Spiced Maple & Murder

by Susan Gillard

  “He was home by nine thirty?” Heather asked. “You said that you left at eight thirty. It doesn’t take an hour to get from the studio to your house. What were you doing at that time?”

  “Nothing deadly or sinister,” Halina said. “Horatio is the kindest man you’ll ever meet. He’s just a big guy, so some people find him intimidating. But he’s not a killer.”

  Horatio stopped scanning another pile of notebooks and presented another picture to the investigators. They were sketches of the stars.

  “You were drawing these on your way home?” Heather asked.

  Horatio nodded. Heather was inclined to believe him, and if his wife were telling the truth, then he would have been at home at the time the murder occurred.

  "Do you know anyone who would want to do this to Tricia Mollins?” Heather asked.

  Horatio shook his head, and Halina picked up the slack in the conversation, "She could be loud and dramatic, but it wasn't worth killing over. I know that Ray guy was obsessing over the competition, but he also got real squeamish the day that you cut your arm. I don't think he does well with blood. He wouldn't have like to kill somebody in a messy way, and if you said Horatio's statue was the murder weapon, I assume it was messy."

  “Did you go to the studio a lot?” Heather asked.

  “I like to watch my husband work and to bring him snacks,” Halina said. “But I work nights too, so I can’t come all the time. Hey, maybe it was Tricia’s boyfriend that killed her.”

  “What do you mean?” Heather asked.

  “I mean that I never see her boyfriend bringing her snacks. Maybe it wasn’t that serious,” Halina said. “And maybe he did kill her. I wouldn’t have thought so at first, but it’s usually spouses and significant others that commit the crimes, isn’t it? What a depressing statistic.”

  "Who was her boyfriend?” Heather asked. “No one else mentioned her having one.”

  “They were probably trying to keep it quiet then,” said Halina. “But they forget that just because Horatio is quiet, doesn’t mean that he can’t hear.”

  “And what did Horatio hear?”

  “That Tricia was at least sleeping with, if not dating, the other artist there, Lincoln.”

  Horatio nodded.

  “Thank you for telling us,” Heather said. “I think it’s time we spoke to him.”

  Lincoln Lover?

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lincoln said after Heather and Amy introduced themselves and asked about his relationship with Tricia Mollins. He crossed his muscular arms across his chest.

  “Maybe he’d prefer to discuss this down at the station?” Amy suggested.

  “I could call Detective Shepherd,” Heather said, taking her cell phone.

  "No," Lincoln relented. "That won't be necessary. I guess I'll talk to you. I just don't want to get all wrapped up in this murder when it has nothing to do with me."

  “You weren’t seeing the victim?” Heather asked.

  “Who told you I was?” he asked.

  “A witness who is willing to testify about romantic comments that were heard exchanged between you and Tricia Mollins,” Heather said. “Did he get it wrong?”

  “Look, yeah, okay,” he rambled. “Tricia and I were seeing each other. But it was casual. We weren’t planning on getting married or anything. We were just having some fun.”

  “But you wanted to keep it a secret at the studio?” Heather asked.

  “I didn’t want to advertise it,” Lincoln said. “I don’t mean to be vain, but I probably could have found a more attractive girlfriend.”

  “Can we arrest him now?” Amy asked.

  "Tricia was a great artist, and she had some good qualities, but I wasn't serious about her. But I'm so busy in my life that I don't have the time to go out and find the person I really want. And I was tired of one night stands. Tricia was too. And so, in that respect we were perfect for each other," Lincoln said.

  “Seriously,” said Amy. “Do we have some cuffs?”

  "What are you so busy with besides sculpting?" asked Heather.

  “I’m in a band,” Lincoln said.

  “Of course!” said Amy with distaste.

  "Maybe you've heard of us? Lincoln and the Loggers?"

  “Can’t say we have,” Heather said. “Now, where we you the night of the murder? Where did you go when you finished the group session at the studio?”

  “Around what time?” he asked.

  “Between ten and midnight,” said Heather.

  He groaned. "I guess I almost had a perfect alibi. I had band practice that night, and the whole group was there. With the friends watching us, there were about a dozen people there. I headed right over after the sculpting session to make it on time. And the thing is, we normally rock out until one or two a.m.”

  “But you didn’t that night?” prompted Heather.

  “No,” Lincoln said. “Maplehead Mike was sick and had to go home early. We couldn’t practice anymore without him. Nobody else could keep time on the drums. And even after I talked with some friends for a while, I was still out of there before eleven.”

  “And where did you go?” Heather asked.

  “I wandered around for a while to clear my head because I was really bummed that we didn’t get to practice,” Lincoln said. “And then I headed home.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yeah,” Lincoln said. “I knew Tricia was going crazy about her art, so she wouldn’t want to be bothered.”

  “Or you already knew she was dead,” Amy suggested. “So, you knew there would be no point in contacting her.”

  “I had no idea she was dead,” Lincoln said. “I didn’t know until the next day when we were told we couldn’t use the studio because it was a crime scene.”

  “Yes. It’s a shame that you won’t be able to work on your entry for the contest until the scene is cleared,” said Heather. “With Tricia out of the running, it must be easier for you to win.”

