As eleven o'clock rolled around, the town started humming with business. Bo was right—the streets were packed. Milo had to make more than one trip back to Barks & Beans to pick up extra supplies.
Detective Hatcher strode by, and Bo waved him over. I had texted the detective late last night about the possibility of Alice's involvement in a fencing ring, but he hadn't texted me back. Which meant he still probably considered me a suspect. I sank onto the folding chair I'd set up behind the puppies' kennel, hoping he wouldn't notice me.
No such luck.
"Miss Hatfield," the detective said, tipping his baseball cap. He was once again wearing jeans, so I figured he wasn't on duty today. Or else he was on plainclothes duty...I glanced at his beltline for a gun, but it was covered with a loose leather jacket.
"Hi there, detective," I said, false cheer in my voice. "Care for a cup of coffee or a pastry?"
"I'd love one of those maple lattes," he said. "And maybe a chocolate chip scone?"
"You got it," Bo said, getting to work. He dropped his voice. "Any updates on the Alice Stevenson situation?"
Detective Hatcher stepped closer to Bo. "Your friend called me this morning. He had some great leads and we're following up with his sources."
Thank goodness for Bo and his connections! That must mean Alice had been involved in fencing stolen artwork.
"But we have another strong lead," the detective continued. "There's a person of interest, and we can place him in Alice's office last night. We've picked him up for questioning."
I blew out a silent sigh of relief. They'd picked someone up for Alice's murder, and it wasn't me.
20
Bo drizzled maple syrup over the top of the detective's coffee. He didn't believe in stirring lattes, because he said layering the flavors made them all the more enjoyable. He popped a plastic lid on the cup and handed it to Detective Hatcher. His head tilted as he leaned in toward the detective. "Can you say who you picked up?"
The detective hesitated and glanced around. "Given your kind of clearance and your helpfulness in bringing the fencing to my attention, I can." Once again, my unassuming appearance was working in my favor, because Detective Hatcher didn't even seem to notice me. Although he spoke quietly, I was able to overhear what he said. "It's Glen Rhodes—a local and very successful businessman."
Glen Rhodes?
Isabella's husband.
Why on earth would he want to bump off Alice? Unless he were part of the fencing ring...
The detective stepped behind the table, leading Bo into the grass behind me where no one was milling around. I had to strain to hear what he was saying over the live banjo music that had kicked up in the background.
"We found evidence at the scene," Detective Hatcher continued. "Rhodes' prints and DNA were all over the second drinking glass. We also found Alice's phone and tracked down her messages. She'd been in private contact with Mr. Rhodes for several months. But that wasn't the only evidence." He took a long sip of his latte, rubbing his lips together to wipe off the foam. "Alice had recorded a phone conversation between herself, Glen Rhodes, Gerard Fontaine, and a well-known smuggler. Possibly she was recording it as insurance for herself...or blackmail."
Bo asked, "Do you know why someone murdered Gerard? Or who?"
Taking another sip, the detective scanned the area again. There was no one within earshot except me, and I kept feeding treats to the puppies as if I had no interest in the conversation.
"Since he was definitely in the fencing ring, we suspect he was holding out on them, maybe taking a cut on the side. We're going through Alice's computer and files, hoping to find a list of the artwork they transported. It's possible Gerard took something for himself and hid it."
I immediately thought of Coal's metal tag, but I'd already turned that over to the police, and they hadn't seemed to figure out its significance yet.
I had to pipe up. "Have you checked out the storage building Alice was renting?"
The detective gave me a curious look, like he was surprised to find me there. "We weren't aware she was renting one," he said slowly.
"Doctor Schneider mentioned she was storing Gerard's furniture and belongings in a storage building. Maybe you should look into that."
He nodded. "Thanks, Miss Hatfield. Will do—although we did go through Gerard's house immediately after his death, when all his things were there." He gulped his last bit of coffee and dumped the cup in the trash. "Thanks again, Mr. Hatfield. And both of you, please keep us posted on anything else that might be of interest in the investigation, okay?" After a parting chin lift, he wandered over to the next booth, handed them a token, and picked up a wooden skewer of shrimp and veggies.
