by Sarah Fox
Deciding there was no reason to linger, I turned around, intending to set a course for home. As I passed by the back of Sheryl Haynes’s property, my gaze wandered over the fence—far lower than the one surrounding Ida’s home—and I saw that the back door stood open. Movement flickered beyond the doorway. Instead of continuing along my path home, I unlatched the gate, letting myself into Sheryl’s yard.
I passed a garage on my right and a small rose garden on my left as I followed the concrete path to the back steps. Once up on the back porch, I tapped on the doorframe.
“Hello?” I called, not seeing anyone immediately inside the door.
Footsteps sounded somewhere close by and a young woman with brown hair appeared in the kitchen. Her eyes narrowed when she saw me.
“Who are you?” The question held no warmth.
“My name’s Marley McKinney. I met Sheryl the other day. Are you her daughter?”
“My mom’s not here.” Her tone was anything but welcoming.
“I won’t keep you then.” I almost turned to go, but then paused. “Are you all right?”
Melinda’s eyes narrowed further. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I heard you were upset with Ida the day she died. I was upset with her too, you see. She’d been vandalizing my restaurant. Had she been doing something similar to you?”
Her expression closed off even more than it already was. “No.”
She clearly didn’t want to have this conversation, but I decided to press a little more.
“Some other conflict then? She seemed to cause trouble for a lot of people.”
“It was nothing. Now if you don’t mind—”
A door opened and closed somewhere beyond the kitchen.
“Melinda?” Sheryl’s voice rang out from the front of the house.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway and she appeared in the kitchen, a designer purse hooked in the crook of her elbow. She stopped short when she saw me, recognition registering on her face a second later.
“Ms. McKinney, isn’t it?”
“That’s right,” I said. “But, please, call me Marley.”
Melinda crossed her arms. “She was just leaving.”
“Now, now, Melinda. There’s no need to be rude.” Sheryl dropped her purse on a chair and beckoned me in beyond the doorway.
“I stopped by to see how you’re doing,” I said to Sheryl as I stepped into the kitchen. “The day Ida died wasn’t the most pleasant of days.”
“No, it certainly wasn’t. And to think it’s now a murder investigation!”
Melinda shot a glare in my direction. “I’ll be upstairs.”
Without another word, she disappeared into the hallway. Seconds later, footsteps thumped up toward the second floor.
Sheryl shook her head but didn’t comment further on her daughter’s behavior. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, that’s not necessary, thanks. I won’t stay long.”
Sheryl fiddled with the string of pearls around her neck. “Ida’s murder was unsettling, of course, but I’m doing all right. How about you?”
“I’m okay,” I said. I didn’t bring up the fact that I was a person of interest in the investigation. “But I can’t help wondering what exactly happened to Ida.”
Sheryl shook her head again. “That woman. She was far better at making enemies than friends. I suppose someone finally had enough of her.”
“Any idea who that might have been?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“You live right next door to Ida’s place. Did you see or hear anything unusual that morning? Did Ida cry out at all?”
“Not that I’m aware of. If she’d screamed, I certainly would have checked to see what the matter was, even though she wasn’t my favorite person in the world.” She paused before adding, “I was out in the garden that morning, and I did hear someone running along the alley.”
My attention sharpened at those words. “When was that? Do you know which direction they were going?”
“To the north, from the direction of Ida’s place. Not that that means they were coming from there, necessarily. As for the time, I don’t know exactly, but it was right before I heard Melinda shouting. I went out to the front yard and saw her over on Ida’s front porch. I brought her home and it took me a while to settle her down, and then I went back out to water my tomato plants. It was ten or fifteen minutes later that I heard movement next door and spoke to you through the fence.”
As I absorbed that information, I wondered if Melinda could have killed Ida, then run down the alley and circled around to the front of the street to pound on her door, making sure she was seen and heard so it would look as though she didn’t know Ida was dead at the time. But if Melinda had killed Ida, why not cut back through her mother’s yard? Why risk being seen running behind several other properties? Maybe because she didn’t want Sheryl to see her?
“Whoever is responsible, I certainly hope the sheriff will solve the case quickly,” Sheryl said.
“So do I.” My voice didn’t give away just how fervently I hoped that would be the case.
“Mom!” Melinda’s voice screeched from somewhere above us. “What do you want me to do with all these papers?”
Sheryl let out a quiet sigh but then pasted a smile on her face. “I’d better go help her.”
I stepped back toward the open door. “Of course. Take care.”
“You too. Thanks for stopping by.”
Once I was out on the back porch, Sheryl shut the door behind me. I followed the pathway toward the back gate, planning to head straight home this time. The light had started to fade from the sky, shadows deepening around me, and I swatted at a mosquito that tried to land on my bare arm.
With the pesky insect warded off for the moment, I latched the gate behind me and started on my way, but a scuffling sound behind me drew my attention. I whipped around in time to see a man drop down from the top of Ida’s back fence, landing with a thud in the alley.
“Hey!” I called out.
The man’s head snapped in my direction—just for a split second. Then he whirled around and tore off along the alley, disappearing into the deepening murk of dusk.
