What little contact she had with Orrin Cable had been unpleasant and much more impersonal than he had wanted. She looked out the window at the little row of tiny cottages, wondering for the hundredth time why Orrin had wound up on her porch, and suddenly a lightbulb went off in her head.
Eyes wide in realization, she turned to Scott. “What if the address in the phone wasn’t actually mine?”
Scott shook his head, disagreeing. “I saw it. It was—” he began, but Claire interrupted him, her hands waving in excitement.
“Don’t you see? All of these four cottages have the same address! The only thing that’s different is the unit number. I was in the third one, the yellow one. It’s unit number three. Did the address have the individual cottage number on it?”
Scott’s face registered his surprise. “Hey, I’d forgotten that. Daisy always used to complain about how the mail for the different renters would get mixed up sometimes because they all had the same address, and if somebody didn’t put the number of the exact house on the letter it would go to the wrong person.”
Claire nodded, excited. “Right now, two of these houses are vacant. That’s the one I was in at first, and the second one. That one’s been vacant since before I got here. The only two houses with people in them…” Claire’s voice trailed off as the answer to the puzzle became obvious. It was obvious to Scott, too.
His voice was hollow. “Besides you, the only other person who lives at this address is Daisy Monroe, in the first unit. My old friend.”
***
“What do you mean, maybe he was coming after me?” Daisy’s eyes were huge, her knees pressed together as she sat on the edge of Claire’s sofa. She’d come over as soon as she got Scott’s text, but when they laid out their suspicions that Orrin had Daisy’s address instead of Claire’s, she’d turned chalk white. “What did I ever do to him? I never hung out with him, and I avoided that loser whenever I could. I hardly knew the guy!”
Scott shook his head. “We don’t know anything about why, Daisy,” he said, his voice trying to be reassuring. “We only know that we can’t find any reason he would’ve been coming after Claire, who was a complete stranger to him. If you look at the blood trail the cops were examining at on the first day of the investigation, it’s from the sidewalk, and it looks like he was heading toward your house.”
Daisy frowned in confusion, her face still pale from stress. “What does that mean, heading for my house?”
Leaning forward, Claire tried to explain. “It means that Orrin was shot on the sidewalk and then staggered up to the nearest cottage, which was the one I was staying in. I think that probably wasn’t his original intention. We know that he was trying to go to this address but that he hadn’t put any unit number in on his phone.”
Scott nodded in agreement. “I know you just moved into one of the cottages a few months ago, right?” he asked. “What if Orrin had somehow gotten your address, maybe off a piece of mail or a forwarding address, and he wasn’t sure where that was off the top of his head. He would’ve looked it up on his phone.”
“But why in the world would he be coming after me with the gun in his pocket?” Daisy’s voice had escalated and now an edge of hysteria to it, and Claire put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She remembered how she’d felt when she thought that Orrin had been coming to do her harm, and she had absolute sympathy for how Daisy was feeling.
“I don’t know, Daisy,” she said, “but I do think that we need to tell the police our suspicions on this. If you are the focus, then they’re going to want to look at why. Why would he be coming to your house instead of mine?” Claire had to admit that shifting the focus of the investigation to Daisy instead of herself wasn’t going to bring her any comfort. If she’d had a harder heart, she would’ve been happy about it, but seeing the anguish on Daisy’s face was awful.
“You think it’s because I used to date his stepbrother Dexter a long time ago? It was only a couple of cheap dates, and the guy didn’t even pay for the meals. Maybe I’m grasping at straws, but I’ve got nothing else,” Daisy said, her shoulder suddenly slumped in defeat. “That’s the only thing I can think of. We didn’t exactly part on good terms.”
“Maybe,” Scott said. “—but I kind of doubt it. He’s an odd duck, though, so let me do a bit of checking. Do you know where Dexter is these days, Daisy?” he asked, but she shook her head.
