by J. C. Kenney
“I’m sorry. I’m sure we’ll catch the killer soon.”
Renee was a good person, a kind person, and didn’t need the additional stress my situation was putting on her shoulders. The sooner the murderer was behind bars, the better. For all of us.
I gave her a hug and went across the hall to the Sock Shoppe, a store that sold practically every style of sock under the sun. If you wanted knee-high stockings with rainbow horizontal stripes, the Sock Shoppe had you covered. More of a fan of white anklets made from recycled materials? They had those, too.
It didn’t stop there. The store also carried caps and scarves featuring the colors and logos of college and professional teams like the Indiana Pacers and the Chicago Cubs. It even carried a few items decorated with the Indy 500 logo. Despite my less-than-ideal situation, it was a fun store to visit.
A display filled with pet-themed socks caught my attention, especially an adorable pair of fuzzy, sky-blue socks with cat-paw prints. After promising myself I could come back to get them later, I checked with the manager, a guy named Mike Crump, to see if there had been any reports of unusual activity the previous day. He said he already told the police everything he knew. When he asked why I was asking, I told him that since I lived upstairs, I was trying to help the police.
That was me—Allie Cobb, selfless public servant. Good Lord, at times it seemed like I could I weave a tale of fiction as creatively as my authors.
Fortunately, Mike and I didn’t know each other beyond friendly waves going into and out of the building. I was counting on that lack of familiarity to keep him from asking any more questions. He was a nice enough guy, but I had places to be and didn’t want to get drawn into a conversation that might take me who knew how long to end.
With no surveillance cameras in the store and no more information to be gleaned, I thanked him for his time and promised I’d be back later for the cat socks.
My next stop had me as jumpy as a grasshopper halfway there. I was headed for First National Bank.
Lori Cannon’s place of employment.
I was a customer of the bank and visited once a week to make deposits, to transfer funds, things like that. I could have done my banking from the comfort of my couch, but going to the bank was another way to get fresh air and exercise. It was also a good way make contact with people in town. Like Lori.
My athletic shoes squeaked on the polished marble floor as I walked toward Lori’s teller station. I thanked the karma gods there were no other customers to eavesdrop on our conversation. Assuming she would talk to me.
“Hi, Allie. Welcome to First National Bank. How can I help you today?” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“Just need to make a withdrawal.” I scribbled out the information on a bank slip. “I’m so sorry about Georgie. How are you doing?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Still in shock. Brittany keeps asking when her daddy’s coming home.” Her eyes got watery, and she sucked in a long breath.
I recalled Luke pointing out Brittany during last year’s Fall Festival. She was an adorable little ginger with freckles just like her mother. Georgie may have been a louse, but no child should have to live through the nightmare of learning her father had been murdered.
“Would you like to talk about it? Over lunch, maybe?” Part of me was disgusted at my manipulative behavior. The other part reminded me that a man was dead and Lori had a lot to gain from his demise.
I couldn’t remember if Lori had an interest in drama. Maybe she was putting on a show. Maybe she was an innocent victim of this horrible crime. It didn’t matter. She had information. I needed information. End of story.
“That’d be nice. My break is at one.”
“I’ll meet you at the Brown County Diner at five after.”
Chapter Twelve
How did one tell a woman she was a prime suspect in her boyfriend’s murder without getting a bowl of steaming vegetable soup thrown in one’s face? As Lori sat across from me, I pondered that issue, mindful that my time to question her was running short.
“Thanks again for meeting with me. I don’t think I’d be able to function if I was in your position.” I took a sip of my iced tea, hoping my open-ended statement would get her talking.
“Yeah, well, I guess I’m not surprised. Dad always told me Georgie was no good, that he’d come to a bad end.” She twirled her spoon around in her soup. “I guess he was right.”
“This isn’t your fault. Someone did this to him.”
“I know, but you know how Georgie was. He promised me he was going to change. That he was going to get me a ring and we’d finally get married. A pipe dream, I know, but I loved him, and I thought I could change him. God knows I tried.”
Angela brought us our main courses, a Cobb salad for me, a chicken sandwich for Lori. She placed a hand on Lori’s shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. Lori looked at her and simply nodded. Sometimes, words weren’t necessary.
While I made steady progress on my salad, Lori plowed through her sandwich like she hadn’t seen a meal in days. It made me wonder whether grieving people lost their appetites or turned to food for comfort in such a traumatic time.
Or whether her grief was an act.
“Are you and Brittany going to be okay? Over the long run, I mean.”
“No worries on that end.” She barked out a laugh that had more venom than mirth in it. “Sorry, Allie. It’s not you. It’s practically everyone else in town.”
“What do you mean?” I was pretty sure I knew what she meant, but this was no time for guesswork. I might not get another crack at her in such a trusting mood.
She leaned toward me. “Georgie had a life insurance policy. A big one. It was worth a million dollars.”
I let out a low whistle. Rumors confirmed.
“I didn’t know anything about it until yesterday when I got a call from the city’s HR department. They told me it was taken out the week after he started working at the Parks Department. I still haven’t seen the policy. And now people are saying I killed him for the money. Why would I do that?”
