The bells above the door jangled once more and drew me out of my funk. It was the bartender from the Blue Moon, there to collect the book she’d ordered.
“Hey,” she said, smiling. “Thanks for staying open late for me.”
“You’re welcome.” I pulled out the book from under the counter and handed it to her. “You prepaid, so you’re all set.”
“Thanks.” The bartender cocked her head, glancing out the front windows then back to me. “I saw your sister’s girlfriend on the way in here. She seemed upset. Did you guys have a fight?”
“Girlfriend?” The word stopped me short. “Oh, she’s not Gus’s friend.”
“Really?” She shrugged. “Huh. They’ve been pretty chummy, hanging out at the Blue Moon.”
“You must be mistaken.” I shook my head. “My sister can’t stand Felicity Bates.”
“If you say so.” The bartender started back toward the front door. “But judging on the number of drinks Felicity’s been buying for Gus, I’d say there’s definitely something there.”
My eyes widened. I came around the counter to stand before her. “She’s been buying my sister drinks?”
“Sure. While Gus is playing piano, usually. Felicity orders them at the bar then delivers them herself during your sister’s set. She did it for three nights in a row one time, but not the past couple of nights. Gus hasn’t been there since the night before they discovered Jack’s murder. Apparently she’s been working on the case.”
Alarm bells went off inside my head. “You’re saying Gus was at the Blue Moon the night of the murder? All night?”
“Yep.” The bartender gave me a funny look. “I figured you already knew that. She was there from open to close. And Jack’s body wasn’t discovered until the next morning, so Gus didn’t have to rush out for a call or anything. Felicity was there all night too.”
Stunned, I leaned a hand against the back of one of the armchairs as the bartender walked out. Gus had been at the Blue Moon. Felicity had been at the Blue Moon. Duane had been at the Blue Moon. Was the whole town hanging out there? And the fact that they were there until closing meant that neither Felicity nor Duane could be the killer.
Then who was the killer? And were the break-ins related or something separate as Felicity had suggested? And how in the world had Felicity and Gus become friends?
It was closing time. The shop proprietors were starting to lock up and go home. I supposed I should do the same. Maybe I could puzzle things out with Striker, or maybe Jack’s ghost would make an appearance and have something more enlightening.
Glancing down the street, I spied activity by Jack’s card shop. No, it wasn’t his shop. It was the Crosbys’ ice cream store. Anne was at the door, apparently locking up for the night. She looked better today, wearing makeup and the red lipstick, which I was now sure would match the smear on Jack’s collar. She glanced around as if making sure no one could see her and hurried down the street, pulling the lavender shawl I’d seen in her knitting bag tight around her to ward off the chill.
Now, that was odd behavior. She was walking fast, as if running from something, and there was something else.
The shawl.
I closed my eyes, thinking back to the talk I’d had with Duane and Anne in their shop. Duane had pointed to the knitting bag and mentioned that she’d been knitting that shawl for the class, using that to illustrate how Mrs. Quimby’s memory wasn’t always correct and her statement that she’d seen him there near the time of Jack’s death was not to be believed.
But when I’d been in Mrs. Quimby’s shop the other day, the flyer said they were knitting socks, and Brenda even had a sock in her bag.
Anne had a motive to kill Jack—he’d just broken up with her. Anne had red hair, and Brenda had found red hair by the back door. Anne would have been angry over the breakup, and she had seemed overly upset that day I talked to her and Duane. What if Anne had left Jack’s after he broke things off, just as his ghost had said, but then came back and broke in through the back door later on to kill him.
She might have been trying to make it look like it was tied into the break-ins. That could also explain why his deposit pouch was in the trash bin that went with the Crosbys’ store. Perhaps she didn’t realize that nothing was stolen from the other break-ins and took it to throw the police off track and make them assume Jack’s break-in was connected to the others.
