by Sharon Pape
Jaye was suddenly a lot more attentive to what the sisters had to say.
“And they were talking about Peggy’s murder.” Edith sounded like the narrator of a hammy, grade-B thriller. As she spoke Jaye could almost hear the suspenseful swell of strings and horns in the background.
“What did they say?” she asked abruptly, no longer able to keep her curiosity in check.
Esther hesitated as if she’d been thrown off course by the interruption. “They . . . well . . . they . . . they talked about dog fur,” she said, finding her rhythm again. “I believe it was Brock who said it could seal the deal.”
“Yes, ‘seal the deal,’ those were precisely his words,” Edith concurred.
“That was it?” Jaye was having trouble understanding the significance of this information. “Did they mention Sierra’s dog, Frosty?”
“Frosty?” Esther repeated, looking to her sister for help.
“I remember them saying it was Sierra’s dog, but I don’t think they used his name.”
What did Frosty’s fur have to do with the murder investigation? The only possible connection Jaye could imagine was that the dog’s fur had been found on Peggy. She hadn’t noticed any fur on her that night, but it had been dark, and she’d been so overwhelmed by finding the body that . . . wait! She remembered that Frosty wouldn’t go anywhere near the body. In fact, he’d seemed thoroughly spooked by it. So how could his fur have wound up on her? She posed the question to the sisters, but they couldn’t recall having heard anything of that nature.
Jaye thanked them for the heads-up. Although they might have misunderstood what they’d heard, she couldn’t dismiss the possibility that the information was accurate. And if it was, she and Sierra needed details and a way to mitigate the damage that sort of evidence could wreak.
“Might I have a glass of water?” Edith inquired. Esther quickly seconded the request.
“Of course,” Jaye said. “Two glasses coming up. I’ll be right back.”
“No need. We’ll come with,” Esther said, the current jargon sounding strange issuing from her eighty-something body.
In the ten seconds it took Jaye to climb the stairs with the agile sisters hard on her heels, she tried to hatch a reasonable explanation for the mess in her apartment, not to mention an animal that defied classification. Where were the Men in Black with their memory zapper when you needed them?
***
An hour later Jaye finally saw the Hinklemeyers out and reset the security system for the night. She was wiped out. Luckily, the sisters were every bit as naive as they seemed. They bought her story about a friend’s dog and her cat having a skirmish that trashed the place. When they said they hadn’t seen a cat the last time they were in the apartment, she told them she’d only recently adopted it and added that it was extremely shy. Then she spent the rest of the hour praying that the animal was still wary of coming anywhere near her.
When Sierra called to see if she’d managed to get the DNA sample, Jaye gave her a blow-by-blow account of the event, sending Sierra into an unbridled giggling fit. “Why don’t you wait until she falls asleep tonight?” she asked, trying to catch her breath. The solution was so simple Jaye couldn’t believe it hadn’t occurred to her. As daffy as her friend could be, she often saw the quickest solution to a problem while all the Einsteins in the room were busy reinventing the wheel.
Jaye decided not to tell her the Hinklemeyers’ news until morning. There was nothing they could do about it at that moment. And there was no point in both of them spending another sleepless night.
Chapter 25
“I have no idea how Frosty’s fur could have gotten on Peggy,” Sierra said after licking off the whipped cream moustache she’d gotten from the hot cocoa Jaye had brought her. “The woman was never even in my house. And you saw how Frosty refused to go anywhere near her body.” She and Jaye were sitting on stools in the back corner of the kitchen while Ruth manned, or more aptly grandmothered, the counter. She was great for business, coaxing customers to buy far more than they’d intended. Who could resist a grandma pushing baked goods?
“Whoever’s trying to frame you for the murder must have planted the fur too,” Jaye said, “for extra insurance the cops would concentrate on you.”
“Terrific. How do we refute it?”
“Actually, we’re in luck. There’s a DNA test that can identify a dog’s breed.”
