Something was shifting. Piper Chen, who had previously been vague about career ambitions, was excited about being an investigative journalist.
The idea was too wonderful and intoxicating to share out loud just yet. Telling Winnie would be like jinxing the possibility. So, Piper remained quiet while her mind spun with ideas for getting an interview with Robert Jones. There were only a couple of hotels in the small town, and he was likely staying at one of them.
They drove back in comfortable, quiet companionship, speaking only to groan about their full bellies and how they were never going to Loco Loft again. It was an empty vow they had made and broken countless times.
By the time they reached Copeland, the sun had already set and the air was so cool, they debated turning on the car's heater. Piper rubbed her forearms. November had brought what locals affectionately called “sweater weather.”
“I promise I'll behave,” Winnie said.
“Huh?” Piper had been thinking about calling the local hotels to find out where Robert Jones was staying.
“When you introduce me to George,” Winnie said. “I promise I won't embarrass you or say anything about the bad plot choices he made. Not even that horrible thing with Pelican Island and all those charming peasants being wiped out of existence, in an act of violence that was more senseless than shocking.”
“Acts of senseless violence are senseless,” Piper said. “That's sort of the whole point he was making.”
“Oh? Did someone die and make you the expert on interpreting George Morrison's work?” She paused. “Was it him?” She gasped. “Honestly, tell me. Has he been communicating with you at all? You said he doesn't talk, but if he can change the channels on your TV, surely he could type a few words if you point him toward a laptop.”
“Trust me, I've tried,” Piper said. “But he's only interested in loafing around, watching TV.”
Winnie snorted. “Sounds about right. That's why his books take forever.”
“He's still a person,” Piper said, feeling defensive. “He's not a factory robot with a wind-up crank.”
“But he promised he'd have the next book ready by—oh, snap!” Winnie hit the accelerator, and they zoomed past Piper's driveway without turning in.
Piper turned and stared behind them. It was dark now, but thanks to the new landscape lighting around the mansion, she could easily see a vehicle parked in her driveway. A marked police car.
Ominously, Winnie said, “This doesn't bode well. Should we go to my house instead?”
“I'm sure they're just following up,” Piper said. “I called the chief about the hunch I had about the Realtor, and I haven't heard back.” She took a deep breath. “We might as well see what they want. And besides, Teddy's had nothing but dry kibble since breakfast. I need to get in there and feed the beast before he takes off someone's arm.”
Winnie turned the car around. “I've never talked to a cop before. Is there anything I should know?”
Piper remembered her interaction with Dumb and Dumber, back at the Morrison residence. She'd been mishandled based on snap judgments, just because she was young and pretty.
“Try not to act like a high-priced call girl,” she said sarcastically. “And be respectful.”
Winnie patted her stomach and let out an unladylike burp. “How's that?”
Piper rolled her eyes.
They parked, and Winnie offered to grab the shopping bags while Piper went ahead to greet the two people standing in the shadows of her front door.
One was a cop and the other was not.
Chapter 10
“Do I need a lawyer?” Piper eyed the police officer warily.
She stood in her family's oversized kitchen, wrestling a chamomile tea bag out of its unnecessarily rugged wrapper. Her hands were shaky, and the room felt stuffy despite the hum of the brand-new HVAC. She was asking about a lawyer because she felt guilty about crashing the funeral that afternoon, plus she couldn't shake the uneasy feeling she'd gotten from Pandora accusing her of breaking into Pandora's house. Had the crazy woman decided to press charges based on nothing more than a hunch?
Five minutes earlier, she'd arrived at her front door just as the two men on her front step were ringing the doorbell. Teddy had been barking up a frenzy on the other side of the door, threatening to chase them to a new postal code. Both men were familiar, but only one wore a Copeland Police Department uniform.
