Who Shot the Serif

by Jessa Archer

  I went to Angel and pulled her into a hug. "All right. We're friends. Spill it. What did Earleen have on you? And was she blackmailing you with it?"

  Angel glanced around nervously. "Not here." She grabbed my arm. "Come with me." She turned to the two young people who worked for her. "I'll be in the back if you need me."

  I followed her through her storeroom to her back office. She closed the door and leaned against her desk, almost slumping in defeat.

  I leaned against the wall, watching her, trying to be patient while she composed herself. To be honest, though, I was dreading what she was about to tell me. I didn't want my good friend to have a strong motive to murder Earleen. It was enough that she had opportunity and access to my gun. "So?"

  Angel blew out a breath. "I have another kid that no one knows about. Well, no one. Dan knows. Now. I had to tell him after Earleen threatened to." She sighed heavily. "But my other kids don't."

  I didn't take a chance interrupting her.

  "I had him when I was seventeen. It was an accident, obviously." She stared into the distance. "I'm Catholic, as you know. I couldn't abort. I gave him up and went on with my life. Then, six months ago, he found me. He's twenty-two. He lives in Seattle. He's had a few problems lately."

  She glanced at me. "All those funerals I've been going to?" She shook her head. "I've been covering for going to see my son and helping him. We'll tell the kids, eventually. But they're both going through things of their own right now. Puberty is a tough time. We don't want to add to it. When the time is right…"

  My eyes popped wide open. Of all the things I'd imagined, this wasn't one. "I—"

  "Don't say anything. There's nothing to say. Earleen saw me with my son one day. I was at U Village having lunch with him. She was there, I don't know, buying something for Phyllis? I think that's what she said.

  "Earlier I'd made the mistake of buying him a birthday card at Culp's. Even though it was just generic, not 'for my son,' she put two and two together, adding with my other mistake—I forgot to buy sympathy cards for my 'dead aunts'' families at Culp's like I had for my real deceased relatives. Earleen had a sixth sense about these things."

  And so here was Angel's motive at last. I felt sick about it.

  "What did she want for her silence?" I asked, heart pounding, heartsick for Angel.

  "The usual," Angel said. "Power. Stand behind her ideas. Vote her way in our mutual clubs and associations. And she wanted me to pass little bits of gossip along at the store to just the right person at just the right time. A little gem here that would hurt the competition, or one of her perceived enemies. A little nugget there to help her interests.

  "On the surface, it sounds innocuous. But she told me what to say and who to say it to. It was evil, really, what she was doing to people. A game to her. And she enjoyed it. I didn't want to play it. But I did. And it was getting worse. All I had to do to stop it was come clean. At least with my children. But I couldn't do it. Not yet. So I remained her pawn to play."

  "Oh, Angel." I stepped forward and hugged her again. "I'm sorry. And you don't have to worry—I won't tell anyone."

  "I know you won't."

  "I won't hold it over you, either." I let her go.

  "It's a relief to tell someone besides Dan. I'm sorry I lied to you about all my dead aunts. You were beginning to figure it out. You trapped me in my web of lies. Yeah, I noticed."

  "Sorry." Earleen's note to herself made sense now.

  And, unfortunately, Angel had motive and no alibi. This was terrible. I wasn't eliminating suspects. I was getting higher-caliber motives for all of them.

  "Anyone in particular who was in Earleen's sights?" I asked, hoping she could point that finger at someone else.

  "You mean anyone who could have a motive for wanting her dead?"

  I nodded.

  "Half the town, Jamie. Half the town." Angel winced as she said, "But she really had it in for Rosemary. I think she always sensed Jack's heart belonged to her."

  Chapter Eighteen

  That evening, I called Nora and filled her in on the day's events.

  "Talk to Dana's boys," she suggested. "Ask them whether they shot the quote, and if so, how they got it and who gave it to them."

  "It's a good thought, but I'm not sure it would prove anything. For one thing, they could lie. For another, even if they shot up one of the numbered posters, it doesn't mean someone else didn't also shoot one up." I stopped myself short. "But if they did shoot one up and they still have it, it would at least tell us that someone else is responsible for the holey quote. If they ditched it somewhere…"

  "Exactly," Nora said. "It might tell us something."

