by Pam Moll
“Well if it was a word, Smuggs is −,”
“− I get it. Where’s Smuggs?”
“Tucked behind the deli. The owner also has a place in Bridgeport. Dead Bobs.”
“Dead Bobs? Let me guess, the bar’s named after a dead relative named Bob?”
She smiled and nodded. “If you haven’t noticed there isn’t an abundance of younger people around here. So yes, Jack has been seen with Erica from time to time, but that’s because the younger group seems to hang together.”
“At Dead Bobs and Smuggs.” I sighed.
I was disappointed that the photos hadn’t revealed much. “Thanks for this,” I held up the thumb drive, then slipped it into the side pocket of my backpack. “I still have a few stops to make.”
“Let me know if I can help in any way.” Aurora reached into her purse and pulled out a Snickers bar. “Emergency sugar supply,” she said, pressing it into my hand. “Be careful.”
I nodded. We exchanged hugs and I left the office to get Granny and Snickers.
Twenty minutes later I dropped Granny and Snickers off at her house and promised to sleep at her place after my errand.
When I went to exchange the Oldsmobile for the Saab, I knew I needed to check out the gardening shed. I was curious about whether the wheelbarrow had any evidence of sand on the tires. I turned on the flashlight, deciding to leave the shed interior light off in order not to draw attention to my task.
I searched by shining the beam up and down the rows of clay pots, bags of potting soil, and the dusty and dirty garden tools. The shed was so full that I had to climb over a few half whiskey barrels to get to the back. I tripped over a rake and sent a pile of porcelain urns crashing. If that didn’t wake up the neighborhood, I don’t know what would. I used a stack of gardening magazines as a step stool to look on the top shelves.
The air held a musky, moldy smell. As a precaution, I pulled a paper garden mask off a hook and covered my nose and mouth with it.
There were plenty of items in the shed that could have been used as a weapon for Erica’s injury. Drew had said it was a blunt object that had caused the injury, but the weapon wasn’t found at the scene. There were pruning shears with heavy handles, shovels, trowels, hoes, and even a large saw, but no wheelbarrow. None of these items could have been used by me or anyone in our household as a murder weapon, because a thick layer of dirt and grime covered them, and they were clearly undisturbed for months. I searched further, and there in the corner was the wheelbarrow. Unlike everything else in the shed covered with cobwebs, it looked shining clean. Too clean. Wouldn’t Jet routinely use it?
Before I could check out the tires, I heard footsteps. I whirled around and saw Jet staring at me. I felt my face flush red with guilt, but in the glow of the flashlight he seemed not to notice.
“Can I help you find something, Miss Molly?” Jet asked with enough sarcasm in his voice to cause a chill.
“No, I was just looking for something,” I replied.
“Well, did you find it?”
“I think I did.” I reached for a pair of pruning shears.
He eyed the shears. “Is that all?”
“Yes, thank you.” I felt a shudder run down my back when I turned and walked out of the shed past Jet’s glaring eyes.
I decided against driving the Saab to Felix’s neighborhood. Instead, I took the golf cart. In my rush I had forgotten to change back into my flats. This was a dangerous proposition, driving a golf cart and using spiked heels to accelerate.
After a jerky start, I reached his street and turned off the golf cart lights. I cruised by several houses, packed in closely, until I spotted what I was looking for—the Doughy Delight pastry truck.
I parked the golf cart and managed to creep up the sidewalk without stumbling. My heels made more noise than a mariachi band as I clicked up the driveway. There were no lights in the house. I peered in the driver’s side door of the truck, and it was unlocked. If I opened the door, would it activate the alarm? It was a risk I could take. But after my recent run in with the law, I decided to check out back first.
Quietly, I began creeping around Felix’s backyard. I should have brought Snickers. That way, instead of being taken for a peeping Tom, I could look like a neighbor in search of her lost dog.
It only took a few moments to realize that the large swimming pool in the postage-stamp sized backyard had left little room for grass or anything else green to grow.
