by Eryn Scott
“What about Doc Gallagher? Was he at the movies?” A retired doctor definitely sounded like he fit in with the older group of residents, and I expected Carl to nod his head. When he shook it, I felt like coughing in surprise.
“Actually, Gallagher wasn’t there that night. It was odd since he rarely misses it. You think he had a motive?”
I tugged at the hem of my sweater. “I don’t have a ton to go on yet, but I might be close.”
Carl scoffed, “I’d say you are. Someone out there sure is worried you’re here.” He jabbed a thumb in the direction of the road and the mailbox where I’d almost been run over.
“But why today?” I mused. “I was here all yesterday without so much as a problem.”
Carl squinted. “Well, what did you do different today?” he asked.
I’d been digging around in the recycling. Had anyone seen that? And then I’d turned down the offer Jolene had made. Gretta had surely notified her I didn’t accept the offer by now. Or there was the eerie silence that had followed my announcement about how I was going to stick around for a while at the Marina Mug. I might as well have broadcasted the news to the whole town.
I sucked in a quick breath. Either Jolene, Sam, or this Doc Gallagher person could’ve been the ones watching me, trying to run me over. Heck, maybe I’d been right about the Rickster being someone’s lookout.
Regardless of who it was, it meant that not only had my grandmother been murdered, but my life was now in danger too.
15
Asher and I left Carl’s house a little while later. My tea was long gone, and the mug had gone cold in my hands. We walked in the dark, lingering on the back porch as the sound of the waves crashed around us. I loved how the moon reflected off the whitecaps, making them visible even on the darkest of nights.
“So Carl didn’t kill Helen.” Asher’s face turned toward the moon.
But the moon didn’t reflect off him in the same way it did off me. It reflected off all of him, making him glow in the darkness. Other than when he became transparent, this was the ghostliest he’d appeared in the time I’d known him.
I exhaled. “I’m so relieved. Having a potential murderer next door was stressful.”
Asher frowned. “The killer might not be next door, but they’re close.”
He was right, and while I’m sure he didn’t want to say it aloud, there was still plenty cause to stress.
“Well, there’s nothing we can do about it tonight.” I yawned. “The police will be here in the morning. Until then, I’m going to get some sleep.”
Asher turned and caught my gaze with his. “I want to make a promise. I won’t fail you like I failed Helen. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Gulping, I wished so fervently that I could touch him, that I could pull him into a hug.
I remembered back to when I was in the throes of fatigue and bone pain during my leukemia treatment. Mom didn’t want to hug me because it hurt, but she wanted me to know she was there for me. Somehow, though, Mom telling me how much she wished she could hug me felt almost as good.
So I tried it, hoping he would feel the same.
“I wish I could hug you,” I said to Asher. “So much. Thank you for your friendship.” I reached my hand out, but it only wafted through his.
Asher’s face pulled into a sad smile. I turned to go inside, knowing sleep would be scarce after the events of the day.
The next morning, there was a knock on the front door while I sipped at a cup of tea. I spotted Police Chief Clemenson’s cruiser in the teahouse’s parking lot as I walked up to the door.
“Hello, Miss Woodmere,” he said, holding his hat in his hands.
I gestured for him to come inside.
The police chief stepped into the tearoom, settling at one of the two seater tables. I took a seat next to him.
Asher was already at a different table, reading the newspaper I’d laid open for him. He still preferred to read his news in paper form, given that’s how he’d grown up, he said. He glanced up from the newspaper and regarded the policeman with suspicious interest.
“Can I get you some tea?” I asked, moving to stand.
Clemenson held up a hand to stop me. “No, thank you. I hate the stuff. Much more of a coffee drinker.” He cleared his throat once I was seated again. “So … you had an incident yesterday.”
I nodded. “Someone tried to run me over last night.” I pointed toward Misty Drive. “At my mailbox.” Contemplating telling him about Carl’s involvement, I figured it would only distract the police chief, so I kept those facts to myself.
“And what made you think they were trying to run you over?” he asked.
Asher scoffed from his table. In my peripheral vision, he shook his head.
“Uh, the veering toward me and squealing of tires kinda gave it away.” I crossed my arms.
“Did you see what the car looked like?”
“Fast? It had bright headlights.” I offered.
“Did you have any enemies in town, Miss Woodmere?” He scratched some information down on his notepad.
His obvious doubt made me want to scream. “No, Chief. But my grandma obviously did, and I’m pretty sure she was murdered. That person is now coming for me.”
The police chief took in a deep breath and then let it go. “Miss Woodmere ….” He rubbed his face. “What makes you think that?”
Knowing he wasn’t asking seriously didn’t stop me from giving him a serious answer. This was my chance to tell him what was going on, and I wouldn’t miss it.
“Isn’t it interesting that her antihuman mayor campaign was gaining traction and then the next week—only a week before the special election—she suddenly dies?” I asked.
The chief sighed.
“Hear me out,” I said, knowing the chances of that request were low. “People in town say that Mayor Hoff isn’t involved in the new outlet mall plans, but how sure are you about that fact?” I stopped and shot a pointed glare at the policeman. “I found blueprints that had his name on them in a recycling bin. He was obviously trying to get rid of evidence that connected him to the project. Why would he do that if he wasn’t trying to cover up the fact that he’s still involved?”