Sierra brightened. “So if we can test some of the fur they have as evidence, we should be able to prove it didn’t come from Frosty.”
“That’s what I’m hoping. I researched it online last night when I couldn’t sleep. They can even test fur that’s been shed.” Too bad she hadn’t known about that when she was trying to get a sample of Raffles’s DNA. “And the results have been admitted in court.”
Sierra’s sigh of relief was so deep it was almost a groan. She leaned over and planted a kiss on Jaye’s cheek. “Listen,” she said, “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something.”
“Shoot.”
“What’s with you and Daniel?”
Jaye was completely lost. “What are you talking about?”
“Like the other day at dinner—Daniel and I were both seated in the booth when you got there, and it was pretty obvious Daniel wanted you to sit next to him. But instead you slid in with me.”
“You’re imagining things,” Jaye replied. This wouldn’t be the first time her friend tried to manufacture a relationship for her.
“I didn’t imagine him moving over to make room for you when you walked in.”
“Not every little action means a guy is interested in being more than friends,” Jaye said. “I wish you’d stop playing matchmaker.”
“I will when you take off the blinders. Don’t you like him?”
“Sierra, enough,” Jaye said bluntly. “If he’s interested in me that way, I’m sure he’ll let me know.”
“Maybe he would if you were a little more encouraging.”
“Sierra,” Ruth called from the front of the bakery, “I need reinforcements!”
“She sounds desperate,” Jaye said, rising quickly. “I’ve got to go anyway.”
“Coward,” Sierra said, pulling off her apron that bore a palette of stains from the morning’s baking.
“Meet me at police headquarters at noon,” Jaye said, “to talk our favorite detectives out of some fur.” Then she let herself out the back door.
***
According to the receptionist, Detective Anastos was unavailable, but Detective Brock would be with them shortly. Brock apparently had other plans, because he kept the women waiting in the tiny reception area for close to an hour. Jaye’s irritation was growing by the minute. She was convinced it was nothing but a power play. Sierra had to remind her that regardless of whether it was or not, they needed Brock’s goodwill if they hoped to be given a sample of the dog fur. Not to mention that it’s never a good idea to antagonize a cop who already suspects you of murder.
When Brock finally appeared, he was wearing tan chinos with a blue shirt open at the collar and a striped blue and beige tie hanging askew from its loosened knot. If he was aiming to give them the impression they weren’t worth tidying up for, he’d hit the mark. He made no excuses for their long wait. After a bare-bones hello, he escorted them back to a small area that looked like a break room but could have easily functioned as an interrogation room as well. The only furnishings were a table and a few straight-back, faux leather chairs located roughly in the center of the space. There was a sink on one side of the room and a coffeemaker with an empty carafe beside it on the counter. A refrigerator and microwave were the only other amenities. The walls were white, the bottom third scuffed and scarred where they’d likely done battle with a commercial vacuum cleaner.
After they’d seated themselves, Brock pushed t
he door shut and took up a position against a wall from which he could look down on them. The guy sure liked to play every angle.
“So, ladies, what brings you down here?” he inquired. “Wait, I know. You can’t live with your guilt another day, so you’ve come in to confess and make my life easier. Well, that takes a load off my mind.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” Jaye said.
“Then you must be here because you miss me.”
Jaye clamped her mouth shut before she could say what was dancing on her tongue. “We understand the medical examiner found dog fur on Peggy,” Sierra interjected, rising above Brock’s sarcasm.
“And?” he asked, crossing his arms and assuming a look of boredom.
“And you intend to use it as evidence that she was in my house the day she was murdered.”
“Sounds like a good idea, don’t you think?”
Jaye started counting to ten.
“No, because it’s not even remotely possible,” Sierra replied. “I know for a fact that she’s never been inside my home. Not that day or any other during the time I’ve owned it.”
“I think you’ll find evidence trumps a suspect’s word pretty much every time.”
