by Nic Saint
He thought about this for a moment, stroking his chin. “I think I see what you mean. Okay. You can take over my investigation. On one condition.”
“Sure.”
“I get the credit.”
I rolled my eyes. This karma competition my brothers were so hot and bothered about was the least of my concern. “Sure. You can have the credit.”
“Oh, no, he can’t,” Lucien protested. “If we solve this murder credit goes to us.”
“No problem,” said Dalton. “Then I’ll simply continue my investigation.”
“No,” I said quickly. “Look, why don’t we share the credit?”
“Seventy, thirty,” said Dalton.
“Fifty, fifty,” said Lucien.
“Sixty, forty.”
“Forty, sixty.”
Dalton looked puzzled. “And now I’m confused.”
“Let him take the credit, Lucien,” I said. “We’re one family. We’re sharing the credit anyways.”
“Fine,” said Lucien. “But let it be stated for the record that I disagree.”
“What record?” I cried. “We’re just a bunch of amateur detectives!”
“You’re definitely right about that,” said Logan, joining us.
“What are your thoughts, Detective Munroe?” asked Lucien stiffly.
“Well, according to the coroner the guy’s been in the water a couple days. Which means he probably died around the same time the Slaker woman did.”
“They were murdered by the same killer,” I said. “And they dumped Blas Storer’s body to make it look like he killed Kandace and then skipped town.”
“Clever,” said Logan, nodding.
“Devious,” said Lucien.
“I’m off,” said Dalton, then clapped Logan on the shoulder. “Good luck with the investigation, buddy. See you at the gym.”
Logan watched him go. “I just talked to a witness—a geocacher who knows both victims. He told me there were rumors going around the geocaching community that Kandace and Blas didn’t play fair.”
“Play fair? What do you mean?” I asked.
“No idea. He told me to talk to…” He flipped open his notebook. “A woman called Nichol Valls. Big name in the local geocaching community. She’d called Kandace out on her lies and lack of fair play.”
“Nichol Valls?”
He nodded. “She runs a geocaching coffee shop in town called GeoJava.” He raised one eyebrow. “You guys wanna pay her a visit?”
Chapter 29
GeoJava was a smallish shop on Lloyd Street. It looked like one of those pop-up shops that are all the craze right now: now you see them, now you don’t. Here one day, gone the next. But when we walked in, it was crazy busy, and a lot of fun. It was filled with guys with long, carefully trimmed beards, hipster haircuts, and snazzy clothes, women with a smattering of tattoos and self-made dresses, dreadlocks and multi-colored braids. Way cool, dude.
We walked straight up to the counter, where a short-haired woman with peace bracelets dangling from her wrists was preparing a mocha latte for a purple-bearded dude dressed like a fashion model slash hiker. Judging from the map he was studying on his iPad, he was a geocacher, which wasn’t surprising, as GeoJava marketed itself as Geocaching Central.
“Hi,” I said by way of greeting. “We’re looking for Nichol Valls?”
“You found her,” she said without looking up. The foamy, creamy substance filled the cup to the brim and made my stomach rumble and my taste buds buzz. I needed one of those mocha lattes. Like, pronto.
Nichol placed the cup in front of the hipster trekker and awarded us her full attention. When she caught sight of Logan, her brow furrowed. “I’ve seen you around. Aren’t you a cop or something?”
“Or something,” Logan admitted, taking a seat at the solid oak counter.
Her frown deepened when we ordered three of the same foamy things Hipster Trekker was having, with Lucien adding an order of chocolate cake.
“So are you here for the coffee or for me?” she asked finally.
“We’re trying to figure out what happened to two members of your community,” I said.
“The geocaching community,” Lucien added helpfully. He’d taken out his phone again and was now taking a few shots of the interior of the coffee shop and its patrons.
“And who might those members be?” she asked.
“Kandace Slaker and Blas Storer,” said Logan.
I watched the woman closely, but she didn’t flinch.
“I wouldn’t exactly consider Kandace Slaker a member of this community,” she said, handling the coffee machine with deft professionalism.
“What would you call her?” asked Logan.
She shrugged, her back to us now. “A tourist? A phony? Definitely not a geocacher.”
“And why is that?” asked Logan.
She turned back to us. “What’s this all about? What’s with all the questions?”
“You do know what happened to Kandace Slaker, don’t you?” I asked.
“Sure I do. I don’t think there’s anybody that doesn’t. But I still don’t see what that has to do with me.”
“We just pulled Blas Storer’s body from Beacon Pond,” said Logan.
This time she started, holding onto the counter for support. “Blas? You found Blas?”
“Yes, we did. He’s been dead for a couple of days.”
“It’s very likely he died around the same time Kandace did,” I explained.
She closed her eyes for a moment. “I can’t believe it.”
“Did you know Kandace and Blas?” asked Lucien, holding up his phone and filming Nichol.
She gave him an angry stare. “Will you please put that thing down? I’m not Khloe frickin’ Kardashian and this is not a reality show.”
Lucien did as he was told.
“You still haven’t answered his question,” Logan said.
“Of course I knew them. Everyone did. It’s a tight-knit community.”
