“They’ll probably just use it against Morgan,” Fiona said. “Someone clearly planted the scarf there. It could be someone with ties to the police, or maybe it isn’t, but one thing is clear … someone is out to frame Morgan.
Morgan sighed. “Okay, well since we are all here, let’s use this time for something productive. Celeste, did you find anything out at the yoga studio?”
“I talked to a few people that were in the coffee shop. Pretty much everyone thought it was funny—what you said to Prudence. Of course, no one thinks you killed her. But I didn’t hear any clues or anything.”
“I haven’t talked to everyone in my circle yet,” Jolene said, “But I did see something strange on Facebook.”
“Oh, what?” Morgan asked.
“Josh Gray made some strange posts that made it look like he was going to invest in something expensive … which was odd, since he doesn’t have any money.”
Fiona wrinkled her brow. “What would that have to do with Prudence’s murder?”
“Probably nothing; Josh is a thug, and he brags a lot. He might just be blowing steam, or maybe he did a big drug deal.” Jolene shrugged. “Probably nothing to do with the murder, but it was out of the ordinary.”
“Has anyone talked to Cal?” Fiona asked.
“I did,” Morgan said. “He hadn’t heard anything.”
Fiona chewed the inside of her cheek. She didn’t know where to start to try to figure out who the killer was. Then she remembered, they might not have to find the killer at all.
“Hey, what about the receipt from the coffee shop that morning, did you look in the envelope?”
Morgan’s eyebrows shot up. “No, I forgot all about that.” She spun around and grabbed the envelope from the counter behind her. Opening it, she dumped the contents on the island.
All four girls leaned over to examine the pile.
Chapstick, a five dollar bill, some change, a couple of business cards and her shoe laces. No receipt.
“It’s not there,” Morgan said, her face crumbling.
“Are you sure you even had one?” Fiona asked. “I usually just toss mine in the barrel.”
“I’m pretty sure. Usually I just shove them in my pocket with the change if I have to juggle two cups like I did that morning. But I can’t be certain.”
The four girls bent down to examine the pile again and then looked up at each other.
Fiona noticed the grim look on Morgan’s face as she said, “If I did have that receipt, then someone at the police station took it. I have to admit, it really does look like someone is trying to frame me for killing Prudence.”
Celeste’s brow knit together. “It does seem that way, but why?”
“I don’t know,” Morgan said. “But these latest developments call for some drastic action and I think I know just the person to help us.”
Chapter Twelve
Jake stared at the Littlefield file on his desk. He’d been flipping through it for an hour looking for inconsistencies, but nothing stuck out at him.
Why was Overton so steamed about not finding that scarf?
Back in Boston, Jake had followed up on his share of anonymous tips. Most of them turned out to be a dead end. Surely, Overton knew this? It just didn’t make sense that he would be so mad at not finding the supposed murder weapon. Unless he knew without a reasonable doubt that it would be there.
And how could he know that?
The only way Jake could figure he would know for sure was if it had been planted on his orders … or by someone he trusted explicitly.
What he couldn’t figure out was why. It didn’t make any sense to frame Morgan for Prudence’s death. He supposed it could just be convenient. Knowing about the argument they’d had in the coffee shop, the killer could have used the newt to cast suspicion on Morgan. Maybe they took the scarf for added insurance.
But then, that begged the question, why would someone kill Prudence?
Jake knew the logical thing would be to find out who stood to benefit from her murder, but Overton wasn’t doing that, he seemed content to pin it on Morgan.
Jake was sure there was something else going on, and he’d be willing to bet that Overton was right in the middle of it.
He let out a sigh and snapped the file closed. All the file really told him was that Littlefield had been strangled and the murder weapon, presumed to be this scarf Overton was so hot to dig up, was not found at the scene. … which would lead one to believe the murderer had it. But why would the murderer take it?
