I took a sip of my latte. It had gone cold, but I still welcomed the comforting mix of caffeine and milk. “I’ve got some of my crew working downstairs in the basement. They’ve got dry rot. Not my crew. The Derrys’ basement.”
“I got that.”
“And a few of us are working across the street at the Jorgensens’ house, fixing some wainscoting and building an orangery.” I pointed to the grand mansion across the way.
His eyebrows arched. “You guys are busy.”
“Yeah.” We really were. But now we had another murder to contend with and it was Scully, of all people. “We’ve got the Home and Garden Tour coming up in a few weeks, so everyone’s in a frenzy to get work done.”
He nodded and leaned his shoulder against a thick post. “Did you know Joe Scully?”
“Oh yeah.” I blew out a breath. No point in lying. “I knew him.”
“Sounds like you didn’t care for him.”
“I didn’t. I don’t know anyone who did. But I didn’t murder him, either.”
“What makes you think he was murdered?”
“Really, Chief?” I gave him a withering look. “This ain’t my first time at the rodeo, you know.”
I could see him biting back a grin. It was probably a good thing he didn’t actually crack a smile, given the current circumstances. Smiling would have been highly unprofessional and Eric Jensen was always professional. He played by the rules every time.
“I saw Scully,” I said, rubbing my arms to ward off the chill I still felt. “He had a chisel sticking out of his gut. It wasn’t a pretty sight.”
“No, it wasn’t.” Suddenly he reached out and helped me up from my chair, then simply folded me into a comforting hug.
I hadn’t even realized how badly I needed one. So I let myself relax for a minute, taking advantage of his strong arms and sense of . . . steadiness. He hugged me tightly, running his hands up and down my back. I felt completely safe.
Eric Jensen was one of the best-looking men I’d ever seen up close. When we first met—at another murder scene—I’d mentally started calling him Thor, because the guy was one of those big, rugged Viking types. Tall, with dark blond hair worn an inch too long, gorgeous blue eyes, ripped muscles, an adorable yet elusive smile. Wow. We all know that type, right?
The two of us hadn’t exactly clicked in the beginning, mainly because he had been so eager to accuse me of murder. But over the past year or so, we’d managed to become good friends. I liked him a lot, even when he was scowling at me. Which was at least half the time we saw each other.
I leaned back, finally, and frowned up at him. “Did you talk to Joan? Did she tell you how he got into her greenhouse?” Orangery, I corrected myself silently.
Eric took a wary step back. “Are you really asking me for details about the case?”
I gave him a slight smile. “Um, maybe?”
He just shook his head. “You don’t give up.”
“It’s a sickness, Chief.”
I returned to my wicker chair. He sat down in the chair next to mine and pulled out his notepad and pen. “When did you last see Mr. Scully?”
“Yesterday, late afternoon. He came over to the Jorgensens’ yard, where we’re installing the orangery.”
“You said that before. What is it?”
“Orangery,” I repeated. “It’s a fancy French name for a greenhouse. Except it’s attached to the house, so it’s a little different. Some people call it a solarium or a conservatory.”
“Say it again,” he said, so I repeated the word.
He sounded it out. “Oh-ron-jeh-ri.”
“Very good,” I said with a smile. “Think of the word orange and add a French accent.”
He rolled his eyes at the very thought. “I might just stick with greenhouse.”
“Works for me.”
“So, how did the conversation go between Mr. Scully and you late yesterday afternoon?”
“Not well.” I described the scene, including the dialogue among Scully; Petsy Jorgensen; her husband; their daughter, Lindsey; me and Wade; and Amanda. I also told him what I’d seen at the Derry home yesterday, when Joan and Mr. Derry put on a very public display of kicking Scully out of their house.
And then I mentioned Jane’s phone call in which she told me that Scully had shown up at her inn. I added that the guy had disappeared by the time I arrived. Eric had plenty of questions about that and I told him what I knew, but also suggested that he pay Jane a visit later for more answers.
