“Yes. We all did. We do the same project each time.” Brenda admired her handiwork, a slight smile coming to her face, then the smile faded, and her eyes turned weepy. “Maybe if I hadn’t been working on this so hard, Jack would still be alive.”
“How so?” Pepper asked.
Brenda put the sock back in the bag carefully so as not to drop a stitch. “The class had let out at nine o’clock as usual, but I was in the middle of a row and wanted to get it done. The other ladies took off pretty quick. I knew Jack was staying at the store, and I was going to pop over and visit him.”
My hopes rose. Maybe she’d seen something. I waited for her to continue, but she just stared at the coffee table, so I prompted her. “And what happened when you went over? Did you see someone?”
“No, that’s the thing. I never went over.”
“Why not?” Pepper asked.
“Mrs. Quimby had misplaced her car.” Brenda shook her head. “It’s not the first time she’s done that, and we’re all a bit worried about her. Anyway, I drove her around town, looking for the car. I didn’t want her walking around alone, what with the break-ins and all…”
“That’s nice of you,” Pepper said. “Then you never went to visit Jack?”
Brenda shook her head. “No. It took us a while to find Mrs. Quimby’s car, and then I was worried she might not find her way home, so I followed her. I’d texted Jack to let him know when we got out of class, and he said he was turning in, so maybe I should go straight home. After I saw Mrs. Quimby safely home, I texted him again but got no answer. It was after ten o’clock, and he might have already been de-dea-dead…”
Brenda started really blubbering then, and Pepper handed her some tissues. She was probably hoping Brenda would use those to blow her nose instead of the embroidered napkin.
“Anyway… I can’t help but think that if I’d only gone over there to visit him instead of helping Mrs. Q, Jack might be alive today.”
A waterfall of fresh tears started, and Pepper patted her arm. “There now, you weren’t to know. Besides, if you were there, then you might have been hurt also.”
Brenda blubbered for a minute or so, and when her tears slowed, I asked one final question. “Did you see anything unusual that night? Either before the knitting class or when you were driving Mrs. Quimby around? Anyone out of place or anyone lurking about the card shop?”
Brenda shook her head, twisting the tissue in her hand. “No. Just Duane closing up his shop, but that wasn’t unusual. Anyway, I’ve told the police all this, but I’m afraid it’s not very helpful.” She sighed and plumped the pillow on the end of the couch. “I’m sorry, but all this crying has me tuckered out. If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a little nap.”
“Of course,” I said.
We got her settled on the couch. I lifted her feet then tucked a green-and-orange knitted afghan—probably one of her own creations—around her while Pepper picked up the tea implements. By the time we let ourselves out the front door, Brenda was snoring, her deep sleep helped along by the relaxation effects of Pepper’s special tea, no doubt.
“So, no matching lipstick?” Pepper asked when we were back in her car and heading toward our shops on Main Street.
“Nope. I wasn’t brave enough to search her bedroom, but nothing in the bathroom.”
“I guess we didn’t find much out,” Pepper said. “But at least Gus is asking the right questions, according to what Brenda said.”
“Yeah, that’s great, but the question is… what is she doing about the answers?”
17
When I got back to my shop, I zipped off a text to Striker, filling him in on our visit to Brenda and how she’d been working on the case. I was sure they’d checked the trash for clues, too, but figured I should cover all the bases just in case.
An email arrived stating the book I’d ordered for the bartender was on its way, and it reminded me of the uncharacteristically nice things my sister had said about me and that she had faith in me finding the book.
She was the only family I had left, and I was of the mind that sisters should stick together. I was more determined than ever to help Gus find Jack’s killer. Too bad I didn’t have any leads. I still hadn’t exhausted all the people I wanted to question, though. There were the knitting club attendees, though I felt the chances of them having noticed anything were slim. There was one person who kept cropping up and who would have been in a perfect position to see anything out of the ordinary. Duane Crosby.
