Bearly Departed

by Meg Macy

  I skirted a small grove of birches to reach the picnic tables and a wooden playscape, right before the narrow gravel path ended at Main Street. I noticed Detective Mason’s Dexter County SUV in the parking lot beside Quinn’s Pub.

  “Aha. Must be checking with Brian and his wife about Thursday night.”

  A good thing, too. I’d watched enough TV cop shows to know that checking up on stories and verifying alibis was vital. Before I could sneak past, however, Mason emerged from the pub and hailed me from across the street.

  “Ms. Silverman? Hang on a minute.”

  I fidgeted on the sidewalk, watching while he retrieved something from his vehicle. When he crossed the street, Rosie lunged toward Mason even though I’d kept her leash tight in one fist. He clapped his hands sharply and woofed in her face. Rosie dropped back. He pointed at the ground.

  “Sit.” Her haunches immediately hit the cement. “Good girl.” When Mason lowered his hand, Rosie lay down. She even gazed up at him in adoration.

  “How did you do that?” I asked, amazed.

  “Your dog was trained at some point. You’re not the alpha, apparently.”

  “Far from it.”

  Mason retrieved a small treat from his pocket and waited for Rosie to sit again. Then he ruffled her curly head. “You’re the one needing obedience lessons.”

  “Gee, thanks.” I flashed him a sour look. “Did the forensics techs find any fingerprints? Or anything to help the case?”

  “We matched the glass found in your parking lot to a car whose front end damage included a broken headlight. The one you saw leaving that night after trashing your mailbox. It’s at a police impound lot.”

  “Where did they find it?”

  Mason scratched his nose. “A police officer in Detroit saw it on a side street and ran the plate. After they had it towed, he contacted the local station here.”

  “So whose car is it?”

  “Alan Grant’s.”

  I bit my lower lip, thinking hard. “Alan, huh? I talked to Ben Blake, the local pharmacist. Did you know his store had a break-in?” Although he nodded, I continued before Mason could interrupt. “Ben told me he thinks Alan or Pete might have been behind it. Or both. He saw them smoking pot in public. And I’ve seen Alan smoking pot behind the bakery a few times.”

  “You’re aware Pete Fox was arrested. He’s in serious trouble. A Wayne County Sheriff’s Department deputy caught him red-handed with drugs.”

  “Any heroin?”

  “Only enough for personal use,” Mason said, and hesitated before he added, “but Alan Grant is missing.”

  Chapter 18

  “Missing?”

  “His mother filed a report. Hasn’t seen or heard from him since Thursday.” Mason tapped a finger against his stubbly jaw. “Police tracked down the VIN, figured Alan must have abandoned his car. Probably knew we’d match it somehow to what happened in your parking lot.”

  “I wonder why he was at the factory.” I unfolded my collapsible canvas cup and slowly poured water into it. Rosie lapped almost all of it. “Gosh, it’s getting hotter. There’s shade over there under the trees.”

  “Okay.”

  Mason followed us to the birch grove, where I perched on a picnic table’s top. “So do you think Alan Grant killed Will Taylor?”

  “Not sure yet. Either he did it and left town, hoping to beat the rap. Or he’s involved with Pete Fox in buying and selling drugs.”

  “Or both—that might explain the teddy bear we found at the factory. I’ve been thinking why a seam had been opened and stuffing was spilled out. Will wouldn’t bother fixing it. He’d leave it near a sewing machine for one of the staff. So I think someone was using teddy bears to hide drugs. Has the lab tested it?”

  “Haven’t gotten the results yet.”

  “So if it comes back positive, does that mean Will was involved?”

  “Whoa, don’t get ahead of yourself,” Mason said. “All of the above is possible. But until we know for certain, better not jump to conclusions.”

  “But it’s possible.” After speaking with Ben, I could not hide my disgust. “It’s sacrilege. A teddy bear is for little kids, to comfort them and make them feel safe. How dare they use our bears to hide drugs and sell them to school-age kids!”

  “It wouldn’t be a first.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Friend of mine is DEA. He’s found all kinds of things addicts and pushers use to store drugs. Fake soup cans with the brand labels still on them. Sealed boxes of frozen fish with bags of crack inside, even bottles of cleaning supplies washed out to store heroin.” Mason shrugged. “People will do whatever it takes.”

