Then There Were Nun

by Dakota Cassidy

  The tone in her voice suggested my statement bordered on preposterous, almost definitely because he had something to do with law enforcement at one point or another and they’d worked together.

  But my statement was true. So I reaffirmed without hesitation. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. So, maybe your friend Higgs murdered my landlord?”

  After I said those words, a small cluster of noise broke out from the officers on the scene. Higgs gave me the evil eye—a very attractive evil eye, if you must know, with long, thick lashes and a color reminiscent of dark chocolate. Dove dark chocolate, by the way—my weakness.

  And who could blame him? I’d just told the detective this dark-haired devil she appeared quite fond of could be one of her suspects in a murder investigation.

  Clearly, he’d been connected to the police. I’d lay odds, judging by the look of him, all brawny and fit, he hadn’t worked in the mailroom.

  Detective Primrose gasped, her eyes going wide behind her round glasses at my words, taking a step back while all the officers and some stragglers along the sidewalk came to eavesdrop.

  Some of the officers were quite vocal about my statement (and it was a rather disgruntled type of vocal. Definitely not a supportive one), but Higgs, after his initial reaction, grinned—wide and amused.

  And it was a nice grin, as warm as the day, as bright as the sun, leaving two deep grooves on either side of his lips.

  He cupped his mouth with both hands, revealing a small tattoo on the inside of his wrist I couldn’t quite make out. “Guys, simmer down. It’s okay,” he yelled to the other officers then turned back to us. “She’s right. I did argue with Fergus. He just couldn’t seem to accept the concept that I run a homeless shelter, and there inevitably will be homeless people lining up along the sidewalk for a place to sleep for the night. He called it loitering and bad for business. I disagreed. And it was, in fact, heated. Jay came and intervened.”

  Detective Primrose appeared to know who this Jay was, and now she also knew I was telling the truth.

  I fought the temptation to stick my tongue out at all of them in childish fashion as if to say, “See?”

  All the police officers’ faces went from angry to understanding in an instant as they clapped this large man on the back and returned to keeping the crowd gathering in the street at bay.

  “Now,” he said with a great deal of authority when he looked to the detective with sharp eyes. “Had Miss Lavender cared to ask, she would have known that Fergus McDuff had real trouble renting this store out or, for that matter, keeping a tenant. Not only is it a disaster in there, it’s also considered a dicey area because of the shelter—even though my lot of regs are pussycats and haven’t been given so much as a ticket for loitering.

  “Fergus has seen plenty of people come and go here, and I guess he was worried you ladies would do the same once you found out what you’d gotten yourselves into. He behaved as though he wanted me to hide my bunch somewhere you wouldn’t see them in order to keep you here. I simply came to tell him that wasn’t going to happen. Jay did what he always does when it comes to Fergus—kept me from serving him a knuckle sandwich.”

  Was there egg on my face? Metaphorically, I’m certain there was. He ran a homeless shelter, for the love of rice and cheese. Boy, did I feel like a chump.

  But then a little voice inside my head (StevieStevieStevie) reminded me killers could be nice guys and run homeless shelters, too. She said sometimes the least suspicious suspect is the one you should keep your eye on.

  So I made another mental note to keep my eye squarely on him because certainly, a man friendly with a detective was the least likely suspect, right? Yet, I found myself silently commending him for his community service—for protecting people who couldn’t protect themselves. We had that much in common.

  But I didn’t have to like it.

  Detective Primrose clucked her tongue, her eyes squinting against the sun’s new position in the sky. “Leave it to Jay to keep your head planted on those big shoulders.”

  “Couldn’t run the shelter without him,” Higgs remarked with a deep tone of sincerity.

  Detective Primrose turned to me, cupping her chin. “Seems like a reasonable explanation, don’t you agree, Miss Lavender?”

  But I, taught to be skeptical by my mentor Stevie, wasn’t going to concede his innocence so easily.

  I toed a pothole in the sidewalk and shrugged before I said, “Reasonable? Yes. True? Only time will tell.”

