by Wendy Heuvel
“Ha. I was busy in those days.” Grams smiled, and her eyes sparkled at the memory. “But before kids, I worked at Boersley’s with Martha.”
“I never knew you worked there!”
“Oh, yes. For about five years. That’s how Martha and I became so close. Marilyn started working there after I left.”
Cassie tried to picture a young Grams in a Boersley’s shirt working a cash register. “So, Martha and Marilyn became friends?”
“Somewhat. Martha was quite older than Marilyn, but they were close enough that Martha was quite distressed at Marilyn’s sudden departure. She was especially upset because her last words to Marilyn hadn’t been nice. They’d had an argument.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know. She never said.”
“What else do you remember about what happened?”
“Only what Martha had shared. She’d said Marilyn and her husband hadn’t been getting along. He worked a lot and was barely at home. One day, Marilyn didn’t show up for work and never did again. I believe Martha had stopped by the house a few times, but no one would answer the door. It wasn’t until later we all heard the rumours of how both Marilyn and Wayne had left.”
“Except Marilyn didn’t leave.” Cassie frowned.
“No. Unfortunately, she didn’t.”
Pumpkin flopped onto her side and meowed, clearly disappointed with the lack of attention. Grams reached over and gave the cat’s belly a rub.
“Did Martha know about Marilyn’s affair?” Cassie asked.
Grams’ eyes widened. “There was an affair? Oh, dear. No, I don’t think Martha knew. Not that she ever mentioned, anyhow. How do you know?”
“Wayne told Brent about it during his interview.”
“Is he a suspect, then?”
“Kind of. But he seemed just as surprised as we were that Marilyn’s body was in the attic. And quite distraught.”
“Some liars are good at lying.” Grams pursed her lips.
“I know, but my gut says he’s telling the truth.”
“And sometimes you need to trust the facts and the evidence.”
“True. I should follow up with Brent. He hasn’t mentioned what else he’s found out about Wayne.” Cassie leaned on the counter. “What about your friend Martha? I hate to ask, but could she have been lying? You said she’d argued with Marilyn. Is there any way she could be responsible for the death?”
“I don’t think so.” Grams scrunched her face. “She was a loving woman. I doubt she could have hurt anyone.”
“Some liars are good at lying.”
“Touché.” Grams sighed. “Maybe she could’ve if she’d been pushed hard enough. Any of us could be, I suppose—if horrible circumstances aligned. And no one knew Marilyn had been murdered, so it’s not as if we were thinking about evidence at the time. But what would Martha’s motive have been?”
“Whatever they argued about, perhaps? You did say she never told you what it was about.”
“Maybe.”
“Is she still around? Would I be able to talk to Martha about it?”
“Afraid not. She passed many moons ago. But you know her daughter. Maybe she knows something.”
“Who’s her daughter?”
“Jean—she was here the other day when I came in. She’s a bigger lady.”
“Oh! You mean the one whose friend had purple hair?”
“Yes.” Grams grinned. “I can give her a call if you like. See if she’ll have you over for a visit. She lives in my building.”
“That would be great. Thanks!” Cassie kissed Grams on the cheek. This may be the break she’d been waiting for.
Chapter 17
Cassie pulled her SUV into a visitor parking spot at the Hilltop Manor Apartment Complex. Grams had moved here a few years back when she’d sold Cassie her store and building, and put her home on the market. She was more fit than most of the elderly living in these apartments, but she claimed to enjoy the company and the drastic drop in requirements needed to care for a house.
Next to the three apartment buildings stood the Hilltop Manor itself. A long-term care facility for those needing round-the-clock care. Cassie dreaded the day Grams would have to transition to that phase of life. On the other hand, maybe she never would. She was as spry and fit and mentally stable as a fifty-year-old, despite her age of seventy-eight.
Cassie double-checked the note on her phone with Jean’s apartment number and stepped out of her vehicle and into the frigid air. The wind chill had picked up significantly, and Cassie felt as if the air would freeze her cheeks within minutes. She scurried to the door, squeezing her scarf around her neck and face.
