Who Shot the Serif

by Jessa Archer

  I grabbed my cup of coffee from Linda and tossed a few dollars across the counter to her. "Keep the change."

  As I brushed past Earleen, I caught a glimpse of Ridge from the corner of my eye. He lifted his coffee cup to me.

  I was fuming when I left the bakery. Upset at Ridge and Earleen. They both got under my skin for different reasons. I was ashamed of losing my temper at Earleen. Being negative and making baseless threats wasn't my style. I would do better in the future. I wouldn't fall for Earleen's tricks. And as for Ridge—

  The door to Flourish opened and Ridge slipped in as if I'd conjured him.

  I gave him an up-and-down. "You seem to have escaped Earleen easily enough. Your suit's still in one piece."

  He rolled his eyes and shook his head. "If only other women wanted to rip my clothes off." He gave me a half-hopeful look.

  "Oh, Ridge," I said. "Only every woman under one hundred in this town."

  He lifted an eyebrow.

  I knew where this was leading and shrugged. "What are you doing here, besides hiding out?"

  "That sign you mentioned—why didn't you tell me someone threatened you?"

  I sighed. "It's sweet of you to care, but it was nothing." I handed it to him. "What would you have me do? Call 911?"

  He inspected it. "I don't like it."

  "It's a prank. Nothing more."

  "James," he said. He was the only person on the planet who got away with calling me James. James was my dad's name. I was Jamie. "You have to stop baiting Earleen. She's not as harmless as she seems."

  "Not to worry. She's been trying to bring me down since high school and never come close." I grinned at him. "I'm bulletproof."

  "I wouldn't be so sure," he said. "Desperate people do desperate things."

  "Don't you have a meeting to go to?" I asked.

  He frowned. "How—"

  "The suit gave you away," I said. "And you're supposed to be the detective."

  "I always wear a suit."

  "But not that one," I said. "That's your meeting suit."

  "You always were observant." He tapped the poster. "Mind if I take this? I'll run it for fingerprints."

  "Take it," I said. "Knock yourself out."

  Ridge really was too sweet. If only Rut's ghost wasn't always between us.

  Fortunately, my day was so busy that I didn't have time to fume long over my confrontation with Earleen. I was so tired that night that I fell into bed early and went right to sleep.

  The next morning I had to get up before the crack of dawn for my makeup appointment with my exceptionally talented makeup artist/best female friend, Nora Nash. On weekends, Nora did makeup for many of the brides who got married at Lighthouse Gardens in town. During the week, she was in high demand in Seattle. She used to be a successful model until she gave that up to work as a makeup artist in Hollywood, and then eventually moved back home to Cedar Valley. She could make anyone look like a star. Brides, business execs, and models alike loved her. I had to take any slot Nora could give me, even if it meant getting up hours earlier than usual. I was filming a video today and needed to look my best.

  I must say there was part of me that rued the digital age. I preferred sitting around in tights and tunics while hand lettering and working with clients to getting all made up. I mean, looking good was fun, but it was also work. But such was the world we lived in, where part of my image was looking put together and fresh for my video followers.

  Unfortunately, I was in constant competition with Hot Hugh, one of the few guys in the hand lettering community, and his flirty videos. He made bedroom eyes right into the camera. He was British and good looking enough, I guess, though not my type. I think his accent sold him. It certainly wasn't his hand lettering, which was good but not really special. He couldn't do bounce lettering worth beans.

  Anyway, there was no way I was getting up early enough to stop by Angel's before my beautifying session. I filled a thermos full of freshly roasted blonde roast coffee to take with me and drink on the fly.

  I opened my front door, my step surprisingly full of bounce, the bad taste from my confrontation with Earleen yesterday fading. The jay cackled at me from a tree overhead. I waved to him and stumbled over something solid on my porch.

  I looked down. Oh, this was so much worse than a holey quote. Someone had left me a dead body—Earleen's. Right there on the totally adorable "No Knockee Before Coffee" welcome mat I'd designed. And she was clutching one of my quotes.