Why, indeed. “You know how some people can be. I love Rushing Creek but could totally do without all of the gossip.”
With one suspicion confirmed, it was time to change tactics.
“Do you know of anyone who would have wanted to hurt Georgie? Or if he was in any kind of trouble?”
Lori stared out the window, tracing a circle on the tabletop with her index finger as she did so.
“Dad told me you were playing private eye again. He said you should leave crime investigation to the professionals.”
“Well, I’m a believer that crime doesn’t pay.” I kept my voice light, hoping some levity would bring forth whatever she was holding onto.
“Oh, yeah. The Kickboxing Crusader.” She mimicked a karate chop at me and laughed. “No offense, but that nickname is pretty dumb.”
“I’m not a fan of it either, but Sloane loves it, so I’m stuck with it.” I winked. “Don’t tell her I said that.”
“I’m glad you were able to help her out. She’s always nice when she comes in the bank. The two of you were always nice to me in school. I haven’t forgotten that.” She took a drink of her lemonade, then looked out the diner’s picture window. “There was one thing. Georgie had a gambling problem.”
“What kind of problem?” This was news. Nobody had mentioned gambling to me.
“He liked to bet on sports, but he was terrible at it. Between you and me, most of his paycheck went to cover his gambling debts. He told me he was one lucky hit from getting rich.” She shook her head. “And like everything else, that lucky hit never came.”
I’d read manuscripts about people who ran gambling operations. They were ruthless. Could someone have killed Georgie over an unpaid debt? I couldn’t rule it out.
“Do know w
here he gambled? Did he mention any names?”
“You might try Hoosiers. Lord knows he spent enough time there.”
“I’ll do that. And I promise that if I find anything out, I’ll let the police know and let the professionals handle it. That ought to make your dad happy, right?”
She laughed. This one carried genuine happiness. “Let’s hope so. Thanks for lunch, Allie. I feel better.”
“You and Brittany are going to be okay.” I reached across the table and took Lori’s hand in mine. “I promise.”
“You’re the best, Allie. I’m so glad you came home.” She gave me her cell number and invited me to visit and meet Brittany. When I said she could count on it, she gave me a big smile, then returned to work, leaving me with my thoughts and a full glass of iced tea.
As I sipped the tea and checked work e-mail, the angel of good choices who was perched on my right shoulder started beating me over the head with my case notebook and berating me for my duplicitous behavior. She said I was doomed to eternal damnation for lying and taking advantage of a young, single mother, who was now likely to raise her daughter alone.
Meanwhile, the demon of not-so-good choices danced an Irish jig on my left shoulder, lit a cigar, and said through a cloud of smoke that Lori was the one who was taking advantage of people’s naïveté. She asked the angel of good choices who was the one about to cash in on an insurance windfall while getting rid of a total loser boyfriend in the deal.
Which version of Lori was the accurate one? I wanted more than everything to believe her. I’d been the victim of Georgie’s games and knew all too well the pain he caused people without giving it another thought. And my experiences were nothing compared to what he’d done to Lori. Of that, I had no doubt.
On the other hand, just because she said she didn’t know about the insurance policy didn’t make it true. If she did know, it gave her one million reasons to get rid of a problem and start anew. It wouldn’t be enough to live on forever, but it would cover college for Brittany and a new start for Lori, with plenty to spare.
A woman could start over with a clean slate with an insurance settlement like that. Especially if she was smart.
Lori was smart.
By the time I finished another glass of tea and updated my case notebook, it was almost time for the diner to close for the day. When Angela brought me the bill, she placed something else on the table.
“Very nice.” It was a bumper sticker inscribed with a simple miller for mayor slogan. The lettering was in bright blue on a white field. It was simple, easy to read, and classy. At least as classy as a bumper sticker could get.
“It’s for you. You can put it on one of your bike’s saddlebags.” She took the spot across from me and pulled a wad of bills from a pocket of her apron. “You don’t mind if I count my tips, do you? I figure I can do that while you tell me what intel you pried out of Lori.”
I threw up my hands in frustration. “Come on. Can’t I have lunch with someone I knew from my high school days?”
“Of course you can.” She organized the bills into piles of ones, fives, and tens. “But how many of those old friends just had their boyfriend murdered?”
After counting each pile, she wrote the totals on a piece of paper. She folded her hands and gave me a long look. “You’re sailing in dangerous waters, Allie. You need to be careful.”
Angela’s message came across loud and clear. If I messed with the mayor’s daughter, I messed with the mayor. Sure, Larry was powerful and, thanks to his office, had his fingers in all aspects of Rushing Creek life. He could make one’s life difficult, and Angela was looking out for me. I appreciated that.
What Angela didn’t know was that I had dirt on Larry that nobody else had. It was information I’d come across while investigating Thornwell’s death. Back then, Larry and I had reached a truce when I made him aware I was privy to his secrets. In fact, it was that truce which had led to the decent relationship I currently had with the man. We’d managed to set aside our mutual distrust for the benefit of our community and, in doing so, forged a solid partnership.