I remained standing in the same place, stunned by what I’d seen. The man had worn a baseball cap and sunglasses—despite the late hour—so I couldn’t be completely certain that I’d recognized him. All the same, I felt fairly sure that the man who’d been trespassing at the scene of Ida’s death was none other than the local bank manager, Mitch Paulson.
Chapter 11
Unnerved by the darkening shadows and what I’d just witnessed, I left the alley for the nearby street before reporting the incident to the sheriff’s department. After ending the call, I finally made my way home, where Flapjack greeted me, winding around my ankles as I locked the front door behind me.
“What have you been up to, Jack?” I asked the tabby as I scooped him up into my arms.
The only reply I got was a contented purr.
“I’m betting your evening was far less eventful than mine.”
I set Flapjack on the floor and he scampered down the hall toward the back of the house. He paused to look back at me before disappearing into the family room. Getting the message, I kicked off my flip-flops and followed him. When I caught up to the tabby, he was sitting next to a cupboard, his eyes fixed on the door. I opened the cupboard and fished out the toy that shared the space with the vacuum cleaner.
A little stuffed bird with a tail made of feathers hung from a string tied to a plastic wand. As soon as I had the fake birdie out of the cupboard, Flapjack took a leap at it, swatting it with his paw. I walked around the family room, swinging the toy while Flapjack jumped and rolled and batted away at the bird with his paws. Eventually he grew tired and flopped down next to the couch. As I tucked the toy away in the cupboard, someone knocked on the front door.
Leaving Flapjack to catch his breath, I hurried down the hall and opened the door to find
Deputy Kyle Rutowski standing on the porch.
“Evening, Marley. I understand you reported a prowler at the Winkler place.”
“Yes.” I stepped back and opened the door wider. “Come on in.”
Rutowski declined my offer of tea or coffee as he followed me to the family room. He spent a moment greeting Flapjack, but then took the seat I offered him in an armchair. I sat on the couch across from him, tucking my legs up underneath me.
“I just wanted to go over a few details with you,” Rutowski said, opening a small notebook. “The prowler was a man?”
“Yes, I’m certain of that.”
“And you’re also certain he was on Ms. Winkler’s property?”
“Definitely. He was climbing over the fence, from the yard to the alleyway. I was just on my way home from visiting someone in the neighborhood.”
“Are you able to describe the man?”
I hesitated, wondering if I should tell him who I thought the prowler was. After only a second of consideration, I decided that I should.
“He was wearing sunglasses and it was getting dark, so I didn’t have a perfect view of him, but my impression was that he looked like Mitch Paulson.”
Rutowski’s forehead furrowed. “Mr. Paulson, from the bank here in Wildwood Cove?”
“That’s right.”
“You said it was your impression that he looked like Mr. Paulson. Are you saying it was someone who looks similar to him or you think it actually was him?”
I hesitated again. “I’m pretty sure it was him, but the man was wearing a baseball cap, so I couldn’t tell if he was bald like Mr. Paulson is. I guess it could have been someone who looks a lot like him.”
Rutowski was silent as he wrote something in his notebook. Once he’d finished writing, he looked up again. “Can you tell me anything about the baseball cap? The color? Did it have a logo?”
“It was a dark color. Maybe blue or black. I didn’t notice a logo.”
As Rutowski made another note in his book, I mentally kicked myself for not getting a better look at the man. But then again, I hadn’t had much of a chance to study him in detail.
“What else can you tell me?” Rutowski asked.
“Not much,” I said with regret. “He was wearing dark clothing, but that’s about all I noticed. I only saw him for a second or two.”
“I understand. We appreciate you reporting the incident.”
Rutowski got to his feet and I followed suit.
“Apparently there was a prowler in the alley the night before Ida’s death, too,” I said.
The deputy’s forehead furrowed again. “You were there that evening as well?”
“No,” I said quickly, not wanting to strengthen whatever suspicions he and his colleagues might have about me. “I heard about it from the woman who lives across the alley from Ida, Joan Crenshaw. I told her she should report it, and she said she’d get in touch with you guys in the morning.”
“Thank you. We’ll see what she has to say.”
I walked Rutowski to the door. “Joan mentioned that she saw a heavyset man. I wouldn’t describe the man I saw tonight as heavyset, so it sounds like there were two different prowlers. Doesn’t that seem unusual?”
“It does.” Rutowski opened the front door and paused. “But it may or may not mean anything. We’ll look into it, of course, but it’s best for you to keep yourself out of the investigation as much as possible.”
I wanted to protest against the mild reprimand, but I didn’t get a chance. Rutowski was already stepping out of the house.
“Thanks for your help, Marley,” he said before descending the porch stairs.
I watched him climb into his cruiser before I shut the door, shrugging off his suggestion that I was interfering and thinking about his other words instead.
While there was possibly no significance to the fact that there’d been two prowlers interested in Ida’s place in the last few days, I highly doubted that was the case. A woman had been murdered, and two men had taken to skulking around her property. They had to be up to something sneaky. But the real question was, had one of them murdered Ida?
