by Pamela Tracy
“Shelley, first name, huh?”
“I’m watching over her as part of my job. Two syllables are a lot easier to say than five.”
“Sure,” Aunt Bianca said. “I suppose you want me to order more chocolate muffins?”
“More?”
“She delivered twelve Saturday afternoon. The bill is on the kitchen counter. I ordered some cookies and bread. We won’t have a full house for the next month or two. I’ll order more when business picks up.”
“Go ahead and order more now. I’ll pay for it.”
“It’s not the money,” Aunt Bianca said. “They would go bad.”
“Not the chocolate muffins,” Oscar predicted.
Upstairs, something thudded to the ground. Aunt Bianca looked up, rolled her eyes and said, “Tiffany is packing.”
“So Jack’s leaving once the service is over?”
“I’m not sure. Especially since Cody says he can’t leave until the investigation is closed.”
“How’s he feeling?”
“I imagine pretty wretched. He slept here Friday night and didn’t get up until Saturday afternoon.”
“You’re kidding. How did I miss that?”
“Too many hours, not enough sleep,” his aunt said simply.
“You ever have an encounter with Gerald Dupont?” he asked.
“No. I don’t see him much. I do know he doesn’t help his wife much with Timmy.”
“You ever talk to her?”
“No. I took food over when they first moved in and invited them here for a meal. I found my casserole dish on the front porch two days later. Once I saw her at the grocery store and tried to invite her again. They’re not interested in socializing.”
“Can you guess why?”
“No.” Aunt Bianca leaned close. “You going to tell me?”
“I wish I knew the answer. I spoke to the Duponts and to Abigail Simms. The only information I came away with—and you may not share this—was that Abigail’s dog barked at five in the morning. There’s some chance it was due to something unusual going on.”
“I didn’t hear anything, but then, I slept through the explosion two years ago.”
Oscar knew she was talking about Abigail Simms’s water heater exploding at two in the morning and rocketing through the roof. Aunt Bianca hadn’t awakened in spite of her living room window shattering or the sirens that shrieked through the neighborhood shortly after. Not good for a bed-and-breakfast proprietor.
“You know, Aunt Bianca, I don’t care that you sleep like the dead. I’m just glad you’re out and about during the day. I’ve got a job for you.”
She leaned forward, eager. “What?”
“I want you to keep an eye on the neighborhood. Don’t let anyone know. Get a notebook or use a computer spreadsheet. I don’t care. I want to know the comings and goings of the people on this street, especially the Duponts and Simms.”
“Abigail Simms? Really?”
“More her dog and absent son,” Oscar cautioned, wondering if he’d made a mistake.
“Her son’s too lazy to commit murder,” Aunt Bianca scoffed. Then she stood, fetched a spiral notebook and went to the front window. She was already taking too much pleasure in her new task than he was comfortable with. The last thing he wanted was his aunt winding up in some kind of danger.
“How fun,” she said.
“Not fun—serious,” he reminded her, feeling a bit of role reversal. He’d never imagined he’d be telling his aunt what to do and feeling a bit like reprimanding her for being too free-spirited.
“Anything to help Candace.”
“And you can’t let Jack Little know what you’re doing,” Oscar cautioned.
“I should ask him to help. The man’s more wound up than you, and that’s saying something. His wife checking out isn’t helping.”
“You’re not a marriage counselor,” Oscar reminded her.
“Maybe the woman’s bored,” Aunt Bianca reasoned.
Oscar reminded himself that he wasn’t a marriage counselor, either, and that he, too, often compared Tiffany with Jack’s second wife, Candace’s mother. Stepmother, really, but only in words, not actions. Valerie legally adopted Candace, but that was only paperwork. Her heart had sealed the deal. She’d died just over a year ago: car accident.
Adjectives he’d heard to describe wife number three were self-possessed, vain, uncaring and selfish. Tiffany thought that gorgeous made up for her shortcomings. Not in Oscar’s book. Not in Candace’s, either. One reason why she and Cody had moved to Sarasota Falls.
For the next few days, Cody and Jack planned a memorial, Aunt Bianca patrolled the neighborhood, often with Peeve by her side, and Oscar kept his eyes on Shelley.
Every once in a while, his hands were on her, too. Never inappropriately. But he liked helping her up the stairs because he needed to make sure no one had access to her apartment. He liked brushing a bit of chocolate off her cheek after she’d baked something. A few times Oscar had really let loose with Ryan: running through the apartment, swinging the boy in the air—tossing him and catching him—and then both of them falling to the ground laughing. Watching Ryan and him roughhouse seemed the best way to get her to relax. He could tell.
It didn’t inspire her to let him stay long. She always seemed to be looking out the window, the expression on her face indicating she expected a storm.
A bad one.
Which didn’t explain why she routinely hustled him out of her apartment after only a few minutes.
Friday morning, Oscar grabbed a muffin from the kitchen and headed out the door. It was ten in the morning, the neighborhood was empty, and daytime gave Oscar even more opportunities to figure out what had happened to Candace. Her funeral was tonight. He dreaded it.
