Two Sleuths Are Better Than One

by Elizabeth Ashby

  Cristal nodded. "Like I said. Early morning."

  "When did she leave the B&B?"

  "I got up at nine, and she was gone by then," Cristal said.

  That seemed to be the final straw for Bree, who got to her feet and pulled her friend off the chair's arm. "I'm sorry, but we really need to get back to work."

  Cristal started to argue, but something in her friend's eyes apparently convinced her the conversation was over. She settled for saying, "Good luck," and followed Bree out of the lobby.

  I headed back to the market, doing the math on whether Georgia would have had time to get from the B&B to the market, kill Coach Andy, and then get over to the beach before Maria and I found the body. Since I'd just done the trip between the market and the B&B, I knew it was only about a fifteen-minute walk. If Georgia had left the B&B by nine, as Bree thought, or even nine thirty, then she would have arrived at the market no later than nine forty-five, which was when the Baxter twins would have had the first aid tent fully set up. That gave her anywhere from fifteen to forty-five minutes to kill Andy and get to the beach.

  It was definitely possible. I'd have to let Maria know. Maybe she could find out whether any of the vendors had seen Georgia even closer to the scene of the crime, somewhere within the confines of the market.

  *

  On the way back to the market, I used my phone to search online for a picture of Georgia. It only took a few minutes to find a story about a charitable event she'd attended with Gabe. I downloaded the image and forwarded it to Maria, along with a request that she check with her vendors to see if Georgia had been spotted at the market close to the time of Andy's death.

  Ten minutes later, when I caught sight of Matt sitting on the grass near our planned rendezvous point, the quilting bee, he was glaring at his own phone. I called out his name, and he ran over to scoop me up in a long hug.

  "Where have you been?" he asked, clearly worried.

  Matt and I weren't the sort of couple that lived in each other's pocket, but I was a few minutes late for when we'd agreed to meet, and I was usually early for appointments. It was an old habit from my trial practice, when I'd always scoped out the territory before meetings with either clients or adversaries.

  I hadn't expected a few minutes' delay to bother Matt, but I could understand why he'd been worried. He'd had a few scares in the past when I'd gotten into some trouble and he hadn't been around to protect me the way he had felt he should.

  "I'm fine. I just went to have a chat with Bree Milford about Gabe's widow. The heat slowed my pace a bit on the walk back here."

  "You look a little flushed. That's not a symptom of…you know."

  "No, I'm fine. It's just from the walk and the heat. I got more sun exposure just now than I'm used to."

  There was another reason for Matt's increased anxiety, besides the possibility that I'd been targeted by a killer. Ever since I'd told him about my syncope diagnosis, he'd started fussing over me whenever any little thing happened. I didn't regret telling him—keeping it secret had been a barrier to a real relationship with him for too long—but I chafed under both the unnecessary attention and the realization that I was to blame for causing such a laidback person to worry.

  Now wasn't the time or place to discuss his unnecessary concern, so I changed the subject. "I arranged to meet up with Maria Dolores at the end of the market today. We've still got another couple of hours or so until then though, so I thought I'd go home first to drop off my purchases and grab some sunscreen in the meantime."

  "Purchases?" Matt released me enough to step back a foot and peer at me.

  "They're under the quilt frame. I asked Emma to watch them for me while I went over to the B&B."

  He collected the bag for me before we both headed away from the market.

  "I had to put the truck in the far corner of the lot," Matt said. "The place is packed today."

  "We don't need to take the truck. I meant I'd take the purchases to my house, not yours, so I can walk." We tended to refer to both my bank-turned-residence and his cabin as "home" these days. "You can stay and check out the market while I'm gone if you want. Maybe find someone to interview for a story."

  "I'd rather go with you."

  I really didn't want him hovering. "What about the salsa demonstrations? You could pick up some hints for when there's a working stove at the cabin."

  "I don't care much about the demonstrations," Matt said, taking my hand and heading for the exit. "I'm more interested in the people who entered the contest, and I won't know who they are until next week."

  "What about the stove? Will you have one in time for the contest?"

  "It's got to be the right one, not one that's chosen for a deadline," he said. "I'll know it when I see it, and I just haven't seen it yet."

  I was starting to think there was something more to his inability to choose a kitchen appliance than what met the eye. Was there some subtext I was missing? After all, it had been almost nine months to the week since Thanksgiving, when he'd promised to get a stove so his cabin would be fully functional for the two of us. Was he trying to tell me that he didn't actually want to share his place with me?

  "If you haven't seen the right stove yet, it probably doesn't exist," I said as we walked along Main Street toward my house. "Are you holding out for one that does all the work for you, like a replicator from Star Trek?"

  "I don't mind cooking," he said. "I just need the right equipment."

  "Like what?"

  "Something to sear things over an open flame," he said.

  "You've got a grill on the patio."

  "Yeah, but a grill option on the stove would be better. No need to worry about the weather."

  I'd never seen Matt care about the weather. If he had something to do outdoors and it was raining, he just put on boots and threw a raincoat over his polo shirt and cargo pants. He had plenty of clothes to change into if the first outfit got wet.

