“How about that cup of coffee?” she asks.
“No thanks. I think I’m fine.” I head for the door.
“Will,” she says. “Thank you for returning my wallet. You could have thrown it in the ocean, and you didn’t. I appreciate that.”
“Sure.”
“Have you heard about what happened last night?”
“Yes, I heard.”
She clucks her tongue. “Such an incredible shame. I can’t believe anyone from our town would do such a thing. And who knows? Maybe with Dobson gone, Pet Emporium will change their mind about opening a location here.”
“Yeah, maybe.” I let myself out.
CHAPTER 13
* * *
When I get back to the shop, I keep the sign flipped to “closed” as I set about feeding the animals, filling water dishes, and changing bedding. After a barrage of mournful howls, I let Rowdy out of his enclosure and he tears around the store like a maniac, his tail swinging in wide circles. I wish I could be that happy. I wish something as simple as a bowl of kibble and a toy to chew on brought me half as much pleasure as it does him.
About a half hour later, Sammy knocks on the door to the shop, cupping his hands around his eyes to peer inside. I grab hold of Rowdy’s collar before I let him in, lest we have another escape escapade.
“Oh, Will, I’m so sorry,” he says, giving my shoulder a hard squeeze.
“About what?”
“About Sarah.” To my confused expression, he adds, “I cut all the officers’ hair, you know.”
“Right. She didn’t do it, Sam. I know she didn’t.”
“I know, too. The problem is proving it.”
I motion toward the dogs in their kennels. “These guys need some exercise. You feel like walking?”
About ten minutes later, we leave through the back door and down the alley to the small park off of Center Street, a wide fenced-in patch of grass that is usually vacant. Each of us holds four leashes, for the seven dogs currently in my “stock” plus Rowdy. If you’ve never walked four excitable dogs before, you don’t know what you’re missing. Luckily they’re all young and still pretty small.
Once the gate is closed behind us, we unclip the leashes and let them run free. I toss out a handful of tennis balls and watch them go nuts, again wishing desperately for the simple bliss of a dog’s life.
“So,” Sammy says. “I get the feeling you know a lot more about this than I do.”
I chuckle sardonically and motion toward the wooden bench. “You’ll want to be sitting for this.” He does so, and I launch into the explanation of everything that happened between last night and today, from finding Dobson’s body, to Sarah being arrested, coffee with Karen, and finally my meeting with Sharon Estes.
When I’m done, he lets out a low whistle. “And to think, yesterday you were so happy.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Well, I can tell you two things for certain.”
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Number one,” Sammy says,“Sarah didn’t do this. And number two… you should have thrown Sharon’s wallet in the ocean, like she said.”
I laugh a little. “You got that right. But even if I had, it probably would have washed up, and…”
Sammy looks over at me. “And what?”
I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out the kitchen knife I found earlier on the beach. “It would have washed up,” I repeat.
“Why on earth are you carrying around a knife?” Sammy asks, his eyes wide.
“I found it on the beach, in the sand… not because someone dropped it, but because it washed up!” I jump up from the bench. “Do you know what this means?”
“No,” Sammy says, completely lost. “I have no idea.”
“I have to go.”
“Where?”
“To the beach! Wait, I need Rowdy. Here boy!” I clip Rowdy’s leash to his collar. “You can take the other seven back up to the shop, right?”
“You want me to walk seven dogs at once?”
“That’s the spirit. You’re a good friend, Sam. I’ll call you later!”
***
With Rowdy in the passenger seat, I drive back down to the beach and park at the Runside, careful to take the precise path I took earlier that day, since I can’t recall exactly where it was that I found the knife.
I show the one that washed up to Rowdy. “Listen up, boy. I know you’re smarter than you seem—no offense. This is what we’re looking for. You found one last night; you can find them again, right?”
Rowdy yips once and starts tugging down toward the beach. I feel pretty optimistic for a short while, until Rowdy’s sniffing and digging unearths little more than two crabs and a few fragments of seashell.
