Killer Cables

by Reagan Davis

“Wow,” he agrees, nodding.

  Connie comes in through the back door, and Sophie rushes to greet her. Eric tucks Laura’s laptop under his arm.

  “The password is Sophie,” I tell him.

  We say goodbye, and he leaves.

  Before Sophie and I leave the store for the day, I text Phillip to check how he and Glenda are doing and ask if they need anything. He says they’re fine, that Glenda is slowly processing the shocking news and says she might reach out to Brian tomorrow to talk to him.

  I use the remote starter on my key chain to start the car about ten minutes before we leave so it can warm up. It’s been snowing off and on all day, so while I’m getting Sophie and I ready to leave, I explain to her that she can wait in the warm car while I brush the snow off it.

  We leave through the back door, and I lock it behind us. Surprise, surprise, someone has cleaned the snow off my car for me. There are no other cars in the parking lot, so I chalk it up to a random act of kindness, get in the warm car, and drive home.

  When Eric and I arrive at the high school, the alumni association is in set-up-and-decoration mode.

  We notice Brian Sweeney standing off to the side with Anne-Marie and walk over to them. They’re decorating a large bed sheet with the school colours, royal blue and gold.

  “This is the photo backdrop for the prom photos,” Brian explains.

  “After they finish with the photos,” Anne-Marie adds, “we turn the sheet over, and the alumni will sign the back of it in permanent marker, then it will hang in the school…somewhere.” She gestures vaguely.

  “Is it emotional being back in your old high school after all these years?” I ask.

  “It hasn’t been that many years,” Brian jokes, “but yes, the memories have a way of flooding back. You know,” he says, pointing a glue gun at me, “I proposed to Anne-Marie at the bleachers in the field out back.”

  He smiles and puts his arm around his wife’s shoulder.

  “I didn’t know that,” I say.

  “She’s a year younger than me. I proposed to her the summer after she graduated,” he remembers. “We didn’t get married until a few years later when we both finished school, but that’s where I locked her down.”

  He looks at Anne-Marie and winks. She smiles back at him, sheepishly.

  “We were going to visit the bleachers today, for old time’s sake,” Anne-Marie says, “but the snow in the field is at least a foot deep, so we’ll wait until spring to relive our proposal.”

  The Sweeneys have an affectionate, loving relationship. They touch each other almost constantly. They hold hands, rub each other’s backs, and hug frequently. They make each other smile and laugh, and more than once I’ve caught them exchanging a sneaky glance, a sheepish grin, or a wink. After fifty years, they’re still smitten with each other, and it’s inspiring to see.

  Eric asks Brian if he received a registered letter today. Brian shakes his head and says he hasn’t been home since this morning to receive anything.

  Eric tells him that he’s named in Laura’s will and asks him if he believes he might be Laura and Glenda’s half-brother.

  Anne-Marie gasps, covers her mouth with her fingertips and looks at Brian with wide eyes. Brian is looking at Eric and nodding.

  “We were waiting for the DNA results to come back, so we’d know for sure before we said anything to anyone…”

  Before Brian can continue his thought, Mr. Willows barges into the gym, and stomps straight over to where The Sweeneys, Eric, and I are standing.

  “I heard a rumour it’s you,” Mr. Willows bellows, pointing to Mr Sweeney. “You and Glenda inherited her half of the land. Is it true?”

  Eric assumes the same position he did the last time this happened, nose to nose with Mr. Willows, blocking his access to Brian.

  “Is it true that your car was in Laura’s driveway the morning she died?” I ask. “Witnesses saw a car just like the one Mrs. Willows drives. We already know you were driving around Harmony Lake in her car that morning.”

  Brian and Anne-Marie gasp, cover their open mouths with their hands, and raise their eyebrows.

  “I was there, so what?!” he barks. “I didn’t go in her house. I’ve never been inside her house.”

  He shakes his head and takes a step back from Eric.

  “I’d heard she was coming home from the hospital that morning,” he continues, “and thought I’d take a chance she’d be there. I rang the bell and knocked, but no one answered. There was mail in her mailbox, so I assumed she wasn’t home yet, and I left.”

