by Gail Oust
Motive, means, and opportunity. The holy trinity of crime solving. My feet hit the walkway in time to the beat. I already knew the means, so that left motive and opportunity. Mary Beth and Matt Wainwright had motive, but what about opportunity? Did they have alibis for the weekend Shirley was killed? And then there was Elaine Dixon. Elaine was a prime suspect in my book. She felt threatened by Shirley, blamed her for Kirby’s continued interest in a dusty old hardware store in Podunk, USA, and had a hot temper. Any one of them could be guilty.
Ahead, a child’s bike lay sprawled on its side in a yard, partially obstructing the sidewalk. I managed to skirt around it in time to avoid a nasty spill, but it threw off my stride. I found it again, but the brief interruption was enough to make me aware of footsteps thudding counterpoint to mine. I rarely encountered other joggers and, when I did, it was generally during one of my early-morning runs. Nerves fluttered in my stomach, and I blamed it on McBride. Ever since attending his self-defense course for women last November, I tended to be hypervigilant whenever alone. I told myself I was being foolish, yet in the back of my mind I kept hearing McBride’s advice to always trust our instincts. To pay attention to our surroundings. He referred to situational awareness as the gift of fear. Picking up my speed, I decided to experiment to see if the person behind me did the same.
He did.
I slowed and whoever followed me did likewise. I neared the corner of Jefferson and Maple streets and knew from previous runs that a huge magnolia tree stood in a homeowner’s yard. Rounding the corner, I stepped off the sidewalk and concealed myself in the tree’s dense shadow. My hand automatically went to the pocket of my hoodie for a container of pepper spray not much bigger than a lipstick.
From my vantage spot, I watched the jogger slow to a halt, stand with hands on his hips, and turn in a semi-circle as though looking for someone, namely me.
I stepped away from my hiding place—perhaps not the wisest thing to do—the can of pepper spray held at arm’s length, my finger on the trigger. “Freeze!”
The person tensed but didn’t attempt to flee.
I advanced slowly, my adrenaline pumping. I was Wonder Woman, Supergirl, and Xena: Warrior Princess, all rolled into one. Me and my pepper spray felt invincible. “Who are you?” I demanded boldly. “And why are you following me?”
A wispy cloud drifted off, and the pale moonlight revealed Colin Flynn’s narrow face and slender build. “Put the pepper spray away, please, before you accidentally set off a blast. That stuff is nasty.”
“Not until you explain what you’re doing out here!”
“Same as you. I run every day.”
I was beginning to wonder if I had overreacted. “Then you’re not the same as me,” I muttered. “I only run to burn off the calories from eating too much pizza.”
Colin shoveled his fingers through thinning medium-brown hair. “You are aware, aren’t you, that there’s a killer on the loose? It’s not safe for a woman to be out alone after dark.”
“You’re a fine one to talk, since you’re the one on the business end of my pepper spray.” Sensing the threat level lessen, I lowered the canister marginally but didn’t release my grip. “You mysteriously showed up in town around the same time Shirley was murdered. How do I know you aren’t the killer?”
“How many times do I have to tell you that I never met the woman? Why would I want her dead?”
I didn’t have a ready answer, so I tried a different tack. “It doesn’t make sense why a man your age would want to settle in a small town where you don’t know a soul. Why not pick Atlanta, a city with shops and clubs and plenty of people your age?”
“I’m a novelist,” he said. “I need a quiet place to write my book.”
“Okay,” I muttered for lack of anything pithier. So, Colin Flynn was a writer. That sounded harmless enough. I tucked the pepper spray back into my pocket. Somehow, though, his story didn’t ring true. It sounded too rehearsed, too pat. McBride’s “trust your instincts” speech reverberated in the back of my mind. My skepticism might be another instance of my hypervigilance.
“See you around,” Colin said as he continued down the street.
I watched until he was almost out of sight, then changed my route. No more dark, shadowy residential streets for me when I could just as easily head for the bright lights of Main Street—Main Street and the Brandywine Creek Police Department.
