Walking to my car, I drove to the local charity’s secondhand store. The windows were dark, a CLOSED MONDAY sign in the window.
Leaving the gown in my VW, I drove to Pie Town for jam on toast, then walked to my lawyer’s office. It sat above a popular grocery store and deli in a faded brick building. Climbing the steps, I rapped lightly on the door, walked inside.
My lawyer’s secretary, Renee, looked up from a computer at her desk. She smiled, her lips a crimson grimace. Her face was unlined, her hair in a pixie cut. She adjusted her forest-green blazer, rumpling the crisp white blouse beneath. “I’m sorry, Val,” she said, “Robert isn’t in right now. Please tell me you don’t have an appointment.”
I’d only met her a few times, and was pleased she remembered my name. Maybe she was willing to chat. “No,” I said. “Robert told me you would be a good person to ask for recommendations about new estate attorneys.”
She adjusted her glasses. “He did?” She straightened in her chair.
“I was going to talk to Antheia, but then . . .” I let that trail off.
She paled. “I can’t believe it. I really can’t. The paper said she was killed in a burglary.”
“I was the one who found her.” I leaned one hip against her wooden desk. This wasn’t interfering with an investigation. It was gossip. “I’d gone to her office to see if she was taking new clients.”
She leaned across the desk, lips parted. “You did? What happened?”
“I found her lying by her desk with a drapery cord around her neck.” The police might have had a good reason for telling the paper it had been a burglary. But I’d lost faith in Shaw, and Officer Carmichael had made it clear he wasn’t involved in the investigation. They hadn’t told me to keep what I’d seen quiet.
“I can’t believe we’ve got such violent crime here, in San Nicholas.”
“Do you think it’s possible that someone broke in with the intention of killing Antheia?” I asked.
“Intention?”
“Did she have any enemies?”
Gasping, she rocked back in her office chair. “Are you saying it wasn’t a burglary? Why would you think that?”
“Aside from Antheia’s body, the place was as neat as a pin. It didn’t look very burgled.”
Her face paled. She jerked to her feet and paced behind the desk. “It was that damn realtor. I knew something was wrong.”
“A real estate agent?”
She clawed a hand through her short hair. “Antheia was buying real estate from her clients, elderly folks, and she wasn’t exactly paying top dollar.” She clapped her hands to her mouth, green eyes widening. “I shouldn’t have said that. Forget I said anything, please.”
“You think there was undue influence?”
She sagged against the desk. “I think if the heirs knew how little their parents were selling their inheritance for, there’d be screaming. Maybe one of them did find out and killed her. I should go to the police, shouldn’t I?”
“If you think she was involved in something illegal, then yes, I think you should.”
“I can’t say for sure if it was illegal. But it wasn’t quite right, you know?” She wrung her hands. “And that skeezy realtor, ugh.”
“Skeezy realtor?”
“I’ve already said too much. If I’m wrong, I’m blackening the name of an innocent person.”
“Renee, who am I going to tell? I spend my life in a pie shop.”
“She was working with that new realtor in town, what’s his name? The handsome one? Used to be on the high school football team, moved away and came back?”
My stomach turned to a block of cold granite. “Mark Jeffreys?”
“Yeah, that’s his name, the one she got onto the library board.”
So there were some people in San Nicholas who weren’t aware we’d been engaged. I swallowed. “Antheia got him onto the library board?”
“Three guesses why. He doesn’t have any real connections in this town anymore, no money to donate, no management experience. In fact, he has no real qualifications to be on the board except Antheia recommended him. There must have been some sort of quid pro quo.”
“Quid quo pro?” I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Was that what this had all been about? But Mark wasn’t a killer. He couldn’t be. He was just a toilet smuggler.
“That’s Latin for ‘something for something.’ It means an exchange—”
“I know what it means,” I said dully. But no, I didn’t believe it. My ex might have assisted in a not quite aboveboard real estate deal, but he was no killer. We’d been together for four years. I knew him. He didn’t even like killing spiders. The library was an odd fit though. I’d never seen him cracking open any books. He was strictly a TV man. What had attracted him to the library board? “But . . . why would someone bother to pull strings to get on a library board?”
