“Come on, then,” Harmony said, getting to her feet just as the waiter arrived tableside to take their order. “We’re not staying. We need to get this vital evidence straight to the sheriff!”
They did get the evidence into the sheriff’s office, but getting it to the sheriff himself took a much longer wait. The lobby of the station was nothing much to speak of, just a couple of wooden chairs Reg insisted the ladies took while he remained standing. Given the way he kept flexing his arthritic knee, Willow wished he’d just taken the seat.
When half an hour had passed, Willow walked up to the receptionist—Mary Jo Parsons, voted most popular in high school, and Willow couldn’t remember another single fact about her—and reminded her they were there.
“He won’t be too long,” Mary Jo replied, ignoring the fact that too long had already been and gone. They were now working on far too long, or really far too long for sure.
“It is very urgent that we speak with him,” Willow repeated. “It’s related to the murder of Roger Randall.”
“Oh, I know, hon. I made sure to tell the sheriff that when I passed on your names the first time. I’ve already sent him one reminder, though. If I push through a second to his computer, he’ll just think I’m nagging.”
“Perhaps you should be nagging him,” Harmony said. She stood up and joined Willow at the counter. “This is most irregular. We’re talking about evidence that might help solve a murder, and you’re just keeping us sitting out here waiting for a good hour.”
“Not quite that long, hon.”
They retook their seats, Willow’s stomach rumbling. “If I’d known Jacob would take this long to see us, I would’ve just stayed and eaten our lunch.”
“Try this,” Harmony said, rooting around in her bag and producing a Pez dispenser brimming with candy. “I don’t know why, but these things always cheer me up.”
Willow wavered for a second, but candy would just make her stomach call out for food even worse. She handed it back reluctantly just as Sheriff Wender finally came to wave them through.
As they walked in, Jimmy Niko walked out. It took Willow a few seconds to recognize him without the familiar sandwich board covering his midriff. She frowned as he trudged out of the station.
“Don’t you think you should be keeping tabs on Jimmy?” she asked as they followed the sheriff through into his cubicle. “He’s certainly the one in town with the biggest grudge against Roger.”
“He’s also got an alibi,” the sheriff said, hastily adding, “not that it’s any of your business.”
“It’s all our business,” Harmony stated firmly. “There’s a killer on the loose in our small community, so we’ve all got a vested interest in making sure you bring him to justice.”
“Or her,” Sheriff Wender said with a sharp nod at Willow.
Although a multitude of vibrant phrases sprang to her lips, Willow managed to keep them in check. The last thing she wanted was another visit to the interrogation room. It was only tolerable to walk into the station again knowing she was free to leave.
“We have some evidence of Roger’s car being vandalized,” Willow said. She nodded to Reg, who handed over the camera, looking concerned as the sheriff picked it up and started to flick through the images.
Sheriff Wender winced as he reached some of the final pictures. “Ooh. You’d think eggs would just wash off, but if you don’t get to them quick enough, there’s something in the bitumen that binds to the paint. That looks like someone’s got a nasty clean-up job on their hands.”
“Not just someone,” Reg said with a stamp of his foot. “That’s Roger Randall’s car the kid is throwing eggs at.”
“Really?” The sheriff looked at the images again, then pulled his keyboard toward him and started to type. “Oh, here we go. You’re right!”
The surprise in Sheriff Wender’s voice was the most insulted Willow had felt all day. “Of course, we’re right. I know that license plate by heart. So should you, by now, if you were working this case seriously.”
She folded her arms and sat back in the chair, glaring at the sheriff.
The man’s cheeks flushed with color, and he pointed a finger at Reg. “This is good evidence of vandalism, but I don’t see what it has to do with the murder. We’ll keep this in the meantime.” He patted the camera. “And I’ll have someone return it to you when we’ve taken copies of the photographs.”
