Cheep Shot Murder (Pet Shop Cozy Mysteries Book 11)

by Susie Gayle

  Then she does two things I don’t expect at all. First, she drags a chair to the corner of the room, stands on it, and tugs two wires from the back of the camera mounted in the corner.

  Second, she takes the cuffs off of me.

  “Sit.”

  I do.

  “I’m sorry about all that,” she says, “but it was necessary. It had to be public. There’s a good chance that at least a couple of people at town hall saw, so I’m sure the mayor will catch wind of it.”

  “You… you did that so people would see?”

  She nods.

  “I don’t understand.”

  Patty pulls the plastic chair over to the table, sits, and folds her hands before she says, “I believe you.”

  “You do?”

  “I do now. I didn’t at first, or else I never would’ve suspended your license. I thought there was no way the mayor could be involved, or that there was some sort of conspiracy going on. I haven’t been sitting on my hands, Will; I’ve been investigating Morse’s murder as well. But there’s nothing to be found, not a scrap of evidence, not even a decent lead. And then I had a visitor.”

  “Who?”

  “Sylvia Garner, the owner of Better Latte Than Never. She came to see me; she was spooked. She started to tell me… something. She said that it was never supposed to go this far. That they didn’t know what they’d do. Then she changed her mind and ran out of here.”

  Shortly after Logan Morse’s murder, I had gone to see Sylvia at the request of Strauss. Sylvia had told her employees that she was going to be out of town for a couple of days, but really she was hiding out at home. She knew that something was going to happen to Logan, but (I hope) she didn’t know what. Either way, she assumed she’d need an alibi.

  “That’s all she said? ‘They didn’t know what they’d do’?” I ask.

  “That’s all she said.”

  “Then why not start calling people in for questioning?” I insist. “The mayor’s assistant, the Blumbergs, Sylvia… get someone to talk.”

  Patty shakes her head. “It’s not that easy, Will. Right now, the mayor and his people think the law is on his side. I’m sure within a few hours everyone’s going to know that I arrested you, so they’ll continue to believe that I don’t suspect him. If I start bringing people in and no one talks, I’ve got nothing. They know you’re onto them, and they got nervous; hopefully now that I’ve ‘arrested’ you, they’ll relax a little. That gives us an advantage.”

  “So it’s ‘us’ now?”

  “Not officially. Not on paper and not in public. Heck, not even outside this room. I don’t want to see or hear from you again until you bring me something solid. But I’ll keep working on my end too. Hopefully, together we can make sure that things like this never happen again.”

  “Things?” I ask. “As in, more than one?”

  She sighs. “It wasn’t a coincidence that I ran into you outside of town hall. I was already there, doing some digging. You haven’t seen what I’ve seen; you don’t know what I know. Like most people, before you started getting involved in stuff like this, you kept to yourself, right? Just lived your life, ran your business. You didn’t get involved in local politics or care much what happened, as long as you could keep doing what you were doing.”

  She’s right. Before I saw my first body, I minded my own business. I wasn’t a shut-in or a hermit or anything like that, but I didn’t really get involved outside of my little pet shop microcosm.

  “What do you mean, I don’t know what you know?”

  Patty shifts in her chair. “Remember your pal Derik Dobson?”

  I scoff. “Dobson, yeah. I remember.” Derik Dobson was the CEO of a chain of pet stores called Pet Emporium. About six years ago now, he offered to buy my shop and turn it into one of his locations. I refused, of course. Then about three years ago, he purchased an old warehouse in town with the intention of opening a huge store here, which would have put me out of business.

  He never got the chance, though, on account of being murdered by Sharon Estes, a local real estate agent who had a sordid history with Dobson. It was the first murder I’d ever been privy to.

  “Wait,” I say, thinking out loud, “you believe that Dobson’s murder was part of this?” I shake my head. “Sharon killed him because of what he did to her.”

