by Casey Mayes
“Once you were gone, I gave her a few references of fellow officers around the state, and she called a few she knew while I waited outside. The frost zone retreated quite a bit once she talked to some folks we both know and respect. It should make life at least a little easier for you now.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I appreciate that.”
“Hey, if I can’t pull strings for my wife, what good is it having them?” Zach put a hand through his hair, and I knew that was a sign that there was something he needed to speak with me about but was not all that crazy about bringing up.
I saved him the quandary. “Go on; just spit it out. What is it?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’ve got something you have to tell me, but you don’t want to do it.”
He shook his head. “How can you read me like that? Remind me never to play poker with you.”
“You’re stalling,” I said.
“You’re right.” He shifted a little in his stance, and avoided eye contact with me as he blurted out, “I want to hang around here awhile, if you don’t mind.”
I nodded. “It’s fine with me. Should we go over to Mast General Store, or would you like to go by the Mellow Mushroom and get a bite to eat?”
A frown crossed his face. “You don’t understand, Savannah. I’m going to stay. You’re the one leaving.”
I was puzzled by that. “Are you finally getting tired of me, Zach?”
“No, but I managed to get North to loosen up some, and she’s willing to take some outside advice, as long as it’s not directly related to you. It’s a fine line she’s dancing, but she knows that she might be in over her head, so she’s willing to cut me a little slack.” He smiled at me, and then added, “This is a step forward, Savannah. It keeps me close enough to the investigation so I’ll know what’s going on.”
I couldn’t argue with that, even though I knew the prospect of staying pleased him. Zach made no secret about the fact that he loved being around an active police department, so it wasn’t exactly a sacrifice on his part, but he was still doing it for my benefit. “How are you going to get home if I go back to Parson’s Valley? I don’t mind waiting for you.”
He shook his head. “It’s not necessary. North’s going to drop me off later. She’s decided to go talk to Laura, Sandra, and Harry today. By the way, you did a great job in there. You were calm and rational as you pointed out the other prime suspects who had contact with Joanne today. I was really proud of you.”
“Thanks. It wasn’t pleasant going over it again and again, but having you there beside me really helped.”
He hugged me, and then said, “I’ll call you later with an update. Are you going to stay in town for a while?”
I thought about doing some browsing in Asheville, but I was suddenly in no mood to shop. “No, I think I’ll head back home.”
“That sounds like a plan. See you there,” he said.
As I left Zach, I glanced back and saw him walking briskly into the police station. It wouldn’t have surprised me if he’d started skipping. My husband loved being around an active case, no matter how much he protested to the contrary.
But at least this time he was on my side.
As I drove back to Parson’s Valley, I suddenly knew that going straight home wasn’t really an option for me, either. Though Zach was watching my back with the police, there was another group of people that might not believe so readily in my innocence. If the folks in our town thought I was a murderer, it could make life miserable for us both. I was the newcomer there, still an outsider in many of their minds. It just made sense that I’d be the first one they suspected, especially after they heard about Joanne’s puzzle, and my supposed competition. It didn’t take a genius to know that the events today could easily be skewed toward painting me as a murderer. I didn’t doubt some people would find it heroic, but they weren’t people I cared to associate with. It was likely that either Sandra or Laura had already mentioned my presence at the crime scene, and I was pretty sure the telephone lines were already heating up.
I had to stop the rumors before they had a chance to grow and spread.
If nothing else, I could start getting the word out myself that I’d had nothing to do with Joanne Clayton’s murder.
I just hoped the people of Parson’s Valley believed me.
Chapter 4
“I CAN’T BELIEVE JOANNE CLAYTON IS DEAD,” BARBARA Brewster said the second I walked into Brewster’s Brews, her coffee shop on 2nd Street and Main in downtown Parson’s Valley. “Savannah Stone, what have you done?” Her voice was loud and brash, and several heads in the coffee shop turned toward me. Perhaps I would have been better off going straight home after all.
“I didn’t kill her,” I said, matching Barbara’s volume so no one would miss my denial. “Believe me when I tell you that I’m not the only one from town who saw her today.”
Barbara, a petite woman in her fifties with brown hair and sharp blue eyes, stared at me a few seconds before she answered. She wasn’t about to let go of it just yet. “That’s not the way I heard it.”
“Who have you been listening to?” I asked. “Whoever it was, believe me, they got it wrong.”
“So, you weren’t having lunch today with Joanne just before she was murdered?”
“We had tea,” I said, and then realized how that must sound, since the herbal nightmare she’d been drinking was probably what had killed her. “But she was fine when I left her.”
Barbara and I had always gotten along, but we wouldn’t be considered best friends by anyone’s standards. She had her finger on the pulse of Parson’s Valley, though, and if I was going to have any luck finding out who killed Joanne, I would need Barbara’s help.
She stared at me again, and then to her credit, she announced loudly, “You know what? I believe you, Savannah. I have a hard time seeing you poisoning anyone.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“Now, if she’d been hit over the head with a chair, I might think that was more your style.”