  Chapter Two

  Wednesday

  Death has its own look. If you've ever seen a dead animal, you know what I mean. When I was seven, I had a pet rabbit. It was my job to feed it before I left for school. One morning I went out and Bucky was dead. At seven, I had no experience with death. But looking at my bunny, I knew. When I ran into to tell Mom, her response was disbelief. "Are you sure? He's probably just sleeping, honey." Until she looked for herself. "Oh," she said. Yeah, it was that obvious.

  "Oh" was exactly what I thought when I saw Earleen. Of course, the bullet hole in her head was another dead giveaway. The quote of mine she was clutching was full of BB holes, just like the one that had been pinned to Flourish. Even so, I couldn't hold a grudge against her now.

  I called 911 with shaking fingers and an even shakier voice. I stood on my front porch, waiting for help. Dressed in her jogging clothes, Earleen looked cold and blue. I felt almost compelled to cover her with a blanket or something. But my feet wouldn't move. And it didn't seem right to leave her alone, even for a minute. Death was lonely enough.

  Ridge was the first cop to show up, but then, the force only had four officers. And Ridge was really the only detective. Not to mention a murder case could make a career, especially in a small town like Cedar Valley. Solve this and he'd be police chief for life, assuming he wanted to be.

  When he saw me standing on my front porch with my arms wrapped around myself, Ridge had the same initial reaction as Mom had had to Bucky. Until he saw Earleen. Then he grabbed me by the arm and pulled me into the house as I craned to get a final look at her.

  Ridge cleared his throat more delicately than I was used to.

  "What?"

  "You might want to take your shoes off," he said gently.

  Unless it was wet out or my shoes were obviously muddy, I generally didn't take my shoes off inside, and Ridge knew that. "The floor cleans."

  He pointed at my feet. "Your shoes are bloody."

  Yeah, blood was another matter. Blood didn't come out of anything.

  I hadn't realized until then that Ridge was carrying an evidence kit. Once again, my powers of observation had failed me.

  Ridge pulled a plastic evidence bag from the kit. "I'll need your shoes." He slipped on a pair of gloves and, in a reverse Prince Charming move, bent to remove my shoes. "Here, let me."

  I wasn't helpless, but I went along. I wasn't wearing gloves like he was, after all. And heaven forbid I get my own fingerprints on my shoes.

  As Ridge slipped my shoes into the evidence bag, he shot me a sympathetic look. "How are you holding up?"

  "I'm as fine as a person can be who's just tripped over a dead body and only had two cups of coffee." I shivered. I was ice cold to my toes.

  Ridge pulled a pair of shoe-covering booties out of his bag and handed them to me.

  I held them up, eyeing them dubiously. "Are these supposed to keep my feet warm?"

  "They're supposed to cheer you up." He hid my shoes from my view. "You like it when I give you official police stuff."

  "As far as gifts go…" But I put them on to humor him. "I didn't like Earleen. But this…" I wrapped my arms around myself. "Poor Earleen. Dying all alone like that. And with her hair in a ponytail, too. You know she always liked to look her best. Which was why she jogged so early in the morning—so no one would see her."

  "I'll make sure the crime scene photographer gets her good side." Ridge took me by the elbow and led me to the sofa. "You're in shock," he said in as gentle a tone as
I'd heard him use since Rut died. "I need you to tell me what happened. Every detail you can remember."

  When he leaned toward me, I noticed the Bluetooth earpiece he wore. I might not be the most observant person on the planet, but I knew what this meant—Ridge was wearing body-recording equipment. He'd showed the new equipment off to me just last month. He probably had a camera on him as well as a voice recorder.

  "You're recording this?" I must have been in shock. I didn't know whether to be offended or not.

  "I can record it," he said calmly, "or I can take notes. Your choice."

  Ridge was a notoriously accurate note-taker. It was freaky, really. In high school, if you missed a class, Ridge was the guy you asked for notes. He also wrote incredibly fast and neat. It was an odd skill for a man, but we were all unique. Ridge as much as anyone, even though he was an identical twin.

  Hobson's choice. I shrugged. "Fine. Record. I have nothing to hide."

