by Jane Hinchey
"Hmmm," Monica murmured. "Could be. Couldn't be one hundred percent sure though. But the height and build fit. With the angle of her head, it's hard to say for sure."
"I found this in Whitney's office. I'm wondering if she was blackmailing Mike. It would explain that very random Christmas bonus," I said.
"Oh my god, you think?" Jenna clutched her hand to her chest. "That's just awful! And so typical Whitney."
"It is, but I don't understand why. What's so terrible about him kissing Lexi—assuming it's her?"
"The age difference?" Jenna guessed. "Mike has to be in his forties, yeah? And Lexi, what? Early twenties?"
"But would you pay ten grand to keep that quiet? A little scandalous sure, but who would really care?"
"I think I know why," Monica piped up. "Mike is a wolf shifter. Lexi is a fox shifter."
"So what?" I asked. "What does that matter?"
"The foxes and wolves have been feuding in Whitefall Cove for generations. This would be big. And bad. I'd understand Mike not wanting to get found out."
"What are we thinking here?" I asked. "Whitney must have suspected something, followed Mike and snapped this photo, then used it to blackmail him. But Mike paid the blackmail, so why kill her now? If he was intending to kill her to keep her quiet, surely he wouldn't have paid the blackmail demand in the first place?"
"You're all assuming it was blackmail," Gran piped up. "You don't have any hard evidence of that. You should get some."
"How though? It's not like we can just ask Mike about it," Monica argued.
"Why can't we?" Jenna responded. "Sometimes you get the answers you need if you tackle it head-on."
Our discussion was interrupted by a banging on the shop door. We all looked at each other, then at Gran. "Did you invite someone else?" I wouldn't put it past her. Gran was notoriously bad at keeping secrets. She could have let slip to anyone that we were meeting here tonight.
"I already told you I haven't breathed a word." She mimed zipping her lips and I sighed.
Well, someone was here, making an unholy racket. Crossing to the door, I pulled the blind up to see Jackson standing on the other side, fist raised to bang again. He paused, arm in the air when he saw me. Quickly unlocking the door, I ushered him inside.
"Jackson! What are you doing here?" I asked, completely forgetting that our crime board was on display.
He didn't miss a thing, his eyes zeroing in on it over my shoulder. He brushed past me as he spoke. "Saw the light on, thought I'd check in. What's this?"
"Oh, that's umm…" I shrugged. It was blatantly obvious what it was, and I gave him a weak smile.
"You ladies aren't doing what I think you're doing, are you?" He turned to face us, arms crossed over his chest, face dark. "This is serious business. Police business. You start sticking your noses in where they're not wanted, and you might find yourself a target."
Gran audibly swallowed, but I suspected she did it for dramatic effect. Gran wasn't intimidated by anyone, let alone a murderer.
"Yes, but listen." I crossed to the board and pointed to the timeline. "We all thought Bruce did it, right? I mean, obviously. He's been having an affair with his wife's best friend, gets her pregnant, wife is already threatening to take every last penny—he's trapped between a rock and a hard place. It makes sense that his only option is to get rid of the wife."
Jackson inclined his head and grumbled, "Continue."
I did. "What if someone else knew all that? Knew about Bruce's affair, and staged the murder to implicate him?"
"Also, possible, but then why go and shoot him? Their plan would have been that he goes to jail. If they wanted him dead, why not poison him along with Whitney?"
"Good point," Monica purred, her eyes devouring Jackson.
"Then there's the ten-thousand-dollar bonus that Mike paid Whitney." I changed tack. "I found this photo amongst the paperwork on Whitney's desk. What if she was blackmailing Mike?"
Jackson plucked the photo from the board and examined it closely. "Is this Lexi?" he asked no one in particular.
"We think so," I said.
"You're suggesting that Mike would pay a very large sum of money to keep his tryst with Lexi secret?"
"It's a possibility," I argued defensively, taking the photo from him and sticking it back on the board. "Monica was telling us that Lexi is a fox shifter and Mike a wolf shifter and apparently the two clans have been feuding for years."
