Dead 'N Breakfast

by Paulette Brewster

  Thankfully, the waitress brought their orders of soup and homemade bread before Liz had a chance to respond. It wasn’t her intention to malign anyone’s character, particularly with her own situation looking so bad. Anxious to get back to their conversation, she gave the girl a quick reminder about her latte then waited till she was out of earshot before going on.

  “I can believe she’s a hard boss to deal with.” Liz had the distinct feeling she may have made a mistake when she agreed to work for Jenny.

  “Working for her isn’t easy. She’s demanding and hot tempered as well as hard to please. But I can take it. I’m a stickler for accuracy so I get it. The pay was fine and I had plenty of time for my freelancing. Plus, someday I might want to manage a newspaper in a big city.” He grinned sheepishly. “Big dreams, right?”

  Liz took a sip of the latte that the waitress had just set in front of her. Delicious, as always.

  “And she fired you?”

  “Yeah, boggled my mind too.” He bit into his bread and chewed thoughtfully, staring off into the distance. “Never even gave me a reason.”

  “I think that’s odd,” Liz replied.

  “Not if you really know her, but like I said, she’s hot tempered. Sometimes I wonder if she ever regrets what she does or the things that she says when it’s over. And it is over. Just as soon as I get a few responses back from a couple of possible positions, then I’m outta here.” He sat up straight and looked apologetic at her. “Now don’t get me wrong, I think this little town is a great place. Food is excellent.” He pointed his spoon at his nearly empty bowl. “And the people couldn’t be friendlier. But I need a job.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for,” she said, hoping to offer some encouragement. She liked Robert Hart. She liked his openness and honesty.

  “Thank you.”

  They finished their lunch and Liz drained the last drop of her latte, knowing she would order one to go.

  “I’m sorry we got sidetracked with my current unemployment issues. The purpose of our lunch, besides great food, is that Shelly told me you’re interested in my drone video of the Market Day event. Truthfully, I’ve barely looked at it since I’ve been more focused on getting my resumes sent out.”

  “I understand you’ve got a lot going on. But would it be possible for you to send the video to me via email?”

  “Of course, no problem. I haven’t edited it so it might be a little boring and dull in some places.”

  Liz had begun to worry that he might be too busy but felt instant relief when he agreed to sending it through email. She knew that putting a lot of hope in finding anything of importance in the video was reaching pretty far, but even if it turned up only one small thing, it would help. Ever since the call from the detective, she hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that time was running out and soon the walls would close in on her. So, any shred of concrete evidence would work.

  She saw him glance at his watch and knew he was getting ready to end their conversation.

  “I’m very sorry, but I’m going to have to go,” he said, rising from his seat. “I have a conference call in thirty minutes.”

  “Here’s my email address,” she said, handing her business card to him. “When do you think you can send the video?”

  “Right after my business call. I’ll set this on my desk, so I don’t forget.” He waved the card as if making a promise.

  “Good luck with your job search, although I’m sure you won’t need it,” she said.

  “I’ll take it anyway, thanks.” He rushed inside to pay his bill then took off at a trot down the street.

  Liz continued to sit at the table, chin resting in her palms, going over their conversation in her mind to retain as much as possible. Jenny had fired him. She was hot tempered. How did that measure up against the fact that she’d withheld the important detail of knowing Kevin better than anyone else in this town then pretending she didn’t know him at all?

  “Is there anything else I can get for you?” asked the waitress who seemed to appear out of nowhere. “Dessert? Coffee?”

  Liz checked her watch. She had an hour before the detective showed up at her house. A little more sunshine and fresh air felt too good to leave.

  “I’ll just have another latte.” She leaned back in her cushioned seat and watched the waitress hurry off. Closing her eyes, she soaked it all up, sunshine, wind, and the scent of leaves, and allowed herself to think nothing at all. Absolutely nothing at all.

  On the way home, she stopped at the covered bridge that was close to home and got out. Under the roof of the bridge, standing in front of the place where she’d carved her name so many years ago, she touched the deep valleys of each line of each letter. She was still that same person, only older and a lot wiser. Her fears were deeper and harder to fight but she was still the same person. And she would keep fighting and keep believing. When she returned to the old truck, she felt a renewed hope. Take a deep breath, she told herself as she mentally prepared for Detective Morris' questions.

  At exactly two o’clock the detective knocked on her kitchen door. Right on time. Liz wasn’t surprised. She squared her shoulders, squashed any panic before it could overtake her then opened the door.

  “Come in,” she said. “Have a seat, if this is all right.” She indicated the kitchen table.

  He nodded and sat nearest to the door.

  “Let me get right to the point,” he said with his hands clasped and fingers interwoven. “It’s only been four days since the murder and while we have turned the barn inside out there still is no sign of a weapon. And that means it either isn’t there or it’s still hidden. One of our anonymous tips was incorrect since it stated the weapon was in the feed barrel. We only found two barrels and neither contained a weapon of any kind.”

