“Sometimes life is like that,” I agreed softly.
“Josiah used to love to come here,” Rupert said, his voice husky and full of gravel. “He loved to sit here and watch families stroll the boardwalk. We’d bring a bottle of wine and talk forever. We wanted a family. We were in the process of maybe looking for a surrogate, or adoption.”
My head hung low, my heart throbbing painfully in my chest. “I’m sorry, Rupert. I know how painful this is.”
His sleek head snapped up, his shimmering eyes piercing mine. “Do you? How could you?”
Clearing my throat, I somehow managed to keep calm as I fisted my hands together and looked down at them. “My fiancé died a few years ago. He was murdered in Seattle and the case was never solved.”
His laugh was caustic and harsh in his throat. “I’m sorry…Lemon, is it? I’m behaving like I’m the only person who’s ever lost someone.”
My breath hitched as the warm wind blew and windsurfers sailed by. “That’s how it feels, doesn’t it? Like you’re the only person who’s ever suffered through such a devastatingly agonizing loss.”
Now Rupert let his chin fall to his chest. “Ye…yes, and every moment…every moment I’m still breathing is pure torture.”
“I know,” I whispered, my voice husky to my ears. “The hardest part of all this is the memories. You know, for months after my fiancé was murdered, I kept a paper napkin he’d used at dinner the night he died. If anyone went near it, tried to tidy up, I went feral. I would touch it, keep it in my pocket at all times until I’d almost shredded the paper into nothing. I know that sounds crazy, but it had been in his hands, had touched his mouth… In my grief, in my mixed-up, tortured mind, it was a connection…”
Rupert gulped and scrunched his eyes shut. “I can’t bring myself to throw away the cup he drank water from to take his medication. It’s just a silly plastic cup…”
“I understand. But there’s more to this grief, and I understand that now, too. Mind if I share?” I asked quietly.
He only nodded, but I took that as a sign to share something personal that I hoped he’d remember someday.
“At first, after they’re gone, you want to be everywhere they were, see everything you saw together, keep the same sheets on the bed, sit in their favorite chair. And you can’t not do it. You can’t let anything go because to do so is to somehow let them go, too. So you sit in this sorrow, you cling to it. You refuse to move from that one spot…until one day you realize that moving from that one spot doesn’t mean you’re forgetting at all. It means you’re honoring their memory by taking care of yourself. By letting the people who love you take care of you. Because you know that’s what they’d want you to do. You know that’s what Josiah would want you to do. You’re not ready to hear that yet, Rupert, but I’m telling you anyway because I hope someday you’ll remember these words just like I did.”
Rupert slumped into the bench, his pain palpable. “He suffered so much in the end…I wasn’t even with him when he left this earth. Abby was… And now she’s gone, too…”
I wanted to ask about that—hear the details on Josiah’s passing, but I couldn’t bring myself to take him to that place. No matter the murder investigation. I wanted to ask a million questions. Like, if he knew who Matthew was or the as-yet-unidentified woman who sat so broodingly with the rest of the friends in those pictures.
But I just couldn’t do it. This was real grief, and I couldn’t ignore it.
Unshed tears bit at the back of my eyelids. “Do you have family here in Fig, Rupert? Somewhere you can go to be with people who love you? That helped me more than I can tell you—to have my mother and my best friend with me.”
He nodded, inhaling on a shudder. “My sister Sheila’s here. She has a place overlooking the water.”
“Maybe I could drop you at her place? I’d be happy to, if you’d like.”
I understood what this kind of grief could do to you, and as much as I wanted to try to get any information possible on the dynamics of the relationships between these old college buddies, I just didn’t have it in me to press when Rupert was in such agony.
Bowing his head, fresh tears rolled down his face freely. “No. Thank you, though. I feel closest to Josiah here. I’d just like to sit a little while right now.”
Reaching over, I took his hand in mine. Sure, I know he could have been the one to kill Abby. He had the most motive. But I didn’t believe it for a minute. Call it my gut, call it survivor sympathy, but I knew I could check Rupert off the list of suspects.