"Interesting." Jackson crossed to the pizza box on the coffee table and snagged himself a slice. "You haven't finished your timeline though," he pointed out.
"No. Maybe you can help?" Monica glided up to me and took the marker from my hand. I took her place on the sofa, letting her take the lead.
"Maybe."
"So, here's what we don't know," she said and tapped the timeline. "What time Whitney started her day and what she ate or drank before she met with Harper at nine. We know Christina brought take-out coffee for everyone. Whitney didn't drink hers in front of Harper, so maybe she didn't have one? We know that Wendy dropped in home baked muffins. Did Whitney eat one? We also don't know Whitney's movements between when Harper left her office to when she came here to The Dusty Attic."
"So, you don't know how the poison was administered," Jackson summarized.
"Exactly!"
Jackson remained silent, studying the board and chewing. We waited. When he'd finished, he dusted his hands together and turned to us. "I'm impressed. For amateurs you've done okay. I'll strike a deal with you."
"Oh?"
"I'll help you fill in the blanks, since I get the overwhelming sense that you're not going to let this go." He was looking right at me when he said it. I bit my lip but didn't say anything, waiting for him to continue. "In exchange, you tell me immediately when you get any new information. And you don't breathe a word of this to anyone. I'm taking a chance, and if it looks like you lot are going to damage my career, I'll shut you down. Got it?"
"Got it," we chorused, faces alight with excitement. He was letting us help with the investigation.
"Why? Why are you letting us help?" The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them, but I had a burning curiosity why he'd decided not to shut us down.
"Because you can be of help to me. I'd rather work with you than be worrying you're all about to get yourselves killed. You find any clues, you tell me. You have a theory, you tell me. You do not go accusing anyone of anything, got it?" We nodded. "Plus, people open up to you, Harper. I've seen it in action. I'm used to people lying to me, or not talking at all. It comes with the job, but with you? They're more likely to let slip a vital detail."
"That I can then pass on to you," I said flatly, not sure why I suddenly felt deflated. He was using us. He was using us to solve this case and I didn’t know why it bothered me, but it did.
Chapter Twelve
"I don't see why you've got your panties in a wad," Gran protested at home later that night. "He basically said you scratch my back, I'll scratch yours."
"I know," I sighed.
"You're using him too, you know," she pointed out. "He filled in some of the missing blanks on your timeline, didn't he? He told you the poison was in the coffee, that Whitney hadn't eaten breakfast, that the muffins were tested and came up clean. He gave you a lot actually."
"I know," I repeated.
"It's because you have the hots for him." Gran nodded, waving her wand over the stove where she was preparing a late supper. She hadn't eaten much of the pizza, complaining it gave her heartburn. Now she was whipping up a batch of macaroni and cheese.
"What?" I protested. "I do not!"
She snorted. "Lie all you like to yourself, but you can't lie to me. You don't get to my age without picking up a few things—and the mutual attraction between two people is one of those things that I never miss," she assured me. "The problem is," she continued on, ignoring my horrified expression, "he's seeing someone else. And given your recent experience with Simon McDouche f
ace, the very idea of getting involved with a taken man is reprehensible to you."
"I didn't know you knew such big words," I grumbled, deflecting.
"Ooooh, sassy." She laughed. "But you know I'm right and that is a bur under your saddle that is just irritating your lily-white hide."
"Well, there's a pleasant visual." I didn't want to discuss Detective Jackson Ward anymore, didn't want to think of him in the romantic sense, because what Gran had said was true. He was off limits. Taken. I was not going to daydream about an unavailable man. Archie saved the day by trotting in and dropping a live mouse at my feet. I screamed, scrambling back as the rodent scampered toward my foot.
"Archie!"
"It's just a mouse. Harmless." Gran laughed at me as I scrambled up onto the chair. I hated mice. And spiders. And snakes. In fact, I had a healthy list of critters that I'd prefer very much if my cat did not bring into the house. "Wait." I pinned a glare on Gran. "How did he catch a mouse?"
"The usual way I'd imagine." Gran shrugged, spooning up a plate of macaroni and cheese. She carried it over to the table and placed it in front of me, uncaring that I was crouched on my chair.