His thoughts turned to the Blackmoore girls. He felt certain the redhead, Fiona, was going to be even more determined to find the real killer now. He could hardly blame her. His heart clenched when he thought of how alone the girls must feel. To them, it must seem like everyone is against them.
But they wouldn’t be alone, because Jake had already made up his mind to help find the real killer and it had nothing to do with the silky way Fiona’s skin felt under his hand, or the way he couldn’t get the smell of her strawberry shampoo out of his mind. It was ingrained in him to find the truth, to serve justice. That was why he had become a cop. And he’d been a pretty good detective in Boston … before the accident.
Jake got up from his chair. He’d have to do his detecting in his spare time, if Overton caught on to his extracurricular activities it could cost him his job, so he’d have to be very careful. But he knew just where to start.
Overton had rushed them through the crime scene the day of the murder. At the time he didn’t think anything of it, but now, he felt like he should go back over it with a fine tooth comb. He was sure there must be a clue there that they had overlooked before; a clue that would, hopefully, lead them to the real killer.
Chapter Thirteen
Fiona pressed the doorbell glancing over at Morgan. It was early afternoon and the sun had heated the day to a pleasant seventy-five degrees. Fiona looked around the tidy porch already dotted with flowering plants and listened to the chirp of birds.
A sound at the door caught her attention and she looked back in time to see Berta’s face poke through the opening.
“Oh, it’s you girls,” she said swinging the door wide. “Do come in.”
Fiona stepped back and let Morgan enter first.
“I put together some herbal teas for you,” Morgan said, handing a small basket to Berta.
Berta lifted the cloth that was on top and peered in. “Oh, wonderful! Let’s go in the kitchen and I’ll fix us some tea. I have ginger cookies fresh out of the oven.”
Fiona furrowed her brow. Ginger cookies? Killers didn’t bake cookies and invite you in for tea, did they?
Fiona followed them into the tiny kitchen which looked like something out of the 1950s. Yellow gingham curtains fluttered on either side of an open window. A small round cornered fridge sat at one end and a tiny white stove sat next to it. Wooden cabinets painted a cheery yellow brightened the small room. The smell of ginger hung in the air.
Berta motioned for them to sit at a yellow Formica table while she busied herself putting on the teapot and selecting some tea from the basket.
Her selection made, she turned to Morgan. “I hope that nasty business with Prudence isn’t affecting you too much, dear.”
Morgan shrugged. “Well, it is a little unsettling.”
Berta leaned in toward her “Did you kill her?” She asked with a gleam in her eye.
Morgan gasped. Her eyebrows shot up. “What? No, I didn’t kill her.”
Berta looked disappointed. “Oh. Well, no one would blame you if you did. I might even thank you.”
“That’s one reason why we are here. Do you know who might have wanted Prudence dead?” Fiona asked.
Berta looked up at the ceiling. “There are so many people that hated her, but if I had to pick one person—”
Fiona perched on the edge of her seat waiting for the name when Berta was interrupted by the whistle of the kettle. The older woman turned to grabbed it from the stove. Fiona
notice she grabbed it awkwardly with her left hand while she kept her right hand next to her body.
Morgan must have noticed too because she shot up out of her chair. “Let me help you with that. Did you hurt your arm?”
“Thank you, dear. Yes, I sprained my wrist.” She said wincing and pulling her arm in closer as she handed Morgan the teapot.
Fiona and Morgan glanced at each other.
“When did that happen?” Fiona asked taking a ginger cookie from the plate Berta had put on the table.
Berta wrinkled her brow. “Oh, sometime last week,” she said absentmindedly waving her good arm.
Fiona took a bite of her cookie, the combination of sugar and spice tingled on her taste buds.
“You were saying …” she prompted hoping to get Berta to spill out the name of the one person she thought might have killed Prudence.
Berta furrowed her brow. “What, dear?”
Fiona sighed. “Before you poured the tea, you were saying if you had to pick one person who might have killed Prudence …”
“Oh, right. Well, that would be Josiah Littlefield, of course. Ed’s brother.”