The police officer, a large man who wore his dark hair in a buzz cut that looked very short next to his bushy black mustache, respectfully greeted her as Miss Chen. He was one of the two officers who'd been at George Morrison's house the previous week. He was the one who'd assumed she was a call girl, and then had been all-too eager to shove her face in the dusty shag carpet while handcuffing her. She'd gotten her revenge with a solid headbutt to the nose. It must have given him a nice black eye. Even now, a week later, he still sported a faint ring of purple under one eye.
Tonight, the big cop was formal, professional, and kept his face a safe distance from Piper's hard skull. He introduced himself as Officer Jarvis, but Piper's ears heard Officer Jerkface. She didn't ask for clarification.
The second man, dressed in a natty linen suit and pricey Italian shoes, was Carl Plummer. She'd seen him on the TV at the diner and recognized him immediately. He was Otis's father and Dr. Walsh's ex-husband. Though he wasn't nearly as cute as his son, Piper could see some family resemblance in the man's lively blue eyes. Besides being related to her crush, Carl Plummer was also the real estate agent she'd suggested the police look into as the unseen assailant who'd pushed her down. As she was formally introduced to him, her shins ached at the memory of toppling over the dusty shoe rack. Was he the killer? His presence on her doorstep made her uneasy, but she invited them both inside anyway. At least Winnie was there as backup, gathering their shopping bags from the car and watching from a distance.
Now Piper was making the jerky cop and the murder suspect herbal tea. Herbal tea! It was surreal. Why were the men there? Piper thought guiltily of the dog park date she had scheduled for the next day with Otis. Was the senior Plummer there in connection to that? Had he compared notes with his ex-wife, Piper's therapist? No, that was paranoid. Or was it? She sighed inwardly. This was exactly why she usually told the unvarnished truth. She'd be the world's worst spy.
With quivering hands, Piper finished making two cups of chamomile tea and pushed them across the kitchen island toward the men. They both accepted and took seats on the barstools. Whatever was about to go down would go down casual-style, right there at the granite-topped kitchen island. Piper grabbed herself a glass of water and took a seat as well.
Winnie had entered the house unobtrusively and taken Teddy to the pool house in the backyard. There was no sign of ghostly George. The three were alone.
Officer Jerkface cleared his throat. “What?” His ears looked enormous next to his buzz cut, and he turned one to her. “I thought you were saying something about the tea, but did you just ask me a question?”
She'd nearly forgotten her question. “Do I need a lawyer?”
“I should hope not,” answered Carl. He had an elevated, ever-so-slightly British accent. On television, he'd come across as plastic, but in person, he had an abundance of charisma, like an actor faking bashfulness while accepting an Oscar.
Officer Jerkface blew over his hot tea and slurped it noisily. He rubbed the droplets off the bottom of his big mustache with the back of his hand in a practiced gesture. “We're here for an apology,” he said.
Piper's guilt ballooned. “I'm so sorry,” she answered quickly. “I'll only tell the truth from now on. I'm not crazy, I swear.” She coughed into her hand and then clamped her mouth shut before she could make things worse. Why had she volunteered that she wasn't crazy? It was exactly like a crazy person to deny their craziness.
The two men exchanged a puzzled look.
Carl, who hadn't touched his tea yet, leaned forward and tapped his fingers on the cool sto
ne counter. The taps sounded like hooves on a dusty trail. His trimmed fingernails were buffed to a shine and his knuckles bore short, light hairs. Did he shave his knuckles? She was curious about the Plummer family. Were any of them plumbers? Had his ex-wife switched back to her maiden name after the divorce, or had she never taken Plummer in the first place? If Piper married Otis—a wild, crazy thought—her name would be Piper Plummer. How about that? Piper Plummer. It was a name strange enough to inspire loud laughs from strangers.
“Miss Chen,” Carl said.
“Yes, Mr. Plummer,” she replied.
“May I call you Piper?”
“That's my name,” she said cheerily. “Piper. Which is a lot like Plummer, if you think about it. Pipes. Plumbing.”
“I suppose,” he said, frowning. “I always tell people to think of a plum to remember my name. A juicy, dark-purple plum. So much nicer than some large, grunting gentleman with his pants falling down at the back.”
