by Sarah Fox
“Should we report it?” I asked once we were in the foyer again with the door closed.
“We should, but I’m betting it’s already a busy night out there for Ray and his deputies because of the storm.”
“Maybe we should wait until morning?”
“Are you okay with that?”
I leaned into his side. “Since you’re here, yes. If I were alone, I’d be seriously freaked out.”
Brett kissed the top of my head. “I’ll call Ray first thing in the morning. For now, let’s bring the head inside. There could be fingerprints on it, so we don’t want it to get ruined by the storm, or for whoever put it there to come back and take it away.”
I didn’t like the idea of bringing the gruesome prop into the house, but I agreed with Brett’s plan. With the help of the flashlight, I located a towel in the main-floor powder room and handed it to Brett. I let him use the towel to pick up the head and move it to the small table in the foyer.
Once that was done and the door was locked, we returned to bed. Pulling up the covers, I snuggled up close to Brett and he put his arm around me. Although I felt safe with him there next to me, the terrible surprise I’d found on the porch had left me unsettled. Knowing that Christine’s killer might have been lurking about my house in the middle of the night, leaving me a terrifying message, wasn’t the least bit comforting. Yet at the same time, it made me wonder if I was closer to fingering the murderer than I thought.
I tried to think of all the people I’d talked to over the last two days, the questions I’d asked, and the information I’d gathered, but despite my disturbing discovery, my brain was growing foggy with sleepiness. Promising myself that I’d think things over in the morning, I snuggled closer to Brett and allowed sleep to pull me into its embrace.
—
Brett called his uncle before the sun was up the next morning. Ray was just getting off duty from a busy night of storm-related incidents, but he promised to swing by my place before heading home for some sleep. With that arranged, Brett pulled on the change of clothes he kept at my place while I dressed in my usual outfit of jeans and a graphic tee.
Electricity had been restored while we slept, so we no longer had to rely on a flashlight, and the events of the night almost seemed like a bad dream until I spotted the fake severed head on the foyer table as I descended the stairs to the main floor.
Although Chloe—Brett’s tenant as well as his sister—would let Bentley out into their yard before she left for her teaching job in Port Angeles, Brett wanted to take the goldendoodle for a walk before he started work for the day, so I knew he wouldn’t want to linger too long at my place, but neither did I. I always liked to show up at The Flip Side no later than six o’clock.
Even so, we managed to enjoy a somewhat leisurely breakfast together, and I soaked in the happiness that his presence brought me. I was relieved that we’d cleared the air between us, and I had a feeling that our relationship was going to be even stronger now that we’d made it through our first major rough patch.
Ray arrived shortly after Brett and I had finished our breakfast, and I offered him a cup of coffee, which he declined. Not wasting any more time, I told Ray about my discovery of the prop in the middle of the night. While wearing gloves, he carefully placed the prop into an evidence bag and labeled it.
“More than one fake head like that has gone missing from the movie set,” I told him.
Ray nodded. “I heard about that. Someone’s been causing a lot of trouble for the production.”
“Do you think the murder and sabotage are connected?” Brett asked.
“I’m not sure yet, but it’s possible,” his uncle said.
“If the killer is the one who stole the props, then the head on the porch could have been meant as a message to Marley.”
“Or it could have been a mean prank,” I said, wishing that were the case, but doubting it even as I spoke.
From the concern in Brett’s eyes, I could tell he doubted that scenario, too.
“Either way, why would you be the target, Marley?” Ray asked.
“I’ve talked to a few people about the fire and Christine’s death,” I admitted. “But I didn’t think I’d done anything to put a target on my back.”
“But if you were talking to the killer and they thought you were getting into dangerous territory…” Brett said.
“That thought had crossed my mind, too, but I don’t know who that would be.”
Ray flipped open his notebook. “Can you give me a list of all the cast and crew members you’ve talked to since the fire?”
“I can try.” I thought for a moment. “There’s Nicola, Christine’s assistant, and Pearl, a makeup artist. Oh, and Pearl and Jeanie—a hairstylist—were there when Nicola was telling me about the missing props.” I took a few more seconds to sort through my memories. “And I talked to Del Harris for a couple of minutes the other night, after the generators had been tampered with. Something he said made me wonder if he and his son are the beneficiaries under Christine’s will.”
Ray finished writing something in his notebook. “We’re still looking into that. I understand Harris was once married to her, so it’s a possibility.”
I thought about mentioning Jamal and his phone call, but I held back, afraid that the young man might clam up if approached by the authorities. I was hoping there was a better way to get information out of him.
“And there’s Alyssa,” Brett added. “But I’m guessing she’s still in custody.”
“She is,” Ray confirmed. “And this doesn’t put her in the clear, since we don’t know that it was the killer who left the prop here.”
“Have you talked to the journalist, Max Fabel?” I asked. “Christine was his cousin.”
Ray snapped his notebook shut. “He got in touch on Monday and is assisting us in whatever way he can.”
I was glad to hear that. “Any idea what the story was that Christine was going to get Max to cover?”
“Story?” Brett said.
“I’ll fill you in later,” I promised him.
“Not as of yet,” Ray said.
