by Ally Roberts
“Shannon.” My voice was firm.
“What?”
“Stop.”
She heaved a sigh. “Fine. Tell me who else you’ve met.”
I hesitated. “I met Caroline Ford’s husband. And her housekeeper. And obviously Poppy.”
“The witch who thinks you’re trying to tank her business?”
I smiled. At least I knew she had been listening.
“Yes.”
“Anyone else?” she asked, her voice hopeful. “Any other cute guys?”
I hesitated. For some reason, I didn’t want to mention Tate.
And I didn’t know why.
She made a sound. “Oh my gosh. There is someone else. You’ve met someone.”
I covered my face with my hand. “No, no,” I said with a groan. “I have not met someone. It’s way too soon for that.”
“Oh, please,” she said, and I knew she was rolling her eyes. “You and Greg were barely married. You never even saw each other. Seriously, when was the last time the two of you had sex?”
Shannon might be comfortable laying everything on the table, no detail left as a stone unturned.
I was not.
“I met a guy I used to go to school with,” I said quickly. Because telling her about Tate now seemed far easier than delving into the nonexistent sex life I’d had with my ex-husband.
“Oh?” She was immediately intrigued. “Who?”
Briefly, I toyed with making up a name.
But this was Shannon.
She would want details.
And she would remember them.
She would know the next time we talked, when she asked about him and I forgot some detail, that I’d made it all up.
No, in the long run telling her the truth would be far easier.
A little pain now was far better than more pain later.
“Tate. Tate Goodman. We went to school together but he left in sixth grade.” I left out the detail that we’d dated for a few days.
She shrieked fifteen seconds later. “How is he even better looking than the Asher dude?”
“Let me guess, You looked him up, too.”
“Of course!” She sighed. “He looks like a model, too. Is he really that tan?”
An image of Tate flashed in my mind.
“I don’t know,” I mumbled. “I guess.”
I made a mental note to take a look at what Shannon was seeing on their Instagram accounts.
“Well, here I was prepared to give you a pep talk and encourage you to move on and stay focused and all that, but it looks like you don’t need any help from me.”
“What do you mean?”
She chuckled. “You’ve met two gorgeous guys the first week you’ve been back. One hired you to walk his dog. The other is a guy you went to school with. By the looks of their social media, both are single. I’d say you need exactly zero help from me.”
“I’m not looking for a date,” I pointed out. “I’m trying to put my life back together.”
“And you are,” Shannon insisted. “You’re starting your own business. As an entrepreneur!”
Sure, I thought. An entrepreneur.
“You have an awesome house, you’re living by the freaking ocean, and now you have two guys who are potentially interested in you.”
“Where did you get that from? That they’re interested in me?”
“Okay, so maybe they aren’t,” she conceded. “But they will be! I just know it. You’re a knockout, Wen. Any guy would be thrilled to go out with you. Well, except your stupid ex-husband.”
Shannon was not Greg’s biggest fan.
“Sure,” I said. “I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to hang out with someone who’s a suspect in a murder.”
“That will blow over soon,” she promised. “Once they find the right person.”
“And what if they don’t?” I countered. “What if this police chief and his little detective think they have the right person? Meaning, me?”
“Did you kill her?”
“Of course not,” I said indignantly.
“So you just need to figure out who did.”
She made it sound like it was easy as turning on Netflix and picking a show to watch.
Which was a terrible analogy, because for me, that could end up being an agonizingly long process.
But I understood what she was trying to say.
“And how do you suggest I do that?” I asked.
“Simple.” She was eating something now, something crunchy. Probably potato chips. She had an addiction to salt and vinegar chips. “You start looking for people who might have a motive.”
“But I didn’t know her,” I reminded her.
“But everyone else on the island did.”
I was quiet for a minute. She had a point.
“Was there anyone you know of off the top of your head who might have a beef with her?”
“No.”
“Come on, Wendy. Think.”
I sighed. “Fine. Her husband. They were in the middle of a divorce.”
“A-ha!” She sounded as if she was the one who’d just solved the crime. “Divorce cases are prime for murder.”
“I didn’t kill Greg…”
She sniffed. “He wasn’t worth it. Who else?”
“I don’t know,” I said, thinking. “Maybe a disgruntled customer?” Poppy Ritter immediately sprang to mind.
“See?” She crunched some more. “Plenty of people who wanted her dead.”
That felt like a bit of a stretch.
“Here’s your homework,” Shannon told me. “Start doing a little digging. See who didn’t like this Caroline Ford person. Because I bet once you find that out, you’ll figure out who killed her.”
Shannon had a tendency to see things in black and white.
Me, not so much.
But I nodded and said, “Okay.”
I wasn’t thrilled about her suggestion.
But I also knew I didn’t have any other ideas.
If doing a little digging and investigating on my own might help clear my name, I was all in.
ELEVEN
Clouds greeted me the next morning as I headed out to pick up Duke. Trixie trotted along next to me, happy to sniff as we ambled toward the Sweetwater Suites.