Inside the foyer, Cassie buzzed up to Jean’s apartment to be let through the security door. After a short elevator ride to the third floor, Cassie found Jean waiting for her with the door open.
“Come in. Come in.” Jean allowed Cassie to pass through the doorway. “Did you bring your lovely cat?”
“Pumpkin? Oh no. Not today. She’d freeze her whiskers off out there!”
“It is a cold one, isn’t it? Let me take your coat, and I’ll make you a nice cup of cocoa.”
Cassie pulled her arms out of her coat sleeves. “That sounds great. Thank you so much!”
“My pleasure, dear.”
Cassie giggled inwardly. Was it a requirement to call people ‘dear’ if you were over the age of sixty?
At Jean’s invitation, Cassie sat on the flowered loveseat in the living room. The apartment's layout was the same as Grams’, only in reverse, with a small kitchen and living room, and one bedroom off to the side. Cassie smiled as she noticed a couple of wooden signs, a tin star, a lantern, and a candle set, all previous purchases from Olde Crow Primitives.
“Here you go.” Jean handed Cassie a white mug with a purple, crocheted cozy buttoned around it, and squeezed herself into a rocking chair, barely fitting between the arms.
“Thanks.”
“It’s nice of you to come and visit. I’m glad your grandmother, Dorothy, called.”
Cassie gripped the warm mug with both hands. “Grams thought you might be able to help me.”
“I’ll do what I can.”
“Are you aware of the goings-on at the mansion on Elm Street?”
“I heard there was a bit of a kerfuffle.” Dorothy adjusted a pillow behind her back.
“Do you remember the people who used to live there? Wayne and Marilyn Howard?”
“Yes. Marilyn was friends with my mother.”
“I’m sorry, but they found Marilyn’s uh... body. Someone murdered her.”
Jean’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, my! That’s horrible!”
“It is. And I’d love to help find justice for Marilyn.”
“How awful. The poor woman.” Jean shook her head. “But what can I possibly do to help?”
“Tell me about your mother Martha’s friendship with Marilyn.”
Jean dropped her hands to her lap. “Let’s see. They worked together at Boersley’s. Sometimes Marilyn would come to our house and have coffee with my mom. She was in her twenties, I think?”
“And how old were you?”
“I must have been about... fifteen? One day, Marilyn disappeared. My mother was quite upset about it. I remember because I had a school dance to go to, and she was too upset to finish sewing my dress. It was your grandmother, Dorothy, who finished it for me.”
Cassie smiled. Of course, Grams had finished the dress. She was an ever-flowing fountain of giving. “Did your mom ever talk about why Marilyn left? Or why she was so upset?” And was she possibly upset because she killed her? Cassie bit her tongue as the thought whirled through her mind.
“Not at the time, but she brought it up some years later. Apparently, their last conversation was an argument, and Mom felt like Marilyn leaving was her fault.”
“In what way?”
Jean leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Marilyn had been having an affair. She’d confided in my mother about the wh
ole situation. Mom was really upset about it and scolded her for her behaviour. She insisted Marilyn confess her deeds to Wayne and threatened to do it herself if Marilyn didn’t comply.”
“Oh?” Cassie pondered the notion. That showed morals on Martha’s part. Not a motive for murder—yet.
“They argued about it, quite severely,” Jean continued. “Mom didn’t answer Marilyn’s calls for a few days and ignored her at work. Then all of a sudden, Marilyn was gone.” Jean picked at a piece of lint on her sweater. “Rumours said Wayne and Marilyn had a huge argument themselves, and they both picked up and left each other. Mom figured Marilyn must have told him about the affair. Then, when he blew up, she had nowhere to turn since Mom had been angry with her, too. So, she left.”
“And your mom blamed herself.”
Jean nodded. “I tried telling her it wasn’t her fault, but she lived with the guilt the rest of her life. I’m glad she didn’t know about the murder. She likely would’ve felt responsible for that, too.”
