by Sonia Parin
They all looked at Abby as if she might be able to throw some light on the matter.
“Surely the rate of crimes in the area is now out of proportion with the population,” Joyce insisted.
Shrugging, Abby said, “Don’t quote me on this, but I don’t think crime is necessarily an exact science.” Abby turned to Bradford. “You’re writing a thriller suspense book. You must have come across some interesting statistics.”
“I can’t say that I have.”
“Maybe we’re too isolated here,” Joyce suggested. “Some people can’t handle the peace and quiet.”
“This is clean, mountain air. Isn’t that supposed to cleanse the soul?” Faith asked. “I feel let down. All these crimes are polluting our perfect little corner of the world.”
Bradford checked his watch. “I wonder how long it will take for someone to blame the internet.”
“Why would we do that?” Joyce shook her head. “For all we know, there is a spring flowing with evil water. This could not have happened at a worse time. We’re supposed to be in a festive mood.”
“I hope you’re not about to blame poor Harold.” Faith inspected her paper hat and tried it on for size.
“Are you going to investigate the crime, Abby Maguire?”
Abby tried not to laugh. “Could you ask me that again when you’re not wearing your elf ears?”
Joyce adjusted her ears. “I’m going to have to put in an extra effort tomorrow.”
“You can’t just say that and leave us hanging,” Faith complained. “What are you going to wear?”
“Telling you would spoil the surprise. And you know I’m all about making those first impressions count.”
Faith tweaked her hat and then put it back on. “People are bound to ask why you closed the café today. I can’t remember you ever closing the café. What are you going to say?”
Joyce tilted her head. “I’m sure Detective Inspector Joshua Ryan wishes us to be discreet.”
Abby laughed. “In other words, you’re looking forward to saying no comment.” Looking toward the window, she added, “I’m surprised people aren’t lining up outside.”
“It’s the heat.”
“Oh… Right. Well, I would have said that but I’m not allowed to talk about the heat.”
Faith leaned forward. “You’re not allowed to complain about it. There’s a difference.”
Abby got up and stretched. “I guess Faith and I need to get back to work.”
“Oh… No… Don’t go. Stay for lunch. I need to keep busy.”
Abby understood the need to be around people. Death had a way of strengthening bonds and uniting people in grief. It seemed easier to accept something inexplicable when others shared the same confusion.
“I didn’t know him that well but he’s left a void,” Joyce explained.
“It’s scary to think one of us killed him.” Faith scrunched up her paper hat. “I don’t want to think about it but I keep going back to it. This sort of thing makes one suspicious and paranoid. My neighbor told me her husband went to visit a friend. What if she killed him and we don’t find out about it until years later?”
“We can’t just sit here moaning about what’s happened.” Joyce surged to her feet. “Abby, you’ve been instrumental in helping the police with their investigations. What are you doing here? You should be out there trying to uncover the killer’s identity.”
“Um… You just told me to stay.”
“Well, that’s no excuse.”
Abby looked out of the window. “You want me to go out there, into that heat?”
“Sooner or later, you will have to get used to it or pack your bags and go back home.”
“That’s harsh,” Faith said. “You know this heat is extreme.”
Joyce mouthed an apology.
Abby nodded. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but we’re in the mountains where it’s supposed to be cooler.”
“As Faith said, this is extreme and… unusual. Fine, I’ll apologize. I’m sorry. This is all so… surreal.” Joyce clapped her hands. “Hop to it, Abby Maguire.”
Before Abby could talk herself into getting up, Joyce sunk down.
“I swear he was alive when I left him. What if this all comes back to bite me?”
“Joyce, you have nothing to worry about,” Bradford assured her.
Her eyes widened in shock. “People have been wrongly accused.” Straightening, she slammed her eyebrows together. “I am the last person to see him alive. I knew this day would come. Every time I go to the hairdressers I put my life in their hands. One wrong word from me, and they could plant my hair in the scene of a crime.”
Bradford laughed. “Right. Because they just happened to have one tucked right up their sleeves.”
“Laugh if you like, but that alley is filled with my DNA. One eyelash is all it would take for the police to connect me to Harold’s death. And that’s not the worst scenario. Anyone could come into the café, discreetly poison a cup of coffee and then point the finger of accusation at me.” Joyce turned to Abby, her large eyes beseeching her.
“Fine. I’m going, I’m going.” Abby turned to Doyle. “You should stay here where it’s cool.”
Doyle huffed out a breath and rested his head on his paws. A second later, he jumped to his feet.
“I think he wants to go with you,” Faith said.
“At least I’ll be driving my own car.” She looked at Bradford. “It has real air-conditioning.”
Jumping to her feet, Joyce scurried into the kitchen and returned with a couple of bottles of water. “Stay hydrated. And for heaven’s sake, wear a hat.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Stepping outside, Abby tipped her head down and walked as fast as she could. “There’s really nothing to it, Doyle. We get to the car as quickly as we can. That’s our target. There’ll be no stopping along the way to sniff the pavement.”
She saw a few people heading toward the bakery and while the other stores were open, their doors were kept closed to keep the heat out.