“I’ll do that.” After writing everything down, Eric studied the notes. “Who’s Amanda?”
“I’ll introduce you,” I said, suddenly glad that I’d suggested to Amanda that she go get started at the Jorgensens’. I wasn’t sure how she would feel about being interrogated by the police so soon after seeing a dead guy. “She just moved here recently,” I added. “She’s a carpenter. She’s the one who’s working with me on the Jorgensens’ wainscoting.”
“I’d like to talk to her,” he said, slipping his notepad into his pocket. “Along with the rest of your crew. And the neighbors, too. Including the Jorgensens. And Jane.”
“Right. Just let me know when you want to see my people.”
“Will do.”
And I would do my best to get to them before Eric could, if only to warn them that Scully was dead and they might need an alibi. The thought depressed me.
I took another sip of my cold latte, then said, “You should probably talk to some of the other contractors around town. Scully was a thorn in all of our sides, sometimes to the point of endangering an entire project or an important timeline. And everyone knew he could be bribed. I’m just saying, someone out there could’ve taken it really hard.”
“But not you.”
I shook my head. “Not me. He annoyed the heck out of me and I tried really hard to get him fired a few times. But I don’t generally resort to murder.”
“I’m grateful for that,” he said, his eyes gleaming with humor.
Something else occurred to me. “While we’re on the subject of people who hated Scully: you might also want to talk to the homeowners and decorators who had to deal with him.”
“That sounds like it might be half the town.”
“Probably. And it gets worse every year with the Home and Garden Tour. Everyone freaks out about this time, trying to prep their homes. They do everything from painting rooms to actual home renovations, and naturally it all has to be done immediately. And through it all, we’ve had to deal with Scully’s obnoxious attitude. Someone out there might’ve blown a gasket, if you know what I mean.”
He scratched his head. “Guess that prize money brings out the worst in people.”
“It seems to.”
“Is that why you do it?”
I shrugged. “I like the competition. The money goes to the homeowner, so that’s not an issue for me. I’m more excited about the magazine cover.”
“That makes sense.”
We sat in silence for a moment; then I asked, “Have you met Petsy Jorgensen yet?”
“No.” He knew me pretty well and easily surmised that I had something to say. “Tell me about her.”
I took a deep breath. “She’s rude and condescending. Manipulative. Basically, she’s awful. And also, she’s very pretty in a cold, hard way.”
“So”—he nodded sagely—“not your favorite person, I take it.”
“She’s mean to her own daughter, Eric. And by the way, the daughter is a real sweetheart. So that’s just weird to me.”
“Sounds like she didn’t like Joe Scully much, either.”
“As much as I don’t like her, I can’t really hold that against her, since nobody liked him. But Petsy Jorgensen hates anything that might get in the way of her winning the grand prize this year. And Scully was getting in the way.”<
br />
“Think she hated him enough to kill him?”
I started to speak, then clamped my mouth shut. I’d been accused of murder myself more than once, so I didn’t like the idea of accusing someone else. But this was Petsy we were talking about. I knew she wouldn’t hesitate to throw me under the bus if the situation were reversed. “Yeah, she probably hated him that much. But I doubt she did anything about it.”
“Why?”
“She’s very finicky. You know the type. She wouldn’t want to get her St. John suit mussed.
“Meow,” I added under my breath.
He laughed. “Okay, thanks for your input.”
Tommy Gallagher, assistant police chief and my old high school boyfriend—and also pretty adorable, though not quite as big and rugged as the chief—walked up the front steps. “Hi, Shannon. How’s it going?”
“It’s going okay, all things considered.” Tommy and I were still good friends, despite the fact that he was married to my worst enemy, Whitney Reid Gallagher. It was yet another example of love being blind. And deaf and dumb in this case.
“Hey, Chief,” Tommy said. “Leo’s here.”
