by Louise Lynn
Hazel felt as if she’d been plunged into Lake Celeste’s subzero water. "My mother? Oh. Right. How did you hear about that?" Hazel asked carefully.
Ms. Jeffries stance went brittle. "I think everyone in school heard about it. They were carrying on in the teacher’s lounge for a good twenty minutes. But I don't think your mother had anything to do with it. She didn’t look strong enough to strangle someone with their own violin string," she added as an afterthought.
At that, Hazel felt as if she were sinking even deeper, past the freezing cold surface and into the depths, her breath stolen from her lungs. "You're right. My mother is not particularly strong."
Then she cast a look at Mrs. Jeffries's hands. Her fingers were long, similar to Ambrose Angel’s hands, and the woman looked fit despite being around middle age. She looked as if she worked out. Strong enough to strangle someone with a violin string.
Though, now that Hazel thought about it, whoever did it had to be wearing gloves. The strings from instruments probably dug into your fingers quite badly when trying to do something like that. And there weren't any obvious signs of injury on Mrs. Jeffries.
That was until she reached out to shake Hazel's hand again.
As their fingers touched, Hazel noticed two Band-Aids around Mrs. Jeffries fingers, one around the ring finger and one around the middle finger. They were those invisible Band-Aids that were difficult to see unless you were touching them.
She could very well be shaking hands with a murderer.
As soon as Hazel got her hand back, she scooped up Anthony Ray and backed to the door. "My assistant and I will bring in the rest of the photos."
"Of course. So happy to be working with you."
Hazel sucked in a shuddering breath as she stepped out of the office and down the hall. She didn't even realize she was squeezing Anthony Ray until he let out a squeak.
She released him, scratched under his chin, and headed out to her truck. Michael was there, and he'd unpacked most of the boxes already and set them in the cafeteria, while one of the secretaries counted through them.
"What's wrong?" Michael asked, and his chubby cheeks squished into a frown.
Hazel shook her head. "Nothing. Almost done here?"
She needed a moment to clear her head, so she let Anthony Ray jump into a bank of snow.
Could Mrs. Jeffries have been the one to murder Roberta Martin?
She had a motive, and while it might sound thin to Hazel, murder often only made sense to the one committing the act, not those privy to the aftermath. Maybe getting her to retire made perfect sense. They didn't get along. No one at the school liked Roberta, a fact the woman didn’t mention to the sheriff. And there was the fact that Mrs. Jeffries looked like she could commit the act.
However, like her mother had said earlier, it was conjecture.
If Hazel wanted to prove her mother was innocent, she needed evidence.
With her mind made up, she helped Michael unload the last box, and climbed into her truck. She opened the window and leaned out. "Michael, can you man the studio today? If anyone needs something complicated, call me on my cell."
"Sure thing, boss," Michael said, though his eyes still looked more worried than usual.
But Hazel didn't have time to explain what she was doing. And she didn't want to get Michael involved. He'd been too deeply entrenched in the last investigation, and she didn't want this to bring up bad memories.
Plus, she had to talk to her mom.
Chapter 12
Since she was already on the opposite side of town, Hazel stopped by her parent’s house first. Her mother's car wasn’t in the driveway, but the older beat up truck that her father used when he was in Cedar Valley was there, parked under the carport, and that was either because it had refused to start again, or he was home.
She hoped it was the latter.
Anthony Ray trotted in front of her as she opened the front door to the house with her key and stepped inside. It was warm and smelled like home, as it should, and she let it wash over her as she thought about what she needed.
"Dad?" she called.
"Hazel?" her dad said and walked into the living room that connected to the foyer. His smile widened when he saw her, and he pattered up in his house slippers and gave her a big bear hug. Hazel let herself be engulfed by it and squeezed him back, "What are you doing here? Your mother said you'd be at the studio all day."
Hazel shrugged. "I had to run some errands. Drop off the school photos, and I thought I'd drop by and see how mom was doing. Did she go to the shop today?"
Her dad nodded and took a sip of his coffee. Hazel had only had two cups that morning, and it smelled divine. Her father must've noticed the look of longing on her face because he ushered her into the kitchen and fixed her a cup of her own.
He always made coffee in a French press instead of a typical coffee pot. She liked the ceremony that went into making coffee that way.
Watching his wrinkled hands pour in the dark brown loose coffee and then dump the boiling water on top helped her relax.
She was home.
Safe.
By the time he finished, and she cupped the mug in her hands, her nerves were already beginning to calm.
"Have you talked to mom about the incident?" she asked into her cup.
Her father let out a heavy sigh and leaned against the counter. Having him here always felt odd at first. Like he didn't quite fit in this puzzle that was their lives. Although, Hazel knew he did fit, only they’d gotten used to him being a missing piece.
"Of course. She claims it was the same sort of misunderstanding they always had, but you know how your mother is."
Hazel knew. "You think she's hiding something?"
Her father's beard bristled. "Of course she's hiding something. She wouldn't be Maureen Hart if she wasn't hiding something. Not murder, but something."
