A Hint of Murder

by Mary Maxwell

  “Why don’t we think about getting that done?” I asked.

  “It’s not in the budget,” my aunt replied. “I don’t know if you’ve had a chance to look at the annual year-to-year comparisons, but things are a little bleak.”

  Sonya tapped my aunt’s arm. “You should start doing the weekly trivia contest again, Dot. Remember how popular that was?”

  “It’s been forever and a day,” my aunt replied. “Do you really think anybody would give a rat’s rump?”

  My aunt’s friend bobbed her head enthusiastically. “One-hundred percent,” she said. “With everyone so focused on fancy-schmancy social media and selfies, I bet lots of folks would appreciate the old-school approach.”

  “What are you two talking about?” I asked.

  “It was when you were living in Atlanta,” Dot explained. “Barney had the bright idea to hold a weekly trivia contest at the Big Dipper. We kept most of the evenings focused on a particular theme, like food or sports or travel.”

  “Or plumbing!” Sonya said. “Remember that one?”

  My aunt rolled her eyes. “Like a lead balloon,” she said. “I mean, who cares that the first flushable toilet was invented in 1596 for the Queen of England?”

  Pearl clapped her hands. “See? There’s the Queen again! I told you, Dot!”

  “You told me what?” my aunt asked.

  “It’s a sign that you’re going to meet her because of the cooking show!”

  Dot shook her head. “Give it a rest, Pearl. For one thing, I don’t even know for certain that I’m going to be picked for the show. And for another, I hardly think the Royal Family will be watching if I do make the cut.”

  “Well, I believe in those coincidences,” Sonya said.

  I held up the invoices again to get Dot’s attention. “Can I ask another quick question?”

  “I already told you, hon,” she said. “I hid those because—”

  “Not about these,” I said, lowering the stack of envelopes. “It was about the plumbing trivia contest that you and Uncle Barney held.”

  “May he rest in peace,” my aunt murmured.

  “Yes,” I said. “Was it his idea to use the history of plumbing for the theme?”

  She smiled proudly. “Yes, it actually was. And the man was a genius. Some national association of plumbers was having their annual convention in Tampa. Your uncle knew someone at the conference center the group was using, and he was able to get an announcement about the contest made during the general meeting session. We had a full house that night and sold more ice cream than any other day that month.”

  “And I met that dreamy apprentice from Daytona,” Pearl said. “Oh, that man was a tall drink of water, wasn’t he, Dot?”

  “He was,” my aunt replied with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Although I don’t think you and he did a whole lot of standing around that night, if you catch my drift.”

  Pearl’s blissful smile quickly crumbled. “I beg your pardon!”

  “Oh, don’t be so fussy,” Dot said. “We’re all grownups here. You were single. He was single. What’s the harm in a little private time back in his room?”

  My aunt’s friend stomped one foot. “Hush, you! I don’t need Liz knowing all about my wanton ways.”

  Dot laughed, but it came out like a snort. “Wanton ways?” she said. “Don’t be ridiculous. Lizzie worked with the police up in Atlanta. I’m sure that she’s heard and seen much worse things than whatever trouble you and that handsome hunk got into that night.”

  CHAPTER 6

  After we closed at nine o’clock that night, Aunt Dot shuffled into the office to put her feet up for a few minutes. It had been a wild roller coaster ride for the last two hours of the day; waves of ravenous customers interspersed with brief lulls that gave us a chance to catch our breath. While Theo Litchfield, a 17-year-old volleyball powerhouse, part-time Big Dipper team member and full-time babe magnet, mopped the floor and I counted the bills from the register, my brother tapped on the front door.

  “Hey, sis,” he said after I unlocked it and he stepped inside. “You guys busy today?”

  “Swamped.” I pointed at one of the signs in the window: Get Yer Gator On! “You’re just in time. Aunt Dottie made an incredible batch of Frozen Alligator earlier this evening. Want a scoop?”

  He shook his head. “Not while I’m on duty,” he said firmly. “I’m here on official business.”