I felt bad that she’d been cooped up for the better part of the day yesterday so I figured I’d see how it went walking her and Duke together. Asher had assured me he was as friendly as dogs came, and Trixie was, too, so I had high hopes.
I’d spent what was left of the previous evening parked on my bed with my laptop, looking for every bit of information I could find about Caroline Ford. I knew Shannon was right: if I wanted to put this thing behind me, the best thing to do was to take the bull by the horns and tackle it myself.
I’d also spent a few minutes looking up Tate and Asher’s Instagram accounts. Shannon had been right; they looked just as gorgeous in those little square photos as they did in person.
Part of me knew I could easily spend hours scrolling through their photos and then looking for them on Facebook and SnapChat but I knew that wouldn’t be the best use of my time. So I reluctantly closed the app and returned my attention to Caroline Ford.
I’d found the website for her business right away, and spent the better part of an hour scrolling through every page of the site. By the time I was done, I knew exactly how to piece together a t-shirt quilt—and wondered why she’d spelled out the process on her site if she wanted people to pay her to do it—and I’d read at least twenty testimonials from satisfied customers. I’d seen countless photos of finished quilts, and was now a little sad that I hadn’t gotten one made by her before she died. The idea and design were really cool. I had a good grasp of how she’d started her business, and I knew exactly who her partner was.
Ginny Potter.
Amber had mentioned the name Ginny to me, but without the surname.
I couldn’t help but smile at the full name of Caroline’s business pa
rtner. Judging by the pictures on the website, Ginny was far too old to have had her name influenced by a certain series of wizard books.
But it still made me giggle.
Thankfully, she didn’t bear any resemblance to the female wizard in question. Ginny was easily in her fifties, with a blonde bob and ruddy cheeks, and a smile that seemed permanently etched into her face. The photos had her sitting in front of a sewing machine, smiling for the camera, always wearing a bright-colored sweatshirt emblazoned with birds or flowers.
She looked like someone’s grandma, not a cold-blooded killer.
But that didn’t mean anything.
Daniel Ford looked like an insurance salesman, but I was considering him a suspect, too.
Because it was all I had to work with.
And Poppy. I had to remind myself of that. Caroline wouldn’t have put any negative customer comments on her website—no business owner would—but I knew first-hand that Poppy Ritter was miffed because Caroline had refused to make a quilt for her.
Was that enough for Poppy to want to kill her?
I didn’t think so, but based on my limited interactions with the woman, I did know that Poppy seemed a little…vindictive.
I was living proof of that.
After exhausting Caroline’s business web site, I looked up a little more info on Ginny Potter before powering down the computer. There wasn’t much else available, but because Sweetwater Island sometimes seemed like it was stuck back in the 50s, I did manage to find her address online. I typed it into my maps and realized it was four blocks from Asher’s property. And decided it was the perfect place to walk by when I took the dogs out the next day.
Which was exactly what I intended to do.
Asher was waiting for me outside his office, Duke leashed and by his side.
“Am I late?” I dug into my pocket to check the time on my phone.
He shook his head. “Not at all. Someone was a little anxious to see you.”
My breath caught in my throat, and I couldn’t help but stare at the man smiling at me. He was wearing shorts today, a pair of khaki ones that showed he was just as tan as Tate Goodman…and that his legs were just as muscular. The wind ruffled his hair and I thought I caught a whiff of cologne or aftershave, something sweet and spicy and altogether delicious smelling.
He meant the dog, silly.
I stooped down and pet Duke. He responded by licking my hand.
“And who is this?” Asher asked, nodding with a friendly smile at Trixie. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.”
“This is Trixie.”
As soon as I said her name her tail started thumping.
“Trixie.” Asher let her sniff his hand before giving her head a good scratch. “She do a bunch of tricks? Is that why she’s named that?”
I chuckled. “She knows no tricks. None. She doesn’t fetch, she doesn’t come. Her name was wishful thinking on my part.”
He laughed, too. “It’s never too late to teach an old dog new tricks.”
“I couldn’t even teach a new dog one,” I said ruefully. “But that’s okay. She’s a good girl. Most of the time.”
Asher smiled. He was watching Duke and Trixie as they sniffed each other, their tails whipping back and forth. “I think they’re going to get along just fine. That’s a relief.”
My heart fluttered and I tried to tell myself not to read anything into his words. This was a business relationship. Of course he would want our dogs to get along.
“Do you want me to go ahead and pay you now or…?” Asher asked. “I can pay for the entire day, or one walk at a time, or by the week. It’s up to you.”
I had no idea how he should pay me. The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. “Um, I’ll let you decide.”
He pulled a black wallet from his back pocket and fished out a couple of bills. “Why don’t I pay you for today and then all of next week? Since it’s Friday.”
I stared at the bills as he pressed them into my hand. It still felt like far too much for what he was having me do.