A terrible pit filled her stomach. "I talked to the virtuoso yesterday, and he claimed Roberta had been getting threatening letters sent to her for years, but she never went to the police about it. I wonder if the person who was terrorizing her might've been the one who did this. It makes sense."
Her father's brows rose and fell as he took a long sip of his coffee. "You know who sent the harassing letters?"
There it was. Her father being forever practical. Just like Esther. Maybe that's why it was so difficult for them to get along. They were too similar to each other.
"Not yet. But I'm working on it. I talked to the principal and she didn’t like Roberta Martin. And the principal replaced her within a day of her being killed, for the job I mean. Which reminds me, do we still have that old violin that Esther played in middle school?"
Her father's brows raised even higher. "I'm sure, though I don't know where it would be. Does she reorganize when I’m gone on an assignment?"
Hazel let a slow smile creep across her lips. "No, but your memory of where things are in the house is terrible. Always has been."
He reached forward and poked her in the nose. "Well that's what I have you girls for." Then he leaned down and scratched Anthony Ray behind the ear.
Anthony Ray let out a contented trill and rubbed against her father's legs.
After Hazel finished her coffee, she went looking for the violin. She found it in the third-place she searched—Esther's old bedroom, tucked into the top of the closet.
She didn't also expect to find all the old clothes tucked in with it, and raised her eyebrow as she looked at Esther's fashion choices from high school. She’d be horrified if Hazel told her about this, so Hazel made a point to do it later. Perhaps even bring one of the old dresses to the bakery and show it to Ruth.
But for now, she tugged the violin case down and popped it open on Esther's old bed.
Her father settled in the desk chair and watched. "I didn't know you played."
Hazel shook her head. "I hope they don't get too mad at me for this. I'm testing something. Roberta Martin was strangled to death with a l
ength of violin string."
"I hope you’re not going to test it on somebody. And if that's the case, I don't volunteer," her father said.
"Ha ha. I wouldn't ever try to strangle you."
She unwound one of the strings from the violin and felt it in her fingers. It was thick and metallic. It reminded her of the wire that was used to kill people in certain spy films, though she couldn't remember what it was called.
Her father stood next to her and ran his calloused thumb over it. "Like a garrote. I'm pretty sure James Bond use one to kill someone. Or someone tried to kill James Bond with one. One forgets these things."
Hazel grinned. And that's how her and her father were alike. "Just what I thought, but if you strangled somebody with it, you might cut your own hands," she said and took one of the stuffed bears off Esther’s bed.
She wrapped the length of wire around the neck and tugged as tight as she could. It very easily dug into the stuffed material, though it didn't cut through it, and yes, it left deep marks on her fingers.
Red marks.
Though it hadn’t cut her. But then, she hadn't been squeezing with all her might either.
"So, what are you trying to prove?"
Hazel dropped the bear with its neck wrapped in the violin string and shrugged.
Anthony Ray jumped on the bed, circled the bear, and batted the string three times before he realized it wasn't a threat.
"Like I said, Mrs. Jeffries has a motive and means. Since she’s the principal, she could've been there early. Plus, she made a note of telling me that Roberta got there first thing every morning, before Mrs. Jeffries even arrived. That’s suspicious, right?"
It was her father's turn to shrug. "Everything is suspicious after the fact."
Not helpful, but also sort of correct.
"Well, she also had a bandage on her finger," Hazel said and pointed at where the marks were on her ring finger and middle finger.
Her father nodded and patted her on the back. "That's my girl. Now, what are you going to do about it?"
"I have to find out who sent those threatening letters. And I should probably talk to mom. And Esther."
Her father squeezed her shoulder. "You do that, but I expect to see you bright and early tomorrow morning. We’re going on a walk along the lake like we used to when you were little."
Hazel grinned, and warmth spread through her chest. Even at the worst of times, she had something to look forward to. And their photo walks were one of her favorite things.
"Can Anthony Ray come?" she asked and scratched under his chin.
He gave them both a level look and blinked his round green eyes.
"Of course. He’s part of the family."
Truer words were never spoken.
After she left her father at the house, the question was, did she visit her mother first or Esther?
Her stomach made the decision for her.
It was already lunch, and she couldn't believe she’d spent that long at the school and at her childhood home. It felt like she'd been doing nothing but racing around for the last few days without the chance to take a breath. And the more she learned, the more mysteries were unveiled.
But this lead was good.
Jeffries was probably the killer.
All she needed was solid proof.
A few regulars milled inside the Let Them Eat Cake bakery when Hazel stepped through the door. The conversation dulled to a hush as everybody glanced between her and Esther.
Esther was right.
Word was spreading around town faster than Hazel anticipated. She hadn't noticed if it had spread that way when Dirk Barkley was murdered in her studio, but perhaps it was because nobody thought Hazel had done it. She wasn't even in the room at the time. Hazel had been more concerned about the fact that her studio was a crime scene, making her lose business, than people thinking she was a killer.
There was nothing so simple to clear her mother, however.
Still, the smell of the bakery flooded her senses, and she hustled to the display case to look at all the goodies there. Yes, their mother had been right, and Esther had obviously baked far too many cupcakes. But at least the frosting was done in a reasonable manner.
