by Liz Mugavero
“I didn’t see anything. Want us to go back?”
“No,” Stan said. “I don’t know what’s going on and I don’t want you surprising someone who’s not supposed to be there. I’ll call Jessie. Thanks, Izzy.”
She hung up and dialed Jessie’s number. She answered on the first ring.
“Did you get my voicemail earlier?” Stan asked.
“I did. Was going to call you back. What’s up?”
“I’ll tell you that later. I have a new problem now. I need you to meet me at my shop. Izzy just saw lights on over there, and no one’s supposed to be there.”
“Did the alarm go off?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Did you call 911?”
“No, I called you,” Stan snapped. “Can you go or not?”
Jessie muttered a curse. “Fine. I’ll meet you there in ten.”
Stan hung up and grabbed her coat. On second thought, she called Jake. “Can you meet me at the shop? Izzy saw lights on. Jessie’s on her way too.”
“On my way,” Jake said. “Let me just ask Brenna if she can close up on her own. And Stan? Don’t go inside until Jessie or I get there.”
*
She didn’t have to worry about it—by the time she drove up, Jessie was already there. There were no lights on now, and the store looked like it was in perfect order. Jessie had her flashlight in one hand, her gun in the other as she approached the front door. She shined the light around. No smashed windows, Stan noted with a flood of relief.
Jessie tried the door. It was locked. She turned to Stan. “You’re sure no one who has a key came in to get something? Your mother, maybe?”
Stan shook her head. “I don’t know why she would. The only people who are in here regularly are me, Brenna, and my sister sometimes.”
“Did you talk to your sister?”
“I didn’t. But—”
“Unlock the door.”
Stan obeyed. Jessie stepped past her, pushing it open and continuing to shine her light over everything. Nothing seemed out of place. Nothing smashed. The new Christmas tree stood in its spot, blinking happily. Caitlyn had come in at some point and replaced the decorations. Maybe she’d been doing that when Izzy saw the lights on. Shoot. Had they all overreacted?
“I’ll call my sister,” she said. “Maybe it was her.”
Jake pushed open the front door and came in. “Everything okay?”
“Seems so,” Jessie said. “Stan thinks maybe Caitlyn came in to put the decorations up. I’m going to finish taking a look around.” She moved down toward the back, flicking on lights, shining her flashlight into the bathrooms and the storage closet as she made her way to the kitchen.
Stan dialed her sister’s number. Jake went over to the alarm panel. “Is this supposed to be blinking?” he asked.
Her sister’s phone went to voicemail. Stan left her a quick message to call, then came over and surveyed the alarm. “I don’t think so,” she said. “Why is it saying low battery?”
Jake moved behind the counter and picked up her cordless phone. He pressed the talk button and waited. No dial tone. “Your lines are down.”
Down the hall, Jessie swore. They looked at each other, then hurried in her direction.
“What is it?” Jake asked, rushing into the kitchen, Stan on his heels. Jessie stood in the back doorway, blocking their view into the back parking area. “Jess, what—oh crap.” Jake pulled up short next to his sister.
Stan could see the back floodlight—another security measure her mother had insisted on, given that they’d be using the back entrance often—shining brightly over the parking lot. But she couldn’t see anything else.
“What?” she demanded, pushing past them. Then she stopped dead in her tracks, eyes widening in horror. A man lay in the parking lot directly behind her door. Unmoving. A plaid cap lay a few feet away. A cap that looked exactly like the one Kevin had worn the first night he’d shown up at the pub.
Chapter Fifty
Stan made a move to rush outside, but Jessie blocked her way. She pulled out her radio and called for backup and an ambulance. “Get back inside,” she told them both. Jake pulled Stan inside the door, watching as his sister checked around and inside the dumpster—the only hiding place in the lot.
“Is that … is he …” Stan trailed off.
“It’s not Kevin,” Jake said. “But I think it’s one of the guys who was staying at Char’s.”
