The Eleventh Hour

by Anina Collins

  Stifling a laugh, I imagined Geneva standing the way she usually did, arms folded across her chest and her back straight as a board like some matron in charge of a strict boarding school. The thought she had when she saw Shelley and her new money move in next door was likely something far closer to disgust than interest.

  “I think many in town thought of her as a little cool,” I said gingerly, trying not to tip my hand about how little I believed in this close friendship Shelley continued to claim.

  She nodded. “She was. Even that first day when I introduced myself, Geneva wasn’t as friendly as I’d hoped. And she could be quite difficult. That’s true too. Why just last week she was a real bi—”

  Shelley stopped herself and plastered a smile onto her lips. “It’s not nice to speak ill of the dead. For whatever she was, Geneva is no more.”

  Now it was my time to squeeze her arm. “Of course. Respect is all we mean here.”

  Satisfied that she hadn’t besmirched poor Geneva’s reputation by calling her a bitch, Shelley leaned in close to me.

  “She wasn’t always so chilly, though, if you know what I mean.”

  For a moment, I didn’t know if Shelley had just come out to me or if she meant Geneva had a boyfriend. Always single, she had long been assumed to be just the latest in old maids from the Woodward family. The gossip around town was that some ancestor way back in her family tree had cursed all the daughters born into the Woodward name to be alone forever. Even though it was very likely nonsense, it certainly made for interesting whispers whenever Geneva was seen in town, although I doubted the town busybodies disapproved of her marital status like they did mine because she was loaded. As in most places, money talked in Sunset Ridge.

  “Do you mean she was seeing someone?” I asked, hoping Shelley’s need for propriety had been just temporary.

  “Yes, and I think she was trying to keep it a secret,” she answered excitedly, clearly unencumbered by worries about disrespecting the dead now.

  “Was it someone from in town?”

  Shelley grinned and shook her head. “I don’t know. She never introduced him to me, but there was someone who had begun visiting her about a month ago. The whole thing had a very secret rendezvous feel to it, though.”

  My mind raced with ideas about this secret man. Whoever he was, Geneva had succeeded in keeping the relationship completely hidden. None of the usual gossip about her had included any mention of a new man in her life. And whoever this man was, he certainly would be of interest to Derek in trying to figure out who strangled Geneva.

  “Can you describe him, Shelley?”

  She shook her head again. “Not really. I only saw him a few times, but each time was around midnight or one in the morning. I happened to be looking out my bedroom window Sunday night and saw someone walking through her backyard. It was so dark, though, that I couldn’t make out his face.”

  “That’s okay. Even if you can remember how tall he was or if there was anything special you noticed about him any of the times you saw him, it can help.”

  Closing her eyes, Shelley appeared to be thinking for a few moments, and then her eyes flew open. “I remember one time in particular because it was the first time he hadn’t waited for her to let him in. He walked across the yard and right up onto her back porch and just walked in. Oh, I wish it had been a full moon out that night! Then I would have been able to see more of him. As it was, I only saw he had dark hair and was tall.”

  “Okay, tall. That’s good. And dark hair. Good. Do you remember anything else? Did you hear his voice? Did he say anything any of the times you saw him?”

  “No. I’m sorry. My window was closed, so I didn’t hear a thing. Do you think this man could have been the one who did it?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted, trying to remain calm while inside I was dying to get back to the police station to tell Derek about Geneva’s mystery man.

  “I wish I could help more. Poor Geneva deserves that, at least.”

  Standing, she bent over and plucked out the pink foam spacers from between her toes, signaling our visit had ended. I followed her to the front door and handed her my business card from the newspaper. “If you think of anything else you’d like to tell me, call me.”

  Shelley looked down at the card that said “Features Writer” and then her gaze met mine. With a lilt in her voice that seemed odd, she asked, “None of what we said will be in printed in The Eagle, will it? I’d hate to see poor Geneva’s name dragged through the mud. Someone like her deserves better than that.”

  I had a feeling she wouldn’t have any problem with seeing Geneva’s name dragged through anything. A hint of glee seemed to dance in her eyes now.

  “I promise you, Shelley, that anything you tell me will remain confidential. My card is from my job, but I’m here as a good citizen just trying to help find out who did this to her.”

  We said our goodbyes and then I turned to leave, but Shelley’s hand on my arm stopped me. I looked back at her and saw she had more to say.

  “I remembered something else about the man I saw. There was something silver that flashed in the light. I don’t know what it was, but I remember a tiny gleam of silver when he stepped onto the back porch. Maybe it a ring?”

  “Silver? Okay. I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you again, Shelley. Stay safe.”

  She gave me a big smile like she had when I first arrived and as she closed the door, she said, “I’m not worried. Sunset Ridge is a very safe place.”

  As I walked down the front steps out to the sidewalk on the street, I couldn’t help but think she had a misguided feeling of security. For someone whose nearest neighbor had just been murdered, she seemed strangely unfazed.