“Oh. There’s something else.” I told him about the confrontation between Chase Lowman and Max. “Ivan and Chase’s stunt double broke it up. I don’t know if it’s significant at all, but since Chase also argued with Christine before she died, I figured I should mention it.”
“I appreciate that,” Ray said.
Brett and I walked him to the front door.
“How’s Alyssa doing?” I asked.
“She’s not happy about being in custody, of course, but she’s coping as best she can, I suppose.” Ray placed his hat on his head when we reached the foyer. “It would be best for you to stay away from the movie set, Marley. And leave the investigating to me and my deputies, please. If Alyssa Fairbairn is innocent and it was the killer who left the prop on your porch, you’ve got them worried. We don’t want them escalating their actions against you.”
I swallowed hard at that thought. Sensing my concern—and probably worried himself—Brett rested a hand on my shoulder. He left it there as we said goodbye to his uncle.
As I shut the door behind the sheriff, I realized I hadn’t assured him that I’d stay away from the movie production, and I was glad of that. It would be wise to heed his advice, but at the same time I was more determined than ever to identify the killer. The possibility that Christine’s murderer had threatened me got my hackles up. I’d have to be very careful about what I said and did from here on out, but I wasn’t about to give up.
A few minutes after Ray left, I gave Flapjack a quick cuddle, and Brett and I set off along the beach. The storm had all but passed and the rain had stopped. Gray clouds skittered across the sky and a blustery wind still blew through the trees, but it didn’t have nearly the force it had in the middle of the night. Still, no boats were out on the white-capped waves and I spotted only one other person out on the beach, at the far eastern end of the cove.
As Brett and I walked hand-in-hand along the beach toward town, I thought over all the conversations I’d had and everything I’d witnessed over the past couple of days.
“I need to get in touch with Max,” I said.
“The journalist?”
I nodded and filled him in on why Max had come to Wildwood Cove. Then I told him about Jamal’s phone call at the abandoned house the day before.
“So Jamal might be able to provide Alyssa with an alibi?” Brett said once I’d finished.
“It’s possible. But it seemed like whoever he was talking to was trying to dissuade him from telling anyone what he knows.”
“Maybe because that person is the real killer?”
“Again, it’s possible. We definitely need to find out who it was Jamal was talking to and how he knows Alyssa is innocent, but I’m afraid he might clam up if he’s approached by anyone he doesn’t know.”
“And Max knows him?”
“I’m not sure, but it’s possible since his cousin was married to Jamal’s father at one time. Max gave me his phone number and email address, so I’ll ask if he thinks he can get Jamal to open up to him. Aside from doing that, I’m not really sure where to go from here,” I said as we left the sand for the paved promenade. “We need to narrow down our list of suspects, but I’m not sure how to eliminate anyone other than Alyssa, if we even manage that.”
“How about we figure it out over dinner tonight?” Brett said.
That suggestion brought a smile to my face. “Sounds good to me. How about a home-cooked dinner? I’ve already eaten out a couple of times this week.”
“Sure. I’ll cook, but I think Chloe’s having some friends over at our place tonight.”
“My place is good. Maybe bring Bentley?”
“He’d love that.”
We drew to a stop outside The Flip Side.
“Promise me you’ll be careful?” Brett requested. “If you want to talk to anyone associated with the movie, I’d rather you not do it alone. Take me or someone else along with you. Ray was right. We don’t want the killer doing anything worse to you.”
“I promise.”
I pulled him in close for a kiss, and it took a while for us to part. Brett waited on the promenade until I was inside the pancake house, and I waved to him through the glass door. Once he was out of sight, I turned on the lights in the dining area and headed toward the kitchen, where Ivan and Tommy were already at work. Before reaching the kitchen door, I paused and looked around the restaurant, taking in all the details, from the exposed beams and the stone fireplace to the autumn decorations and the large windows that overlooked the ocean.
Not for the first time, there was a killer on the loose in Wildwood Cove, but standing there in the comfort and warmth of the pancake house, my remaining fear from the middle of the night all but trickled away, and I was almost able to forget that it was entirely possible that Christine’s killer had me on his or her radar.
Chapter 18
Despite the nighttime surprise on my front porch, my day had started out well when I woke up with Brett next to me, our troubles sorted out and the air between us clear. The day got even better when Ivan sat me down on a stool in The Flip Side’s kitchen and set the first of several samples in front of me to try. Each one of the half dozen dishes I sampled delighted my taste buds and left me wanting more. We were only looking for three special items to add to the menu for October, however, and it was up to me to narrow down the options.
It wasn’t easy to rule out any of the dishes, but the process gave me an excuse to have several bites of each, and eventually I determined that my three favorites were the pumpkin waffles, the apple pie crêpes, and the pumpkin pie crêpes. The waffles tasted incredible with maple syrup, and the apple pie crêpes had the perfect balance of apples and cinnamon. The pumpkin pie crêpes were my favorite of all. Topped with whipped cream, they tasted like heaven on a plate.
When Leigh arrived shortly before seven, she enthusiastically added her support to my choices, helping me finish off what remained of the samples, including those that hadn’t made the cut. As we cleaned the plates of the remaining food, I told the tale of the prop I’d discovered on my porch during the night.