—
I wanted to call Brett before going to sleep, but when I saw the time I decided it was too late. He’d sent me a text earlier in the evening though, as I found out when I checked my phone. His message said that the vet had taken X-rays of Bentley’s leg and had confirmed that it was indeed broken. Bentley was scheduled to undergo surgery to repair the fracture the following day.
My thoughts stayed with the injured dog as I got ready for bed. I hoped he’d make a full recovery and that if he had good, kind owners out there missing him, the vet would be able to track them down. If he didn’t have a good home already, hopefully one would be found for him. For a second or two, I considered the possibility of adopting him myself, but I quickly realized that might not be the best option. Aside from the fact that I didn’t know how Flapjack would react to a canine housemate, I was often at work for nine to ten hours at a time. While it wouldn’t be impossible to take breaks away from The Flip Side to check in on him and let him outside now and then, it might not be the best arrangement.
Although worried about Bentley and preoccupied by all I’d learned that evening, I tried to clear my mind of all thoughts once I went to bed. It took a while, but eventually sleep embraced me, and I woke the next morning ready to face another day.
During my walk to The Flip Side, I thought back to my visit to the Haynes house the previous evening. When I’d asked Melinda why she’d been upset with Ida, she’d clammed right up. Sure, she hadn’t been particularly open or talkative to begin with, but she definitely hadn’t wanted to share that bit of information, and I couldn’t help but wonder why that was the case.
Although I barely knew her, I doubted she was the type to be easily embarrassed by a public outburst, especially since—according to what I’d heard about her—the one on Ida’s porch had been far from her first tantrum out in the open. So maybe she thought her dispute with Ida would make her seem suspicious. Had it been something serious enough to make her want to kill Ida? I didn’t doubt that the sheriff or his deputies had questioned Melinda about the incident, but I didn’t know how much more forthcoming she would have been with them than she was with me. Besides, that wasn’t information Ray or his colleagues would likely share with me.
After I’d stopped by the kitchen to say good morning to Ivan and Tommy, I set to work preparing for the day’s customers. Before long, Leigh arrived, and Sienna showed up moments later, vivid magenta streaks in her trimmed hair. Leigh and I didn’t have long to admire her new hair color, however, because within minutes the first customers of the day appeared. The Sunday brunch crowd kept us all busy, and it wasn’t until nearly closing time that the stream of hungry townsfolk and tourists slowed to a trickle.
“Do you have anything planned for the rest of the day?” I asked Leigh after I’d waved goodbye to a departing family of five.
“I’m taking the kids to the strawberry tea at the Anglican church. Then we’re going to spend a few minutes at the flower show.”
“I used to love going to those teas,” Sienna piped up as she passed us with an empty coffeepot in hand. “The church ladies make the most amazing marzipan strawberries.”
“They really do,” Leigh agreed as Sienna disappeared into the kitchen. “Delicious. You should come, Marley, if you have the time.”
“Maybe I will,” I said.
As much as I loved relaxing on the beach after work, it would be nice to do something a little different.
“It starts at two, but they keep serving until four thirty,” Leigh added before crossing the room to wipe down a newly vacated table.
Sometimes I didn’t leave The Flip Side until four, but I figured I could probably manage to get away earlier. The last customers of the day left the pancake house, and when Sienna emerged from the kitchen a moment later, I put a hand on her arm to stop her progress. Leigh was still across
the room, out of earshot.
“How did things go with Gavin the other day?” It was the first chance I’d had to speak to her alone since I’d met her outside the bakery.
To my surprise, Sienna rolled her eyes.
“First and last date all in one go,” she said.
“How come?” I asked, worried about what Gavin might have done.
“It was boring. All he wanted to talk about was his plan to go to med school. And he said he was too busy to stay at the beach for more than half an hour. Apparently he’s lined up a bunch of odd jobs while he’s in town.” She rolled her eyes again. “Then his mom texted him and he left after only hanging out on the beach for twenty minutes. He’s definitely not as dreamy as I thought.”
Leigh joined us then and I changed the subject, relieved that Gavin hadn’t done anything worse than bore Sienna. When both waitresses had left, I hurried through my routine of cleaning up the restaurant. The pancake house was closed on Monday and Tuesday each week, but I wanted to make sure everything was shipshape and ready for Wednesday morning. By the time I’d finished, the clock on the wall was ticking toward three o’clock. I said a quick goodbye to Ivan and Tommy, and then headed home to check in on Flapjack and change my clothes.
On my way upstairs to find something to wear to the tea, I tried calling Brett. He didn’t work on Sundays so I was hoping he’d answer his phone, and he did. I smiled as soon as he said hello, realizing that twenty-four hours was far longer than I liked to go without at least hearing his voice.
“Any more news about Bentley?” I asked as I opened my closet.
“Not so far,” Brett replied. “The vet said she’d call me once he’s out of surgery, to let me know how things went. I’d like to stop in to visit him, but the vet said it would probably be best to wait until tomorrow to do that.”
I pushed hangers aside as I went through the clothes in my closet. “What about his owners? Any information there?”
