Bearly Departed

by Meg Macy

  Especially on days like today.

  “What time is it?” I grabbed my cell phone, which read 8:02 a.m. “Okay, so we have nearly an hour before this detective arrives to interview us—”

  “Uh, Sash? He’s already here.”

  Maddie placed the tray and bags on the kitchen island. Rosie started barking before we heard a hard rap on the door. I caught her by the collar before she could jump Detective Mason. This time he extended an elbow for her to sniff, which surprised her. Today Mason wore a navy blazer, striped tie, and slacks, but still resembled a grumpy bear, with dark circles under his eyes that pointed to lost sleep. Rosie’s barks had settled into a plaintive whine while she struggled to get free of my hold. Mason raised an eyebrow and glanced around.

  “I’ll need to talk to you all individually. Somewhere private.”

  “Yes, this way.”

  Maddie led him to the former study, which was my favorite room downstairs. Glass-paned French doors had kept Rosie and Onyx out of trouble since the day they’d knocked Mom’s expensive pottery collection to the floor. Her collection of rare Madame Alexander dolls were safe inside a locked curio cabinet as well.

  My sister returned alone. “He wants to start with Uncle Ross. Where is he?”

  “Probably standing outside the factory, watching the evidence technicians’ every move. I’ll go tell him.”

  First I attached Rosie’s harness and leash. Outside, Deon paced the parking lot with my uncle, who was indeed arguing with several young techs in orange vests with “Dexter County” in black letters. My frantic waving caught their attention. Uncle Ross and Deon both stalked toward me. I braced myself for worse fireworks.

  “They’re bound to make a huge mess in the factory! It’ll take hours to clean it before we can get back to work. And we have that big order. . . .”

  I let him ramble on, since it was futile to interrupt. “We’ll deal with it later. You’re up first with Detective Mason, though. He’s waiting in the study.”

  “Oh, brother. I don’t suppose your dad ever called or texted?”

  “Nothing yet.”

  “Then call Flynn, for God’s sake. We need Alex. It’s his damned factory. He needs to explain why the hell Taylor thought he could push us around with his big plans for sending production to China.”

  Uncle Ross stomped inside. I headed to the back garden, dreading this. Then I pulled my cell phone from a pocket. The time had come to bite the bullet. Flynn Edward Hanson, a lawyer specializing in personal injury, medical malpractice, and breaking hearts. My hands shook so badly, I nearly dropped the phone. Disappointment hit me when I saw no messages waiting, and no missed calls. At least the battery showed full.

  I stared at Flynn’s profile photo. I should have deleted it long ago. I could do this. Really, I could—no big deal. I kept telling myself that while booting up Facebook via the Internet. Maybe Flynn was on vacation. Off to Europe on business. He always posted selfies. Photos of himself on the beach in Florida. Showing off plates of food in fancy restaurants before meals.

  “Oh, brother. Look at that.”

  I scanned over the latest on his timeline—Flynn taking a bite from a shrimp cocktail while holding a forkful of linguini toward a gorgeous brunette. Her cleavage showed more flesh than a baby’s bottom. Another at the beach, arms outstretched, grinning beside the woman who was draped over him like a shawl. Clearly he didn’t lack for company.

  Over the past seven years, I’d progressed slowly from sheer loathing to an uneasy truce. Had I forgiven him? Maybe, but I’d never forget how I’d been a fool to fall for his infectious charm. We’d first bonded over a similar sense of humor. But it wasn’t funny discovering his cheating ways. Mere months after our spring wedding, despite a blissful honeymoon in Jamaica, feeling so in love and sharing every moment of our days, even exchanging delightful gifts over the Christmas holidays. Until New Year’s Eve, when everything had crashed around me.

  Flynn’s betrayal hurt. Still. I dialed anyway.

  He actually answered my call, despite the early hour. “Sasha? Is that you? Hey, you caught me on the way into court, but I have a few minutes. What’s up?”

  “Uh, yeah. Ow! Sorry—Rosie, get back here.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  “Fine.”

  “Good to know,” Flynn said with a laugh. “So is something wrong?”

  Hearing his sexy baritone sent a shiver up my spine. I kicked myself for being vulnerable to his voice. “I guess you’d call it that. Mads and I . . . We need a favor. Kind of a big favor. Rosie, stop. Ow, quit stepping on my toes.”

