by Jessa Archer
I told her I understood. In her position, I may have done the same thing. Which didn't make it any easier on me.
On my way back to Flourish, I realized I had no choice now—I had to solve Earleen's murder before being under suspicion ruined my livelihood and reputation. I needed a plan.
Chapter Eight
After a long afternoon of facing customers with a smile plastered on my face, I finally managed to get home and let my face fall into natural worry lines. In public, I was pretending everything was perfectly fine, that I had no worries. In private, I had plenty, including my missing gun, and being a suspect in a murder case. Even with all that, the criminal courts weren't my immediate concern.
The court of public opinion was another matter. That court could ruin me even if I was never charged with murder. If the real murderer wasn't found, I might never be acquitted in the public's eyes. The thought of living a lifetime under suspicion sent a shiver up my spine. I couldn't let Earleen's murder become a cold case.
I put a microwavable meal in and drummed my fingers on the counter as I waited for it to heat. I'd been mentally running the numbers in my head since the vendor meeting.
Could Flourish survive without the business the spring bridal fair brought in? It would make things tight, for sure. It was the damage not being at the fair would do to my reputation that worried me more. Would other bridal events ban me for the same reason? Would people stop taking my classes? Watching my videos? Buying my art and subscription boxes? Who wanted inspirational quotes from a suspected murderer?
A knock on my kitchen door made me jump. Nora peered through the window at me. She did a finger wave and motioned for me to let her in. Prior to yesterday morning, I kept my doors unlocked when I was home. But since Earleen's murder, I'd been jumpy. I raced to let Nora in just as my microwave pinged.
Nora pulled me into a voracious hug. "Hugs, hugs, hugs! I was in Seattle all day. I just heard what went down at the spring bridal fair meeting." She released me. "I never expected Phyllis to be so vicious. I mean, if the rumors can be believed, Earleen was supposedly boinking her husband. Why the goodwill now?"
"I've been thinking about that. I think she's trying to save her own reputation and stifle the rumors that her marriage is in trouble," I said. "With Earleen dead, who, besides Artie, knows for sure they were having an affair? Phyllis may think if she pretends nothing was wrong between Earleen and her and Artie, people will forget the rumors and move on.
"Further, she's doing everything she can to keep suspicion from falling on her and Artie. Phyllis knew Earleen better than anyone. She knew Earleen's schedule and routine, where she jogged, when she jogged. Earleen wouldn't have been on her guard against Phyllis, either. She could have walked right up and shot her."
I paused. "She and Earleen had been best friends since high school, but Phyllis has always been jealous of Earleen. Earleen was prettier, more popular. Earleen's family had more money and prestige in town.
"Earleen inherited her grandpa's business while Phyllis has to resort to clerking at the nursery. Everyone who knows them knows that it would be the very last straw if Earleen had also stolen Phyllis' husband. I think it would throw Phyllis right over the edge and make her capable of murder. There really aren't many greater betrayals."
"Good points all. I've been thinking the same." Nora put her purse on the table. "She's certainly going overboard with the good-friend act. Laying it on very thick. Caking it on, in makeup terminology. In my opinion, it only makes her look more suspicious, not less. Are you cooking?"
"Yeah." I walked to the microwave to get my dinner. "I was just making dinner. Can I microwave you something? I have a fine selection of skinny meals in the freezer."
Nora took a seat at the table. "Tempting, but no thanks. I ate in Seattle. But don't let me stop you."
I slid in across the table from her and peeled back the lid on my dinner.
"Is Colleen really thinking about banning you from the bridal fair?" Nora kicked her shoes off beneath the table. She always wore heels, but was quick to shed them at the end of the day.
"Someone must have big ears," I said. "I thought that was a private conversation."
"The air has ears in this town," Nora said.
I blew on my meal. She was right about that.
"What are you going to do?" she asked. "Does Ridge have any suspects?"