  Liz controlled her urge to gasp, managing to squelch it without saying a word. She even forced herself not to flinch, but her mind was whirling with questions. Only the murderer would know the weapon had been hidden in the barrel. But why would someone hide it then turn in a tip only to remove it later? Her skin crawled, knowing that the murderer had come back and was hanging around her barn again. She’d have no trouble remembering to lock up her house twenty four hours a day after hearing this information. If the knife was missing from the barrel who had taken it? Was this a trick to get her to look for it and therefore expose herself as the murderer? What if there was more than one person involved in committing the murder? The idea had been at the back of her mind but only as an unlikely thought. Now it was front and center.

  “I have to ask you. Did you remove a weapon or anything that could have been used as a weapon from a barrel?”

  The detective’s question dragged her back to the present moment as she focused on his words. She gripped her hands together beneath the table, out of view.

  “Or perhaps there are other barrels elsewhere, such as your garage. If you are willing to cooperate with us, then we can avoid obtaining a search warrant.”

  “Of course, I’ll cooperate, and yes, you have my permission to look, but I’m certain there are no other barrels anywhere in the buildings.” The thought raced through her mind that maybe she shouldn’t have agreed, but she was innocent.

  “And the other tip we received was that you were well acquainted with the deceased, but we already had that information. In fact, it was the first thing we learned when we discovered the rental car with his identity on the papers inside.”

  She knew this was coming at some point and wasn’t surprised. Still, she couldn’t help wondering why he was laying everything out so carefully when he’d given her no information earlier.

  Her thoughts turned to Jenny after rejecting the likelihood that either Brian or Miles had been the ones who had turned in the tips. As far as she knew, Jenny was the only person who knew everything about Kevin and if she had been the one to kill him, for whatever reason, then she would have known the whereabouts of the knife. Robert Hart said earlier t
hat she had a hot temper and if Kevin had set her off, well then who knew what she might be capable of doing. But Liz couldn’t believe Jenny would actually kill anyone.

  “Can you tell me when you got these tips?” Liz studied Detective Morris, waiting for his reply.

  “In this morning’s mail and they were postmarked, Maple Ridge.”

  So that explained the reason for his visit and his careful attention to laying out the details. He believed she had information. Brian had told her just a day ago that she needed to be more open with the detective and maybe she should but not as long as he kept her in his crosshairs, and she knew she was dead center.

  He stared at her waiting for a response, but she had none to give. The silence in the room was almost deafening. Bess came out of nowhere, as usual, and wound around her feet beneath the table. She wanted to pick her up and hold her soft plump body for a little comfort but didn’t dare move.

  “Postmarks don’t mean a whole lot,” he went on. “But on the other hand, we aren’t going to discard them. Someone might think it would be more convincing if it was sent by a local person. Or perhaps the intention was to divert attention toward another individual.”

  Was he suggesting that she had sent the tips to divert attention elsewhere? She bristled. He was trying to point an accusing finger at her, plain as day.

  “Detective Morris, let me get right to the point also. I did not kill Kevin. Neither did I send any tips to you or anyone else.” She held eye contact with him until Bess’ unrelenting meows pleaded for her attention and she responded by leaning down to pick her up. Holding the black furry body close, she maintained eye contact with the detective, refusing to look away from him.

  “So you’ve said.” He watched her a few minutes longer then pushed away from the table. “Remember, do not leave the area for any reason.” He rose from his chair. “I’ll be in touch.” And with that, he left by way of the kitchen door.

  Liz turned the cat to face her and looked into those deep green eyes. “Something tells me you don’t care for him any more than I do.” Bess meowed, wiggled free, and jumped to the floor where she immediately began preening herself.

  “Exactly,” Liz said to the cat. “Just brush it off.”

  But truthfully, she couldn’t do that, especially after this conversation. Instead of shrugging it off, she closed her eyes and tried to remember all the new information she’d been given by the detective and Robert Hart. She couldn’t get it out of her mind what Robert had said about working for a volatile boss. The lasting impression was that Jenny wasn’t exactly who she seemed to be. There wasn’t anything sensible about firing a good worker and not giving a single reason for doing it. Plus, the detective’s news of getting a tip about Liz having known Kevin before the murder and Jenny was the first person who came to mind. The timing was especially noteworthy since the tips had arrived just that morning, days after the conversation she’d had with Jenny. And it stuck with her about all those articles that proved Jenny knew exactly who Kevin was, even though she’d let on that she hadn’t. Still, it wasn’t a simple matter to accuse a person without more than guesses to go on. She felt herself waffling. After all, writing articles about him wasn’t exactly an indictment. It was true Liz had more information now, but on the other hand, none of it was solid evidence.

  Chapter Twelve

  During the walk to Polly’s that evening, Liz wanted to hear Brian’s opinion of the detective’s visit, so she told him everything that had been said, including the part about the weapon not being in the barrel like the tipster said. She especially wanted to hear his thoughts concerning who the tipster might be. Whoever it was, had to be the killer or at the very least knew plenty of details about the murder.

  “If you’re thinking about compiling a list of possible individuals, well, that isn’t a job for anyone other than the investigators,” he told her, leaving no room for disagreement.

