by Tegan Maher
My phone dinged again, and this time it was Corrine.
"What now?" Alex asked when I groaned.
"It's Corrine," I said after pulling up the message. “She found bruising on Daisy's chest and a speck of human blood on her shirt. It's not hers."
He was quiet for a minute. "And the mystery deepens."
"Maybe not," I replied. "Remember the ridiculous Snoopy Band-Aid Mrs. Smith had on her finger?"
He pulled in front of the sheriff's office. "Not until you just said that, but now at least you have a place to start."
"Yeah, but now how do I find out if it was hers or not? It'll take forever just to get the subpoena for a DNA swab, let alone the results. The Smiths are only going to be here for two more days."
He shrugged. "So you tell them to stay."
I unbuckled my seatbelt and pushed my door open. "I don't know if that'll be enough to hold them or not. I mean, it's not like Daisy was shot and we found out Mrs. Smith had a gun. It's just a pinch on her finger."
"But if it clears Rhea and puts a murderer in jail, don't you think it's worth it? Besides," he said with a devilish grin, "she's staying at a place that offers coffee and meals. Why would you wait for a subpoena when her coffee cup or fork would do just as well? And in case you've forgotten, the pack has connections at the Atlanta lab; I have no doubt that if you overnight the samples, you'll know something by tomorrow afternoon or the next morning at the latest."
A weight lifted from my shoulders and I stepped back in the truck long enough to give him a quick kiss. "You're brilliant, you know that?"
"I do," he said, smug, "but it's nice of you to notice."
I rolled my eyes at him. "Your modesty is one of the things I love most about you."
"And your keen observations skills are one of the things I love most about you."
His grin melted my heart, even if I did want to whack him one.
"Go find out what you can about Rhea and her friend, Dominique. I'm not willing to cross her off the list just yet."
"Will do. You're going to handle getting something with Mrs. Smith's DNA from Kitty?"
I nodded. "Yeah, since we're dealing with a human, I need to follow the chain of evidence. If it ends up being her, I don't want her to get off on a technicality."
"Makes sense," he said. "I'll call you if I hear anything useful."
"Call me if you find out anything at all," I said. "I want to know what she's been doing for the last five years."
Rhea's story sounded legit. If I thought about it, I could see it from her point of view. But one question remained: did she still harbor that hate she'd used as an excuse for leaving? If so, it wouldn't be hard to argue that it had been Daisy's fault she'd been on that road to begin with.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MS. ELLEN WAS STILL at the front desk when I got there. She took one look at me and glanced over her shoulder, then shook her head.
"Get back out there," she hissed. "Gertrude just rode in on her high horse."
That's all it took; the last thing I wanted to do was deal with a magnanimous little old lady. I kept to the side of the building so she wouldn't see me and crept around to the employee's side entrance.
When I was almost to the end of the hall that would spit me out next to the office I shared with Sam, I slapped my hand over my mouth to stifle a giggle. I pressed my back against the wall as a voice laced with righteousness drifted to me.
"Now MS Wilson, I can't go tellin' Louann Samples she can't hang her fine washables on the clothes line."
"Why not? They're scandalous, is what they are. Why, my grandson was over to mow my grass for me the other day and ran clean over my petunias. I just know it was because he was gawkin' at that harlot's leopard-print lingerie wavin' in the breeze for all to see. I can't even look at her without picturin' her wearin' them, so it's no wonder all the men in the community gawk at her everywhere she goes."
Sam released a long-suffering sigh I could hear even from my position thirty feet away. "What time was that, exactly?" he asked.
"What time was it? Why does that matter? It was first thing in the morning, last Saturday."
That explained everything. Everybody—with the exception of Gertrude and her rose-colored glasses—knew Randy Wilson loved bourbon as much as he loved Friday night poker games. I'd have been shocked if he'd even been able to see into Louann's yard through his hangover, let alone tell what was hanging on her clothesline.