I got comfortable on the bench and kept his hand in mine. “Then I hope you won’t mind my sitting with you while you do.”
And that’s what we did.
We sat in silence and watched the waves slap at the pier while seagulls flew all around us and the sun eased back into the horizon.
Chapter 8
“This is the best roast chicken ever, Coco.” I held up my glass of white wine and saluted her. “Nice job, buddy. Sorry I was late.”
“Why, thank you verra much,” she said in an Elvis impersonation as we clinked glasses.
I’d sat with Rupert for over an hour, until he was ready to go to his sister’s. Rupert’s sister Sheila greeted me kindly as she ushered Rupert inside and he fell into her supportive arms. Her home was lovely, with sweeping views of the water and the mountains—very chic and warm at the same time. She’d offered me some tea for bringing her brother to her, but I knew what Rupert needed was quiet and comfort—which Shelia appeared ready to give.
But it had made me ten minutes late for dinner.
As I took my last swallow of wine, I hopped off the stool and began clearing dishes while Mom opened up the dishwasher to load it.
“So how was spin class today, Mom? Or should I say, how’s Pieeeeerre?” I asked with my cheesy imitation of a French accent.
“Oooh, who’s Pieeerre?” Coco asked with interest as she flipped through a magazine she’d brought with her.
“The new spin class instructor. Mom’s ditched hot yoga for hotter horizons,” I joked.
Mom’s blue eyes twinkled playfully under the pendant light over the sink. “That he is, and he’s just fine. So is everything else on him, by the by.”
We all laughed as she began to load the dishwasher.
Coco looked up from her magazine, cupping her chin in her palm. “Hey, did you ever find Cappie?”
“I did, and I gave him what for.”
“What else did you find today, Lemon Layne?”
I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, Coco wouldn’t breathe a word of what I’d learned at the station from Cory. Besides, she probably already knew anyway, working for the coroner and all.
I leaned in close so Mom wouldn’t hear. “Swear to keep this between us?”
Coco crossed her finger over her heart. “Swear it on my pink Coach bag.”
“I found out that the cause of Abby Hoffer’s death was asphyxiation and they found some fabric particles in her mouth and nose.”
Coco’s mouth fell open and her eyes went wide. “How the fudge did you find that out?”
“Cory slipped the information before he saw me sitting in the corner when he barged in on a conversation Justice and I were having today at the station about the barrette.”
“Well, that’s one less thing I have to keep from you then,” she said, looking back down at her magazine, obviously to avoid my gaze.
I cocked an eyebrow, pulling my glasses off. “So there’s more you’re keeping from me?”
“Oh, you know darn well there is, Lemon. But most of it will be in the papers by tomorrow—which means you’ll only have to wait overnight. Bring me up to date on what you have so far—let’s bounce theories.”
I used the back of my palm to feel her forehead as I scooped up the last dinner plate. “Are you really Coco Belinski, or some poor imitation of my ‘Lemon, you’re going to get us all killed’ best friend?”
She swatted at my hand and made a fac
e. “Like I told you earlier today, as long as you’re careful, I’m not going to try and stop the train. So, where are we?”
I took the last plate over to the sink and rolled up my sleeves before grabbing my laptop. “Well, I’m pretty sure I have some suspects, if you’d care to hear about them.”
She scooped Jess up in her arms and wandered off into the living room. “I’m all ears.”
Two hours later, after scouring the college group’s Facebook pages, I officially called it. “I think we’ve exhausted this avenue for now,” I said on a yawn, stretching my arms out along the back of our sofa.
Coco followed suit and yawned, too. “I didn’t see anything on their pages to suggest any of them were involved. Maybe their relationship really is what they portray. No grudges, no jealousy. Just a bunch of middle-aged college folk who’ve stayed friends after all these years. It’s actually kinda nice. I’d like to think we’ll still be friends in our forties, too. You, me, Justice.”
I looked up at the ceiling, the oversized rattan fan whirring to keep our overly large living room cool. “But that would mean I have zero suspects again.”