  There was definitely something more to his inability to decide on a stove.

  "It shouldn't be all that hard to find a stove with a grill option," I said, trying to get to the bottom of the problem. "I had one in my condo in Seattle."

  "The ones I've seen are all too small. Or if the grill section is big enough, there isn't enough room for regular burners," he said. "And I want the oven to be able to bake pizzas, so it needs to maintain a higher temperature than most standard models do."

  My legally trained brain immediately jumped to enumerating the risks that might come with a supercharged oven, wondering how far the cabin was from the nearest fire station, and imagining how sad it would be if flames reached the dense forest that dominated Matt's property.

  "You love the pizza at Gino's," I said. "They'll go bankrupt if you stop going there because you're making your own. You don't need your own pizza oven."

  "But the kitchen won't be perfect without it." His tone was plaintive, and I thought he really believed he needed everything on his list. Maybe it wasn't a delaying tactic.

  "As long as we're together and we can make dinner at home, it'll be perfect," I said.

  "You're right, I suppose." He took my hand to cross Cliffside Drive.

  "There's another option too," I said. "We could just move all your things into the downtown house and live together there. Save the cabin for weekends or getaways, when we don't need to cook our own food. We managed a big Thanksgiving dinner at my place last year, and we could do it again. It's somewhat silly to fully outfit two houses when we spend all our time together. And mine is more accessible for someone who doesn't drive."

  "I don't mind chauffeuring you around," he said.

  "What about when you go on an overseas business trip for a month?" It didn't happen often, but he did occasionally take on a job as a spokesperson for clients he'd worked with earlier in his career. He'd just come back from one such trip a few weeks ago.

  "There are ride services," he said. "Like the one you used this morning. I'll even pay for it if it's n
ot in your budget."

  "That's not necessary," I said. "I was just considering all the options."

  "I'm happy to be wherever you are," he said. "But I'm still going to buy us the perfect stove. You're going to love it."

  *

  While we were putting away the market produce, we made plans to spend the night at the cabin after the meeting with Maria. I packed a small backpack with a change of clothes for the next morning, which Matt insisted on carrying on the walk back to the market. Rather than heading straight for the Pear Stirpes stall, where I would find Merle and could ask him where Maria was, we detoured across the parking lot to put the backpack into the truck so he wouldn't have to continue carrying it.

  Matt hadn't been exaggerating about how full the lot was. He'd been lucky to find a space large enough for his battered old truck. I didn't know how he'd managed to maneuver it within the confines of the narrow travel lanes so as to back into the space, but at least we'd be able to get out easily later.

  While I waited for Matt to unlock the cab and toss the backpack inside, I heard a car honk on Cliffside Drive. I looked in the direction of the sound, past the back of the truck, but I couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. As I started to turn back, something caught my attention in the grass between the road and the parking lot, about ten feet from the back of Matt's truck. It was an oversize red flashlight, brilliantly red, with no obvious rust or dirt on it, at least not from this distance.

  I started forward to retrieve it for the lost and found box at the first aid tent when I remembered what Maria had texted me about the murder weapon—it was heavy and pipe-shaped. The flashlight met that description.

  Nausea immediately erupted in my stomach.

  Maybe I should keep my distance and just tell Detective Ohlsen about it. Except I didn't want to get Officer Fields in trouble for divulging information about the murder weapon if that hadn't been revealed publicly.

  The sound of the truck's door slamming shut startled me out of my indecision, and I got out my phone.

  Matt came over to stand beside me. "What's so fascinating about the grass?"

  I nodded at the flashlight. "Does that look like a possible murder weapon to you?"

  "Hey." He propped his hands on his hips in an aggrieved posture. "That's not fair. You got to find both a body and a murder weapon without me."

  My stomach began to settle. Matt made everything so much better. "You're here with me now, and that's all that matters."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Maria Dolores

  I was basking in the sunshine and the warm feeling of accomplishment as I watched the salsa demonstrations go smoothly until Keely called and brought me back down to earth with a reminder of how things weren't entirely going as planned, since there was still a murder—or two—to solve. I told her I'd collect Officer Fields and bring him to her, since he was nearby on the outskirts of the audience.

  After I explained to Fields about the suspected murder weapon, he called the police station and left a message for Detective Ohlsen to contact him as soon as possible. Then we both jogged over to the parking lot. We found Keely and Matt leaning against the front end of a battered pickup truck. Officer Fields gestured for them to step even farther away from the truck while he peered down the space between it and the adjoining vehicle. From beside him, I could see the flashlight lying on the grass an easy toss away from the edge of the gravel parking lot. Its bright red finish and hefty size—almost two feet long—made it hard to miss.

  "Looks potentially lethal," Fields pronounced after several seconds. "That's not some cheap throwaway model either. I'm surprised no one spotted it and decided to claim it for himself before now."

  "I don't think it was there very long," Matt said. "Not overnight, and not even before I parked here a couple hours ago. I would have noticed if it had been here then."

  "Maybe not, considering the way you backed in," Fields said. "It could have been in a blind spot in the rearview mirror."