“Sorry,” Piper said. “I didn't mean anything by it.”
Carl swept some invisible crumbs from the granite counter and sat up tall in his chair. “Don't be sorry. It is I who must apologize to you.” The twang in his voice made his formal language sound almost charming. “I am so deeply, terribly sorry for the indignity I inadvertently caused you.” His lively blue eyes became more shiny, as though wetting with genuine tears of empathy. “You must have been so frightened on that terrible day.”
Piper suddenly realized why the two men were in her home. “You're the one who pushed me down! I walked into the Morrison house and you attacked me!”
Carl turned expectantly to the cop sitting between them. Officer Jerkface raised two bushy eyebrows, but didn't move except to take another slurp of the chamomile tea. Was that how they solved crimes in Copeland? They drove the assailant over to the victim's house so he could drink her tea and offer a half-hearted apology? Piper had the urge to headbutt both of them.
“Piper, I merely bumped into you,” Carl Plummer said delicately. “Bumped. By accident.”
“It was an accident that you shoved me down?”
“Bumped,” he repeated. “You see, I was frightened and confused myself. For all I knew, one of George's book fanatics could have been lurking in the shadows, awaiting a second victim.”
Piper snorted. Her guilt-paranoia bubble had burst. Now indignation reigned. And to think, she'd apologized to him! “You thought a petite Asian girl was coming to beat you up? You thought I practiced the deadly art of Waif Fu?”
“Waif Fu?” Evidently, he didn't know the pop culture term for a slight woman who miraculously beats everyone up thanks to special-effects movie magic.
She muttered in Mandarin, calling him a rice bucket, since he was obviously good for storing food and not much else.
Carl held his hands up. “I don't speak Oriental!”
“It's Mandarin.” She crossed her arms. “Don't try to diminish what happened. Mr. Plummer, you shoved me. On purpose.”
“Very well then,” he admitted. “Guilty as charged.” He looked right at the cop. “Except I won't be getting charged.”
Officer Jerkface nodded in agreement. “We don't like clogging up the courts with minor incidents. Mr. Plummer and his family are all upstanding members of the community. This doesn't smell like a serious crime to me.”
Smell? She leaned toward the Realtor and sniffed, detecting only a woodsy aftershave. “You smelled like a fisherman that day.”
“I should think not,” Carl Plummer said vehemently. “Sometimes I skip my morning shower, but puhhh-lease.” He raised his eyebrows. “Do I look like someone who'd smell like shrimp?”
Piper snapped her fingers. “Shrimp! That's what it was!” She turned to Officer Jerkface. “See? He just admitted it.”
“Admitted what?” The cop didn't react except to pick a loose stem from his herbal tea.
“He was up to no good,” she said.
“You started it,” Carl retorted. “In the dark, you looked a lot bigger, and so did your pit bull.”
“Boston Terrier.”
“All dog breeds can be dangerous in the wrong hands.”
Piper gave him her toughest Waif Fu look. “What were you doing there, anyway? If you were showing the house to clients, you wouldn't have been alone.”
“I was cleaning,” he answered plainly.
Officer Jerkface finally chimed in with an official tone, looking right at Piper. “I'm satisfied your altercation was simply an accident. Mr. Plummer had entered the home thirty-five minutes earlier to tidy the residence in preparation for a viewing the next day.”
Carl nodded vigorously. “That's right. I was cleaning, and didn't realize Mr. Morrison had suffered a mishap. I was there for about half an hour before I just about tripped over the body downstairs. I was trying to leave when you shoved your way in the front door. Understandably, I panicked.” He gave her a forceful smile. His teeth were as white and uniform as an Ikea display of porcelain teacups.
She took in his apology begrudgingly before asking, “Did you call the police?”
“More or less. I sat in my car and waited to make sure you did.”
“Liar.” She pointed an accusing finger at the Realtor and turned to the cop. “Mr. Plummer jumped in his car and sped away immediately. That's what I saw, and that's what I said in my report. He's hiding something.”
