“Well, when we moved the body it’s pretty apparent that someone shot him.” Darryl’s voice was flat and serious. “Shot him up close and personal.”
They sat for a moment. It had made sense that Orrin’s death wasn’t an accident, but hearing that he’d been shot was startling.
Murder.
Darryl’s attention turned toward Claire again. “Miss Mayfair, you don’t happen to own a gun, do you?” he asked.
The moment he finished speaking, Claire had both her hands flat on the table and was pushing herself up and out of the booth, her uneaten breakfast forgotten. “Look, I don’t need to sit here and take this. I don’t need to answer any of your questions. And no, I don’t have a gun. I’ve never owned a gun. I never even shot a gun.” She grabbed her purse out of the booth and swung it over her shoulder, her face reddening in fury. “I’m not a suspect here. I’m the one who found the guy, remember?”
Darryl watched her, unmoving. “Yes, I remember,” he said. “You were the first one on the scene.”
As Claire turned to storm away from the table, Scott gently caught her wrist, stopping her. “Darryl, are there any other clues? Don’t you have any theories, or can we talk to the detective and see if we can get this all sorted out? I saw the whole interaction Claire had with Orrin yesterday. There’s no connection between them, I can tell.”
Darryl’s eyes had finally moved away from Claire’s face. “Well, there was just one other thing we found.”
Scott’s expression was eager. “What was it?”
Darryl stammered a bit, as if trying to find the words to explain. “It turned out Warren had something on his shoe, like it had been smashed.”
Claire instantly thought back to the barely-registered fact that she’d seen something on the bottom of Orrin’s tennis shoe. “Well, what was it?”
“To be honest, at first I thought he’d stepped in dog poop, but when I leaned over I realized what was.” He looked over at Scott. “It looks to me like Orrin Cable stepped in somebody’s fruitcake. One with bourbon.”
The three of them sat in the booth, looking at each other for several long moments, until finally Claire spoke up.
“I hate fruitcake. All those weird little plastic-y bits that pretend they’re actually fruit.” She shuddered, having flashbacks to years of brick-like fruitcakes that her mother made her try.
Scott interrupted her thoughts, grinning. “Don’t you go around knocking fruitcake now, missy. My grandmother makes the world’s greatest fruitcake, with fruit out of her own orchard.” His tone was teasing, and Claire couldn’t help but smile.
“I’ll have to take your word for it. I took a no-fruitcake vow years ago. Never again.”
Darryl looked at both of them, his eyebrows knit together. “Hey, can we get back to the investigation, please? Yeah, yeah, fruitcake’s funny and all, but we need to remember that it may lead us to where he was before he died. Lots of people around here have a holiday tradition of making fruitcake.”
“Too bad I’ll be out of here before your investigation’s over,” Claire said, then turned to Officer Portman. “If I leave my email address with you, do you think you could let me know how it all turns out?”
Darryl shook his head, obviously frustrated. “Miss Mayfair, I don’t think you understand. We need you here for at least the next few days, while we investigate this death. Orrin Cable didn’t accidentally step in fruitcake and then shoot himself on your doorstep.” His face was completely serious. “He was murdered, and somehow you’re involved.”
Scott made a sound of derision. “Merry Christmas, Claire,” he said sarcastically.
Too stunned to come up with anything brilliant as a response Claire tried to imagine being stuck in Brightwater Bay for even longer than she’d thought. “Yeah. Ho, ho, ho.”
She could see an expression of regret cross the police officer’s face. “Look, I am really sorry about this, Claire. If there’s any other way to get around this and let you head home or go on your vacation I would do it, but right now that’s not feasible.”
Claire closed her eyes for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts. “Well, at least I’ve learned one thing.”
“What’s that?” Scott asked, and Claire gave a little sigh.
“The next time my dog tells me that something’s wrong outside, I’m going to believe him.”
Chapter 6
By the time Scott drove her back to her little cottage, Claire was feeling much better. It was amazing how being warm and having a good breakfast helped, even if Officer Portman had asked her some very tough questions while her pancakes got cold.