  “What’s the favor?”

  “Well, it’s important. Really.”

  “You sound like one of my clients. Quit dithering, dammit, and spit it out.”

  “Give me a second.”

  My dog’s extra-long leash was tangled around my legs. I almost fell straightening it out. The phone clattered to the ground at one point. If the call had dropped, I would have claimed it as karma and let it go. Unfortunately, Flynn remained on the line.

  “You there? Hey, Sasha! I’ll be late for court if you don’t make it snappy.”

  “I’m here.” I took a deep breath. “We haven’t heard from my parents since last week. We have an emergency here. At the factory.”

  “Uncle Ross cut off another finger?”

  “That’s not funny!”

  “Oh, come on, I was kidding.” Flynn’s chuckle burned me worse than his sick joke. “You would have laughed years ago.”

  “Someone was killed—Augh.” Rosie had circled me for the second time. I twisted and staggered to free myself and finally sat on the porch’s top step. “One of our employees—Maddie and I found him last night.”

  “How was he killed?”

  “I don’t have time to explain, and you don’t have time to listen to the whole story. We’re so afraid Mom and Dad got into a car accident on the way home from New Jersey. We sent a bazillion texts and voice-mail messages on their phones. Is there any way you could visit their condo? See if something happened, or if they’ve gone somewhere else. Whatever. To make sure they’re all right.”

  “Sure. Hope they aren’t skinny-dipping in the club’s pool.”

  “My parents? Yeah, right.”

  “Gotta run.”

  “I’m calling the hospitals—”

  Flynn hung up before I could finish my sentence. Oh well. That was pretty normal for him. I was shocked he’d agreed to help.

  A car door slammed across the street. I stood on tiptoes and squinted between the trees. Debbie Davison rushed up the steps of the Holly Jolly Christmas shop. After unlocking the door, she swept inside. Odd. I pulled Rosie along, tugging her leash when she sniffed a bush, and crossed Theodore Lane. Perhaps Debbie could tell me how Carolyn had taken the news about Will’s death. Murder. I shook my head. Ugh.

  Debbie and her sister, Cissy, grew up in the Victorian house that matched ours—on the exterior, of course. Barbara Davison was my mom’s best friend. Cissy rented an apartment, while Debbie owned a small house and land beyond Richardson’s Farms; she kept between twenty and fifty beehives and processed honey with two other friends. Cissy and Debbie’s parents owned the row of buildings on Main Street, including the Time Turner, a quaint boutique managed by Cissy, along with the Holly Jolly shop.

  Debbie often covered for her sister, but I’d never seen anyone cover for Carolyn before today. I led Rosie up the porch steps and knocked on the open door. “Hello?”

  Smoothing her dark hair behind an ear, Debbie reminded me of Mia Farrow, with a sharp chin and cheekbones, plus huge blue eyes. “Morning! We’re not open yet—Oh, Sasha! Thank goodness. I need to use the bathroom. Can you watch for customers? Too much coffee.”

  Without waiting for an answer, Debbie dashed through the red and green beads hanging over the back doorway. I stood in the doorway, admiring the shop’s graceful interior even though everything was too orderly to my taste. I’d have chosen a charming ecle
ctic mix instead of the Santa Claus figurines shelved on one side of the shop, the handmade crafts and painted tables or chairs in one corner, and the themed trees lined against the other wall. One had all animal ornaments, another cartoon characters, and so on. Thankfully Debbie had not turned on all the lights yet. My headache hadn’t subsided, and my caffeine level was fading fast.

  I winced when Christmas music blared from a nearby speaker. Thankfully the volume decreased before Debbie popped through the beaded curtain. She’d tied a red and green apron over her black dress and donned a headband with antlers. A bit much, but perhaps she thought the cuteness factor would make up for Carolyn’s absence.

  “So. You’re holding down the fort for a while?” I wondered how much Debbie knew. If anything. She was closer to my sister’s age, and Cissy was a year older than me.

  “She’s a mess,” Debbie said with a laugh. “We all went out last night—me and Cissy, Nickie Richardson, and Carolyn. Oh, and Kristen Bloom came later. We had sort of a ‘pity party’ at Quinn’s Pub. Carolyn’s been so down since finding out about her husband’s affair, we wanted to cheer her up. She got totally smashed! So we left her car at the pub and drove her home last night. I told her I’d open the shop until she could drag herself in today.”