"I haven't heard from Ridge today, so I'm guessing not." I picked up my fork. "Ridge and the law are moving way too slowly to save my reputation now. Things are snowballing too quickly. I didn't realize how quickly until this morning's meeting.
"The bridal fair is in less than two weeks, and it's just the baby snowball at the top of the hill. If the murder isn't solved soon, my reputation and career will be buried beneath an avalanche of character smears. I don't think I have any choice—I'm going to have to solve the murder myself."
Nora's eyes went wide. "Jamie! You're joking, right?"
"You know me better than that," I said between bites. And she did, or should have. "I'm dead serious."
"The killer's still out there," she argued, looking resigned.
When I made up my mind, it was futile to try to talk me out of it. It was both a strength and a weakness of mine.
Nora lowered her voice as if the walls might hear my intention. "Poking around a murder is dangerous business. Leave it to Ridge and his team. You don't even have a gun anymore."
"It's not dangerous if I do it right." I took a drink of water. "No one will even suspect what I'm up to."
She shot me a suspicious look. "Hold on here—what do you mean by 'do it right'?"
"Haha! I was hoping you'd ask. I've been thinking about this all afternoon," I said. "The key is to be sly and cunning, like a cute, cuddly fox, about this. To investigate the murder while appearing not to."
She arched a brow.
I ignored her skepticism. "Oh, come on! Have a little faith. I know the risks. The last thing I need is either for Ridge to get wind of what I'm up to and put a stop to it, or for the real murderer to catch on and destroy vital evidence."
"Or you."
"I have to be stealthy. I already have a mental list of suspects and a plan."
Nora cocked her head. "Jamie, I don't like the sound of this, particularly the 'stealthy' part. Not if that means what I think it means."
"What do you think it means?" I raised a forkful of food to my mouth, knowing full well she knew what I meant. That was the great thing about true friends—they could read your mind.
Nora rolled her eyes. "You were the girl in high school who everyone called instead of a locksmith when they were locked out of their houses after school. There's hardly a window in this town you don't know how to jimmy, including Earleen's. She still lives in the home she grew up in. We pulled some good pranks on her back in the day, thanks to your breaking and entering skills and her parents' cheap windows."
I grinned and finished my meal. "Funny how you leaped right to that."
"That's because I know you and how you think," Nora said. "Going around town interviewing your suspects isn't exactly subtle. Not to mention some of them won't talk to you."
"Interviewing suspects is Ridge's job. He gets testy when people intrude on his professional territory. Talking to people is what you and I are good at."
"Me?" She tapped her chest, but she looked flattered that I thought she was up to the task.
"I can't do this alone. No one will suspect you—"
"No, not like anybody will suspect your best friend—"
"And what are friends for if not to help out in our hour of need?"
She pointed at me. "Don't even think about hand lettering me that quote. And your hours of need are generally more like days or months, maybe years."
I laughed. "Be honest—the thought of bringing down a killer and being a hero excites you."
"Not as much as you think. But I can't leave you hanging."
I raised my eyebrows. "Don't even mention me h
anging."
"Bad word choice. They don't hang anyone in this state anyway. They abolished the death penalty. Won't Ridge's officers already have searched Earleen's?"
"Yep," I said. "I'm sure they did. But they'll be looking at it with police eyes. We're looking for things they miss."
"Like what? What will we be looking for?" Nora asked. "And you specifically?"
"Anything that implicates one of my suspects."
"That's specific," Nora said.
"It's not hard to imagine what I'm looking for—proof that Earleen was having an affair with Artie, for example."
"You know what you're planning is breaking and entering, which is a crime and will make you look even guiltier if you're caught?"
"A girl has to do what a girl has to do," I said. "Are you coming with me?"
Nora gave me her "are you crazy" look. "No."
"Just as well," I said. "You always were a chicken."
"Who are you calling chicken? I'm prudent and responsible, like I've always been. Besides, somebody has to be free to bail you out and play lookout."
"Opal can always bail me out, but she's not a great lookout. You'll play lookout?"