  I shook my head. “Unbelievable.”

  “You don’t think like a criminal. And I did read the report of the pharmacy break-in. Two suspects fled and Officer Sykes lost them. Apparently they knew the village’s back alleys better than he expected.”

  “Can’t you ask Pete if Alan was with him Thursday night?”

  “We did. He’s lawyered up, not cooperating.”

  I frowned, elbows on my knees, chin cupped in one hand. “Maybe I could get him to talk. He does work for us, after all.”

  “Let’s worry about that later.”

  “At least my uncle isn’t the only suspect now,” I said, and watched for his reaction. “You haven’t arrested him, I mean. You don’t plan to, right?”

  “Nothing on him so far for that.” Mason started past me toward the street.

  “Wait. What time was Will Taylor killed, and how? Like, strangled? Or was he hit first, with a tool? Maybe the wrench Jack Cullen had, or something else? And who was the last person who saw him alive?”

  The detective rolled on the balls of his feet, back and forth, hands in his jeans pockets, clearly contemplating whether he should share that information. Mason’s resemblance to a roly-poly Teddy Roosevelt bear, minus the uniform but in a short-sleeve beige polo shirt and with his gold wire-rimmed glasses, hit me again. His short brown hair had a bit of wave to it, and he had meat on those bones. Despite his pudgy build, I guessed he could chase down a fleeing suspect and catch him without breaking a sweat.

  My ex-husband, Flynn Hanson, had been lean as an athlete, not an extra ounce of body fat, and yet panted hard after a brisk walk on a cold day. Not that it mattered what Detective Mason looked like, to be fair. But after disliking him, I had to admit we might be warming up to each other. Especially now that he’d shared some information.

  Seeing a huge spider, I jumped off the picnic table. Rosie let out a quick yelp. “Oh. Sorry, baby! I didn’t mean to step on your paw.” Embarrassed, I floundered for words. “I’m surprised you don’t have that notebook with you. You must go through a lot of them.”

  “It helps me remember things. I take notes, then write up my reports on the laptop. Burns all the details in the brain.”

  “That was my go-to method during college,” I said. “So can you answer my questions? It had to be someone with enough strength to overpower him.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Then a woman could have murdered him?”

  “Not certain.” Mason folded his arms over his chest. “Okay, I’ll give you what I got so far. Taylor didn’t fight whoever was with him. That’s obvious by a lack of bruises or scrapes on him anywhere. He may have had drugs in his system, but the autopsy results for that aren’t complete. My guess is Taylor either took a pill or drank alcohol to mellow out after such a tense staff meeting. Asphyxiation was the likely cause of death, according to the ME.”

  “Asphyxiation? Meaning the fiber in his throat.”

  He nodded. “Looks like someone dragged him to the machine, either groggy or unconscious, then made sure Taylor had no chance to survive. Like I said, the official results and a full report won’t be in for a while yet. But the estimated time of death was between eight and midnight. That’s a wide range, but it’s all we got for now.”

  “My sister and I arrived home right before midnight
. So if Alan drove that fast out of the parking lot and knocked down our mailbox, he might be the killer.”

  “It’s still early in the investigation,” Mason said. “It’s not like we have an hour to wrap things up like on TV. Even if they show things happening over a few days, it takes time. This case could drag on for weeks.”

  “Oh, man.” Rosie crunched something, so I quickly snatched the broken acorn from her jaws. “Tell me we can open the shop tomorrow. Remember, we have our annual sale. Parents who bring their kids to our teddy bear picnic event always want to take advantage of our discount coupon. And we have to get production started again at the factory, or we’ll never get orders filled on time.”

  “You can open, but no tours.” He watched a car speed past, its engine revving hard. “The evidence is in order and processed. Make sure your uncle doesn’t vanish, like Alan Grant. It’s kind of odd he interviewed Devonna Walsh for a job, as if he knew Taylor’s fate.”

  “Coincidence—”

  “I don’t believe in it. My cell number’s on the bottom of this card.” Mason handed it to me. “If you learn anything new, call.”

  “Did you find out how Will got in?” I asked. “Was the lock broken on the back door? Any windows broken around the factory?”