Anne had no alibi. She and Duane had both claimed to be home, but later on, Duane confessed he was at the Blue Moon, so there was no one to verify that Anne really was home during the time of the murder.
I grabbed the key to my store, locked up, and rushed out into the street. I had to catch Anne and question her about that night. Maybe I could catch her in a mistake that Gus could use to get her to confess.
She must have turned in to a side street because I couldn’t see her. Darn.
I rushed down the street, craning my neck to see across, searching for a glimpse of the lavender shawl. I stayed on my side of the street, thinking that I would have a wider view of the street opposite where Anne was. I was so intent on looking for her, that I wasn’t paying attention to the path in front of me—
“Ooof!”
I spun around, catching Mrs. Quimby just before she fell backward. I’d practically knocked her over.
“Willa! What in the world is your hurry?” She held her tall iced coffee away from her body as the liquid and ice cubes inside swirled. Good thing the cup had a lid, or she would have been wearing it.
I briefly wondered about the wisdom of a woman her age having caffeine this late or even drinking iced coffee in this chilly weather, but my concern for her welfare after I’d practically run her down took precedence. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
She paused for a second, as if taking an internal assessment, then smiled. “Yes, dear, but you really must be more careful.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” My gaze drifted over to the other side of the street again. Anne was nowhere in sight. Then I realized Mrs. Quimby might have some of the answers I needed.
“Well then, I was just closing up, so I’ll be on my way.” She started down the street.
“Before you go, I have a question about the knitting class,” I said. “The one on the night Jack was killed.”
She turned back toward me, her blue eyes narrowing slightly. “Yes?”
“Do you remember if Anne Crosby was there?”
“Of course, didn’t I already tell you that?” She sounded annoyed. “Honestly, people talk about my memory. You’re much too young to be that forgetful.”
“It’s just that I thought the class project was a pair of socks, but Anne claimed she made a shawl.” It wasn’t exactly Anne who had claimed that. It was Duane. But Anne hadn’t disagreed, so I figured it was close enough.
Mrs. Quimby’s gaze darted to the shop window, where I could see the flyer for the class was posted. It clearly said the project was a pair of socks. She straightened, looking offended. “We don’t always stick to the announced project. We like to go with the flow. I don’t see what this has to do with anything.”
Now I felt bad. She was clearly insulted. “Oh, I was just wondering. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Are you working for your sister?” The ice cubes in her drink clanked together, drawing my eye to the tumbler.
“No. Well, sort of.” If she thought I was working for Gus, would that cause her to open up more? I hoped so. “So Anne did knit that shawl the night of the class?”
“Yes, and she chose a lovely lavender yarn too.”
“Did Anne go straight to her car when class let out? Or maybe she went across to the ice cream shop?”
We both glanced over at the shop, which was now closed, its windows dark. Beside it, the yellow crime scene tape fluttered in Jack’s doorway.
“No… I told you everyone left. I only saw Jack and Duane over there.”
“Wasn’t that the night you couldn’t find your car? Maybe you saw
her when you were looking for it.”
She scowled. “No, I already told you that wasn’t the night. It’s not like I lose my car every night.”
“But Brenda McDougall drove you around to find your car that night and then followed you home,” I said.
She frowned as if puzzled, and my worry increased. Maybe Mrs. Quimby’s memory was worse than I thought. But her shrewd blue eyes were clear as day. She chuckled almost to herself. “Oh, that’s right. That was the night Brenda drove me around, looking for my car. Silly me. Got home a little later than usual that night, around ten thirty. But I didn’t see Anne running around that night. Is that important?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe.”
“Well, then, if there is nothing else, I will just go home. I’d like to get there before my shows are all over.” She gave me a sour look, apparently to discourage me from asking more questions that might keep her from her shows, then turned and headed down the street to her car. When she got there, she glanced back at me. It was then I noticed a group of short white hairs had escaped from her bun and were sticking out in all directions. She put her iced coffee on the roof, unlocked the car, retrieved the iced coffee, and got inside.