“That’s freaky,” Tommy said as he pulled a batch of freshly baked maple pecan sticky rolls from one of the ovens.
Leigh shuddered. “I would have been terrified.”
“It gave me a good fright,” I admitted as I breathed in the aroma of the gooey rolls.
Ivan frowned at me. “Did you call the police?”
I eyed the rolls, tempted by them despite all that I’d just eaten. “Yes, and Ray Georgeson took the head away.”
“Didn’t a bunch of props get stolen the other day?” Tommy asked.
I forced myself to ignore the sticky rolls and focus on the conversation. “Three fake heads were taken, and someone tampered with the generators the other night so they couldn’t film as planned.”
“Apparently everyone’s on edge now, waiting to see what will go wrong next,” Leigh said. “My friend Caroline is working as an extra.”
“I don’t suppose she’s heard any rumors about who might be responsible?”
Leigh donned her red apron. “She hasn’t mentioned anything, but I could ask her.”
“That would be great. If the killer and the thief are one and the same—which seems highly possible after what happened last night—then any clues to who took the props could also lead to the murderer.”
Ivan stopped what he was doing, his knife hovering over a bunch of asparagus. “Asking questions could be dangerous.”
“Caroline doesn’t have to ask any questions,” I said. “I’m just wondering if she’s heard anything.”
Ivan’s dark eyes narrowed with suspicion. “But you’ll be asking questions. It’s what you do.”
He knew too well how I’d investigated previous murders. When I first arrived in Wildwood Cove last spring, I’d looked into the suspicious death of my grandmother’s cousin, and in the summer I’d had to do some sleuthing to clear my name after the murder of a local troublemaker.
“I’ll be careful,” I promised.
The chef wasn’t appeased. “Meddling with a killer is too dangerous.”
“Ivan’s right,” Leigh said. “You’ve been in danger in the past because of your investigations.”
That was true, although I wasn’t eager to admit it.
“I can’t sit back and do nothing,” I said, repeating my protest from the other day.
Ivan cut up the asparagus with swift chops. “Yes, you can.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but then thought better of it. As much as I wanted to voice my disagreement, I knew I wasn’t going to change Ivan’s opinion and I didn’t much like the thought of him getting annoyed with me. He was intimidating enough when in a good mood. Deciding to drop the conversation, I accompanied Leigh out to the front of the house and opened The Flip Side for the day’s business.
No hungry townsfolk appeared immediately, so I left Leigh in the dining area and retreated to the office to call Max. When I got in touch with him, I explained about Jamal’s phone conversation and my concerns regarding his willingness to share what he knew with a stranger.
“How well do you know him, if at all?” I asked to wrap up.
“I met him and his dad two or three times while Del and Chris were married.”
I connected dots in my head. “That’s why you hid behind the newspaper that day when Christine and Del were here at the same time as you.”
“I didn’t want Del to see me and draw attention to the fact that I was here. As for Jamal, I don’t know if he’ll open up to me, but I’ll give it a try and see.”
“Great. Please let me know how it works out.”
“Will do,” he said before hanging up.
I didn’t have much time to think about our conversation, as I was busy with administrative tasks and with helping Leigh out front with the breakfast rush. It was aro
und mid-morning, during a quieter spell, when I spotted Max coming into the restaurant.
I hurried over to greet him, eager to hear whatever news he might have. “How did things go?”
Max ran a hand over his windblown hair. “They haven’t yet. I found Jamal in town earlier, but he was busy at the time. He agreed to meet me here.”
“That’s a start, at least.”
Max settled in at a table to wait for Jamal, and I fetched him a cup of coffee. From across the restaurant, I noticed the redheaded production assistant come in and claim a table in the corner. I gladly let Leigh wait on him, not eager to be on the receiving end of any more of his smirks.
Ten minutes later Jamal arrived, his demeanor slightly wary as his gaze fell on the production assistant in the corner. He otherwise ignored Dennis, though, and quickly joined Max. I waited until the two men had exchanged greetings and Jamal had taken a seat. Then I refilled Max’s coffee cup and took down their orders.
Although I would have loved to eavesdrop on their conversation, I didn’t want to make Jamal any warier than he already was. I tried my best to appear as though I had no greater interest in their table than any other as I relayed their orders to the kitchen and delivered plates heaped with crêpes and pancakes to a group of four diners across the room. After refilling a few mugs around the restaurant, I paused by the cash counter, pretending to skim over the latest issue of the community newspaper as I surreptitiously spied on Max and Jamal.
As I watched, the younger man shook his head, glowering at Max. When the journalist said something more to him, Jamal shook his head again, more adamant this time. The conversation clearly wasn’t going well.
“I don’t know anything,” Jamal said in a raised voice.
He pushed back his chair and jumped to his feet, storming toward the door. I hurried to intercept him, concerned that our only good source of information was about to slip through our fingers.
“Jamal,” I said quickly as I stepped in front of him before he could reach the door.
His forehead furrowed as he glared at me. “What?”
“I overheard the phone conversation you had in the abandoned house yesterday.”