Carl Plummer gave her an appreciative look. “Darling, nothing gets by you, does it? I did drive away, but then I circled the block and came right back. I peered in the front room window and saw you sitting on the sofa inside, talking to yourself.” He rested his chin on his fist. “Why were you there, young lady?”
“None of your business,” she said coolly.
Officer Jerkface finished his tea with a final noisy slurp and pushed his stool back. “I'm glad we could get this settled. Are we good here?” He gave Piper a pleading look. With the purple bruise under one eye, he looked weary and a bit pathetic. She almost felt sorry for him.
“We're good,” she said softly.
“Thank you, Miss Chen.” He glanced in the direction of the front door and adjusted his heavy-looking belt. “We'll be on our way now.”
The whole thing was settled? Then why did she have a ghost haunting her? There was more to the story than these two were admitting to. Her window of opportunity was closing. What would Nancy Dowd do in this situation? She'd ask the tough questions!
“Just one last question,” Piper said. “Does Mr. Plummer have an alibi for the time of death?”
To her surprise, Officer Jerkface was ready. He must have been anticipating such a question. “Yes, and it all checks out,” he said. “The time of death was around five o'clock on Thursday. Mr. Plummer was out of town that entire day, with receipts and witnesses to corroborate.”
Piper blinked as she assimilated the new information. This detail had not been in the newspapers. The time of death was five o'clock Thursday. George had been dead for a whole day before she'd showed up. Whatever had happened to him, it had occurred just hours after he'd sent her a text.
She'd memorized George's message, sent at two o'clock on Thursday: I'll be spending Friday evening digging through old junk at my mother's house. Here's the address. You could pop over later if you dare! I must warn you that I'm an old man who loves reliving his glory days. Brace yourself for some moldy old stories about bowling trophies.
With a shaky voice, she said, “George sent me a message three hours before his death. Was I the last person he talked to?”
The big cop gave her a look bordering on pity. “It's possible the text he sent you was his last.” He broke eye contact and stared out the dark kitchen window. “Imagine that. The last words George Morrison will ever write.”
Carl Plummer slipped noiselessly off his stool and clapped the cop on the shoulder. “Hang in there, friend. Good work is immortal. It lives on beyond the man.”
The dark-haired police officer cleared his throat and headed toward the fr
ont door.
Carl, surprisingly stealthy, was slipping a business card into Piper's hand. “Beautiful home you have,” he said softly. “Six bedrooms?”
“Five plus den,” she answered automatically.
He nodded. “Let me know if you ever need more space, or less space, or something different.” With a knowing grin, he added, “You can trust a Plummer man to make you feel at home.”
He proceeded to the front door, remarking on the high ceilings and crown moldings, and then the two were gone.
Chapter 11
As soon as the red tail lights of the police car had disappeared down the street, Piper ran out the patio door and crossed the lawn to the pool house. The hole that Teddy was digging along the fence had grown substantially. She shook her head and sighed. He was such a fan of the Grand Canyon, he was trying to recreate one in their backyard.
She tapped on the pool house door. “It's just me. The cop is gone.”
Winnie yanked open the door. “Good. I didn't like the way he talked to you.”
“Really? He was on his best behavior tonight.”
“I can see why you headbutted him. That guy's got jerk written all over his face.”
Piper agreed. She entered and shut the door behind her. The pool house was much smaller than the main house, but in many ways she preferred it. She liked the cozy feeling of the smaller rooms. A reflection in the window caught her eye. Was it George? She waited, looking around, but if the ghost was there, he didn't let himself be seen. She'd expected him to be eager to hear all about his funeral, but perhaps the many visitors had kept him away.
She sat on the comfy sofa and gave Winnie a full report on what had been said in the main house.
Upon hearing about the apology, Winnie was shocked, but not surprised. “Copeland,” she said, the way people often did to shrug away the not-so-professional way in which things in the small town were done.
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