I murmured a thank you and pulled my hand away, but not before his fingers touched mine. The handshake we’d exchanged just two days earlier flashed in my mind, the smoothness of his skin, the warmth of his touch.
Yep.
I hadn’t imagined it.
I pulled away, a little awkwardly, and shoved the money into the pocket of my jean shorts.
Asher glanced down at Duke. “Take good care of him,” he said.
“I will. I promise.”
He stroked the dog again. “And you take good care of her, too,” he added.
My heart somersaulted.
He straightened and fixed me with a smile that sent my heart cartwheeling.
“Have fun,” he told me.
I somehow managed to find my voice. “We will.”
With Duke’s leash now in my free hand, I turned and the dogs and I started our walk, away from Sweetwater Suites and away from Asher Ellsworth.
Once we were what I considered a safe distance, I let out a deep breath.
I needed to focus. It did me no good to turn into a puddle of goo every single time Asher Ellsworth smiled at me.
Ginny. I repeated the name in my mind a couple of times.
I needed to concentrate on her instead.
I sucked in another deep breath, and Trixie and Duke both looked at me.
“Let’s go,” I told them.
In my mind, I thought, Let’s go see if Ginny Potter might be a viable suspect.
And let’s see if I can stop thinking about Asher Ellsworth.
TWELVE
Ginny’s house was easy to find.
Five minutes later, I was approaching it, a single-story brick home that looked as though it has been built in the 50s. A small swath of neatly trimmed grass served as a front lawn, and colorful flowers were already blooming in the two window boxes attached to the house.
I slowed, noting that the garage attached to the house via carport was wide open. There was a small sedan parked inside, a red older model car that looked as though it had seen better days. Various lawn tools, rakes and shovels, even a hoe, lined one interior wall, and bags of half-filled potting soil and fertilizer were piled in a corner.
But none of those things in particular caught my eye.
I was more focused on what else was in the garage.
Or rather, who else.
A woman was closing the passenger door, her arms laden with plastic grocery bags.
Not just any woman.
Ginny Potter.
I picked up my pace. The last thing I wanted to do was have her disappear into the house. Because then I’d have to come up with a reason to knock on her door.
“Good morning!” I called out.
She startled and looked in my direction.
I waved.
A frown crossed her face, and I could tell she was wondering if she knew me, and where she might know me.
She closed the passenger door. “Good morning.” Her tone was decidedly less enthusiastic than mine.
“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” I asked.
She nodded. She was wearing navy slacks and a pink sweatshirt with a large image of a monarch butterfly.
I stood there, frantically trying to come up with something to say. It wasn’t as if I could just flat-out ask her if she’d killed Caroline Ford.
“Hey, aren’t you one of the ladies who make the t-shirt quilts?”
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted it. Seriously, Wendy? That’s all you’ve got?
“Yes…”
“I saw your website.” I forced a smile. “You do awesome work. I was actually thinking of ordering one.”
“Oh.”
I’d come closer now, and it was easy to see that her face was pinched tight and black circles ringed her eyes.
“Is everything okay?” I asked. I felt like the very worst sort of person, feigning both ignorance and concern.
&n
bsp; She shook her head, and her eyes filled with tears.
“Oh my goodness.” My concern was genuine now.
With her free hand, she wiped at her eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s just…I lost my business partner the other day.”
“Caroline? Caroline Ford?”
Ginny’s lip trembled and she nodded.
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
She sucked in a shaky breath. “I just…I don’t know what to do.”
She seemed so distraught and I immediately began to doubt the reason I was there. Would she be this upset if she’d purposely killed the woman?
She adjusted the bags looped around her arm. I could see groceries through the thin plastic: boxes of pasta, a box of cereal, a package of cookies. Ginny Potter looked like a normal woman, just going about her life…and a woman who had just unexpectedly lost her business partner.
The conversation I had with Amber, the housekeeper, flitted into my mind. She’d said Caroline was closing down the business for lots of reasons, and she mentioned Ginny. I couldn’t remember the exact words she’d used, but it was something about Ginny being part of the reasons Caroline was shutting it down. What could that mean? Did it suggest that Ginny was done, too, and they’d decided to close up shop together?
Or had one been opposed to the idea?
I didn’t know, and it wasn’t as though I could just casually bring that up in the conversation I’d just started. For all this woman knew, I was just an overly friendly woman out walking her two dogs.
Before I could formulate what to say next, Ginny made a whimpering sound. Her hand flew to her mouth and she shook her head.
“I’m sorry,” she rasped, and she hurried away from the car and to the wall of the garage. A few seconds later, the garage door squeaked and groaned as it began to close.
I sighed.
That had gotten me absolutely nowhere.
I looked down at the dogs, who had busied themselves with sniffing what was apparently a very fragrant bush.
“I guess we better keep walking,” I told them. It looked like talking to Ginny Potter was going to be a dead end.
I’d taken no more than two steps when a white sedan rolled up beside me and slowed.