“She’s not the one who had the affair or committed the murder.” As much as Cassie hated to admit it. There went another potential suspect. Unless her guilt was really about something else?
“No, but their friendship was important to Marilyn, and Mom knew it. She felt like she’d turned away when Marilyn had needed her most.”
Cassie took a sip of the hot chocolate and licked the remnants off her lips.
“Who was Marilyn having the affair with, Jean?”
“I don’t know. And as far as I know, Mom didn’t know either. I don’t think Marilyn ever told her.”
“It would make sense. After your mom’s reaction to the initial confession, Marilyn was probably on the defence.”
Jean nodded. “I imagine that’s true.”
“Is there anything else you can think of that might be helpful?”
“I don’t think so. But if I remember something else, I’ll pop into the store.”
Cassie stood. “Thank you. I’d really appreciate it. And thank you for the hot chocolate.” She downed the last sip and carried the cup into the kitchen.
“Any time, dear.” Jean rocked forward for momentum to get up from the rocker. “Don’t be a stranger now!”
“I won’t.” Cassie slipped on her boots and winter outerwear.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”
“You were plenty helpful,” Cassie said, even though that wasn’t entirely true. She did appreciate the time the woman had taken to share her memories.
But as far as the case went, she was right back at square one.
Chapter 18
Cassie hugged herself as she sat in the SUV and waited for the windows to defog. Even though she hadn’t been gone too long, the cold had taken hold of the vehicle all over again. She was glad she didn’t have far to go.
Jean had been helpful in sharing everything she’d remembered about her mom and Marilyn, but it wasn’t enough.
Sure, Cassie was fairly certain Jean’s mom, Martha, wasn’t the murderer, but she had never really settled on the idea in the first place.
She just didn’t know where else to turn.
And she still didn’t know the identity of the man Marilyn had an affair with. If she could find out, and the man was still alive, perhaps he could direct Cassie to the murderer.
Cassie shook her head. None of this made sense. The only person with an actual motive at this point was Wayne. Who else would want to kill a young, lonely woman who worked at a grocery store?
On the other hand, if Marilyn had confided in Martha about the affair, maybe she also confessed other secrets. Maybe there were motives no one else knew about yet.
But for now, there were none. None that had come to light through interviews, conversations, house searches, or evidence.
None.
Was it possible Wayne was a good actor, as Grams had suggested? Did he really murder his own wife?
Cassie refused to believe that. She’d seen the man learn of his wife’s death, and that was not a man who held the guilt and weight of murder on his shoulders.
Did he?
This case was so frustrating. Would there ever be true justice for Marilyn?
The window finally cleared as the SUV warmed. Cassie pulled onto the street and headed up Main toward home.
A parking spot along the curb in front of Drummond’s Bakery beckoned. Cassie pulled in. Even though her building was right across the street, the parking lot was around back. She didn’t want to add any extra walking in the cold than necessary.
She hopped out and entered Drummond’s. A couple of doughnuts would hit the spot right now and maybe even offer a little consoling. She should probably order something healthy for dinner instead, but she didn’t feel like it.
Cassie took her place in line. Laughter pulled her attention to a group of men sitting at the corner table, dressed in firemen’s pants and suspenders. She gulped and felt the blood drain from her face.
Spencer.
He ran his hand through his shoulder-length locks to push them away from his face as he laughed at the man across from him. His bicep bulged from beneath the edge of his navy T-shirt sleeve, and his eyes sparkled—until they met Cassie’s.
Across the shop, they held each other’s gaze until he broke contact, stood up, and told his friends he’d be back in a moment.
Cassie gulped as Spencer approached. Only a couple of months ago, he had professed his love for her. Then she’d ripped his heart out and stomped on it.
“Hey, Cassie.” He ran his hand through his hair again.
She caught a whiff of his citrus shampoo, and her stomach churned. “Hi.”
“How are you doing?”