  I pulled out my phone and began to text Nora that I was unavoidably detained. Omitting by law enforcement. And if I told her by Ridge, she'd misinterpret and give me a thumbs-up. With luck she had some leeway in her schedule before heading into the city—

  Ridge grabbed the phone out of my hand. "What are you doing?"

  "Letting Nora know I'll be late for my makeup session. I'm supposed to film a video this morning."

  "That explains why you're up so early." He looked relieved, like he'd been worried I was sick or something. Or had committed murder.

  I shot him a suspicious look. Maybe I should have made it withering instead.

  "You're not going to make your appointment," he said. "I'll text Nora for you." His thumbs flew as he wrote to her.

  I craned my neck, trying to see what he was typing.

  "The county crime lab team is on their way." He handed my phone back. "You'll be tied up most of the morning. At least."

  "Tied up?" I frowned at him and read his text. Blunt. Just I'll have to cancel this morning. Nothing about Earleen dying. "Why? All I did was find the body and report it like a good citizen. And, by the way, this text doesn't sound remotely like me. Nora will be suspicious."

  "I have to take your testimony," he said. "Where's your gun? I'll need it."

  "It's where it always is—at the shop."

  "Okay, I'll get a warrant. Or you can hand it over voluntarily. We'll need to swab your hands for gunpowder residue, GSR—"

  "Wait a minute." I felt sick. "I'm a suspect?"

  This was Ridge. He knew me. Given a gentle push, we could even be lovers. How could he think even for a minute that I was capable of murder? I was Miss Inspirational Quote. Girl voted most likely die smiling. I was the one who wanted to cover Earleen with a blanket. His lack of faith in me cut to the core.

  He gave me a look of resignation. "James, at this point, everyone's a suspect. This is just standard protocol. You found the body. On your front porch. It's best for all of us if we eliminate you as a suspect immediately. Before things get out of hand."

  Out of hand? I didn't like the sound of that at all.

  He looked almost apologetic and definitely concerned. "The gun?"

  "Fine," I said. "I'll surrender it voluntarily. I have nothing to hide. It's in its usual drawer."

  "Locked?"

  I shook my head. "No, but good as. It's well hidden and the store is locked."

  "Good," he said. "I'll call Randy and ask him to pick it up. Angel should be open by now. She still has your extra key to the wall, doesn't she?"

  I nodded.

  "May I text her and give her your permission to let Randy in?"

  "Sure," I said, hoping he really was only trying to help me. I wasn't an expert in ballistics, but my pistol was a 9mm, only the most common caliber on the planet. Which meant it was also likely Earleen had been shot with a 9mm. From his tone, I suspected that was what Ridge suspected. I supposed he was only following procedure.

  Ridge texted Angel and called Randy. "Now, begin at the beginning. You didn't touch anything at the crime scene?"

  I rolled my eyes. I'd watched enough crime shows to know never to touch anything. Intentionally, anyway. "Of course I did. I touched Earleen when I tripped over her."

  "Other than that."

  "No."

  "Good. Now tell me how you found Earleen. Tell me everything, even if it seems insignificant. Did you hear anything before you left the house?"

  "It's garbage day," I said. "I heard a lot of bumping, banging, thumping, and engine noise. You know, typical garbage truck noise before I left the house."

  Ridge was still grilling me when the crime scene investigation team showed up and he got a call from Randy. Ridge was good with a poker face, too good, but I swore he blanched. He looked to me. "Randy says the gun's not there. Are you sure that's where you left it?"

  I went cold. "Absolutely."

  "When was the last time you saw it?" Ridge said.

  I frowned, thinking. "It's not like I check it every day." I took a deep breath. "Last month sometime?" But I wasn't certain.

  "Randy," Ridge said into his phone. "We'd better get a warrant."

  I felt sick. "And if you can't find it, I'd like to file a missing gun report."

  Ridge looked at me sternly. "This isn't funny, James."

  No, it certainly wasn't.

  Without a ballistics report that proved my gun had fired the shot, there was no reason for Ridge to hold me. When he finished interviewing me, he warned me not to go back to Flourish until Randy had completed the search. In the meantime, the rest of the Cedar Valley police force searched my house. Judge Watson had been fast to issue that search warrant.