"Do I have a choice? It's not easy finding new best friends in this town. Besides, I'm a great lookout. I always have been. I have sharp eyes." She tapped her forehead. "I'm also good at subterfuge and creating distractions and alibis."
"True." She'd alibied me out more than a time or two when we were young. Fortunately, she was a good actress and liar.
"How are you going to get past Dana? It's too bad she's living in Earleen's house."
"I've been thinking about that—"
"And I have your solution," Nora said. "I stopped by Hallie's on my way here. She mentioned Dana and the boys are going to spend tomorrow night in the city with her husband. She needs a break from the constant reminders of Earleen. It's causing her too much pain and grief."
I rolled my eyes. "Really?"
Nora shrugged. "So she says."
I rubbed my hands together. "That's fantastic."
"Depends on your perspective," Nora said, sounding like me. "If things don't go well, my best friend could be in jail tomorrow night."
"Don't worry," I said. "I'll be careful."
"That's what they all say. Are you going to share your list of suspects with me so I know who to chat up?"
"Mmmmm." I held up a finger. "I wrote them down. Let me just grab them." I cleared my place and tossed the plastic microwave meal container in the garbage.
"You know, writing them down isn't that smart," Nora said. "If someone finds your list—"
"Don't worry," I said. "I've cleverly camouflaged it."
I raced to my home drawing table and grabbed it. I set it in front of her as I took my seat again.
"List of people I need to send condolences to," she read. She glanced up from the list at me. "Very clever. And in nice hand lettering, too."
"Thank you."
"Phyllis and Artie," Nora read. "Okay, I agree. But it's kind of cheeky to send them a card, isn't it?"
I shrugged. "I'm the bigger person, obviously."
"Jack?" Nora frowned. "I get the reason for the card. But motive?"
"The husband or boyfriend is always the main suspect in any murder investigation. And since it appears that Earleen was two-timing Jack with Artie, I'm thinking crime of passion."
"All right. I'll give you that, reluctantly. I can't really see it, but it's possible Jack is deeper and more passionate than we know." Nora pursed her lips. "Dana?"
"I'm pretty sure she inherits the shop—"
"Dana!" Nora shook her head. "Her grandpa wanted to leave the stationery store to her in the first place, and she turned it down. She doesn't want that crappy little store, especially now. She has more money than she knows what to do with and is about to have a whole pile more.
"I've read about that unicorn startup her husband works for. It's all over the financial and tech blogs. As soon as it goes public, it's going to make a lot of people very rich. The stationery shop, on the other hand, will only be an albatross around Dana's neck. Or pocket change, at best. It's in the red. If she manages to sell it, she won't get much out of it."
"I agree, but, except for Phyllis, none of my other suspects are much better. To be honest, it's hard to see Jack killing as a crime of passion. Or Artie killing to keep a secret. And if I'm honest, neither man is really Earleen's type."
"You mean they aren't Ridge?"
I nodded.
Nora was quiet a moment. "What's this note at the bottom of your encoded note? Check schedule with Rosemary?"
"She's a suspect, too."
"Rosemary? I get that she and Earleen used to be friends and she's bitter about Earleen stealing Jack from her. But to kill Earleen over it? That seems extreme."
I bit my lip, debating whether I should say anything. But this was Nora. I could trust her to keep it to herself. "You already know my gun is missing. There's no proof it was used to kill Earleen, but I saw Rosemary looking for it in the drawer at the store. I don't know what that means, but it was suspicious. And the more I thought about it, Jack had access to the gun, too, when he did handiwork for me."
"Did he know about the gun and where you kept it?" Nora asked.
"Rosemary could have told him. Which reminds me, Artie saw me putting the gun away once. Which means both he and Phyllis could have known about it."
Nora frowned. "That's all you've got?"
"Yeah. Unfortunately."
Her look said I was in deep trouble. "I hope you find something at Earleen's."
"Me too."