"But...wasn't the mouse...outside?"
"I would think so." She nodded, plating up her own serving of food.
"So how did Archie get outside? And then back in again? With a mouse?"
She shot me a duh look. "Through the cat door of course." Shaking her head as if she thought I was the biggest imbecile on the earth, Gran seated herself at the table and began to shovel in big mouthfuls of macaroni. She really must have been hungry.
"Since when did we have a cat door?"
"Since today when Archie asked for one." She replied.
"Archie asked? He's a cat. He can't talk," I pointed out.
"He's a familiar and he most certainly can," she shot back. Eyes round and mouth hanging open, I gaped at her. My cat could speak? Why didn't he speak to me?
"Because you're not ready," Gran answered, even though I hadn't asked the question out loud. "Plus, you don't have your magic. It would take more effort on his behalf for you to hear and understand him, so he mentioned to me that a cat door would be most welcome."
"Oh." I had no words. I'd let my connection to the world of magic and witches slide when I was in the city. Instead, I'd focused on my career and now I felt out of touch, out of the loop. A newbie.
"And that is why you're attending classes at Drixworths." Gran pointed her fork at me.
"Please stop reading my mind," I whispered. "It's really disconcerting." I saw the mouse head under the refrigerator out the corner of my eye. "Can you please remove the mouse?"
She absently waved her wand. "Done. Just know that he brought it in as a gift for you."
"He did?" Now I felt awful. Archie had brought me a gift and I'd carried on like it was the worst thing in the world. Lowering my butt back onto my chair I looked down at my orange cat who sat looking up at me, his golden eyes sad. "Oh, I’m sorry, Archie." I bent down and picked him up, cuddling him to my chest. "I appreciate the thought, I really do, but please, no live little critters, okay?" He meowed in response and head-butted my chin, which I took as a sign of forgiveness. Putting him on the chair next to me, I pulled my bowl of macaroni closer and ate, closing my eyes in bliss. If I kept eating like this, I was going to get fat, but right now I didn't care.
When we'd finished eating, Gran cleaned up the kitchen with her magic, making me wish yet again that I had my own powers back. I didn't think I'd miss it as much as I did, but now I felt reliant on Gran and it was another thing that didn't sit well with me. I knew she knew what I was thinking for I caught the speculative look she gave me, but she didn't say anything, just announced she was going to bed.
"Goodnight, I'll be up later. I've got some paperwork for the shop to get through," I said.
"Don't stay up too late." Then she was gone, leaving me at the kitchen table with nothing but the sound of the ticking clock on the wall to break the silence. And Archie's snoring. He'd curled into a ball on the chair next to me and was now soundly asleep.
Pulling out my contract for The Dusty Attic, I smoothed the dog-eared pages and placed it on the table. Of course, I'd read it before signing, but now I went through it again at a more leisurely pace. It wasn't until I got to the appendix stapled to the back that I thought something was amiss. The valuation of the store was higher than what I'd paid. How could that be? I mean, yay for me, but surely that wasn't right? Maybe a typo? Stifling a yawn, I decided I'd go and ask Bruce tomorrow. I wasn't a numbers person, I was a words person and maybe I was reading it all wrong.
Both Jenna and Monica met me for lunch at Bean Me Up. Monica buried beneath a wide-brimmed hat, shades, and a turned-up coat. Sunlight won't kill a vampire, but it can give them a nasty burn which was why the majority of them only came out at night. But today was Monica's day off and she liked to mingle with the day folk on occasion.
"How's business?" Jenna asked, perusing the menu.
"Really good, but I have to assume that sales are this good due to my re-opening and it being three days before Christmas."
Jenna nodded. "Yeah, you'll probably experience a New Year slump. Although the town is definitely a buzz with your return, so you have that in your favor."
"Maybe I need to start a business," Monica mused, tossing her menu on to the table. "I feel left out. I’m just an employee. I turn up, do my job, and go home. Oh, and they pay me." She grinned.
"Er, hello, I'm an employee too. But you could always start your own bar or club," Jenna suggested. "Your cocktails are amazing."
