by Josie Belle
His hair was an unremarkable shade of brown, and he wore glasses, making the color of his eyes hard to discern from across the room, but Maggie suspected that, like his hair, they were also brown.
He stood with his back to the wall, studying everyone in the room with a thorough gaze that made Maggie think he didn’t miss much.
He seemed particularly interested in the people who were still milling about, probably angling for seconds of Ginger’s pound cake.
The man’s gaze scanned the room as if he was looking for someone. Despite his youth, he had a world-weary look in his eyes that reminded Maggie of Sam. It was as if he’d witnessed too much inhumanity and was no longer surprised by anything but kindness. She knew it was just an instinct, but she had a hard time picturing him as a murderer.
“Excuse me,” Sam said. He left Maggie’s side and strode with purpose toward the man.
The man seemed to sense Sam coming immediately. He pushed off the wall and turned on his heel, heading for the nearest exit. Sam picked up his pace, and the man did, too.
“Oh my,” Claire whispered. “I think he’s running away.”
“Maybe he’s the murderer,” Ginger said.
They watched in stunned silence as the man broke into a run. Sam shouted at him to stop, but he was disregarded as the man kicked it into higher gear. He knocked a bunch of chairs over behind him, slowing Sam down, as he had to leap over them.
The remaining guests stood speechlessly watching as the young man slammed into the exit. He was going to get away. Before it was a fully formed thought, Maggie was sprinting across the room to the other exit, planning to block the man from running around the building and back to the parking lot.
She flew out the door, and the cold air hit her like a slap. She didn’t slow down and reached the corner of the building just in time to hear a man yelp and the other door—the door Sam had been headed toward—slam open.
Standing with one wedge-heel shoe planted firmly on the runner’s chest and pointing her stun gun at him like she’d be more than happy to zap him, was Deputy Dot Wilson.
“You made me get mud on my new TOMS,” Dot said as she wagged her foot in his face. “I ought to blast you just for that.”
The man looked at her with wide eyes behind his glasses as if afraid she really would use her Taser in a fit of pique.
“Good timing, Deputy Wilson,” Sam said.
“Yeah, nice one,” Maggie agreed.
Sam turned and glared at her, and Maggie frowned when she realized he wasn’t breathing hard at all, while she was sucking air in and out like the bellows for a fireplace.
“There’s been a mistake,” the man said, but Dot interrupted him.
“Hush,” she said. “I just came to pay my respects.” She waved a hand to indicate the formfitting navy dress she was wearing.
“Very nice,” Sam said.
Dot gave him an appreciative nod, and continued, “Then I heard you shout, and this fool came flying out the door like his backside was on fire. I figured something was going down.”
“It is. Cover me,” Sam said.
He yanked the man up to his feet and pushed him against the wall, where he patted him down. The search revealed a gun in a shoulder holster and a knife strapped to his ankle.
“You have a permit?” Sam asked.
“Yes,” the man said. “Look, you’re the sheriff, right?”
“That’s what the badge says.”
“I’m a private investigator,” the man said. “Let me get my wallet. You can see my ID.”
Sam looked suspicious, but he let the man retrieve his wallet and hand it to him. He passed off the man’s gun and knife to Dot while he studied his license.
“Joel Lipscomb,” Sam read his name off of his license. “You’re from Rhode Island?”
Joel nodded.
“You’re going to have to come down to the station with me,” Sam said.
“I’m not the stalker,” Joel said. “I was hired by Marjorie Winthrop to find her grandniece’s killer.”
“Is that so?” Sam asked.
“I was going to introduce myself to you, but I wanted to get a feel for the place first,” Joel said.
“You’ve been here for three days,” Sam said. “Were you planning on hanging up curtains before you stopped by?”
Joel’s eyebrows lifted behind his glasses. “You’re well informed.”
“It’s my town,” Sam said.
Maggie and Dot glanced back and forth between them, watching the verbal volleyball.