Chief Clemenson scratched his nose. “And do you have proof of these blueprints?” he asked, fatigue lowering his tone.
I grimaced. “No. I saw them, but the recycling truck picked them up before I could go back and take a picture. I didn’t realize what they were proof of until it was too late.”
“And what do you believe they are proof of, Miss Woodmere?”
“A huge ethics violation,” I said, unsure how he couldn’t see the same. “The mayor says the outlets are in Pebble Cove’s best interest, but what if they’re not? What if all he cares about is that he’ll get rich? Tell me, had anyone ever proposed an outlet mall before?”
The chief shook his head. “I mean, it was discussed, but until lately it didn’t have the votes to pass in the town council.”
“Because the new mayor appointed people to the council who will vote for it. And the potential riches he would gain by becoming the mayor who brought such a development to the town would be a great motivation to get an old woman out of the way if she were threatening his chance to become mayor.”
The chief barked out a contemptuous laugh. “Miss Woodmere, I’ve known Sam Hoff his entire life. The man loves this town as much as I do. I’m sorry. I don’t buy it.”
Asher muttered in irritation as he continued reading the newspaper at the table across the room.
“What about this Doc Gallagher that she had a screaming match with the very day she died?” I said, knowing I sounded like I was grasping at straws now that he’d turned down my most solid lead. “That sure sounds like a person mad enough to take action.”
He opened his mouth, but I didn’t let him shoot it down.
“Or,” I said, cutting him off, “this Jolene Doyle, who was my grandmother’s competition. Did you know that
she offered an extremely low offer for this house and the business before Gretta had even officially put it up for sale? That sounds like someone waiting in the wings to snatch up something she wanted. Maybe her business is going so poorly that she would kill the competition if she thought that was the only way she was going to get her hands on my grandma’s recipes.”
“Jolene Doyle’s been in a full leg cast for the past month,” he said, his words dripping in disdain. “How do you suppose she killed your grandmother when she can barely make it around her house?”
I reflected back to when I’d walked past the Tea Company yesterday. It had said closed until further notice. Okay, so maybe it couldn’t have been her …
“Jolene aside, how did either Sam Hoff or Doc Gallagher kill Helen?” he asked, catching me by surprise.
Was he actually taking this seriously?
I pulled in a fortifying breath. “She was poisoned.”
“Poisoned.” He let out a single laugh. “And how do you know that?”
Of course, I couldn’t tell him how I knew that—the major downside to getting your information from a ghost. I picked through options in my brain. Finally, I settled on, “What else could it be? It had to have been a poison or drug that wouldn’t have symptoms too different from a heart attack. She didn’t have any signs of bruising around her neck or knife wounds on her body, so the killer must’ve poisoned her.” I blinked. “They might have tampered with the medication she took each night,” I offered nonchalantly.
“Now you believe this killer is trying to get you out of the way as well?”
I lifted my chin. “I do.”
“And while they poisoned your grandma, they’ve changed up their method to vehicular homicide for the fun of it?” He raised an eyebrow.
He had a point. Why wouldn’t they try to poison me too?
“Maybe they weren’t trying to kill me, merely scare me off?” I said. “Killing a woman in her eighties is a lot different than one in her twenties. Maybe they thought if I was too scared to stay here, I might stop looking into my grandmother’s death?”
As I offered the suggestion, pride welled inside me. That made sense. I was getting pretty good at this sleuthing gig. Not to mention how I was standing up to the ornery chief despite my usual aversion to confrontation.
The chief nodded, catching me off guard. “I agree.”
I just about jumped out of my seat in triumph.
Then he added, “It would be best if you stopped looking into your grandmother’s death. I’ll take over from here. You have enough to worry about trying to sell this place.” His focused expression showed me that’s what he wanted me to do—leave. I could also tell he had no intention of actually checking up on the suspects I’d given him. “Now, on to my questions about Frank Mastronardi,” he said.
I resisted the urge to fold my arms in front of myself in angry defiance.
“We’ve done a little more digging and found out he was coming to meet with you to put an offer on your grandmother’s house. Are you sure you never talked to him about that?” He studied me the way a hawk studies a mouse before sinking its talons into flesh.
Keeping my chin up, I held his gaze. “Chief Clemenson, I do not know that man. I’d never spoken to him, seen him, or even heard his name before the day he washed up on my grandmother’s beach. You can ask me all you’d like, but my answer won’t change.” I sat back.
Slow clapping came from the side of the room as Asher cheered me on. I didn’t dare look over at him, knowing it would make me smile and seem crazy in front of the policeman again.
“I guess we’re finished here, then.” Chief Clemenson stood. “But please know I’m going to continue to dig, Miss Woodmere. And if I find out you’re lying about any of that, it’ll be pretty hard to talk your way out of it. This is a small city. All of my energy, and the energy of my three officers, will be devoted to this.”
