Fillet of Murder

by Linda Reilly

  5

  The spicy aromas of pumpkin, cinnamon, and vanilla swirled around Talia, enveloping her in a cloud of sensory delight. She inhaled slowly, each breath drawing her closer to the mythical Shangri-la. She began to feel lighter, more at peace. She now understood the attraction of aromatherapy. Sage & Seaweed had to be the best-smelling shop on the planet.

  Well, except for Lambert’s when the deep fry was in high gear, and the fish and the chips were sizzling in the baskets.

  “Talia!” Suzy Sato dashed out from behind the long glass counter that ran along a portion of the rear wall. Springy reddish curls bounced around Suzy’s head like mini Slinkys. She grabbed Talia and pulled her into a hug, her sky-blue eyes burning with questions. “I heard about you and Bea finding Turnbull,” Suzy gushed. “My word, you poor thing. Are you okay? You must be wiped. Come over here and tell me all about it.” She took Talia’s hand and tugged her toward the back of the store. “Sit,” she said, pointing at one of the padded stools in front of the counter.

  Inwardly, Talia groaned. She’d come in here to get away from the murder, not to talk about it. She’d already had to tell the awful story to both her mom and dad. When she’d talked to them earlier that afternoon, it had taken the better part of twenty minutes to convince her agitated mother that she wasn’t headed to the pokey.

  Suzy sidled around the other side of the counter, plopped onto her own stool, and plunked both elbows atop the glass. She gaped at Talia. “I heard Phil’s whole head was nearly severed, that when you found him it was hanging by a tendon!” She gave a dramatic shudder, her eyes rolling back in her head.

  “Suzy, there was no severing.” Where did she hear such a thing? “And besides, I only caught a momentary glimpse. Once I realized he was, you know, gone, I pushed Bea out of the room and called nine-one-one. I hardly saw anything.”

  Okay, that part was a bit of a fib. But she had no intention of blabbing about the crime scene to Suzy, who would no doubt broadcast it on Facebook. Plus, the police had cautioned her against telling anyone what she saw. She did not need to add any more troubles to her day.

  “But was there blood, right? Lots of it, I’ll bet.” Suzy clasped both hands against her ample chest. “Oh, it must have been horrible, simply terrifying. I’d probably have fainted if I’d been the one who found him.”

  Luckily, Talia wasn’t the fainting type. She smiled sweetly at Suzy. “Anyway, Suzy, enough about the murder. I came in for some nice relaxing bath oil, or bubbles, or whatever you recommend. Tonight I want to put this entire day out of my head and have a long, luxurious soak in the tub.”

  Seemingly mollified, Suzy instantly morphed into sales mode. “Oh, I have just the thing! I’m so glad you came by. I’ve been experimenting with oils and creams, and I’ve designed my own blend of pumpkin bath oil. Perfect for the season, right?”

  “Is that the luscious scent I detected when I walked in?”

  Suzy grinned. “Yup. One of them.” She slid aside one of the cabinet doors on her side of the counter. She reached inside and carefully removed a tall bottle filled with a thick amber liquid. “Now smell this,” she said, removing the silver cap and waving the bottle under Talia’s nose.

  Talia closed her eyes and breathed in the scent. “Mmmm, that’s heavenly. Did you say you made it yourself?”

  “I did. I’ve been taking classes online. Eventually I want to have my own line of bath products, so I’m trying out some of the methods I learned.” Suzy’s blue eyes beamed. “I want you to take this bottle home and tell me what you think after you’ve tried it. No charge.”

  “Oh no, I couldn’t—”

  “I insist. You’ll be my first tester.” Suzy smiled, her eyes lighting up. Talia saw how excited she was about the prospect of creating her own product line.

  “Thanks, Suzy. I’ll look forward to my bath tonight.”

  As Suzy fussed with placing the bottle in a salmon-colored bag lined with a nest of silver tissue, Talia perused the various lip glosses perched on a circular display. She didn’t want to leave with only a freebie—the least she could do was support Bea’s neighboring merchant. Although she hadn’t known Suzy all that long, she’d always felt a kind of camaraderie with the thirtysomething woman. And Suzy had always treated Talia as if they were the best of buds.

  After narrowing down her choices, Talia snagged two tubes of seasonal gloss—a Vampire Smooch and a Butternut Squash. She dug out her wallet and pulled out a twenty. “Can I ask you something, Suzy?”

  “Sure!” Suzy tucked the lip glosses into the bag with the bath oil.

  “Phil Turnbull came into Lambert’s on Wednesday. He told us you were on board with signing the petition against the comic book store. According to him, only Bea and Jim Jepson were the holdouts, and he was sure Jepson was going to cave.”

  Suzy swallowed, and her face flushed red. “That’s … not true. I never told him I would sign.” Avoiding Talia’s gaze, she went back to fussing with the silver tissue. “Besides, why would I object to a comic book store?”

