"You're right," I agreed. "What kind do you want – dark roast, breakfast brew, French roast, vanilla, or cinnamon?"
The bewildered look on both of their faces let me know how clueless they were. "Just plain coffee for me," Wilbur said. "I don't like fancy flavors in my java. How about you, Molly?"
At least I knew their names now. I turned to her to wait for an answer.
"I think I'll be daring and try some vanilla."
I nodded toward one of the tables. "Y'all go ahead and sit down. I'll bring your coffee when it's ready."
Mavis came out of the kitchen as the second cup of coffee finished brewing. She glanced over at Wilbur and Molly and then turned to me. "What do you think you're doing?"
I gulped. "Helping them." Few people intimidated me, but Mavis kept me on edge.
"Why?" She walked up beside me, edged me away from the coffee station, and took over. "You don't work here."
Before I had a chance to reply, Molly hopped up from her chair, walked right up to Mavis, and planted her hands on her hips. "You're a big bully, Mavis Anderson."
"Wha—?" The perplexed look on Mavis's face let me know that few people stood up to her.
"That's why we never liked staying here." Molly glanced at me before continuing. "Take Lola Birchfield. Now there was a nice woman. She made all her guests feel like family."
Mavis's face tightened. "Lola Birchfield was nothing but a—"
I cleared my throat. I didn't want to hear anything bad about a woman who was no longer here to defend herself. "Please, ladies. We're all a little tense right now. Why don't we try to calm down?"
Molly scowled at Mavis and then offered me a forced smile. "I s'pose you're right. Thanks for helping us with our coffee." She picked the mugs up off the table and carried them over to where Wilbur sat. "Good thing we have this young woman here, or you might be nursing a bloody nose right now."
"Are you threatening me?" Mavis said.
"No," I interjected before Molly had a chance to issue another retort. "As I already said, things are tense now, so let's not make things worse than they already are." I turned to Molly and Wilbur. "Why don't y'all find someplace fun to go today so Mavis can have a little time to herself?"
Wilbur nodded. "I heard there's a parade and festival somewhere in Charleston."
Mavis should have said something, but she continued to scowl as she wiped down the coffee area. From what I remembered of Mrs. Birchfield, she would have not only told them all about the parade, she probably would have had copies of maps to show them where to go. No wonder Mavis's B&B hadn't done as well."
Molly and Wilbur drank their coffee in silence, with an occasional glance at each other. Finally, Wilbur stood up, stretched, and glanced down at his wife. "No sense in sticking around here all day. What's say we go check out the festivities in Charleston?"
"Sounds good." Molly took a final sip from her cup and followed her husband toward the front door.
After they left, Mavis turned to me and shook her head. "I don't like troublemakers."
"Neither do I." I met her glare with one of my own.
"How long do you think you'll be here?" she asked.
"Not long, I hope."
She opened her mouth and then closed it just as quickly. It looked like she realized she couldn't get the best of me.
Rather than wait for Jim to call me, I left for the police station on my own. On the way, I stopped off at a bakery for something to bring to the people who worked hard to keep the folks in Charleston safe.
When I pulled into the parking lot, I saw him standing at the glass door, watching. The minute he realized it was me he left his position, and that amused me … until I walked in and saw the look of consternation on his face.
"What's going on?" I asked. "What happened?"
He pointed to the chair beside his desk, so I sat. "You know that elderly couple who moved from Mrs. Birchfield's B&B to Mavis's?"
"Which one?" I asked. "There were two elderly couples."
"Mr. and Mrs. Jackson."
"Yes, in fact, I had coffee with them this morning."
He pursed his lips as he raked his fingers through his thinning hair. "We got a tip that they may know something about Mrs. Birchfield's murder." He swallowed hard. "In fact, they might have even been involved."
Chapter 6
I gasped. Rarely caught off guard, I was shocked. "That seems highly unlikely," I said.
