I hang up my apron and take my handbag from the office. I walk outside into blinding sunshine. Not even that can cheer me up. I start walking. I get all the way to the far end of town before I notice David leaning against his cruiser outside the day care center.
He flips the pages of his notebook. He casts a fleeting glance my way. “Good news, Margaret. You’re not a suspect in Mark Sheridan’s death.”
I halt on the sidewalk to scrutinize him. Does he even remember how he acted last night, that he can just up and start talking about the case like that? He doesn’t even comprehend that there might be some problem between us.
When I don’t answer, he looks up from his notes. “Did you hear me? You’re not a suspect. We got the toxicology report on his body. Sheridan was poisoned with some sort of dog shampoo. Tests indicate it would have acted within seconds of being injected, which means he was killed the same morning you found him. I talked to Zack, who confirmed that you were in the store the whole time. You couldn’t have poisoned Mark. You’re in the clear.”
I just look at him from behind a wall of numbness. I don’t want to have this talk with him. I don’t want to talk to him at all until we clear up whatever was bothering him last night, but for some reason, I can’t bring it up. I can’t cross that divide.
I already asked him about it last night. He gave me some cockamamie story about the case instead of being honest with me. Now I don’t even know him anymore. I don’t recognize the man I spent the last six months getting to know.
He flips his notebook closed and puts it in the inner pocket of his jacket. Only then does he look at me with any kind of attention. “What’s the matter? I thought you’d be happy to know you’re not under suspicion.”
“I’m delighted I’m not under suspicion.”
His eyebrows wink closer together for a fraction of an instant. “You don’t look delighted about it. You don’t look delighted about anything.”
“I’m definitely not delighted about the way dinner ended last night.” I should have kept quiet, but it just slips out.
He shoves himself off his car and glances around town. “I’m going to question Mr. Stewart. I understand he was pretty upset over Sheridan’s business plans, and he works with dogs. He’s bound to have access to a large supply of dog shampoo. Do you want to come along and help me question him?”
I compress my lips. “You’re not even going to tell me what was going on last night, are you? You really expect me to just go on working on the case like nothing ever happened.”
“I told you what happened. I got called away to work on the case.”
“Don’t lie to me, David Graham,” I snap. “Do you think I’m stupid?”
“I don’t think you’re stupid, Margaret,” he murmurs. “I wouldn’t ask you to work on this case and help me question the suspects if I thought that.”
“How can I ignore this?” I ask. “How can you just walk out on a dinner date that you asked me out on and not expect me to demand some explanation?”
He sticks his hands into his pockets and swivels away. “Look, if the explanation I gave you doesn’t satisfy you, maybe you shouldn’t help me question the suspects after all. I don’t want them detecting any hidden tension between us.”
He hovers there for a moment. He knows exactly what to say to me to push my buttons. He knows I want to question the suspects as much as he does. Even more than that, this is an opportunity to work with him on something that concerns us both. I can’t exactly let that slip by, can I?
I shuffle my feet. “Fine. I’ll come with you to question Mr. Stewart.”
Without a word, we set off for the dog grooming parlor. The argument hangs heavy between us. I half wish I was on my way to question Mr. Stewart alone. Maybe David and I shouldn’t work together anymore. How can I work with him if I can’t trust him?
We arrive at Mr. Stewart’s establishment. To my astonishment, David holds the door open for me. He even smiles at me when I pass through, but I can’t smile back. What the deuce is he playing at?
We enter the building, and the powerful scent of soap assaults my nostrils. Yips and barks resound around the room. We walk up to the counter, and David rings the bell next to the register.
Mr. Stewart rushes out of a back room drying his bare forearms on a dishtowel. “Good afternoon, Detective, Margaret. What can I do for you today?”
“I’m afraid we have to question you about Mark Sheridan’s murder,” David tells him. “You see, Mr. Stewart, he was injected with a very particular brand of dog shampoo—Floral Glow, it’s called. That’s what killed him. It was injected directly into his neck and it went straight to his brain.”
Mr. Stewart gapes in horror. “How truly awful!”
“That’s not all,” David goes on. “It turns out you’re the only retail dog grooming establishment in Connecticut that purchases that particular brand. It’s a professional-strength product only used by retailers.”
Mr. Stewart frowns. “Showmen use it, too. There must be others in the state of Connecticut who use it. I can’t be the only one.”
“You might not be the only one in the state to use it,” David replies, “but I would be willing to bet you’re the only one in West End who uses it. Not only that, but the forensics team found dog hair at the crime scene and Sheridan didn’t have a dog. The killer laundered Sheridan’s suit to hide the evidence. When the forensics team checked the lint trap, they found dog hair in the lint. That means the victim had dog hair on his suit. That must be why the killer washed it after they killed him. If the killer got dog hair on his suit, they must have been in close contact. I don’t see a grown man letting anybody inject poison into his neck without a struggle. The person must have had dog hair all over their own clothes when they killed him.”
“Well, I don’t get dog hair all over my clothes,” Mr. Stewart returns. “That’s why I wear this white coat, and I take it off every time I leave the shop. I think anybody would have recognized me if I had walked into a strange man’s house wearing it.”