"Mrs. Wilson," Sam said, and I could hear the pleading in his voice, "go home. Unless she's paradin' around in her yard buck nekkid, there's not much I can do. It's not illegal to hang underwear on your clothesline. As a matter of fact, you do, don't you?"
She gasped. "I most certainly do not! Not that it's any of your business, but that's why the Good Lord made shower curtain rods."
Funny. Here all this time, I'd thought it was to keep from soaking the bathroom floor.
"My point is that you could if you wanted to—"
"But I don't. I'm a God-fearin' woman who respects her dead husband's memory."
I figured Sam had been tortured enough, and was equally afraid of what sort of revenge he'd level at me if he knew I'd been standing there. I hustled from my position into our office.
"Sam! Thank goodness you're here," I said. "I need you for some official police business. We need to go right now."
That caught Mrs. Wilson's attention. "Really? What's going on? Did you catch the murderer? It was that awful Gwenn Harvey wasn't it? She finally found out her boy's been sneakin' around behind her back to see Daisy, and up and killed her."
"Wait, what?" I asked.
"Nothin'," Sam said. "Didn't you say it was an emergency?"
The mix of desperation and murder in his eyes dared me to stay one second longer, but I had to hear more about Gwenn Harvey. Still, that didn't mean I had to put Sam through another single second of misery.
"I did. Sully needs to talk to you, right away."
The way he lit out of there, you would have thought his tail feathers were on fire.
"Now, what were you saying about Gwenn Harvey, Mrs. Wilson?"
"Just that it doesn't surprise me that she's the one who killed poor Daisy."
I raised a brow. "And why would she want to do that?"
"Why, do I have to do your job for you, young lady?"
Pulling in a deep breath and sending out a little prayer for patience despite Mama always telling me not to, I pasted a smile on my face. "No, ma'am. But part of my job is interviewing citizens that may have information. So, if you could tell me what you know, I'd greatly appreciate it."
That was a huge ego stroke—exactly what she usually needed to get her to cooperate.
"I just know Daisy was such a sweet girl. She and Gwenn's son Marcus hit it off at the Christmas party over at the community center. He took her on a couple dates, but when Gwenn found out, she about had a conniption. Seems Gwenn had it in her head that Estelle, Daisy's mama, had her cap set on Mr. Harvey way back when. If you ask me, that's complete poppycock. Estelle was a handsome woman, and Don Harvey looked like a giant duck, right down to the waddle. Thank the Good Lord Marcus got his looks from his mama's side of the family."
"So," I said, the implications pouring through my head, "Gwenn was still carryin' such a grudge that she didn't want her son dating Estelle's daughter?"
She nodded, her beehive hairdo wobbling with the movement. "Absolutely. Why, I heard her in the beauty parlor just last week complainin' about it. She said the apple doesn't fall far from the hussy tree, and no boy of hers was gonna be seen with any woman related to Estelle Westfield."
"And did they continue to date anyway? Nobody's mentioned it to me so far."
"They did," she said. "I saw 'em at the ice cream shop myself Saturday. You ask me, Gwenn had it all wrong. It was the other way around; Daisy was too good for Marcus. That boy hasn't held a steady job since he graduated from high school."
Honestly, that sounded like a much m
ore plausible reason for murder.
"Thank you so much, Mrs. Wilson," I said, putting my hand on her shoulder and guiding her out of our office and toward the reception area. "You've been a tremendous help. I'm going to go check into this right now."
"But," she sputtered as we approached Ms. Ellen's desk, "what about my complaint? What about that loose woman's unmentionables wavin' in the wind, right in plain sight?"
"Oh, blow off, Gertrude," Ms. Ellen barked, scowling. "You know good and well the only reason you take exception to her flyin' her bloomers on her line is because hers are the size of a hankie and yours are the size of a tablecloth. Get over it."
It was all I could do not to choke on my own spit at that point, and I had to turn and head back the way I'd come before I burst into laughter. If I did that, Mrs. Wilson wouldn't let me live it down for months.