"Yeah, I thought so too …" He pointed to something on his desk. "About fifteen minutes before you got here, we got an anonymous tip about them."
"Phone call?"
He nodded. "Yes, but not directly, and it can't be traced. Whoever called used a throwaway cell phone to call the dispatcher and disguised their voice."
"It's recorded, right?"
"Yes, of course." He leaned back and folded his arms. "That's not all. You know that tape that held up the mistletoe?"
"Did you find something?"
Jim remained silent for an uncomfortable several seconds. "Yes."
I let out a nervous laugh. "Don't keep me in suspense. What did you find?"
"Hair … Zach Zuckerman's and …" He pursed his lips, folded his hands, and dropped his gaze. "…And yours."
"Mine?" I shrieked. "What on earth?"
He lifted his hands. "I know, I know. But you do realize what kind of position that puts me in, right? After all, you were the one who called about the murder, and you were …" He gulped. "You were alone."
I never saw this one coming. "So what are you saying, Jim?"
"You might be here longer than you want to be."
That was what I was afraid of. "I'll do what I have to do."
"Good. I'm glad you're not making this more difficult than it already is."
"I wonder how my hair got in the tape."
Jim gave me a sympathetic smile. "Yeah, I've wondered the same thing. You do realize that I have no doubt you're innocent, right?"
"Absolutely." That didn't make me feel any better, but I knew that was all he could say at the moment. It also motivated me to get out of there and do some investigating on my own. I glanced up at the wall clock.
"Do you have to be somewhere?" he asked.
"Maybe." I should have been more discreet.
"I'd like to talk to Zack Zuckerman," Jim said. "Especially now. At least we know where to find him."
"Is he still in custody?"
"Yeah. He hasn't exactly been what you call a model prisoner. He coldcocked one of the guards."
I cringed. "That's stupid."
"In case you didn't notice, he doesn't seem to be blessed with an abundance of brains." Jim pulled open a file cabinet, thumbed through some papers, extracted one, and slammed the drawer shut. He glanced over the paper and then handed it to me. "Tell me what you think of this."
It took me about fifteen seconds to read the copy of a termination letter to Connie signed by Lola Birchfield. "I wonder why Connie never told us she was fired."
"I wondered that too." Jim took the paper back and placed it on his desk. "Have you seen her since that first day?"
"No, but I figured she was deep in mourning." I pointed to the letter. "Where did you find that?"
"It was found in Mrs. Birchfield's room at her boarding house. Apparently she hadn't given it to Connie yet."
"Do you think Connie knew she was being terminated?" I asked.
"That's a question only she can answer," Jim said. "But first we'll have to find her."
"Have you tried?"
"What do you think?"
I thought back to when I found the body and remembered the piece of paper she clutched tightly. "Do you have any idea what was on that paper Mrs. Birchfield was holding?"
Jim nodded. "It was a shopping list."
This seemed like a good time to ask another obvious question. "Has forensics come up with anything on the knife?"
"That knife has more prints on it than the desk at Grand Central Station. And not one of t
hem matches those of Zack Zuckerman."
"Interesting." I took a sweeping look around the station before settling my gaze back on Jim. "So what do you think?"
"Besides the lack of Zuckerman's prints on the knife, everything leads to him. He had the motive, although it was rather shaky."
"You mean thinking Mrs. Birchfield was after his dad's money?"
"That and the fact that she wouldn't allow him to stay at her B&B."
"Any idea why?" I asked.
Jim patted a stack of papers on the corner of his desk. "She might have found out about his history. That guy has a rap sheet longer than he is tall."
And he was pretty tall. "Murder?"
"No … at least not until now, if he's the one. Mostly drug related. His first incarceration was for a grow house. He was caught running a few things across the border from Mexico, and then last year he was busted for running a meth lab. He's also held up a few stores and even tried to rob a bank once."
"I'm surprised he's out."
