by Maisy Marple
As soon as I made eye contact with her, she put her head down, stared at the sidewalk and quickly ducked inside the bookstore.
What a strange child, I thought to myself.
With a shrug, I went to enter my shop.
At first, I was surprised that the door was open slightly. But then I remembered that Ted had sent Officer Freeman over to protect me.
I pushed the door open and listened for his presence. It was silent in the main shop area.
“Officer Freeman?” I called out.
There was no answer. I went back into the kitchen and called out again. “Officer Freeman?”
This was starting to freak me out a little. Ted said he was sending him over, the police tape was removed, and my door was open — but there appeared to be no Officer Freeman.
Ted’s words rang loud in my ears as I began up the steps toward the deck: Everyone thinks they’re going to be fine…until they aren’t.
As I stepped out onto the deck, those words, along with Mable’s cries of Murderer were ringing in my head.
A pit formed in my stomach as I saw Officer Freeman for the first time. He had a crumpled up wad of police tape in his hand. He was lying facedown on the deck in the corner where James Popper had been discovered. He had two bullet holes in his back, and a note had been taped on him. Written in red marker were the words, Murderers have a special place in Hell.
The sirens on the squad cars were deafening as they came roaring around the corner onto Main Street. Their blue and red lights could be seen from a distance as they grew closer.
Ted got out of the first car and came running up the front steps toward me. Detective Tolbert followed as closely as his age would allow. I hadn’t seen Detective William Tolbert in a few months, as he left town after the David Gardner murder was solved. Ted told me that they called him back in to help with the James Popper murder. Thankfully, he had arrived.
“Are you alright?” Ted asked, wrapping me up in his arms, without a care in the world that anybody saw.
“I think so,” I said, settling into the embrace, allowing the tears to come freely.
“Go check on Freeman,” he ordered the other officers as they reached the entryway.
Detective Tolbert stood in the wings, waiting for his opportunity, giving Ted a rather dismissive look.
Ted finally let go of me and looked at Tolbert.
“That’s rather unorthodox police work, Billings,” Detective Tolbert frowned.
“It’s a little complicated,” Ted blushed.
“It must be,” Tolbert replied, stepping in to ask me questions.
“Ms. Cafe,” he said, extending his hand for a formality shake. “Please, don’t hold it against me if I don’t give you a hug,” he shot a look at Ted. “I’m just not the hugging type.”
A fake grin emerged beneath his bushy mustache.
“So, Connie…may I call you Connie?”
“Yes,” I nodded.
“Thank you. After all, it seems only fitting with the amount of time we’re spending together lately. Just like old friends,” he shot another glance at Ted. “Only, a tad more professional.”
There was an awkward silence among the three of us before he continued.
“It seems like this is becoming common place for you, yes?”
“Unfortunately,” I agreed.
“I’ve been briefed on the murder of James Popper, and made aware of the note that was in his pocket at the time of his death. Is there anything you wish to add to the existing information?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. To be quite honest with you, I’m in a fair bit of shock. James’s murder was one thing, and the note attaching the motive to a fear or hatred of myself was another. But this last thing…he was a police officer. I don’t even know what to think now. It seems like nobody’s safe.”
Detective Tolbert nodded, “It does appear as though someone is certainly trying to scare you, and the rest of us who would have anything to do with you, in the process.”
At that moment, one of the officers that had been sent out to the deck came rushing into the main room where we were talking.
“He’s alive!” He shouted. “We need to get the paramedics here ASAP!”
“I understand,” Ted said, finishing up on the phone. We were still standing around the main area of what might someday be Connie’s Cafe. “That’s very good news. Thank you…alright, goodbye.”
He turned and looked at Detective Tolbert and me. “Office Freeman’s going to be okay. The bullets missed his internal organs. He’ll be on the mend for a while, but he’s going to live.”
I breathed a deep breath of thanks.
“That’s good news, Billings,” Detective Tolbert nodded. He turned to me and said, “Ms. Cafe, in light of recent events, we are going to keep your building closed down for the foreseeable future.”
I nodded that I understood. But I was devastated on the inside. I didn’t dare show any emotion in front of Ted or Detective Tolbert. I’d save that for home. But I was a ball of emotion. How many more people were going to die because they knew me? How many murderers were there in Coffee Creek? Would it ever be safe for me to come back here again?
I had no idea what the future held, and in that moment, it seemed like God was playing a cruel game with me. I knew deep down that that wasn’t the case. But, boy, did it feel that way.
“Should I set up a security detail for Connie? Someone to keep an eye on her house and follow her and her mother around for a while?” Ted asked.
Detective Tolbert shook his head, sending another sharp look in Ted’s direction. “No, that won’t be necessary at this time. Not to mention, you’re going to be down a man for the next little while. Your resources seem to be spread thin enough as it is.”