Coco rubbed her eyes, smearing her mascara, and nodded. “That it would. But you can always ask them, in the most conversational manner, of course, if they know someone who might have been holding a grudge against Abby. You’ll have to be careful so we don’t have a repeat of the last time. Though, I can’t imagine who would. I mean, her Facebook page is loaded with people wishing her love and light, and even Rupert, who you said was staunchly against what she and his husband believed in, wrote a beautiful tribute to her on his page.”
I fluffed a beige-and-blue throw pillow, tucking it under Jess, who was fast asleep, still holding a handful of her tutu. “True, but I don’t suppose the bad guy—or girl, for that matter—would show up on their Facebook pages and out themselves, do you?”
Coco pointed a red fingernail at me. “Also true. But I think this means the college friends are a dead end, unless you find something else out. There’s no link. Everybody liked everybody, or so it seems. There’s an awful lot of pictures of them looking super happy.”
I bit the tip of the pen I’d used while taking notes and put my feet up on our refurbished coffee table/chest. “Except for the barrette. Fran Little’s barrette in my front yard.”
“Maybe Fran loaned it to Abby? Abby had longer hair and Fran’s is much shorter now than it was in that picture from last year. Maybe she loaned it to her or forgot it at one of their meetings, and Abby had it on her person. Besides, you said she was in Boise when Abby was killed.”
I nodded with a sigh. “Maybe you’re right. They were good friends. It isn’t like we haven’t loaned each other hair stuff over the years.”
And you can’t murder someone by osmosis, which is exactly how Fran Little would have had to have done it all the way from Boise.
Rubbing my temples, I stared at the multitude of pictures my mom had in various-sized silver frames sitting on a big reclaimed barn wood buffet under the flat-screen TV, and moaned when I caught the one of me and Dad watching Murder She Wrote with bags of cheese popcorn and grape sodas.
It was so easy back then—when we’d watch an episode and talk it out over commercials. Not so easy in real life.
Swear, I’m trying to make up for all the goofs I made last time, keep my nose in the game without alerting anyone to the fact that I’m snooping, but it sure would help if I could just ask people some questions.
Instead, I pointed to some of the first pictures I’d found on Thea’s Facebook page of the woman with the waist-length dark hair and the man who’d died. “This woman, who the heck is she? And who’s Matthew Miles?”
“Did you Google him?”
“I did, and I found nothing. Zip. The woman isn’t tagged in the pictures, but she sure doesn’t look happy, does she?”
“She does look a little broody…”
I pointed to the picture of Josiah with the cup. “And that chalice is really bugging me, too. Why did it have blood in it if there was no blood on or even around Abby’s body? Was it even blood?”
“Now this I can tell you true, I really have no idea about that creepy cup. Nobody’s said a word about it at the office. But the college friend said they used it at that energy release thingy, right? Maybe Abby was bringing it back to the store afterward is all.”
“And why didn’t anyone hear anything? All those people out in the woods doing some sort of ritual just left Abby alone when they were done sending Josiah off into the ether? Nobody saw her to her car or made sure she walked back safely?”
“Maybe they didn’t think there was any danger lurking out there. You said Thea said Abby spent a lot of time in the woods, looking for plants. Could be she was comfortable in the woods at night. Or maybe she didn’t scream at all.”
“Which would lead one to believe either he snuck up on her or she knew her killer—which, by the way, points to a murder of passion or revenge, not opportunity.”
“Or maaaaybe,” Coco said on a longwinded breath, “it was just some random person who killed her? Random killings do happen—even in small beach towns like Fig.”
“But again I’ll remind you, that type of murder usually involves a hasty decision, like a shooting and a subsequent robbery. Which, of course, we don’t have the facts on yet. Maybe Abby was robbed? But I can tell you this—robbery typically doesn’t involve asphyxiation, Coco. I’d say that’s more calculated, wouldn’t you?”
Coco shivered even though it was quite warm in the living room. “I’d say we wait to see what forensics finds in the woods.”
“You wouldn’t want to go look through those woods with me, would you?”