  If Mr. Willows is telling the truth, he was there after the postal carrier delivered the mail, and his car wasn’t the one she saw in the driveway. Also, she was specific about seeing the car and not seeing who was driving it. If Mr. Willows was never in Laura’s house, like he claims, the postal carrier would have seen him on the porch or in his car.

  “Listen, Sweeney,” Mr. Willows barks, “I’ve sacrificed too much to lose everything now. You need to do the right thing and sell that land to Mega Mart!”

  Mr. Willows clenches his fists, puts them on his knees and hunches over. His breathing is loud, erratic, and rapid. He starts knocking on his chest with one of his clenched fists and gasping like he’s trying to speak.

  “Henry!” Mrs. Willows cries.

  I didn’t realize she was here. Mr. Willows has a knack for attracting all the attention when he enters a room, and Mrs. Willows has a knack for disappearing into the background like she’s invisible.

  She stands next to her husband, and Eric takes a step toward him, holding his arms to steady him and, I presume, catch him if he collapses.

  Brian and I take a couple of steps backward to give Mr. Willows space to do whatever it is he needs to do. Anne-Marie steps forward, approaches Mr. Willows, places a hand on his back, and begins rubbing reassuringly. She bends down to speak to Mr. Willows and look at his face.

  I can’t hear what she’s saying to him, but he’s nodding. The fist that he was using to knock on his chest is now open and reaching for her hand, which she provides.

  His breath is still erratic and wheezy, but Anne-Marie looks like she knows what she’s doing, so the rest of us are a little less panicked.

  Anne-Marie coaxes Mr. Willows into standing upright and turns him toward the wall. The three of them, Mr. Willows in the middle, Anne-Marie supporting him on one side, and Eric supporting him on the other, take small, slow steps toward the bench against the wall of the auditorium.

  As they walk away, Anne-Marie turns her head and looks back at us.

  “Ambulance,” she says voicelessly.

  “Got it!” I say, pulling my phone from my pocket and dialing 9-1-1.

  Mrs. Willows rushes to the bench by the wall to be with her husband, and Brian and I go to the front doors of the school to wait for the ambulance and point them toward the cafe-gym-itorium.

  The paramedics show up and roll Mr. Willows out on a stretcher, with Mrs. Willows holding one of his hands and Anne-Marie holding the other.

  He’s conscious and alert when the paramedics lift him into the ambulance, and Anne-Marie stays with him until the ambulance door closes.

  Mrs. Willows rides in the ambulance with her husband, and Eric follows them in his car.

  I stay at the high school and help the Sweeneys finish decorating the photo backdrop. The rest of the alumni association are shocked and concerned about Mr. Willows episode, as it’s being called. The constant flow of people coming over to ask Anne-Marie about it slows us down, but we get it finished eventually. We hang it where the photographer will set up for photos on Saturday night, admire our handiwork, clean up the art supplies we used, and leave. The Sweeneys drop me off on their way home.

  Sophie and I have a quick walk, and while filling her in on the evening’s events as we get ready for bed, I get a text from Eric:

  Eric: Good news! Dr. Pearson doesn’t think Mr. Willows had a heart attack. Admitting him for a few tests though.

&nb
sp; Me: That’s a relief!

  Eric: I’m sorry for running out on you at the school tonight!

  Me: No worries! I’m a big girl. Mr. W’s episode was more important. Next time, we’ll take separate cars ;)

  Eric: Dr. Pearson says to say hi

  Friday January 17th

  April shows up at the store as soon as we open, she brought coffee for both of us from Latte Da, in exchange for a full rundown of what happened at the high school last night.

  It’s a quick but thorough conversation. She has to get back to Artsy Tartsy so Tamara can work in the kitchen all day, baking dog and cat treats for the silent auction tomorrow night.

  Glenda comes by at lunchtime to watch the store so I can have a quick break.

  “How are you doing today?” I ask Glenda.

  “Now that the shock has worn off, I’m feeling better.” She nods. “Thank you for asking.”

  “Phillip mentioned that you might reach out to Brian today,” I say. “If you need a few more days before you’re ready, I’m sure he’d understand. He seems like a lovely, patient, man, and this is a big shock for both of you.”

