“You’re sure?”
Reg looked a bit affronted. “Of course, I’m sure. He was even on the photographs I turned over to the sheriff. In the background, sure, but clear as day.”
Willow finished up the last of her mint tea in one long swallow, then gave a big sigh. “That’s a pity. I thought for sure I’d solved the whole mess and things could go back to normal.” She paused for a second, thinking of the gaping hole Roger’s death would leave in her life. She missed him far more than she liked to admit, and it was just the first day without him. “Or semi-normal anyway.”
“It could’ve been that kid.” Reg was staring down at the binoculars as though they could tell him something. “I saw him have an altercation with Jimmy. They were just yelling a bit when I was looking, but perhaps he pulled on his shirt or something and got hold of the handkerchief, too.”
“Really? You didn’t tell us that.”
Reg shrugged. “It didn’t really seem important. The kid was yelling at a lot of things. It wasn’t nearly as interesting to me as the flying saucer and stuff.”
“Flying egg, you mean.”
Willow stood at the sink, staring out into the back garden. She wondered when she’d be allowed to legitimately go out there again. All she wanted to do at the moment was pull some weeds and talk to a few flowering bushes, perhaps coaxing one last bud out of them for the season.
A knock sounded on the door, breaking her out of her reverie. “If that’s the sheriff’s office, then you should tell them that part of the story,” Willow said, moving toward the door. “It could be important.”
Chapter Nine
Willow closed her eyes and listened to the sound of an empty house. The noise with the sheriff and Reg had wound her up all afternoon. Now, the silence soothed her jangled nerves and quieted down her restless brain.
Then a lamp fell off the bedroom cabinet.
With a groan, Willow got to her feet and went through to pick up Mavis. The kitten was sheltering in a corner, wide-eyed at the destruction she’d wrought by just pulling on one cloth edge. After a quick test, Willow decided the bedside lamp had survived okay. She bent out the metal frames in a rough semi-circle, sweeping the rest of the debris from the tabletop into a pile to deal with later.
“Why don’t we have a nice meal?” Willow suggested, scooping Mavis up and snuggling her close against her chest. The quick pitter-pat of the animal’s heartbeat was reassuring. It was nice to have someone else in the house, even if the someone else was a tiny cat.
She still had plenty of food from her trip to the market earlier. A variety of tinned foods were lined up in the pantry—the ones Mavis responded to best could be replenished.
After having cleaned up one mess already, Willow thought she should go to the library to find something on how to housetrain a cat. Apparently, having a litterbox at the ready wasn’t quite enough. For the rest of the day, though, she was happy enough to keep her eyes and nose peeled for trouble and deal with it as it came. Tomorrow would be soon enough to start learning all the things she’d need to know.
As she lay on her back on the sofa, Willow wondered why Reg had been so confident that she must need the binoculars back. Sure, she’d left Molly’s stuff pretty much where it had been when he died, but she’d never thought of it as holding value. Not any more than the other items around the house anyway.
It wasn’t as though the refusal to move his items into storage or donate them to Goodwill was because she felt the need to set up a shrine to her dead husband. If she were going to judge the people in her life who deserved that treatment, Molly wouldn’t even top the list.
Although she’d never have left him, Willow hadn’t found marriage to be the refuge and support others described it as being. When she heard it referred to as an institution, she would nod along with that description. An institution that had curtailed her freedom—to be herself, to say what she wanted, to act in the way that best suited her needs.
When Molly died, the shock Willow felt wasn’t just at his sudden passing. It was at having the freedom to live again precisely the way she wanted. It took many years to feel comfortable in her own skin. Even though her mother might still hold forth inside her head, at least Willow’s deceased husband had left that particular choir.
She should get up and find that camera. It was certainly time she started to get rid of Molly’s possessions and offering first dibs to her friends was only fair. Thinking about what objects Harmony and Reg might find handy, Willow fell asleep with Mavis sitting on her chest.
The following morning, Willow was woken by a loud banging on the door. She sat up, feeling disoriented as she realized she’d spent the night sleeping on the couch rather than her comfortable bed. A deep ache had settled into her right hip, and she shivered, feeling the cold of a morning edging ever closer to frost.
“I’m coming,” she shouted out as the banging resumed. Mavis was scratching at the base of the front door with urgent mews, and Willow picked her up out of harm's way as she opened the door.
From the look on the sheriff’s face, Willow judged that her appearance must be even worse than she’d thought. “You woke me,” she said in an accusing tone, waiting for Jacob to reveal why he felt knocking at her door at the crack of dawn was a good idea.
“We need you to come down to the station,” Sheriff Wender said, turning to one side and avoiding her eye.
Willow took a step back and yawned. “I need a shower and cup of coffee before I’ll be fit to interview. Can I grab those at least?”
“Nope. I’m afraid not. We need you down there for an interview immediately. There’re some things it appears you’ve been keeping from us.”
Willow’s mouth dropped open with indignation. Considering how much information she and her friends had given this impertinent man, it was a gross insult. Another thing niggled at her sleepy brain.
“What do you mean, we?”
“The county has decided to send in some support officers from the police department to help me out with the investigation.”