Our town wasn’t that big, but we had recently acquired our very own CSI unit. It consisted of only one guy, Leo Stringer, but you had to start somewhere. I supposed it wasn’t exactly a happy sign when a town the size of ours needed a permanent crime-scene investigator, but we’d have to take our progress wherever we could get it.
“Thanks, Tommy,” Eric said. “I’ll join him around back in just a minute.”
“I’ll tell him.” He winked at me, then jogged down the stairs and up the sidewalk.
“I’d better get back there,” Eric said, standing. “Do me a favor and keep our conversation to yourself.”
“Of course,” I said. Did he think I would confide in Petsy? I would never do that. On the other hand, I might’ve said something to Wade, so maybe the request was a good thing.
Before I left the porch, I checked my phone for messages and found a text from Wade.
Hey, saw you talking to Eric. Heard about Scully. Unreal.
I texted back, Yeah. Tell the guys Eric wants to talk to all of you.
Wade replied, How’d he die?
I stared at my phone. There was no way I could tell him in a text. Instead, I typed, We’ll talk later.
Got it, he replied. And I knew he understood.
As I crossed the street to join Amanda, I thought about the ramifications of Scully’s death. It meant that we would have to be assigned another building inspector. Because as much as they were a pain in our collective butt, we still had to get our work inspected and have an official sign-off after certain jobs. But at least the next guy wouldn’t be so hard-pressed to get in our faces and slow us down. I hoped.
I felt a moment of remorse for being so honest about my feelings about Joe Scully. And for thinking about my own issues with our work getting approved on time, rather than thinking of Scully’s family and the grief they must be feeling right now. But in all fairness, Joe hadn’t exactly gone out of his way to endear himself to anyone, let alone me.
I sighed, and as I opened the Jorgensens’ front door, I made a vow right then and there to do something to help Scully’s family. But that would have to wait for another day.
After walking into the foyer, I stopped in my tracks. Petsy, Matthew, and Lindsey Jorgensen were all gathered under the archway leading to the dining room, talking to Amanda. My footsteps on the marble floor caused them all to turn around.
“Hello,” I said, a little suspicious of them standing there, observing my carpenter at work. Were they confronting her? What was going on here?
“You were over there talking to the police,” Petsy said. It sounded more like an accusation than a statement of fact, but I figured that was just her way of making conversation.
“Yes. I asked Amanda to call them when I found Joe Scully’s body.”
“His . . . body?” Lindsey’s face turned pale and I thought she might faint. “But . . . You mean that man who was here yesterday? He’s dead?”
“Yes, Lindsey,” her mother said impatiently. “That’s what she’s saying. The man is dead. Maybe if you didn’t sleep in so late, you’d know what was going on around the neighborhood.”
Lindsey took several deep breaths, clearly upset.
“Are you all right?” I asked, taking a step toward her.
“I’ll be fine,” she said, waving me off. “It’s just such a shock. I didn’t realize . . . I mean, I just came downstairs a few minutes ago, so I guess I missed the initial uproar.”
“It’s still going on,” I said, shooting a quick glance back at the front door, knowing Eric Jensen could show up at any moment.
“It’s a sad day for Cranberry Circle,” Matthew murmured.
“Yes, it is,” I said. “Anyway, after talking to the police chief, I thought I’d better get to work.” I gave them all a small smile and started to enter the dining room.
“Wait, Shannon,” Lindsey said. “You said you found the body. That must’ve been a terrible shock for you.”
“Actually Joan Derry found the body, but I was right there after her. And yes, it was a shock.” It was something I would never get used to.
“Do you mind if I ask where you found him?”
I was about to spill what I knew when I remembered Chief Jensen’s warning. How much was it safe to tell them? But since Joan had seen Joe Scully’s body, too, chances were good that the whole neighborhood would find out soon enough.