On a serious note, now Sam and I really did have an urgent police matter to handle.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
WHEN I PUSHED THROUGH the door of Sully's, Sam was sitting at the bar, beer in hand. He glowered at me as I walked toward him. "Don't think I didn't hear the back door open. I know you stood there in the hallway, leavin' me to deal with her. Again."
"Aww, don't be that way," I said as Sully slid my favorite draft beer in front of me. "You know she likes you better. She just talks to me like I'm twelve and keeps repeating herself over and over like she thinks I don't understand what she's sayin'."
Sully laughed. "Sam, you should start chargin' hazard pay. That woman could talk the ears off a brass monkey. And that high-pitched tone! Thank the fates you're not a shifter. That voice of hers could peel paint."
Sam dug into a bowl of mixed nuts on the bar, and offered them to me just to be perverse. I'd seen enough documentaries to know what all was in there besides nuts, and he knew they grossed me out.
"Thanks. I'll just go lick the bathroom floor and skip the calories in the nuts."
He grinned at me. "If you do that, I'll deal with Gertrude for a month straight without complaint."
I wrinkled my nose. "Thanks. Pass. Now, let me tell you what I learned while you were running out the back door like a sissy."
After I gave him the rundown of what I'd learned, he thought for a minute. "I actually know Gwenn Harvey. She's a piece of work. Always misquoting the Good Book, twistin' and turnin' passages to suit her needs."
"Oh. One of those. Awesome." As expected, we had a wide range of religions in our little berg, but there was always that one who wanted nothing better than to pass judgment on others to put themselves a little closer to their idea of an afterlife.
"Well, then drink up. We have to go interview her. Do you have any idea where she works? I didn't waste any time askin' Ms. Ellen, seeing as how she was busy putting Gertrude in her place."
"Bless that woman," Sam said, holding his tea up in salute.
"Are you going with me to talk to Gwenn Harvey?" I asked.
He nodded. "I know her, and she may give you a hard time. She can be a handful."
"Then let's get a move on. We're burning daylight, and I want to get this wrapped up as soon as we can."
He held up a hand. "Cori, you've been going non-stop since this happened. It six o'clock. Go home. Gwenn Harvey will be there tomorrow."
Though it went against my grain, he was right. I was physically tired and emotionally exhausted and just wanted to salvage at last a little bit of the day if I could.
I texted Alex and told him I was on my way home and would meet him there, but I did need to stop and get something Clair Smith had eaten from, but that would also wait 'til tomorrow. It was too late to get it shipped to my parents anyway.
I swung my Jeep into the lot of the best pizza shop in town. Feeling a little guilty that I'd eaten nothing but junk all day, I ordered a side salad to go with it and called it good enough. I had a hot guy and some mindless TV in my future, and I was eager to get to it.
I called Kitty on my way home and asked her if I could stop by the next morning, and explained what I needed.
"Sure thing," she said. "Do you just want me to hold it back for you?"
As much as I wanted to say yes so I could sleep in the next morning, I knew the evidence chain had to be rock solid.
"No," I replied. "If you don't mind, Alex and I would like to crash breakfast."
She laughed. "If this is your way of gettin' a bellyful of my pancakes, all you had to do was ask."
I laughed. I would have been lying if I didn't admit that was at least part of it. "Busted. Is there gonna be bacon?"
"Girl, what kind of question is that? Of course there's gonna be bacon."
"Awesome, then. What time is breakfast?"
"Seven-thirty on the nose, though the Smiths have been coming down a bit later. I'll make twice what I usually do if you're bringin' Alex. I've seen the two of you eat, and I'd hate to run out before everybody has their fill. Plus, that group from Keyhole Lake like to eat, too. I wondered if she they were shifters the first time I saw them eat."
The smell of pizza in the truck was making my stomach rumble, and I was glad to see Alex was already at the house when I got there. He was sitting on the porch swing with Chaos snuggled up beside his leg when I pulled up. She put her nose in the air and sniffed. "Pepperoni, bacon, pineapple, green peppers and"—she wrinkled her nose—"black olives. Gross. I hope you only put those on half."