* * *
Out of breath, I pushed through the police department’s double doors. Precious stopped munching a MoonPie. “Hey, Piper,” she said, grinning. “Looks like somethin’s got you all hot and bothered—and I know it can’t be the chief ’cause he ain’t here.”
Bending forward, I placed my hands on my knees and tried to bring my breathing under control. “Thought I’d come by … ask if you’d heard anything about that new guy in town.”
“This new guy got a name?”
“Colin Flynn. He claims he’s a novelist.” I straightened and wiped sweat from my brow. “According to him, Shirley was supposed to help him find a house in the area. He said they never met, that their only contact was in the form of emails and texts.”
“Name don’t ring a bell. Guess he must be keepin’ a low profile by stayin’ out of trouble.” Precious brushed MoonPie crumbs from her ample bosom. “Why you askin’?”
“I can’t quite put my finger on it,” I admitted. “There’s just something strange about him. First time we met, his jeans were so new they practically squeaked when he walked. If I had to wager a guess, I’d say he held some kind of a desk job until recently. He gave me some line about him needing peace and quiet,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. “Doesn’t everyone with a keyboard claim to be a writer these days?”
“If that’s true, honey, I must be a crime writer seein’ how I spend my time inputtin’ the deeds of felons and miscreants.”
“Well, if you should hear anything unusual about Mr. Flynn, I’d appreciate a heads-up.” I looked around to make certain we were alone but didn’t see anyone. “Are there any new developments in the investigation into Shirley’s death?”
My paranoia must’ve been contagious, because Precious shot a quick glance over her shoulder, then lowered her voice. “The ME puts Ms. Randolph’s death between late Saturday, early Sunday mornin’. Her bein’ half in, half out of the water makes it harder to estimate. By the way, your ex and the city council are puttin’ the thumbscrews to Sergeant Tucker to make an arrest. Let me tell you, Sarge was mighty unhappy the search at the chief’s place turned up empty.”
The front door swung open behind me, and Precious quickly swept what remained of her MoonPie into a desk drawer. “Can I help you gentlemen?” she asked the man and two young boys who accompanied him.
“My sons found a computer in a field behind our house,” the man explained. “It looks expensive, so I told ’em we ought to turn it in to the police. See if someone might’ve lost it.”
I stared hard at the sleek, thin laptop the man set on the counter in front of Precious. The once shiny silver case looked scuffed and dented; whether on purpose or by accident I had no way of knowing. “Mind if I take a closer look?”
The two boys, whom I guessed to be around seven and nine, exchanged unhappy glances.
“No, ma’am, go right ahead,” the man said. “Don’t suppose you know who it might belong to?”
Opening the lid, I pressed the ON button and when nothing happened flipped the laptop over and saw that it had been eviscerated. A space gaped in the spot where the circuitry and motherboard were normally housed. I couldn’t say with 100 percent certainty, but the computer appeared disturbingly similar to Shirley’s high-end MacBook.
“Let me have you fill out some paperwork.” Precious rifled through a file drawer and produced a form, which she handed to the father.
“Can we keep the computer if no one wants it?” the older of the boys asked.
“Yessir.” Precious bobbed her head. “No one claims it within nin
ety days, it’s yours. Considerin’ the shape it’s in, probably not worth much.”
I ran my hand lightly over the abused case. “Don’t be too disappointed, boys, but someone already stole all the best parts.”
I left the man filling out forms while Precious treated each of the boys to one of her MoonPies. Thoughts swirled through my head during the short walk home. None of this made any sense. Why go to all the trouble of stealing an expensive computer, then rip out the insides and toss what was left into a vacant field? What secrets had Shirley’s computer held? And what, if any, secrets had it given up? However, maybe it was nothing more than a vengeful act by the killer with no significance whatsoever.
But I didn’t believe that.