  I warned Ridge that his guys better not make a mess at the store or my house. Then a morbid thought occurred to me. "Speaking of messes, will your team clean up after they remove…the, er, body?" It was easier to refer to Earleen that way. Less personal.

  Ridge shook his head. "No. You'll need a special biohazard team to clean up. Your homeowner's insurance should recommend and pay for one."

  I shuddered. I'd never thought about who cleaned up a crime scene before. But then, I'd never had a reason to.

  "Don't worry, Jamie." Ridge looked like he might have hugged me if he hadn't been on duty and in charge of the investigation. "The biohazard people are on call twenty-four/seven. They'll get this cleaned up as soon as my team is finished. Go ahead. Make the call."

  I'd already missed my appointment with Nora. I really didn't want to hang around and see the action at home, so when Ridge released me, I left, hoping to get some work done and return to a nice, shiny, crime-scene-free home.

  I work from home a lot. But I have two principal places of business in Cedar Valley where I see clients—Flourish, and a small office in Hallie's Hair Salon at Lighthouse Gardens.

  Cedar Valley started life as a coal-mining town. Most people don't realize we had a thriving coal industry for a short period over a century ago. There was no mining now. Now we were most famous for our easy access to bike and hiking trails close enough to the city to be a day trip, fishing and summer sports on the Cedar River, breakfasts at the Cedar Valley Bakery, and weddings and events at Lighthouse Gardens, a beautiful garden and event center with one of the most picturesque views of Mount Rainier anywhere.

  No, we weren't anywhere near the ocean, which made the lighthouse, which was the centerpiece of the garden center, something of an oddity and tourist trap. And yes, the lighthouse had a light that really worked. We rarely used it. Not that many shipwreck emergencies this far inland. It was a gift shop and café now. The Saylor family had owned Lighthouse Gardens since the early 1940s. And as the founder, Gerald Saylor, used to say, "With a name like Saylor, you need a lighthouse." Even when landlocked, apparently.

  Lighthouse Gardens was one of those places that was hard to describe to outsiders, but once you saw it, you got it. It was almost a community unto itself. On one side it had a huge, and very popular, nursery and garden center full of plants of all kinds. A garde
ning store full of everything a gardener could want. In another part of the complex there were beautiful gardens, an event center, an outdoor dance floor, a gazebo, a wedding chapel, a restaurant and café, a teashop, a pond, a pond shop, a spa, Earleen's stationery store—Culp's Stationery—and a hair and makeup salon—Hallie's.

  A bridal party could show up at the gardens and have every necessary service available to them, from nails to catering. Nora worked out of the salon, too. And me, obviously. It was a convenient spot to meet with my bridal and event clients.

  A significant part of my business was hand lettering gigs for weddings and events—signs, banners, invitations, place cards, decorations, basically anything you could imagine that needed artistic lettering.

  When I first set up business, I had tried, of course, to rent a small space someplace more appropriate than a hair salon—like, say, the stationery store. Wouldn't that have been a team made in heaven? Yeah.

  It might have worked if Old Man Culp was still in charge. Guess who blocked me? Not only from her stationery store, but from the teashop, the nursery, the café, and even the pond shop. I could have had a cozy office in the middle of high-tech pond pumps, but alas.

  Thank goodness Hallie was an old friend of mine and immune to Earleen's strong-arm tactics. Nobody messed with Hallie, especially not when she was armed with a can of hairspray. It may not be nice to speak ill of the dead, but facts were facts. Earleen was a nasty piece of work.

  I'd made a few other futile attempts to find more appropriate space since. But by the time I'd had a few more thwarted attempts, the hair salon had grown on me. And it was especially handy when I needed a bang trim or a root touch-up.

  Hands swabbed and shoes carted off to evidence, I made it to Hallie's in the afternoon to pick up some standing chalkboard signs a bride had left for me to work my magic on for the weekend.

  Hallie was in the middle of a balayage, but she handed it off to one of the other girls and made a beeline for me the moment I walked in the door. She caught me by the arm. "The signs are in my office." Her smile was pleasant, but it was a mask.