From Jacob’s tone of voice, Willow guessed he was about as impressed with this development as she was to be standing here, barely awake. “And you’re too worried about keeping them waiting to allow me the decency of a shower and fresh change of clothes?”
Willow smiled as Jacob turned an angry face toward her. She’d pressed precisely the right button to get what she wanted.
“I don’t care what those guys want,” the sheriff insisted, doing a complete one-eighty. “I’ll wait in my car. You’ve got half an hour.”
He stalked back to his vehicle, slamming his door—an affront to the early morning stillness. Willow set to her ablutions with a sense of gratitude. Once she stepped out of the shower to a fresh-brewed cup of coffee, she’d begun to feel like a decent human being again.
The ache in her hip had settled into stiffness by the time she walked into the interview room at the station. A suited man gave her a curt nod as she took a seat.
“I’m Detective Jones, and I’ll be helping Sheriff Wender run this interview. Has he advised you of your rights?”
“My rights.” Willow’s throat suddenly felt dry. “Am I under arrest again?”
“Again?” The detective cocked an eyebrow at the sheriff, who looked away, shrugging. “No. This is a voluntary interview, which means you can leave at any time.”
It was Willow’s turn to cock an eyebrow. “Is that why I was woken up by a demand I come down to the station? Because this is all voluntary?”
“We’d appreciate any help you can give us,” Detective Jones replied, nimbly sidestepping the whole issue. “We’ve received some information that might be pertinent to the case overnight. We’re just seeking clarification from you on a few matters.”
Willow pursed her lips and leaned back in her chair. Much as she didn’t want to be in the interview, she also didn’t want this man chasing her up, thinking she had something to hide.
She shrugged. “Okay.
What do you want to know?”
“We’ve received a report from the solicitor who prepared the deceased’s will. It turns out you’re one of the beneficiaries.”
Willow sat bolt upright in surprise. “Roger left me money?”
Detective Jones gave her a hard, appraising glance. “Yes. Are you saying you weren’t aware he’d altered his will to include you?”
“No. I mean, yes. I didn’t know.” Willow folded her arms across her chest, hugging herself for comfort. “We were just getting to know each other. We never talked about anything like that.”
“Are you sure?” This time, it was Sheriff Wender asking the question. Willow was surprised to see the expression of disbelief on his face.
“Of course, I’m sure. A conversation like that isn’t something that’s likely to slip one’s mind.” Willow straightened her back, ignoring the pulse of pain from her hip in favor of drawing herself up to her full height. “Is it very much money?”
Willow winced as soon as she asked the question. How mercenary did that make her sound? The detective didn’t seem surprised at her query, though, waving his hand over the document in front of him as though that gave her the information outright. “It’s a substantial sum. More than enough for some people to consider becoming violent over.”
Willow frowned at him. “What are you suggesting?”
“I’m not suggesting anything, Mrs. Foxglove. I’m merely stating the facts as I see them.”
“Well, you can unstate them, if that’s how this interview is going to go.” Willow felt white-hot anger rising up in a bubble in her chest. She pressed a palm against her breastbone, trying to ease the pressure. “I didn’t know anything about this money. Right now, I only have your word for it that the will even exists. I’m certainly not somebody who would ever hurt another person to gain some spare cash. I may not be flush with money, but I’m certainly not in need.”
The red bag sitting on the pawn broker’s shelf flashed up in Willow’s mind. Once again, she thought of Trisha and her son, living so hand to mouth that the woman couldn’t hold on to it a week past being fired.
Not that she’d reveal that tidbit to this man. Willow had thought Jacob wasn’t the brightest spark to be dealing with this case, but Detective Jones was just rude. How dare he?
“None of this alters anything I told Sheriff Wender yesterday.” Willow tapped her forefinger on the table. “I faint at the sight of blood, and I’m not physically capable of committing the crime. I’m also not dumb enough to do it in my own back yard, even if that wasn’t the case. If you’re trying to get me to confess to something I didn’t do, you’re going to have to try a lot harder than that.”
The detective gave her a flat stare through mean eyes. “How about we ask you the questions, and you just answer them? Try not to volunteer information we’re not asking for.”
“Well, what’s your question, then?”
“Did you know Mr. Randall had changed his will in your favor?”
Willow glared at the man, then felt a momentary uncertainty. She’d already said, hadn’t she?
Sheriff Wender came to her rescue. “I believe we’ve already had an answer to that question. Perhaps you should try another one, Detective?”
That earned him a glare from the man sitting next to him and an appreciative smile from Willow.
“Where were you last night at eight seventeen?” Detective Jones said through tight lips.
“I was sitting in my lounge, watching TV.”
“Can anybody verify that?”
Willow shook her head. “I live alone.”
“So, you have no alibi for the time in question?”
“Yes, I do,” Willow stated through gritted teeth. “I was at home, watching TV.”
The detective waved her answer away. “No confirmed alibi.”
“I didn’t know I needed one, Detective. Otherwise, I would’ve invited a few friends around. Had a party.”
“Did you hear anything?” The detective ignored her flippancy. “A murder took place right outside your back door. Seems a bit odd you didn’t hear calls for help and go to assist your lover.”