Fiona raised an eyebrow over her steaming mug. “His brother?”
“Yes, Josiah hated Prudence from the start. She was so controlling, demanding. He hated that she wouldn’t let Ed do anything. And she controlled the money with an iron fist,” Berta said. Then her forehead creased into a frown. “That’s why it was so strange that her and Ed were fighting about selling their property to Eli Stark. She didn’t want to sell and he did. I would have thought she would have wanted the money.”
“They were fighting?” Morgan asked.
“Yes … well, nothing unusual.” Berta narrowed her eyes. “If you’re thinking Ed might have killed her I can assure you he did not. That man is gentle as a lamb. He wouldn’t hurt a flea.”
The wistful look on Berta’s face made Fiona’s heart soften. She sipped her tea and studied the older woman. It must be heart wrenching to love someone that belonged to another all this time.
“Have you seen Ed?” Berta asked, breaking into Fiona’s thoughts. “Is he okay? I haven’t seen him in years … not since the restraining order, but now that Prudence is gone, maybe …”
“Restraining order?”
Berta waved her arms. “Oh it was silly, Prudy took it out on me years ago saying I threatened her, but I think she just didn’t want me near Ed. She was jealous of me, you know.”
Fiona and Morgan exchanged another glance. Could Berta have killed Prudence? Apparently she’d already threatened her.
“Were you at home that morning?” Fiona asked.
Berta looked at her blankly, the said. “Oh, you mean when Prudence was killed? I believe I was at the dentist. Oh … wait … that was Tuesday, right? That’s the day I get my hair done. Why do you ask?”
“Just wondering if you saw anything, or heard anything.”
“Oh. No. Well I’m pretty far off the beaten path here,” Berta answered.
“Is there anyone else you can think of who might have killed Prudence?” Morgan asked.
Berta pursed her lips and then shook her head. “I really don’t know. I hate to say it, but whoever killed her did us all a favor.”
Fiona wiped the cookie crumbs from her lips and stood up. “Thanks for the tea and cookies. Can we help you clean up?”
“Oh no, dear, you girls run along. Thank you for bringing me these lovely teas.” She indicated the basket Morgan had given her.
Berta ushered them out through the living room and onto the porch, waving goodbye with her good arm before she shut the door.
Fiona turned to Morgan on the way to the car.
“Do you think she did it?”
Morgan glanced back at the house. “That nice old lady? Would she even have the strength?”
“Fifty years of pent up hatred might give her the strength. And her wrist? What if she injured it in the struggle with Prudence?”
Morgan chewed her bottom lip. “She could have, but she said it was sprained last week. Before the murder. We need to check with Doc Brundage and see if we can verify that and we should also make sure she really was getting her hair done that morning.”
“I don’t feel like we are any closer to figuring out who killed Prudence. In fact, it sounds like Berta, Josiah and maybe even Ed would have had a motive.”
Morgan opened the passenger door to the truck and turned to look at Fiona as she crossed in front of it to the driver’s side. “Yeah, it does. Maybe all three of them teamed up and did it together.”
Fiona raised her brows as she swung herself up into the driver’s seat. “I guess there’s only one way to find out. Interview the others and see who has an alibi for that morning.”
Chapter Fourteen
Fiona pulled up in front of Sticks and Stones and cut the engine in her truck. The mid-afternoon sun filtered through the trees creating a fairy-tale like atmosphere. She leaned back in her seat listening to the bees buzzing and birds chirping while she admired the azaleas in full bloom on either side of the cottage.
A stone pathway led up to the porch in front where Morgan had put out several rocking chairs. One of which, she noticed with a start, was rocking on its own. No, not on its own … Belladonna lay curled on the seat, her white fur almost blending with the white wicker of the chair.
“Did you leave Belladonna out this morning?” she asked Morgan.
“No, you know I always lock her inside, why?”
