First Among Equals

by Katherine Hayton

  He stalked back to his vehicle, slamming his door—an affront to the early morning stillness. Willow set to her ablutions with a sense of gratitude. Once she stepped out of the shower to a fresh-brewed cup of coffee, she’d begun to feel like a decent human being again.

  The ache in her hip had settled into stiffness by the time she walked into the interview room at the station. A suited man gave her a curt nod as she took a seat.

  “I’m Detective Jones, and I’ll be helping Sheriff Wender run this interview. Has he advised you of your rights?”

  “My rights.” Willow’s throat suddenly felt dry. “Am I under arrest again?”

  “Again?” The detective cocked an eyebrow at the sheriff, who looked away, shrugging. “No. This is a voluntary interview, which means you can leave at any time.”

  It was Willow’s turn to cock an eyebrow. “Is that why I was woken up by a demand I come down to the station? Because this is all voluntary?”

  “We’d appreciate any help you can give us,” Detective Jones replied, nimbly sidestepping the whole issue. “We’ve received some information that might be pertinent to the case overnight. We’re just seeking clarification from you on a few matters.”

  Willow pursed her lips and leaned back in her chair. Much as she didn’t want to be in the interview, she also didn’t want this man chasing her up, thinking she had something to hide.

  She shrugged. “Okay. What do you want to know?”

  “We’ve received a report from the solicitor who prepared the deceased’s will. It turns out you’re one of the beneficiaries.”

  Willow sat bolt upright in surprise. “Roger left me money?”

  Detective Jones gave her a hard, appraising glance. “Yes. Are you saying you weren’t aware he’d altered his will to include you?”

  “No. I mean, yes. I didn’t know.” Willow folded her arms across her chest, hugging herself for comfort. “We were just getting to know each other. We never talked about anything like that.”

  “Are you sure?” This time, it was Sheriff Wender asking the question. Willow was surprised to see the expression of disbelief on his face.

  “Of course, I’m sure. A conversation like that isn’t something that’s likely to slip one’s mind.” Willow straightened her back, ignoring the pulse of pain from her hip in favor of drawing herself up to her full height. “Is it very much money?”

  Willow winced as soon as she asked the question. How mercenary did that make her sound? The detective didn’t seem surprised at her query, though, waving his hand over the document in front of him as though that gave her the information outright. “It’s a substantial sum. More than enough for some people to consider becoming violent over.”

  Willow frowned at him. “What are you suggesting?”

  “I’m not suggesting anything, Mrs. Foxglove. I’m merely stating the facts as I see them.”

  “Well, you can unstate them, if that’s how this interview is going to go.” Willow felt white-hot anger rising up in a bubble in her chest. She pressed a palm against her breastbone, trying to ease the pressure. “I didn’t know anything about this money. Right now, I only have your word for it that the will even exists. I’m certainly not somebody who would ever hurt another person to gain some spare cash. I may not be flush with money, but I’m certainly not in need.”

  The red bag sitting on the pawn broker’s shelf flashed up in Willow’s mind. Once again, she thought of Trisha and her son, living so hand to mouth that the woman couldn’t hold on to it a week past being fired.

  Not that she’d reveal that tidbit to this man. Willow had thought Jacob wasn’t the brightest spark to be dealing with this case, but Detective Jones was just rude. How dare he?

  “None of this alters anything I told Sheriff Wender yesterday.” Willow tapped her forefinger on the table. “I faint at the sight of blood, and I’m not physically capable of committing the crime. I’m also not dumb enough to do it in my own back yard, even if that wasn’t the case. If you’re trying to get me to confess to something I didn’t do, you’re going to have to try a lot harder than that.”

  The detective gave her a flat stare through mean eyes. “How about we ask you the questions, and you just answer them? Try not to volunteer information we’re not asking for.”

  “Well, what’s your question, then?”

  “Did you know Mr. Randall had changed his will in your favor?”

  Willow glared at the man, then felt a momentary uncertainty. She’d already said, hadn’t she?

  Sheriff Wender came to her rescue. “I believe we’ve already had an answer to that question. Perhaps you should try another one, Detective?”

  That earned him a glare from the man sitting next to him and an appreciative smile from Willow.

  “Where were you last night at eight seventeen?” Detective Jones said through tight lips.

  “I was sitting in my lounge, watching TV.”

  “Can anybody verify that?”

  Willow shook her head. “I live alone.”

  “So, you have no alibi for the time in question?”

  “Yes, I do,” Willow stated through gritted teeth. “I was at home, watching TV.”

  The detective waved her answer away. “No confirmed alibi.”

  “I didn’t know I needed one, Detective. Otherwise, I would’ve invited a few friends around. Had a party.”

  “Did you hear anything?” The detective ignored her flippancy. “A murder took place right outside your back door. Seems a bit odd you didn’t hear calls for help and go to assist your lover.”

  The detective’s lip curled over that last word, and Willow’s hands curled into fists. She closed her eyes, fighting for control over her emotions. The cup of coffee she’d drunk to wake her up was spiking through her bloodstream, filling her with excess energy.