“So is it true that you and Kandace didn’t see eye to eye?” I asked.
She nodded, and handed me the cup of coffee. I gratefully took it. She then placed Logan’s cup in front of him, and gave Lucien an angry look as she plunked down his cup of java. Lucien took a sniff, probably trying to figure out if Nichol had put arsenic in his beverage.
Logan took a sip of his coffee. “Someone told me you disliked Kandace.”
The woman swallowed. “Is that a fact?”
“You just called her a tourist and a phony. What did you mean by that?”
She shrugged. “Exactly what I said. Kandace Slaker was an opportunist. She was not a genuine geocacher.”
“But she was the star of the geocaching community,” I pointed out. “Her blog was extremely popular in geocaching circles.”
“Kandace was a vlogger first and foremost,” said Nichol with a nasty glance at Lucien, whom she seemed to have placed in the same category. “She would have blogged about anything if it got her attention. She did the beauty thing and when she discovered there was an untapped audience in the local geocaching community quickly targeted them. But she was never a real geocacher. She took items and didn’t replace them. She removed caches and hid them so others couldn’t find them. She used the log to scribble down self-glorifying posts. She lied about her findings. I finally had to file a complaint against her with Groundspeak, the organization that runs geocaching.com.”
“That must not have gone down well with her,” said Logan.
“Not exactly. She came barging in here one morning, accusing me of sabotaging her vlog and destroying her brand. And that was the problem with Kandace Slaker in a nutshell: all she cared about was her brand—the money she made vlogging. She didn’t care about our community. Not one bit.”
“Miss Valls, I want you to think very carefully before you answer the next question,” said Logan.
She nodded, giving him a hard stare.
“Where were you two nights ago between eleven and mid
night?”
“I was… Geocaching.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“In the middle of the night?”
She placed her hands on the counter. “Look, I know it’s hard to understand, but geocaching is my life. It’s what I do. Not just here in Happy Bays but all over the country. I’ve even been around the world—finding those far-flung geocaches in places you’ve never even heard of.”
“What happens with GeoJava when you’re not around?” I asked.
“This isn’t my shop,” she said. “GeoJava is run by a group of volunteers. We’re all in the service of the geocaching community and we all do this for free, as a way of giving back to the community that has given us so much. Which is why Kandace and I would never have seen eye to eye. For her it was always about the money, the fame and the glory. And I hated her for that.”
Chapter 30
While Logan returned to the police station, Lucien and I returned to the offices of Diffley Insurance. It was time to regroup and think about all we’d learned so far.
When we walked into the office, Calvin was at the front desk.
I was as surprised to see him as he was surprised to see us.
“Aren’t you supposed to be fixing the roof?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Gran decided to go in a different direction.”
“Don’t tell me. She’s finally hired an actual roofer?”
He grinned. “Turns out my skills as a roofer are limited, and so are Brice’s.”
As if summoned by the mention of his name, Brice emerged from his office. “Who called a family meeting and didn’t invite me?” he asked, smiling broadly.
“Lucien and I need to have a think,” I said.
“A think? About what?”
“So far we’re still nowhere on the investigation.”
“What? Dalton told us he’d solved the murders.”
“He did?”
“Sure. He came in here bragging about how he’d solved the case in a stroke of genius. He’s gone down to the Manor to pop the tubes back up the pipes.”
I shared a look of confusion with Lucien.
“That’s not possible,” said Lucien. “We haven’t solved either murder.”
“Either murder—as in more than one?” asked Calvin.
“Yeah, we’ve got two murders to solve now,” I said. “Though they seem to be connected.”
Just then, Dalton waltzed in. When he caught sight of us, he said, “What’s going on? I tried to shove the tubes back up the system and they were rejected!”
“That’s because we haven’t solved the murders yet, you moron,” said Lucien.
“You haven’t? I thought you said it was only a matter of time before you would.” He frowned. “I’m disappointed in you guys. I expected more from you.”
Lucien looked as if he was ready to throttle his brother. “I hate you sometimes, do you know that? You’re just so…” He flapped his arms around, his face reddening, then blurted out, “… impossible!”
Dalton grinned widely. “Hey—I had you pegged as some kind of Shylock Homey, buddy. My bad.”
“It’s Sherlock Holmes, you idiot,” Lucien snapped.
“Whatever.”
“So where are you on the investigation?” asked Calvin. “Maybe we can help.”
“So far we talked to a couple of people,” I said. And I told them about Nichol Valls, Cheryl Egret, Raban, the Harvesters, and Carmina Parra.
“Those Harvesters sound pretty good,” said Calvin.
“Yeah, the family that spray-paints together, stays together,” Brice quipped.
“They had an alibi,” I said.
“What about Raban?” Calvin asked. “The town drunk?”
“Only he stopped drinking,” said Lucien.
“Logan talked to Jack—he said Raban was asleep on his couch the night Kandace was murdered, just like he said.” I shrugged. “So that’s a dead end.”
“Carmina Parra might be a good lead,” said Lucien. “She didn’t have an alibi and I like her as the killer. She hated Kandace with a vengeance.”