“I won’t argue that, but there’s a DNA test that can tell us for sure if that fur came from my dog. We’d even be willing to pay for the test ourselves. All we need is a small sample of the fur.”
“Is that all you need?” Brock said with an arrogant smirk. “I don’t know how they handled things where you came from, but around here the suspects don’t direct the police investigations. And in case you haven’t noticed, we don’t have a suggestion box.” He chuckled, clearly pleased with his wit.
Jaye couldn’t take it. “Instead of standing there mocking us, you should be wondering why your medical examiner didn’t have the fur tested to begin with.”
Sierra shot her a warning look, but Jaye had run her own caution lights and had no intentions of stopping until she got where she was going.
“If the ME thought it was necessary, he would have done the test,” Brock said. “That’s good enough for me.”
“Well, it shouldn’t be,” Jaye shot back, “because you’re going to wind up looking like a fool when the truth comes out.”
Brock came off the wall like a fighter off the ropes, looking for blood. “You trying to threaten me?” he demanded, looming over her.
“No,” Jaye said, “I’m trying to help you save face. Our next stop is the city attorney’s office. I’m sure he’ll be interested in what we have to say, and I bet he asks the ME to run the test.”
“Yeah, well, you go ahead and talk to Doyle. We’re done here.” He covered the distance to the door in a couple of long strides, yanked the door open and stalked off, leaving them to find their own way out of the building.
***
Neal Doyle, the city attorney for Sedona, proved to be a well-groomed, reasonable man of about fifty. Although his face had probably never turned a woman’s head, the graying at his temples lent him a certain distinguished appeal. He offered Jaye and Sierra seats in front of his tidy desk, and he sat down behind it. No grandstanding. When he inquired about the nature of their visit, Sierra, no doubt still worried that her friend might be harboring some residual anger after their conversation with Brock, jumped right in before Jaye could open her mouth.
Doyle listened without interrupting as Sierra explained the issue. “I must tell you,” he said when she’d finished speaking, “that I’ve never before been approached by suspects in an ongoing murder investigation, which is not to say that you’ve done anything wrong by coming to me. There’s a first time for everything, and I like to keep an open mind. Of course,” he added, “I do have my detractors who’ve said straight to my face that having too open a mind only leads to losing brain cells.”
Jaye had a good idea who one of those people might be. “You should tell them that having a closed mind starves the brain of oxygen,” she said.
Doyle smiled. “Thanks. I might just borrow that line. Now,” he resumed in a back-to-business tone, “my first question might sound condescending, but I don’t mean it to be. Are you sure Dr. Gatwick never ran such a test? Because it’s been my experience that he’s a very thorough man.”
Then you haven’t dealt with him recently, Jaye felt like saying, but in deference to Sierra she kept her mouth shut.
“If he did, the detectives on the case don’t seem to be aware of it,” Sierra responded.
“Sometimes data can be lost or misplaced and fail to make it into the final report,” Doyle said, jotting notes on a legal pad as he spoke. “So the first thing I need to do is to check out that possibility. Then I intend to pursue this until I’m satisfied with the answer,” he said, looking up at them. “And let me assure you in advance that should this ever come to trial, I would never use evidence that hasn’t been properly vetted.” Then he thanked them for bringing the matter to his attention and promised to let them know as soon as he had any news.
“Well, that went better than I’d expected, especially after that awful meeting with Brock,” Sierra said as they walked back to their cars. “I like Doyle. I think we can trust him to keep his word.” When Jaye remained silent, Sierra produced a nearly believable smile and added, “One thing’s for sure—if we wind up on trial for Peggy’s murder, we’re going to have to buy you a muzzle.”
Jaye wasn’t ready to be jollied into a better mood. “I wouldn’t worry about that. I think there’s actually a better chance that I’ll be hauled into court for the murder of Theo Brock.”