Looking up, she focused on her car sitting outside the pub. “Just a quick dash across the street, Doyle, and we’ll be on our way.” Scooping Doyle up, she unlocked her car and dove inside only to yelp. “It’s an oven in here.” Turning the air-conditioner to the highest setting, she sent Joshua a message and got them on their way, but it took a good ten minutes to cool the inside of the car.
Along the way, she stayed alert by trying to figure out who might have had the opportunity to kill Harold Moorhead. She assumed the detective would be able to establish people’s whereabouts that morning and take it from there. Or would he work in reverse? Would he try to come up with a motive for murder?
Tapping the steering wheel, she wondered out loud, “How would he do that?” Abby glanced down at Doyle. “What do you think? Will Joshua try to find out if Harold had something someone else wanted?”
Doyle tilted his head from side to side.
“You’re wondering why I ask? I can’t help it. It’s my job. People don’t get killed for no reason.”
Despite wearing sunglasses, she still squinted against the bright light of day. Driving along the straight road leading out of town, Abby wasn’t surprised to find she was the only one out and about. Anyone in their right mind would stay indoors. The air didn’t just feel hot, it felt thick with heat.
Trying to avoid the feeling of drowsiness that came with driving in the heat, she kept her mind engaged by looking at the scenery.
A homestead came into view, set well back from the road and surrounded by dry grass. She couldn’t help thinking about the grass being greener on the other side of the fence. How did Harold’s neighbors feel about his lush lawn?
Abby snorted. “As if someone would kill him because he had a healthy lawn.”
Glancing at the trees, she couldn’t detect a lick of wind. The road ahead shimmered against the harsh light. Sitting up straight, she focused on staying alert and optimistic. The heat would
eventually subside.
Abby glanced down at Doyle again. He sat on the passenger seat and had his head tipped up to see where they were going.
“If someone had been planning Harold’s demise, why didn’t they take action before? Why did they wait for him to come into town?”
It had to be opportunity.
She had her answer when she drove up to his farmhouse.
Someone took advantage of the opportunity… The convenience of Harold being away from his house…
The day before, she hadn’t noticed the security cameras. They covered every possible angle and she would bet anything she would find them in the rear of the house too.
“If Harold never left his house, why did he take so many precautions?”
She drove right up to the front door and cut the engine. Twisting the cap off the bottle of water, she gave Doyle a drink and then settled back to make a few notes. Every few minutes, she checked the rear-view mirror.
Harold had kept a tidy yard. There were crimson red poinsettias planted along the footpath leading to the front porch, suggesting he liked to dress up the place for Christmas. A colorful wreath hung on the front door, interlaced with a bright red ribbon. As she looked out onto the lawn, the sprinklers came on.
For a moment, a feeling of sadness swept through her. The house didn’t know it yet. Harold wouldn’t be coming home again.
One other person knew Harold wouldn’t return to the house. Was there something inside the house the killer wanted to get his hands on?
She had no intention of wandering around the property in this heat. Besides, what could she possibly find? Footprints? Maybe someone had staked out the place. “Or worse,” Abby murmured. The killer might have killed Harold and then dashed over here to see if they could break into his house…
Abby pushed the automatic lock on the doors and told herself to be practical. If someone had broken in, the alarm would have gone off.
Half an hour later, her patience paid off. She heard the sound of an approaching car first and then she saw it.
“Finally.”
Detective Inspector Joshua Ryan parked alongside her and emerged from his car. He walked up to Abby’s car and knocked on the window.
“May I ask what you are doing here?” he asked when she rolled down the window.
“Waiting for you. It took you long enough. I was about to send you another text.” Abby didn’t see any point in skating around the subject. If she wanted to go inside the house, she would have to grovel. “Did you get my message?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
Before setting off, she had sent him a message to meet her here, but earlier, she had sent him a text providing the names of Harold’s wives. “I meant the one about the ex-wives.”
He nodded. “Thank you.”
“How did they take the news?”
“With a mixture of surprise and shock. I believe they have called a temporary truce. When I left them, they had started talking about the funeral arrangements.”
Hoping to tackle the reason for her trip here, Abby asked, “Did Harold have his house keys on him?” She laughed. “What a silly question. Of course he did…”
Joshua dug inside his pocket and produced a set of keys, which he dangled in front of her. “I guess that’s why you came out here.”
“Who told you about his ex-wives and who warned you to tread with care?”
He grinned. “Right. And now it’s my turn to scratch your back.”
“It’s give and take, my friend. Give and take.”
“Did we actually ever shake on it?” he asked.
“No, so that means I’m at your mercy. But I trust in your sense of fairness.”
“And now you’re about to reinforce your position by reminding me how helpful you have been in the past.”
Abby fanned herself. “It’s too hot for all that. Just let me in. I promise not to get in the way. Oh, that reminds me… I was thinking that if the keys hadn’t been on Harold, the killer might have taken them so he could break into his house. But that is clearly not the case.”
