by Nic Saint
We were both silent for a beat. A light breeze had set in, and my short blond tresses fluttered in the wind. I swept them from my brow, and couldn’t help noticing Logan giving me furtive sideways glances. When we spoke again, it was simultaneously.
“About the Harvesters,” he said.
“What about the Harvesters?” I asked.
We both grinned awkwardly, then he continued, “The thing is, they’re both guilty and innocent. Guilty of spray-painting the Slaker house, but innocent of murder. They were home the night she was killed, and one of their neighbors can vouch for them, as she overheard a domestic dispute around the time of the murder, and even went so far as to drop by the house to check on Pen, who’s a friend of hers. The three Harvesters were home, and things had gotten a bit crazy after Kevin Harvester had a few too many to drink.”
“So they’re not the killers?”
“Nope. It appears they’re not. They also told me that Kandace Slaker had a stalker, apparently. An individual who goes by the name of Raban Steadman?”
“The town drunk?” I asked, surprised.
“Yeah, he is something of an old wino,” Logan agreed. “I haven’t had the chance to chat with him yet, though, so no idea how he fits into the story.”
“So that only leaves Carmina Parra and Blas Storer.”
“What makes you think Blas Storer is involved?”
“Well, Dalton has been out looking for him all day and he seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth. His car is gone, his wife doesn’t know where he is and he’s not picking up his phone. And let’s not forget he was having an affair with Kandace.”
“So maybe she broke it off and he killed her in a fit of rage and now he’s skedaddled?”
“Well, it is a possibility, right?”
“Sure. I’ve been out looking for the guy myself and, like you said, he seems to have skipped town in a hurry. Didn’t even inform his parents where he was going.” We walked side by side for a moment, each lost in our thoughts, then Logan said, “Oh, and before I forget, Pen Harvester told me that Carmina Parra was also having an affair. With her own videographer.”
“Huh. Just like Kandace.” I suddenly remembered the woman’s reticence about her whereabouts on the night Kandace was murdered. “Is it possible she was with her boyfriend at the time of the murder?”
“She was. I confronted her with Pen Harvester’s words and she admitted she was holed up at the Happy Bays Inn. I checked with the boyfriend and he confirmed Carmina’s alibi.” He sighed. “So that leaves us with one missing videographer and one town drunk to look at.”
I glanced over. “Thanks, Logan.”
“What for?”
“For this. Sharing information. It’s great that you want to do this.”
He shrugged. “If the Chief hadn’t told me off I’d have done it a lot sooner. I’m the newcomer here, Saffron. You’re the local. You and your family are well-integrated in the community and know a hell of a lot more about this town and its inhabitants than I do.” He gave me a smile. “Your help is invaluable to me.”
I returned his smile. “Thanks. That’s great to hear.”
“So… what about a date? Dinner and a movie?”
My smile disappeared. I hadn’t forgotten how easily he’d dropped me when his boss told him to. “Maybe once we’ve managed to solve this case.”
“Is that a promise?”
“I said maybe, Logan. And I hope that next time your boss’s chickens are facing imminent death by molting it won’t make you stop seeing a girl.”
Sobered, he said, “That’s not what happened, Saffron, but… for what it’s worth, I’m truly sorry. I totally misread the situation. That was my bad.”
I looked at him and saw that he meant it. He really was sorry. Suddenly feeling benevolent, I patted his arm. “Wanna stay for dinner, Detective?”
His smile returned. “You bet.”
Chapter 24
The next day I had a little trouble dragging Lucien out of the house. He told me he was too busy editing the footage he’d already shot to bother with the investigation, though I was pretty sure the rejection he’d suffered at the hands of Logan probably had something to do with his lousy mood.
Logan had enjoyed dinner with my family, but Lucien hadn’t joined in the fun. Far from it, in fact. All throughout dinner my brother had been morose and quiet, resigning himself to stealing furtive glances at the stalwart cop.