As I watched her drive away, an unsettling feeling came over me. What if I’d been all wrong about this whole thing from the start? I rushed back to my store. If my suspicions were correct, then I needed to talk to either Gus or Striker right away.
26
Back at the shop, I collapsed on the couch. I hadn’t gotten any messages from Gus, Striker, or Brenda. I supposed I didn’t really need Brenda’s answer about the red hairs. Felicity couldn’t be the killer. She’d been with Gus at the time of the murder.
“This is all so confusing!” I said aloud, even though I was alone. Speaking of that, where was Pandora? I usually talked out my clues with her, but she wasn’t in her cat bed or on any of the other furniture. Maybe she’d found a nice corner to snooze in, uninterrupted. I was too tired to look for her. She would come out sooner or later.
Robert Frost and Franklin Pierce appeared from between the shelves, staring at me quizzically. Guess I wasn’t totally alone.
“Why so glum?” Robert asked me before turning to Franklin. “She does look glum, doesn’t she?”
“I’m not glum. I’m thinking,” I said. “This case is driving me nuts. Too many suspects, and the person I really want to be guilty couldn’t have done it.” I sank back against the cushions, dejected.
“Maybe it will help you to talk it out,” Robert suggested.
“Yeah,” Franklin agreed. “Who are your suspects?”
“Well, there’s Anne Crosby. She was having an affair with Jack, and he broke things off that night.”
“Oh dear,” Franklin said as he and Robert exchanged startled looks. “A crime of passion!”
“Maybe,” I said. “Anne was at the knitting class earlier that night. She must have gone to the shop for their rendezvous, and Jack broke it off. But the class got out at nine, and Jack was killed around ten, so she didn’t have much time to think about it. I mean, it probably took a while to have the breakup conversation.”
“Usually does,” Franklin said knowingly.
“Then she probably got mad, grabbed the gun, shot him, and fled.” I glanced toward the windows, where I could barely see the corner of Jack’s shop. “If she went out the front, someone would have seen her, so she must have gone out the back.”
Robert nodded. “Many a poem has been written about such things.”
“There’s one thing that strikes me as odd, though,” I said. “If Anne is the killer, it seems likely she would have been blinded by anger. Would she have had the presence of mind to take the deposit envelope and the money?”
“That does seem rather calculated,” Franklin said. “Perhaps it wasn’t her. Who else have you got?”
I let my head fall back so I was staring up at the ceiling. I really didn’t want to voice my suspicions of the kind, elderly yarn-shop owner out loud, but at least Franklin and Robert wouldn’t be able to tell anyone. “There’s Mrs. Quimby, who owns the yarn shop.”
Robert looked surprised. “That nice old lady who comes in for the knitting books?”
“Yep. I actually didn’t suspect her until just now. But there was something odd about the conversation we just had. This whole time, I’d been hoping the culprit was Felicity Bates. I’m even willing to believe that Pepper was right about all of this having magical origins. Now I know Felicity can’t be the killer, but what if it really does have magical origins?”
“What do you mean?” Franklin looked completely onboard with the break-ins and murder being magically motivated. I guessed he would have to believe in the supernatural now that he was a ghost.
“If someone is going around looking for the ingredients to reverse the pleasantry charm, it stands to reason they might have put some sort of spell on Gus so she wouldn’t investigate. And if Elspeth’s tea is some sort of antidote, then that means Elspeth might be magical. And if a drink could reverse whatever spell was on Gus, then maybe a drink is what caused it.”
“Not following you, Willa.” Franklin turned to Robert. “Are you?”
Robert shook his head.
“I saw Mrs. Quimby give Gus an iced coffee the other day, and I seem to recall Gus saying she had tea with Mrs. Quimby when she was questioning her about the case.” I sat up straighter on the couch. “What if Mrs. Quimby is magical, too, and put a spell or hex on Gus?”