David shrugs. “That’s true, but you’re still the only person in town with access to the poison in question. How do you explain that?”
Mr. Stewart’s face falls. “I can’t.”
“Can you tell me where you were between eight o’clock and eleven o’clock in the morning yesterday?”
“I was right here,” Mr. Stewart replies. “I was in the shop all morning. I was filling out my tax declaration.”
“Can anyone corroborate that?” David asks. “Did anyone see you here that can vouch for your whereabouts?”
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Stewart replies. “I was alone the whole time.”
David nods. “I’m going to have to ask you not to leave town for any reason as long as the investigation is going on. Do you understand? You’re under suspicion for capital murder. If you make any sudden moves without notifying the police, you could wind up under arrest. Do I make myself clear?”
Mr. Stewart bows his head. “Yes, Sir.”
David and I sidle out of the shop. I stop on the sidewalk outside. “You don’t really think he did it, do you?”
“He’s the prime suspect at the moment. Unless we can come up with a way to exonerate him, he’s going to be in trouble.”
I study him with my head on the side. “You didn’t tell me about the dog hair.”
“I didn’t get a chance. Besides, you know now.”
“Is there anything else you’re not telling me?” I ask.
His head whips around and his eyes pop open. I observe the crisscross of emotions and conflicting impulses competing for real estate in his features. I know exactly what I’m looking at. There is definitely something else he’s not telling me.
The next minute, he turns away. “Come on. I want to talk to a few other business owners in town.”
I fall in line. It looks like I’m on this rollercoaster until the end of the ride whether I want to be or not. “I think you should talk to Patrick Donohue n
ext. He’s the one who signed up to sell his property to Mark.”
He cocks his head to look at me. “If he agreed to sell to Mark, he isn’t a suspect. He might be the one person in this town who didn’t have a motive to kill him.”
“I don’t think he’s a suspect. I just think you should talk to him. He came to see me last night and asked me to investigate Mark’s death.”
David cracks his old wild grin. For a brief instant, he looks like the man I used to know. He looks friendly and affable and totally incorruptible. He said that about me, and I used to believe it of him. Now I’m not so sure.
“What’s the matter?” he teases. “Do you question his motives for asking you to investigate, or do you question his sanity?”
I don’t laugh. I don’t even smile. Nothing he can do or say can make me smile now. “He said he doesn’t have a copy of the purchase agreement. Mark told him he had to get the documents notarized and then send them back to Patrick. Patrick is worried it won’t stand up legally, now that Mark is dead.”
“I don’t blame him,” David replies. “I would be worried about the same thing if I was in his shoes. All right. Let’s go.”
We walk over to the toy store. The minute we walk in, the Hogwarts theme from Harry Potter starts playing as a doorbell. David and I pick our way through mountains of toys and shelves groaning with packages of Legos and Lincoln Logs to reach the counter in the back.
We find a tall, thick-set woman behind the register. She’s in the middle of changing the batteries on a handheld remote controller. A small green drone rests on the counter in front of her.
She doesn’t look up. “What can I do for you?”
“We’re here to talk to Patrick Donohue,” David tells her. “Is he around?”
She backs up a few steps and bellows through an open door behind the register. “Pat! There’s some people here to talk to you.”
She returns to what she was doing. She doesn’t look up when Patrick appears. He looks back and forth between me and David. “What’s this all about?”
“We want to ask you a few questions about Mark Sheridan,” David replies. “I understand you signed a purchase agreement with him to sell him your business.”
The woman whirls around with a gasp. “You what? How could you do that?”
Patrick holds up his hand. “Take it easy, Bea. I was going to tell you. I just….”
“You were not!” she fires back. “You were going to sell the store right out from under me, weren’t you? Admit it.” He opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, she spins around to confront us. “That would be just like him. He dumps everything on me. I do all the work around here while sits in his office watching YouTube videos.”
“I do not!” Patrick retorts. “I do the business paperwork. That’s all I can do with my arthritis.”
“Your arthritis!” she booms. “All I ever hear about anymore is your arthritis. That’s your excuse for everything. Every time I ask you to do anything, you whine about your arthritis this, your arthritis that, your arthritis left the toilet seat up. I’m sick of your stinkin’ arthritis.”
David and I stare from one to the other. Patrick jabs his finger in Bea’s face. “How the blazes am I supposed to do anything when the slightest movement makes my hands hurt like anything? You would want to sell this albatross, too, if it happened to you.”
“There’s nothing stopping you from dealing with the customers,” she counters. “There’s nothing stopping you from giving me a break now and then, but no! I have to stand out here all day every day because you’re too lazy to get off your computer.”
David raises his hands. “Okay, you two. Hold up. We came here to talk about Mark Sheridan’s offer. Could you both pipe down for the minute? You can go back to your fight as soon as we leave.”
Patrick hunches his shoulders and glares off at nothing. Bea tears into the remote control with her jaws locked.