  "Ridge," I said. "He must have interviewed them. Unfortunately, he's not telling me anything."

  "You could ask him? Maybe sweet-talk him into telling you?"

  "I can't sweet-talk him into anything right now." I ran my fingers through my hair, thoroughly frustrated.

  "You have to find a way," Nora said.

  "Yes," I said, my mind whirring. Ridge had made it pretty clear he was treating the threat to me by way of the shot-up poster as a separate crime. Maybe he was hinting he'd talk about that crime?

  After I got off the phone to Nora, I called Ridge, waking him from a nap. "I feel terrible for disturbing you."

  "Don't. What's up?"

  "I was thinking about the BB'd poster crime you're investigating. Did you interview Dana's boys?"

  "I was wondering when you were going to ask," he said sleepily. "Yeah. I did. They admitted using one like it, anyway, for target practice. They found it in Earleen's garage, they said. They remembered that it had a number written in the corner, but not what the number was.

  "When they were done with it, they didn't want to get in trouble. So they ditched it in the woods near Earleen's. We looked for it. But didn't find any trace of it. We also ran a forensic test on the poster from your door. It has traces of wood residue on it. But that doesn't prove anything. The boys pinned the poster to a tree. Anyone else could have done the same.

  "We also questioned the boys to see if they remembered or could identify the shots they'd made that had hit the target. Neither of them remembered. They were on a spree that day, shooting everything and anything they could find. I don't think they took the trouble to memorize their target. And why would they?"

  "That's not helpful," I said. "Except for the part where it was in Earleen's garage. Why did she have a copy? Maybe, despite her protests, she was the one who threatened me?"

  "I guess we'll never know. Dana claimed no knowledge of the poster. And Earleen is dead. The boys only said they found it rolled up in a cardboard tube in the garage. The little hellions thought it would be fun to shoot up a heart."

  I shivered at the metaphor. "Why is every path we go down a dead end? And every crime unsolvable?"

  "Don't give up, James. Something will break eventually. It usually does."

  But I didn't have twenty or thirty years to wait. "Go back to sleep, Ridge. And put your phone on do not disturb. Sweet dreams. Good night."

  After I got off the phone with Ridge, I tried to fit what I'd learned from him into what I knew. But it didn't make sense.

  Frustrated, I updated my list of suspects with the new information I'd gathered over the day:

  Angel

  Motive: Earleen was blackmailing her, threatening to tell the town about her out-of-wedlock son.

  Access to my gun. Access to the shot-up quote. Wouldn't want to be convicted of murder. But wouldn't want me convicted of it, either. Which gave her a reason to dispose of my gun.

  Artie

  Motive: Financial. He and Phyllis inherit a pile of money from Earleen's life insurance. Enough to set Phyllis up with her own business and buy Earleen's larger house.

  Probable knowledge of my gun. Access to the shot-up quote. His wife would be eager to frame me and get rid of competition to Culp's.

  Phyllis

  Motive: Financial and je
alousy. By eliminating Earleen, she could step into Earleen's shoes, home, and business, and live her life.

  Access to my gun. Access to the shot-up quote. Wouldn't want to be convicted of murder, which could explain why she got rid of the gun. Would be happy to frame me.

  Rosemary

  Motive: Jealousy—hated Earleen for stealing Jack. Financial—Wanted to stop Earleen from ruining Jack's career and preventing him from getting his bonus.

  Access to my gun. Access to the shot-up quote. Wouldn't want to be convicted of murder. But wouldn't want me convicted of it, either, as I employ her. Which gave her a reason to dispose of my gun.

  Jack

  Motive: Similar to Rosemary. Financial. Wanted to stop Earleen from ruining his life in Cedar Valley and chasing him out of town.

  Access to my gun. Access to the shot-up quote. Wouldn't want to be convicted of murder. But wouldn't necessarily want me convicted of it, either. For Rosemary's sake, at least. Which gave him a reason to dispose of my gun.