The detective’s lip curled over that last word, and Willow’s hands curled into fists. She closed her eyes, fighting for control over her emotions. The cup of coffee she’d drunk to wake her up was spiking through her bloodstream, filling her with excess energy.
“Hey, now. I don’t think that’s called for,” Sheriff Wender said, deflating all the tension in the room. “Mrs. Foxglove has been nothing but helpful in this case. She’s volunteered a lot of information, and I don’t think insinuations about her private relationships are warranted.”
The sheriff pushed his chair back, standing up even as the detective shook his head. “I think this interview is over now. If we have any further questions, we’ll be in contact.”
Willow stood, her heart overflowing with gratitude for little Jacob Wender, coming to her rescue. She reached out her hand, startling him into shaking.
“I’d be happy to answer any questions you have any time, Sheriff Wender. Thank you very much for keeping me informed.”
Willow turned and swept out of the room before the detective could open his mouth to say anything more.
Chapter Ten
Her grand exit was slightly ruined when Willow realized the sheriff had given her a ride to the station, leaving her trapped there until someone could give her a lift home, unless she wanted to walk. The exercise wouldn’t usually trouble her, but with the night’s unusual sleeping position still wreaking havoc on her hip joint, Willow sat down in the lobby of the station to wait.
The chair wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world either.
After a few minutes, the outside door gently pressed inward and a woman gave a tentative peek around the corner. Trisha Layton. Willow sat back and thought the new detective must have decided to haul all the suspects over the coals this morning. Knowing he hadn’t singled her out made her feel a bit better.
“Is this where we wait?” Trisha whispered to Willow as though she didn’t want Mary-Jo behind the counter to hear her.
Willow nodded and patted the seat next to her. The poor woman was a bundle of nerves, not just her hands, but her shoulders shaking. She was also clutching hold of a tattered brown handbag for dear life.
For just a second, Willow wondered what it would be like to work for the wealthiest man in town for twenty years and barely have a few pennies to rub together. Even worse, imagine if you really had been involved with the fellow, only to discover he’d left a whole lot of money in his will to someone else.
Willow wished she could move a seat farther away.
“Are you here about your son?” she asked, trying to waylay her fears by making idle conversation. Unfortunately, the only tidbits of gossip Willow had at her disposal recently were about the case.
“My son?” Trisha offered up a frown in reply.
Foot in mouth disease strikes again, Willow thought, shifting back on the uncomfortable seat. Then she sighed. The cat was out of the bag now. She’d better own up to it.
“I’m sorry. It’s probably me and my friends’ fault that they dragged you down here. Reg Garnett—do you know him?”
Trisha nodded. “He’s the one who stands out in the fields at night in a tinfoil hat, waving at UFOs.”
It was Willow’s turn to frown. Reg did have his kinks—especially when it came to conspiracy theories and extra-terrestrials—but he was a good man and a dependable friend. Given the circumstances, however, Trisha might faint if given a lecture, so Willow left her remonstrations to a later time.
“He was in the center of town, keeping a general eye out on behalf of Mrs. Matthewson when he got footage of your son throwing eggs at Roger Randall’s car.”
Trisha jerked her head around to stare at Willow, her mouth dropping open in surprise. “You’re joking!”
Willow shook her head. “I’m afraid not. My only surprise is that nobody tol
d you about this already. The police have known since yesterday morning.”
Trisha shook her head, the shaking settling back in with such aggression that the back of her chair started to squeak against the wall.
“I’m sure it’s just foolishness, kid’s stuff, but the timing…”
Willow trailed off and turned to face the opposite wall. Watching the parade of horror across Trisha’s face was exhausting. What on earth was the sheriff up to not even bothering to tell this poor woman about her son? Maybe the county sent in this detective with good reason.
“You worked for Roger for a long time, didn’t you?” Willow’s second attempt at conversation led her straight toward another trap, and she bit her lip to stop from saying anything more.
Trisha sadly nodded her head. Out on the street, Willow had been taken by how well the woman was put together, not to mention the few years’ grace she had on Willow in age. Now, Trisha looked like a crumpled tissue.
With her heart overflowing with kindness and pity, Willow leaned over to pat the younger woman’s hand. “I wouldn’t worry too much,” she said. “I just recited a few lines from Miss Walsham, and they let me straight out.”
At that, Trisha’s face brightened, “Miss Walsham Investigates?” When Willow nodded, she exclaimed, “I love that show.”
“Me, too. Did you see the episode about the elephant and the zoo and how she worked out from the discarded straw exactly how the lion tamer had done it?”
“Oh, yes! And just this week, scouring over the CCTV and noticing where the rotten town worker had joined together the film with another day.”
For a few minutes, Willow relaxed as they compared episodes. To her eternal disappointment, neither Harmony nor Reg were big fans of the show, so her natural enthusiasm for sharing was dampened straight away when she tried to explain things to them.
“I heard they might be filming some episodes down here, later in the fall,” Trisha said, sending Willow’s pulse dangerously close to raptures.
Pushing Up Daisies Page 6