Reg looked positively alarmed at that news. Willow made a mental note to look through Molly’s belongings again. She was sure there was a camera stocked away somewhere. Even if it weren’t digital, Reg would know people who could still develop film.
“It’s not just that, Sheriff,” Harmony said in a respectful voice. The tone appeared to calm the sheriff back into a state of equanimity, and he nodded at her to continue. “The boy in those photos is Mael Layton. His mother is Trisha Layton.”
The sheriff nodded, then stared at Harmony long enough, waiting for her to continue, that it became apparent he didn’t make the connection.
Willow sighed. “Trisha Layton was Roger’s secretary for twenty years.” Her tone of voice suggested everyone should know that, even though it was information new to her that morning. “Roger fired her a few days ago, and her son was caught on camera by Reg vandalizing his car last night. If he was angry enough to risk acting that way in the middle of the square with people about, imagine what he could have done if he came across Roger alone somewhere.”
Sheriff Wender held up his hand. “Okay, I get it. Thanks for this. I’ll pass the information on to my superiors and follow up on the lead. Do you have anything more?”
The three of them shook their heads and left the station. Willow, for one, felt quite disgruntled. “We’re practically doing his investigation for him, and Jacob can’t even be bothered to say thanks!”
“Maybe we should,” Harmony said in a thoughtful voice. “After all, it’s your neck on the line and your boyfriend who needs justice. Much as I respect the office of the sheriff, I’m disappointed in his reaction right about now.”
“I don’t know.” Reg took a step back. “Meddling about in official affairs is a good way to end up getting yourself disappeared. I’ve read about that happening often enough.”
Harmony stared at him with a frown, and Willow wondered if she should point out the contradiction of someone disappearing but everyone knowing about it. Better to leave it alone, she thought.
“I for one think just having a nice meal and thinking about all this tomorrow would be a better idea. Although I don’t mind passing over information to the sheriff, beyond that I don’t think we should become involved.”
Chapter Eight
After lunch, Willow waved goodbye to her friends and waited until they were out of view. She’d told them she wanted to spend some time alone— an entirely honest statement—but she also wanted to do something to make herself feel better.
The pawn shop wasn’t on the main drag. Like a secret, it hid down an alleyway off a side street. All the better if you wanted to disguise your activities for a seller, but not such a great position for buyers.
“Hey,” Willow said, knocking on the counter for attention when the bell over the door didn’t bring anyone out.
“I’ll be a few minutes,” a voice called out from the back of the store. At least Willow presumed it was the back of the store. It was undoubtedly farther away than the counter or grated metal glass with a reinforced door.
She wandered along the shelves, piled high with goods. Most of them were stacked up without much thought as to how they related to one another. Except for the jewelry—that was all gathered together and sealed away in a locked case.
There were beautiful items on display. Although Willow wanted to take a feather duster to the lot of them, the dirt couldn’t hide the magnificent lines of some china or the delicate details on a stained-glass lampshade.
A man walked up behind the counter, his belly spilling over the top of his jeans and beneat
h his straining check shirt to rest against the bench. From the color in his cheeks, whatever he’d been up to had been a strain.
“How can I help you?”
“I want to pay off a ticket,” Willow said, pulling her purse out of her handbag.
The man stared at her intently with one raised eyebrow. “‘Scuse me for staring, Miss,” he said after a minute, shaking his head, “but I’ve never seen you in here before. There’s no ticket in debt to you.”
“Not mine,” Willow agreed. “It’s for a pair of binoculars that’re running close to the edge.”
The man leaned back, his belly button bobbing into view, then disappearing again as he poked his finger into the counter. “It doesn’t work that way. You can’t buy an item until the ticket is in default. I know the pair you mean, but you have to wait until they go on sale, like everyone else.”
“But I don’t want them to go on sale.” Willow scratched her forehead, where a small rash of bumps was itching just beneath her hairline. Thanks, Mavis. “I want to pay the ticket off so the family that brought them in can take them back again. No strings attached.”