  “Your uncle had a fit about that, but we didn’t find any marks of a forced entry. Must have used a key.”

  “So what’s next in the investigation?”

  “Another round of interviews. It’s a slow process, but we’re always looking for any new information or changes in people’s stories. You never know.”

  I nodded. “Must be hard, though, catching people in a lie.”

  “Lies are easy,” he said, grim. “It’s the information they forget to tell you, or how they remember it in a new way, or if they change certain things. They left ten minutes earlier than they first said, or perhaps later. Like I said, it’s not an easy process. Be patient. Stick to your shop.”

  The detective crossed Main Street and unlocked his car. I slid his business card into a pocket while Rosie pulled me in the opposite direction, toward the lake. No, no, no—I tugged her back to the course I’d chosen for today. First things first, and that was finding Dave Fox. I brushed off my shorts and stopped to pick a few burrs caught in Rosie’s curly coat. I’d have to get her groomed next week, plus contact our housekeeping crew. The windows needed washing, the cobwebs swept away outside, the wood floors inside given an extra polish. Fall meant a busier sales season. At least I hoped so, given the latest developments.

  Fresh Grounds closed early on Sundays. Garrett and Mary Kate staffed the day with local kids and spent time with family; their one day off was usually for rest, but I wondered if Mary Kate might be baking the teddy bear cookies for tomorrow. Rosie half-ran along the sidewalk and across Kermit. I nearly bowled over an older couple, Isabel French’s parents.

  “I’m so sorry!”

  “No problem at all. Henry, dear, this way.”

  Suzanne French gently guided her husband, who was in the later stages of Alzheimer’s. They walked around us and down the sidewalk. I tied Rosie’s leash to the bike stand, hating to leave her outside in the shade, but I’d caught sight of Dave Fox’s trademark ponytail. He snapped a lid on his coffee cup at the back counter.

  “Dave! Do you have a minute?”

  I knew it was him by the ratty sneakers, jeans, and plaid cotton shirt that looked like he’d slept in it. He dodged out the side door before I had the chance to weave through the line of people. I followed, calling his name again. Dave rushed to a car waiting on the street. After climbing into the passenger side, he slammed the door and raised the cardboard cup in my direction with a grin. As the car sped away, I noted the woman behind the wheel.

  “She looks familiar—”

  “Hey, Sasha!” Devonna Walsh smiled when I turned her way. “Wasn’t that Holly Parker with Dave Fox? I hear she’s gonna open a business somewhere in the village. But I never seen Dave rush off without stopping for a jaw fest.”

  “I’d say he was avoiding me.”

  “He dropped off these, anyhow.” She pointed to a table near the back door.

  I snatched a copy of the flimsy newspaper from the stack. The prime story was a missing woman from the next county, whose car was found on the side of the local highway a week ago. Ads filled the two-page edition for the most part.

  “Not much about the factory in here.”

  “You mean the murder? I read about it in the Ann Arbor News,” she said. “Come on, sit with me. I wanna ask you a few questions.”

  I had some for her, too, so I didn’t protest. Devonna led the way to the painted wooden bench near the bike rack. Surrounded by petunias overflowing cement planters, the small space was tucked between the coffee shop and the hair salon. Rosie curled up behind my feet in a patch of cool grass. Devonna first swiped the wood with a wad of paper napkins, dumped them in the trash bin near the door, and then sat me down.

  “Tell me what happened,” she said in the same no-nonsense tone as Mary Walsh. “My brother wouldn’t. Said he didn’t know nothing, only that can’t be true.”

  “First tell me why you met Deon and Uncle Ross at the pub Thursday night.”

  “Sugar, a girl’s gotta eat. Your uncle offered me a burger, so I accepted.”

  “Okay, but why? Is it true he wanted to hire you as a sales rep? And how long were you at the pub? Long enough to see Carolyn Taylor with her friends?”

  Devonna glanced around. Her huge luminous brown eyes were flecked with amber, and her coffee-hued skin glowed. The bright turquoise dress and laced tall wedge sandals enhanced her long legs and generous curves. I knew she modeled as a side job along with her younger sister, Deanna. Devonna had graduated with Maddie.