“He died in the Derrys’ orangery,” I said bluntly. “I have no idea how it happened. But naturally Joan’s very upset.”
“Naturally,” Petsy muttered, staring up at the ceiling.
I studied her for a moment. What did she mean by that comment? I wondered. Did she think I was lying? Or did she not think Joan had a right to be upset? Did she not trust her neighbor? Maybe she thought Joan had had something to do with Scully’s death. Or maybe she was just being her usual caustic self.
“But that’s terrible,” Lindsey said, pressing her hands to her cheeks. “Poor Joan. I’ll go over there later and bring her some cookies and a bottle of wine.”
“That’s very thoughtful, honey,” Matthew said. Slinging one arm around Lindsey’s shoulders, he gave her an affectionate squeeze.
Because of the somber circumstances, I was trying not to grin. But seriously? Cookies and wine sounded like an outstanding combination that would really cheer me up if I was feeling down. Although maybe not this early in the morning.
“Shannon,” Lindsey said, “can you tell us how he died? Was it a heart attack?”
“The police chief asked me not to talk about it, but since the news will be all over town within the hour, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to mention that he was most probably murdered.”
“Oh my God!” she cried. “There’s a murderer on the loose?”
“That settles it,” Matthew said. “I don’t want either of you walking around by yourselves until this crime is solved.”
Petsy huffed. “I’m always watchful wherever I go, so I’ll be perfectly safe. But this is outrageous. How dare anyone murder someone on Cranberry Circle?”
I glanced inside the dining room and caught Amanda’s bemused yet strangely buoyant expression. Was it because she’d had the attention of the whole family for a few minutes? Had they been having a pleasant conversation or were they questioning her progress? Judging by her smile, it must’ve been pleasant. I would have to remember to ask Amanda what they’d been chatting about before I interrupted the conversation with my talk of murder.
“Well, we’d better let you get to work,” Matthew said.
“Yes, by all means,” Petsy said forcefully, then added under her breath, “Their progress is slow enough without us adding to the problem.”
I squeezed my eyes shut to keep them from rolling to the back of my brain. A moment later, I opened them to see that the Jorgensens had already dispersed to other parts of the house, so I walked into the dining room. “You doing okay?”
“I guess so,” Amanda said. “I’ve never seen a murder victim before.”
“It’s not something you get used to.”
“No, I wouldn’t think so,” she murmured.
I glanced toward the archway to make sure the Jorgensens weren’t nearby. “Were they bothering you?”
“Oh no, they were just asking questions, trying to get an idea of what I’m doing.” She grinned. “I explained it but I’m not sure they really wanted that much detail.”
I chuckled. “Sometimes going heavily into the technical aspects is the best way to keep people from asking more questions.”
“Definitely. Anyway, Matthew and Lindsey are really nice. But then Petsy joined them and, well, I’m glad you came along when you did.”
I sighed and whispered, “She’s just a miserable human being.”
It was Amanda’s turn to check the doorway; then she leaned closer. “She told Lindsey to go brush her teeth and comb her hair. I think she just says stuff like that to goad people, because Lindsey looked impeccable.”
I agreed. “She looked like she was dressed for a society luncheon.”
Amanda shook her head in disgust. “That woman.”
“So, did they ask you anything about Scully’s death?” I asked.
“Not really. Petsy said she saw you talking to the police chief, so she knew something was going on. It was hard to keep my mouth shut, but I didn’t want to say anything.”
“Probably a good idea,” I said.
She sighed. “Oh well, I’d better get to work or I’ll never finish this project.”
“Amanda? Shannon?”
We both turned to see Matthew standing at the doorway. Had he heard us talking about his wife? I wondered. We’d been whispering, so I didn’t think so.
“Yes?” Amanda said.
“I was hoping you’d take a minute to look at the paneling on the wall of the staircase. It’s not as bad as some of the panels in here, but the color seems to be fading. Is that unusual?”
Eaves of Destruction Page 8