  I smiled. “You know it doesn’t actually contain rum or Midori, right? It’s just named after the cocktail.”

  “I’m well aware of that. But I’m still going to pass.”

  “Really, Matthew? You’ve never refused it before.”

  “I need to keep focused on the reason for my visit.”

  “Suit yourself, hot stuff,” said Aunt Dot, coming out of the kitchen. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s Maybelle Fletcher,” my brother said, lowering his voice. “Have you heard anything about her lately around town?”

  Aunt Dot lifted her chin. “If it’s about her recent weight gain,” she said with a smirk, “I can assure you that I had nothing to do with the rumors.”

  My brother shook his head. “Her weight has nothing to do with it,” he explained. “She was arrested on suspicion of murder earlier today.”

  Aunt Dot’s mouth plopped open. “Murder?” she gasped. “Who did she kill?”

  “Well, we don’t know if she did it or not,” Matt said. “But the UPS guy found Simon Wargrave on the floor of his office early this afternoon. The time of death was between nine and eleven this morning.”

  Although Crystal Bay was home to several other real estate agencies, Simon Wargrave had been top dog for so long that most people instantly thought of his company when they were in the market to buy or sell property. The fact that his chubby face appeared on dozens of billboards, bus shelters and placards around town also kept his name front and center. Despite his notoriety and innate bravado, Wargrave was primarily known as rude, arrogant and self-centered.

  “That’s horrible,” I said, conjuring an image of the man’s kitschy billboards and website.

  “There’s more,” Matt said. “We also found evidence suggesting that one of Aunt Dot’s friends may have been involved.”

  The unfathomable news hit like a hard kick in the gut.

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Maybelle Fletcher,” he answered. “We found a couple of things that belong to her under Simon’s body.”

  A chill slid down my back. “That’s so…” I gulped in a breath. “It’s awful, Matt. What happened?”

  “It looked like he’d been in a pretty rough fight,” my brother answered. “But the cause of death was stabbing; probably a hunting knife or something similar.”

  “Maybelle Fletcher with a knife?” I knew Simon Wargrave by name and professional reputation, but not personally. “Did she hunt?”

  Matt shrugged. “Not that I know of, but we’ll be digging into everything to learn more. There was no weapon found at the scene, although the coroner’s initial assessment was a left-handed attacker.”

  “Because of the angle of the wounds?” I asked, remembering a case in Atlanta that involved a robbery where the assailant wounded his victim with a switchblade.

  “The angle of the cuts as well as the blood spatter,” said Matt. “The scene was intense, Lizzie. I’ve never seen anything quite so...” He took a deep breath. “You know, we don’t need to talk about that.”

  “Then you’re wasting your time looking at Maybelle,” Aunt Dot said, suddenly appearing beside my brother. “I’m absolutely certain that she’s right-handed.”

  Matt nodded. “Good to know,” he said. “But there are other aspects that do suggest Mrs. Fletcher was involved.”

  Aunt Dot glared at him. “Suit yourself. I’ve been friends with the woman since you were wearing diapers and watching Sesame Street. How could I possibly know anything?”

  With an annoyed huff, Dot turned and walked back b
ehind the counter. I knew that she was still listening to our conversation, even though she pretended to be fixated on polishing silverware.

  “Was it a robbery?” I asked my brother.

  “Too soon to know for sure,” he answered. “Wargrave’s watch was gone. I guess it’s a big gaudy gold thing that he kept on day and night unless he was taking a shower or going to the beach. The fact that it’s missing suggests either robbery or a perp that wanted a souvenir.”

  I saw the timepiece whenever Simon came into the shop for ice cream. He claimed that it had been presented by a national real estate group, but Aunt Dot assured me that was a fib. “Wargrave’s wife told me that he had it made up in New York,” she’d said. “Some kind of celebrity jeweler that makes those big gold chains and rings for the rappers and athletes.”

  “Did you ever see it?” I asked my brother. “It was a crown and coat of arms that said The Real King of Real Estate.