Fiona pointed and Morgan followed the direction of her finger, her eyes widening when she noticed the cat.
“How, the heck did she get here?”
Fiona shrugged, opening her door. “I thought I’d seen her darting around town before, I have no idea how she gets out. Maybe Jolene lets her out.”
“Or maybe she has some secret escape route through the basement,” Morgan mused, as the girls slid out of the truck.
“One we didn’t find as kids?” Fiona’s lips turned up in a smile as she remembered the fun they used to have as kids exploring the nooks and crannies of the giant basement in their old home. They had always fantasized about secret tunnels that led to the ocean, but, of course they never found any.
A memory tugged at the corner of her mind, one that did involve secret tunnels and caverns in the cliffs under her home—just a silly childhood fantasy she figured, even though the memory did seem very real, if a bit fuzzy.
“Meow.” Belladonna hopped down from the chair and wound her way in between Morgan’s legs.
“Don’t try to get in my good graces. You’re a bad kitty for straying so far from home. You could get hurt.” Morgan bent to pick the cat up while Fiona unlocked the door to their shop.
Once inside Morgan gave Belladonna a kiss on the forehead, then the cat squirmed away, jumping down to the floor where she proceeded to slink her way around the shop, sniffing and exploring while Morgan and Fiona got to work.
The rest of the afternoon, was a whirlwind of activity. Fiona had worried that Morgan’s arrest would be bad for business but, in fact, the opposite was true. It seemed everyone in the area wanted to stop in and get an herbal remedy, tea or buy some crystals or jewelry as an excuse to talk about the murder.
Morgan mixed up herbal remedies to treat seasickness, insect bites, arthritis pain and flatulence. Fiona sold several crystal spheres, two of her best geodes and three pairs of earrings.
Belladonna lounged on top of the bookshelf by the door where Morgan kept her books on herbs, stretched out along the top with her tail curled over the edge as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
By five-thirty, both girls were exhausted and ready to close up for the day. Fiona was doing one last adjustment to her jewelry display which meant she was bent over the case, her backside high in the air when the bell above the door chimed.
“My, my, what an outstanding view.”
Fiona’s heart jerked and she whirled around at the sound of the raspy voice. Eli Stark s
tood in the doorway, his beady black eyes still staring at the spot where her backside had been just seconds before.
“What do you want?” Morgan narrowed her eyes at him.
Belladonna took one look at him, arched her back and hissed from the top of the bookshelf, causing Stark to jerk sideways.
“What’s that?”
Morgan laughed. “It’s our cat. Seems like she doesn’t like you.”
Stark gave Belladonna a long glare then turned his attention back to Morgan.
“I just came by to see if you ladies had changed your mind about selling this property. I figured you might need money with your new lawyer bills and all,” he smirked.
Morgan tilted her chin in the air. “We have no intention of selling, right, Fi?”
Stark turned his leering gaze on Fiona who straightened up in front of the case. “That’s right, and if we were going to sell, it certainly wouldn’t be to you!”
Stark walked toward Fiona, stopping a mere inch from where she stood. She backed up a step, bumping into the display case which prevented her from getting further away. Stark leaned in to her, his greasy black hair dangling down beside his face.
“Well, I hope you girls change your mind, I’d hate to see you struggle for money in order to get your sister’s name cleared.”
Fiona’s stomach dropped when he reached out to touch a lock of her hair. She slapped his hand away, shrinking back. “Get out!”
Suddenly, someone grabbed Stark from behind and spun him around. Fiona’s eyes widened in surprise when she saw Jake Cooper standing there looking down at Stark.
“You heard the lady,” Jake said, pointing to the door. “Get out.”
Stark straightened his back and sidestepped away from Jake making his way to the door. He paused at it and turned “If you ladies change your minds, you know where to find me.”
He opened the door, but before he could escape, Belladonna hissed and batted him with her claws. Stark swatted at her, but she was too quick for him. He turned back to glare at Fiona then disappeared through the door.
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