  “Carolyn guzzled booze like she didn’t have a care in the world. Ha, when everyone knows her marriage is in the toilet.” She fluttered her thick eyelashes. “Not my biz-ness, though. Once my brother left with your uncle, I hung around with a friend. Carolyn sure acted like a fool.”

  “Did you see her leaving at any point?”

  “Yeah, once, with a hand over her mouth like she was gonna puke. If you party up, though, you gotta pay the consequences.”

  “But Carolyn was never gone for longer than five minutes, was she?” I’d been savoring a theory that the “pity party” attendees might not have noticed, being too drunk.

  “I didn’t pay much attention ’cept when they screamed out loud. They looked like they were having the time of their life.”

  “When did you leave?”

  “Midnight-ish.” Devonna inspected her long sparkling nails and then tapped them on the bench surface. “As for the sales rep job? Deon talked your uncle into offering me the chance. Didn’t tell me first or even ask. No offense, but I got plans. Didn’t your sister Maddie ever tell you?”

  I blinked. “She mentioned how you sell lingerie.”

  “On the side, you interested? Lots of fun for the ladies!” Devonna flashed a knowing wink. “Gotta keep your man interested. Women can be sweet as pie in the public eye, but naughty in the bedroom. Too bad Carolyn never took me up on it.”

  “Yeah, I heard about Will’s affair.”

  “No lingerie party would’ve stopped that bad boy,” she said with a laugh. “What I hear, he roamed under any skirt. Short, long, middlin’. Will Taylor was trouble, just like your ex, Mr. Flynn Hanson, the big shot lawyer. But it isn’t too late to invite some friends for a good time, Sasha. Or a catalog party. Lots more than lingerie, too. All kinds of—”

  “No thanks,” I said quickly. “I’m not interested in anyone right now.”

  “That’s no excuse! Girl, you gotta live a little!”

  Cheeks burning, I steered the conversation back to the real subject. Murder. “So you weren’t interested at all in being hired as a sales rep?”

  Devonna shrugged. “If it was the right time, but they sure didn’t think of that. Will Taylor wasn’t gonna be pushed out, especially
by a black woman. Don’t go pokin’ the bear.”

  “I don’t think Uncle Ross—”

  “Oh, he said right out he wanted Will to look bad. No way was I gonna be involved in that. Now that he’s dead, though, I’ll think about it. Unless your sister has something else in mind like we always wanted.” Devonna must have noticed my confused look. “What? Maddie never tell you our big plans?”

  I shook my head, confused. “Uh, no.” Here I thought my sister was happy working for Mom and Dad. “What did you two have in mind?”

  Devonna smiled. “We dreamed up an idea back in high school. She’s gotta good eye for unique things. All we need is a little shop to rent, only not here—too much competition! Ann Arbor neither, the rents are sky-high. We thought maybe Plymouth. Or even moving over to South Haven, or Holland. I haven’t checked yet into rents.”

  “Mads never said a word about running a boutique.”

  “Well, don’t you worry, Sasha. I won’t steal her from your shop yet!”

  If Devonna meant to reassure me, she did the opposite. I watched her saunter toward the street, hips swaying, definitely girly-girl and proud of it. I rubbed Rosie’s fur, thinking over all that Devonna had told me, and then scanned the Silver Hollow Herald once again. Except for a standard shot of our shop from the street, there was only a brief summary about the murder under Dave Fox’s byline. Resident Will Taylor found dead, a police investigation under way, but nothing else. There was far more speculation on the Internet.

  Maybe Dave knew his son was linked to Alan Grant, who was also a suspect. If he’d paid for a lawyer and bailed Pete out, that must have hurt his wallet. And now that we knew Pete’s history with drugs, we’d have to fire him. Uncle Ross would never trust him again. I let out a long breath, wondering how we could find someone to take his place, train them, and recover the days we’d lost.

  Good thing Maddie would be home tonight. We could talk about Mom and Dad, the factory and shop, plus the murder. I’d have to ask her about this boutique idea, too. Plymouth would be a great location, since they held an annual winter ice festival, plus Art in the Park in summer. The foot traffic was also bigger than here. South Haven and Holland were hours away. Was Mads serious about moving away from Silver Hollow?