Knowing Lucien, though, I knew this phase wouldn’t last. He tends to experience powerful crushes, and overcome them as quickly as they erupt. Pretty soon he’d find another object for his desire and Logan would be nothing but a distant memory, barely registering as a blip on his emotional horizon.
When finally I managed to drag him out of the house and into the Volvo, we soon were en route to the town center. Grandma had put in a call to find out where the town drunk might be holed up, and surprisingly enough Raban Steadman apparently had had a change of heart and had morphed into an upstanding citizen who had secured himself an actual paying job.
Bell’s Bakery & Tea Room is one of those places known far and wide for its excellent pastry and bakery goods. Run by the Bell family since time immemorial, it’s usually a beehive of activity and today was no different.
When we set foot in the tea room, it was already buzzing with activity, Happy Baysians indulging their morning sweet tooth and happily gorging on the delicious treats Peter Bell and Achilles Bell, the two brothers who create the Bell magic, had whipped up for them. Bianca Bell, Pete’s wife, was womanning the counter, and Felicity Bell, Pete’s daughter, was handling waitressing duties.
I greeted her happily. Fee is a busty and cheerful young woman and a personal friend of mine. When she saw us waltz in from the street, she gave us a cheery wave and streaked right on over.
“Hey, honey,” she said. “How’s things in the insurance trade?”
“Oh, can’t complain,” I said. “And how are things in the bakery trade?”
Fee waved a hand at the bustling tearoom. “As you can see, plenty of people seem to enjoy what we have to offer, so things are just great.”
She darted a keen look at Lucien, who was still brooding. “How is your brother?” she whispered. “He looks a little… preoccupied.”
“He’s getting over one of his crushes,” I said. “He’s in the grief stage.”
“I heard that,” said Lucien. “And I’m not getting over one of my crushes. I’m merely trying to come up with a creative scheme for my latest vlog. An artist has these spells where he broods on things until finally the idea comes to him, fully formed, in a flash of genius.”
“Well, let’s hope this flash of genius comes soon,” I said. “It’s like being saddled with Dr. House as a companion.”
Lucien muttered something that sounded a lot like ‘You should be so lucky.’
“We’re actually here to talk to Raban,” I said. “Is he around?”
“You’ve come to the right place,” said Fee. “He’s in the kitchen, washing dishes.” She led us through swinging doors and into the heart of the bakery. “What do you need him for? He’s not exactly Mr. Popular.”
“He might help us with an insurance investigation we’re conducting,” I said. Fee might be a friend, but that doesn’t mean I can confide in her.
She nodded and led us through the bakery, where Achilles was busily preparing the next batch of baked goodies, while Pete was having a smoke outside. In a small room in the back a squat man with frizzy orange hair and a white apron was operating the large industrial dishwasher.
“Raban?” asked Fee, approaching him. “There’s some people here to see you.”
Raban looked up in surprise. He obviously wasn’t used to receiving visitors, and definitely not at his place of employment.
“I’ll leave you to it,” said Fee, and hurried off, server book in hand.
“You’re Saffron Diffley,” said Raban, his keen eyes bright and shiny.
; “That’s me,” I acknowledged. “And this is—”
“Lucien Diffley. The famous vlogger.”
For the first time that morning, Lucien showed signs of animation. “You’re familiar with my work?” he asked, visibly surprised.
“Of course I am. I’m an avid vlogger follower. Though I’m mostly familiar with the female vloggers—for obvious reasons.” He gave me a lascivious grin.
Lucien frowned. “No, I don’t think that’s obvious.”
“Of course you don’t,” said Raban, who seemed to know us better than we knew him. Then again, if he really read Lucien’s vlog, he would.
“Are you also a fan of Kandace Slaker?” I asked, studying the man intently.
He smiled. “She’s my favorite. Such a pretty girl. I watch every single one of her posts. She’s always so cheerful. So bubbly and happy and bright. Perks me right up to simply watch her.” He mimicked Kandace’s voice. “Hi guys! I’m so excited to show you another episode of Kandace’s Secret Treasures!”