  “I don’t care about winning that contest,” Lincoln said. “Holiday art isn’t really my thing, but I’m doing it because it’s decent publicity for your other art.”

  “Wouldn’t winning be better publicity?” Amy asked.

  “I’m just saying I wasn’t obsessed with winning like some of the others were. Tricia and Ray both wanted to win and were making the studio a hostile place to work,” Lincoln said. “I just wanted to make my art and thought it wasn’t a complete waste of time to enter the tree contest.”

  Amy rolled her eyes. It was possible that there was a new person she wanted to be the killer so that they could see him behind bars.

  "How many people knew about you and Tricia?” Heather asked.

  “I didn’t know anyone knew,” Lincoln said. “But we weren’t being super secretive about it. I guess anyone at the studio could have known. Is there anything else you want to know?”

  “That’s all for now,” Heather said. “We’ll be in touch.”

  They walked away from his house, and Amy looked to her friend.

  “He was her lover,” Amy said. “And he’s strong enough to have lifted her. Could he be the killer?”

  “It’s certainly a possibility,” Heather said.

  Hidden Clues

  “It’s weird coming back here,” Amy said. “I mean I do want to come back here and take more classes and become a part of the Key West art community, but it also feels weird because the last time we were here we found a dead body.”

  “I understand what you mean,” Heather assured her.

  “I just don’t like that it was supposed to be my new happy place and it became a crime scene,” Amy continued.

  “I know,” Heather said. “But it will go back to being an art studio as soon as we crack the case. I’m sure that’s what an artist like Tricia would have wanted: for the art to continue.”

  “Yeah. You’re right,” Amy said. “They should probably make an artistic tribute for her there when this is over. Some sort of art to comm
emorate her.”

  “That’s a beautiful idea,” Heather said.

  “But with nothing to do with Christmas trees,” Amy said definitively.

  They were closer to the Sculpture Garden now and saw Ryan waving them over.

  “But while this is still a crime scene, let’s get to work,” Heather said.

  They hurried over to Ryan who looked almost cheerful.

  “What did you find?” Heather asked when she saw his face.

  “Now that I have found it, I’m almost embarrassed that I didn’t see it before,” Ryan said.

  “Is it an optical illusion?” Amy asked.

  “Maybe in a sense,” Ryan said. “It was hiding in plain sight.”

  “What is it?” Heather asked. “A good clue?”

  "What's different?" Ryan asked.

  He gestured to the sculptures surrounding them. It looked the same as it had when they first visited it. There were large statues in different styles all around them. Amy moved closer to Kendall’s statue and examined it.

  “Some of these mirror pieces are broken now,” Amy said.

  “Right,” said Ryan. “Something broke them.”

  “That’s seven years bad luck,” said Amy.

  “Hopefully it is for the killer,” Ryan agreed.

  “The murderer broke pieces of the statue?” Heather asked. “But why?”

  “Follow me,” Ryan said. He moved past Kendall’s sculpture and further back among the pieces until they were closer to the statue that looked like a train. It took Heather a moment to realize what was different from the first time they were there.

  “The tracks,” Heather said.

  “Exactly,” Ryan said. “There’s a ladder laying on the train tracks. It was blending in so well that we didn’t find it until now.”

  "That was smart," Amy said. "Any of the artists could have figured out this spot where your eye is tricked into ignoring it.”

  “It’s a big ladder,” Ryan said. “It would have been difficult for the killer to have taken it away from the studio with him without someone noticing. You’d notice someone traveling with something this tall late at night. And so, the killer decided to leave it here.”

  “But why hide it?” Heather asked. “It would have made sense for a studio to have a ladder? Does it change the dynamics of the crime?”

  "Or the killer wanted to hide something incriminating that he left behind," Ryan said, pointing. There was some red paint on one of the steps, and it resembled a shoe print.

  “Is that the same special holly red color that was found at the scene?” asked Heather.

  Ryan nodded. "And that paint had to be spilled after Tricia was left alone at the studio. Everyone agreed that it wasn't spilled while they were there. So, it was either spilled by Tricia right before the killer arrived or it happened while the murder was being committed. Either way, this paint and this shoe print comes from our killer."

  Heather was about to compliment Ryan on his find when they heard a phone ring. Heather and Ryan both reached for their phones, and they were both right. They smiled as they both answered their calls with “Shepherd.”

  Amy jokingly grumbled about how unpopular she was because nobody was calling her.

  The Donut Delights – Key West business line was calling her. It was rare that they had a problem big enough to contact her about, so she was concerned until she heard Digby’s reason for the call.

  “Mr. Rankle brought over even more decorations for us to put up,” Digby said. “There’s a bunch more string Christmas lights and light-up stars and even a glowing reindeer. What should I do with them? I’m rooting for putting them in the trash.”

  Heather sighed. "I guess we should try and hang these up too.”

  "Are you sure?" Digby asked. “There’s a lot.”

  “Do the best you can,” Heather said. “Try to put it all up and try to make it look nice. But this might be our only chance keep goodwill with Mr. Rankle all year.”