Besides, Felix and his cousin Jack had a solid alibi for the night Jim had been poisoned. Both were attending the same AA meeting with a friend and were seen by two dozen people afterwards at the AA annual holiday party.
As I returned to the side yard, I noticed the latch to the gate of Felix’s next-door neighbor’s house was broken.
I stepped over to the gate to take a closer look. Sure enough, the latch needed repair. I eased myself closer and spotted several pieces of gravel that were disturbed and laying on the path leading to the gate. The path led from the front to the back of the house.
I switched on the flashlight, following the path to the neighbor’s backyard. Hmm, I wondered. I couldn’t see any lights out back. I gave the tall, wooden door a shove. It creaked open. I took one step in and shined the light at the plush garden. A pair of big, unblinking, round eyes stared back at me out of the darkness.
“Eeeek!” I shrieked, stumbling in my high heels head first. My heart pounded so hard it was a wonder the homeowners couldn’t hear my ribcage rattle.
Once my heart stopped its stampeding, I realized the eyes I were staring at were those of a garden gnome.
A gnome? Sure enough, there stood a foot-high garden gnome with round bright eyes. On further inspection, the little guy was dressed in bright blue overalls and a red hat. His eyes and smile were so creepy, it’s a wonder I hadn’t doused him with my pepper spray.
Before I could shine my light away from the little man, I sneezed.
The back-porch light came on.
Time for my exit. I could imagine the resident chasing me down the driveway or calling the police.
I jumped up. My cheeks flushed from the encounter with the garden statue. It was mortifying to think the gnome had almost blown my cover.
As I hobbled painfully in the ill-fitting boots back to the golf cart, my nose itched, and I had to pinch it to keep from further sneezing.
It was fifteen minutes later when I stopped by the Grille.
By an off chance that Missy would be working the Tiki Bar, I wanted to stop in and ask her a few questions.
As luck would have it, she was on duty, and the little bar and patio were jammed with people.
I was exhausted, but at the same time filled with adrenaline. However, the last thing I wanted was a Rum Runner—alone. But a glass of red wine couldn’t hurt and would help me sleep.
It took ten minutes before a bar-back could take my order and hand me a glass of red vino. I had nodded hello to Missy from across the rectangle-shaped bar. She acknowledged me, but she had been too busy with a group of bachelorettes to take my order or speak to me.
I swished the red wine in my glass, salivating at the thought of tasting it. In college, the beer-guzzling college guys I had dated couldn’t tell a Zinfandel from a Cabernet. One of my Aunties, not Tammera, but Aunt Alice, had a knack for wine tasting. She had quite an investment in various California wines and had taught me a thing or two.
“There you are,” I said to Missy, who was now standing across the bar from me. I swallowed a small sip of wine, enjoying the flavor.
“Hi, you’re Mo, right? From the Bean?” Missy said.
I nodded. “Yes, nice to meet you.”
Missy reached over the bar and plucked a leaf or something green out of my hair and handed it to me.
“Thanks.” I stared at it. “I guess I don’t rock that look.”
“You wear it well, but if you’re going to have a roll in the hay before you come out you might want to run a brush through your hair a
fterwards.” Missy pulled another few leaves off the back of my head.
I nodded and shrugged.
“Aurora said you might stop by. What can I help you with?” Missy looked exhausted, with dark shadows under her eyes.
“I was wondering if you happened to know the name of the girl that Jim Grist was with?”
Missy wrinkled her nose with an expression of distaste. “Sorry, I’m running off my feet here,” Missy pointed around the bar. “Can we catch up later?”
“Sure.” I wrote down my cell number on a slip of paper from my notebook and handed it to her. Missy stuck the paper in her jean pocket.
“Can you text me when you’re free? I wanted to see if you could remember anything about the woman you saw Jim with a few weeks ago,” I whispered, hoping no one near heard our conversation.
She shrugged and wiped a damp dishrag on the sticky bar countertop as she talked. “Jim came in here all the time with his fishing buddies.”