CHAPTER 23
“CONCLUSION BY EXCLUSION.” I think I heard the term used on one of those investigative news shows—20/20, Dateline, or 48 Hours. All morning, I’d tried to concentrate on preparations for my first-anniversary gala, which would be held at the end of the month. I’d toyed with BOGO—buy one, get one—then decided against it for a more profitable route of buy one, get one for half off. Flyers advertising the event were ready to print. I’d also started to gather items for my giveaway gift basket. But somewhere along the way, my enthusiasm stalled.
My mind kept circling back to McBride and his predicament. It was impossible for me to stand on the sidelines and watch him face a murder charge. I needed to do something, to be more proactive. I had to find out whether Shirley died at the hands of her lover, her lover’s irate wife, or an enraged woman who viewed the Realtor as a threat to her marriage and obstacle to her happiness. Until recently I’d considered Vicki as a possible suspect, but Ned had confirmed her story about injuring her back, thus providing her with an alibi. And I also wanted to discover how, if anything, a stolen computer with a battered case entered into the equation. Knowing whether my suspects had alibis or not would be a perfect place to start. For no particular reason, I decided to make Matt Wainwright my target.
Today was Wednesday, the day CJ and Matt had a long-standing date for lunch at the country club followed by eighteen holes of golf. The pair often invited clients to join them, but if no one was available they’d play the round as a twosome. CJ insisted that more business was conducted on the golf course than in a boardroom. I told him to save his arguments for a jury.
The throaty rumble of a motorcycle drew my attention to a world outside my shop. As luck would have it—good luck in this case—Hoyt picked that moment to saunter into Spice It Up! “Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow?” he singsonged, looking mighty pleased with himself.
“If you’re referring to my herb garden, I’ve been told it’s doing quite well under McBride’s supervision.”
“It’s hard to grow things in this Georgia red clay, so I added some topsoil to help give those babies a head start.”
“We had a nice rain early this morning, so that should also help.”
“McBride’s a good guy. Sorry he’s going through a rough patch.”
I shoved a stray curl off my brow. “Yes, well, let’s pray this all gets sorted out soon and life gets back to normal.”
“Sure hope so,” he said, wagging his head. “Talk is that Beau Tucker had the entire Brandywine Creek Police Department searching McBride’s house with a fine-tooth comb but came up empty-handed.”
“Beau’s under pressure to make an arrest. Since he lacks the imagination to look elsewhere, he’s pinned a bull’s-eye on McBride.”
“Not that I think McBride’s guilty, you hear, but you gotta admit it doesn’t look good him finding her body—and on his property.”
“McBride’s isn’t stupid. If he murdered someone, he’d have enough smarts to hide the body where it wouldn’t be easily found—not in his fishing hole.”
“Yeah, that’s a good point.”
“Shirley was McBride’s Realtor,” I continued my rant. “Just because they met for dinner a few times doesn’t mean they were lovers.”
“You’re right again.” He chuckled. “Sharing chips and salsa at North of the Border or a plate of chili cheese fries at High Cotton doesn’t constitute an engagement. Too bad they had half the town as an audience each time they dined.”
We both turned as the front door opened.
“Hey, honeybun.” Reba Mae sailed in waving a sheet of paper. “Here’s the recipe as promised for Meemaw’s goulash. Hoyt—” She stopped short at seeing him. “—I didn’t expect to find you here.”
I ducked my head to hide my smile. Reba Mae’s feigned surprise was as phony as a three-dollar bill. Only a blind person would have failed to notice the shiny maroon Harley-Davidson at the curb.
“Hey there, darlin’,” the bewhiskered biker switched on the charm. “Seein’ you just made my day. I swear you get prettier every time I see you.”
Reba Mae made a show of fanning herself with the paper she carried. “This ol’ country boy sure knows how to turn a girl’s head.”
“Don’t let the secret out,” Hoyt said, addressing me, “this little gal makes the best darn lasagna I ever tasted. Her cooking would put Tony Deltorro’s eatery out of business in a heartbeat.”
Reba Mae beamed at the compliment.