“Not on your bleepin’ life, lady,” she said, giving me a shove. “Especially not in the dark. Besides, they have it all cordoned off. You don’t want to contaminate the crime scene, do you? Of course you don’t. Also, I think that classifies as too far for this girl. I won’t stop you, but I will beg you not to do it in the dead of night, and most especially when they have a uniform out there, standing guard.”
Justice had insisted they post a couple of officers outside to keep watch in case anyone tried to do some amateur vampire hunting or the killer returned to the scene of the crime, but they were hard to spare because it was, after all, tourist season. Also, he claimed he’d feel safer if he had someone watching out for Mom and me here at Murder Central.
Which would be funny if it weren’t true. Our store and the surrounding area had become a sort of hellmouth for murder these days.
Still, I dismissed Coco’s concern. “Oh, it’s just Andy Marron and someone else I don’t know. It’s not like Andy’d put me in handcuffs. He knows me from eleventh grade biology. We dissected a frog together. He passed out cold; I helped him afterward by dressing his wound. He’d never arrest me.”
Coco slipped to the edge of our couch and slid on her heels. “It’s not like you should try and test him to see if he will, either, Lemon. This is my firm line in the sand. No woods for you tonight. Promise me.”
Rubbing my eyes, I agreed. “I promise no woods tonight. Tomorrow, I can’t say I’ll be able to promise the same.”
“Fair enough. You think you’ll be okay to sleep tonight? I have an extra Ambien, if you think you’ll need it.”
I laughed and shook my head. “Nope. You remember what happened the last time I took one? I ended up in the kitchen in my underwear, mixing up a batch of pancakes I swore I needed to bring for the potluck at the VFW. No thank you. Besides, I think it’s a one-eye-open kind of night. I’d rather be aware.”
“Good point.” She pulled on her buttery-yellow sweater and grabbed her purse, rising to leave. “I’m out for tonight. I imagine I’ll be fielding calls all day from reporters wanting a scoop on the findings for Abby Hoffer, which means I have to put on my best impersonation of a pit bull by a coroner’s assistant. Which also means, I need my beauty sleep. So, my favorite gumshoe, I bid you adieu.”
>
Slipping out from under Jess, I followed Coco. “I’ll walk you out. I’m not a fan of random killers roaming free in the woods.”
She whacked me with her purse. “Knock it off and walk. You go first,” she said, pointing to the front door. “Because random killers do so roam the woods and if he gets you first, I still have a chance. Jeez, don’t you remember Jason?”
“Did he kill people in the woods?”
Coco skipped down the porch stairs to her car parked in our semi-circular driveway. “Yes, Lemon—he killed people at a campground in the woods, for Pete’s sake!”
Chuckling, I watched her get in her car safely. “Then lucky we’re not in a campground, right?”
She shook her fist at me. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Promise to behave.”
“Yeah, yeah. I promise.” I waved to her as she pulled away, watching until her taillights faded.
As I listened to the peace and quiet, I cocked my ear to see if I could hear the koi pond’s pump. It was imperative it kept running to keep the fish alive, and I’d told Justice that as the men and women from forensics stomped through our backyard.
But I wasn’t hearing it right now, and that made me nervous for Koi George. He was a newish fish to the pond and it had taken him some time to adjust to his new environs. I didn’t want to take a chance he’d freak out with all the commotion. The least I could do was keep his home up and running.
Deciding to head around back to check on him, I stayed within the beams of illumination coming from the house’s floodlights and the pathway’s lantern lights, moving around to the backyard. I wasn’t too worried because Andy and company weren’t too far away, posted at the woods like they were. If I screamed loud enough, they’d hear me.
The wind picked up, blowing a temperate breeze, and I wanted to stop and take the time to close my eyes, smell the water, but there was no time for simple pleasures tonight.
Rounding the corner of the house, I caught my breath at the mess that greeted me. Clumps of grass lie in the middle of the flowers surrounding the pond where they’d dug up around Abby’s body, looking for evidence. Our patio chairs were toppled over, the teal and orange umbrella to the table bent.
Play That Funky Music White Koi (A Lemon Layne Mystery Book 2) Page 9