Bo and I exchanged looks, but didn't have time to debrief as a new wave of customers descended.
A bounce house was set up not far from us, which was ideal, because several children made a pit stop at our booth. It didn't take long for both puppies to be spoken for. I referred the other interested parents to the shelter, feeling like I'd earned my keep today.
Around 2:30 as the event was winding down, Mary Anne and her husband dropped in. They were walking hand in hand, as if soaking up every moment of their lives together. Mary Anne ordered a hot chocolate and her husband purchased a couple of monster cookies.
She caught sight of me and waved, so I stepped over to her.
"How are you? How is Isabella? I saw both of you at the oyster roast," I explained. "I can't believe what happened to Alice Stevenson."
Mary Anne gave me a dubious look, as if uncertain of my relationship with Isabella. She had every right to be unsure—after all, I'd only talked to the woman a few times and I certainly didn't run in her circles. But the need to gossip won out.
Clinging to her cup of hot chocolate, she said, "It's been awful for Isabella, I'm sure. Her husband was taken down to the police station for questioning, can you imagine?"
Mary Anne's husband stepped closer. "Glen Rhodes has been a fixture in this town for years," he added. "I can't see how he even knew Alice Stevenson."
Mary Anne shook her head. "Now honey, I've told you this. Glen's company donated money to Ivy Hill on a regular basis." She smiled at me. "Trying to do good in the community, you see."
I nodded. "Of course."
Mary Anne frowned. "I did tell the truth, though, when the detective asked me about Glen and where he'd been during the roast. I mean, I couldn't lie, could I? I told them he'd wandered over to the fire a while before the cops showed up and we couldn't find him afterward." She blew on her hot chocolate. "Then I found out Isabella told the cops that Glen had gone up to the main building with her at one point, but they'd both come straight back to the roast. Of course, she was lying for him."
Mary Anne's husband piped up. "Isabella doesn't come from money. Without Glen's income, she'd be sunk."
Mary Anne shook her head at her husband. "Now, Peter, you're being overly harsh. Isabella can get a job if Glen winds up in prison. She worked for years before she met him—I think she was actually a high school history teacher. It wasn't her favorite work," she added as an aside to me.
"Is Glen back home?" I asked.
"I haven't heard yet," she said. "Isabella keeps forgetting to update me, poor thing."
The line was growing in front of the table as people made a last-minute rush for goodies. Mary Anne and Peter moved toward the next booth.
"It was nice to see you," I called after them. "Thanks for stopping by."
Mary Anne nodded and her husband pulled a handful of tokens from his pocket, ready to prolong the food-tasting adventure.
I was packing up puppy items when I heard a familiar voice. "How's it going today?"
Dylan walked up behind me, looking somewhat the worse for wear after last night's oyster roast. He had circles under his eyes and his clothes and hair looked rumpled.
"Long night?" I asked as one puppy began jumping up and down.
"Yeah," he said, his voice a little hoarse. "I was u
p late, trying to track down that missing Tiffany lamp, and I think I found it. One was stolen a few months ago in Vienna. The owner swore it was an inside job—he thought one of his employees took it."
"It looked like the one I described?"
"Exactly," Dylan said.
I was about to tell him about the fencing ring—and it was a ring, if Gerard, Alice, and Glen Rhodes were all involved—but I felt a strange hesitation. I distracted myself by petting the puppies, trying to figure out the cause of my unease.
And then it hit me—where had Dylan been during the oyster roast? I'd seen him early in the evening, then he hadn't turned up again until we were walking to the parking lot.
"Uh, yeah, well, you should tell the cops about that," I said vaguely.
His eyes searched my face and disappointment flooded his features. "Last night, you seemed eager to figure out why Alice was killed. I was only trying to help you out."
My instincts were screaming at me so loudly, I could hardly respond. Thankfully, Bo came over and clapped Dylan on the back. "Come over and try one of these maple lattes before we close up shop," he said. "It's on the house for our cafe design consultant."