  Matt scoffed. “He was the king alright. Until somebody turned him into a pincushion.”

  I glared at him. “That’s not very respectful.”

  “The guy was a tool,” Matt said, glancing at Theo. “You’re not listening to any of this, right, kid?”

  Theo stopped pushing the wet mop around the floor. “Listening to what?”

  “There you go,” my brother said. “Keepin’ your nose and the linoleum clean.”

  “Don’t bug Theo,” I said. “He’s one of our best team members.”

  My brother groaned. “Team members? This isn’t the NFL, Lizzie.”

  I ignored his remark. “What was under his body?”

  “I can’t reveal specifics since it’s an active investigation,” he said. “But I she told us that she was here this morning.”

  “That’s true,” I said. “She came in a few minutes after eight while we were getting ready for the television crew to arrive.”

  Matt checked the notes on his pad. “Did you say a few minutes before eight?”

  I nodded.

  “She was being spiteful, as usual,” Dot added. “She knows that the shop doesn’t open until ten. She and I have had that conversation about a million times over the years. Poor Maybelle might be a whiz when it comes to selling real estate, but her brain is like Swiss cheese with simple facts.”

  “If you want to confirm it,” I told him, “we can check the security camera footage. It will tell you exactly when she was here.”

  “Great idea!” he said, scribbling something on his notepad. “Can you email the file to Detective Shaw.”

  “To who?” I asked.

  “Ethan Shaw,” my brother answered. “He’s replacing Larry Coldsnow.”

  “What happened to him?” Dot asked.

  “Did you hear?” Matt replied. “Small fish looking for a bigger pond. After ten years in Crystal Bay, Larry wanted the bright lights of the big city. He’s with the Miami PD now. But it actually worked out beautifully because Shaw wanted to be closer to his folks. They’re both almost eighty, and his mother’s health is kind of shaky.”

  “Sounds like a win for everyone,” I said. “But when did Detective Coldsnow leave? I just saw him at the marina early last week.”

  “He started the job a couple of weeks ago,” Matt told me. “You probably saw him when he was back in town to sign the papers on the house. Deb and the kids are already down there in the new place.”

  “What’s the new guy’s name again?”

  “Ethan Shaw,” my brother said again. “He was up in Panama City. His brother went to school with Chief Winslow’s kid, so they’ve known one another for years.”

  Aunt Dot squawked. “They say who you know is more important than what you know these days.”

  “Maybe so,” Matt said. “But Shaw’s a proper copper, as they say in England.”

  “I’ll look forward to meeting him,” I told my brother.

  He laughed. “You’ll get a chance in a couple of weeks at Ben and Lydia’s engagement party. Ben and Ethan worked together up north.”

  Aunt Dot looked like she was about to ask a question when her phone rang. She pulled it from her pocket, checked the screen and then shuffled toward the back of the shop.

  “Super important call,” she said. “Be right back.”

  “So?” I moved closer to my brother and lowered my voice. “What were they?”

  He crinkled his nose. “What’re you talking about?”

  “Under the body,” I said. “Are you sure whatever was found belongs to Maybelle?”

  “If I tell you, promise not to breathe a word of it to Aunt Dot?” he asked, glancing across the room at her. “I love the old dame, but she can’t keep a secret no matter how hard she tries.”

  “I promise. Spill the beans.”

  “We actually found two things under Simon,” my brother said quietly. “Mrs. Fletcher’s monogrammed silver ballpoint and a handwritten note on her office stationery.”

  “What did the note say?” I asked.

  “It was pretty telling,” Matt said. “It had Simon’s first name at the top with ‘what goes around comes around’ at the bottom.”

  “Okay,” I said. “That’s pretty clear. Sounds like whoever did this was getting back at Wargrave for some reason.”

  My brother nodded. “The guy has a reputation for being a hardnosed bully,” he said. “Not to mention that he’s more than cutthroat in his business dealings.”

  “Any chance the pen and paper were in Wargrave’s office before the murder?”