My head swiveled from one to the other. I sensed a romance taking root and couldn’t be happier. Reba Mae had been a widow ever since Butch drowned during a bass-fishing tournament. With nary a complaint, she’d raised her boys, learned a trade, opened a business, and kissed a number of frogs without finding her prince.
“Wish I could hang out with you guys,” Reba Mae said “but Mary Lou Lambert is too vain to admit she needs glasses real bad. She misread the instructions on a box of hair dye and left the developer on too long. Now she wants me to fix it.”
“Go!” I made a shooing motion. “Take care of your emergency.”
“See you, Friday!” Hoyt called after her.
“You two have big plans for Friday night?” This time I didn’t try to hide my smile.
Hoyt rocked back on his boot heels. “Thought we’d drive down to Augusta. Try this Thai restaurant a friend recommended. Reba Mae’s got an adventurous streak. The gal’s not afraid of new and different.”
“No, there’s not much that scares her.” Except ghosts and things that go bump in the night. “Say, Hoyt,” I said as an idea occurred to me. “If you’re not real busy could you keep an eye on Spice It Up! while I run an errand? I know this is an imposition, but you have my word it won’t take long. I’ll be happy to compensate you for your time.”
“Heck, why not?” He treated me to a broad grin with a glimpse of a gold tooth. “That mean I get to wear one of those cute chili pepper aprons?”
“You bet.” I untied the one I was wearing and tossed it to him. “Here, use mine.”
The apron didn’t completely cover his girth, but he didn’t seem to mind. Grabbing my purse from beneath the counter, I hurried out the back door. Melly would lecture me on my shortcomings as a shopkeeper if she ever found out I left my shop in the middle of the day in the care of a man I hardly knew. But, at the moment, I had more pressing things to worry about than one of Melly’s reprimands.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, I passed through wrought-iron gates that guarded the entrance of Brandywine Creek Country Club. Nothing much had changed since the days I’d come as a member and not a guest. The gently rolling lawn looked as though the blades of grass had been cut with manicure scissors rather than a lawn mower. Mounds of bright azaleas added splashes of color. I drove down a tunnel formed by Bradford pear trees that were surrendering spring’s lacy blossoms to the pale green leaves of summer.
“Good afternoon, Miz Prescott.” Jackson Barber, the valet parking attendant on duty, greeted me with a friendly smile. “If you’re meeting Mr. Prescott, he called to say he’s runnin’ late. Had me tell Mr. Wainwright he’ll be along shortly.”
“Thanks, Jackson.” I didn’t bother to correct the man’s misconception.
Two vertical lines formed between his brows. “What are you doing here?”
Since I didn’t know how much time I’d have before CJ’s arrival, I got straight to the point. “I thought you might be interested knowing a couple kids found what appears to be Shirley’s computer in a vacant field. It’s trashed. Whoever stole it removed the motherboard.”
“Shirley never went anywhere without her laptop. She called it her brain/memory bank.” Matt’s frown deepened. “Who would want to steal her computer, then destroy it?”
“That’s what I’ve been wondering.” I took a sip from the water glass meant for CJ. My ex was bound to appear any second and bring my interrogation to a premature end. It was now or never to ask the hard questions. “You and Shirley were lovers. Why try to deny it?”
“True.” Matt pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed wearily. “I cared for Shirley a great deal. She wanted to take it to the next level, but I couldn’t do that to Mary Beth. Furthermore, I wasn’t willing to subject my family to a divorce. Especially not after seeing what it did to yours.”
I sucked in my breath. Matt’s words stung. I know my divorce from CJ had been hard on our children, but it hurt to hear it from another’s lips.
“Face it, Piper,” Matt said. “Lindsey acts out from time to time. The girl’s had a series of boyfriends and can’t make up her mind about a career. Chad rarely comes home and now wants to backpack around Europe instead of applying himself to his studies.”
“I didn’t come here to discuss the pitfalls of divorce,” I reminded him in an effort to get our conversation back on course.