  “Sure, that’s what she told you. And maybe it’s true. But Sharon Estes was on the town council, and she was one of Seaview Rock’s biggest proponents of maintaining our historic value. Keeping things status quo.” Patty leans forward and asks, “Do you really think it was just circumstance that led him here, and that he worked with her? Doesn’t that seem just a little fortuitous?”

  “I… I guess I never really thought about it like that.”

  “It’s not just Morse, and it’s not just Dobson—although those are the only two I know of that were killed for what they were trying to do. Go back a few decades, and you’ll see that every couple of years or so, someone gets the bright idea to try to change things around here. But every time, those people seem to back down, change their minds, or leave town suddenly. And in a couple cases, they just… vanish.”

  “Buddy,” I murmur.

  “What’s that?” she asks, an eyebrow raised.

  “Buddy’s Bakery,” I tell her. “The owner, Buddy, he left town suddenly one night.”

  “You remember that?”

  “No. It’s what Strauss asked me to look into.”

  “Hm.” Patty eases back in the chair. “That was one of the very first cases I ever handled—sort of. Back then I was an officer-in-training, fresh out of the academy. I remember that one morning the bakery just didn’t open. No one had heard anything from Buddy. A day went by, then another, and then another before the police chief asked me to swing by his house, see what was up. His truck was gone, and so was a lot of his stuff. But he left behind his furniture, appliances—looked like he took whatever would fit in his truck and just left.” She shakes her head. “Everyone else took it at face value, just like we did with Dobson. They all just shrugged and said, ‘Good riddance.’ But it never did sit right with me that someone would up and leave like that. There had to be a reason.”

  “Yeah,” I agree. “There had to be a reason.” Just like there has to be a reason that Strauss asked me to look into Buddy’s sudden disappearance. And after everything that Patty just told me, I highly doubt that Morse’s murder and Buddy’s Bakery are unrelated.

  “I need to go talk to some people,” I tell her. “Assuming I’m free to go, that is.”

  “Yeah, go. But if anyone asks, I let you off with a warning. Whatever you do, don’t make them have to call me again.”

  I nod. “Thanks, Patty.”

  CHAPTER 10

  * * *

  I head outside and walk the several blocks back to my car, where Patty arrested me. As I walk I pull out my cell phone and notice that I have a missed call and a text message from Dennis: No movement from Morse. Should I stay?

  I call him back. “Thanks for all your help, Dennis. Can you head back to the pet shop and relieve Sammy? He’s watching the place while I, uh, look into some stuff.”

  “Sure, Will. No problem.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be in touch.” After I hang up with Dennis, I try to call Sarah but it rings four times and then goes to voicemail. I don’t know where she’s gone or what she’s doing, but at least I know that Rowdy is with her, which means she’s safe.

  Then I head over to Sockets & Sprockets to see Mr. Casey.

  Barton Casey’s family has had roots in Seaview Rock since before the town even had a name. One of his ancestors helped open the first fish hatchery here and was partially responsible for the boom into what is our present-day town. Eventually they sold their shares, and these days they own and operate a gas station, the auto body shop, and a few other local businesses. Mr. Casey, or “the old man,” as he’s called around here, only runs Sockets & Spro
ckets; he leaves the other business interests to his children.

  I pull into a parking space and head inside to the small customer waiting area. It’s a nice day, so the three garage bay doors are open and the sounds of socket wrenches and pneumatic tools fill the air.

  The receptionist, Brenda, knows me, so I smile politely and point to the closed door of the rear office. She nods and I head inside.

  Mr. Casey sits behind his deck, hunting and pecking at a computer keyboard and squinting at the screen. He’s around seventy, just about completely bald, and uses a cane to get around. He’s also a straight-shooter, and nobody wants to be on his bad side.

  He barely glances up at me as I close the office door behind me. “Computers,” he grumbles. “At my age, this is like learning a new language. What’s new, Will? Have you got any information on that thing we discussed?” Of course he’s talking about the mayor and Morse’s murder.