“Last I heard he was staying up at his parents’ old cabin, by the Mill Creek. I’ve done my best to not talk to him ever since we broke up.” She looked up at Claire. “That man’s got a really terrible temper. I never want to be on the bad side of it again. As soon as I saw it I dropped him like a hot rock.”
From the tone of Daisy’s voice, Claire had an idea of just what sort of violence Daisy might’ve experienced with Orrin’s stepbrother, Dexter. She laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
“Don’t worry,” Claire said. “We’re here to help you as much as we can, so don’t forget you’ve got friends.” She was actually surprised by the words that came out of her mouth. It was the first time in a while that she promised something as a friend to someone else, and it felt good.
Scott was already picking up his heavy jacket and shrugging into it. Zipping it up, he looked at Claire and said, “I’ll go check out the cabin and give you a call as soon as I know anything.”
As he put his hand on the doorknob, Claire had to ask, “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to go find Dexter. It’s time to get some answers.”
Chapter 12
When it first started to snow, Claire didn’t quite believe it. Lacy bits falling on the grass outside her front window seemed like an old-fashioned Christmas miracle. Living in Arizona, it had been years since Claire had seen snow, and that had been when her husband had tried to teach her to ski on a quick trip to Colorado. She’d loved the wintry scenery but had quickly discovered that the feeling of being out of control and strapped to a pair of flat skis while she rocketed downhill was not her idea of a good time. Her husband had been patient, but she could tell he’d also been a bit disappointed that his careful instruction hadn’t helped turn her into an enthusiastic skier.
Within half an hour since the snow started, the normal outdoor sounds, so unnoticed before, were hushed and softened by the layer of white flakes. Daisy had stayed with Claire in the cottage, and maybe she wasn’t as excited as Claire was by the wintry weather, but she sure enjoyed watching Claire fling the door open and let her little dog out to romp in the snow. Roscoe was ecstatic, jumping and digging as the snowflakes started to fall faster, and burrowing his nose into the stuff until he came up with an expression full of joy and enthusiasm. Daisy would’ve sworn dogs couldn’t smile, but looking at Roscoe, she laughed and changed her mind.
Claire was just about to throw her first snowball at a nearby tree when her phone rang. She dug it out of her pocket, her fingers red and stiff with cold.
“Hello?”
“It’s Scott. I’m out at the Cable’s old cabin.”
She could hear the frustration in his voice. “What did you find?” Claire asked, her words coming out as a breathless rush.
“He’s not here,” Scott said, “But I can tell you one thing. Whoever was at the cabin last left in a really big hurry. There’s stuff thrown all over the place, like they packed and ran out of here.” He gave a deep sigh. “There’s nothing else I can do here, so I’ll be back in an hour.”
Just the thought of him driving in the snow, now steadily falling, made Claire panic. “You can’t!” she said, alarm in her voice. “It’s pouring snow here and it’s on the roads. It can’t be safe.”
There was a deep chuckle. “I’ll be fine. I drive in it all the time, and this car handles great in snow. I’ve got chains if I need them so quit worrying, okay? See you in about an hour.”
***
True to his word, Scott showed up almost exactly an hour later, just after Daisy had headed back to her own home. Claire pee
ked out the front window and grinned in relief as she saw him walking up the front steps. The snow had continued unabated and there was at least three more inches all over the yard, and more coming down. Whipping the door open for him, he was followed by a flurry of stray snowflakes as she shut the door behind him.
“You made it!” she said, her eyes lighting up. “I didn’t think you would.”
Laughing, Scott unwrapped the scarf from around his shoulders and tried not to drip melting snow on the carpet. “I told you I’d make it. You’re going to have to learn that about me,” he said. “When I tell you I’m going to do something, it almost always gets done.”
She reached up and helped pull off his damp jacket, hanging it on the small coat tree by the door. His eyebrows went up as he gave an appreciative sniff, then followed his nose into the warm kitchen.
“Soup?”
“Chicken noodle. Want some?” she offered, and at his answering nod she got a large bowl and started ladling chunks of chicken and broad noodles out of the pot on the stove.