I smiled. “Yes, she was a very cheerful person, wasn’t she?”
“The best.”
“Is it true that you and Kandace had a disagreement of some kind?” asked Lucien.
Raban’s keen eyes swiveled to my brother. “Who told you?”
“Does it matter? Just answer the question.”
He shrugged, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “I might have had a little run-in with her at one point. But only because I was so eager to personally express to her my great admiration for her craft.”
“She accused you of stalking her? Is that true?” I asked.
“I never stalked her. I simply followed her around from time to time.”
“That’s the definition of stalking,” said Lucien.
“It is? That’s good to know.”
I was surprised to find the man so obviously not inebriated. Whenever I saw him around town he was usually supporting himself on a lamppost.
“You’re awfully… sober today, Mr. Steadman,” I said.
He grinned widely. “That’s because I am. Sober, I mean. I’ve got into the twelve-step program. Haven’t had a drink in a week, if you can believe it.”
“I can, actually,” I said admiringly.
“And I have Felicity Bell to thank for it. She’s the one who offered me this job, after I told her how much I liked her baking vlog. The way that woman bakes a cake.” He mimicked licking his fingers. “Yum-my!”
Lucien uttered a groan of annoyance, which Raban cheerily ignored.
“Can you tell me where you were two nights ago, from around eleven onwards?” I asked.
He thought hard, then his face lit up. “I’m pretty sure I spent the night at Jack’s.”
“Jack Pender?”
He nodded. “Jack is my sponsor. I spent the night on his couch, if I’m not mistaken. You can ask him about it. He’ll tell you I’m not a liar.”
“Oh, rest assured we will,” said Lucien.
Raban eyed him curiously. “You know, you should get that stick removed from your butt, buddy.”
“I beg your pardon?!”
“Life’s too short to be holding any grudges. Take it from me.”
“Well, excuse me if I’m not going to take it from you,” said Lucien nastily. “I’m not in the habit of taking advice from the town drunk.”
“Ex-drunk,” said Raban. “And now if you don’t mind telling me what this is all about? Not that I don’t appreciate all the attention, mind you.” He gave me another libidinous grin and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.
“I thought you would have heard by now,” I said instead.
“Heard what, sweetheart?”
“Kandace Slaker died, Raban. She was murdered.”
His face fell, and it was obvious he wasn’t faking it. “Oh, no!”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Don’t give us that fake distress,” Lucien grumbled. “You know what happened to her—because you killed her, didn’t you?!”
If this was Lucien’s way of eliciting a confession, it didn’t work.
“No, I did not,” Raban stated, looking visibly distraught. “Oh, that is simply terrible. Whose vlog am I going to have to follow now?”
“You can follow Lucien’s vlog,” I said. “He’s been filming non-stop.”
Raban eyed me with interest. “Has he filmed you?”
“Um… I guess he has.”
He smiled. “Then that’s all right. I like you, Saffron. Always have. You’re cute. I’ll watch Lucien’s vlog with interest.” I didn’t know whether to take that as a compliment or to be creeped out. But as we said our goodbyes, Raban added, “Oh, before I forget, there was this one incident you might want to look into.”
“What incident?”
“The last time Kandace was in here she had a big fight with some woman.”
“What woman?”
“Just ask Fee. She’ll tell you all about it.”
And then he turned back to his dishes and his dreams of vloggers.
Chapter 25
The woman Kandace had a fight with turned out to be Cheryl Egret. At least according to Fee, who’d been there when the row took place and had been forced to deal with the aftermath in the shape of a few broken cups and smashed plates. Also according to Fee, Cheryl worked as a secretary at Town Hall, which was where our little party of two headed to next.
“Aren’t you going to film this?” I asked Lucien once we were back in the Volvo and all buckled up and ready to go.
He shook his head, moody as ever. “I don’t feel like filming today. An artist’s soul is a delicate plant, Saffron, and mine has suffered irreparable damage and needs to go through a protracted period of creative rejuvenation.”