  His response would have been deflating if she hadn’t already spent a lot of time doing just that. Not to mention she had reasons for her suspicions due to the facts she’d been following in her research. She’d spent all afternoon reading and compiling those facts while she waited for Robert Hart’s email to come through with the drone video, which hadn’t shown up yet.

  “Isn’t it likely that someone in Maple Ridge knows something?” She patted Myrtie’s neck, trying to slow the pace.

  “That’s a possibility. But there are a lot of reasons why people send in tips, and some of them are beyond understanding which makes those tips unreliable.”

  “Okay. So, who would know where the weapon was hidden? Even though it turned out not to be there.” She had to tell him the truth about seeing the weapon in the barrel.

  “Exactly my point. It wasn’t there so it was just a bad guess. Someone was undoubtedly wanting attention, sort of pretending they were in on the investigation.” He reached for the lead rope and she gave it to him. “It happens.”

  “But it wasn’t a bad guess,” she replied quietly.

  He turned to stare at her. “Say that again?”

  “The weapon was in the barrel. I saw it.” She met his gaze as Myrtie towed them down the road.

  He stared at her as he brought Myrtie to a stop. “You know where the weapon is? And you never told the detective? Liz, you can’t do that. It just slows down the process and it could land you in jail.”

  “I found it by accident,” she said keeping her voice low. “I was scooping the grain.”

  “Wait a minute, you aren’t supposed to be in the barn. And you were messing with evidence?” He frowned at her and his face looked harsh in the dimming daylight.

  “I wasn’t exactly looking for evidence. I was getting enough feed so I could feed my cows!” she replied with quiet vehemence. “That was the night you snuck up on me. You scared me half to death.”

  “Because you had a guilty conscience.”

  “Okay, yes. And I wish I hadn’t found it, but I did. And now the detective says it isn’t there. Now, what I want to know is who moved it? And why?”

  He stared at her for a moment. “Good question.”

  “I asked Detective Morris when he got the tip and he said it arrived this morning. I found the weapon in the barrel on Sunday night and the mail takes a few days to arrive so between Monday and today there was someone in my barn. Again.”

  “Only one person would have known where it was, besides you,” he said. “The murderer and possibly someone else, if there were two of them. Maybe the second one turned in the tip.”

  Liz had wondered about that possibility. She knew it made sense, but it was a frightening thought.

  “You have to tell the detective what you know about the weapon,” he said, holding her to the spot with his stare. “I’m serious about this.”

  “I can’t! He already thinks I did it, but I didn’t.”

  Myrtie managed to get them moving again, bringing their conversation to a halt while Liz felt sure she’d made a big mistake by telling him and now she felt the need to stay silent. When they arrived at the barn, Liz focused on the chores at hand and did her best to tamp down the turmoil going on inside of her. It hadn’t gone as well as she’d hoped. Brian’s opinion was always the same, let the detective handle things, and she should just wait to see how it all unfolded. She couldn’t possibly do that, not with her own skin at stake. She wished he understood her position, but she knew he didn’t.

  The walk back to her house seemed longer than usual and the conversation hadn’t improved although she listened to what he had to say.

  Liz pulled the key from her pocket as Brian walked up the steps to the back door.

  “Are you going to invite me in for coffee?” he asked. His cautious smile smoothed her ruffled feelings somewhat.

  “Actually, I was going to ask if you’d like to stay for dinner, but I wasn’t sure if you’d want to.” Even though they weren’t seeing eye to eye, he was still the only person she could share all of her thoughts with. “Not
hing fancy, I’m sorry to say.” She’d spent the entire afternoon working through the articles and she wanted to talk to him about what she’d uncovered about Jenny. She had hoped he could shed new light on what she’d found.

  “Your cooking is a lot better than mine.”

  “I’m afraid it’s only sandwiches,” she said as she unlocked the door and pushed it open, then flipped on a light. “So, I guess it’s more like lunch. One of these evenings I’ll cook a real meal, just so you know that I can.”

  “I’ll take you up on that,” he said.

  She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a covered dish of leftover sliced ham, lettuce and sliced tomatoes plus some of Polly’s fresh cheese. At the counter she layered them between pieces of heavily grained brown bread she’d bought that day at the cafe, all the while thinking of the best way to approach the subject of Jenny Drake. After she put the plates on the table and brewed the coffee, she turned to him.

  “What would you say if I told you that I’m sure Jenny intentionally misled me about knowing Kevin?” Liz watched him carefully as he set his cup aside.

  “Common practice when someone is hiding something,” he said, giving her a knowing look.

  She got his message. “I have my reasons,” she replied in defense.

  He nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe she’s afraid to own up to what she knows.”

  “And why would that be?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.” He leaned back in his chair. “So, tell me what your guess is.”

  “Well, I was hoping you might have some insight about Jenny’s past, since both of you worked in Boston when Kevin’s firm was in trouble over a fraud scheme.”

  “First of all, I know who Jenny is, but that’s about it. She’s a reporter so she was among the many I’ve seen over the years, which means she doesn’t stand out in my memory.” He took a bite of his sandwich and raised his eyebrows in appreciation.