Dylan gave a wan smile and followed Bo to the table. I turned back to the puppies, trying to conceal my chaotic thoughts. I couldn't deny the facts in front of my face.
It was a fact that I hadn't seen Dylan after the very start of the oyster roast, and that he was nowhere in sight when the police showed up. Of course, I was in the attic part of the time...but Dylan would've had ample opportunity to get in and out of Alice's office, then maybe hide somewhere in the sprawling building until the crowd started breaking up.
It was a fact that Dylan, of all people in this town, would've known exactly what a rhino horn or Tiffany lamp were worth...and perhaps he knew Alice, Glen Rhodes, and Gerard were fencing them. Or perhaps I'd tipped him off about the rhino horn on our date, and he'd decided to get a closer look by breaking into Alice's office. He could've discovered the Tiffany lamp, then strangled Alice when she walked in on him.
Or perhaps Dylan was the mastermind smuggler shipping fenced goods to Ivy Hill.
I shivered, shooting a glance at the table. Bo was deep in conversation with Dylan...wouldn't my brother, a DEA officer, have some kind of inkling if Dylan were crooked? Some kind of instinct he was untrustworthy? Yet Bo seemed to like Dylan, even to the point of giving him my cell number so he could ask me on a date.
I tried to talk myself down. Glen Rhodes had most definitely been in Alice's office the night she was murdered, and there was proof he'd been part of the fencing ring. His company had donated money to Ivy Hill, perhaps as a repayment for Alice and Gerard's risks in transporting the stolen goods? Glen was the dangerous one here. The cops would gather evidence and nail him soon enough. Dylan had likely been talking to guests last night, handing out flyers for his gallery, just as he'd said he was going to do.
I was getting a little paranoid, and I knew why. Ever since Jake had cheated on me so flagrantly, assuming I'd never find out, I had a bad taste in my mouth toward men who seemed interested in me. It was quite possible I was attracted to liars.
Dylan finished his latte and walked back to me. "I'm sorry I mistook your rhino horn questions for a desire to dig deeper into Alice's motivations," he said. "Bo was telling me how exhausted you were last night after talking with the police, and I totally understand. We won't discuss that awful oyster roast again." He smiled. "If you have some night free next week, I'd love to take you to a little French restaurant. We can talk about kittens and puppies all night, if you like."
I returned his smile, appreciating his attempt to ease the awkwardness between us. "I'll let you know," I said. I wouldn't let my ex-husband hang-ups rule my life anymore.
But as Dylan walked away, I couldn't shake the feeling he was far too interested in that Tiffany lamp.
21
On Sunday morning I felt sluggish, so I was dragging through my makeup application when Bo gave me a call. "Sorry," I said when I picked up. "I'll be ready in about five minutes."
Bo was likely waiting for me in his truck. Our church wasn't far away—it was the same church we'd grown up attending—but somehow I always managed to get out the door late.
"Actually, I need to come in and chat about something Detective Hatcher just told me." There wasn't an iota of humor in his tone.
I gave a blink, which caused mascara to smear onto both brow bones. "Oh, sure. Come on over." I hung up and silently began to panic. Had they found something that pointed to me for some reason? I couldn't think of anything I would've done to implicate myself in Alice's murder—primarily because I hadn't done it.
Coal nudged my hand with his wet nose, as if sensing my dismay.
"It'll be okay, boy," I said, rubbing his smooth forehead.
Bo didn't waste a moment, unlocking my door just after I'd donned my jeans. I hadn't even bothered with a skirt, because I knew our churchgoing attempt was about to be completely derailed.
"What's going on—"
"Sis, we have to be careful. I won't beat around the bush—we have to fly under the radar. You know that arms dealer I was telling you about? The one who tried to torpedo my life when I got too close?"
"Yes, what about him? Why do we have to be careful?" My panic shot up a notch or two, and I could feel my pulse quicken.
"Because he was the smuggler involved in that conference call Alice recorded. I happened to think to ask Detective Hatcher for a name, and it was him. Leo Moreau."
Leo Moreau. The name brought up images of The Island of Dr. Moreau, a movie that had single-handedly destroyed the raging crush I'd developed on Marlon Brando in A Streetcar Named Desire.