"That's what a good attorney can do for you. Apparently there was some technicality that got him out of jail this last time, which is why we're being ultra cautious. If he hadn't held Mavis against her will and then decked the guard at the jail, we wouldn't have a reason to keep him behind bars. His attorney has already been in touch, so we're trying to nail something down before we get a release order."
"I'd be surprised if you got a release order any time soon."
He nodded. "Yeah, me too. But we're not taking any chances. Our guys have been working on this case day and night."
"Including you, right?"
"How can you tell?"
"The road map eyes and bags beneath them are dead giveaways." I gave him a sympathetic smile. "You might want to try cucumber slices."
He made a face. "I don't like cucumbers. They taste like watermelon rinds."
"You don't eat them. You slice them and put them over your eyes. They help take out the swelling and redness."
"I might try that … after we settle this case. In the meantime, I have work to do." He turned away from me.
"Is that a dismissal?"
He let out a heavy sigh. "I'm afraid so. I've probably already told you more than I should have, but I figured you'd need something to go on."
"To go on?"
He managed a weak smile. " I doubt you'll be able to rest until we catch the murderer. And once that happens, you might want to try your own cucumber remedy." He traced his fingers beneath his eyes. "I'm not the only one with bags."
"Thanks a lot. You know how to flatter a lady." I stood and turned toward the door.
"You're not the type of lady who needs flattery, are you?"
"No, of course not." I didn't bother turning back around. I just kept walking.
As I met the sunshine face to face, I inhaled deeply. Maybe I didn't need flattery, but it sure would have been nice to hear a kind word. Negative comments had never hurt my feelings before, so I was rather surprised at how they made me feel now. Was I softening up, now that I'd been a civilian for a while?
Winters in Charleston were milder than those in Nashville, so all I needed were jeans, a short-sleeve top, and a lightweight jacket. I liked that. Too many articles of clothing were constricting.
Now that I was on the long list of suspects, I needed to be ultra cautious where I went and what I said. Everything I did could be held against me, and the last thing I needed to do was raise even more suspicion.
Rather than head back to the B&B, I decided to find a quiet café where I could think and jot down some ideas. It didn't take long before I spotted a place along a storefront a few blocks from a major shopping area.
There were a couple of people sitting alone in booths near the front, which was perfect. I asked the young woman who greeted me if I could sit toward the back. She smiled as she grabbed a menu and led me to the perfect spot. Since I didn't want to take up space without ordering something, I asked for coffee and an order of toast.
As I jotted down names and events that had taken place over the past couple of days, one name that kept coming up was Connie's. She'd been at Mrs. Birchfield's B&B the evening of the murder, but after that, she seemed to disappear, even though she was supposedly employed by Mavis Anderson. I needed to talk to Connie, so I made a note to find her. I also wanted to try to have a conversation with Bert, if that was possible. He seemed to hang out in La-La-Land most of the time, but based on brief glimpses I managed to sneak in his direction when he didn't know I was looking, I suspected that was a façade he used to protect himself. What I wanted to know was what he was protecting himself from.
Molly and Wilbur seemed like very unlikely suspects, but I still wanted to talk to them. It wouldn't be difficult since they seemed to like me.
Bert's son Zach seemed like the most logical suspect, but for some reason, I had my doubts. If he'd murdered Mrs. Birchfield, and if he had a lick of sense, he would have hastily gotten out of Charleston. The fact that he not only stayed but made such a ruckus made me think he not only didn't murder the B&B owner, he didn't realize he was a suspect until he got thrown into jail.
"Want a refill on that coffee?"
I glanced up at the server who smiled down at me. "Sure, that would be good." I looked back down at my notes.
"Are you a student?" she asked.
"A student?"
She continued smiling as she nodded and pointed to my notes. "You've been studyin' so hard I figured you were gettin' ready for some big test. That's why I couldn't stay in school. All that studyin' was too much for me. I had a hard time concentratin' on account of I like to watch people. My boyfriend says I chase every pretty butterfly that flits by."
