Asking Fur Trouble

by Ally Roberts

  How could I forget?

  “So you’re telling me that you came and told us about a missing statue, then just happened to go into a store and see that same exact statue for sale? And then you…bought it?”

  I chewed the inside of my cheek and nodded. It sounded ridiculous, even to me.

  “That statue is evidence in an active investigation,” Simcoe announced. “We’re going to need to confiscate that.” He held out his hands.

  “How did you know it was there?” the chief asked. “And if it really was at this store, why did you decide to buy it? Why didn’t you call the station and tell us what you found?”

  I knew the reason. It was the same reason I’d given Tate when he suggested he or I should tell the police about it

  Because I didn’t think they would believe me. They’d already dismissed me when I went to the office to tell them about the missing statue. Instead, they’d accused me of killing Caroline as a way to seek revenge on Oliver Ford breaking up with me back in high school…even though we had never dated. And even though I was fairly certain he wasn’t even her biological son.

  “Don’t have answers, huh?” Simcoe asked.

  With the satisfied look that was plastered on his face, I was surprised there wasn’t a cackle of glee to go with it.

  He grabbed the statue from me. I didn’t put up a fight, even though I realized I’d just thrown fifty bucks down the drain.

  “You sure you don’t want to take her in for questioning?” Simcoe asked the chief. “We may have enough to press charges, now that we have this.”

  My blood chilled.

  “I didn’t steal the statue.” My voice was high and thin. “Call the store. They’ll tell you I just came from there. I bought it less than twenty minutes ago. A woman rang me up, and a guy working at the back of the store saw me with it, too.” I paused. “And if you're taking it from me, I want a receipt that says you're taking it into evidence.”

  They looked at each other, and I thought I saw something pass between them, something that indicated they believed I might be telling the truth. And that maybe I'd watched more Law & Order than they had.

  I was still terrified. Terrified and angry.

  “How did you know it was there?” the chief asked. “And, more importantly, why did you want it?”

  These were both questions I could answer easily enough. But I didn’t.

  I didn’t trust either of these men to listen…or to believe me, for that matter. They were convinced I was guilty, and I knew nothing I said would change their minds. If anything, they would twist my words to suit their agenda. They’d already done that to me, hadn’t they?

  I pulled the dogs a little closer to me. Duke still needed to be returned to Asher.

  “Well?” Simcoe demanded. He was clutching the statue in his meaty hands and staring at me, waiting for my response.

  “Are you charging me with something right now?” I asked.

  Neither man responded.

  “Because if you’re not, then I want my receipt for the stature and I’m going to go inside my house now,” I told them. “And I’m going to call a lawyer.”

  “A lawyer?” Simcoe sneered. “Why would you need a lawyer if you’re not guilty?”

  “I want a lawyer because I want to be perfectly clear as to what my rights are,” I said. “And to be sure you’re following procedure.”

  He swallowed and looked down at the ground. When he responded, his voice was low. “We can take this statue, you know.”

  I waved a hand. “Fine. Take it. But I want a receipt that says you took it from me. And when you’re ready to listen to what I have to say—to actually listen and not just accuse me of things—let me know.”

  “We can talk now,” Chief Ritter said gruffly. “You can tell us what you want to tell us.” Simcoe made a noise but the chief shut him up with a look. “We’ll listen.”

  He almost sounded sincere.

  Luckily, I had an out.

  “I’m on dog duty right now,” I said, pointing to Duke. They didn’t need to know I was getting ready to return him home. “But I’ll be in touch. After I contact my lawyer.”

  The chief looked like he wanted to say something else but he just pressed his lips together and nodded.

  “Give me my receipt if you're taking it,” I said.

  They looked at one another, then Ritter took a notebook from his pocket, scribbled on the piece of paper on top, tore it off, and handed it to me.

  I snatched it from his hand. “Thanks.”

  I left them standing on the sidewalk, Simcoe holding the statue, and hurried into the house. To his credit, Duke didn’t seem at all perplexed that I wasn’t taking him home.

  I’d take him back to Asher as soon as the police left.

  And once I did that, I was kicking into high gear.

  The time for action was now.

  Even though I’d told the chief and the detective that I was going to contact a lawyer, I knew I wouldn’t. I couldn’t afford one.

  No, my focus had to stay on the one thing I could do on my own: figure out who was responsible for Caroline Ford’s death.

  Because the Sweetwater Island police were still convinced I was a cold-blooded killer.

  TWENTY SEVEN

  Duke made it safely home.

  Once he was back with Asher, I made a quick decision as to where I would head next.

  And it wasn’t home.

  Instead, I made a beeline for Ginny Potter’s house.

  Tate had said he saw her selling the statue at the consignment shop. This didn’t mean she was Caroline’s killer, but I definitely wanted to find out why she had the statue in her possession and why she’d decided to sell it. I also wanted to know about her relationship with her former business partner, and just what she’d put in the envelope when I saw her at Clancy’s.

  But the most important questions revolved around the statue, so that was where I would start.