Stan gasped. “No!” Please don’t let it be Redhead, she prayed. Liam might find himself in the clink if it was. “Can you tell what happened to him?” She watched as Jessie circled the body once, twice, then leaned down and felt for a pulse. She must not have found anything, because she then pulled out her phone and started taking pictures.
Jake shook his head grimly. “But I didn’t take a close look, Stan.”
Another crime scene. This time, in her parking lot. Behind her new shop, which had just been vandalized last night. Had this person been on his way inside to do more damage? Why? And who had killed him on the way? And why was everything happening at her store?
Jake’s cell rang. She could tell he thought about ignoring it, then changed his mind when he glanced at the caller ID. “It’s Brenna. I told her I had to run over here, so she’s going to want to know what’s going on.” He answered the call. And Stan watched his whole body go on alert. “What’s wrong?”
Outside, they could hear the sirens as the ambulance got closer.
Stan moved closer to the phone, trying to hear too. Jake pressed the speaker-phone button and motioned for Jessie to come inside. Brenna’s voice filled the room. She sounded angry.
“He said they want Uncle Seamus within twenty-four hours. Or they’re going to come after us. His family. Starting with the prettiest.” She snorted. “I don’t know who he meant by that, but it better have been me.”
“What?” Jake stared at Stan, his face ashen. “Bren, are you okay? I’m coming over there. I never should’ve left you alone tonight.”
Stan felt paralyzed. If something had happened to Brenna … “We should go,” she said to Jake, grabbing her keys. “Let’s go get her.”
“Wait. What happened?” Jessie demanded. “I missed that.”
“Some guy wearing a black mask grabbed me in the parking lot when I went to put the trash out. He said they want Uncle Seamus,” Brenna answered.
Jessie’s eyes darkened. “Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Are you sure he’s gone? Where’s Scott? Did you call 911?”
“Scott won’t be back until later.” Brenna took a deep breath. “They’re gone. I saw the car take off.”
“What kind of car?”
“Some sedan. Black.”
Like the one that’d followed Stan and Kevin the other night. She looked at Jake, knowing he was thinking the same.
“Stay where you are. Don’t move. And make sure the doors are locked. I’ll send someone over. And Jake’s coming. I can’t leave here right now.” She grabbed her radio and called it in.
“Why? What happened there?” Brenna wanted to know.
They all looked at each other. “There’s a dead guy in the parking lot,” Jessie said, pocketing her radio.
Brenna was silent on the other end. Then, “You’re kidding.”
“Don’t I wish,” Jessie said. “Then I’d be home in bed.”
“How’d he die?” Stan asked.
“He was shot.”
Chapter Fifty-one
After all the reports were taken, the body moved and statements given to the press (Cyril), it was nearly one in the morning. Stan had been sitting in her car for the last hour with Jake, after they’d gone to the pub to be with Brenna while she gave her statement and waited for Scott to return. They’d tried to insist Brenna come home with them, but she refused to be uprooted from her home. So they’d eventually left. And since Jessie wouldn’t let them anywhere near her shop, she’d settled for cranking the heat in the
car and huddling against Jake.
“This is crazy,” he said.
“You’re not kidding.” Stan sighed. The dead guy had indeed been one of Seamus’s friends, the blond one who hadn’t spoken much that day Stan had met them. At least Char was drunk and sleeping it off right now; otherwise she’d be in hysterics.
Jessie rapped on the window. “You may as well go home. We’re wrapping up here.”
They drove home in silence. When they pulled into the driveway Stan said, “Kevin hasn’t been back. I haven’t seen him since we talked about the Book of Kells two nights ago.”
“Yeah,” Jake said. “I noticed.”
“What do you think that means?”
“Either he’s involved, or he’s in trouble. Or,” Jake said, “he got sick of the whole business and went home.”
*
When Stan woke up in the morning, she rolled over and looked at Jake. He was awake too, staring at the ceiling. “Was that dead guy in my parking lot a dream?” she asked.