“For networking. That’s why they all do it. And they don’t have to do any real work. They’re rubber stamps for the head librarian. Antheia was the only one on the board who really understood the financials at a granular level. She may have been the board secretary, but she also ran the finance committee.”
“Wouldn’t the treasurer do that?”
“Turner?” She rolled her eyes. “He may be CEO of his little yachting corporation, but that doesn’t mean he knows how to manage finances. He’s got a CFO for that, and on the library board, Antheia acted as a chief financial officer. She was the board.”
Muttering my thanks, I left my lawyer’s office and stood on the sidewalk outside the grocery store. The morning sun glinted off the dew-covered impatiens hanging in their ceramic pots.
Mark? My Mark?
Had I been engaged to a killer?
Chapter 21
Pensive, I meandered down Main Street and passed a boutique owner. Careful not to splash the sidewalk, she watered a window box bursting with geraniums.
Would my ex get involved in a sketchy real estate deal?
He might. Mark did have a tendency to look for the quick and easy way. I’d thought we’d balanced each other, since I was the polar opposite.
But would Mark stoop to murder?
No way.
A uniformed police officer braced his hand on the hood of a black and white patrol car parked on the street. His back to me, he spoke into a radio clipped to his shoulder, his neck rigid.
My pulse quickened. Officer Carmichael? It was hard to think of him by his first name, Gordon, while he was in uniform. What a difference between stand-up Carmichael and my easy-exit ex. And I shouldn’t be thinking of that difference, because I was lying, continuing to investigate, continuing to fudge the truth, and he’d made it clear he valued honest, solid citizens.
Lengthening my strides, I hurried past, hoping he wouldn’t notice me.
“A surfboard is not a vehicle,” he shouted into the radio. “Not a vehicle!”
His shouts faded behind me. Maybe Grumpy Cop wasn’t such a bad nickname for him after all. If I had been a real detective stuck under Shaw, I’d be in a foul mood too.
On the sidewalk, Charlene stooped, peering through a window, her white hair gusting in the breeze. Her drapey, charcoal-colored coat flapped around her thighs. Beneath it, she wore a blue knit top and black leggings. Frederick coiled around her neck.
“Hi, Charlene.”
She straightened. “There you are. What are you doing out? Were you buying supplies?”
“It’s Monday, our day off.” In spite of my worries, a wave of freedom tingled through my veins. Day off. I had a day off, the first since I’d opened Pie Town. “What are you doing here?”
“I left my key to Pie Town at home. Let me in. I’ve got some ideas on our case.”
“Right-o.” I fumbled with the lock.
The redheaded gamer ambled up the sidewalk, a stack of comics and glossy hardbacks beneath the arm of his parka. “Opening late today?” he asked.
“Actually, we’re closed on Mondays now,” I said.
His round face crumpled. “Closed on Mondays? But Tom, Angus, and Samantha are supposed to meet me here!”
“Samantha?” I didn’t remember any female gamers.
“Yeah, you met her.”
“Ah.” I twisted the key in the lock, and the door snapped open.
He shot me a pleading look.
I sighed, holding open the door. After all, they were my most loyal customers. “Fine. Come in. But the blinds stay closed. I don’t want people thinking we’re open.”
“Cool.” He scuttled inside.
Charlene poured Frederick onto a table and marched into the kitchen. “I’ll start the coffee urn.”
I stared at the cat. Eyes closed, he rolled onto his back, nudging the metal napkin dispenser, and I picked it up. Which health codes had we violated by bringing him inside? And was Frederick really deaf or just faking it? Holding the dispenser at my side, I let go, and it clattered to the floor. Frederick whipped to his feet. The gamer yelped, his brown eyes wide.
“Ah-ha!” I looked to the gamer. “Whoops. Sorry.”