  “Not yet,” I tell him. “That’s actually not why I’m here.”

  “I see.” He swivels toward me in his chair, giving me his full attention. “Then what can I do for you?”

  “Mr. Casey, you’ve been around forever—you know what, that came out wrong. What I mean is, you’ve been in Seaview Rock for a long while. I want to ask you about a business that used to be here in town about twenty years ago. It was called Buddy’s Bakery.”

  “Ah, Buddy’s.” Mr. Casey smiles a little at the memory. “I haven’t thought about that place in years. Best scones on the whole planet—”

  “So I’ve heard. I also heard that the owner wasn’t particularly well liked around here.”

  “Well, that would depend on who you asked,” he says. “Good ol’ Buddy. I never had a problem with him. Some other folks…” He shrugs.

  “Did you know him well?”

  “I knew him well enough; we weren’t exactly chums or anything, but I’d pop in there almost every morning for a scone or a donut and a bit of conversation. Buddy Valencia was his name. Well, Buddy wasn’t his real name; I believe it was Robert, but he’d picked up the nickname before he ever moved here.”

  Robert Valencia. At least the mysterious Buddy has a name now. “And the bakery was only in town for what, a couple of years?”

  “That’s right, two or three years he was here. And then…”

  “And then one day the bakery just closed, right? Buddy left town?”

  “That’s the story,” Mr. Casey murmurs.

  “And what do you think?”

  “Like I said, I haven’t thought about it in years. See, Buddy was a whiz with an oven. Everything that came out of those steel doors was just magical. He was only here about a year before he was able to expand—that’s why the liquor store next door to you is a double storefront.”

  “Buddy’s baked goods were phenomenal. Tourists started coming into town just for him. Eventually, a couple of investors came to him and convinced him it would be a good idea to franchise his bakery, bring Buddy’s nationwide. Seaview Rock would have been the birthplace.”

  “And that’s why he wasn’t liked? Some people in town didn’t like that he was going to become what they hated?”

  Mr. Casey chuckles softly. “You know, at the time I chalked it up as jealousy, the way folks treated him around here. But with everything else going on and what we’ve seen happen, I’m guessing you’re pretty much right.”

  “And then one day Buddy just packed up and left, right? Abandoned the bakery and his home?”

  “That’s the story, yeah,” Mr. Casey says again. “No one went looking for him, and most people were glad to see him go. We all took it exactly how it looked—even me. We figured he’d had enough of being an outcast.”

  I shake my head. “It doesn’t add up, though. Sammy told me that he broke his lease and left it all behind. Someone must have looked for him—a bank, or creditors. Someone must know where he went.”

  “You’re probably right. Someone must know.”

  “Mr. Casey… do you think it’s possible that Buddy never left?”

  He sighs slowly, understanding exactly what I mean. “Yes,” he says, “I do think that’s possible. But like you said, someone, somewhere, must know.”

  “Did he have any family around here?”

  He shakes his head. “Not that I recall. Buddy was kind of a loner; I know he didn’t have kids, and I don’t think he was married.”

  “He must have had family elsewhere, then. Where did he move here from?”

  “I couldn’t say exactly, but he had an accent. Long Island, if I’m not mistaken.” The cell phone on Casey’s desk rings. “One second, Will.” He answers it. “Hello? Yes. Uh-huh…” His gaze meets mine as he speaks to the caller. He says, “Well, if that’s what you think is best. Alright, see you then.”

  He hangs up and clears his throat. “That was your girlfriend.”

  “Sarah?”

  “Do you have more than one?” He chuckles again, but it dies quickly. “She’s calling an emergency council meeting.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I reply glumly. “For tomorrow night.”

  “No, Will. Tonight.”

  “What?!”

  He nods gravely. “We both know what she’s going to try to do. Now, if you say so, I’ll vote against her. But I can’t say the same for Holly.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Casey. I appreciate it. I have to go; maybe I can talk her out of this before tonight.”