  “Hey, now. I don’t think that’s called for,” Sheriff Wender said, deflating all the tension in the room. “Mrs. Foxglove has been nothing but helpful in this case. She’s volunteered a lot of information, and I don’t think insinuations about her private relationships are warranted.”

  The sheriff pushed his chair back, standing up even as the detective shook his head. “I think this interview is over now. If we have any further questions, we’ll be in contact.”

  Willow stood, her heart overflowing with gratitude for little Jacob Wender, coming to her rescue. She reached out her hand, startling him into shaking.

  “I’d be happy to answer any questions you have any time, Sheriff Wender. Thank you very much for keeping me informed.”

  Willow turned and swept out of the room before the detective could open his mouth to say anything more.

  Chapter Ten

  Her grand exit was slightly ruined when Willow realized the sheriff had given her a ride to the station, leaving her trapped there until someone could give her a lift home, unless she wanted to walk. The exercise wouldn’t usually trouble her, but with the night’s unusual sleeping position still wreaking havoc on her hip joint, Willow sat down in the lobby of the station to wait.

  The chair wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world either.

  After a few minutes, the outside door gently pressed inward, and a woman gave a tentative peek around the corner. Trisha Layton. Willow sat back and thought the new detective must have decided to haul all the suspects over the coals this morning. Knowing he hadn’t singled her out made her feel a bit better.

  “Is this where we wait?” Trisha whispered to Willow as though she didn’t want Mary-Jo behind the counter to hear her.

  Willow nodded and patted the seat next to her. The poor woman was a bundle of nerves, not just her hands, but her shoulders shaking. She was also clutching hold of a tattered brown handbag for dear life.

  For just a second, Willow wondered what it would be like to work for the wealthiest man in town for twenty years and barely have a few pennies to rub together. Even worse, imagine if you really had been involved with the fellow, only to discover he’d left
a whole lot of money in his will to someone else.

  Willow wished she could move a seat farther away.

  “Are you here about your son?” she asked, trying to waylay her fears by making idle conversation. Unfortunately, the only tidbits of gossip Willow had at her disposal recently were about the case.

  “My son?” Trisha offered up a frown in reply.

  Foot in mouth disease strikes again, Willow thought, shifting back on the uncomfortable seat. Then she sighed. The cat was out of the bag now. She’d better own up to it.

  “I’m sorry. It’s probably me and my friends’ fault that they dragged you down here. Reg Garnett—do you know him?”

  Trisha nodded. “He’s the one who stands out in the fields at night in a tinfoil hat, waving at UFOs.”

  It was Willow’s turn to frown. Reg did have his kinks—especially when it came to conspiracy theories and extra-terrestrials—but he was a good man and a dependable friend. Given the circumstances, however, Trisha might faint if given a lecture, so Willow left her remonstrations to a later time.

  “He was in the center of town, keeping a general eye out on behalf of Mrs. Matthewson when he got footage of your son throwing eggs at Roger Randall’s car.”

  Trisha jerked her head around to stare at Willow, her mouth dropping open in surprise. “You’re joking!”

  Willow shook her head. “I’m afraid not. My only surprise is that nobody told you about this already. The police have known since yesterday morning.”

  Trisha shook her head, the shaking settling back in with such aggression that the back of her chair started to squeak against the wall.

  “I’m sure it’s just foolishness, kid’s stuff, but the timing…”

  Willow trailed off and turned to face the opposite wall. Watching the parade of horror across Trisha’s face was exhausting. What on earth was the sheriff up to not even bothering to tell this poor woman about her son? Maybe the county sent in this detective with good reason.

  “You worked for Roger for a long time, didn’t you?” Willow’s second attempt at conversation led her straight toward another trap, and she bit her lip to stop from saying anything more.

  Trisha sadly nodded her head. Out on the street, Willow had been taken by how well the woman was put together, not to mention the few years’ grace she had on Willow in age. Now, Trisha looked like a crumpled tissue.

  With her heart overflowing with kindness and pity, Willow leaned over to pat the younger woman’s hand. “I wouldn’t worry too much,” she said. “I just recited a few lines from Miss Walsham, and they let me straight out.”

  At that, Trisha’s face brightened, “Miss Walsham Investigates?” When Willow nodded, she exclaimed, “I love that show.”

  “Me, too. Did you see the episode about the elephant and the zoo and how she worked out from the discarded straw exactly how the lion tamer had done it?”

  “Oh, yes! And just this week, scouring over the CCTV and noticing where the rotten town worker had joined together the film with another day.”

  For a few minutes, Willow relaxed as they compared episodes. To her eternal disappointment, neither Harmony nor Reg were big fans of the show, so her natural enthusiasm for sharing was dampened straight away when she tried to explain things to them.

  “I heard they might be filming some episodes down here, later in the fall,” Trisha said, sending Willow’s pulse dangerously close to raptures.

  “What?” she squeaked, her voice traveling so high up the register that it was barely audible.

  Trisha leaned forward, all trace of her earlier nervousness gone in the delight of being able to tell a secret. “I saw some papers come through Roger’s office, looking to rent out some of his offerings for a few days while they came in, set up, and filmed. One of the emails had an attachment that they’d labeled ‘Terms and Conditions’ but was actually a script they sent by mistake.”