“Just because she gave her beverages?” Robert didn’t look convinced. “That’s kind of stretching it.”
I shook my head. “It’s not just that. A whiteish-blond hair was found at the scene of one of the break-ins. Everyone assumed it was human, but I thought it might be from Fluff. Of course, that was when Felicity was my main suspect. I even mentioned it to Gus, and she laughed at me. Maybe that was because the hair really is human.”
Franklin tsked. “How rude of her to laugh at you, though.”
Robert still wasn’t convinced. “Mrs. Quimby has short white hair. But surely giving Gus a coffee and having short white hair isn’t enough?”
“No, there’s something else. Just now, I ran into her out in the street, and she acted odd when I asked about the night Jack died. I was trying to find out if she’d seen Anne running out of Jack’s or something because earlier Brenda had said Mrs. Quimby had lost her car and Brenda helped her find it. But Mrs. Quimby insisted she didn’t lose her car, then suddenly it seemed like she all of a sudden agreed with me.”
“Why would she do that?” Franklin asked.
“To create an alibi,” Robert offered.
Franklin pondered that a moment. “So, if Mrs. Quimby is the killer, and she was after the ingredients for the charm, then why would she take the deposit money?”
“Maybe Mrs. Quimby’s mind isn’t slipping like we think it is. She could be cleverly playing the fool. She might have taken the deposit envelope to throw the police off track.”
“So, then, how did it end up in the Crosbys’ trash?” Robert asked.
“Good question.” I thought about that.
“And why didn’t the police find it?” Franklin asked.
“They probably didn’t look in Duane’s trash, just Jack’s,” I said. “And Brenda probably didn’t look in there either.”
“But why would Mrs. Quimby put it in there in the first place?” Robert asked.
“Well, if she was lying about losing her car that night, then she could have seen Anne and…” I let my voice trail off, something niggling at the back of my brain.
“And…” Robert prompted.
I shot up from the couch. “I think I know who the killer is!”
“Me too!” Franklin tried to snap his ghostly fingers, but they just passed through each other. “It could only be… ruh-roh!”
He and Robert disappeared in a flash just as the bells over the door chimed.
I jerked my head around in time to see the newcomer
turn the sign to closed and pull the shade.
The good news was that I’d correctly guessed who the killer was. The bad news was she was pointing a gun right at my chest.
27
Pandora had left Elspeth’s barn and raced as fast as she could to the sheriff’s department. Luckily she was able to sneak in the front door when a patrolman opened it, as there was no time to waste. She made a beeline to Gus’s office.
Gus and Jimmy were in there, going over clues. That was good news. At least Gus was working. Jimmy had written a bunch of clues on the whiteboard and was pointing at them with the capped marker.
Pandora’s hopes were dashed, however, when Gus picked up her own marker and drew a tic-tac-toe board. She put a big X in the corner and handed the pen to Jimmy. “Your turn.”
Jimmy hesitated then took the pen. “Is this going to help us figure out the killer?”
Gus shrugged. “Sure. Beats going over the clues again and again.”
Jimmy nodded slowly. “I see. You have a secret method that you’re not letting on. Well, fine, I’ll play.” He put a big O in the center.
This wouldn’t do at all. Gus was no closer to investigating than she had been earlier. She certainly hadn’t ingested Elspeth’s antidote tea. Pandora’s only hope was that she hadn’t tossed it out.
As she looked around the room, relief spread through her when she saw the tumbler on Gus’s desk. Now to get her to drink it. Pandora jumped up on the corner of the desk, causing both Gus and Jimmy to jump. Apparently neither of them had noticed her come in. Pandora’s chest puffed out. She took great pride in her stealth entrances.
Normally, she would expect Gus to shoo her away and get mad before throwing her out, but not today. Gus scooted her chair over closer and scratched Pandora behind the ears.
“Well, hi there, little friend. How did you get all the way over here?” Gus asked.
Wrong Side of the Claw Page 12