  Dana

  Motive: Financial? But she doesn't need the money.

  Knowledge of my gun. Access to the shot-up quote. Wouldn't want to be convicted of murder. Which gave her a reason to dispose of my gun.

  I had to be missing something. There had to be something, some clue somewhere that pointed to the killer. I just couldn't see it yet.

  Wednesday

  Tuesday was a bust as far as gathering more information or clues that would help me solve Earleen's murder. Wednesday dawned with the ominous feeling that I only had a week left to clear myself or be kicked out of the bridal fair. It was also the day of my monthly wine and hand lettering event. Just a few weeks ago I'd been happily anticipating and planning for it. Now I was dreading it, fearing Wanda and I would be the only two to show up. I had no doubt Wanda intended to keep her word, but she could only twist arms so far.

  I got several cancellations and requests for refunds throughout the day. Losing customers and commissions was becoming a horrible daily ritual. On the plus side, I also got some new registrations. Wanda's arm-twisting was apparently working.

  I closed shop at five and went home for dinner. With some trepidation, I returned to Flourish at six thirty to set up for the evening. Rosemary arrived to help me get ready. Jack was apparently watching her boy. We hauled in cases of local red and white wines. We set up stations for the maximum twenty people just like we expected a full crowd. I mean, there was a definite chance that many of our registered guests wouldn't show up. We put out the cheeses, snacks, plates, napkins, and wine glasses.

  Every guest got a Flourish wine glass as part of the package. I'd done the hand lettered logo and quote on it myself. I wondered whether anyone would want theirs tonight or if I'd end up with a bunch of casually discarded used glasses. It usually wasn't a problem. Most nights the guests wanted to buy extra glasses, which I gladly sold them.

  A few minutes before seven, Wanda arrived with a group of ten women—my regulars. I was silently grateful for Wanda's powers of persuasion and influence. She hadn't let me down. They were a laughing, boisterous, if slightly nervous and self-conscious bunch tonight. They did their best to hide it, but I felt the tension all the same. My infamous local celebrity status was affecting all of us.

  Auntie Opal followed them in, leaning heavily on her cane, an elderly friend in tow. Opal had a ton of friends. It was impossible to keep up with them. It was possible I'd met this one before, but I couldn't be sure.

  "Auntie Opal!" I hugged her. "What are you doing here? I didn't see your name on the guest list. And you know you don't need to pay."

  "Bah," she said. "I knew you wouldn't let me pay. So I used Mabel's name and signed up as her guest. Mabel, meet my great-niece, Jamie, the famous hand letterer. She's a YouTube sensation. Has a huge following. Jamie, Mabel. She was on my tour of Scotland last year. We became great friends in Edinburgh." She elbowed Mabel gently and winked at her.

  I wondered what kind of trouble they'd gotten up to.

  "Mabel came all the way up from Tacoma for this class," Opal said. "We're having a girls' night. I hope the wine is good."

  "I always serve the best." I winked at her.

  Mabel was one of those elderly ladies who still wore the same hairstyle she had in her early adult years. In this case, a sixties beehive. She was a stout old woman, like Auntie Opal, with snowy-white hair. When I leaned close to take her hand and hug her, I smelled a vaguely familiar scent that reminded me of old lady and roses. Before I could place where I'd smelled it before, Dana walked in, dragging Phyllis with her.

  "Are we in the right place?" Dana smiled around at the women gathered in the room.

  Phyllis stood stiffly by her side, clearly a woman who was at the event under duress and would be drinking as much wine as it took to get through the evening.

  "Dana! So nice of you to come." I greeted her with a quick smile and a squeeze of her hands. It was obvious she was making a point of supporting me too. And forcing Phyllis to make amends. I was moved by her effort.

  "I registered us at the last minute," she said with a laugh. "By which I mean, I was walking by, saw the crowd, and decided that Phyllis and I should join in the fun. I hope you don't mind."

  "No. I'm delighted. Phyllis, good to see you, too."

  Before I could say more, Angel, who'd just closed Perk Me Up and locked her side of our joint wall, came in through the front door carrying a tray of scones left from the day and a carafe of coffee. "I hope I'm welcome, too?"