“Oh, come on. All this because Logan doesn’t want to get jiggy with you?”
He raised his chin mutinously. “I offered the man my heart and soul and body. He simply stomped on my heart and crushed my soul and deemed my body a gift not worth accepting. I’m hurt, Saffron. Please respect my pain.”
I would have laughed if it wasn’t so ludicrous. At least he was still out here with me, instead of locking himself up in his room and listening to The Cure or The Smiths all day and all night the way he used to when he was a teenager.
He heaved a deep sigh. “Where to next?”
“You heard Fee. Cheryl works at Town Hall. So that’s where we’re going.”
“This is all starting to feel more and more like a wild goose chase,” he said, starting up the engine. After a few attempts, it caught. “How many suspects do we have to interview before we figure out who killed Kandace Slaker?”
“As many as necessary. A murder investigation is not an exact science, Lucien, you know that. It takes time to figure out what happened, exactly.”
“You know what would be fun?” he asked, stomping down on the gas.
“That you would stop moping?”
He ignored the barb. “If Karma Corps would create a device that would tell us instantly who the culprit was. That way we could deliver karma much more efficiently, without all this pointless running around and interviewing suspects. I mean, it’s all so old-fashioned!”
“Well, as long as they don’t develop the device, we’re going to keep on doing things the way we’ve been doing them for the past few centuries.”
“If only they made an app,” he muttered, turning the car into traffic. “An app would make our lives so much easier.”
And as Lucien grumbled about his app and the terrible plight he faced as a Diffley, we drove at a leisurely pace to Town Hall, that beacon of local politics, where the local council holds forth and Mayor MacDonald has his office.
Lucien parked the car in the designated spot for visitors and we got out. The Stars and Stripes were fluttering over the one-story building, and when we marched inside we went in search of Cheryl Egret, the woman who purportedly had been Kandace’s bestie until that fateful afternoon at Bell’s.
We didn’t find C
heryl but we did find Mabel Stokely, the mayor’s personal secretary. She sat ensconced in her office a few doors down from the mayor’s office and looked up when I knocked on her door. Mabel is a hearty, voluble and voluminous woman with a pinkish shade of hair and a voice that carries.
“Come in, folks!” she hollered, getting up from behind her desk, which was covered with knickknacks and pictures of her family. “What can I do for you Diffleys? I heard you’re remodeling that old Diffley Manor? Did you apply for a permit? Home improvement grant? Need any help with that?”
“We’re not remodeling,” I said, surprised the woman would even know about our little project.
“But you are replacing the roof, aren’t you? Amongst other things?”
“We, um, well, we’re fixing a few cracks in the roof,” I admitted.
“Be careful,” she said in an admonishing tone. “If Dalton hadn’t been there to break Calvin’s fall and catch him, you could have faced an actual tragedy.”
“How do you know Calvin fell from the roof?” I asked slowly, wondering if Mabel Stokely possessed some kind of psychic powers I wasn’t aware of.
She laughed merrily, her voice ringing in my ears. “There isn’t much that stays a secret in this town, Saffie, you know that as well as I do. So it’s Cheryl you’re looking for, right? I’ll take you straight to her.” She stepped from behind her desk. “Mind you don’t keep her busy too long. She has a ton of work to do, what with the Mayor’s Ball coming up.”
“How… how did you know we’re looking for Cheryl?”
“Fee told me. She and I are great friends, and she gave me a heads-up.”
Of course she did. Now I remembered that both Felicity and Mabel were members of the Happy Bays Neighborhood Watch. With a license to snoop.
“If you think Cheryl is responsible for the death of Kandace Slaker, think again,” said Mabel as she jauntily led us along the long hallway, portraits of former mayors staring back at us from the walls. “Cheryl is the kind of person who wouldn’t hurt a fly, and most definitely not chop up her former best friend into little pieces and bury her all over Bethlehem Heights!”