There were still some neighbors and townspeople watching what was going on as the crime scene crew and medical examiner went through their paces. Walking up the cracked sidewalk with Scott, Claire tried not to stare as Orrin Cable got zipped into a body bag and loaded onto a waiting gurney, and unceremoniously slid into the back of the waiting minivan. As it drove off, the medical examiner’s blue car followed it. Claire suddenly realized that they’d be looking for a lot more answers from Orrin, even if he wasn’t able to tell them how he died except through an autopsy.
Daisy came up behind them, also watching as the cars left, and finally handed Roscoe’s leash to Claire. “Here you go. He’s a very sweet, little guy. No trouble at all. “
Claire could tell Daisy was trying to think of what to say to her. She was watching Claire’s face carefully, as if weighing her options, and finally said “I’m really, really sorry this all happened to you. You seem like a nice person. I’m sure anything that Darryl asks you will help everything get cleared up very soon.”
Claire sighed, her head bowed. “Thank you, Daisy, but I have to ask you one question. Officer Portman says I need to stay in town for a while, until they get some answers. Is there any way I could—”
Daisy put a hand up to stop her. You can stay as long as you need to,” she said, and Claire felt a rush of relief. At least she’d have a roof over her head while this whole thing got sorted out.
“Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
“There’s just one thing,” Daisy said. “I’m going to need to move you into a different cottage, because they’re processing the crime scene at your original place. Until they give us the all-clear, is it okay if we put you in the house next door, where Scott was making you tea?”
“That would be fine. Thank you again. What else do they have to do?”
Scott reached down and picked up Roscoe, who wagged his tail in approval. “Well, they’ll have to tell Orrin’s stepbrother what happened, for one. I’d pay five bucks to see how that conversation goes down.”
Daisy gave a snort of disgust. “At least he’s the only other one of his family still left around here. Two Cables in Brightwater Bay are two too many. Last time I heard, he was out at the old family cabin, past the resort, but I don’t know if he’s still there or not.”
Claire shivered. “You think we could go inside?” She asked and Daisy quickly agreed, ushering them inside the little blue house.
Grateful that the heat was still on, the women sat down at the wooden kitchen table, and Scott joined them after he had turned the teakettle on again.
Settling his bulk into the squeaking chair, he seemed to be thinking something over. “I don’t know if he’d be out at the old cabin or not. Maybe Edgar would know. Before he straightened up, he used to hang out with Dexter a lot. I thought I’d heard that Dexter had gotten a job with the forestry service, but I’m not sure that’s right, because he’s got a police record and they can be kind of picky about background checks.”
“You mean Edgar, the fry cook at the Dogwood?” Claire asked, and Daisy nodded.
“He used to do maintenance over at the Resort and he’d get Orrin odd jobs every once in a while, too. Everybody knew Orrin was good with his hands. He used to fix all types of equipment and mechanical stuff around town.” She gave a wry smile. “The only problem was people got tired of things walking out the door when he
left.”
The teakettle began to whistle and Scott got up and quickly poured three mugs of hot water and brought the teabags over to the table. “I remember when Orrin tried working over at the hardware store. He only lasted three days before there was a set of expensive wrenches missing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen old man Mason that ticked off, ever.”
Daisy checked her watch and gave a small gasp of surprise. “Oh, I had no idea it was so late! I hate to say this, but I’ve got to get going.” She turned to Scott and gave a small smile. “Now, I’m going to leave Claire in your very capable hands, Scott. You be sure you take good care of her,” she said, as she got up and gathered her things. With a final wave, she was out the door and it was only Claire, Scott, and Roscoe in the small kitchen.
The little dog wandered off to lie down on the mat in front of the sink, and Scott and Claire were left at the table, each drinking their tea and thinking private thoughts. After a few moments, Claire couldn’t resist asking the question that was foremost in her mind.
“So, I know you said you came by to bring me my book, but that doesn’t explain why you’re still here. Am I just the most entertaining thing going on in town today?” she asked, and Scott gave a low chuckle.