“Okay,” Joel said. He held out his hand. “Can I have my equipment back?”
“I think I’ll just hang on to it for you until we get back to my office,” Sam said. “Need a lift?”
“Thanks, but I know where it is,” Joel said.
“Yeah, but I’d feel better if you stayed in my sight,” Sam said. “You understand.”
Joel gave him a chagrinned nod, and Maggie knew he understood that, as far as Sam was concerned, he was a person of interest.
“Maggie, I’ll call you later,” Sam said.
Ginger and Claire came outside and joined her and Dot as they watched the two men drive away.
“A private eye named Joel,” Dot said. She shook her head. “I thought they were supposed to have cool names like Philip, Mike or Rex.”
“Only fictionally,” Maggie said.
“Well, there goes my great lead,” Claire said. “I never would have pegged him for a private eye. Do you think he’s legit?”
“Yes,” Maggie said. “Otherwise he would have been riding in the back of Sam’s car.”
“Ah,” Claire said. “He’s the only stranger I’ve seen in town other than visiting family. If the killer’s not him, then who?”
Ginger and Maggie exchanged a glance, and Ginger rolled her eyes.
“No, I still don’t believe it,” Ginger said. “It doesn’t make sense. Other than Summer Phillips, who do we know in town who fits the profile of a psychopath?”
“Believe what?” Claire asked, looking confused.
“Maggie thinks that someone in town knew that Leann was being stalked, and he used the information to kill her and let her original stalker be blamed.”
“It was just a theory,” Maggie protested. “But you have to admit it’s possible.”
“Well sure, anything is possible,” Ginger said. “But that doesn’t make it likely.”
They were interrupted by the last of the stragglers, who had finally left the reception hall and were making their way to their cars.
The three of them spent the next hour cleaning up so as not to leave a mess for the church ladies who had been so kind to let them use their reception room. When they were finished, Maggie walked over to the office and turned in the key to the room.
Mrs. Diaz, who worked in the church office, took the keys and gave Maggie a warm smile. “I popped my head in, and it seemed like a really nice service.”
“Reverend White was wonderful,” Maggie said. “Please thank him for me.”
“I will,” she promised. “You take care now.”
Maggie shut the door behind her. The sky was gray and cold, and the wind had a bitter nip to it. She wondered if they’d have a freeze warning tonight. She wanted to hurry back to the shop, since she and Laura had agreed to close for the memorial. Although she had made a nice chunk of change for the Madison ball, she knew that the holidays were days away, and she wanted to be open as much as possible to get the last-minute holiday shoppers.
Yesterday, she had checked her supply of wrapping paper and noticed that it was running low. She decided to stop by Janice’s stationery store and pick up some more before returning to the shop. She really hoped the sale was still going. It killed her to think of paying full price. She had to remember to pick up loads of paper just after the holidays for next year.
Ginger and Claire had both gone back to work, so Maggie parked her car by her shop and trudged through the center of town on her own, burr
owing into her jacket and snapping up her collar to keep the icy fingers of winter away from her skin.
She pulled open the door to Write On. It was abuzz with holiday shoppers. Carols played softly in the background and, if it had been any other day, Maggie would have felt cheered. Instead, she was again reminded of Leann and how she wouldn’t be celebrating this Christmas or any others.
She headed over to where she knew the wrapping paper was. Last year’s good stuff had been thoroughly picked over by her crew, and the remaining paper didn’t wow her. She glanced around the shop, looking for Janice. She thought maybe if she bought in bulk, she could wrangle a deal for the good stuff.
She found Janice helping Donna Schwartz with a gift for her grandson’s bar mitzvah. Janice had an excellent selection of specialty cards to cover any occasion.
“This will do nicely,” Donna said. “Thank you, dear.”
“You’re welcome, and congratulations,” Janice said. “You must be very proud.”
“I am, but oh, where has the time gone?” Donna asked. “How is it that my bubele is now a young man?”