He shook his head. “’Fraid not.”
“I didn’t think so.” She dropped back down and covered her face with the pillow. “Jake. Do you think that guy was killed because of your uncle? Like, they’re looking for him and thought he knew where he was?”
“I don’t know,” Jake said. “I’m still trying to sort this all out in my mind. I mean, my uncle, stealing the Book of Kells? This is going to sound bad but … I didn’t think he was that smart.”
Stan nearly laughed out loud. “I’m sorry,” she said, clamping a hand over her mouth. “None of this is funny.”
“You know what I mean. You heard Arthur. It’s not easy to pull that off. No one’s ever done it before. For my uncle to be the one … that’s like some bad joke on the criminal empire.” He sat up and rubbed his hands over his face. “And we have to get up, go to work, and be festive tonight with all this going on.”
“I feel like we’ve been doing that all week,” Stan said.
They agreed to meet back at the house that night before Stan left for her Christmas decoration contest judging duties. Jake would then go back to the pub and get ready for the party.
*
Stan hid in the kitchen at the store most of the day, baking. It always felt better to have her fingers in some dough. As she worked, she felt herself relax enough to approach the problems differently. Caitlyn had come over to handle the counter. Brenna had taken the day off, more shaken up about last night than she’d admitted.
As she worked, she realized she’d never told Jessie about the call from Ray last night. They’d been too distracted by the dead guy in the parking lot. The dead guy who’d been shot, not poisoned. She washed her hands and called her. “Can you come by the shop? I need to tell you something.”
Surprisingly, Jessie agreed without a fight. While Stan waited for her, she thought more about the weapon that had killed Harold. And it didn’t fit with what she knew about gangsters. Those guys, especially ones with something like the Book of Kells at stake—wouldn’t mess around with poison. Most of them, she guessed, wouldn’t have the patience to figure out how to make that work. They just wanted to pull out a gun and shoot. So whoever might be looking for Seamus because of his involvement in the theft likely wouldn’t try to kill him that way.
So who did that leave? Stan worked the dough harder. Half of his family, certainly. Maybe some of his friends. But the same would apply to his poker friends—poison might not be their method of choice.
So that left a few people. Abby, for one. Whatever business deal she’d been involved in with Seamus had left her bitter, and broke. She’d said to Miss Viv that she’d had to raise her store prices just to make ends meet. That had to be stressful. And then there was the usual suspect—the significant other. But Miss Viv loved Seamus. Had for fifty-odd years. Why would she try to kill him now? Unless …
When Jessie walked in a minute later, Stan was just sliding a tray of cookies into the oven. She straightened and looked at Jessie.
“Your uncle was involved in the Book of Kells theft,” she said.
Jessie’s hands went to her hips. “You called me down here for that?”
“You knew?” Stan asked, surprised.
“I told you before, I did earn my badge. Now, it’s not to say I believe he masterminded it, but I think he fell into it somehow. Probably someone promised him a boatload of money if he became the chump who had to get rid of the goods. Which, knowing my uncle, is probably exactly what happened. So yeah, you’re right. He’s in big trouble.”
“But that’s not why someone tried to poison him,” Stan said.
Jessie paused. “I’m listening.”
“I think that was personal,” Stan said. “Someone who’s carried a lot of animosity toward him for a long time and finally couldn’t take it anymore. This other thing is just playing out in tandem.”
Jessie crossed her arms over her chest. “Okay. So what’s your theory?”
Stan began scooping dough onto her cookie sheet. “I wondered if it was Abby. She’s got a mean streak, you know? And she seems awfully bitter about whatever this business deal is. But I don’t know if she could’ve pulled this off without blabbing to someone. So I don’t think it’s her.
“And then I thought maybe Miss Viv,” Stan continued. “Because eventually everyone gets tired of waiting around and dealing with nonsense, right? Even if you’ve been doing it for most of your life. But she just doesn’t seem that calculating to me.” She paused and grabbed another cookie sheet, began dropping dough on it. “On the other hand, her sister does.”