“You a relative or something?”
Willow squinted at the man, wondering why it would matter to him. “Or something.”
He continued to eye her up as though she’d committed some offense. After a minute, he sighed. “Fine. I’ll have to fetch it from out the back, though.” He tapped his fingernail on the counter. “You wait right here.”
Unsure now of what she was even doing in the shop to begin with, Willow nodded and waited. This time she didn’t browse the items on offer, just stood, staring down at her feet.
“Here we are.”
The man handed across the outstanding bill, and Willow handed back the cash to cover it. That left her with only a few dollars until the end of the week, but she didn’t want to put it on her credit card. After another quick glance at the shop owner, Willow wasn’t sure he’d let her even if she wanted to.
“Anything else around here catch your fancy?”
Willow was about to say no when she saw a familiar looking bag on a shelf behind the counter. Bright red with a beautiful swirling design stamped into the leather.
“What about that bag?”
The man turned around, then grunted. “Not that, I’m afraid. The lady only brought it in this afternoon.” He leaned down and examined the ticket on the side. “She’s got another week before she needs to pay the first set of fees, and then six weeks past due it’ll go up for sale. You want me to keep you in mind if it does?”
Willow shook her head, thinking of the bag she’d seen strung over Trisha Layton’s shoulder earlier in the day. It looked exactly the same. If she and her son were living so hand to mouth that she needed to sell her prized possessions just a day or two after losing her job, that might speak to motive.
As Willow let herself out of the store, she thought it might speak to motive very highly indeed.
Mavis was playing hide and seek when Willow returned home, mainly hide. Not wanting to push open the inside door until she could see the kitten was clear of it, Willow walked out the kitchen door to the back yard.
Her garden was roped off with strings of yellow police tape, and she shielded her eyes from the path with a hand while peering in through the back door of the conservatory. Mavis appeared to be asleep up against the interior door. Lucky she hadn’t opened it, Willow thought. She’s probably have scared the poor creature half to death.
Although Willow tried to slip quietly in through the back door, it stuck on the floorboards where the long summer had caused the wood to expand. It wouldn’t be a problem soon; already the air was cold enough that Willow wished she’d pulled on a cardigan before venturing outdoors, but that didn’t help her now.
With a furious squeak of wood against wood, Willow got the door fully open. Just as she felt the triumph from that accomplishment, a ball of fur ran straight past her, flying out the door.
“Mavis!” Willow turned in time to see the kitten hopping straight toward the path. “Mavis! Come back here right now.”
The kitten didn’t even turn its head at her cries, happily bouncing along through the grass on the far edge of the path now. With a few more springing steps, Mavis disappeared into the wild grass beyond.
It only took Willow a couple of seconds before she followed the cat. The police tape looked very commanding, but in reality, it only took a second to lift up, and then she was inside the forbidden zone.
“Mavis,” Willow called, deliberately lightening her tone so the kitten wouldn’t be scared away. “I’ve brought you a lovely lunch. Wouldn’t you rather be sitting inside eating than playing out here?”
It appeared not. Every couple of seconds, Willow would catch sight of Mavis’s head bouncing up above the level of the grass, then she’d disappear from view. Clicking tongues and promises of divine dining treats didn’t sway her. After a few minutes, Willow admitted defeat and turned around to head back indoors.
That was when she stepped straight onto a piece of green silk sitting in amongst the wildflowers and tall grass. A piece of silk, looking very much like the handkerchief Jimmy often sported in his jacket pocket, except this time it was covered in blood.
Reg arrived just as Willow got off the phone with the police. In his arms, he was holding Mavis, who struggled to get down.
“Oh, you found her!” Willow smiled and took the kitten out of Reg’s grip before she could fight her way into a steep drop to the floor. “Where have you been, you naughty kitty?”