"Now, the DEA is keeping tabs on him and he's not in West Virginia," Bo continued. "He's actually on a private island. But his tentacles are everywhere—he's obviously been running this fencing ring at Ivy Hill." Bo sat down on my couch, and I followed suit. Coal dropped onto the floor at my feet and angled his head our way, as if tuning into our conversation.
"I moved here to fall off Moreau's radar," Bo said. "He didn't realize I had any family left, because you and Auntie A weren't on any of my records. I deliberately buried any trails to West Virginia." He scrubbed at his beard. "I thought this would be the safest place to live. He took Tara from me and he also got the satisfaction of knowing I quit working at Coffee Mass. So now I have to ask myself if he somehow followed me here to set up shop, or if it's just a fluke."
I rubbed at my arms as a chill swept over me. "But haven't you talked with Tara on the phone? He could've had your calls traced."
"I've used a burner phone for all my California calls," he said. "I guess a simple online search could've turned up articles linking my name to the Barks & Beans opening, but I figured Moreau would've backed off once he knew he'd ruined my career."
"Maybe he has," I said hopefully. "Maybe it's just a coincidence that he has people smuggling in Ivy Hill." But I had to admit, that would be quite a coincidence.
"Maybe." Bo gave Coal's head a pat as the dog stood and did a full-body stretch in front of him. "I've called in a favor with a friend in the FBI, so they'll also be looking into Moreau's fencing business. Between them and the DEA, I don't think Moreau will be able to get close to us without our having a heads-up. And Detective Hatcher has been informed of our situation. But I need you to stay well away from Ivy Hill, sis. We've gotten too entangled with things as it is, thanks to Coal's dognapping." He shot my dog an apologetic look.
Coal misread Bo's direct eye contact and eased into a sitting position on the floor, as if he'd done something wrong. I smiled to realize the alpha dog in this room wasn't even a dog—it was my brother.
And my brother had always protected me. That's why he'd come straight over to warn me of Moreau.
"I'll stay well away from Ivy Hill," I assured Bo.
"Good." He shot me a brief smile. "I saw you and Dylan talking yesterday. I think he's definitely into you, give
n the way he kept turning to see what you were doing during our conversation."
Or he was trying to monitor my reactions, perhaps sensing I'd started to suspect him of being involved in the fencing ring. "Uh, yeah. I'm not sure if that'll go anywhere," I said honestly.
Bo patted my shoulder before jumping to his feet. "You'll find a good man someday, I know it. You deserve one."
"Right back atcha, bro—I know you'll find the right gal."
"How about I make us some tea?" he asked. "I could use a pot of Earl Gray myself."
"That sounds great." I absently stroked Coal's side, trying to make sense of the sequence of events. Gerard had been moving art pieces for a fencing ring and had been violently killed, but it wasn't clear why. Maybe he'd become a liability somehow? Maybe he'd let something slip to the wrong person?
Alice had boldly been hiding stolen art items in plain sight, but if she hadn't been strangled, I was betting no one would've been the wiser as to the real value of her eclectic and ever-shifting office decor.
Glen Rhodes had also been in on the ring—in what capacity, I wasn't sure, although he had been a monetary donor to Ivy Hill. All the evidence seemed to indicate that Glen had killed Alice. But if he was smart enough to participate in the fencing ring, why would he have made the rookie mistake of leaving a glass with his fingerprints on it at a murder scene?
Then there were the outlying suspects. Sure, Doc Schneider was with me when Alice was murdered, but what if he'd somehow cleverly constructed a way to strangle her just before we met, then had someone shift her into her office chair while we were in the attic? I would've provided him with an airtight alibi. He had seemed very nervous when Detective Hatcher had asked him to stick around in case of more questions.
Could Katie or Jedi have been working with the doctor? Or maybe one of them had acted independently and killed Alice.
Katie had seemed genuinely shocked to stumble onto Alice's strangled body, but that could've been a clever act. Katie had also located Coal in a very obscure corner of the golf course, which felt like more than just happenstance.
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