  I pushed up my shirtsleeves as I headed toward my destination. The sun had burst through the clouds on my walk returning Duke, and the temperature and humidity had spiked in unison. I hadn’t thought to change into cooler clothes and was now paying the price as sweat soaked through the long-sleeve shirt I was wearing.

  A woman was walking down the street toward me, someone who looked vaguely familiar. As she got closer, I recognized her. It was Betsy, the reporter who had been at Clancy’s with Tate.

  “Wendy.” She smiled and waved as she approached.

  “Hi, Betsy.”

  Wide sunglasses hid her eyes. “How are you?” she asked.

  “Just fine,” I lied. I forced a smile, just in case I didn’t sound convincing.

  “Where are you headed?” she asked.

  She was asking a lot of questions, I thought.

  But then again, she was a reporter.

  “Oh, I’m just out for a walk.”

  It was technically true. I was out walking…as I headed for Ginny Potter’s house.

  “How about you?” I asked.

  She smiled. “Oh, I’m working on a story. The summer concert series down at the marina starts Memorial Day weekend so I was just there talking to some of the business owners.”

  I didn’t remember concerts at the marina from when I lived there. “Is that a new event?”

  Betsy shrugged. “This is the fifth year now. It was Asher’s idea. With the condos going in, he really wanted to encourage the town to offer activities and events that would keep people on the island. Lots of people like to stay here but then they’ll go back to the mainland for restaurants or for entertainment. Offering the concerts is a way to get people to spend more of their vacation hours in Sweetwater. Of course, having some new businesses and restaurants open at the marina has helped, too.”

  I was impressed.

  “Anyway, I decided to walk there and back to the office instead of drive.” She wrinkled her nose. “I was hoping it would be a good day to do it, but it sure got hot quick.”<
br />
  I nodded in agreement.

  Betsy fanned herself with a pad of paper she was holding. “I’m not sure that I’m ready for the heat,” she said. “But it’s coming whether I’m ready or not.”

  I nodded again. I wasn’t sure I was ready, either. Minneapolis summers could be hot and humid, but one thing I did remember about growing up in South Carolina was the humidity that draped like a blanket over the island during summertime. It was why I’d spent so much time at the beach, knee-deep in the water or, on braver days, out on a boogie board. Because it was the only way to keep cool.

  Betsy checked her watch. “I need to get going,” she said. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow?” I repeated.

  “At the funeral,” she said. “Caroline Ford’s funeral.”

  “Oh.” I blinked. “I didn’t know about it.”

  She looked a little uncomfortable. “Oh, well, I know Amber sort of had to organize it on the fly. It all happened really fast.”

  “Amber organized it?”

  She nodded. “I guess Daniel was too distraught. And, well, they were going through a divorce, so maybe he thought it wasn’t his place to make the arrangements. I’m not really sure.”

  “Yes, I could see that.”

  “Not that Amber wasn’t distraught, too,” Betsy said. “I mean, she and Caroline were really close. I know she was devastated by the news. They were like sisters, those two.”

  I thought about the brief amount of time I’d spent with Amber and how willing she’d been to take Arrow in, how she’d essentially raised that dog for Caroline when she’d been busy with her quilting business, and how she’d been the one to close up the house after Caroline passed.

  “You’re welcome to come by,” Betsy said. “If you want to pay your respects. It’s not like you need an invitation.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Maybe I will.”

  “Service starts at ten o’clock,” she said. “There’s a luncheon afterward. I believe Caroline is being cremated so there won’t be a burial.”

  “I’ll do my best to go,” I said.

  She nodded. “Good. I know you didn’t know her, but she was a good woman.”

  I brushed my hair off my forehead. Perspiration was now dripping down the back of my neck, and I wished not only that I’d changed into a tank top but that I’d thought to grab a ponytail holder, too.

  “Were you close with her?” I asked. It hadn’t occurred to me to talk to Betsy about Caroline, but now I was rethinking it. Maybe she would have some information that might be helpful.

  But she shook her head. “Not really. I just know that she was an active member of the community. She was a Chamber of Commerce member, and I know she donated time at the senior center to teach quilting. I did a story on that last year. She also made and donated baby quilts to families who experienced loss, either by miscarriage or stillbirth. She wanted to make sure that those babies could be wrapped and swaddled in a soft, handmade quilt. I wrote a story on that, too.”

  My eyes welled with tears and my throat constricted. Not just because the thought of tiny babies dying was so sad, but also because, for the first time, I was thinking about Caroline Ford as a person. My thought had been so focused on how her death was affecting me. Not once had I given any thought to the life she’d lived and how the island would feel her loss.

  I felt like the very worst human on the planet.

  “Well, I should get going before I melt into a puddle right here on the sidewalk.” Betsy smiled. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  I nodded. “Maybe.”

  I watched as Betsy walked away and tried to come to terms with the jumble of emotions I was feeling.

  She’d given me more reasons to figure out just who was responsible for Caroline’s murder.

  I still wanted to find out the truth for me.

  But now I wanted to find out for Caroline, too.