  "I'd have seen it if it was there," Matt insisted. "I always look back at the truck and its surroundings after I get out. Something I learned from Car Talk when I was a kid. They called it the over-the-shoulder test. A quick check to be sure nothing is out of order, like the lights being left on, back when they didn't turn off automatically. I never grew out of the habit. It's good for noticing other things about the exterior so they can be fixed before they get worse."

  "Are you sure you checked today?" I asked, wondering why Matt ever bothered to check on a vehicle as battered as his. Would he even notice an additional dent or ding? "If the flashlight is the murder weapon, I'd expect it to have been ditched right after the murder, not the next day."

  "I'm sure," Matt said.

  "Either way," Fields said, "I don't like it. Assuming the flashlight is the murder weapon, it's not good news, regardless of when it landed here. If it was here overnight, it's going to be hard to prove that any fingerprints are from the killer, rather than from someone who picked it up after the fact. And if it was tossed here just recently, like Matt believes, then the killer had to have come back to the market today and might be planning more trouble."

  "I'll make sure the vendors are keeping an eye out for any suspicious behavior," I said.

  "I still don't like it." Fields turned to Matt. "Are you in a rush to move your truck? If you could leave it here for a while, it would help to block access to unauthorized personnel until we can do it officially."

  Matt looked at Keely, who said, "We're not in any rush. We can go help the quilters pack up."

  Fields got a call just then, so the three of us left him to deal with securing the scene.

  "This doesn't make sense," I said as soon as we were out of hearing range. "If you're right, and the flashlight wasn't there overnight…"

  "I'm right," Matt said.

  "Then why would anyone come back here to ditch a murder weapon?" I asked. "And put it somewhere in plain sight? There must be better places to get rid of it."

  Keely nodded. "They could have tossed it into the ocean from the lighthouse's cliff or anywhere along Two Mile Beach. It would probably never be seen again, and even if it was, the tide and the sand and the water would have quickly removed any incriminating evidence."

  "So why did they have to come back to the market to get rid of it?" I asked.

  "Maybe it wasn't primarily to get rid of it," Keely said thoughtfully. "They could have planned to use it for something else."

  "You think they were trying to frame me by leaving it near my truck?" Matt asked. "Why would anyone think I might have killed Coach Andy? I liked him. Even donated to a fundraiser so his football team could go to a special training camp this fall."

  "I wasn't thinking of a frame job," Keely said. "You're too well known for that to work."

  "People do tend to remember me," Matt said matter-of-factly, making me think of the fans who'd accosted him at the Smugglers' Tavern Saturday to ask for a selfie. The easy way he'd dealt with the situation suggested it was a common occurrence.

  "Then what?" I asked. "You think the killer might have intended to attack someone else and then changed their mind and tossed the weapon?"

  "I'm afraid so," Keely said. "I'm wondering if the two deaths are connected, not because the wives swapped murders but because we've got some sort of serial killer on the loose. He killed Gabe and got away with it, at least in the sense of not being arrested immediately. So he went looking for another victim and got Coach Andy. And then he came back today for someone else."

  I really didn't want to think that my market might have become a killer's hunting grounds. "Then why did he toss the flashlight instead of killing again?"

  "He might have heard the police had a description of the murder weapon and realized the flashlight was too distinctive to be overlooked," Keely said. "It is bright red, after all."

  "Or his intended victim might not have been here today," I said. "It's not a regular market day, so the person might not have shown up."r />
  "That's assuming he had a target planned out," Keely said. "Another possibility is that he got a taste for murder after he killed Gabe. Then he went looking for more victims, and the market seemed like a good place to find some, since it attracts a lot of people and they're spread out over a fairly large space that includes some relatively private spots, like the first aid tent and some of the little caves near the historical garden, where he can kill and run."

  My heart sank. The market had weathered some pretty bad experiences last year, but they all paled next to a serial killer targeting it. Everything had been going so well this season, up until Coach Andy's death. I should have known the universe had something bad up its sleeve.

  "There's another possibility," Matt said slowly, pulling Keely close against his side as he spoke. A worried frown appeared on his famously photogenic face. "Although I really hope I'm wrong. What if the killer wasn't just on an adrenaline high, looking for random victims, but he was stalking someone in particular? Someone he thought was a danger to him."

  Keely nodded and clutched her stomach. "He could be targeting someone he believed was on his trail here at the market."

  "In other words," I said with more calm than I felt, "he's coming after one of us."

  *

  I didn't have a chance to let that scary possibility really sink in before I got a text from Cary to say I was needed at the salsa demonstrations. I excused myself and hurried off to see what the latest crisis was. Fortunately, it was nothing more than the mayor wanting to hand off the paperwork for some new entries in the nontraditional category before he left for the day.

  Once I'd taken the entries and the mayor was called away by a constituent who wanted a few minutes of his time, I thought about what Keely had said. It was possible that Coach Andy's killer might be targeting me next. I had to tell Merle. He would worry, but I couldn't keep something like that a secret from him, even if it was only speculation.