He climbed on his motorcycle and headed for work. He slowed the Harley down when he got to Shelley’s apartment. He wanted nothing more than to run up the stairs and see what she was doing. One of these days he’d like to do something fun with her, like take her to a movie or dinner or even to play putt-putt golf. Right now, the mixed feelings he had kept him from asking for what felt like a date. Didn’t keep him from spending time with her, though.
Ordinary concerns in an extraordinary time.
He sped up and went to the station. Riley was in his office, talking on the phone and fingering a file that he closed when Oscar came in the room. After hanging up, Riley got right to the point. “The prints on the back of Candace’s nylon shirt don’t belong to Shelley. They were slightly bigger.” Riley sounded resigned.
Oscar hadn’t for a moment thought there would be a match. Still, he studied the film hanging on the whiteboard in Riley’s office. It was a bit like an X-ray but greener. A ruler had been affixed to the paper. In black ink, it said “7.2 inches.”
“An average-size man has a hand measuring 7.4 inches,” Riley said.
“That might eliminate Abigail Simms’s son. He’s a big guy,” Oscar reasoned. “But what about Gerald Dupont?”
“I didn’t know they were suspects,” Riley said. “Where is that written down? Not in any of your reports you’ve turned in to me.”
“Nothing definite to report,” Oscar said easily. “I was investigating. Still am investigating. And I’m also thinking about who could be a suspect.”
“You might have a hard time with Abigail’s son. He spent the night in jail, which makes quite an alibi.”
Oscar said, “I’ll add that information to my notes.”
“Do that. And most likely, Dupont didn’t kill Candace,” Riley said.
“How—”
“Gerald Dupont has heart disease.” Riley took a notebook out of his pocket. Oscar had never noticed the chief utilize it before. Now Riley read, “‘Atrial fibrillation. A type of arrhythmia.
’” Looking at Oscar, Riley said, “If Gerald Dupont exerted himself, he’d be asking for a heart attack.”
“Is that why he seldom walks his son?”
“Yes. And it’s why he has employees to do all the heavy lifting for him. He’s mostly the man pushing papers at the desk.”
“But he hit on—”
“Should we arrest him for that?”
“No, but—”
“You’re indignant because Candace was a close friend and because you’re getting too close to Shelley Wagner. And why exactly are you getting so close to Shelley? It’s become an obsession. It has nothing to do with the Livingston case, does it?”
“It has everything to do with Candace’s case. Shelley not only found the body but also sees what’s going on in the neighborhood.”
“If she sees everything, why didn’t she see who killed Candace?”
“We’ll find that out tonight. I’m taking her to Candace’s memorial.”
Riley shook his head. “You’re either brilliant for a rookie, or you’re not a rookie.”
“I don’t know what I am anymore,” Oscar said. “I just know I have to solve this case before I lose track of who I am and what I want.”
Riley looked like he wanted to ask something else, but the phone rang, and the moment was lost.
Good thing, because Oscar wouldn’t have been able to answer another question without lying. No, he wasn’t a rookie. And yes, he was obsessed with Shelley.
She was chipping away at defenses he’d put in place long ago, making him believe that he was a hero not because he was watching over her but because he cared.
Really cared.
For her.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
RUNYAN, NEW MEXICO, was twice the size of Sarasota Falls. Shelley had never visited it before. No need. Tonight, in a dark blue dress and sensible shoes, she held Ryan’s hand and followed Oscar into a pretty church with a white steeple and a huge parking lot.
“You’re not getting by me without a hug.” The words came from a woman about four-foot-eight, who weighed maybe eighty pounds and who sported shock white hair.
“And I never want to.” Oscar grinned, lifting the woman in a hug that had her feet dangling.
For all that, he was amazingly gentle, because the woman had to be in her eighties or nineties. Shelley almost scolded Oscar. This was a funeral! But when he set the woman down, she said, “I’ve organized the meal. It will happen about two hours after the burial. I can’t believe Candy is gone.”
No one, in Shelley’s presence, had called the dead woman Candy.
“When I think about how Candy and that sister of yours would come over to my house and learn to sew and eat supper with me, well, what’s happened to her makes me ill.”
Before Oscar could introduce Shelley, another older woman stepped up for the same kind of hug, and soon Oscar and Shelley stopped every three or four steps, greeting people, him introducing Shelley and accepting handshakes, hugs and always condolences. It was a side of him she’d not yet seen. Hometown boy. It was easy to tell he was well liked.
Oscar’s aunt Bianca was getting plenty of hugs, too, before she slipped off to find Oscar’s mother. Shelley accepted a few, but most people recognized that when she stepped back, it was a sign she didn’t want hugs. Ryan held out his hand for a shake. Didn’t matter age or gender.
The church she and her family once went to was small, maybe two hundred people. Walking into the foyer, signing her name in the guest register and feeling Oscar’s hand on her back, she realized she’d missed attending services, missed hearing the snippets of conversation about who was on vacation, who was seeing who and how everyone was feeling.
Another thing Larry had taken from her. She’d complained that the townspeople of Sarasota Falls hadn’t forgiven her, but she hadn’t forgiven herself.