After his first bite he gave her a look of surprise and appreciation. “This is homemade. You can cook,” he stated and she felt a flush of color on her face.
“It’s my creative outlet I guess,” she said, trying not to stammer in sudden embarrassment. “I can’t paint and I can’t sing, so I cook instead.” Suddenly feeling awkward, she turned around and started wiping down the counters and tossing the vegetable peels and bits of leftover chicken into the trash. “With it snowing outside, it just felt like a day to make soup.”
“Well, it’s really good,” he said with appreciation and took another bite. After he’d had his fill, Scott got up and took his empty bowl and spoon over to the sink to rinse. “Want to go sledding? This type of snow is perfect for that sort of thing, and I know Daisy has at least one sled stashed in her garage. Probably more than one, and I bet she’d love to go, too.”
“Sledding? Are you kidding?” She had a sudden flashback to the skiing fiasco.
Scott stared at her. “I can’t tell if you’re horrified or excited. Which is it?” he asked, and Claire laughed nervously.
“Maybe a bit of both. I’ve never been sledding before,” she said, and Scott gave a dismissive wave of his hand.
“Oh, it’s easy. There are lots of great hills around here but most people head toward the field out back of the elementary school. It’s got a long, sloped field, big enough for lots of sleds. You up for it?” he asked, and Claire finally smiled.
“Why not?”
***
It was worth it. It was worth every bruise she got from falling off her sled into bushes and other sledders, while laughing hysterically as she did so. It was worth the two pounds of sodden snow stuffed under the front of her coat and down the back of her neck from an impromptu snowball fight they’d had with about a dozen other townspeople. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d squealed like that, or felt such a giddy sense of satisfaction when she finally hit Scott square in the back of the head with a good-sized snowball that stuck in his hair and exploded in icy bits around him.
It had taken her some time to figure out how to maneuver the sled, but no one seemed to mind. There was an unfortunate incident where she’d accidentally collided with a middle-aged woman who was streaking down the hill on a sled next to her, but they’d both come up laughing and no one got hurt.
Roscoe, it turned out, loved to go sledding. He wasn’t wild about being a passenger on the back of the sled, but he loved all the attention he got from the people there, and he made friends with every kid on the hill. They all asked to pet him, and he soaked up the affection like a pro. After romping in the snow a bit, he got tired and cold, so Claire borrowed an old blanket Scott had in the back of his car and made Roscoe a little nest there, where he could supervise the fun in cozy comfort.
Falling into bed that night, Claire was surprised to feel herself smiling in the dark. Roscoe was cuddled next to her side and she idly petted him, thinking back over her day. She was exhausted, and suspicious that she’d have some strained muscles the next morning, but she hadn’t had so much fun in a long time.
Yes, it was definitely worth it.
Chapter 13
“I appreciate your help, honey. I really do,” Mrs. Applegate said with a warm smile as she frosted an enormous coconut cake. “This close to Christmas I can use all the help I can get. I didn’t expect Abigail to go on maternity leave quite as soon as she did, but when doctors say mamas-to-be need to be off their feet more I believe them. With the flood of Christmas orders and all, I’m way behind.” She perked up. “You know, you’re doing a great job. I’m so glad Molly suggested I hire you on for the next few days. No, I really mean it,” she said with a twinkle in her eye as she patted Claire’s shoulder. “I know a natural born baker when I see one, and you’re one of them. You’ve got the knack.”
Claire tried not to show how much the older lady’s praise meant to her, but her smile was genuine and wide. “Thank you, Mrs. Applegate. I really appreciate your feedback. I was so worried that I was going to screw something up. I didn’t want to make things worse by my trying to help.”
“You, screw things up?” Mrs. Applegate scoffed. “Not in a million years.”
Claire looked around the immaculate bakery with appreciation. The equipment and ovens in the back were separated from the front counter by a wall with large windows so that customers could see everything that was going on, and how spotless the kitchen was. When Molly had called and told Claire that her aunt needed help right away, at first Claire had been really scared. She didn’t know how she’d be able to help such an experienced baker as Mrs. Applegate, but Molly had done her best to persuade her, and when Molly had driven Claire to the bakery to work a shift, the lady had been so thrilled that her niece had laughed out loud.