“Well, to be honest, yes. It’s pretty rare things happen like this around here, and it’s nice to be able to help out. Also, I’ve got a week off from work. What else am I going to do for fun around here?”
Claire laughed, and finally Scott’s expression turned serious. “Besides, if you’re under any suspicion in Orrin’s death you could use a friend, couldn’t you?”
The truth was, Claire could use a friend. She took a sip of her tea, considering. “Maybe you just wanted to be a cop when you were a boy and this is your big chance,” she teased, and Scott smiled as he stirred in another sugar into his tea.
“Nope. You guessed wrong. My degree’s in architecture, really, and I’ve always liked designing buildings. I’m still working on my own, on the back of my mother’s property.”
Claire looked surprised. “Molly said that you were trying to be a ferry boat captain, that you were doing some certifications for going up through the ranks. Is that wrong?” She asked, and Scott shook his head.
“No, she’s not wrong. I still do consultations for people who want to have help designing their dream houses. I enjoy architecture but I also really love living here in the San Juan Islands.” He leaned forward, his face lit up with excitement. “There’s something incredibly…alive…about being able to work out in nature every day. This is one of the most scenic places on the planet, and to get to make a living doing what I love and where I love to do it is a great blessing.”
“Must be nice.” Claire thought back to the gray-walled cubicle where she’d spent eight years as an accountant. There certainly hadn’t been any beauty there. The office politics and the petty coworkers had left her feeling drained and empty at the end of her day, and the only comfort she had was going home to see her husband and the little black and white puppy he’d brought home from the pound one day. “When I get back to Arizona, I need to get a job. The problem is…” She paused, trying to think of how to phrase it. “Well, the problem is that I just don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. I don’t have design skills like you do, or I’m not artistic like Molly. The things I’m best at are baking fattening desserts and accounting, and between the two of them baking is the only one of those that I like to do.”
It wasn’t exactly true. She could remember being a volunteer for Meals on Wheels and how much she had enjoyed working with the older people who had looked forward to getting hot meals delivered every weekday. Maybe it wasn’t a skill that she could put on a resume, but she never felt more at home than when she was exchanging smiles with a housebound senior who was thrilled to see her.
Scott gave her a reassuring smile. “I don’t know you that well, Claire, but I’d bet you’d be surprised how many gifts you have. You know, there’s a difference between having a job and having a career that you love. Whatever you’re gonna do, I vote that you go after something that you love to do, whatever that is.” He leaned over, his eyes earnest as they looked into hers. “You deserve to be happy.”
The simple phrase almost made Claire cry. No one had talked like that to her in a very long time, and after just trying to protect her heart against anymore hurt, the thought of a new job and a new lifestyle was sparking her imagination in ways she hadn’t expected.
She tried to keep her voice steady when she finally spoke. “Thank you, Scott. I appreciate it.” The silence between them could’ve become awkward, but her cell phone suddenly buzzed with an incoming text. Pulling it out of her pocket, she quickly glanced at the screen and made a sound of frustration.
“Figures.”
Scott’s eyebrows went up, questioning. “What figures?”
“I guess my car is fixed now,” she said, setting down the phone on the table. “Too bad I couldn’t have been out here just one day earlier.”
Chapter 7
“Well, it sounds like your little house wasn’t the only hot spot of excitement in town last night,” Molly said, standing on the tiny front porch, her arms full of a large basket full of groceries and a pot of poinsettias. “I came over the moment I heard what had happened. Are you okay?” she asked, as she swept past the startled Claire and into the living room. “Shall I just put these in the kitchen?”
“Um, hello, and yes, the kitchen would be fine,” Claire said, a bit confused. “What’s with all the food?”
Molly set the groceries down on the table with a grunt of effort. “Isn’t that what people do? Bring food by when there’s been a death?”
“Hey, it’s not my death. I had nothing to do with it,” Claire said, scrunching up her face in distaste. “Of course, if you asked some of the local constabulary they may have a different opinion of that.”