  Higgs merely smiled brighter, rocking back on his heels as he hooked his fingers into the pockets of his jeans, relaxed and easy. “I knew I should have brought a casserole.”

  I frowned, itching my forehead, now damp with a light sweat. “A what?”

  “A casserole,” he repeated slowly. “It breaks the ice when your neighbor thinks you’re a murderer.”

  Detective Primrose covered her mouth with the back of her hand and snorted before straightening and giving him an overexaggerated stern look I was convinced was for my benefit.

  She waved a jovial hand at him and grinned. “Oh, posh. You bugger off, Higgs. She’s merely doing her civic duty. She doesn’t know you from a hole in the wall.”

  He nodded at Detective Primrose, his long-ish hair falling over his forehead. “You’re right. I was just kidding. My sense of humor sometimes gets the best of me, and I can’t resist a good poke. My apologies, Miss Lavender. Let’s start again, yes?” He stuck out a hand with shortly clipped nails and offered it to me. “I’m Cross Higglesworth—Higgs, because it’s just a heck of a lot easier. I run the homeless shelter two doors down from your shop. Pleasure to meet you.”

  Cross…

  I wondered why he didn’t go by his first name. Maybe he hated it as much as I hated mine.

  I’m named after my maternal grandmother, Beatrix, who, as I said, was British and came from Cardiff. My mother wanted to name me after her, but my dad wasn’t crazy about the name Beatrix. He claimed it sounded too old for someone so tiny. So they’d compromised with Trixie. Which, growing up, hadn’t been easy, either—you can believe that’s the truth.

  Anyway, as Cross Higglesworth smiled down at me quite pleasantly, and the scent of his cologne threaded through my nostrils (also not unpleasant), I decided it was best to keep things distant but friendly. I mean, he was friends with a detective from the Portland PD and all the officers behaved as though they knew him. Odds were, I was safe-ish in this window of time.

  Sticking out my hand, I finally took his and, for a brief moment, when our fingers connected, we both paused.

  And I don’t know why…

  But I was the first to withdraw, jamming my digits into the pocket of my jeans, my cheeks burning hot for no darn reason at all. “You already know my name, but good to meet you, too, Mr. Higglesworth.”

  “Just call me Higgs. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other once you settle in. No need for formalities.”

  I fought a shiver, but I’m not sure what I was shivering about. It was easily eighty degrees, so it wasn’t the warm weather. Maybe it was the fact that I’d be seeing him around the neighborhood and he could be the one responsible for Fergus’s death. That left me feeling uncomfortable, to say the least, but I couldn’t let him see that. Never show your cards, Stevie had said.

  Rocking back on my heels, I peered at him tentatively. “Then Higgs it is.”

  He nodded before turning back to Detective Primrose. “Need anything else from me, Tansy?”

  She winked and smiled, tucking her pen back into her blazer pocket. “Not at the moment. I think all’s well, Higgs. But expect to see my gorgeous face before I head back to the precinct.”

  I held up a finger. “Hold on a minute. You’re just going to take him at his word? You’re not going to thoroughly question him?”

  Detective Primrose never missed a beat as she began to head toward her vehicle. “Not with you present, Miss Lavender. That’s not how it works.”

  “But shouldn�
��t you be putting him in cuffs and taking him downtown for questioning?”

  She stopped midway to her car and turned to look at me, her blonde hair ruffling in the warm breeze, her eyes amused. “Have you been watching a bit of Law & Order?”

  What if I had?

  “Why do you want to know?” Gosh, I felt naked—like she’d been peering through the window of the motel room while I binged on Netflix and Ice T.

  “Because that’s usually what people ask when they watch too many copper shows, but it doesn’t work that way. I have to have probable cause to bring him and his cheekiness down to the station.”

  “But I gave you probable cause. He fought with Fergus. Isn’t it probable he could have killed him, too? They were pretty angry.”

  “From what I’m gathering, it appears everyone had a row with Mr. McDuff. I need a stronger probable cause than a heated argument. For instance, did you hear what they said to one another?”

  Okay. No. I didn’t hear what they’d said. “No…” I answered rather sheepishly.