Frederick glared at me.
“Sorry,” I said to the cat. “But you’re a ginormous humbug. You just want Charlene to haul you around all day.” It was actually kind of sweet. Was Frederick lonely too? Or did he just understand that Charlene needed him? I ruffled his fur. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret.”
He closed his eyes, laying his head on one paw.
Officer Carmichael strode past the glass.
I waved, but he didn’t see me. Leaning forward, I watched his departing back. The man worked out. If he was a member of my gym, I might have to rethink—
Thunking two mugs of coffee on the table, Charlene slid into the booth. Frederick did not stir. “I’ve been thinking about Officer Carmichael,” she said.
Zipping my lips, I banished my impure thoughts. We would never be a couple, so it was no use fantasizing.
“Isn’t it strange,” she went on, leaning across the table, “that he’d take a demotion to come to podunk San Nicholas?”
Someone rattled the door, and the gamer leapt up, letting three of his compatriots inside. I eyed them, trying to figure out which was Samantha. They all had similar scruffy hair, and their overlarge jackets, T-shirts, and baggy pants camouflaged their figures.
“He did say his parents were in town,” I said, unwilling to spill the beans about his father’s illness. Something in his tone had told me that information was private, personal.
“Playing the dutiful son makes for a good excuse, but I think there’s more than meets the eye here.” She sat back and rapped her index finger on the table. “Internal affairs!”
“What?”
“Someone high up has figured out there’s something rotten at the San Nicholas PD and sent in an investigator.”
“But . . . San Nicholas is an independent police department. Wouldn’t they have their own internal affairs department?”
She sipped her coffee. “Mm, maybe you’re right. He could be FBI.”
“Maybe,” I said, doubtful. “But if he were an undercover agent, would he look so frustrated taking Shaw’s orders?”
“Wouldn’t you be frustrated by Shaw?”
“Since he hasn’t arrested me after finding three bodies, I’m viewing him in a more positive light.”
“Yeah, that is strange, although in fairness, you didn’t find Joe, all of Pie Town did.”
“But I was on the scene for Joe, Antheia, and then her husband. I should be the number-one suspect.”
“But you’re not, because SNPD is rotten to the core.” She slopped coffee on the table and wiped it with her open palm.
Grabbing the dispenser off the floor, I handed her a napkin. “Yesterday, I talked to Tandy, Frank’s daughter. She told me Joy was in a financial bind when Joe died.”
Charlene shrugged. “She inherited. We always knew she had motive.”
“But we never looked at her too closely.”
“She did not burgle her own house.”
My stomach hardened. We kept coming back to that, but Joy was a solid suspect for so many reasons. “She also said Joe and Frank hated the new library.”
“Probably too modern for their tastes.”
“And I went to see Antheia’s legal secretary, Renee.”
“Now that sounds promising. What did she say?”
Glancing at the gamers, I lowered my voice. “She said Antheia was taking advantage of her elderly clients, buying their property on the cheap and using Mark to do the deals.”
“Mark? Your Mark?”
“He’s not mine anymore. Is that the sort of thing Joe and Frank might investigate?”
Her brows drew together. “Yes, I think they might. Most of their cases were lightweight—missing cats and such.” She stroked Frederick’s fur. His eyes remained shut. “But if old folks were being taken advantage of, and someone mentioned it to either of them, I think they might have looked into it.”
I propped my chin in my hands. “This is all speculation. We don’t have any evidence.”
“We have more than the cops do. Shaw thinks the deaths were all random and unrelated.”
We sat, nursing our coffees, sunk in gloom. At least I wouldn’t have to tell the police about Mark and Antheia. Renee would take care of that.
Someone banged on the door.
We started, Charlene splashing coffee over her hand. “Dang it!” She hurried into the kitchen.
The leader of the gamers caught my eye. “Not part of our crew. We’re all here.”
Sliding from the booth, I walked to the front entrance.