Molly started taking groceries out of the basket and opened up the refrigerator door. Her voice was a bit muffled as she started putting things away. “Well, that’s not what I hear. Rumor has it that the cops are wondering just exactly how you’re involved with our local felon.” Her broad backside was sticking out of the fridge as she leaned over and stashed veggies in the bottom drawers. Finally, she straightened up and turned around, a look of amusement on her face. “You know, you seemed kinda shy when we first met. Little did I know that you were some sort of hussy, off running around with guys who were going to turn up dead.”
Maybe Claire should’ve taken exception to what Molly was saying, but she could see the twinkle in her eyes when her blonde friend was looking at her, and she knew she was teasing. “Yeah, that’s me. Hussy extraordinaire,” she said with a laugh.
Putting the last of the food away, Claire closed the fridge with a satisfied flourish. “So, did you talk to a lawyer? It’s just a matter of time before the detective that’s rooting around town starts trying to see which one of his puzzle pieces from the crime match up to you. What are you gonna do about it? Just sit here until they think you’re guilty?”
“I don’t have a lot of options, do I?” Claire said, but it was apparent that Molly disagreed.
“Of course you have options! You always have options, as long as you’re not in jail.” She set the bright poinsettias on the table, and Claire could tell from the expression on her face that Molly was thinking.
“You know what we should do?”
“What? I’m open to suggestions.” Molly gave her a sunny smile. “We need to go visit my aunt. She’s been here in town for years and knows everyone. She’d know what to do about all this.”
“The one you’re making the scarf for?”
Yes, that’s the one. She just texted me and told me that they had a break-in at the resort bakery last night, and that officer Bell has just left after getting all the information. Right now she’s mad as a hornet that someone would break into her beloved bakery, and I’m sure she could use a diversion.” She put a friendly hand on M
iranda’s arm. “You’re going to be that diversion. Grab your coat.”
The inside of Molly’s little VW bug was cozy and warm, and the drive to the resort didn’t take too long. They had wound through the downtown of Brightwater Bay, and Claire was able to see the array of little stores and shops that lined the main street. A large, old-fashioned hardware store dominated one corner, its Victorian heritage confirmed by the wraparound porch that ran down two sides of the building. Across the street, Hardee’s grocery store, with its red and white signs and big plate glass windows, was ready to supply groceries to whoever needed them. As they kept driving, Claire noted an old theater, a butcher’s shop, and a florist at the end of the street, as well as a pet store selling dog food and supplies. Old-fashioned lamp posts lined the streets, each one wrapped in white lights and broad red ribbons, their angled ends fluttering in the sea breeze.
Getting out to the resort took them out of town, on a narrow road lined by tall trees. As they drew closer and closer Claire’s eyes widened in surprise. Brightwater Bay had a rustic charm of its own, like so many beach towns. The resort, on the other hand, had a size and elegance that was unexpected. As she got out of the car she could see several large outbuildings scattered across the emerald lawn, surrounding the main lodge. A broad path led down to the water’s edge, and an elaborate pergola stood watch over the rippling water of the bay. Tall firs shaded patios and outdoor stages.
The main lodge had obviously been expanded years ago, but had kept much of its original, ornate charm. Mullioned windows looked out at the elaborately-landscaped flower beds lining the front walkway, and the multi-peaked roof was decorated with Victorian gingerbread and finials. Inside, the main entryway was at least two stories tall, vaulted all the way to the ceiling, with an extravagant crystal chandelier hanging in the middle. The foyer had a gray marble floor and a huge granite-topped reception desk. An enormous Christmas tree stood to the side of the bell desk, and nearly touched the ceiling. It was covered with thousands of warm white lights and garlands. Ornaments drooped from every branch, many antiques that probably dated back to the trees that had stood in the resort’s lobby decades ago. Maybe Molly noticed Claire’s surprise as she looked around, because she crooked an arm through hers and steered her along.
Three Carols of Cozy Christmas Murder Page 5
