by Mary Maxwell
After parking the car down the street from Gulf Sunshine’s office, I started along the sidewalk toward the teal awning that fluttered above the peach front door. “Maybelle likes bright colors,” my aunt had told me when I first met the chatterbox realtor. “She thinks it’s the second best way to stand out from the crowd.” When I’d asked about the first, Dot had blushed. “Skimpy outfits,” she’d added. “I keep telling Maybelle that she’s way too old for that crap, but she tells me to mind my own beeswax.”
As I approached the entrance to Maybelle’s office, I heard someone calling to me from across the street.
“Hey, Liz! What’s going on?”
I turned to see Grace Herzog waving both arms overhead.
“They haven’t been in all day,” she added. “I believe that Christine is showing properties a few miles north of town today, and I have no idea about Maybelle’s whereabouts.” She smiled. “Maybe she decided to go along for the ride.”
Grace owned one of my favorite places in Crystal Bay, a tiny clothing boutique named Penelope Rose. I’d donated most of my wardrobe to charity before leaving Atlanta, so I was in the market for some new comfy clothes to wear to work. My mother had recommended Grace’s store because she thought I would like the colorful, casual shorts, tops and sundresses. She was right; I went home after my first trip with half a dozen outfits and a new friend. And even though we were close, I wasn’t about to tell her that Maybelle had been arrested on suspicion of murder. No need to stir the pot until I had more information about the Wargrave case.
As I made my way across the street, I spotted a sweater set in the window. When I stepped onto the sidewalk, Grace was tapping on the plate glass and grinning.
“I knew you’d love it!” she said, gesturing at the two-piece ensemble. “They make it in eight different shades of blue and six of green.”
“I’ll take one of each!” I teased as she gave me a quick hug. “How are you, Ms. Herzog?”
“Well, I’m doing great, Ms. Hutton.”
The feigned formality had started when Grace’s sales assistant mistook me for a fashion blogger from New York. When I told Stephanie that I was actually born and raised in Crystal Bay, she’d dropped the fussy titles and apologized profusely for the mix-up.
“To be honest, I should probably steer clear of buying anything new,” I said, gazing through the window at the new merchandise. “I just ordered a bunch of pots and pans for the kitchen at home.”
She laughed. “About time! You’ve been in that apartment for weeks, but it still looks like the moving van just pulled away from the curb.”
I shrugged. “I’ll get there. I’ve just been busy getting settled in at my aunt’s place.”
“How is business?” she asked.
“Really busy this week,” I told her. “Which is great. We had a couple of slow days last week that made Dot crazy.”
Grace arched one eyebrow. “How can you tell?” she teased. “Dottie’s one of my favorite wackadoodles. High-strung, chatty and sweet as a peach. Before my son and daughter left for college, we’d go in every Saturday. We did that for years after Joey passed away because he was a fanatic about your aunt’s peanut butter ice cream with Cocoa Puffs on top.”
“Oh, that’s one of her most popular combos,” I said. “And what a sweet way to remember your husband.”
Grace smiled, but it was tinged with sorrow. “Remember and celebrate him. Whenever our girls are back home from school, we always make a point of going to see Dot.”
“And now you can see me, too!”
“Absolutely!” she said. “Were you coming to talk to Maybelle and Christine about buying your own place?”
I shook my head. “I’m content in my new apartment for now,” I said. “I still need to unpack the last few boxes and buy some furniture.”
“I understand,” she said. “Do you want me to tell them that you stopped by?”
“Oh, that’s nice,” I replied. “But I’ll try again. It’s the kind of thing that I’ll want to discuss face-to-face.”
Grace nodded. “I just wanted to offer.” She looked up and down the street to make sure no one was in earshot. “Did you hear the news about Simon Wargrave?” She glanced at the deceased realtor’s office a couple of doors down from her boutique. “It’s really made everyone on the block pretty anxious,” Grace added. “We’re all worried that the killer might be targeting local merchants.”
“Well, the news is quite shocking,” I said.
“Horrifying is what it is, Liz. We’re all at risk until the police catch the person that killed Simon.”
“How’d you hear the news?” I asked.
She pointed at the front door of her shop. “Let’s go inside. I feel a little weird talking about it out here.”
Once we’d stepped over the threshold and the door was closed, I repeated my question.
“That new detective told me when he stopped by,” Grace said. “He went to Maybelle and Christine’s place first. Then he came over here. It wasn’t until later that I heard Maybelle was a person of interest in Simon’s murder.”
“Kind of takes your breath away, doesn’t it?” I asked, feeling an odd sense of relief to learn that Grace had heard the news.
She put one hand to her chest. “My heart’s going fast just talking about it. I mean, a murder? And Simon Wargrave?”
“Did you know him well?”
Grace shrugged. “Not terribly,” she said. “But he found this space for me when I moved my shop from the other side of town. He was super easy to work with, and I always thought he was pleasant whenever I ran into him.”
“Do you know if he had any enemies?” I asked.
She giggled softly. “What’s this, Liz? You working undercover for the police now?”
“No, not at all. But I’ve always loved solving mysteries and unraveling puzzles.”