David draws a shaky breath. “I understand you don’t have a copy of the purchase agreement, Patrick. Did Mark tell you who his lawyer was? He may have sent the documents in for review before he got killed. If that’s the case and they were notarized, you should be in a pretty good position legally when it comes to enforcing the contract.”
Bea whips around and fixes Patrick with a fiery glare. She waits for him to answer until he mutters. “No. He didn’t say who his lawyer was.”
6
David halts outside the toy store. For a long moment, he and I gaze around the town. “Well, that didn’t go as planned.”
He turns to study me. “Why didn’t you question them? You’re usually right in there with your own questions? This isn’t like you.”
“You’re the detective here. You can question them.”
“What’s the point of me inviting you along if you’re not going to question them?” he asks. “You really put people at ease during interviews. You have a way of getting them to divulge information that I can’t.”
I look away and shrug. I don’t want him complimenting my investigation skills right now. “Is there any other evidence I should know about? Did the forensics team dig up anything on the crime scene?”
“Nothing to speak of,” he replies. “We fingerprinted the stain stick and a few other items that didn’t seem to fit with the rest of the house, but we didn’t turn up anything.”
“That doesn’t really mean anything, does it?” I point out. “It only means the killer doesn’t have a criminal record.”
“That’s right,” David replies.
I don’t know what more to say to him. Nothing I can think of seems right. I could wait until kingdom come for him to make up for last night. He doesn’t seem to realize that he did anything wrong.
Maybe I blew the whole thing out of proportion. Maybe it really was nothing. Maybe I can bridge the divide on my own by taking the initiative. I don’t give myself a chance to question. I turn to him and smile. “Hey, how about you let me take you out to eat tonight?”
The minute the words cross my lips, I realize I made a mistake. His face goes ashen, and a stricken look of sheer terror darkens his features. He immediately averts his gaze and wriggles in his blazer. “I…uh, I can’t. I have to…..I have to work on the case tonight.”
My heart sinks into my shoes. Another lie. I look away. “All right. See you later.”
I walk toward home without looking back. If he ever clues in that he threw away our relationship, maybe he’ll remember this day. If not, I haven’t lost anything.
I march out of town, but when I get to my house, I can’t face going into it alone. I don’t want to crawl into my bed and die anymore. I sure don’t want to stare at the walls for the rest of my life.
I swivel on my heel and storm back to town. I don’t give a rip about David Graham and whatever nonsense game he’s playing. I have a case to investigate, and I don’t need him to do it.
I don’t see him or his car anywhere around town, thank Heaven. I head for the day care center. I’ve never been in it before. I’m ashamed to admit I know absolutely nothing about it. I don’t even know the person who runs it.
No time like the present. I barge through the front door. A low, thigh-high fence sections off the entrance from a huge room full of jungle gym equipment, slides, climbing frames, tube tunnels, and kids.
The kids play with blocks and train sets on the floor. They run around and yell. They climb all over the equipment. Three women mingle among them. They comfort anybody who gets hurt. They talk to the kids and read them books in the corners.
Unlike all the other businesses in town, I don’t see a cash register or a front counter. This is it. It’s a giant play area for kids. Children from about three years old up to about six run around. I can’t see any of them not having a good time—except the little girl with the skinned knee, of course.
While I stand there taking it all in, a fresh-faced, middle-aged woman hurries over to me. Her cheeks glow with pleasure, and her brown hair waves aroun
d her angular face. “You’re Margaret Nichols, aren’t you?”
I stammer out the only reply I can. “I’m sorry. Have we met?”
She sticks out her hand. “I’m Elizabeth Bartholomew. I own this center, and I’ve heard so much about you. I’m so sorry I haven’t come into your store to introduce myself. Starting a business is crazy, and I don’t really condone candy. I hope you understand it’s nothing personal against you.”
My cheeks flush. “As a matter of fact, I came in here to apologize for not introducing myself to you. I feel like a clod, and I understand why you don’t condone candy. This place is amazing.”
She beams at me. “I believe in play-based learning. It’s not everybody’s cup of tea, but it really works to boost brain development.”
“I can see why it would.” I can’t stop looking at everything. “This place is like a kid’s idea of Heaven.”
She laughs. “I hope so. God knows I put enough into it. It wasn’t easy, but I did it in the end.”
I swing around to look at her. “Actually, that’s what I came over here to talk to you about—besides introducing myself to you, I mean. I wanted to ask you if Mark Sheridan offered to buy your business.”
“Did he ever!” she exclaims. “He offered that and a lot more.”
“What do you mean?”
“He offered to satisfy my innermost carnal urges—or something along those lines.” She laughs again.
My mouth falls open. “Are you saying he propositioned you?”
“Only after I turned him down flat on his real estate offer,” she replies. “Don’t get me wrong. I haven’t had an offer like that in a long time. I just haven’t had one from someone who just finished insulting me and everything I worked to build over the last seven years. Do you know I invested all my inheritance from my dead parents to open this place? I used to dream about running an early childhood center as far back as my fifth birthday. I wasn’t about to give it up for a man who waved a wad of cash in my face. Then he had the audacity to suggest I hook up with him after work. He was a toad.”
Keep Calm and Candy On Page 4