  “A pity party?”

  “Carolyn wasn’t happy when Will refused to go with her for marriage counseling. Sure, he helped boost sales when Carolyn opened the shop after she divorced her first husband. Will really was great back then. Carolyn said he wouldn’t give her advice lately or do anything she needed. And then he showed up yesterday, after some business trip, and wanted her to drop everything for him!”

  I wondered how much Debbie knew, if anything, about Will’s death. “I bet the pub must have been crowded even for a Thursday night.”

  “Packed. They had that trio playing Irish music,” Debbie added. “Plus George French was doing his magic tricks, and he’s almost as popular. I saw your uncle there. The one who drives that swanky vintage car.”

  “Uncle Ross?”

  “He didn’t stay long, though.”

  “I heard Deon Walsh was with him.”

  “Yeah, and his sister Devonna. They left before your uncle.” She lowered her voice. “He said out loud, to everyone all around his table, how Will Taylor would be toast if he cut jobs at your factory. That he’d gut him like a fish.”

  Great. Bad enough Uncle Ross said it at the meeting, and then he blabbed it in public. And why was Deon’s sister there? Apparently Debbie hadn’t heard the news about Will’s death from anyone in town or from Carolyn, either.

  “What did Will ask Carolyn to do instead of going to Quinn’s Pub?”

  “Cook him a fancy dinner, can you believe it?” She rolled her eyes heavenward. “He’d gotten his way at last and wanted to celebrate. But Carolyn refused to cancel our party.”

  I squinted. “Gotten his way—what did he mean by that?”

  Debbie blinked. “Don’t you know? Will finally talked your dad into sending production overseas and cutting jobs. I don’t blame your uncle for being so mad. And Carolyn thought it was a dirty, lowdown trick. Your factory workers depend on their jobs. So she told him to go celebrate by himself.”

  “I bet Will wasn’t happy.”

  “Carolyn didn’t say, but you can bet he hightailed it over to his latest honey.”

  “Honey?”

  “You haven’t heard? It’s not just rumor that he’s got a girlfriend, but I’m not gonna spill her name. Carolyn would be mad.” Debbie fluffed up her dark hair. “I’m usually the designated driver, only I was useless by midnight.”

  “Oh. So who was?”

  “Cissy. Nickie had so many martinis, her husband had to collect her. Carolyn was so bad, we all had to help carry her to the car. I threw up in the backseat. My sister was so mad! She made me clean it up this morning, and that was no fun.”

  I was surprised any of them made it home without crashing. I hated losing control. I’d never gotten drunk in my life and never intended to, for that fact alone. One drink, if that, was my limit. Seeing others smashed out of their minds wasn’t a pretty sight.

  “So Carolyn didn’t tell you anything this morning.”

  “Like what?”

  “About Will.”

  “She said he never made it home, if that’s what you mean.” Debbie snorted. “I wouldn’t be surprised. Carolyn didn’t get a chance to tell me much, because she said a cop car was pulling into her driveway and she had to answer the door. She said she felt like a truck hit her. I felt the same way, but here I am. I hope she comes in soon. I’m supposed to treat the beehives for mites.”

  I imagined Carolyn would never get her act together after hearing about Will’s murder. “Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news—”

  “What?” Debbie had leaned down to retrieve her purse.

  “Her husband is dead.”

  Debbie clutched her chest, genuinely shocked. “You—you’re kidding, right?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “What happened?”

  When the cordless phone trilled on its holder, we both jumped. Debbie snatched it and answered. “Hello? Hi, Mom . . . Oh my God, I just found out! . . . From Sasha Silverman! Right here—yeah.” She turned to me, receiver held out. “My mom wants to talk to you.”

  Reluctant, I took the phone. Rosie had been sniffing around while I was distracted. I grabbed a stuffed elf out of her mouth and wiped the slobber off the felt. Debbie waved me on to answer, brown eyes wide, and then scrabbled for her cell phone inside her purse.

  “Um, hello?”