  Talia chewed her lip. Was Suzy telling the truth? She could have sworn she saw Suzy’s pupils dilate when she asked her the question. She hadn’t meant to trap her in a lie—she was genuinely trying to find out if Turnbull had been deceiving Bea.

  “No, you wouldn’t, of course. Thanks, Suzy. I was pretty sure Turnbull was lying, but I just wanted to get your take on it.”

  The door opened and two customers strolled in. From their ages, Talia surmised they were a mom and her teenaged daughter. Since it was close to seven, they wouldn’t have long to shop. But it gave Talia a chance to escape without embarrassing Suzy any further.

  Suzy’s face relaxed when she saw her new visitors. She pushed the bag across the counter toward Talia. “Let me know how you like the bath oil, okay?”

  • • •

  Talia stepped outside onto the cobblestone plaza. A white half-moon framed by a smattering of twinkling lights hung low in the eastern sky. Feeling instantly chilly, she tucked her scarf more tightly around her neck. In the window of Jepson’s Pottery, a clay jack-o’-lantern grinned wickedly. Jim Jepson—Talia’s high school geometry teacher turned potter—was no doubt working late.

  The arcade was otherwise cloaked in darkness. The police tape, about the only thing visible on the darkened arcade, still stretched across the front of Classic Radiance like a long yellow snake.

  Anxious to get home, at least to Nana’s home, Talia had started toward her car when she spied someone emerging onto the rear of the plaza where Time for Tea, a specialty tea shop, sat perpendicular to the lighting store. Something about the person’s shape suggested “female,” but from this distance she couldn’t be sure. The person was slight, and appeared to be clothed entirely in black.

  Oh Lordy, it looked like Bea. She must have circled the block and parked behind the arcade so she could return to the scene and snoop.

  But why? Surely she wouldn’t be able to get in.

  Talia watched Bea fast-walk toward Turnbull’s shop and duck under the crime scene tape. Whatever her friend had in mind, it was nothing short of insane.

  Talia shifted her polka-dotted Keds into third gear and raced across the cobblestone. Following Bea’s lead, she dipped under the yellow tape and rounded the corner of the lighting store. She was just in time to see her friend punch at the keypad adjacent to the rear entrance.

  Which was crazy. Bea couldn’t possibly know Turnbull’s entry code.

  Talia felt her jaw drop when the door swung inward. She saw Bea scurry inside. As the door crawled to a slow close on its hydraulic hinge, Talia rushed for it. She caught it a nanosecond before it would have slammed shut, and then darted inside. A whiff of honeysuckle waltzed on the air, and in that fraction of a second she knew.

  It wasn’t Bea.

  The door closed behind her with a soft click. Heart crashing in her chest, Talia dropped into a low crouch. The beam from a slender flashlight bounced over one of the walls. She held
her breath, praying one of the bounces wouldn’t stray to where she was huddled. All at once, she realized where she was—Turnbull’s office.

  Crickets and crumpets, not again!

  Except that it made perfect sense. His office was located at the rear of the store, and that’s exactly where she was.

  Now, however, she was trapped. Her best hope was to hide until the intruder left, and then get the heck out of there. To her right, she made out the vague outline of a file cabinet. Still scrunched into a low stoop, she inched over to it. Her legs cramped painfully, but she kept going until—

  Ach. The toe of her sneaker smacked something solid, making a dull thunk sound. Still clutching the bag from the bath shop, Talia dove behind the file cabinet. Her left hand skidded over something sharp—a pin? She palmed it just as a harsh fluorescent light flooded the room.

  The intruder had found the wall switch.

  Heart pounding like a jackhammer, Talia turned slowly. She stared up at the raven-haired woman with the flawless skin, the stunning blue eyes, and the perfectly manicured fingers curled around a silver gun. The woman pocketed her penlight so she could concentrate on the firearm, which she now gripped with both hands.

  Talia’s insides turned into one big jelly roll. “Jill Follansbee,” she rasped. “What are you doing here? You killed Phil Turnbull, didn’t you?”

  6

  “Are you crazy?” Jill Follansbee, the owner of Time for Tea, tilted her gun toward Talia’s chest. “I didn’t kill anyone. The minute I saw you, I figured you killed him.”

  Talia felt her limbs go numb. She’d ended up sitting on one heel, and a dent was forming in her rear end. Beside her was a stack of cardboard boxes—no doubt the object her toe had smacked into. Her voice seemed to come from far away when she said, “Of course I didn’t kill him. How could you even think that?” A sudden rush of anger swept over her. Why was she explaining herself to a woman who had no more right to crash a crime scene than she did?

  Crash a crime scheme. What in glory’s name was she thinking?

  Jill lowered her gun. “I have to admit, you don’t look much like a killer. More like … Peter Pan,” she said, with a pout of her full lips. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

  “Can I stretch out my legs?” Talia pleaded, miffed at the Peter Pan comment.

  With a sigh, Jill waved the gun in a circle. “Sure, go ahead.”