“When it’s not devoted to looking into my grandmother’s death, right?” I raised an eyebrow. “Because if you won’t, I’m definitely going to continue.”
Closing his eyes for a moment, he said. “Right. And looking into that. I’ll be in touch, Miss Woodmere. I can see myself out.”
Once the front door shut, Asher said, “He’s not going to do a thing.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Nope. Which means, we’re on our own.”
16
A few minutes after Police Chief Clemenson left, I leaned on the kitchen counter, chewing on my lip.
“What are you squinting at?” Asher asked as he entered the room.
I glanced up. My face felt stuck in the scowl I’d adopted while trying to read on my phone’s small screen. I held up my phone, opening my mouth to stretch my facial muscles back into place.
“Doing a little research on this Frank Mastronardi character.”
“Find anything?” Asher sat at the kitchen table.
“I can’t see anything on this.” I gestured to the phone. “Did my grandma have a computer?”
Asher cringed. “Yeah, but … you’re not going to want to see it.”
My head shot back. “Why?”
He chuckled. “I think it might be older than you.” He left the room.
I followed, intrigued. He walked into the study that attached to the library. With a flourish of hands, he gestured to a large dinosaur of a desktop computer, complete with dust as if there was any question in my mind how much Grandma had used it.
“This?” I let out an exhaled laugh. “But she owned a business. How did she take payment?”
He crossed his arms in front of his body. “She only took cash.”
“Seriously? Who does that anymore?” I poked at the power button and jumped as the machine beeped and then roared to life, sounding like it was powering a small airplane inside. “Where did she keep her financial spreadsheets?”
“All by hand,” Asher said, motioning to the long drawer in front of me.
I grimaced in anticipation as I pulled it out and saw checkbooks, notebooks, and old-timey financial record-keeping books. My eyes widened in awe. On top of the desk, the old computer’s fan sounded like it was trying to take off, yet the screen only showed a loading sign.
“Okay, well this won’t be any less frustrating.” I waved to dismiss the old machine. “I wish I’d brought my laptop with me.”
“There are computers at the library downtown.”
The suggestion made me perk up. After Chief Clemenson left, I’d felt a little hopeless about everything we were trying to do.
“That could work.” I walked out of the room and into the kitchen. “Want to come with?” I asked, grabbing my keys off the counter.
Asher stuffed his hands in his pockets. “It’s a new library. I can’t go inside.”
“Then how do you know there are computers?” I pressed my lips into a thin line.
“I can see through windows.” He chuckled.
I smiled at my oversight. “Okay, well, I’ll be back soon. Need anything in town?” I asked stupidly before I realized my mistake.
To my surprise, Asher said, “Actually …”
I stopped.
“When you’re at the library, would you do some research on me?” The sincerity backing his request cut me right to the bone.
“Of course!” My cheeks flushed. “Omigosh, Asher, I’m so sorry I didn’t consider doing this earlier. I’d be happy to.”
His once tight expression softened. “Thank you. Since my parents had left town by the time my spirit settled, and no one seemed to talk about me in town after that, I’ve never had this opportunity.”
“Absolutely. I’ll find out whatever I can.”
Before I left, Asher told me the number of his regiment in the army, the number of the group under his command, and the army base they’d been sent to on the East Coast before their deployment. Armed with those pieces of information and a notebook and pen, I headed into town.
Raindrops pelted me on my way to my car from the tea shop
. I pulled one of the many hair ties from around the gearshift and tugged my already damp hair into a bun in preparation. On the drive, I eyed a dark cloud that hung over Pebble Cove like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade of foreboding, warning everyone to take cover. Asher had been right yesterday when he’d said the break in the rain last night might be the only one we would get for a while.
The Pebble Cove Public Library was situated across the cove from the marina, where boats didn’t impede the view. I couldn’t help but think how much Mom would love working here, being able to stare out at the water all day as she checked out books and helped people with their research.
As I thought about it, though, she’d probably hate how small the place was. She thrived on the size and amount of new customers she got each day in the Multnomah Central County Library where we worked. And while I loved the beautiful 1913 building with its marble columns and elaborate staircases, it had always been a little too grand for me.
This little library perched on the rocky shore of Pebble Cove, full of driftwood art and overstuffed chairs, felt like home the moment I stepped foot inside. Knowing I’d need to sign up for a library card to use the computers, I did so first.
“Good to have you here, Rosemary,” the librarian said as he handed me my card. He had a real Mr. Rogers vibe going for him and made me feel confident he was glad to be my neighbor.
Or maybe it was the fact that his first name was actually Roger. I giggled to myself thinking of him being named Roger Rogers, but it was just Roger Foss.
Library card in hand, I headed toward the shelves. I may have had a mission, but I had to at least take a moment to browse around, to pull at least three books from the shelf and run my fingers across their coffee-cream pages. After one tour around the place, I was about to settle into one of the computer cubicles when I noticed a spiral staircase in the corner. A sign on the wall pointed upward and said, “The Loft.”
Curious, I climbed the staircase, running my hand along the wrought iron as I curled upward. When my head surfaced above the floor, a smile spread across my face, only growing larger as I reached the top step.