The detective laughed. “Thank goodness for that. Otherwise, you would have been a sitting duck.” Joshua leaned in. “I see you brought your sniffer dog.”
“Doyle didn’t want to stay behind. He’s my loyal buddy.” Before Joshua could change his mind, Abby scooped Doyle up, grabbed her handbag and followed Joshua to the front door. “Are you going to dust the place for prints?”
“Only if I find reason to do so. What will you be looking for?” he asked.
“I don’t know yet. I’ll tell you when I see it. I guess I’m curious to know if Harold had been in contact with anyone interesting. Either the killer saw his chance and took it, or they knew Harold would be in town. You should check his phone records.”
Joshua shook his head. “Do you ever hear yourself speak?”
“All the time. Oh… I suppose you don’t really want me to tell you how to do your job.”
Before going in, he turned to Abby and said, “Remember, this is a special privilege. Don’t make me regret it.”
Abby straightened and gave him a scout’s honor salute. “Hang on. What about the security system?”
“I called them and had the alarm disconnected from their end. They’ve given me the code so I can keep the place secure.”
At first, Abby followed Joshua around. Then she decided to go her own way to see what she could find.
Heading straight for the telephone in the kitchen, she had a look at the notebook sitting beside it but she found nothing but blank pages. Also, he’d kept the kitchen clear of clutter. If he’d had breakfast before leaving, he’d washed up and put everything away.
If he didn’t go into town, how did he get his groceries? She opened the refrigerator and found it well stocked and clean.
Tapping her chin, she looked around and then snooped inside his kitchen drawers.
“Anything?” Joshua asked and came to stand beside her.
“No…” She pointed to the telephone. “You might want to hit redial.”
“What would I do without you?”
“Is that your sarcastic tone? If it is, it’s quite subtle.”
“I try to do my best.” He did as she’d suggested. After a moment, he nodded. “Sorry, wrong number.” He disconnected the call and checked his watch.
“Well?” Abby asked.
“He called the grocery store.”
Abby tried to remember the store owner’s name. “Oh… Martin Smith.”
“Who else works there?”
“There’s a young girl, Mandy. She works the cash register. Harold probably had his groceries delivered so Martin Smith must have someone to do the delivery rounds for him.”
Joshua made a call and put in a request to access the phone records.
“I guess you’ll want to know exactly when Harold called the grocery store.”
He nodded. “If you hear anything about Martin Smith and Harold…”
“Yes, yes. I’ll let you know.” Abby started a mental list and added Martin Smith to it. So far, he’d been the only one who’d known Harold would be in town that morning.
Heading toward the sitting room, Abby mused, “I am dumbfounded by people who still think they can get away with murder.” Bending down, she had a closer look at the model village. “Hey, I think that’s you.”
“Where?”
“The police car. There’s a little you sitting inside.”
“What makes you think that’s me?”
“You’re the only one wearing a suit a tie. Look around.” Pointing at one of the buildings, she added, “Harold must have put the Christmas decorations up last night. Joyce is dressed in a green outfit. Is that weird or meticulous?”
“If he didn’t go into town, how did he know Joyce had already started wearing her Christmas costumes?” Joshua asked.
“Maybe he remembered from previous years and the time before he retired,” Abby suggested. “Or… Maybe
he’d been in regular contact with someone in town. You might want to look at his security cameras. Who knows, he might have had visitors…”
Joshua got on the phone and called in a team to give the place a thorough sweep.
Chapter Seven
At eight of a hot morning, the cicada speaks his first piece. He says of the world: heat.
E.B. White (The New Yorker 1945)
“Hard day at the office?” Mitch asked.
Doyle scampered across the bar and positioned himself directly in front of the air-conditioner. Abby slumped on the barstool and managed to lift a finger. “Water for Doyle and… Beer for me. Cold. Please.”
“What was that? Coffee? Hot coffee? Steaming hot coffee?”
Abby moaned. “I think I’ve lived here long enough to deserve a spot in the garage.”
“Your car a bit steamy, was it?” Mitch wiped the counter and placed a glass of beer in front of her.
“A bit.” Abby wrapped her hands around the glass and then pressed them to her forehead.
“You should try to park it in the shade,” Mitch suggested as he strode around the counter and put a bowl of water next to Doyle.
Abby rolled her eyes. “Shade? Where is this elusive shade?”
“It’s around,” Mitch said, “but you need to know where to look for it.”
Abby slammed her hand on the bar. “And what is that noise? I’ve been hearing it for days now… It’s everywhere. I can barely hear myself think. It sounds like crickets, only a thousand times worse.”
Mitch laughed. “Cicadas.”
“Huh?”
“Cicadas. They come out every few years during the summer. Don’t you have them in your part of the world?” Mitch didn’t wait for Abby to answer. Instead, he drew his phone out and looked it up. “East coast.”
“That figures. Definitely no cicadas in Seattle. At least, not that I know of. I’ve definitely never heard them before. Do they ever shut up?”
“I’ve never seen you so grumpy. What’s wrong with you?” Mitch leaned on the counter. “Is it the Christmas season? I know it puts some people in a bad mood.”