  Derek stood in his office with a man I’d never seen before. Taller than Derek with dark brown hair and a serious look that screamed authority, he’d positioned himself between the policeman and the door. I stood watching them for a moment trying to ascertain what the meeting was about. Clearly, he wasn’t a suspect in any crime. The mystery man didn’t appear concerned about what Derek thought about him, and in fact, as I watched them interact, I saw Derek display a level of deference I’d only seen from him toward his older brother.

  They turned to face me as I studied them, and for a moment, I felt like an intruder on something private. Stepping back out of the doorway, I mumbled a weak apology.

  “Poppy, this is Alexander Montero. Alexander, this is Poppy McGuire.”

  The man gave me a faint smile and shook my hand when I extended mine. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Alexander is a retired Baltimore police detective. He lives right here in Sunset Ridge now,” Derek explained.

  I stood struck by how young this man looked to be retired from anything. He couldn’t have been more than a few years older than I, and although he had what appeared like a tiny scar on his cheek, he looked like he could be a model more than a detective. His dark hair was slightly longer than I preferred on men and touched the collar of his white dress shirt, and I saw his body was definitely in great shape, even hidden beneath his clothes.

  But what struck me were his deep brown eyes and how full of sadness they looked. Had he been the victim of some crime here in town? Was he related to the Geneva Woodward case?

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Alexander. Have you lived in Sunset Ridge long?”

  “Not long.”

  Surprised by how terse his response was, I felt compelled to ask another question. “Do you live with your family here in town?”

  Alexander narrowed his eyes and for a moment I wasn’t sure he’d even answer that one. When he did, it was another abrupt response. “Outside of town.”

  Derek stood there watching what had turned into a very awkward moment between us, but I couldn’t help myself. I had to ask one more question, if only to make myself feel like I’d made a true effort with this new person. “Retirement sounds delightful. Are you enjoying it?”

  As he turned to face Derek, he mumb
led, “Not really.” And then with a quick handshake to the policeman next to him, he left.

  Just like that. No goodbye. No nice to meet you. Nothing but a few curt answers to my perfectly polite questions.

  I turned around to watch him as he walked out of the police station and then turned back to look at Derek for some explanation for what had just happened. Alexander Montero wasn’t going to enjoy his time in Sunset Ridge if he continued to act like that.

  “He was so unfriendly! What was that all about?”

  Derek sat down behind his desk and nodded his agreement that Alexander had been rude. “I don’t know. He’s usually a nice guy.”

  “So it wasn’t all in my head? Did I say something wrong?” I asked, suddenly wondering if I’d done something to offend him.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it. I’m sure the next time you two meet it will be friendlier. I imagined you two would get along famously, to be honest. He was one of the best detectives Baltimore had ever seen. The guy has a sixth sense when it comes to solving crimes.”

  I wasn’t sure I wanted there to be a next time with Alexander Montero if there was a chance he’d be that icy again. It was a shame, too. If he was as terrific a detective as Derek believed, he’d be an interesting person to talk to. In addition, Sunset Ridge had a dearth of attractive, single men, and by the look of that empty ring finger on his left hand, he was definitely unmarried.

  “So other than making a bad first impression with him, what brings you back to my office once again today, Poppy? Find out anything interesting in your investigation so far?”

  I screwed my expression into a mock grimace at his teasing. “I’ll have you know I’ve found a few things out, Derek. How have you done in my absence?”

  Putting his hands behind his head, Derek leaned back in his chair and smiled. “You first. I just hope you haven’t been listening to the gossip our fellow Sunset Ridge citizens have been spreading about Geneva. I went to The Grounds for a coffee and heard theories that involved both the CIA and a long lost relative come out of hiding to take all her money. Crazy.”

  “No, Derek. I’ve been talking to her next door neighbor, Shelley Steadman. She has some interesting things to say about poor Geneva.”

  I had to chuckle at my use of the same word to describe her as Shelley had used. Derek didn’t pick up on the inside joke and stared at me, waiting to hear what I had to report.

  “Shelley claims to have been close friends with Geneva, but my gut says the feeling wasn’t mutual. My guess is what made Geneva so standoffish to the rest of town—her way of looking down her nose at anyone who didn’t have as much money as she had—rang true in her relationship with Shelley too. She and her new money just didn’t realize she was being judged inferior.”

  Looking unimpressed, Derek shrugged. “So? Geneva was a snob even to someone who liked her. This doesn’t really surprise me, and I don’t think it helps with figuring out who murdered her.”

  I leaned forward toward his desk and grinned at what I had to say next. There was no way Derek would dismiss the information about Geneva’s mystery man so easily.

  “What if I told you our victim was seeing a man in secret and he only visited her under cover of darkness in the middle of the night?”

  Without missing a beat, he answered, “I’d say I find that interesting but not as interesting as what the state police had to report an hour ago.”

  My thunder stolen, I sat back in my chair. “What did they say?”

  Now it was Derek’s turn to strike the pose of the victor. Lifting his chin, he grinned and said, “That they caught a thief trying to sell some fine jewelry early this morning. I’m guessing that when we get the inventory of Geneva’s things from her insurance company that we’re going to find there are some pieces missing. The very pieces the thief was trying to get rid of just a few hours ago.”