Janice smiled in understanding, and Maggie nodded. She knew exactly how Donna felt. It seemed like just yesterday that Laura was a dimple-kneed toddler, and now she was giving eloquent eulogies. It was enough to give a mother whiplash.
As Donna went to the cash register to pay, Janice turned to Maggie. “What can I do for you, Maggie?”
“I’m looking to broker a deal,” she said.
Janice’s eyebrows lifted. “Really?”
“I’m almost out of wrapping paper,” Maggie said. “And I was wondering, if I buy in bulk, would you cut me a deal?”
“Hmm.” Janice tapped her chin with her finger while she pondered the question. “I suppose it would depend upon how much you were willing to purchase.”
“You don’t want to get stuck with as much as you did last Christmas,” Maggie said. “Then you have to store it, and it takes up too much room, and it’s out of fashion for next year.”
“Uh-huh, and then I’d have to have a sale, where the local thrift-store owners get into a brawl over it,” Janice added. She winked at Maggie, letting her know she was just kidding.
“Yeah, that sort of thing,” Maggie said.
Janice led her over to the new-paper display. Next to it was an array of small gifts, from candles to picture frames. Maggie had a feeling this section catered to the man who has no idea what to buy his mother, wife, sister or female friend. Grab a picture frame, a candle and a gift bag and wham! Shopping done.
“Very clever to group complementary items in one area for the shopping impaired,” Maggie said.
Janice grinned. “I haven’t been in business for twenty years for nothing. Let me check my stock in back and see if we can do a deal.”
“Sure,” Maggie said. “It’ll give me a chance to do some holiday shopping of my own.”
Janice left, and Maggie turned to the gift display. She had pretty much figured out what she was giving everyone on her list. The only one left was Sam. What was she supposed to get him? Was she supposed to get him anything at all? She’d feel like a complete boob if she bought him something and he didn’t think they were there yet.
Then again, what if he bought her something really nice? Ack. She could feel her insides twist with anxiety. She thought she might have to ask Ginger to tell Roger to have a chat with Sam and see what he could find out. Men were hopeless at that sort of thing, but she was pretty sure Ginger could coach Roger into getting the information out of Sam.
She checked out the frames, and saw a pewter frame that was stamped with MEOW and had fish skeletons scattered all around it. If she could just get a picture of Sam’s cat, Marshall Dillon, it would make a thoughtful but not sickening gift.
Maggie picked up the frame and turned it over to see the price. It was on the high side, in her opinion, but she figured if Janice had this area set up for the desperate, she could charge pretty steep prices even for picture frames. She’d have to think about it.
She put the frame back, and her attention was caught by another frame. Made of thick wood that was painted cream white with gold trim, it contained a small, wallet-size photo of a pretty young woman. The model looked familiar, and Maggie frowned as she tried to place her.
Was she a celebrity? Maggie didn’t think so, but she was sure she had seen a photo of this girl before, looking off to the right with the wind blowing her hair about her face as she stood in front of the beach.
She picked up the frame and turned it over. She was too puzzled to feel any sticker shock this time.
“That’s one of my most popular frames,” Janice said as she came to stand beside Maggie. “I just sold the last one a few weeks ago, but a new shipment came in today, so I put some out.”
“Is the girl in this famous?” Maggie asked. “She seems familiar.”
“I don’t think so,” Janice frowned. “As far as I know, it’s just a stock photo. Men seem to like her. I sell more of this frame to men than any other. At least, I sold the last one to a young man. He seemed quite taken with the photo.”
“A young man in his twenties?” Maggie asked. She felt the blood rush into her ears, and her heart slowed to an ominous pounding that made breathing difficult.
“Yes, why?” Janice asked. “Maggie, are you all right? You don’t look so good.”
“Was he wearing a camel-colored overcoat?” Maggie asked.
“Yes, yes, he was,” she said.
“Janice, I need this picture,” Maggie said. “It’s imperative.”