  Digby reluctantly agreed. She hung up and turned to Ryan who said that Detective Peters had also found a clue. They moved away from the studio and down the street.

  They saw Peters wearing gloves and a mask to cover his nose. He moved the mask to greet them and then showed them towards the trashcans she had been poking through.

  “Gross,” Amy said. “Please tell me it was worthwhile to go through the garbage.”

  “It was,” Peters said. “And the killer made a mistake disposing of the evidence too.”

  “What evidence?” asked Heather.

  “Rainboots,” answered Peters. “I saw a boot on the ground near the trashcan. The killer must have been in a rush and wasn’t paying proper attention. It fell out. I looked inside and found the other boot. And they both have the paint on it.”

  “The holly paint?” Amy asked.

  “That’s right,” said Peters.

  “That looked like a match to the print we found on the ladder steps,” said Ryan. “The killer must have been wearing these boots that night.”

  “And,” Heather said, remembering. “We talked to someone who was missing his favorite pair of shoes.”

  “It looks like we’re not going to catch this killer red-handed,” Amy said. “But we might be able to catch him red-footed.”

  The Side Studio

  Kendall looked more downcast as she watched the artists work this time around. The small workroom was not as impressive as the other space and was a constant reminder why they were in a different place.

  Heather, Amy, and Ryan had tracked Ray down to this small studio. Peters was bringing the new evidence to the station for closer examination, while the others went to question the artist about his boot prints.

  Ray seemed to be making a garland out of fishing materials. Lucy and Kendall were also in the room. Lucy was creating pinwheels, and Kendall was either drawing a picture or plans on how to run her art classes in a new building.

  “Thanks for coordinating this so we could still work,” Lucy said.

  “It was a good idea you had,” Kendall said. “And I do need to start making plans for moving my classes around. People might not want to return to the studio knowing someone was killed there. This is going to be tough for business.”

  “Well, we won’t be scared off,” Lucy said. “We’ll always support you. I’m sure Lincoln will too. He’s very dedicated to his art.”

  "I know it's difficult for you to work here when the base of your sculptures and most of your materials are still in the studio," Kendall said. "I hope having this workspace helps a little."

  Ray made a grunt of annoyance.

  “We’re very appreciative,” Lucy said. “I hope some of the other decide to drop by.”

  They noticed the investigators and walked up to them. Ray continued working with his tackle box.

  “What are you doing here?” Lucy asked. “I mean, did you solve the case?”

  “We’re following a lead,” Heather said.

  Kendall looked at Amy. "I should have invited you to come for the impromptu building session, but I thought you might have your hands full with investigating."

  “You were right about that,” Amy said.

  “If you’ll excuse us,” Ryan said. “We’d like to speak with Ray for a moment.”

  “Why me?” Ray asked.

  “We’d like to talk to you about shoes,” Heather said.

  “Shoes?” Ray asked.

  "Yeah," Amy said. "We want to know if the shoe fits."

  Ray followed them outside of the room with a slight hobble and giving them a suspicious eye the whole time.

  “What’s this about shoes?” he asked.

  “You told us that you were missing your favorite pair,” Heather said.

  “And based on the way you’re walking, you’re still wearing those too small shoes you didn’t like.”

  “So?” Ray asked.

  “Can you describe your favorite shoes?” Heather asked.

  "Sure," Ray said. "They'
re rainboots. They were real comfy, and it didn't matter if they got dirty or you spilled paint or stuff on them. They were gray and had a strap on the side."

  “That sounds like a match,” Ryan said. He showed Ray a picture of the shoes they had found in the garbage down the street from the crime scene. “Are these your boots?”

  “You found them!” Ray said. “Those are mine, but I don’t remember getting anything red on them. Still, when can I get them back?”

  “After they’re no longer evidence in a murder case,” Ryan said.

  “In the murder case,” Ray repeated, growing pale. “That is paint on them, right? It ain’t blood?”

  “It is paint,” Heather started.

  “Good,” Ray said, exhaling. “I don’t do well with blood. Especially when you know it’s blood from a dead person.”

  “Horatio said he didn’t do well with blood,” Amy mentioned. “Or his wife told us on his behalf.”

  “Just the thought of blood makes me feel queasy,” Ray said.

  "It's not blood," Heather reiterated. "But it is paint and a very specific paint. It's the special red paint that you ordered for your statue. And it was spilled the night of the murder."

  "My Holly Berry Jam Red?" Ray asked. "That figures. Tricia must have stolen it when she stayed late that night."

  "Why would she steal your paint?” asked Ryan.

  "She was always stealing my things – my materials, my ideas. She was doing it again this year. She was planning on making a boating-themed Christmas tree when she knew I was making a fishing themed one," Ray fumed. "There was bound to be cross-over in our designs."

  “And is that why you stole her propeller?” Heather asked.

  “No. I stole it because,” Ray started. “I mean, I never said I stole it.”

  “You kinda just did,” Amy said.

  “And we saw the propeller in your yard,” Heather said.

  “Fine,” Ray said. “What she accused me of that day was true. It was me that stole her propeller, but that’s because she stole my idea and my rainboots.”