  He shrugs. “Good luck. She’s headstrong, that one.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “See you this evening, Will.”

  CHAPTER 11

  * * *

  I get into my car and immediately make the first of several calls, this one to the Runside. Holly answers on the fourth ring. I can hear the clatter of dishes and the chatter of patrons in the background.

  “Holly, it’s Will. Sarah is calling a council meeting for tonight to put out a proposal so that she can—”

  “I know, Will,” she cuts me off. “She’s already called me.”

  “Please, Holly, please don’t let it pass.”

  “She told me you would say that.”

  “Yeah, I’m saying that because it’s dangerous. Not just for her, but for you and Mr. Casey as well.”

  “I don’t know, Will. She made some good points…”

  “Holly, please,” I plead. “I can figure all this out. I just need some more time.”

  She hesitates, but eventually says, “Okay, Will.”

  “Great. Thank you.”

  As I pull out of the parking lot of Sockets & Sprockets, I try to call Sarah, but again it goes to voicemail. “Sarah, please call me back. Just tell me where you are, and we can talk. I’ve found out some things and I know I’m on the right track… just call me back.”

  I end the call and immediately ring Dennis. “Hey, Will. What’s up?”

  “Have you seen Sarah? Has she come back to the pet shop at all?”

  “Nope, not yet.”

  “What about that, uh, GPS tracking thing? Can you find out where she is?”

  “Sorry, Will. You can only do that if the other person authorizes it. Why, is she in trouble?”

  “No.” Not yet, anyway. “She’s not taking my calls.”

  “Did you two have a fight or something?”

  “Sort of. Listen, Dennis, I need another favor from you. I need you to look up anyone in the Long Island area with the last name Valencia, like the orange. I’m specifically looking for a Robert Valencia, but I want you to call up every person you can find and ask if they have a relative, a brother, a cousin, a son, an uncle, whatever, named Robert, goes by Buddy.”

  “Uh… okay. That could take a while.”

  “I know. I’ll owe you big for this.”

  “Sure, Will. I’ll get started now.”

  “Thanks, Dennis.”

  I hang up with him and head towards my rented house on Saltwater Drive. I figure there’s only a s
lim chance that Sarah simply went home, but I’m not sure where else to look for her.

  The next of my slew of calls is to Sammy. “Listen, I need you to do something for me,” I tell him. “Go to the police station and tell Patty Mayhew you need access to the records in town hall. See if you can find anything at all on a man named Robert Valencia.”

  “Okay,” he says. “Why?”

  “That’s Buddy’s real name. He lived here for a few years; there must be some record of him. Plus you told me that he broke his lease, right? Someone must have looked for him after he left.” If he left at all. “See what you can find and let me know.”

  “Alright, Will.”

  “Thanks, pal.”

  I pull up to the house and burst inside, hoping to find Sarah sitting on the sofa or have Rowdy bound over to me with his tail wagging, but the place is silent and empty. Then my cell phone rings.

  “Will, what the heck is going on?” Karen asks loudly. “I just heard that there’s an emergency town council meeting tonight. Is Sarah doing what I think she’s doing?”

  “Yup.”

  “You gotta talk her out of that.”

  “No kidding. I have to find her first.”

  “Well, I talked to her a little earlier, before I heard about all this. She said she was going home.”

  “I’m home now, and I can assure you that she’s not… oh.” She never specified which home she was going to. “I’ll find her, Karen. Be at the meeting tonight?”

  “I will.”

  I leave there and drive a bit faster than I should over to Sandbar Avenue, the street on which our new house, the one we’ll be moving into in just a couple of short weeks, sits. It’s a two-story colonial with dark shutters, a wide front lawn, and Sarah’s car in the driveway.

  I park at the curb and go around to the back, reaching over the fence to unlatch the gate. As I enter, Rowdy lets off a warning bark and then, seeing that it’s me, dashes over and jumps on me, his tail swishing vigorously.