Hazel assumed it wasn't up to Esther’s perfectionist standards.
Still, no one else could tell that but Hazel and possibly her mother.
"Are you here for lunch?" Esther asked and plastered a pleasant smile on her face. Her eyes were practically screaming—I hope you have some good news for me because I'm about to rip my hair out—and Hazel nodded slowly.
"Yeah. I think I'll have a chocolate croissant and a cupcake."
Esther gave her a withering look. "You're going to order a cupcake and a chocolate croissant for lunch?"
Hazel shrugged. "I'm an adult. I can eat ice cream for lunch if I want."
Esther shook her head. "I'm going to give you the spinach quiche and a slice of the carrot cake."
Both of them were excellent. While the bakery specialized in sweet baked goods, Esther did have a few lunch specialties she put out every day, the quiche being the best of them.
However, that wasn't what Hazel ordered.
"That doesn’t sound like a compromise to me. You're gonna make me eat quiche and carrot cake in the same meal?" She wrinkled her nose as if the thought was terrible.
In truth, Esther made the best carrot cake Hazel had ever tried. And it was low in sugar—a double plus. However, that chocolate croissant looked one million times better.
"Who is the older sibling anyway? Me or you?" Esther said.
She always liked to show her superiority adult-wise by pointing out that while she was younger, she was more of a grown-up. Because: exhibit A—child. Exhibit B—cooking skills. Exhibit C—not eating dessert for every meal.
In this case, maybe she had a point.
"All right. Spinach quiche and a chocolate croissant. If you insist on giving me the carrot cake, I'll take it home for dinner," Hazel said with a sweet smile that matched her sister’s.
Esther grumbled, but gave her everything she asked for, including the cake in a to go box.
By the time they finished with their sibling squabble, the rest of the customers in the bakery had fled. Either they were already done with their lunch, or they couldn't be in the presence of the two Hart sisters—daughters of a potential murderess.
Hazel hoped it was the former.
Even with no one to wait on, Esther insisted on staying behind the counter as Hazel slumped into the table closest and devoured the quiche.
"So? What did you learn?"
Hazel told her.
"Mrs. Jeffries? I guess I could see it. You really think she'd go so far as to murder Roberta to replace her?"
Hazel let out a huff. "Here you want me to help clear mom's name and yet when I find a reasonable suspect, you're saying they're not reasonable enough? She had cuts on her hands. The same cuts she would've gotten from using a violin string to strangle someone to death."
Esther shrugged. "Okay. And that's a good motive. But who was the one sending the threatening letters? That doesn't sound like something Mrs. Jeffries would do."
It didn't, and Hazel had to concede that fact. "I'm working on it. It's not as if I could ask Mrs. Jeffries. By the way, did you kill Roberta Martin to get her out of the way?"
Esther snorted. "Isn't that what you did last time?"
Hazel felt her cheeks turning pink. "Not outright."
Though, she had come rather close on a few occasions.
"Have you told the sheriff?"
If Hazel's cheeks were pink before, they turned bright red now. "Course not. I can't talk to him about this."
"Why not? You're going to need his help. Even if he's the one who thinks mom did it now."
Hazel stabbed at her quiche and finished off the last few bites without answering. Mostly because Esther was, infuriatingly so, correct.
Still, that didn't mean she wanted to face Sheriff Cross after the
way she’d left things yesterday. Well, truthfully, after the way she left things two days in a row.
Double awkward.
Maybe she should have that tattooed on her forehead: I am bad at social interaction with certain people. Mostly handsome sheriffs named Colton Cross.
Esther leaned her elbows on the counter, and her long hair fell in a sheet over her shoulders, smooth and untangled. Hazel tucked one of her own renegade curls behind her ear and glowered. "If you bring him the information about the letters, he'll probably forgive you."
Hazel thought about the way he'd said her name the day before. Her first name. It hadn't struck her then, but it did now. The fluttery butterfly took flight in her stomach. She glowered at it too.
"The last time I brought him a lead on a case, he was rude and dismissive. And he told me not to get involved, which I ignored."
"So? You proved yourself by solving the Barkley murders. He respects you now."
Hazel snorted and dug into the chocolate croissant. It tasted as good as if she'd flown to France and plucked one from a street café in Paris. The croissant was light and buttery and the chocolate thick and dark. There was a fine dusting of powdered sugar on top as well, and she licked her lips to get rid of the crumbs and dust.
"Fine. I’ll go after I finish this."
A grin beamed from Esther's face. "Don't go unarmed."
"You want me to bring a weapon into the Sheriff's office?"
Esther shook her head and began piling cupcakes into a pink box. Her logo was on it, a delightfully tall cake with a crown on top. "Armed with food, I meant. It drops everybody's guard."
"Great. You want the sheriff to know what a good cook you are. And that you're single," Hazel said under her breath.
Esther's eyes narrowed. "Jealous?"
Hazel finished her croissant in silence, and wished she had a cup of coffee to pair with it. Esther did have a little coffee station in the corner, next to the water station, but it wasn't as good as CATfeinated.