“I’m okay. You?” They’d only talked once since the break-up, and that was when he stopped by her apartment to pick up a few things he’d left there. It was quick, and the conversation terse.
“I’m good. Yeah, good.” He turned back to his table. “Just doing a little training with the guys today.”
Cassie nodded. She opened her mouth to speak again but shut it when she realized she had nothing to say. Or at least nothing she could bring herself to say.
“Things at the store are good?” Spencer nodded to her building across the street.
“Yes.”
“And you and Daniel? That’s good?”
“We’re friends. Nothing more.”
Spencer’s eyebrows briefly shot up but then returned to place. “I see.”
Cassie swallowed again and moved up in line. “Spencer... I’m... sorry. Really sorry about what happened.”
He waved his hand. “Nah. Don’t sweat it. God had other plans.” He looked over Cassie’s shoulder, and his face glowed—like it used to when he saw her.
Cassie turned to see a young brunette woman, bound in a cute, red ski jacket, enter Drummond’s. She made a beeline for Spencer and gave him a quick kiss on the lips.
“Hi!” She squeaked.
“Hey.” He winked at her and put his arm around her shoulders. “Stephanie, this is Cassie. Cassie, Stephanie.”
Cassie gulped and extended her hand. “Hi.”
“Nice to meet you, Cassie.” Stephanie shook it with a firm grip.
Spencer eyed his new girlfriend. “Cassie is the woman I was dating over Christmas before I met you.”
“Oh.” Stephanie nodded in understanding. “You own the primitive store. That’s where I’ve seen you.” She smiled.
“Yes,” Cassie said, wondering what else Spencer had told this woman about her.
“I love your store. I’ve gotten lots of gifts for people there.”
Cassie forced a smile, fighting the mixture of emotions jabbing at her heart. “Thanks. That’s good to hear.”
“Ready to sit?” Spencer gently rubbed the back of Stephanie’s coat.
“Sure.” She fluttered her eyelashes. Clearly, she was smitten.
And so was Spencer.
“Take care, Cassie.” He smiled at her and g
ave her a quick nod.
“You, too.”
He escorted Stephanie over to the other firefighters and grabbed a chair for her from the next table. She scootched close to him and nuzzled against his side, never giving Cassie a second glance.
Cassie turned her attention back to the line. She was next, and she was glad. The tears had already started to blur her vision, and she wanted to get home as soon as possible.
“What can I get you?” The lanky cashier adjusted his cap.
“Half a dozen doughnuts, please. Mixed.”
Chapter 19
Cassie curled up on the couch under her favourite afghan with Pumpkin at her feet, doughnuts at hand, and a tissue box within reach. Already, a few wet, crumpled tissues sat on the coffee table.
Her emotions were at an all-time high, swirling around in an unending vortex in her mind. Spencer. Daniel. The murder. Spencer. Daniel. The murder. The pattern repeated itself over and over. Why couldn’t she get it to stop? A fresh wave of tears rushed down her cheeks.
A light knock on the apartment door helped focus her thoughts.
Lexy let herself in. “Hey! How’s it going?” She set a pizza from Wood Oven Pizzeria on the kitchen table and proceeded to squirm out of her winter gear. When Cassie didn’t answer, Lexy looked over and immediately rushed to Cassie’s side.
“What happened? What’s wrong?” She plopped onto the sofa, causing Pumpkin to meow in disapproval.
Cassie sniffed and shrugged.
Lexy gently grabbed Cassie’s shoulders. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
“I saw Spencer.”
“Okay. And?”
Cassie swallowed to combat her dry mouth. “He has a new girlfriend.” She sobbed again.
“Oh, honey!” Lexy pulled her friend into a hug. Then she let go and sat back. “It’s never easy to see your ex with someone new, is it?
Cassie shrugged again.
“Talk to me.” Lexy grabbed a chocolate doughnut out of the box. “What are you feeling?”
“I... I don’t really know.”
“Are you jealous?”
Cassie shook her head.
“Were you sad to see him happy with someone else?”