Traffic in the bookstore was light, so I decided to head over to Duane’s store and find out. Besides, I could use an ice cream.
Duane and his wife, Anne, were both in the store. Anne looked a bit worse for wear. Her pale face, devoid of makeup, appeared almost ghostly in contrast to her dark-red hair. She seemed a little shaky. No wonder since a murder had just happened next door.
“Willa,” Duane said, raising his hand in greeting. “What can we do for you today?”
“I’ll take a small chocolate chip in a waffle cone.” I handed over the money to Anne and waited for Duane to scoop out the ice cream.
After he handed it over, I leaned against the ice cream cooler and took a few licks of the creamy confection. “Terrible business at Jack’s.”
Duane’s eyes darted in the direction of the card shop. “Yeah, it’s awful.”
Anne chewed her lip and nodded. “Scary.”
“Good thing you weren’t here late that night.” I took a bite from the ice cream while watching the two of them closely.
“We close around seven most nights now that summer is over,” Duane said.
“Did you see or hear anything suspicious earlier? I heard someone stole his bank deposit and was wondering if the thief is watching to see our routines.” I made the question sound like I was concerned for all of the merchants on Main Street, including myself, which I was.
“Nope. Can’t say I’ve seen anyone, but then, I wasn’t looking before. I was home by the time all of that went down.” Duane busied himself by washing out the ice cream scoop. “Jack’s place was still open when I left.”
“Interesting.” I crunched into the waffle cone. “Because Mrs. Quimby said she saw you around here at about the time her knitting class let out at nine p.m.”
Duane’s expression suddenly shifted from nervous to sad. He shook his head. “Poor Mrs. Q. I feel so bad for her. She’s starting to lose it, you know? Can’t remember very well at all anymore. Mixes the days up and so on. Even forgets the patterns for the knitting class and has to change the project on the fly. Wife gets upset about that.” He gestured toward a canvas tote bag on the floor, out of which stuck some knitting needles. A large triangular section of something knitted in a pretty lavender yarn hung over the edge. “All the shop owners have been trying to help her out when we can.”
“Really? You think she would forget something that happened on a night someone was murdered?” I wasn’t sure if I believed that or not. Was Duane lying about being here, or was Mrs. Quimby confused? But hadn’t Brenda said she’d seen Duane that night too?
“Listen, Willa. I’m telling you, I was not here that night. I was at home, right, dear?” He looked over at Anne, who nodded. A bit too vigorously, in my opinion.
“Yep,” she said. “We were both at home.”
“We were watching Castle reruns that night, right?” Duane said to Anne.
“I thought that was the night before.” Anne frowned then shook it off. “I can’t quite remember exactly what was on TV, but we were both watching TV that night. I’d gone to the knitting class and then straight home. I remember specifically because, when I found out the next day, I thought if only we were here that night instead of watching TV, maybe we could have prevented it.”
Anne started sobbing, and Duane patted her shoulder to comfort her. He scowled at me, apparently angry that I’d upset his wife. “Any more questions?”
“No, not right now,” I said, heading for the exit. “Thanks.”
<
br /> But as I crossed the street back to the bookstore, I couldn’t shake the discouraging feeling I’d just run into another dead end. I guess I’d been hoping that either Duane was the killer or he’d seen something. But other than the stolen bank deposit, which really couldn’t have been a lot of money, what would his motive have been?
As I unlocked my shop, I realized Gus had been right about one thing all along. Investigating a crime was better left to the professionals. Figuring out who murdered Jack was going to be a lot harder than I’d originally thought.
Back in the bookstore, I was entering the new stock into the inventory system on my computer when I heard a loud hiss from Pandora.
“What’s wrong with you—”
The bells above the front entrance chimed, and the door opened.
Felicity Bates strode in, wearing a gauzy orange dress and bright-red lipstick, which clashed with the pink leash attached to Fluff.
Pandora leaped out of her bed, and she and Fluff entered into a loud hissing match.
Felicity yanked on the leash and gave her pet an irritated glare. “Stop that!”