“Still,” she said. “Isn’t it dangerous?”
I frowned. “Talking to you about Simon and Maybelle?”
She laughed again. “Not that. I just mean…isn’t the killer still out there somewhere.”
“Sure,” I agreed. “The perpetrator is definitely out there…somewhere. But I highly doubt they’re in this room at this very moment.”
She waved one hand at me. “Stop! You know what I’m talking about. If somebody is capable of killing once, they’re probably just as capable to do it again. And if they find out that you’re snooping around, they might put a target on your back.”
“It’s sweet of you to be concerned,” I told Grace, “but I don’t think it’s anything to worry about. I’m obviously not an official member of the department or a trained detective, but I worked for the Atlanta PD for years. All of that exposure to law enforcement taught me a ton about how to conduct a thorough investigation.”
She smiled. “Good point!”
“Speaking of which,” I said, have you noticed Maybelle behaving strangely in the past few days?”
Grace shook her head. “Not at all. She was the same sweet, bubbly chatterbox.”
“Have you seen any odd characters around the area lately?” I said.
“Do you mean other than Maybelle and Christine?”
I smiled. “Anyone that you don’t already know.”
“I don’t remember anybody that was odd,” Grace said. “But I saw a couple in Maybelle’s office late last week. They left in a huff, but I don’t think they looked particularly threatening. She was probably eight months pregnant and he was the size of a bread box. Just a little guy, you know. Came up to his wife’s chin standing on his tippy toes.”
She was making such a funny face that I howled. Then I asked if she’d seen anyone else.
“You know, now that we’re talking about,” Grace continued, “I do recall seeing another couple. Older guy with a younger woman, like a father and daughter.”
“Or Humbert Humbert and Lolita?”
Grace blushed. “Oh, heavens! Nothing that creepy. They weren’t affectio
nate or anything, just an older man with a slightly younger woman. He was maybe forty-five or so, and she was late twenties. He had a beard with a patch of gray on the chin.”
“Okay,” I said. “And they were over there with Maybelle and Christine?”
She shook her head. “Just Christine. Maybelle was up in Savannah for a family reunion.”
“So the couple went into the office and talked to Christine?”
“For a minute or two,” Grace answered. “And after they left, I saw Christine running around the office, like her hair was on fire. She even ran out into the street and tried to chase them down before they went around the corner.”
“Well, that could be something,” I said. “I’ll have to come back another time and talk to Christine.”
“I can text you when I see that she’s returned,” Grace offered.
“That would be so nice,” I said. “I’ll owe you one.”
“No, you won’t,” Grace said. “As many times as you’ve listened to me ramble on about my kids and financial stuff, I’m happy to do it for you, Ms. Hutton.”
“Well, thank you, Ms. Herzog,” I said. “Now before I go, maybe I should try on that sweater set.”
She beamed and clapped her hands. “I knew it!” she said with a laugh. “I have one in your size hanging in the back. Let me grab it so you can see if you like it.”
CHAPTER 11
I was standing on a ladder behind the counter at the ice cream shop late the next morning, trying to hang a banner advertising our newest flavor, when the front door opened and Jacob Palmore came in with the daily mail delivery.
“Howdy, Liz!” he called. “Your aunt’s chicken catalog finally arrived.”
I carefully descended the ladder, went around the counter and took the mail when he reached the back of the shop.
“Chicken catalog?” I flipped through the stack of envelopes, magazines and bills. “I didn’t know that she was waiting for one.”
Jacob flashed a cockeyed grin. “You’re joking, right?”
“Not at all. Why does Aunt Dot need a chicken catalog?”
He shrugged. “Probably the same reason she requested a gerbil catalog, and I’m quoting her: ‘Because they’re so dang cute!’”
“That’s so weird. I haven’t heard her mention either since I came back to town and started working at the Big Dipper.”
“Well, it’s like I said,” Jacob replied. “The phases come and go.”
“I guess that’s not unusual,” I said.
He laughed. “Not at all. You wouldn’t believe some of the things that I see and hear when I’m delivering the mail. Your aunt’s fascination with chickens and gerbils began when she was a little girl. She used to spend summers on your grandmother’s farm in the northern part of the state, and she and the other kids would play with all the little animals.”
“Did my aunt tell you that?” I asked.
Jacob shook his head. “Maybelle Fletcher actually told me,” he said.
“Do you know her very well?” I asked.
“Maybelle?”
“Is she into chickens and gerbils, too?”
He grinned. “She’s more interested in the love/hate connection with her nemesis. I’ve heard more than one heated argument between the two of them when I’m delivering to their offices.”
“Are you talking about Simon Wargrave?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Any idea what they were fighting about?”
He nodded, but didn’t say anything.
“Can you give me a hint?” I asked.
“Love gone wrong,” Jacob said. “That would be my guess.”
I smiled. “Can you tell me what the hint means?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Someone had been spreading a rumor that Mrs. Fletcher was spreading a rumor that another woman in town was sweet on Mr. Wargrave. I don’t think Mrs. Fletcher was too sweet on that idea. She denied being the source of the gossip, and I believed her implicitly. She even found a Bible in her office to swear on.”