I knew about his fishing buddies and had even talked to a few. I was curious about the lady he’d been seen with. “Did you ever see him on a date?”
“With Jim?” She rubbed her chin. “There was the one I saw him with recently.”
“What was her name?”
“I’m not sure of her name. But it wasn’t like a thing, you know.”
I blinked and wondered what a thing referred to. “You mean it wasn’t a date?”
She looked around and then back at me. “Yeah, she wasn’t his type. You know he liked—well, —he liked the younger women.”
“What did she look like?”
“She was much too ancient for him, and an old fuddy-duddy.”
“Fuddy, what?” As long as I had her attention now, I’d try to find out who the mysterious woman was.
“She was the kind of person who faded into the wallpaper a bit. Definitely not his type. They had a connection though. The way they talked, and their body language showed a familiarity to it.”
“Had you seen them together before?”
She stopped and thought. “No, can’t say that I had. I don’t guess we ever will, with him dead and all.” She frowned. “Oh, I don’t like to speak ill of the dead.” She looked over at a man holding up an empty glass.
“I need to get Chuck his whiskey.” She pointed to the large man in a red floral Tommy Bahama shirt, glaring at her.
I tried to squeeze in one more question. “What was she wearing and …?”
Missy cut me off. “I got to run.” She waved her hand and said, “I’ll text you if I think of anything else.”
I nodded.
Missy placed a clean glass on the bar. She looked up from her pour of whiskey and said, “A dancer’s outfit.”
I finished my glass of wine, paid my check and left a nice tip on the bar.
Great. Now I had a potential mint-growin’-photographer- dancer to look for.
Back at Granny’s I slipped into a pair of pink flannel PJs, downed a glass of water to dilute my glass of wine, and then Snickers and I curled up in bed. After a few minutes of logging in my notebook what I had discovered, I felt I was closer to the murderer. With my dog resting contentedly at my feet and my red notebook on my lap, I fell fast asleep.
I woke in the middle of the night to the sound of Granny’s Siamese cat purring loudly at my door.
“Shhh,” I said to George when I opened the bedroom door. “You’ll wake the whole house.”
I went to the window and listened to the noises outside, trying to recall the sound I’d heard that night Jim was left on the beach. Most of the night noises I recognized. This wasn’t a familiar sound, and I couldn’t place it. But I knew I had heard it before. Where?
I went to the bathroom and glanced in the mirror before climbing back into bed. My normally clear eyes, the color of jade, were now bloodshot and puffy. I looked like a recovering alcoholic who’d fallen off the wagon and been on a three-day bender.
When both Snickers and George were re-settled in bed with me, I turned off the light and slept like the proverbial log for a few hours anyway.
Sleep is a symptom of caffeine deprivation.
~ Anonymous
CHAPTER NINETEEN
My eyes popped open after a few hours of sleep. As I lay in the dark and listened to the sweet animal snores, it made me feel safe and happy.
But was I safe with the killer still on the loose? In the eyes of Detective Lacey, I was her main suspect. Would she even look at others? Did Deputy Drew think I was guilty?
What were the odds that my DNA, well my coffee’s DNA, was found on the body? And considering that the forensic resources barely existed in the Palma County Sheriff’s office, how had they uncovered this so quickly?
Since I was awake anyway, I sat up in bed. Snickers and George barely stirred. I switched on the bedside lamp, threw back the quilt, and pulled my notepad from my backpack. I jotted down a new suspect: me.
Feeling a sense of heaviness in the pit of my stomach, I stared at the blank page. After my second visit from Detective Lacey, I knew I had to find Jim’s killer―and fast. Even without a true motive, I was her prime suspect. Doesn’t the law state that people were innocent until proven guilty? But in a small town like Bay Isles, the gossip could destroy my business in a heartbeat. If the locals decided I was a cold-blooded killer, they might very well decide to boycott my café.