  “Precisely. You didn’t hear death threats or even threats of bodily harm. Listen, Miss Lavender, I promise you, I’ll question Mr. Higglesworth—all within the law, when I’m done talking to a few other people.”

  Now I was suspicious of the detective’s relationship with him. “Was he a police officer?”

  Detective Primrose paused again and stared at me, her open, pleasant face going dark for only a moment. “I’ll let Mr. Higglesworth tell you. Until then, please let me do my job.”

  With that, she turned on her heel, waving to her partner, a Detective Ramsey, to signal they should take their leave.

  “But wait!” I called to her, blocking the glare of the sun with my hand cupped over my eyes. “What about the store? We’re staying in a motel, but our time there’s limited and soon we’ll have nowhere to go. Plus, we have things to unpack.”

  That sounded so petty, in light of the fact that a dead man was, well…dead, right on the floor.

  Her lips went thin as she popped open the drivers-side door of the car. “That will have to wait, Miss Lavender. Your store’s a crime scene now. Until this is cleared up, and forensics has done its job, it’s a no-go.” Then she smiled, bright and cheerful. “But welcome to Cobbler Cove. Pleased as rum punch to have you.”

  My shoulders sagged in defeat. I, in no way, wanted to take away from Fergus’s horrible death, but for the love of popsicles, we couldn’t afford to delay opening any more than necessary, and there was still so much to do.

  “You could always stay at the shelter. I have a couple of beds open for tonight, what with the weather forecast saying it’s going to be warm the next few days,” Higgs commented from behind me.

  My spine went stiff as I turned to face him. “No thank you.”

  He chuckled, warm and husky. “What if I promise not to murder you?”

  Okay. He wasn’t going to let this go, and to be fair, I probably wouldn’t let it go if someone called me a murderer, either. But still…

  “Do murderers always keep their promises?”

  “All the murderers I know do.”

  I almost laughed, but seeing Coop, the worry on her face clear, I refrained.

  “Trixie?” Clearly done with the questions from one of the other police officers, Coop loped across the sidewalk to stand next to me, her eyes thoroughly scanning Higgs from head to toe as her nostrils flared.

  Coop was scenting him and his emotions—or something like that. I didn’t question this odd habit of hers.

  Instead, I let her sniff.

  Her hand went to my shoulder in protective mode as she loomed behind me. “Everything all right?”

  Higgs didn’t let me answer. Instead, he thrust his hand at Coop and said, “Cross Higglesworth, your neighbor from just down the block. I own Peach Street Shelter, or as some jokingly call it, The Guy-MCA because it’s for men only. You are?”

  The Guy-MCA? Somebody had a sense of humor.

  Coop rolled her tongue in her cheek and lifted her chin, her green eyes glittering as she shook his hand. “Cooper O’Shea. But everyone calls me Coop, Cross Higglesworth.”

  “Everyone calls him Higgs,” I mentioned as I sucked in my cheeks, and didn’t even bother to remind my demon she didn’t have to use his full name. Suddenly, I was very tired. At this very moment, I didn’t have it in me to correct her.

  But Coop and her odd greeting didn’t appear to faze him at all. “Yep. Your friend’s right. Just call me Higgs. Nice to meet you.” Then he turned to me, his dark eyes twinkling with amusement. “Now, if you’re done accusing me of murder for today, Miss Lavender, I’m going to go back to work,” he teased. And it wasn’t at all with a malicious tone. Not even a hint.

  “You accused him of murder?” Coop asked, wide-eyed, tucking her hair behind her ears.

  Higgs smiled. “She sure as heck did. But it’s okay. It’s not exactly how I’d planned the perfect meet and greet with my new neighbors, but I’ve been accused of worse.”

  Worse than murder? What was worse than murder?

  I wrinkled my nose and fought making a face at him. “I didn’t accuse him of murder, Coop. I just mentioned the argument he had with Fergus to the detective—the very heated argument,” I found myself replying defensively.

  “Potato-potahtoe,” he joked amicably. “And now, I really do have to go. The next time we meet, I hope it’ll be under better circumstances.” Then Higgs threw a hand up and sauntered off down the sidewalk, his strong legs eating up the pavement as he turned into the space two doors down and disappeared.