  TWENTY EIGHT

  By the time I got to Ginny Potter’s little brick house, my shirt was soaked and my hair felt as though it was plastered to my scalp.

  For a brief moment, I debated turning around and going home. I could change clothes, maybe even take a quick shower, so I would look a little more presentable.

  But then I reminded myself I wasn’t going over for tea, or for a formal visit. I was literally going to Ginny’s house to confront her and demand to know what she knew about Caroline’s death.

  I started toward the front door. There was a newspaper on the sidewalk, wrapped in plastic, and the mailbox mounted by the front door was stuffed full.

  My heart sunk, and I wondered if that meant she wasn’t home.

  But her garage door was open, and her red sedan was parked inside.

  I continued along toward the front door, stopping to pick up the paper along the way. A brass knocker stood in place of a doorbell and I rapped it three times, then took a step back.

  A minute later, I heard the sound of footsteps approach the door. It slowly swung open and Ginny was there, clutching a purse and her keys.

  She looked perplexed to see me. “Yes?”

  I hesitated and then thrust the paper at her. “Here.”

  She blinked.

  “It was on your sidewalk,” I explained. “I…I was walking by and thought I’d bring it up to the door.”

  “Oh.” She nodded. “Well, thank you.”

  So much for just going ahead and confronting her.

  “Can…can I help you?” she asked.

  It was the perfect opening, just what I needed to launch into my questions.

  But my mouth wouldn’t cooperate.

  She frowned. “Okay, well, thank you for the paper. I’m actually heading out…” She started to close the door but I stopped it with my hand.

  “Wait,” I said.

  My hand landed on the door much more forcefully than I intended and it swung open.

  It was hard not to peek inside Ginny’s house.

  I saw walls painted a dark burgundy along with equally dark furniture. Tan carpet covered the floors and older light fixtures hung from the ceiling.

  But those weren’t the things that caught my eye.

  My eyes zeroed in on several large white trash bags and cardboard boxes stacked in the hallway that led away from the living room and to what I presumed were bedrooms.

  I squinted, trying to bring the contents of those bags and boxes into focus.

  They were stuffed full of all manner of things. Clothes, shoes, picture frames, books, knickknacks.

  “What’s all that?” I asked, pointing to the bags and boxes.

  Ginny cleared her throat. “Oh, just doing a little spring cleaning.”

  “It’s May.”

  “That’s still spring,” she said, a little defensively.

  “What are you doing with all of that?” I had a feeling I already knew the answer.

  Her cheeks reddened and she glanced down at the welcome mat I was standing on. “Oh, just taking it to the consignment shop in town. Figured I’d see if I could get a little money from it before hauling it all to the thrift store on the mainland.”

  “You go there a lot, don’t you?”

  “To the thrift store?” She shook her head. “No, I haven’t been there in ages.”

  “I meant the consignment shop.”

  “Oh.” She swallowed. “No, not really.”

  “But you were just there last week.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

  I tried to ignore how fast my heart was beating. “The statue.”

  She swallowed again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you do,” I countered. “The statue. The one you used to kill Caroline.”

  She gasped. “What?”

  “Oh, come on,” I said. “Someone saw you drop it off. You and Caroline got in a fight, didn’t you?” I grabbed at the threads of information I had and created more to weave together a narrative I thought was right. “You didn�
��t want the business to close down and you fought about it. You argued. Maybe you got really angry with Caroline and you picked up the statue and hit her over the head. And then you stole the statue, because you didn’t want anyone to find it as evidence. You probably figured no one would notice it was gone, but then you realized you couldn’t hold on to it. You needed to get rid of it. So you took it to the consignment shop.”

  Her eyes were as wide as saucers and her mouth opened and closed as if she were a fish gasping for breath.

  I set my hands on my hips. “Well?” I said expectantly. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  Ginny’s mouth closed and she swallowed a couple of times. Her eyes were still bulging, but she looked slightly more in control.

  “Are you accusing me of murder?” Her voice was deadly soft.

  I guess I was. “Yep.”

  Her lips flattened. “You are dead wrong.”

  With that, she reached out and gave me a hard shove that sent me two feet backward, just enough to get me out of the doorway. She slammed the door shut and I heard the unmistakable sound of the deadbolt locking into place.

  My chest was heaving and my heart was beating so fast, I could barely catch my breath.

  Ginny Potter had just assaulted me.

  As shocking as that had been, I realized that I was probably, in fact, very lucky.

  At least she hadn’t tried to kill me.

  TWENTY NINE

  I didn’t have much time to think about Ginny Potter shoving me out of her doorway.

  Because someone pulled up to the curb behind me, tires squealing as they braked hard.

  I heard a car door slam just as I turned around.

  A visibly agitated Daniel Ford strode purposefully toward me.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

  I stared at him. “Excuse me?” I was still reeling from Ginny’s attack.

  “You heard me,” he barked.

  I had heard him. I just didn’t know what he was talking about. Why was he freaking out that I was at Ginny’s house? He was the one who’d told me to look into her connection to Caroline, and he was the one who suggested—no, practically insisted—that I go see her at Clancy’s last Friday.