“Oh! So that would explain why Maybelle was asking about him all over town.”
Jacob chuckled. “You heard about that, huh?”
“Accidentally,” I replied. “I inadvertently eavesdropped on a conversation when I stopped to get some coffee this morning.”
“It’s been a hot little bit of gossip for the past couple of weeks,” Jacob said. “Along with some supposedly shady business deals that Mr. Wargrave was in the middle of finalizing.”
“Well, that’s good to—”
“There’s more,” Jacob cut in. “My wife was getting her hair cut a couple of weeks ago, and she heard that Mr. Wargrave was being investigated by the FBI for a mess of illegal things.”
“Such as?” I asked.
He shrugged. “It was big stuff like bank fraud, falsifying mortgage documents and embezzling from his real estate agency. Wargrave also used a customer’s financial information to apply for loans under his name that were used to buy commercial buildings and vacant land. After hearing about all of that, I think stress was responsible for the heart attack that killed him.”
“Heart attack?” I said. “Is that the scuttlebutt around town?”
Jacob nodded. “That’s what I heard from a couple of people at work. Isn’t that what killed him?”
Since I obviously couldn’t divulge anything that I’d heard from my brother about the case, I simply shrugged and offered a story about the first time Simon Wargrave came into the Big Dipper after I returned to Crystal Bay.
“He was pushy and rude,” I said. “Just like Maybelle can be now and then.”
Jacob smiled sadly. “Then maybe they would’ve been a match made in real estate heaven.”
“Maybe,” I agreed. “Like two peas in a pod.”
“Or birds of a feather,” he said.
I smiled. “Two of a kind.”
Jacob thought for a moment or two. “That’s all I’ve got,” he said. “Suffice to say, Mr. Wargrave’s passing will leave plenty of unanswered questions.”
“Beginning with who’s responsible for his death,” I said. “Once that riddle is solved, everything else should fall into place.”
“Indeed,” Jacob said. “I may have helped with that riddle.”
“Oh?” I leaned closer. “Did you hear something else?”
“Nope. I saw something else.”
“What was it?”
“A fancy SUV parked in front of his office,” Jacob said, lowering his voice. “I was delivering his mail, right around ten o’clock that morning, and the front door was cracked. When I walked up to go inside, I heard two people arguing.”
“So someone was with Wargrave?” I asked.
“Another man,” he answered. “I didn’t recognize the other fellow’s voice, but they weren’t chatting about the weather.”
“Could you tell what they were discussing?”
He shrugged. “Not really. I only caught a few words, but the tone made it really clear they were having a fierce debate about something.”
“And you mentioned an SUV?” I said.
“Yep.” Jacob reached into his mail sack and came out with his phone. “Whenever I hear or see anything suspicious on my route, I always take pictures and jot down a few notes.”
“That’s clever,” I said.
He grinned. “I can’t claim that it’s an original idea. I saw an old TV movie once about a mail carrier who thwarts a plot to kill a famous celebrity by photographing a suspicious guy that he sees along his route.” He paused and fiddled with the phone. “Except I saw a vehicle instead of a person.”
When he swiveled the phone so I could see the screen, I was looking at the rear of a gleaming black Mercedes SUV. It had Florida plates, tinted windows and something shiny on the window. After writing the license plate number on a slip of paper that I had in my pocket, I leaned down and squinted at the picture.
“What’s that on the glass?” I asked.
“Jack
sonville Jaguars,” Jacob told me. “It’s one of their metallic football helmet decals.”
He tapped the screen and a second photograph appeared. It was the opposite angle, a close-up view of the SUV from the front.
“See that?” He pointed at something hanging from the rearview mirror. “I’m guessing it’s a registration permit for an employee parking lot.”
“Can you enlarge that a little bit?” I asked.
“Sure, one sec,” Jacob said.
While I waited for him to resize the picture, Aunt Dot’s voice came from the back of the ice cream shop.
“Liz?” she called. “Are you busy?”
“I’ll be right there,” I told her. “Jacob’s dropping off the mail.”
“There you go,” he said, turning the phone around again. “I can’t make out the text, but I’d say it has something to do with parking.”
I studied the second picture. Then I looked at Jacob and help my hand up for a high five.
“Good work, Sherlock!”
He frowned. “What’re you talking about?”
“Did you give these to the police?” I asked.
“I was going to drop by there after I finish my route,” he said. “I sent an email with them attached yesterday, but it bounced back to me as undeliverable.”
“Well, they’ll be very happy to get them,” I said. “The hangtag on the mirror is from the Beachcomber Motel in Coral Glen. I have friends who live down that way, so I’d recognize that logo anywhere.”
He looked at the phone again. “You don’t say? I’m not familiar with that one.”
I smiled. “It’s popular with shady types,” I explained. “Petty criminals, married folks having affairs, college kids heading south.”
Jacob laughed. “Really? In that case, it’s extra strange that I haven’t heard of it because you just described half of the branches on my family tree.”
CHAPTER 12
Ethan Shaw was standing beside the desk in his office when I arrived late that afternoon. He was reading something on his phone, so I knocked gently on the door and waited until he glanced up.