I decided to break into Earleen's house while it was still daylight out. That way I wouldn't need to turn on any lights or risk a flashlight being seen. I sneaked through Earleen's back hedge. I was pretty good at sneaking. It helped that Earleen's yard was overgrown and had a large arborvitae hedge around the back perimeter. And that I was familiar with both her yard and her house.
Nora and I scoped out Earleen's and decided that posting a lookout wouldn't be necessary. The yard was secluded, and I'd have plenty of warning and time to get away if anyone approached. Besides, Nora wasn't big on the idea of lurking around Earleen's and hiding out in the bushes. So Nora went to the bistro, where she could eavesdrop on Phyllis.
Like Earleen, Phyllis was a creature of habit. She went to the bistro every Friday afternoon and hung out there waiting for Artie to get off work at the pond store. Then the two of them had drinks and dinner there.
Unlike my cool, charming bungalow, Earleen's house was a boring 1960s split entry that desperately needed updating. It still had an amber window above the front entry and the original windows. The back of the house had the stereotypical second-story deck with a sliding glass door, as well as a ground-level entry door.
I made short work of breaking in by lifting one of the back windows out of its tracks. It was stupidly crazy how easy it was. In all these years, Earleen hadn't replaced the windows or installed window locks or alarms. I crawled into the ground/basement floor through the window, careful not to leave a trace.
I wore gloves and slipped the disposable fabric booties Ridge had gifted me over my shoes. Earleen's usually neat house was a mess. It was obvious that the boys had taken over the basement. I headed for the stairs and the main living area of the house. The upper living floor was small—an open living/dining room, a small kitchen, a bathroom, a master bedroom and connected bath, and two small bedrooms. Earleen used one of them for her study.
The kitchen was a disaster—dirty dishes in the sink, counters full of crumbs and junk mail, dirty pans on the stove. The floor crunched beneath my feet. It needed a good sweeping. But the garbage had all been taken out. Which was odd, given the condition of the rest of the place. Maybe one of the boys had actually done his chores.
I worked quickly, moving from room to room, taking quick pictures on my phone as I went. Dana's guestroom, the kitchen, dining room, and living room didn'
t yield anything suspicious or even vaguely clue-like. They'd been corrupted by Dana and the boys. Earleen's bedroom, connected bathroom, and office were of the most interest to me.
I started with Earleen's office. It was a small room, maybe eight by ten, very feminine. She had a desk near the window with a desktop computer that I quickly found out was password protected. I tried a few obvious password choices. When they failed to gain me entry, I turned it off. What was on her desk caught my eye: a receipt for lingerie from a fancy boutique in Seattle and selection of anniversary cards—racy, naughty, passionate anniversary cards.
Oh, boy. It appeared that Earleen had been looking forward to some fun.
As I carefully picked the cards up, a note fell out of the pile to the floor. It was written on heavy cardstock like I sell at the store. The kind of cardstock that you use when you want a card to last. I gently picked it up, and immediately wished I hadn't. It was an amateur's attempt at hand lettering, uneven and misshapen. The words were squished at the end of the page as if the artist had run out of room and patience. And time to do another draft. The whole piece had an angry, agitated vibe to it. But the most disturbing part was the sentiment—Leave Jack alone or I'll kill you.
It was unsigned, but it didn't take much imagination to figure out whom it was from. Plus, I recognized Rosemary's lettering.
The note was wholly disturbing and ugly. I'd known Rosemary was distraught about Jack. But I'd never have guessed she would have taken it this far and sent Earleen a threatening message. What a stupid thing for Rosemary to do. The protective urge in me wanted to destroy it. I had to force myself to return it to the desk.
I snapped a quick picture of it and focused my attention on the naughty cards. As I read them, some of the sentiments made me blush. Others made me laugh. None of them were written in or signed. At first, I thought they must be a line of cards Earleen was considering carrying in the store. But they were definitely not the kind of thing that fit well with the Culp brand.