That image made me smile, but I wasn't in the mood for conversation—especially now that forensics had found my hair in the tape. "Could you bring me some cream please?"
At first, she looked confused, but then she nodded and took off to get what I'd asked for. When she returned, she appeared unsure of what to say, so she just dropped the small sealed cups of cream, gave me a nervous grin, and said, "Let me know if there's anything else I can get for you."
After I finished making notes and a list of things I needed to do, I left a five-dollar bill on the table and went to the counter to pay for my coffee and toast. The same young woman who waited on me rang me up at the cash register.
"I hope you ace your test," she said as she let out a sigh.
"Thanks." I managed a brief smile before turning and heading out.
The first place I needed to go was the B&B where I was staying. When I walked in the front door, the place was eerily quiet. I'd expected at least one or two people to be sitting in the front room and maybe Mavis or Connie to be walking around straightening up. Instead, the place was completely devoid of people.
I went up to the counter and rang the bell, fully expecting no one to respond. But within seconds, Mavis came scurrying out of the kitchen area, wiping her hands on a towel.
"Why'd you go and ring that bell?" she asked. "I was just cleaning up from breakfast. What do you want?"
"Is Connie still here?"
She gave me an odd look as she shook her head. "I haven't seen Connie in a couple of days."
"Look, Mavis, I don't know why you didn't tell me the truth. I know she works here."
"I didn't see that it was any of your business." Mavis's shoulders sagged, and she sighed. "I thought she worked here too, but apparently she doesn't anymore." Her voice came out on a half-groan, so she cleared her throat. "Apparently, she's as flaky as all the other people I've hired in the past. She up and decided she didn't feel like working, so she didn't show up."
"Did she call?"
"Nope. No call, no message, nothing."
"Did you try to call her?" I asked.
"Of course I did." Mavis gave me an I-can't-believe-you-asked-that look.
"What did she say?"
"First of all, she didn't answer, but secondly, it's none of your business, girl
ie. I don't know why you keep stickin' your nose into my affairs. Maybe you were a cop once upon a time, but you aren't now, so quit tryin' to act like one."
"Let's just say I've always been the curious type." I gave her the most sheepish look I could manage.
"Well, I suppose after what happened, you would be curious," she said as she lifted a hand and touched my arm before quickly pulling back. "I have to admit I'm on edge a little bit lately."
"Since Mrs. Birchfield's murder?"
She pursed her lips and tapped her chin as though trying to decide whether or not to discuss something with me. "There is that, but there's other stuff."
I wanted to ask more questions, but after her comment about my nosiness, I was reluctant to press ... at least at that moment. "If you feel like talking about it, I'm a good listener." I swallowed hard before adding, "I'll leave you alone for now."
As soon as I turned away from her, she spoke up. "Summer?"
I spun back around. "Yes?"
"There is something I'd like to talk about."
Chapter 7
Mavis gestured toward the seating area across the room from where we stood. "Mind if we sit down? This might take a while."
"Of course." I forced myself to not appear too eager to hear what she had to say.
As she sat down, she pulled a tissue from her apron pocket. "How well do you know Bert?"
"Bert?" I frowned. "I don't know him … I mean, the first time I saw him was when he banged on the bathroom door and told me I was taking too long."
A momentary smile flickered at the corners of her lips before her frown returned. "Did you know that Lola was chasing him?"
"Chasing him?"
She nodded. "Yes, that's why he had to leave her place. And now I find myself in the unfortunate position of falling in love with him."
I blinked. "You're falling in love with Bert?" What in the world could any woman possibly see in that man? "But why—?"
She held up a hand to shush me so she could continue. "I know, I know, he's a little bit whiny at times, and a tad eccentric, but there's a magnetic force I can't deny. And now I'm trying hard not to do the same thing Lola did."
Summer Walsh Mystery Collection (Boxed Set) (Omnibus): Murder Under the Mistletoe, Gun in the Garden, and Offed at the office (Summer Walsh Mysteries) Page 6