  I hugged her. "Thanks for coming. And bringing coffee."

  We were just settling in when Sue LaRue came in. "I'm not late, am I?"

  "You're right on time." I hugged her.

  Nora breezed in right after her. I was moved by the show of support from my friends and fellow townspeople. We had a full house.

  While I greeted the guests, Rosemary poured and handed out wine liberally. I began the lesson, acting as normal and carefree as possible. It wasn't long before the ladies forgot their misgivings and inhibitions. Hand lettering and wine both had that calming, bonding effect on people. The women were soon working, laughing, and talking. I went around from person to person, looking at their projects and offering suggestions and help.

  Sue LaRue was seated next to Mabel and across from Auntie Opal. When I came by, they were engaged in a lively conversation.

  Sue leaned across Mabel to stop a brush marker from rolling off the table. "Is that Madame Rose you're wearing?" Sue asked her.

  Mabel's eyes went wide. She looked pleased. "Yes, I am. How did you know? Is it a favorite of yours?"

  "I'm something of a perfume expert," Sue said with a small smile. "I own the local perfumery. Guessing the scents people are wearing is something of a little game I play with myself. It's not as easy as it sounds. So many perfumes smell similar. And, of course, every scent smells different on each individual. Body chemistry influences it. And the other scents they're wearing—their deodorant, shampoo, lotion. But it's a lovely, classic scent. It smells delightful on you. I sell it in my store, you know."

  "Oh, it is a classic," Mabel agreed. "I've worn it since I was young."

  I had to hide my smile. "Classic" meant old-fashioned and out of date in Sue's lingo.

  "It's a lovely light pink color in the bottle," Mabel said, swirling the bit of wine in the bottom of her glass. She'd had a glass each of white and red and then another of white. The residue of red in her glass blended in her wine glass with the white to give it a lovely pink color. "About this shade." She held the glass up. "I love pink. That's a bonus, in my opinion. It looks pretty on my bathroom counter."

  "And the bottle is simply adorable," Sue said. "Shaped like an open rose. I do love perfume bottles. I collect them, you know. Some of them are absolute pieces of art."

  My heart stopped. An open, rose-shaped bottle. I made a pretense of stopping to admire Mabel's lettering and offering her suggestions. But what I really wanted was another good whiff of her. Which I got. "Oh, that
is a lovely scent on you," I told her.

  Yes, I know that scent. And I was pretty sure I knew where I'd smelled it before and why it seemed familiar. And why I hadn't immediately put two and two together.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I had a hard time maintaining my composure during the rest of the evening. Had a hard time smiling and pretending nothing was wrong. We were in the presence of a very cunning killer. Oh, yes, I knew who the killer was. How to prove it was the problem. How not to give myself away was another.

  I itched to call Ridge and tell him. Beg him to come and make an arrest. Talk it over with him and make sure I wasn't mistaken. But suddenly I was aware of my every move being watched. Time developed the quality of sludge—it moved so slowly and thickly. At times, I thought the evening would never end.

  I decided I'd call Ridge as soon as everyone left. I couldn't even text him now without giving myself away. He'd call me back no matter how cryptic I tried to be. I couldn't risk the killer hearing. I had no idea what she was capable of. I didn't think she was dangerous here. But there was no way I'd take a chance of endangering any of the dear women who'd come up to support me and have fun.

  Patience is a virtue, I reminded myself, seeing it artistically lettered in my head.

  The evening technically was scheduled to end at nine, but people left when they finished up and wanted to go. Rosemary's son went to bed at eight thirty. She had to leave at eight to pick him up from Jack and get him in bed on time. He had school in the morning. I would have to clean up on my own.

  Angel left next. She had kids to take care of, too, and make sure were getting their homework done. Then Phyllis and Dana left. Phyllis looked like she was making a prison break and hoped to reach the gates before being caught. Auntie Opal and Mabel left next. Mabel had to drop Opal off before heading back to Tacoma. Then Sue headed home. Just before nine, Wanda and her crew helped tidy up and headed out, once again laughing and bragging about whose lettering was best.