Mrs. Applegate leaned over and locked eyes with Claire. “Honey, you sure you don’t want a real job here? That offer’s still open, if you want it. It’d be a big help to me, and the more I get to know you the more I’m starting to think that maybe this place would be good for you, too.”
Claire couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret when she gave her answer. “I’m really sorry, Mrs. Applegate, but I just don’t think that would work out for me. I’ve got to get back home.” Even as she said it, she realized how hollow that last word felt.
Home.
The older lady’s face registered her disappointment, but she managed to smile. “I completely understand, honey,” she said. “You’ve got to do what’s best for you. It sounds like you’ve been through a lot. Molly told me about your late husband, and I know how hard that is. I’ve buried two husbands myself,” she said, and Claire looked at her in surprise. Mrs. Applegate went on. “Even though I’m happily remarried to husband number three, I know how something like grief changes you in ways you didn’t expect, and how it takes a while to figure out what your new life is afterwards. Just do me a favor, okay?” She paused, making sure she had Claire’s full attention. “When you do figure it out, you come on back to Brightwater Bay and see us. We’ll still be here for you.”
“Thank you,” Claire said, trying to keep the emotion inside her from welling up. She went back to dumping butter cubes into the huge bowl of the industrial mixer, glad to have a moment to hide the emotion that was threatening to spill over her lashes. As she reached to switch on the mixer, Mrs. Applegate laid a gentle hand over hers.
“You know, Mr. Applegate and I are going to be having a big Christmas Day lunch. Molly will be there, and a bunch of other nice people. We’d love it if you could come. Starts at noon, not formal, and lots of good food. Do you think you’d be able to be there?”
Claire nodded, not trusting her voice to be steady enough to answer. Mrs. Applegate seemed to understand and walked off to attend to other things.
After working for a while, Claire had a chance to talk with Sandy, the young woman working at the front counter. They talked about the snowfall, now stopped
but still leaving a luxurious blanket over the grounds of the entire resort. Sandy was chatty and seemed to enjoy telling Claire the details about everyone in town. She wasn’t mean about it, but she did take a certain amount of delight in knowing everything about everyone. By the time Claire had carefully slid a tray of apple fritters into the front case, she’d been told details about Mrs. Freeman, some guy named Gregory Greenbaum, and the guy Sandy was currently dating.
Sandy was frying buttermilk doughnuts in hot oil when she brought up her next topic of conversation. “You know who I feel most sorry for? I feel sorry for Officer Portman.”
Claire had been prepared to act like she was listening, even if she wasn’t, but the mention of Darryl Portman’s name brought her up short. “Why would you feel sorry for him?”
Shaking her head, Sandy expertly flipped two doughnuts at once. “Well, with everything going on with his wife and all. I hear that she’s not exactly thrilled that he turned down that job to be assistant police chief, near Seattle. Guess she’s been telling people all over town about how her time’s been wasted here in Brightwater.” She rolled her eyes expressively at Claire. “Doesn’t exactly make her popular with the people who live here, ya know. It makes it sound like she thinks we’re all a bunch of hicks.”
“Um, I need to wipe down the back table,” Claire said, glad for an excuse to be away from the chatty girl. She’d always tried to keep out of any gossip she heard, and felt a bit ashamed that she’d listened to Sandy babbling on as much as she had. Maybe it was wrong to listen, but the information about Officer Portman’s wife started to make some sense when she thought back to things that had happened. He’d made a sideways remark about his wife once, and he certainly didn’t seem like a content man.
Mrs. Applegate breezed by her, a smile on her round face. “Those fritters look perfect. You just let me know if you have any troubles here, Claire,” she said. “I want to be sure you’re happy!”
A Little Taste Of Murder_A Brightwater Bay Cozy Mystery Page 8