Mavis didn’t appear at all chastened to be called naughty, instead making it very plain indeed that she wanted to be set down on the floor. Glad to have her safely back inside, Willow decided the kitten could have the run of the house for a few minutes—a decision she immediately regretted as Mavis took off to explore her bedroom.
“I don’t understand why you decided to get a cat,” Reg said, holding out a tissue while Willow was taken over by a sneezing fit. “It doesn’t seem to agree with you at all.”
“I didn’t so much choose it as have it thrust upon me,” Willow said. “Thank you for bringing her in, though. I lost her out the back door.”
“Mm,” Reg agreed, stepping farther inside and shutting the front door behind him.
Willow blushed at her forgotten manners and invited him into the kitchen, putting the kettle on to brew up a cup of his favorite tea.
“I remember when my old girl had a kitten. I didn’t appreciate the thing much, but it seemed to keep her happy.”
“You and your wife had a cat?” Willow didn’t know why she was so surprised, but it seemed so opposite to everything she knew about Reg that it caught her off guard.
“Wilma loved it.” Reg’s voice was thick, and he looked out the window, staring into the front garden as though it was a memory. “I’ve still got a whole lot of stuff I made for the little thing. It used to run outside at the wrong times, too. So, I built it a big house to keep it inside, with tunnels and adventure rooms and lots of poles for scratching.”
“That sounds ideal,” Willow said, bringing the steaming mugs over to the table. “What was it you came over for?”
Reg looked surprised for a second, then reached into his big coat pockets, pulling out her binoculars. “I need to return these,” he said.
Willow stared at the glasses, a frown creasing her forehead so severely that her internal mother launched into a lecture about wrinkles.
“Why are you bringing those back? Did you get the new ones sooner than you thought?”
If that pawn shop man had cheated her, she’d be so angry!
“The deal fell through,” Reg said with regret. “The family came up with the money, so I guess I’ll have to wait until another pair come on offer.”
“So, keep those.” Willow nodded at the binoculars in his hand. “I certainly don’t need them.”
“I know how you like to keep Molly’s stuff neat and tidy,” Reg said, putting them down o
n the table and reaching for his licorice tea. “There’s no way I could keep hold of them, knowing you’d be missing them from their spot.”
“Reg,” Willow said, about to chastise him. It wouldn’t do any good—the man was more stuck in his ways than she was, and that was saying a lot—but she didn’t want him to go without. Then an idea struck her. “How about we swap?”
“Eh?”
Willow nodded at the binoculars. “You keep hold of those, and in return you bring around what’s left of your old kitten house.”
Reg was shaking his head. “That’s not a fair swap. These glasses are worth money. I just threw the kitten house together with odd bits and pieces. Nope. It’s better this way.”
Willow caught his hand and squeezed it. “I don’t care what you’ve made the kitten house out of or what state it’s in. There’s a lot more value in it for me than there is in this pair of old binoculars. Unless you want to keep the pet house for some reason?”
Reg shook his head.
“Good. Then it’s a deal. I’ll certainly rest easier knowing Mavis can’t go flying out the door each time it opens.”
“Yeah.” Reg nodded. “They’re little scamps at this age, I can tell you. I’ll bring the house over tonight.”
“Leave it until tomorrow,” Willow said, remembering the sheriff’s office was sending someone around to collect the handkerchief she shouldn’t have been in a position to discover. “I’ve got Jacob coming over this afternoon, no doubt to give me a lecture.”
When Reg showed an interest, Willow filled him in on the whole story.
“I know the handkerchief you mean,” he said. “I see Jimmy with that all the time. It’s not him, though.”
“Oh.” Willow felt a pang of disappointment. “Why not?”
“Well, I saw him last night. You said Roger was killed around eight or so, didn’t you?”
Willow agreed. “Sometime around then, according to the sheriff.”
“Well, Jimmy and his sandwich board were still in front of Roger’s office. He’s there from seven in the morning until nine at night, all week long, and yesterday was no exception.”
Pushing Up Daisies Page 5