I grinned at her as Alex held the door open for me. "Of course I did. I'd be afraid to see what would happen if I made such an egregious error."
"You should be," she said, hopping up on the table and pulling the box open with her little paw.
I swatted at her. "Get your paws out of my pizza. I'll get you a piece. Only one, though."
She narrowed her eyes at me. "What if I want two?"
I met her stare. "You won't. The last time I let you have two pieces, I had to listen to you complain of heartburn half the night, and you had gas. So no. Count yourself lucky I'm giving you a full piece instead of just the crust."
Chaos was a garbage disposal; she'd eat just about anything, except black olives, of course. Or liver. Weirdly enough, I had the one carnivorous familiar on earth that was picky about meat. Honestly, though, I agreed with her. Liver was disgusting, whether it was raw or cooked. Just the thought of it gave me the heebie-jeebies. Since she wasn't particular, I had to keep an eye out if I didn't want her to gas me out of my own bedroom.
After making us each a plate, I grabbed Alex and I a beer from the fridge, then settled down between the two of them on the sofa. We spent the rest of the evening watching mindless TV, grateful for the time together minus murder and drama.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
WHEN MY ALARM WENT off at six-thirty the next morning, all I wanted to do was shut it off and go back to sleep. Alex was snoring softly on the other side of the bed, and Chaos peeped one luminous eye open from her position between us.
"Turn that off," she grumbled. "It's too early to hear birds chirping."
Because I tended to be cranky in the mornings, I'd set my alarm ringtone to the most pleasant one I could find—one with birdsong and a cheery little ditty to go along with it. It didn't make me a morning person, but it kept me from slinging my phone across the room like I had my alarm clock, along with its high-pitched beeping.
"I can't. We're going to Kitty's for breakfast so I can pick up something Clair Smith eats off of. I need her DNA."
Alex, who was one of those annoying morning people, was already sitting up and stretching. He turned to smile at me and chirped a happy, "good morning."
I wrinkled my nose and did my best not to scowl at him. It wasn't his fault he was defective.
"Too soon?" he asked.
"Maybe a little," I replied, forcing myself to shove the covers off and swing my legs over the bed.
"Maybe a lot." Chaos's response was muffled because she'd burrowed back under the covers. She was even crabbier in the mornings than I was.
"I'll just go m
ake coffee, then," he said. "I'll meet you downstairs."
"You should come with us this morning," I told Chaos after he was gone.
"What for?" The lump in the covers that was her shifted, then curled into a ball, her preferred sleeping position.
"What if I told you there'd be bacon?" I asked. That got her attention.
She rooted her way back to the top of the bed and out from under the quilt, her whiskers twitching. "What's this about bacon?"
Since she hadn't gone anywhere with us lately and it was the weekend, I figured it wouldn't hurt to take her along. She had a great sense of character, and I kinda wanted to get her take on the Smiths.
“If you can be up and ready by a quarter after seven, you can go to Kitty's with us for breakfast."
"Oh," she said, stretching. "That's different then. Does she still make those yummy pancakes?"
"She does," I confirmed. "But it's sort of business. I need you to focus on the people there while you eat. I want to know what you think of them."
"You need to know whether I think they're murderers, you mean."
I padded to the bathroom, yawning. "That's exactly what I mean."
"Fine," she said, "but I don't want so much as a sideways glance if Kitty offers seconds on bacon and I accept. Eggs, too."
"I'm fine with bacon. Eggs, we'll discuss." I hated it when she ate eggs. They weren't kind to her digestion, and I was always the one who paid the price. Seeing as how I was going to be stuck in a vehicle with her, I was fairly sure the sacrifice wouldn't be worth it.
"No eggs!" Alex called from downstairs. Thank goodness for wolfy hearing; let him be the bad guy for once. He'd been around the last time we'd had a picnic and she'd eaten half a dozen deviled eggs. That had actually been their first falling-out because he'd sentenced her to a night on the couch.
Chaos narrowed her eyes, scowling at the door. "Fine. Be that way."