“What do you suggest we do to keep Connie and her mother safe?” His voice had a protective edge to it that I found sweet. At the same time, I knew if he didn’t cool it, he was going to find himself in more trouble than this was probably worth.
“I suggest we get to work, roll up our sleeves, and find out who killed James Popper and who attempted to kill Officer Freeman. That’s what I suggest.”
With that, Detective Tolbert, walked out the front door and drove away.
“Sorry,” Ted shrugged. “I tried. He just doesn’t seem to understand.”
“I think it’s sweet that you want to keep me safe,” I smiled. “But do me a favor, would you?”
“What?”
“Don’t do anything stupid because you’re thinking too much of me and not enough of your job.”
“Don’t worry about that,” he assured me. “I’ll be fine.”
“You know,” I said, “a wise man once told me, Everyone thinks they’re going to be fine…until they aren’t.”
“Touche,” he smiled. “Touche.”
13
After a simple dinner with my mother (baked tilapia, steamed broccoli, and roasted potatoes with caramelized onions seasoned with garlic, salt and pepper, and a glass of ice water with a lemon to drink), I headed up to my bedroom to begin the process of figuring out who in the world was tormenting me and attempting to kill people who were trying to help me.
My mother knocked on the door a few minutes after I’d settled onto my bed with my yellow legal pad. I still couldn’t bring myself to use Reba’s poop paper notebooks.
“I noticed you were pretty quiet at dinner,” she said, poking her head into the room. “Is everything alright?”
I didn’t know what to say, or how to answer her. I really wasn’t in much of a hurry to start unpacking everything right now. I felt like I was already behind on this mystery and just wanted to get to the bottom of it already. But I also knew that shutting my mother out and keeping her at a distance wasn’t going to help, either.
“I’m going to be okay,” I replied. “I’m just not that great right now.”
“Are you still trying to figure out the James Popper murder?”
I nodded. She stil
l hadn’t heard about Officer Freeman. That news was still pretty new and hadn’t made it to her circles of information as of yet.
“There was an attempted murder at the shop today,” I told her. “That’s where I was all afternoon.”
“Oh, my,” she said, covering her mouth with her hand and entering my room. She sat down on the edge of my bed. “Who was it?”
“Officer Freeman,” I told her.
“What a shame,” she shook her head. “I like him so much.”
“They said he’s going to be okay, but it’s going to be a while. He was shot twice in the back out on the deck. Mom, he was in the exact same spot that James Popper was.”
I started to sob.
My mother wrapped her warm, loving arms around me. “There, there,” she said, running her hand over my hair. “I’m here for you.”
“I know.” I attempted to nod, but she had a sturdy hold on my head. “You’ve always been there when I needed you.”
She finally let go, and I brought my head up, thankful for a few deep breaths of fresh air.
“Have you talked to Ted about this?”
“Of course,” I said, flashing her a look. “He was there with me all afternoon.”
“That’s nice. At least he’s aware of everything.”
“I’m not so sure,” I shook my head. “I’m worried that his new found interest in me might be clouding his judgement just a little.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, he’s a little over protective all of the sudden, and he was a titch less than professional today at the crime scene. Mom, he hugged me in front of Detective Tolbert.”
“Who’s Detective Tolbert again?”
“He was the guy that helped with the David Gardner investigation a few months back.”
“Is he the one that came up with that idiotic idea where you had to wear a wire?”
“That’s the guy.”
“Ooh, I don’t like him,” she said, crinkling up her face. “He put my baby in harm’s way.”
“I was fine.”
“You could have died! I would not call that fine.”
She had a point. But to be fair to Detective Tolbert, I had been the one to go to him with evidence. He was just the one that figured out a way that I could help without getting into trouble — legal trouble, that is.
“Let’s save that argument for a different day,” I smiled. “Right now, I have to get to work and figure out what’s going on here.”
She tapped my knee as she stood up to leave. “Just promise me you won’t end up in the back of some creep’s car this time.”
“I will do my best,” I gave her a reassuring smile.
“I love you, sweetie,” she said as she left my room. “Please be careful.”
“I will.”
She left my room and I was left alone with my thoughts and my legal pad.
What did I already know?
I knew that whoever the killer was hated me and thought I was a killer.
I knew that they had murdered one person and attempted the murder of another in the exact same spot, using the exact same sentiments in two separate notes, which were placed somewhere on the person’s body. Both notes were written with red marker.
I knew that Mable owned the antique shop a few doors down and called me a murderer every chance she could get. She also had a small and miserly group of friends who also shared her opinions about me.
I knew that the Coffee Creek Real Estate office was located at the top of Main Street and there were two very busy agents trying to shift James Popper’s paperwork over to ensure that his commissions were put in the right place, whatever that meant.
And Piper was an odd child. I didn’t know if the weird stares I was getting from her meant anything. Perhaps, she was just a very introverted person who was afraid of anything, or anyone, she didn’t know.