I’d had about enough of that. “I didn’t do that, either.” I lowered my voice as I added, “I just came in for a cup of coffee, and I was hoping for the chance to have a quiet conversation with you.”
If there was anything Barbara liked more than playing the role of public accuser, it was being on the inside of anything. “Lucky for you, I can do both today,” she said. “What can I get you to drink?”
“Let’s start with a cup of plain coffee.”
“That’s easy enough to do,” Barbara said as she drew a coffee and handed it to me.
I slid my money across the counter to her, and said softly, “I really do need to speak with you. I’m not asking for help out of idle curiosity. I don’t want folks around here thinking I’m capable of murder.”
Barbara frowned, and then said, “I hate to be the one to break it to you, but it might be a little late for that, Savannah.”
“You’re kidding,” I said, not wanting to believe that the rumors had spread already. “Sandra Oliver was there with Joanne and me, and so was Laura Moon. I didn’t see Harry Pike, but Joanne herself told me that she just saw him. Why couldn’t it have been one of them?”
“It could have been, I’ll grant you that, but you’ve only lived in town for a few years, and they all grew up around here.”
“That doesn’t make me guilty of murder.”
“Of course it doesn’t,” Barbara said, “but it doesn’t make you innocent, either. If you ask me, people want to believe that no one who’s lived here all their lives is capable of killing someone. It makes things too uncomfortable, if you know what I mean.”
I’d suspected the same thing myself when I’d walked in there, and having my worst fears realized didn’t make matters any better. “What am I going to do, Barbara?”
She seemed surprised by the way I asked her for advice, and she didn’t know quite how to react at first. “I wish I could tell you,” she said after a moment’s thought,
“but at the moment, I don’t have a clue what you can do, and that’s the honest truth.”
“Thanks for the coffee, anyway,” I said as I walked out of the shop. Before I could get three steps beyond the coffeehouse door, I heard someone calling my name.
It was Barbara.
“You forgot your change,” she said loudly.
“I did not.”
As she approached, Barbara whispered, “Would you hush and listen to me? Do you know where the back entrance to my shop is?”
“No, but I could probably find it,” I said. “Why do you ask?”
“Meet me back there in five minutes. We need to talk.”
I shrugged, not sure I liked being shuffled off to the back room. “Why can’t we speak in front of everyone else?”
Barbara looked me straight in the eye as she said, “It’s simple. If it turns out that you did kill Joanne, not everyone in this town is going to want to give you a medal, though I admit you could probably raise enough money from the folks who did want her dead to buy yourself a new automobile. Either way, though, they’re all customers of mine, and I can’t afford to alienate any of them. Do we understand each other?”
“I’ve got it,” I said. “See you soon.” Much louder, I added, “Thanks for my change,” though if anyone had been watching us, they would have to be a stone fool not to realize that we’d just been conspiring about something.
I did as Barbara asked, and found the rear entrance easily enough. I knocked once, waited, and then knocked again.
There was no reply.
Had she just been taunting me with her offer to help? What would she gain by making me look like a fool? I glanced around, but no one was watching me, so at least I wasn’t performing for an audience.
Maybe she hadn’t heard me. I rapped on the door again, this time rattling it in its frame.
“What are you trying to do, wake the dead?” Barbara asked as she opened the door.
“I knocked a few times when I first got here, but I didn’t think you could hear me.”
“I heard you just fine,” she said, “but Ramona Ridge is working here today, and that woman couldn’t keep a secret if it would save her life. Go back in my office, and I’ll be right there. I need to send her on some kind of fool’s errand so we can have some privacy.”
I did as I was asked and made my way deeper into the back of the shop. Calling the space I found an office was a gross misrepresentation of the truth. I wasn’t even sure it had enough square footage to qualify it as a nook, but somehow Barbara had managed to wedge a small desk and two chairs into the space, though there wasn’t a great deal of room left for pesky things like actually being able to use any of the area.
“I know it’s tight,” she said before I could comment on it, “but I had to make do with what I had. Every square inch I use back here is lost for customers, and that’s where I make my money.” She managed to wedge herself behind her desk and asked, “What exactly do you think I can do to help you?”
“I figure you know more about what’s happening in Parson’s Valley than anyone else, and right now, I’m in desperate need of information.”
“I’m not sure I agree with that, but I’ll help if I can.” She looked happy that I’d come to her, and I was going to do my best to foster that joy.
“First off, who would want to see Joanne Clayton dead?”
Barbara laughed, and then caught herself. “I shouldn’t chuckle about it, but it’s hard not to, isn’t it? The woman had her claws into a dozen people, any of whom might want to wish her ill.” She tapped a pencil on her desktop, and then added, “I need to do a little digging. Can you wait here for a few minutes?”
“Hey, you’re doing me a favor, remember? I can stay here as long as you’d like,” I said.