Jessie frowned. “Victoria? She’s too proper to be a killer.”
“I don’t know,” Stan said. “She seems very despondent over losing their land. She’s fighting Kyle on the restaurant even though she doesn’t have a leg to stand on. She’s sad that all they’re left with is a falling-down house. She said to me that once Viv leaves, she’ll be alone in that place.”
Stan could see the wheels turning in Jessie’s head. “Do you know what type of poison it was?”
“Liquid nicotine,” Jessie said. “Which is a dime a dozen. You can buy it literally anywhere. It doesn’t seem like the sort of thing Victoria would know about, though.”
“No, but her sister does,” Stan said. “She uses those e-cigarettes. She had one the day I bumped into her on the sidewalk.”
Jessie’s cell rang, interrupting them. She grabbed it off her belt and answered. “Yeah.” Then her whole body tensed. “I’ll be right there.”
Chapter Fifty-two
“Where are you going?” Stan asked as Jessie headed for the door.
“There’s a problem at the B and B.”
“At Char’s?” Stan dropped her empty bowl of batter into the sink. “I’m coming with you.”
“You certainly aren’t,” Jessie snapped.
“Watch me.” She ran out front and handed the timer to Caitlyn. “I’ll be back. Don’t let my cookies burn.”
She hurried out back, grabbed her coat, and ran out the door, jumping into the passenger seat of Jessie’s cruiser. Jessie swore. “Damn it. I don’t have time for this. You’re staying in the car.”
“Who called? Char? Is she okay?”
“Cyril,” Jessie said. She pulled out her cell and called someone. “Get some cars over to the B and B. And keep this off the radio.” She disconnected.
“Cars, plural?” Stan asked, her heart pounding in her chest. “What’s going on, Jessie?”
“I don’t know for sure. Cyril was going over there to talk to my uncle’s friends. But he said he thought there might be something going on inside because the door’s locked and no one’s answering.” She paused. “And there’s a black sedan parked a little ways down the street with no license plate.”
“Oh my God.” Stan felt the greasy knot of fear clench her stomach. “Do you think Char’s hurt?”
Jessie responded by flooring the car. They sped past the green, Stan’s house flashing past in a b
lur, and careened around the corner onto Char’s street, stopping before they got to the driveway. Jessie pulled onto the curb where they had a good view of the house and the west side of the farm, and threw her door open.
“Wait,” Stan said. “You shouldn’t go in there with no backup.”
Jessie paused. “Right now you’re my backup. And I need you out here. Call 911 if something goes wrong. If you can’t agree to that, I’m going to cuff you to the steering wheel. I probably should anyway.”
“Fine,” Stan muttered.
Jessie got out and headed for the house, slipping into the yard to come up on the back door.
Stan watched anxiously from the passenger seat. She saw no movement from the house. No sign of Cyril, or anyone for that matter. Where were all the guests?
She fidgeted in her seat, praying for the rest of the cops to arrive soon. Then a movement off to the side of the house caught her eye.
Someone was cutting through the farm and heading to the back door.
She leaned forward for a closer look.
It was Kevin.
Chapter Fifty-three
Stan froze. What was he doing here? He could be looking for the other guys, his alleged friends that she’d never actually seen him meet up with. But then he’d go through the front door like everyone else. No, there had to be another reason. And Stan didn’t feel good about it.
Ignoring Jessie’s warning, she slipped out of the car, crouching down so she wasn’t in full view of the windows in case someone was looking out. Keeping her eye on Kevin, she raced to Char’s yard, arriving just as he reached for the door.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
He spun around, his eyes wide with surprise. Stan’s gaze landed on the gun in his hand. She opened her mouth to scream but he shook his head frantically, grabbing her and covering her mouth with his hand. She bucked and kicked, fighting him the whole way.
“Stop,” he commanded, his grip like a vise. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to save your friends.”