My neighbor, Heidi, peered through the window, her blond ponytail high on her scalp, a green gym bag slung over her shoulder. Mark stood behind her in his gray pinstripe business suit, looking up and down the street.
I opened the door. “Sorry, we’re closed.”
She bounced past me. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Mark stood on the sloped wheelchair ramp. “Um, Heidi, maybe this isn’t—”
She reached through the open door and grabbed his hand, tugging him inside. “There’s no time like the present.”
I forced a smile. “Time for what?”
Charlene came to stand beside me, a damp towel wrapped around her hand.
“I see you’ve closed,” Heidi said. “I’m here to help you out and take over your lease. There’s nothing worse than paying a lease on a building you’re not earning any income from.”
“You want to take over my lease,” I repeated in a flat voice.
“Mark said—”
“You’re Mark’s client? The one who wants my lease?”
“Heidi’s Health and Fitness is in a space that is a teensy bit too small. But Mark told me you’d be leaving—”
Anger heated my belly. “You moved in a week ago. You must have known then that the building was too small. When exactly did Mark tell you?”
Mark cleared his throat. “I figured under the circumstances—”
“You don’t have to explain anything to her, Mark.” Her grip on his hand tightened, and I felt the blood drain from my face. “You only moved here because of him,” she said, “and now it’s over between the two of you. It doesn’t make sense for you to stay.”
My head swam. “Are you two . . . dating?” I choked out.
Mark stared at the linoleum floor, his cheeks darkening. “I probably should have mentioned it earlier.”
“Not that it’s any of your business,” Heidi said.
Hurt and embarrassment punched me in the gut. I flinched, taking a step away from them. He was dating someone? Already? He was dating my evil, health-obsessed neighbor, and he was trying to give her Pie Town?
Charlene laid a hand on my shoulder, and I drew a shuddering breath.
Gordon came inside, wove past us, and beelined for the urn. “I need coffee.”
“I thought you were closed,” Heidi said.
“We are
closed,” I snarled. “We’re closed on Mondays. It’s a new thing.”
“So when are you moving out?” She braced her hands on her slim hips. “I’d like to take over your lease as soon as possible.”
“We’re not.” I spoke to her, but I stared at Mark. “Pie Town isn’t going anywhere.”
“Give it up, Val,” Mark said.
“I will not. I’ve been dreaming of Pie Town for years. I’m not giving it up because my presence here makes you uncomfortable.”
“I can’t believe you’re still hanging on to him,” she hissed, drawing closer to Mark. “It’s pathetic.”
“We’re over.” I held out my hand, palm up. “And I’ll take the key to your storage locker. I want my things. Now.”
“What storage locker?” Heidi asked. “What things?”
“Fine.” Digging in his pants pocket, Mark pulled out a key ring. He unhooked a small, brass key, and slapped it onto my palm. “Return it to my secretary when you’re done.”
“Wait a minute,” Heidi said. “What things? What about the lease?”
“If you need a bigger gym,” I said, “you’re going to have to look somewhere else. Now, if you’ll excuse me, we’re closed.”
“But you’ve got people in here,” she said.
“Closed for a private event,” Charlene said. “Would you like Officer Carmichael to explain the concept to you?”
Gordon, leaning against the counter, turned, mug to his lips. “Eh?”
“Never mind.” Charlene strode to him. “Is coffee all you want? How about a nice piece of pie?”
Heidi’s jaw clenched. “This isn’t over.” She pointed at the gamers. “And your sedentary lifestyle is ruining your health!” Spinning on the heels of her exercise shoes, she stormed out, rattling the bell.
Mark clung to the door handle as if it were a life preserver. “Val, I wasn’t trying to drive you out of town. I thought with everything going on, you’d want to leave.”
“You’d better go after your girlfriend,” I said coldly. “She looks pretty mad.”
He opened his mouth, closed it. Turning, he departed.
I would have slammed the door after him, but it was one of those slow-closing doors, so I couldn’t even get that satisfaction.
The Quiche and the Dead Page 21