As I waited in Barbara’s cramped office, I wondered if what she’d said was true. I’d been under the impression that the folks in Parson’s Valley had accepted Zach and me as one of their own since we’d moved there a few years before, but maybe I’d been mistaken. Was there still a basic mistrust of newcomers in this day and age? I couldn’t believe it. I’d made some wonderful friends since we’d arrived, and I couldn’t imagine any of them turning their backs on me. Then again, I’d never before been tied to a murder so close to the town where we lived. There was a mob mentality that mistrusted the outsider. The question was how many folks still considered me to be a stranger, and not a friend?
That line of thought would just drive me crazy. To distract myself from my problems, I looked around Barbara’s tiny office. It was amazing that the woman could get any work done there at all. Papers were stacked four inches high on her desktop, and the few free spaces there were on the floor were covered with books. Barbara was well-known around town as a big reader, and she had a constant battle going on with Nancy Jenkins, the town’s librarian. It seemed that Barbara believed due dates were merely suggestions, and Nancy kept threatening to cut off her supply until she started returning books on a more regular basis. The two had endured a silent feud for a few weeks until they reached a compromise. Barbara could continue to disregard her due dates, but Nancy would keep track of the amounts, billing Barbara every month for her accumulated fines. I was shocked that Barbara had been willing to pay that way, since she was notoriously tight with her money, but she claimed that it didn’t bother her at all. She considered the bills as leasing fees, though she could have had the books for free if she’d just been a little more diligent about returning them. I started going through the titles, curious about what would attract her fancy, and maybe I’d even find something to read while I waited. If I was going to be there awhile, I didn’t plan to be idle, and creating a new puzzle with all that was on my mind was out of the question.
I scanned through the titles, hoping to find anything that was interesting to me. I hadn’t realized just how eclectic Barbara’s reading tastes were until I started reading through her stacks. Titles like The Great Gatsby, War and Peace, Modern Jazz Composition, Advanced Loom Weaving, Native North Carolina Plants, Mythical Creatures of Ireland, and The Dead Sea Scrolls were mixed in with Where the Wild Things Are, The Mysterious Affair at Styles, and ’Salem’s Lot.
I still hadn’t picked one to read when Barbara abruptly came back in. “What on earth are you doing, Savannah?”
I got up from my crouching position. “I was looking for something to read,” I admitted.
“Well, you’re not going to find anything there. Those are books that I’ve checked out. The library has plenty more, believe me.”
I glanced at the piles. “I doubt they have many more than you do.”
Barbara grinned. “Hey, I pay for the privilege every month.”
“May I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Do you actually read all of these?” I asked as I pointed to the books.
She laughed at the question. “Parts of most of them. What can I say, I’m easily distracted. Now, did you come here to discuss my reading habits, or do you want to know about Joanne Clayton?”
“I’d love to hear what you’ve discovered,” I said, forgetting all about the books and focusing on Barbara.
She looked pleased by the comment. “It appears that there are seven people who might have wanted her dead.”
“Seven? That many?”
“There may be more,” Barbara acknowledged, “but I phoned a few friends in town, and those were all we could come up with on such short notice.”
“Let me get something to write these down on,” I said, diving into my bag for a pen and a piece of paper. They were there in case any good puzzle ideas—or, more likely, snippet thoughts—came to me while I was out. I couldn’t build a puzzle in my mind any more than I could play three games of chess at the same time, but it was impossible to predict when creativity would strike.
I looked at the paper in my purse and saw that I’d scribbled, Compare autumn with computers in next snippet. What in the world could that possibly mean?
I flipped the paper over and looked expectantly at Barbara.
She’d been watching me, and before she spoke, she took another full ten seconds to study me. “Remember, no one can know that I’ve fed you this information. Agreed?”
“Not even Zach?” I asked.
“No, I’m sorry, but this has to be between the two of us alone.”
“My husband was the chief of police for Charlotte, North Carolina,” I said with a little more stiffness than I intended. “Trust me when I tell you that he knows how to keep a secret.”
“I’m sorry, but I insist,” she said. I could tell from the look in her eyes that she wasn’t going to back down, so anything I said would just be a waste of good breath.
I put the paper and pen back in my bag and stood. “Then I’m sorry I bothered you. I do appreciate the thought.”
“Where are you going?” Barbara looked absolutely startled by my reaction to her demand. I doubted that many folks had told her no before.
“If I can’t tell my husband, I don’t want to know anything you’ve got to say. It’s as simple as that.”
Barbara frowned, clearly in uncharted waters. “Even if it means not finding the real killer?”
“Even then,” I said as I headed for the door.
Barbara snapped out, “You can’t bluff me, Savannah; I’m too good at reading character for that to work.”
“I wouldn’t dream of trying to make you back down. I know better. That’s why I’m just going to give up and start digging around town myself.”
“No one’s going to talk to you,” she said in a threatening voice as I headed for the back door.
“Maybe not. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”
I was at the door when she said with an air of finality, “You’ll be back.”
I turned to face her, and it took every ounce of energy I had to keep smiling. “Barbara, if there’s one thing in my life that I stand by, it’s my relationship with my husband. I’m sure I could get along fine without him, and he could probably do the same, but there’s something magical about life when we’re together, and I wouldn’t do anything to risk that, ever, not even if my very life depended on it.”