The fluffy white-haired cat stalked over to sit near her feet but kept looking back at Pandora with an evil glare. Not to be intimidated, Pandora trotted over and took a seat near my toes, staring right back at the ill-mannered new arrivals.
Ha! I thought, resisting the urge to cheer for my pet and do some hissing myself at Felicity. So odd that she’d come in here, considering we weren’t on good terms after I’d had Felicity’s son arrested for murder. To be perfectly honest, I’d actually thought Felicity was the killer back then. Perhaps she had been, and she’d returned to her old ways now.
I crossed my arms and gave her a polite smile that was totally fake. “Looking for a book today?” I asked her. “I didn’t know you could read.”
She stared visual daggers at me. “I read just fine, Wilhelmina Chance. I also hear just fine too. And from what I’ve heard, you’ve been running around Mystic Notch, practically accusing me of killing Jack McDougall.”
Her tone was steeped in pure menace, but I refused to be intimidated. I raised my chin. “Well, if the shoe fits…”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” She jabbed a long red fingernail at my face. “Listen to me, Wilhelmina Chance. I didn’t kill him. In fact, I came here looking for Eddie to tell him my alibi.” She gave a haughty sniff and looked me up and down, her expression dripping with disdain. “I don’t know why he hangs around in here so much. This place is a dump. Just like you.”
I clenched my fists to keep from smacking her. And since when did she call Striker Eddie? I didn’t even call him Eddie. I took a deep breath and forced myself to calm down. She was trying to get me ruffled. I knew that. It would be foolish to take the bait. “Well, as you can see, Eddie isn’t here. But you have an alibi?”
“Of course.” She shined those red nails of hers on the front of her dress. “It’s the best alibi anyone could have.”
Sure it was. I swallowed my sarcasm and said instead, “Oh, really? What is it?”
Felicity wrinkled her nose at me. “As if I’d tell you. I’ll just make sure to see Eddie later.” She reached into a hidden pocket in her flowing dress and pulled out a business card, which she slapped down on my counter. “Have him contact me at that number, and I’ll tell him everything he needs to know.”
I made no move to pick it up as she started out of the store.
She stopped halfway to the door and turned back to face me. “You better watch yourself, Willa. Stop trying to play amateur detective. You have no idea what you’re up against.”
As the door slammed closed behind Felicity and her obnoxious pet, Pandora gave a mournful meow. I bent down and picked her up to comfort her, staring out the large front window at Felicity and her cat trotting off down the street like they didn’t have a care in the world. She flicked her long red hair over her shoulder at the same time that cat of hers flicked his tail, and I snorted.
Two of a kind, that pair. Both despicable.
18
After Felicity left, I was too upset to think about inventory, so I called Striker instead. He answered on the first ring.
“I was just going to call you,” he said, a smile in his voice. “Find anything interesting today?”
My heart squeezed with warmth that he’d been just about to call me. I liked the idea that he’d been thinking about me more than I cared to admit. But we had a case to solve here, and I needed to focus.
“I’m fine,” I said, putting Pandora down then walking behind the counter. I wanted to tell him more about my visit with Brenda McDougall and Duane Crosby, but even more than that, I wanted to ask about Felicity. It wasn’t that I was jealous. Just curious, that was all. I tucked the business card under the corner of the cash register, figuring I would decide whether or not to give it to him later. “So, guess who just came in here. Felicity Bates.”
“Really?” He sounded surprised. “What did she want?”
“To get in my face about Jack’s case. Apparently, she’s heard that I’ve been poking around, asking questions. She said she’d heard rumors that I thought she killed Jack.”
“Jeez,” Striker said, sighing. “I’m sorry. She can be a real pest sometimes. You didn’t actually say that to anyone, though, right?”
“Of course not,” I snapped, annoyed now. Had I said that? I was sure I hadn’t used those exact words. “But Sarah Delaney did say she’d seen Felicity lurking around the lamp shop the night it was broken into. And since Gus doesn’t seem to want to follow up on it, I’ve been talking to some of the other shopkeepers to see if they saw her too. That’s all.”