"I don't know if I want the bother. All the overhead, all the stress. Weren't you just saying this morning that you'd forgotten to arrange insurance for The Dusty Attic, Harper?"
"What?" Jenna gasped. "Harper! That's not like you."
I looked sheepish. "I know, I know. It was my bookkeeper who picked up on it. As Monica said, I'm used to being an employee. Having all these extra responsibilities is new to me."
"What ended up happening with Burt Reynolds? Did he fix the thermostat?" Jenna asked. She'd referred Burt to me.
"He says he can't find anything wrong," I grumbled. Every morning since taking ownership the thermostat had been switched to off, despite it being left on. He'd searched for a timer, he'd checked the wiring. Despite finding nothing wrong he'd offered to change the thermostat control box, possibly an undetected fault inside it.
"Boo." Monica sympathized. "That sucks."
"Oh, and get this." I leaned forward, and they mirrored my actions. "I found something weird with the numbers in my contract last night."
"Weird how?"
"Well, not so much the contract, but the appendix. The valuation is way higher than what I paid."
"You're right—that is weird. A clerical error?" Jenna asked.
"I went to visit Bruce this morning, asked him to take a look."
"He's out of hospital then?"
"Yeah, recuperating at home—well, not his home—he's at Wendy's place. And she's a nurse, so..."
"What did he say? About the contract?" Monica cut in, impatient to hear the answer.
"The contract was correct, the appendix wrong. And he suggested that maybe Whitney was smudging the figures."
"Why? What would be the point in that?"
"Because the insurance company uses the figures from the appendix. It has the valuation of the property and that is what they base their premiums on."
"So, she changes the figures to show a higher valuation, meaning you pay a higher premium for your insurance?"
"Exactly!"
"But she must benefit somehow," Monica pointed out. "Otherwise why do it? Just to screw you over?"
"Maybe," I said, "or maybe she was getting a kickback from the insurance company."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to call the insurance company when I get back to The Dusty Attic, see what they have to say." My stomach grumbled, reminding me I ne
eded to eat, and I picked up my menu again. "You two decided what you want yet? I'll order."
Our waitress, Sophie, took our order and informed me it was Lexi's day off when I'd asked. I'd been hoping to quiz her on her relationship with Mike, but it seemed that wasn't on the agenda for today.
I waited while she set a bowl of steaming pumpkin soup in front of me. Jenna had ordered lasagna and Monica a chicken and avocado sandwich.
"I've been thinking"—I took a spoonful of soup, closing my eyes to savor the creamy richness—"about the case."
"Yeah?" Monica asked, mouth full.
"A couple of things don't add up."
"Oh, I know what you mean!" Jenna piped up. "I've been thinking about it too."
"Let's hear it then," Monica demanded.
"It's Bruce," I said.
Jenna was nodding, "Yeah. And the borrio bud, right?"
"Right."
"What do you mean?" Monica asked.
"Well, where is it? If Bruce stole it to poison his wife, why haven't the police found it? They questioned him, presumably searched his home. Jackson didn't say anything about finding it. And surely, he'd have to tell you, Jenna, if he did. It's your property after all."
"I haven't heard any more about it," Jenna said, "not since giving my statement."
"It's looking like Bruce isn't the killer," Monica said. "What if whoever stole the plant is the one who took a shot at him?"
"But it doesn't make sense. Why go to all the trouble of framing him for murder and then try and kill him?" I argued. "Bruce has to be involved."
"Or there are two murderers. Maybe Bruce did kill his wife. Maybe the attempt on his life was retaliation," Monica said. "Bruce was having an affair. Maybe Whitney was too. Maybe she's left someone behind who loves her and is pissed she's dead?"
"The question is, who? And how did she keep it secret?" I continued eating my soup, my mind going over the possibilities. Whitney could come and go from the Palmer Construction offices as she pleased. It would have been relatively easy for her to arrange to meet with someone for a forbidden tryst. I wished now I'd swiped her appointment book when I'd been in her office, but I made a mental note to tell Jackson of our suspicions. He had the resources we didn't.