“I’m not sure I should be here,” she whispered to Oscar. “I really didn’t know Candace. And I’m not walking by the casket.”
“You don’t have to. You’re supposed to view living people,” Oscar reminded her. “Tell me if you see anyone who visited the Livingstons or that you saw in the neighborhood.”
Shelley nodded, holding Ryan’s hand and heading for a pew in the back. Oscar nodded in return, figuring it would be easier to spot people if they were in front of her.
“I should go sit with my family,” Oscar explained.
He hesitated, looking beyond her at the foyer still full of people and then at the church already crowded. He gave the church a scan, his eyes pausing at a point near her.
She looked, too, but didn’t see anything. Just people either whispering to each other or sitting silently. Another family with children shared her pew. At the end was a lone man. She’d never seen any of them before. Oscar sat down beside her. Before he could settle in, someone called his name, and after a moment she watched him set up folding chairs. She’d forgotten how well-known Candace’s family was. They just might need a bigger church.
She handed Ryan her phone, knowing he liked to watch cartoons on it and didn’t mind if there was no volume. She’d take it back when the service started. Even at this young age, Ryan should be learning respect. Looking around, she saw lots of respect. People had their heads down, praying. Others held their heads high with a few tears wet on their cheeks.
A hush seemed to sweep the room. Shelley watched as Cody walked down the aisle flanked by a couple who must be his mom and dad. Judging by how pale he was, it was good he had their support. Three young men who looked a lot like him followed. She scanned the memorial card she’d picked up when she’d signed the guest book. It not only proclaimed Cody a loving husband but also mentioned his family, brothers. It proclaimed that Candace was an only child like Shelley was. Both Candace and Cody were born and raised in Runyan.
At the front of the church, Cody was talking with Jack Little and his wife, Tiffany. Both men were openly crying. From the last time Shelley had spoken with Candace’s father to now, the man seemed to have aged twenty years. Wife number three, Tiffany, looked like she belonged standing next to Cody instead of Jack Little. Shelley glanced at her simple one-piece dress, nylons and flats.
Black was no longer the only color of mourning. The congregation wore muted colors, lots of grays and dark blues. Tiffany Little, however, wore a glossy emerald green with some sort of sequins at her shoulders. She leaned toward her husband, patted him on the shoulder and giggled.
Giggled?
“Even at a funeral, she has to stand out.” The words weren’t bitter, more amazed. Shelley looked up at a short black-haired woman with red-rimmed eyes and thick eyebrows who was taking Oscar’s place. “I’m Anna Guzman, Oscar’s sister.”
“I’d have recognized you anywhere,” Shelley said, scooting over.
Anna had paper towels in her hand and was using them for tissues. “And me, you. Oscar talks about you. First time he’s ever shared details about somebody in a case he’s working on.” Anna blew her nose. “At first I thought it had to do with Candace’s murder, but then I realized it was more.”
Shelley didn’t know how to respond. She was more than eight months pregnant, tired and scared, and knew it was the absolute worst timing for falling in love.
So she wasn’t going to.
“The news said—” Anna started and then began again. “The news said...said...that you found... Candace’s body.”
Shelley nodded.
“Just tell me—she was my best friend and I loved her—did she suffer?”
Shelley closed her eyes. She’d been asked this more than a dozen times at her mother’s funeral. Yes, her mother had suffered, not pain-wise but in knowing she wouldn’t get to see her only daughter married, grandchildren, grow old next to her husband. “I don’t think so,” Shelley said. “I didn’t see much, but
if I had to guess, I’d say everything happened quickly.”
“A cop from Sarasota Falls came down and spoke to those of us who were close to Candace. Really, she didn’t have an enemy. She was from the wealthiest family in town, maybe in the state, but she was down-to-earth, caring and fun.”
“I could tell that.”
“She and Cody were together from the time we were in high school.”
Shelley nodded.
“I was her maid of honor.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“She would have been mine, too.”
“Oscar told me how close you were.”
“She thought she was pregnant and hadn’t even told Cody. Just me. She said she was tired all the time and feeling a little off in the mornings.”
Pregnant?
If that were true, then Larry really was a monster.
* * *
“AUNT BIANCA’S STAYING with my mother tonight,” Oscar said, situating a sleeping Ryan in his car seat.
“How will she get home?”
“Someone will bring her, or I’ll fetch her.”
Shelley nodded. It had been a long evening. After the viewing, there’d been a meal. Shelley’d met every member of his family and then some. Ryan had played and played and played until he came and crawled in Shelley’s lap. He didn’t fit, so he crawled in Oscar’s and fell asleep. Oscar’d been carrying him ever since.
It appeared to Shelley that Ryan had found a pillar to lean on.
The moon was full, and there were plenty of cars on the highway.
“Most of these are people heading home,” Oscar observed. “There were visitors from all the way in Arizona.”
“Candace was well liked,” Shelley noted.
“I’ll miss her.”
Silence followed. After a few minutes, Shelley said, “Your sister mentioned that Candace might be pregnant.”
Oscar’s foot pressed down on the gas pedal before he could recover. “No, she wasn’t. The medical examiner would have noted it.”
“Phew. I was worried.”