“Focus, Rowdy! Oh, what am I thinking? I can’t train a dog to dig up kitchen knives.” We walk in the surf, neither of us caring that the waves roll up over our feet. Rowdy barks at the waves and bites the water while I carefully inspect the wet sand for any glimpse of silver or black. A couple of times I think I see something, but it turns out to be oddly-shaped rocks.
We walk almost all the way to the Goose Point lighthouse without finding anything. “They have to be here,” I mutter. “Someone threw them in the ocean, thinking the current would carry them out, but it washed them back up to shore. Come on, Rowdy, let’s just walk a little further, and then we’ll double back—”
Rowdy yanks against the leash hard, and it pulls free from my grip. By the time I turn around, he’s already tearing down the beach.
“Come on, not again!” I chase after him, waving the leash and calling for him to come back. He splashes into the surf, barks once at a wave as it retreats, and starts digging in the sand.
By the time I catch up to him, he’s already unearthed a knife.
“Good boy, Rowdy!” I give him a hearty scratch on the head and help him dig. After about fifteen minutes, we’ve found nine knives, all clearly belonging to the same set. I rinse the sand off each, take off my jacket, and carefully wrap the bundle of them.
Then I call the Seaview Rock Police Department and ask for Chief Mayhew.
“Patty,” I say urgently, “it’s Will Sullivan. Listen, I’m down at the beach and I found a set of knives—nine of them in all.” I explain my theory, that whoever killed Dobson purchased a knife set, and threw all of them but one—the murder weapon—into the ocean.
“That’s all well and good, Will,” Patty says slowly, “but unfortunately, it doesn’t prove anything. Now, you can bring those down to the station and we can try to run for prints, but it’s likely we won’t get anything off of them. We didn’t get squat off the murder weapon, except a few smudges of yours.”
“But don’t you see? This means it couldn’t have been Sarah, because her knife set is only missing three knives!”
“I hate to poke holes in your theory, but she could have been the one to purchase a new knife set too, you know.”
“I guess that’s true, but she didn’t. You can check her bank statements—”
“Could have paid in cash.”
“But—”
“Listen to me, Will,” Patty says, a little harshly. “We’ll get to the bottom of this, I’m sure. We’re interviewing contractors, local residents, anyone who might have seen or heard anything. The best thing you can do for Sarah right now, frankly, is to butt out and let us do our job.”
“I can’t, Patty. I can’t. I’m close, I know I am.”
“Will, I’m warning you—”
I hang up on her.
Rowdy cocks his head at me as if to say, Gee, Will, you think so?
“Unfortunately, I don’t know squat about currents.” I gaze into the distance and grin. “But I know who does. Come on.” I give the leash a slight tug, and me and Rowdy trot towards the Goose Point lighthouse.
CHAPTER 14
* * *
I bang on the thick wooden door at the base of the lighthouse with my closed fist for a solid minute before I hear anything.
Then a gruff voice from the other side shouts, “Alright, hold your horses! I’m coming! Do you have any idea how many stairs are in this place?”
The door is flung open from the inside and an older man in his early sixties peers out at me. His long gray hair is pulled back into a ponytail and his beard is trimmed neatly, close to his thin cheeks. “Can I help you?” he asks impatiently.
“You’re Graham, right?”
“I am. And who are you?”
“My name is Will Sullivan. You don’t know me, but I’ve seen you around at the Runside.”
“Okay…” Graham, the lighthouse keeper, says slowly.
“I imagine you know a thing or two about currents.”
“I should certainly hope so,” Graham says, straightening his back a little.
“I really, really need your help. Can we go up to the top of the lighthouse?”
Graham raises an eyebrow. “What’s this about?”
“It’s a long story, and I imagine there are a lot of stairs. I’ll tell you on the way up… but you might be saving someone’s life.”
“You should have opened with that,” Graham says, and he lets me and Rowdy in.
***