I finished jotting all of these things down on my notepad before flipping the page.
Who were Mable’s friends?
I thought this might be as good a spot as any to start as Mable was the one who was actually calling me a murderer. Even though Mable wasn’t strong enough to do the things that had happened, if she, somehow, had help by some, or all, of the women in her inner circle, the killing of James Popper might have just been a crime that they were capable of pulling off.
Plus, the timing would have been right.
James Popper was murdered before my mother, Reba and I had finished dinner on the night of the closing. I’d seen James earlier that day to sign paperwork. Mable and her crew came into the restaurant as we were leaving.
Who was with her? There was Dotty Brennon, I remembered seeing her. I closed my eyes and tried to see the others in my mind. There were four ladies around Mable, if I was correct. Wendy Ferris was also there. I was sure of it. And the last one would have been, Fern Rosewood.
It still seemed like a stretch, but it was possible that they somehow lured James onto the deck, had him sit down in a chair and then ambushed him and strangled him with his own tie.
As I thought about what he must’ve gone through, how horrible the process of dying in that way must’ve been, my eyes welled with tears.
There was one thing I was having trouble figuring out. How would they have gotten in the building without the key? Had James had an extra key in his pocket? Had they convinced him to open the shop and give them a tour? Would James have done that for them after the closing had been finalized? Or, had they overpowered him and taken a key from him? Where had this occurred? If it occurred at all. Was there even a key to speak of? Clearly, there must’ve been an extra key. How else would they have gotten in there in the first place?
And if they used an extra key, that meant that the key was still out there.
Which made this investigation all the more important to wrap up quickly.
At this point, it looked like my first step was to go pay Dotty Brennon a visit.
She lived a few blocks from Main Street in a tiny yellow house with beautiful gardens, which she tended daily. She was fit as a fiddle, that one.
I looked at my phone.
It was a little after ten O’clock. If was going to be sweet as honey tomorrow, I was going to have to get some sleep.
Tomorrow, I would be wide awake and ready to catch a killer!
14
Dotty Brennon was spry for a woman in her seventies. She went for vigorous walks every day through town, could be seen with groups of friends up and down Main Street regularly, shopping and conversing. She also frequented many of the local restaurants and took care of all of her own yard work.
She owned a half acre corner lot a few blocks from Main Street. The house was quaint and yellow, with a beautiful little front porch on the front of it. The porch had two chairs, one for Dotty, and one that remained empty. It had been occupied by her husband, Harold, for fifty years before he passed a few years back.
As I drove my car up to her house, I slowed down and looked to see if she was outside. I didn’t really feel like climbing up onto her porch and ringing the doorbell if I didn’t have to.
I spotted her, in the middle of the yard, pulling a large bag of potting soil out of a tiny shed. Her hair, which looked like it had spent the night in large curlers, and whose pale yellow clearly came out of a bottle, was bouncing as she tugged the bag out into the yard.
She was such a small thing, and yet so strong. She took that bag of soil, which I guessed had to weigh at least twenty-five pounds, and threw it right over her shoulder.
Her walk wasn’t inhibited by the sudden stress of the weight that she had just taken on. She walked quickly across the yard and threw the bag of soil down next to the foundation of the house.
I said a quick prayer and remembered my scripture from this morning’s java and Jesus session. It was about courage, which I needed an abundance of at the moment.
Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the LORD your God goes with
you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.”
Deuteronomy 31:6-8
With that in mind, I pulled my car into the driveway and killed the engine. I stepped out onto the hot blacktop.
It was sweltering, and just walking over to Dotty was causing me to sweat. I couldn’t imagine how she was doing all of this work out in the heat like she was.
My mother always reminded me that her generation, and the generations before her were much tougher than my generation and the generations that were following us.
As I approached Dotty now, I most definitely agreed with my mother’s assessment of things.
“Excuse me,” I called out, once I thought I was within ear shot. I didn’t want to sneak up on her. She might accuse me of trying to murder her if I didn’t let her know I was there before I got too close.
She had just picked the bag of soil up after cutting the top off with a rather large, sharp looking knife, which she’d deposited in the grass next to her.
When she heard my voice, she looked around and set the bag of soil down with a thud. She picked up the knife and held it in front of herself, defensively.
“What do you want?” She asked me through squinted eyes.
“I just want to talk to you, Mrs. Brennon.”
She held the knife forward a bit. “Well, go ahead. Talk.”
“I realize this is very strange,” I began. “But I saw you with Mable the other night. I already know what Mable thinks of me.”
“You mean that you’re a murderer?” Dotty interrupted.
“Yes,” I nodded. “She thinks I’m a murderer. I’m actually here, not because I’m a murderer, but because I’m trying to figure out who the murderer is.”
“Well, how am I supposed to help you with that?” Dotty shrugged. “I’m just taking care of my gardens, minding my own business.”
“I understand that. I just wanted to talk to you about the other night.”