“I appreciate it, but I’ve got it covered. I don’t see having lunch with Lori causing me any trouble.”
Angela raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? You’ve changed a lot in the years you were gone. The same could be said for Lori.”
“What do you mean?” I trusted Angela like she was a member of my family. If she had something to say, I’d be foolish not to listen to her.
“Working in a place like this, you see and hear a lot of people. I know what Lori put up with, especially after Brittany was born. I also know she’s patient and she’s astute. What happened to Georgie had to take a lot of planning. As in years’ worth.”
My demon of not-so-good choices was snapping her fingers and telling Angela, “Preach it, sister.” Meanwhile, my angel of good choices had curled up in a ball and covered her ears.
I closed my eyes for a moment and told the angel of good choices that it was time for her to make a graceful exit. There was simply too much circumstantial evidence to give Lori the benefit of the doubt. I wasn’t ready to convict her, though.
“Assuming you’re right, how do you account for the lock that was cut open at Parke Landscaping?” I told Angela about my attempt to cut through a similar lock at the police station.
“That’s easy. She got Georgie to do it.”
I threw other questions at Angela, like could Lori drive a stick shift, did she leave Brittany home alone while she carried out her plan, and did she really know about the insurance policy?
My friend had answers to every question. Some were less plausible than others, but none of the answers crossed the line into the realm of impossibility. I had to hand it to Angela, she had all the bases covered.
“You’ve put a lot of thought into this. Shall I turn my private eye gig over to you?”
Angela rolled her eyes. “Please. I’ll stick to running for public office. That’s frightening enough. Seriously, though, Georgie’s murder has me worried. I’m sure Chief Roberson and his team are doing all they can, but the way they dragged you in for questioning made me mad. I want to help you and this town at the same time. So, yes, I have put a lot of thought into this.”
I drummed my fingers on the linoleum tabletop while I let Angela’s words sink in. She was right. I needed to set personal histories aside and follow the facts, regardless of where they took me. The facts were pieces to a puzzle. I needed to gather more pieces before I could put them together. To do that, I needed to keep my eyes and ears open to all possibilities and give them equal consideration.
“I’ll be careful. I promise.” A clock hanging above the grill chimed three times. Closing time. “Any other advice?”
She pulled a blue-and-white pin about the size of a quarter out of another apron pocket and fastened it to the collar of my shirt. “Yes. Vote Angela Miller for mayor.”
Leaving the diner, I took a moment to soak in the scene on the Boulevard. With the sun out in all its glory and not a cloud to be seen, the day had turned into one of those glorious late-summer ones when the air carried a hint of the aroma of ripe apples, the grass was still soft and green beneath one’s feet, and I could spend all day out on a hike without breaking a humidity-induced sweat.
I had to get back to my office to do some work that paid the bills, but given the weather, I opted for a walk to decompress. With a goal of thirty minutes of brisk walking in mind, I popped in my earbuds and got moving.
A scorching tune full of mighty guitar riffs by blues artist Samantha Fish had me setting a fast pace five minutes into my walk when someone shouted my name loud enough for me to hear over one of Samantha’s guitar solos.
With reluctance, I slipped the earbuds into my pocket. I hated stopping when I was on a roll, but I didn’t want to be rude. Especially when the person calling to me was Maybelle Schu
man. It was time for some gossip.
“Gorgeous afternoon, isn’t it?” I took a seat beside the elderly woman. From our vantage point on a wooden bench in front of the Rushing Creek General Store, we had a clear view of the Boulevard as it ran north and south through the middle of town.
I wasn’t in the mood to talk, so after exchanging pleasantries and the usual family updates, I kept my mouth shut. If there was something on her mind, and I had no doubt there was, I was going to make her broach the subject.
“I hear you’re impersonating Miss Marple over the awful incident involving the Alonso boy.”
“More or less.” While Miss Jane Marple was an amazing amateur detective, being compared to an elderly Englishwoman, regardless of her status as a genius in fictional literature, didn’t sit well with me. I was only thirty, after all.
It was her reference to Georgie as a boy that grated on my nerves, though, like a pebble lodged in a shoe that wouldn’t come out. In my book, calling someone a boy implied a young, innocent male. Georgie was neither young nor innocent at the time of his death.
“You’re hiding your grief well.” She patted my leg. “It must be hard, losing him so suddenly. I want you to know I’m here if you want to talk.”
I furrowed my eyebrows. Despite my vow to keep quiet, my curiosity got the best of me.
“I’m not hiding anything. What are you talking about?”
“It’s just this, dear.” She looked around, then leaned in close to me, as if she was going to give me the combination to the safe at the bank. “People are saying Lori killed Georgie.”
“Okay.” What was so secret about that? Shoot, it was the same thing Angela had told me.
“Oh, honey.” She scooted right next to me. “They’re saying she killed him because he was romantically involved with you. People remember the torch he carried for you when the two of you were in high school, after all.”
“I…” The shock of the outlandish accusation rendered me speechless. Anyone with even the vaguest recollection of our high school years would know the rumor was crazier than the thought of me reading War and Peace again. Once was way more than enough.