  Willow put a hand on her chest. The steady thumping threatened to crack open her ribcage with its force. “You…Have…A…Script…?”

  “I. Have. A. Script!”

  The two women stared at each other in shared delight. Willow was about to open her mouth and demand access to the precious item when Sheriff Wender let himself into the lobby.

  “Come on, Mrs. Foxglove. I’ll give you a ride back home now.” He turned to Trisha. “Ms. Layton, we have a new detective on board who’s setting up the interview now. I’ll be back in ten minutes, and we can get started.”

  The joy immediately drained out of Trisha’s face, leaving only a pale, trembling ghost.

  Willow wanted to stop the sheriff, reverse time and send him back inside the office for a few minutes more, but it was too late.

  “I’ll see you later,” she said, reaching down to pat Trisha on the shoulder. “Give me a call when they let you out, and I’ll drop by to give you a lift home.”

  Trisha nodded, but Willow wasn’t sure she’d heard a single word. Her eyes were fastened on the floor.

  “That Trisha Layton seems like a really nice woman,” Willow declared as the sheriff pulled out of the station parking lot. “I don’t think I’ve met anyone so nice in a long time.”

  “Wouldn’t have thought you two would hit it off,” the sheriff replied, earning himself a frown.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  The sheriff shrugged. “I’d just heard through the grapevine she’d spent a lot of nights working late, if you get my drift.”

  Willow pressed her lips together in a hard line. “You wouldn’t have happened to hear that from a certain sandwich-board wearer, now would you?”

  The sheriff snorted, but he didn’t deny Willow’s accusation. “I’m not at liberty to reveal my sources,” he said, pulling into her street. “And I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.”

  For a second, hand resting on the door, Willow considered telling him about the handbag in the pawn broker’s shop, then she shook her head.

  If Jacob Wender thought he was such a great sheriff, then he could work that bit out all by himself.

  Chapter Eleven

  Willow had only just finished setting Mavis up with breakfast when Harmony knocked on the door. With a strange blocking dance, Willow managed to let her in without the kitten running straight out to freedom.

  “Allergies aren’t improving, then?” was the first thing her friend had to say.

  Willow shook her head, moving back to the kitchen to see if Mavis liked the new brand of cat food any better than the night before. Half of it had been demolished, which was an excellent sign.

  “And it appears she’s got the run of the house,” Harmony said, squatting with a pop of her kneecaps to give the kitten a quick pat and tickle under the chin.

  “I’ll work on that.” Willow tossed up whether to show her friend something for a minute, then pulled open the top of her blouse. The skin where Mavis had fallen asleep on top of her the night before flushed an angry red.

  “I’ve been trying not to scratch it,” Willow admitted, “but it’s driving me crazy, and the antihistamines don’t seem to help.”

  “Well, this can’t go on. Cute as this little kitty is, if we don’t get you sorted, then she won’t be able to stay.”

  Harmony grabbed her handbag off the counter and stalked toward the door, a woman of purpose. When she reached it, she turned and frowned at Willow.

  “Well, aren’t you coming?”

  Willow nodded and grabbed her own bag before carefully letting them both out the front door, Mavis trapped inside.

  Outside, the morning light had been covered over with wisps of cloud. During summer, they’d burn off in a second, but given the change in temperature, it looked like they were set to stay.

  “I’m taking you down to the drugstore so we can get an expert opinion on how to treat your allergy. Barring that, you’ll need to make a doctor’s appointment to discuss your options.”

  “Yes, sir.” Willow gave her friend a small smile, but Harmony was just staring
at the road, not paying attention.

  “I hope they have something for you. It’d be awful if you turned into a weeping, sneezing ball of hives.”

  Willow definitely agreed with that sentiment and quickly followed along behind her friend when they reached the strip of shops that included the local drugstore.

  After explaining the problem, the pharmacist at the counter offered a range of creams, then excused himself to go out the back to talk to the dispensing technician.

  “I don’t know if these’ll be equal to the task,” Harmony mused, looking through the range of two percent creams and gels. “I have heard you can get shots that suppress your immune response and help you stop being allergic. I wonder if they can arrange those.”

  The member of staff at the front of the shop walked over. “Do you want me to bag these up for you?” She jerked her head toward the back. “Those two can discuss things for hours if you’re not careful.”

  “Thank you.” Willow followed her along to the counter while she rang up the bill. It was enough to have Willow chewing her lip and peering into her bag to ensure she’d brought her checkbook.

  She suddenly thought of the money the detective insisted Roger had left for her in his will. Her eyes filled with tears for a moment, both at his loss and generosity. Even though Willow had never complained about money to him, he’d been observant enough to notice and kind enough to do something about it.

  “Here you go,” Willow said at last, having counted up the change lurking in different levels of her handbag and hoping they reached the right amount. The clerk nodded and rang up the receipt.

  “Were you the ones who turned Trisha’s son in to the police?” the girl asked.

  For a moment, Willow was so taken aback that she could only open and close her mouth like a fish, unable to force any words out.

  Harmony walked up behind her, straightforward and to the rescue as usual. “What’s it to you?”