  I shook my head, not believing Derek’s all-too-convenient solution to who strangled Geneva. “I don’t think so. My gut tells me there’s more to this than some guy trying to rob her house and ending up murdering her.”

  “I’m sorry, Poppy. I know you were looking forward to investigating this, but I think this is going to turn out just as I said earlier—a robbery gone bad. I think our guy was just in the right place at the wrong time and got caught, so he had to kill her. He probably took those rings you were so curious about too.”

  I stood to leave, undeterred in my conviction that there was far more to this case than a bad coincidence that had led to a woman being strangled. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to continue asking questions, even though you’re convinced this is all but a closed case.”

  “As long as you don’t get yourself in trouble, feel free. But I think you’re on a wild goose chase.”

  “Well, I don’t mind if you don’t. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  Derek nodded, but it was clear he didn’t expect me to find out anything that would solve this case. He simply couldn’t or wouldn’t see that the way she was murdered was too personal for just some stranger to kill her in that way.

  But I did. And I intended to prove it.

  Chapter Three

  I took advantage of a beautiful spring day and walked the long way back to my house, my mind running through what Derek had said in an attempt to figure out if I was, in fact, wasting my time on a wild goose chase. The unseasonably warm April weather made me wish I had stashed my running shoes in my bag so I could go for a run and clear my head, but it was better I got home anyway since I had work to do for my job at The Bottom Line.

  Researching mundane facts to support a story of a Pennsylvania politician rumored to be stepping out with some young thing would give me a chance to focus on what paid my bills for a while before I turned back to poking around town on Geneva Woodward’s case. Whenever I found myself distracted, work always helped to get my mind back on track.

  Ten minutes later, I was seated at my desk in the spare bedroom next to my own with a big glass of sweet tea and ready to go. The assignment in Pennsylvania involved a relatively unknown state senator who had been seen coming out of a hotel with a woman who looked nothing like his wife of fifteen years. The Bottom Line had gotten word of his behavior from one of the site’s informants who loved to out people like him, and I was given the task of researching all the details to ensure when the story broke there were no inaccuracies.

  That’s how things worked with my online job. The site acted like an online watercooler where the deepest and darkest secrets of important and quasi-important people were exposed with more glee than I’d ever felt over others’ personal lives. It wasn’t a terrific job by any means, but it was a job.

  As I examined the information about this current philanderer trying to have his cake and eat it too, I thought about my mother and how much I wished she was still with me. Always so supportive of everything I did, she probably wouldn’t think too highly of this job and would likely remind me that she’d always hoped I’d become a lawyer or something more honorable. She’d also be the first one to ask why I bothered working at The Bottom Line since she’d left me more than enough to live on without having to help dig up dirt on famous and not-so-famous people.

  My mind didn’t gain the focus it usually did from work, and I found myself drifting off to think about Geneva Woodward after about an hour. The more I thought about it, the more I was sure the way she was killed showed the relationship of her murderer to her. An impersonal killing involved a gun that could kill someone from a distance. Standing behind someone pulling a scarf tightly around their neck was a sign of some link between murderer and victim.

  Some guy stealing her jewelry when she stumbled upon him and couldn’t get away fast enough didn’t make any sense. A beating death, while up close like strangulation, didn’t have the same intimacy. If she came upon some stranger robbing her house and he caught her before she escaped, he might hit her to knock her out so he could run, but taking the time to remove her scarf and then choke her w
ith it?

  That said a bond between Geneva and her killer.

  And Derek’s idea of some guy taking her jewelry didn’t fit with the fact that there was no evidence that anyone had forced their way into her house. No, she let the person who killed her in because she knew him. Or her.

  I had to admit that I’d been thinking the murderer was a man, even before Shelley told me about her secret nighttime visitor. I knew I should wait until the evidence showed that, but something about strangulation felt masculine.

  Not that a woman couldn’t have done it. Shelley Steadman hadn’t exactly acted like the bereaved best friend she saw herself as when I spoke to her. No matter how many times she referred to her next door neighbor as poor Geneva, the look on her face said that the loss wasn’t really breaking her heart.

  So if they weren’t best friends, what was the relationship between Geneva Woodward and Shelley Steadman? Had it been an awkwardly cool politeness on Geneva’s end that Shelley intentionally or unintentionally misinterpreted because she wanted to hang around with someone of Geneva’s level?

  Or had they truly been friends and equals in both women’s eyes and Shelley was just dealing with her neighbor’s death in her own slightly unfeeling way?

  My head squarely stuck in the case, I put away my work for the time being and let my mind roam to what my next step should be. In the house to the right of Geneva’s lived a young woman and her grandmother, so I needed to talk to both of them. Maybe they too saw this mystery man like Shelley had.

  That Shelley had lied had occurred to me, and as I let my mind wander over the details of the case so far, she became my first suspect in the murder of Geneva Woodward. Something about the way she just didn’t seem unhappy about her death set off bells for me. True, it was possible she was just a callous person and she’d react to anyone’s death in her self-centered way, but it was also possible she had a good reason to be happy Geneva was dead.