“I don’t understand,” Janice said.
“I think this picture will lead us to Leann Winthrop’s killer,” Maggie said.
Janice blinked at her and took the frame from her hands. She managed to loosen the back of the frame with just her fingernails and took the picture out.
“You’ll explain this to me later?” she asked as she handed the photo to Maggie.
“I promise.”
Maggie took the photo and carefully put it in her purse. She glanced at her phone to check the time. With any luck, Sam would still be at the station talking to PI Joel.
“Thanks, Janice,” she called as she dashed out the door and into the street.
She’d recognized the photo in her purse, not because the model was famous, but because it had been shown to her before. Blake Caulfield, on the day she had met him, had shown her the picture of his fiancée, a picture he’d kept in his wallet.
Except now Maggie knew that she wasn’t his fiancée. She was just a picture he’d taken out of a frame to pretend he had a fiancée. The question was why? But then it was obvious, wasn’t it? Having a photo that he showed around as his fiancée made him look innocent of his real intent, didn’t it?
Maggie fumbled with her phone. She needed to call Laura and tell her to stay away from Blake until they knew what was going on. Several people called greetings to her as she ran toward the station and used her phone at the same time. Laura didn’t answer, so Maggie paused and sent her a quick text. She didn’t want to write anything that Blake might read while he was with her, so she kept it simple.
Need to talk to you about Sam. Call me as soon as you get this.
Maggie knew that the message would be irresistible to Laura and yet would give nothing away.
She hurried into the station to see that Deputy Wilson was back and working the front counter.
“Hello, Maggie.” Dot greeted her with a warm smile, which quickly faded as she took in Maggie’s face. “What’s wrong?”
“I need to speak to Sam,” Maggie said. “I think I know who murdered Leann Winthrop.”
Chapter 24
Dot moved with a swiftness that belied her stocky build. She snapped up the counter that led to the back offices and gestured for Maggie to come through.
Maggie followed Dot into the back. Dot paused to rap on a closed wooden door.
“Sheriff, Maggie is here to see you,” Dot said.
> “Come in,” Sam said without any hesitation.
Dot pushed open the door, and they saw Sam and Joel. Both men were standing, examining several crime-scene pictures that were spread across the top of the desk. Maggie didn’t look. She’d seen it live and really didn’t want to relive the grisly memory.
“What is it, Maggie?” Sam asked. His eyes narrowed as he took in her expression, and Maggie wondered if she looked as shell-shocked as she felt.
She fished in her purse for the picture she’d found at the stationery store. She took it out of her bag with shaking fingers and handed it to Sam. He glanced at the small, wallet-size photo and then at her, clearly not understanding the relevance, but how could he have?
“This picture came from a frame in Janice’s shop,” Maggie said. “I recognized it because Blake Caulfield showed me the same photo a few weeks ago and told me it was his fiancée, but obviously she’s not. It was just a stock picture from a frame he’d bought at Janice’s. She remembered him. So, his whole story about a fiancée is a lie. But why would he lie unless he has something to hide, like the fact that he is Leann’s stalker and murderer?”
“Isn’t Caulfield the guy Laura has been spending so much time with?” Sam asked.
Maggie nodded. She could feel the panic thumping through her. She checked her phone, but there had been no incoming messages or calls. Why hadn’t Laura returned her text?
“Maggie, I know it looks bad, but there could be another explanation,” Sam said. “What do we know about Blake?”
“He bought the Anne Barge dress that’s in the window of my shop,” she said. “He told me it was for his fiancée, but then he returned it, saying she’d broken things off with him.”
“When, Maggie? When did he return it?” Sam asked. His voice took on an intensity that made Maggie’s skin prickle.
“I don’t know. . . . Wait.” She tried to picture when it had happened, and her stomach dropped to her feet. It was hard to speak around her throat, which had suddenly gone dry. “I was in the hospital with Joanne when Laura called to tell me he had returned it. It was after Leann’s murder.”