“And have they?” Striker asked.
“Umm… well, no.”
“Hmm.” His long exhale echoed over the phone line. “Maybe it’s a false lead, then. Gus might’ve known that or followed up in some other way.”
I bristled. Was he sticking up for Felicity? I wanted to ask.
Before I could, though, Striker asked, “Do you have anything else?”
Forcing myself to relax, I told him about my meeting that morning. “Pepper and I paid a condolence call to Brenda McDougall. I checked her bathroom, too, but she didn’t have any red lipstick, like the kind that was found on Jack’s collar.” I leaned my hips back against the counter and crossed my arms again. “Brenda did confirm, though, that Duane would know when Jack made his deposits.”
“Good. I’ll investigate that aspect and see if Duane was having any money troubles.”
“Okay.” The knot between my shoulder blades eased a tad, now that we were back on more comfortable ground. “I stopped in his store on my way back from meeting with Brenda too. His alibi for the night Jack died was that he was at home watching TV with his wife. Anne corroborated it.”
“Interesting,” Striker said. His tone shifted to concern. “Listen, Willa. I want you to be careful. I don’t want you putting yourself in danger. If anything happened to you…” His words trailed off, and warmth flooded my system once more.
“Are you coming over tonight?” I asked, hoping to see him.
“I’m afraid not,” he said, sounding disappointed. “I’m busy on another case, so I can’t make it. Will you be all right?”
“Oh, I’ll be fine.” I kept my voice light despite the disappointment I was feeling. Not only would I miss Striker’s company, but it looked like I would be dining on leftover pizza for dinner.
Later that night, Pandora waited patiently while Willa chowed down on cold pizza and puttered around the house. She needed to get to the barn but didn’t want Willa to know she’d left the house. After what seemed like an eternity, Willa cleaned up her dishes and started upstairs, pausing in the living room to glance at the paperweight on the coffee table.
“Meow.” Pandora pushed thoughts about the paperweight toward Willa. It was no ordinary trinket. Inside that glass orb, one could see answers to questions. But only if one focused clearly and belie
ved. That was why Pandora always tried so hard to call Willa’s attention to the bauble. Unfortunately, Willa wasn’t quite ready to believe.
Willa walked over to the coffee table and picked up the paperweight. She held it up to the window to capture the moonlight. Pandora held her breath as Willa gazed into its depths. Then Willa shrugged and laughed, putting it back and turning to Pandora. “That’s silly to think something meaningful is inside there, right?”
“Meow.”
“Also silly to talk to my cat.” Willa turned off the living room lights and headed up to her room, the third stair creaking in the usual spot.
Pandora followed her up and waited patiently, curled up at the foot of the bed, feigning sleep as Willa did her nightly ritual. Finally, once Willa was tucked under the down comforter and snoring, Pandora trotted back down the stairs and out into the night.
She raced down the path to Elspeth’s barn. All the other cats were already assembled when she arrived.
“I had the most awful encounter today,” Pandora said, trotting to stand in front of a hay bale between Inkspot and Kelly. “Fluff came into the bookstore along with that terrible owner of his. Right in my territory! Very upsetting.”
“Were you able to find anything out from him?” Otis asked, giving her a sly stare. “I don’t like the idea of him running all over town on his own, digging up who knows what.”
“I didn’t get anything new. He mostly just put on a show for his owner, hissing and acting very impolite,” Pandora said. “But he did tell me before that he investigates without his human. I don’t like it either. He could get up to something really sneaky because cats can go places humans can’t, and no one pays any attention to them snooping around. Thankfully, Fluff’s not that smart, so I doubt he’ll find anything.”
“What about the police case?” Tigger asked. “Anyone heard anything new on that?”
“No,” Sasha meowed. “I don’t think there’s been much progress at all.”
Wrong Side of the Claw Page 8