  “I’m sure he’d understand too,” she replies, “but I think I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. I have questions he might be able to answer, and he might have questions I can help answer.”

  I thank Glenda for helping in the store, grab a quick bite in the kitchenette, then take Sophie across the street to do her business.

  The afternoon is busy, which is fine with me because it means business is good, and time passes quickly and effortlessly when the store is busy.

  I wish the last customer of the day a good evening about five minutes after closing time, lock the door behind her, and turn the sign from, OPEN to CLOSED.

  Even Sophie is tired. She flops onto her dog bed for a nap while I tidy the store, return mislaid skeins of yarn to their assigned shelves, and give the floor a once over with the broom and dustpan.

  I’m sweeping around Sophie and her dog bed when I hear my phone ding on the counter.

  Eric: I meant to come by today and walk Sophie for you since you’re alone, but it’s been crazy today and I couldn’t get away.

  Me: No worries. I won’t mention it to Sophie though, she’ll be disappointed. ;)

  Eric: So, will you go to the reunion-fundraiser with me? If I promise not to abandon you there again like last night?

  Me: Sure, let’s do it. You can abandon me as long as it’s to catch a killer.

  He tells me what time he’ll pick me up, and I instantly take a mental inventory of my wardrobe trying to figure out what to wear.

  “Eric and I are going to the reunion-fundraiser, Sophie!”

  Her tail wags and her ears perk up when she hears her name.

  “I have no idea what I’m going to wear, but I have a date—sort of, I think. With my tenant.”

  Sophie looks up at me, twitching her eyebrows.

  I text Kelly at Hairway To Heaven to see if she can fit me in for a wash and blow dry tomorrow. I’m not hopeful, she’s probably fully booked tomorrow with everyone wanting their hair done for the event.

  Me: Hi Kelly! I know it’s short notice, but any chance I can get a wash and blow dry tomorrow afternoon? No worries if you’re booked, I totally understand.

  Kelly: Hi Megan! There’s always a spot for you in my chair. How about 5:30 p.m.? Then you only miss the last half hour at the store.

  Me: You’re a lifesaver! Thank you, Kelly! I’ll see you tomorrow :)

  Kelly owns Hairway To Heaven. She’s been doing my hair for at least ten years, and she takes care of Hannah’s hair too. Kelly and I have always been friends, but everything that happened last September has made us closer and levelled up our friendship. We share a bond that’s hard to describe. A bond that you can only have with someone with whom you’ve shared a horrible, life-altering experience. She’s a great hairdresser and an even better person. Thanks to Kelly, my hair will look decent tomorrow night, without me having to fight it with a flat iron for an hour or put it up to hide its unruliness.

  Chapter 19

  Saturday January 18th

  Today is the busiest day of the week, and another body in the store would be a big help. I need to hire someone to work at Knitorious part-time. I’m here full-time, and Connie is here part-time. She’s trying to ease into retirement, and she and Archie seem to be making new and exciting travel plans every time I talk to them.

  Midday, Eric stops by to walk Sophie, which she and I both appreciate. When he brings her back, I’m in the middle of cashing out a customer, so he removes her leash and sweater. Thinking he’s in a rush to get back to work, I mouth thank you to him while I bag eight skeins of yarn and a book of knitting patterns.

  To my surprise, when I’m finished ringing up her purchase and my customer turns to leave, Eric is still here. He’s loitering near the door.

  “What are you wearing?” he asks, holding the door for my customer on her way out.

  Confused, I glance down at my see-through Converse sneakers (they show off my rainbow-striped, hand-knit socks), dark blue skinny jeans, navy blue tank top, and amethyst hand-knit cardigan.

  “I mean tonight,” he clarifies.

  Oh, that makes more sense.

  “Black?” I offer hesitantly. “I think. I haven’t decided for sure yet, but probably black.”

  Most of the not-casual pieces of my wardrobe are black, so it’s the most likely option.

  “What are you wearing?” I ask. “Tonight, I mean?”

  “Black.” He smiles.

  “Thank you for walking Sophie,” I call after him as he disappears through the front door.

  Shortly after Eric leaves, Glenda comes over from next door, so I can have a quick lunch. She can only stay for about fifteen minutes because Phillip is busy making corsages and boutonnieres for the reunion-fundraiser.