  “I heard about Will Taylor! What in the world? I can hardly believe—”

  I listened, unable to get a word in edgewise while Barbara Davison listed the various sources she’d heard from about the murder. Rumors around the village had multiple versions of ways he’d been killed, even more colorful than this morning. Then she demanded I tell her what I knew, asked how could a murder happen right next door to her own house, whether the police could save the village from such violent killers, and so on. I figured she was too much in shock to ask for the real details. Then again, Debbie didn’t know I’d found Will’s body. Good thing, or she might have fainted on the Holly Jolly Christmas shop floor.

  “I know, Cissy,” Debbie said. “I just heard from Sasha. She’s right here, talking to mom on the shop phone. Yes, last night! At the factory.”

  She stuck a finger in her ear, talking faster, quickly hung up, and then dialed someone else. I realized Mrs. Davison had asked me a question. The second time louder.

  “What’s that? I’m sorry—”

  “Who would possibly want to kill Will Taylor?”

  “I don’t know. I’d better get back.”

  Without listening to her protest, I hung up and led Rosie outside.

  Chapter 9

  Despite my constant commands to stop, Rosie barked and barked at the parade of cars cruising narrow Theodore Lane. Drivers had to turn around and drive back once they discovered the dead end. Everyone craned their necks at the crime scene tape stretched across the factory entrance. Rosie and I waited for a break before we squeezed between cars and crossed the street.

  I felt horrible. Poor Carolyn, who’d fought to save her marriage to that sleazeball. Took our side against her husband over his nasty plans and now had to deal with the scandal of a small-town murder. I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her.

  We’d always traded stories about the hard work we did promoting our shops, holding sales, and hosting special events. While the tough economy had slowly improved, our products were considered “extras” rather than necessities. So I wasn’t about to let Detective Mason cancel the picnic on Labor Day, after I’d planned so carefully and already paid Mary Kate to bake and decorate the special cookies.

  “Sasha!”

  I twisted around, wishing I hadn’t spent so much time talking to Debbie Davison. Jenny Woodley, co-owner of the brick Silver Leaf Bed and Break
fast, waved frantically from the porch. The Queen Anne structure with its multiple gables and one turret was shaded by multiple silver maples. Many of its unique features were hidden from the street due to the trees. Jenny rushed to join me, her brunette hair flowing behind her, her warm brown eyes full of concern. Over her black capris and striped T-shirt, she wore a yellow apron with daisy ap-pliqués and printed with “True Love Is Breakfast in Bed” below their leaf-shaped logo.

  “Glen and I were wondering what happened last night. We saw all the flashing lights, and the police cars.”

  “Yes. We found a body.”

  “A dead body?” Jenny’s high intake of breath reminded me of a baby pig’s squeal—not that I was an expert in farm animals, but it sounded odd. “Who was it?”

  “Will Taylor.”

  She gaped at me, eyebrows slowly rising. “Will Taylor? Your sales rep?”

  “Yes,” I said, tired of having to draw this out. “The police are investigating.”

  She wrung her hands. “Glen told me he saw you and your family at Fresh Grounds early this morning. But when he asked Garrett Thompson what happened, he couldn’t get a straight answer.”

  I blinked. We hadn’t asked Mary Kate and Garrett to keep the information under wraps, but I was grateful. Gossip always spread through Silver Hollow like a burst water pipe flooding everywhere. I was shocked Jenny hadn’t gotten a phone call from Debbie or Barbara Davison. Then again, she might soon enough.

  “So what happened?” she asked. “A heart attack?”

  “Uh, no. He was killed.”

  “Murdered?” Jenny squawked again. “Like, stabbed or shot?”

  “I can’t say, really. Like I said, the police will find out what happened.”

  “No wonder so many cars have been driving past!”

  Rosie had tangled my legs again. I unwound the leash and nearly dropped it. Lucky for me I didn’t, because Glen Woodley jogged around the house at that moment. Rosie would have chomped his leg, for certain; she had a thing against men, probably from past abuse, and I had to be careful whenever strangers came near. Jenny and Glen both had the same oval-shaped face and light brown hair, but Glen’s hazel eyes had thick lashes that no woman could achieve without two or three fake layers. I knew they both worked hard to run their bed-and-breakfast business. The Woodleys’ three daughters served as maids and bakers, helped with gardening, and even mowed the lawn.