Chapter 26
Luisa Finnegan had a sweet tooth. She was helpless to resist the siren song of Cravings! On most mornings, before she started cooking for the lunch rush at her restaurant, she’d stop into the local Starbucks and then hit Sierra’s bakery. With coffee in one hand and cake in the other, she’d cross the street to Finnegan’s and plant herself on one of the outdoor benches to eat and watch the world go by.
On the day Jaye chose to come into town to talk to her, Sierra made chocolate chip scones and strawberry tarts, two of Luisa’s favorite treats. Unable, and perhaps unwilling, to choose, she bought one of each, guaranteeing a lengthier morning repast. Even so, the timing was going to be tricky, since Luisa didn’t dawdle over her food. She’d just settled herself and was taking the lid off her coffee when Jaye arrived. So far, so good. Jaye parked in front of the bakery and hurried inside, where Sierra had one of her newly perfected jelly donuts bagged and ready to go. When Jaye came out of the shop, she feigned surprise at seeing Luisa on the other side of the street. She waved and crossed over to her. She’d dined at Finnegan’s often enough to consider the woman at least a good acquaintance. “What a great way to enjoy breakfast,” she said to her. “Do you mind if I join you?”
“No, no, come sit,” Luisa said, sipping her coffee. “I love the town before it gets busy.”
Jaye took a deep breath and exhaled. “You’re right. It’s lovely to relax like this before all the craziness starts.” She withdrew the donut and set the bag on her lap to catch any wayward jelly. Sierra was almost too generous with it. Now all she had to do was direct the conversation to Quinn’s gambling to see if it offered any clues to Peggy’s death. It wasn’t exactly a normal topic for two people who didn’t know much more about each other than their names and occupations. She’d struggled for hours to come up with a good lead-in that wasn’t likely to set off any alarms for Luisa, but all she had was a grand total of one. So number one it was.
“Sweets—my one vice,” she said in a confidential whisper. “But it’s a dangerous one. Sometimes I think I’d be better off with a weakness for booze or gambling. At least they don’t pack on the pounds.”
“Don’t look for greener grass,” Luisa told her with an air of wisdom. “Sweets hurt just the eater. It’s not at all the same.” Sh
e took another bite of her scone. “I’ve tried to bake these, but they never come out quite like Sierra’s.”
Great. Now Jaye had to find a way back to the gambling without appearing to pry. She’d have to make it about someone other than Quinn. “My uncle was a gambler,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound obsessed with the topic.
“Every family has its problems. Do you think Sierra has a secret ingredient?”
Luisa sure wasn’t making this easy. If Jaye gave her a real answer, the conversation would move too far down that track to ever guide it back gracefully. She took a bite of her donut to occupy her mouth and shrugged to indicate she didn’t know and couldn’t reply with a mouthful.
“My aunt hung in there for as long as she could,” Jaye said, swallowing and resuming her story before Luisa could think up another question, “but when he took their son’s college fund and blew it in Vegas, she threw him out and divorced him.”
Luisa stopped with the last bit of scone halfway to her mouth. “That takes courage. A lot of people don’t know when to get out, especially if love is still involved. How is she doing now?”
The question caught Jaye by surprise. She didn’t actually have an aunt and uncle, although it would have been nice. They might have taken her in when her parents died and given her a very different childhood than the one she’d endured. “She’s fine,” Jaye said. “She got out in time to build a better life for herself and my cousin.” She couldn’t tell from Luisa’s expression whether the story had hit home.
“That’s good,” Luisa said, popping the last of the scone into her mouth. “I like happy endings.”
***
“If there was another way to keep her on topic, I couldn’t come up with it,” Jaye said, watching Sierra slide a batch of banana muffins into the oven. “At first I thought I hit pay dirt and she was identifying with my fictitious aunt, but it fizzled and never went anywhere.”
Sierra wiped her hands on her apron. “You can only do what you can do,” she said philosophically. “Either Luisa has no problem with Quinn’s gambling or she’s too circumspect to air it in front of every Dick and Jaye. Should I save you a banana muffin?”