  I completely forgot that the theme is prom, and now I’m wondering if I should get Eric a boutonniere.

  “Glenda, I guess I should get Eric a boutonniere?” I ask.

  She taps the top of her wrist and winks at me. “Phillip’s got you covered,” she says.

  Kelly does an amazing job with my hair, as usual, and I leave Hairway To Heaven with bouncy, smooth, shiny hair that screams: this person has her life together! Instead of my usual curly, unruly, crazy hair, that screams: this person is really nice, but sometimes she loses her knitting needle behind her ear for half a day!

  I dig through my small selection of formal-ish attire and settle on a 1950s-style, black, cocktail dress with a deep sweetheart neckline and belted waist. It’s very fitted through the bodice, and has a full, knee-length skirt. A bit more cleavage than I usually show, but I love the dress and it looks great on me, so I decide to embrace the cleavage.

  I pair the dress with black, sparkly stilettos and a matching black, sparkly clutch purse. I’m trying to decide whether to go full vintage 1950s and wear a black crinoline under the skirt when the doorbell rings.

  Sophie barks at the closed door while I peek through the living room window and see Phillip on the doorstep.

  “Hi, Phillip,” I greet him, opening the door. “Come in.” I jerk my head toward the inside of the house and move aside so he can step in.

  He smiles and extends his hand, handing me a small white box. I take it and open it. It’s a boutonniere for Eric.

  “Phillip, thank you!”

  I hug him. Phillip isn’t my most outwardly affectionate friend, but he tolerates my show of gratitude.

  “Do I need to water it or anything?” I ask.

  I don’t have a green thumb. Whatever the opposite of a green thumb is, that’s my thumb.

  “No!” He waves his hands back and forth like he’s trying to stop a plane from landing. “Don’t water it. Don’t do anything to it. Just put it on Eric’s lapel.”

  “Got it,” I say.

  “Do you know how to attach a boutonniere, Megan?”

  He knows I’m not good w
ith plants.

  “Yes.” I nod. “I’ve done this before.”

  Phillip looks at my housecoat and asks me if I need him to walk Sophie while I get ready. I thank him and tell him that’s she’s been walked, fed, and watered. I thank him again for the boutonniere and tell him I’ll see him tonight.

  I put on my makeup, get dressed (I decide against the crinoline since the skirt is full enough without it), and dig out my diamond earrings and bracelet to accessorize my outfit.

  “You look beautiful,” Eric says when I open the door.

  Sophie is bouncing and yelping in front of him, trying to get his attention.

  “Thank you,” I say. “I assume you mean me and not Sophie,” I joke.

  “Yes, I mean you,” he says. “But Sophie’s a beautiful girl too.” He bends down to give her rubs.

  I go into the kitchen to get the boutonniere box, and when I come back, he’s standing up again, and Sophie is sitting at his feet.

  “You’re handsome,” I say.

  And by handsome, I mean hot. Like, so, so hot.

  “And it’s not the tux, you always look good.”

  I stop talking because I’m blushing and probably about to say something that will keep me awake at night, cringing to myself, for the next ten years.

  Eric holds the box while I remove the boutonniere and pin it to his lapel. Then I hold the corsage box and smell him while he puts the corsage on my wrist. He smells good. Like a forest on a rainy day. I think I’m doing a pretty good job pretending I don’t find him distracting.

  We enter the cafe-gym-itorium through an archway of balloons in the school colours. The alumni association did a fabulous job, it feels like walking into a real prom.

  We stop at the registration table to check in; we’re guided to the photography booth where we have our photo taken in front of the backdrop I helped the Sweeneys decorate.

  On the short drive to the school, Eric explained that there are non-uniform police officers mingling in the crowd. He said they’re here to watch and listen for anything that might be relevant to Laura’s murder. He said that because the Animal Centre is her organization, and there is a memorial to her at the event, it’s possible that someone who knows something about her death could be here tonight and say something that could help the investigation. So, when a man I don’t recognize walks up to Eric and starts talking to him while gently guiding him to a quiet corner, I assume he’s one of the non-uniform officers and entertain myself by walking around, looking at the various fundraising activities, and greeting friends and neighbours.