“Forget about Carmina. Pen revealed to Logan that Carmina was having an affair with her videographer. They were together the night of the murder.”
“That only leaves Miss Valls,” said Lucien, nodding. “I like her. She admitted she hated Kandace, and she was out roaming the woods that night.”
“Don’t forget about Blas Storer’s wife,” said Calvin. “The lady scorned.”
“Honestly? I don’t think so, Calvin,” I said.
“Why not? She must have hated both Kandace and Blas.”
“Yes, but only Kandace was murdered in that gruesome way. As if her killer took great pleasure in doing away with her. Not only did the killer want her dead, but humiliated, too. But Blas was unceremoniously shoved into his car and dumped in the lake. If Blas’s wife was the killer she would have given her husband the same treatment, don’t you think?”
“Unless she simply wanted him to take the fall,” said Calvin. “Hide the body so everyone would think he was the killer.”
“I think I’ll stick with Nichol Valls,” said Lucien, who seemed to have developed a dislike to the GeoJava manager. “She had motive and opportunity, and she knew where to find all those little geocaching boxes to stuff Kandace’s body parts into. My money is definitely on her.”
Somehow I didn’t think Nichol was capable of such an atrocity, but of course I could be wrong. People are sometimes capable of far more gruesome acts of violence than one can imagine. And Nichol did hate Kandace. A lot.
Just then, a customer walked into the office. It was Demitria Whitehouse, Chief Whitehouse’s wife. “Oh, hi, you guys,” she said when she saw us all gathered at the reception desk. “Looks like I’ve arrived just in time to give you some business.” She gave us a radiant smile, which I returned with a smile of my own. Chief Whitehouse might be a grumpy old curmudgeon, but his wife is a ray of sunshine and beloved by all in the local community.
“Step right on up, Demitria,” said Calvin. “Let me see what I can do for you.”
My brothers all disappeared into their respective offices and I wandered along to my own office at the back of the building, the windowless cubicle I’d been given only weeks ago, when I’d started to work for the family business.
I flicked on the light and plunked down in my swivel chair, gazing across my domain. My Star Wars Stormtroopers stood at attention on the shelves, as did the memories from some of my favorite books and movies: Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, and of course Sharknado, that unappreciated masterpiece.
I heaved a deep sigh and closed my eyes for a moment. This case was proving a lot harder to figure out than I thought. A soft cough had me almost jump out of my skin. My eyes flashed open, and I found myself looking into the mischievously sparkling eyes of Logan, who’d approached noiselessly.
“I wish you would stop doing that,” I said.
“Do what? Visit you in your office?”
“Sneak up on me like that.”
He draped his long limbs onto the only other chair and put his feet up on my desk. “I didn’t sneak up. I walked over and joined you in your office.”
“You could have knocked.”
“And spoil the fun of seeing you jump up like a startled deer? No way.”
I grumbled something, then asked, “So what’s next, Logan?”
“Dinner and a movie?”
“I mean with the investigation.”
“Oh, that.” He folded his hands behind his head and leaned back. “Well, I did some digging around about Nichol Valls and discovered that she’s a very well-liked and popular figure in the geocaching community. What’s more—” He wiggled his eyebrows. “She was also one of Blas Storer’s best friends.”
“She was?”
“Yup. They went geocaching together plenty of times, and Blas created the promo video for GeoJava when the place first opened. Also, Blas and Nichol were high scho
ol sweethearts and have remained close ever since.”
I sagged a little. “So she would never kill him.”
“I don’t think she would. And remember how surprised she looked when we said we’d found Storer’s body? I don’t think she was faking it. The distress she showed was genuine. She’d just lost one of her best friends.”
“Which means we don’t have any suspects left,” I said miserably. “None.”
“It would appear not.”
We were both silent for a moment, Logan admiring his surroundings. Though he’d been in my office several times he still seemed fascinated by my eclectic taste in popular entertainment. He picked up a Stormtrooper from my desk and toyed with him for a moment, then put the white soldier down.
“So that begs the obvious question, Saffron,” he finally said.
I nodded. “I know.”
“What movie do you want to see?”
Chapter 31
I have to confess I wasn’t in the best of moods when I finally returned home. After Logan left, my brothers had dumped some files on my desk—customer files that needed updating and some correspondence that needed inputting—which didn’t make me feel any better about myself or the world.
As the junior Diffley they usually give me the most tedious jobs, the data entry stuff they can’t be bothered with. And since my investigation wasn’t going anywhere, Diffley Manor saw a moody Saffron return to the homestead.
On the roof, a professional team of roofers was working hard to replace the entire dilapidated structure. Apparently it had only been a matter of time before the whole thing had come crashing down on us. That’s what you get when you have a house full of insurance brokers without a single handyman gene. Not that I should complain. I’m not much of a handywoman myself. I always thought I was a great sleuth, though, and that didn’t seem to be the case either.
The noise of hammers hammering and saws sawing and torches torching drifted down from the roof as we entered the house. Lucien went straight upstairs to check out the footage he’d shot today and get cracking on some preliminary editing. According to him he’d made some great headway to becoming the first Diffley to challenge Spielberg for the next Oscar.