  “He thinks you’re pretty,” Coop commented in that dry way she had of observing everything with a black-and-white lens.

  I fought my surprise and the flush of my cheeks. Which was silly. Why the heck was I blushing? Who wanted a murder suspect to find them attractive?

  “Just my luck,” I mumbled.

  Her brows knitted together. “Luck? Is this another metaphor—or maybe it’s an analogy. I can’t get those straight. So please explain.”

  I walked toward the door of the shop and leaned back against the brick façade, under the shade of the ratty awning needing replacing, and sighed.

  “Lucky as in, the first man I meet since leaving the convent who thinks I’m pretty could be the man responsible for killing Fergus.”

  “Do you want to meet a man, Trixie?” she asked, leaning back next to me and putting her hands behind her.

  That made me pause. I hadn’t really given meeting men much thought. I was too busy trying to keep Coop from killing anything that moved and fighting off the evil that had lodged itself inside me.

  I forget sometimes that I’m free to date if I so choose, now that I’m no longer a nun. But I haven’t been on a date since I was a teenager in high school, and to be quite frank, I don’t remember much about that time in my life because of my addictions. However, I’d been a nun for thirteen years, the idea of a relationship with anyone other than the man upstairs would take some getting used to. The thought made my stomach feel topsy-turvy.

  But I couldn’t think about dating now anyway. There was a dead man in our store. The second one in a matter of months. We were definitely a pox upon our landlords.

  “Trixie?”

  “No. I don’t think I want to meet a man, Coop. Not right now, anyway. I want to fix this dump up and start earning a living. That’s what I want. We need to make some money—and soon. That flea-infested motel is ridiculously expensive for the kind of accommodations they provide. We’ll only last so long before we run out of cash and have to dip into what we planned to use for Inkerbelle’s inventory.”

  “But you can’t do that until the police clear the store, right?” asked Knuckles, obviously done being questioned, too, his serene face red from the sun as he approached us.

  I gave him a look of genuine apology. I liked this big, burly man with his tattoos and piercings. He had kind eyes. “It seems so, Knuckles. I’m sorry, but I think for now, we’
re in a hiring freeze.”

  I hated that I was going to have to send him away, because his work was brilliant, but who knew how long this investigation could take on top of all the renovations? Tattoo shops were everywhere in Portland. He’d be snatched up in no time flat, and we’d be sadder for the snatching.

  “That’s okay. I can wait. So can my clients,” he said, pulling out a camouflage handkerchief from the back pocket of his jeans and tying it around his head.

  “You have clients?” Boy, could we use some of those. The way things were going for us as of late, we‘d probably be better off putting a chair outside and tattooing in the middle of the street.

  “Yep. Just been lookin’ for the right place to bring ’em.”

  I almost laughed out loud as I thumbed over my shoulder at the store. “And you thought here—this dump—was the right place?”

  His nod was solemn when he shrugged his wide shoulders. “Yep. Feels right. Can’t say why. Just does. Somethin’ told me to stop here today. So I did. I always go where the old gut takes me. It’s never been wrong before.” He lifted his eyes upward at the brick needing a power wash and grunted again. “Doesn’t look like much, I suppose, but she’s a pretty girl who doesn’t know she’s pretty yet, that’s all. We can fix her up when the police clear out. You’ll see.”

  His words held such conviction, they made me want to believe.

  I peered up at him, watching the sun glint off his piercings, unsure what to think, but my heart warmed to him for his kind words—they made me think of that word “community” and what Stevie had impressed upon us.

  Still, I sighed. “It could be a while before we’re able to set up shop, let alone take in clients, Knuckles.”

  “That’s okay, too,” he responded, crossing his burly arms over his wide chest and leaning back against the building on the other side of me—almost as if in solidarity.

  And there the three of us stood while police came in and out of the store, strewing yellow crime scene tape everywhere, and other officers held back the crowd of busybodies as the sun shined and the sounds of Cobbler Cove swirled about us.