What did the detectives know? Under the suspect name Molly Brewster, I listed:
Found body on beach
Mint stains on body, and has access to a mint garden
No clear alibi for the evening of Jim’s murder
Found napkin with coffee stains that match my particular choice of coffee
My dog’s orange-tinted saliva stains
My fingerprints on the body − I had touched it to take a pulse
Found victim’s soon-to-be ex-wife unconscious from a blow to the head
Even though I was probably their number one suspect, they were missing a motive and the murder weapon. But, that was true for all the suspects I had on my list, as well. I knew later today the police would shut down The Bean and search my café and my apartment for traces of cyanide. I had to find the killer before that happened.
Then there was the issue of carrying a body to the beach. I knew that based on the tides that night, Jim’s body hadn’t washed up on shore and the body hadn’t been dumped from a boat. It had been placed on the beach.
How would Erica have gotten the body to the beach if she had poisoned Jim?
Before I left Erica’s house, I had told Drew I was in search of cat food. Instead, I had peeked in her garage hunting for a wheelbarrow but found none. Was that why Deputy Drew showed up at her house so quickly? Was he there to investigate her as well?
My phone was dead, so it had been silent all night. It was so peaceful at Granny’s house. Sitting in the still of the night, I glanced out to the garden and beyond that the sea.
Our garden was one of my most cherished heirlooms. In it were lilacs and peonies that my grandmother had planted. My mom and granny shared their forget-me-nots, which they claimed to have come from a great-grandmother. My grandfather planted the coral bells bushes, which were also known as the Molly bushes. He had said they were beautiful and trouble-free, just like his only granddaughter.
Granddad used to say with their intensely colorful blooms, Miss Molly was the queen of the summer garden, thriving in the hot climate and attracting butterflies and hummingbirds.
What would he think today? His Miss Molly was a murder suspect.
George interrupted my thoughts as he awoke and jumped up on my chest. I leaned back with the weight of the cat’s body on me and pushed up against my queen headboard. I rocked back and forth. It squeaked. Then the thought came to me. It was an aha moment. The squeaking sound and the pressure from leaning back gave me the final clue I needed.
I had one more place to check in the morning, but I felt certain that I’d just found the killer. I clicked off the ligh
t and fell fast to sleep.
After a dreamless night, I woke up refreshed and recharged.
Both animals were gone from my bedroom, and I heard laughter coming from downstairs. I glanced at the clock and was shocked to see it was 9:30. Why hadn’t Henrietta awakened me? Was Aurora expecting me by now at the Bean?
I splashed water on my face and was glad to see my eyes were no longer red, and the puffiness beneath them had gone down.
I felt ready to conquer the world and catch a murderer, but first I needed to change out of my pink flannels with yellow daisies on them.
After throwing on a pair of faded Levi jeans, flip flops, and a green t-shirt, and running a brush through my frizzy hair, I went in search of coffee, food, and the source of the laughter.
I found Granny, Aurora, and Henrietta in the kitchen drinking coffee and tea and chatting pleasantly with each other.
“Well, look who’s finally up,” Granny said.
“Good morning, ladies,” I said.
“Good morning,” they replied in unison.
The fact that Henrietta handed me a cup of coffee prepared the way I liked it, goes without saying.
I stared at the cup, thinking about the soiled napkin that Detective Lacey had said they found on the body, then looked up. “Anything new?”
“You tell us,” Aurora said as she ran her sparkly blue fingernails through George’s fur. I had to admit, even though I was a dog fan, George was a gentle giant of a cat that could steal anyone’s heart.
“I think I know who the murderer is,” I blurted out.
“Well, that’s something at least,” Granny commented, smirking.
“I know. But I’ll need your help. Can you all be at The Bean around noon? I have a stop to make this morning.” I plopped half of a blueberry muffin in my mouth, swallowing it like a starving Rottweiler might eat a chunk of steak.
Aurora gazed at me with an expression of concern. “You’re not going to confront the killer, are you?”
I couldn’t reply with my mouth full of the sticky muffin.
“It would be dangerous,” Aurora persisted.