  He shrugged. “Anything’s possible. But at this point, it doesn’t look good for Mrs. Fletcher. She’s already lied once about her alibi. She told us that she was here at the time of the murder, but you and Aunt Dot just disproved that.”

  “What’s the estimated time of death?”

  “Between nine and eleven o’clock,” he said. “Maybelle told Detective Shaw that she was here from nine until shortly before ten.”

  “Well, that’s bizarre. Why would she lie?”

  “That’s the first obvious question,” my brother said. “Why would Maybelle Fletcher lie to the police? And why did we find her ballpoint pen under the victim? Since her office is right across the street from the scene and she told us a bunch of lies, Aunt Dot’s friend is now our prime suspect for the murder of Simon Wargrave.”

  CHAPTER 7

  I decided to stop and check on my mother after I gave Aunt Dot a ride home from the Big Dipper the following evening. She’d sprained her ankle that morning tripping over the laundry basket, but the injury didn’t seem to be hindering her passion for baking. When I came through the front door at her bungalow, she was hopping around the kitchen making a batch of chocolate chip cookies.

  “Whoa, slow down there, Speedy!” I hurried across the room and took her elbow. “Didn’t the doc tell you to keep that elevated?”

  She made a face. “I hate sitting around on my duff, sweetheart. There’s too much work to do.”

  “Like what?”

  She pointed the spatula at three trays of cookies cooling on the counter.

  “Made those for Ruth next door,” she said. “And I hadn’t dusted the bookshelves in the living room in forever. Plus, the freezer looked like an ice berg. I got that defrosted this afternoon.”

  “You’re hopeless,” I told her. “Wait until I tell the doctor that you’re the world’s worst patient.”

  My mother giggled. “She already knows that. Remember last year when I had that awful cold? I went to Vegas anyway.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said. “And you came home with pneumonia.”

  “And two thousand bucks!”

  “Which you spent on your deductible,” I said, arching one eyebrow. “Can I get you to at least sit down and put your foot up while I’m here?”

  “I suppose so,” she said, hopping to the kitchen table. “How about you open that bottle of vino over there by the microwave?”

  “I can do that,” I said. “A glass actually sounds nice after the crazy day we had at the s
hop.”

  “I noticed it was packed when I went by at three,” she said.

  I whirled around. “You went out in the car with that ankle?”

  “As a passenger, sweetheart. Belinda asked me to help her pick out new curtains for the baby’s room.”

  “What happened to the pair they put up last week?”

  She laughed. “Well, it involves Danny changing a poopy diaper in the middle of the night.”

  I held up one hand. “That’s probably enough,” I said. “I get the idea.”

  “Probably,” my mother said. “It’s also as much as I heard myself. When she told me how long it took them to shampoo the carpet, I figured there was no point getting all the nitty-gritty on the incident.”

  “So to speak,” I said, uncorking the wine.

  “Exactly,” my mother agreed. “Belinda found the cutest curtains to replace the ruined ones. They’ve got monkeys, lions, tigers and giraffes against a white background.”

  “Sounds nice,” I said, filling two coffee mugs with the wine. “You know what else would be nice?”

  My mother turned her head to one side and cocked her neck. “A husband for you?”

  I groaned. “Uh, what did we agree last week?”

  She shrugged and pointed at her ankle. “Couldn’t tell you. I maybe suffered a short-term memory loss when I sustained my injury.”

  “We agreed not to talk about husbands, marriage and babies,” I said firmly. “Unless it’s you getting married again.”

  She held up both hands. “Not me, sweetheart. I’m finished with all that nonsense.”

  “What about when you went to dinner with Mr. Sullivan?”

  “As friends,” she said. “Friends from church.”

  I carried one of the mugs over and put it down on the table.

  “I was actually thinking some wine glasses would be nice,” I said, sliding her vino closer. “Drinking out of mugs is fine, but wouldn’t it be good to maybe freshen up your glassware selection?”

  She shook her head and drank some of the wine. Then she pulled out her phone, tapped madly at the screen and flipped it around so I could see the display.