  Wincing, Talia straightened both legs out in front of her. Her purse had remained slung over her right shoulder, but the bag Suzy had given her was on the floor, its contents scattered. “When I saw someone dressed totally in black sneaking in here, I thought it was Bea.”

  “Bea! Are you psycho? She’s shorter and at least ten pounds heavier than me.”

  “I was working with limited lighting. Give me a break.”

  Of course, with the lights on a closer look confirmed the obvious—Jill had at least three inches on Bea, and wore chic designer duds that Bea would’ve said made her look like a toffee-nose. Talia jabbed a finger at Jill. “And for the record, my hair is a smidge longer and a lot more stylish than Peter Pan’s. But you—you knew the code to get in here!”

  Jill did an exaggerated eye roll. “Anyone with even a quarter of a brain could figure out Phil’s code. Besides, I’ve”—she flushed a deep crimson—“I’ve used it before.”

  “Can I get up?” Talia drew in a breath. “I mean, may I get up?”

  Jill set the gun on Phil’s desk and dropped into his chair. “I don’t care. Do whatever you want,” she said, tears blossoming on her long, thick lashes.

  Talia gathered up the goodies that had spilled from her Sage & Seaweed bag, jammed them back inside, and pushed herself upward. Sliding her left hand into her jacket pocket, she fixed Jill with a piercing look. “You obviously came in here looking for something.”

  With a loud sniffle, Jill nodded. “Three nights ago I left my diamond and sapphire bracelet here. My husband gave it to me last year, on my thirtieth birthday. I have to find it before he notices it’s gone. I wear it nearly every day.”

  Talia connected the dots. The picture that emerged was not a pretty one. “You and Phil were having an affair, weren’t you?”

  “It’s hard to explain,” Jill said miserably. “But, sort of, yes.” She lowered her face to her hands.

  “Why did you take the bracelet off in the first place?”

  Jill lowered her hands. “Without getting too graphic, let’s just say it was making the position I was in a bit too uncomfortable.”

  Talia felt her own cheeks reddening, and then a thought crossed her mind. She remembered the photo she’d found on the floor that morning, in the showroom—the snapshot of the little girl. She’d been holding it when she and Bea had gone searching for Turnbull, but when she saw his body she dropped it.

  Had the killer left the photo there?

  “Will you help me find it?” Jill begged, penetrating Talia’s thoughts.

  “The bracelet?” Talia rose to her feet and looked around the room. On the floor, where Turnbull’s body had lain, was a darkened bloodstain. Fingerprint powder coated nearly every flat surface. “All right, but we can’t spend much time in here. If anyone sees us, we’re toast.”

  “This room doesn’t have any windows. From outside, no one should be able to figure out we’re in here.” Jill leaped out of Phil’s chair. “We were on the”—she swallowed—“desk when I took my bracelet off.”

  Oh ick. Ick squared.

  “Then why don’t you search the desk?” Talia suggested. Looking around, she saw a faded blue love seat resting against the far wall. “What about that sofa over there? Did you ever, um—”

  Jill nodded sheepishly. “A few times, but I don’t think it’s there. If Phil had found it, he’d have returned it to me. Or … he told me once he had a secret hiding place in here, but I never found out where it was.”

  Talia suppressed a shudder. “I’ll look there anyway. But let’s put a time limit on it, okay? Five minutes, tops. Then we’re out of here, whether we find the bracelet or not.”

  “Agreed.”

  While Jill rummaged through the desk drawers and rifled under the blotter, Talia stripped the cushions from the love seat and squeezed her fingers into its every nook and crack. A set of plastic gloves from the eatery would have come in darned handy, she mused, as her hand rolled over something hardened and rough that—pray God—was an old food stain. She made a mental note to start carrying a pair of disposable gloves in her purse.

  Repellent as the task was, her search turned up nothing. It wouldn’t surprise her if Turnbull had found the bracelet himself and pawned it for cash.

  Talia couldn’t help wondering what a classic beauty like Jill ever saw in a man like Turnbull, but she’d obviously had feelings for him. She remembered what Rachel had said about falling for a pretty face. Talia had never met Jill’s husband, but it sounded as if their marriage was troubled.

  Another thought occurred to her, one that shook her to the core. If Jill actually had murdered Turnbull, then Talia was aiding and abetting a killer. Sheer instinct told her Jill hadn’t done it, but still—

  At least while they searched for the bracelet, Talia could also look for the photo. It was the main reason she’d agreed to help, in spite of the nagging voice in her head warning her to get out of there. But if finding that photo could potentially tie the real killer to the crime, wasn’t she right to stay and help?

  “Jill, I’ve got nothing,” Talia said after exploring every square inch of the sofa and underneath it. “We have to go before we get caught. I hate to say this, but even if the bracelet was here, the police probably found it and took it into custody.”

  “I’m afraid of that, too.” Jill grabbed Talia’s sleeve. “You won’t tell the police about … me and Phil, will you?”

  Talia wanted to rub the ache from her eyes, but then remembered where her hands had been. “No, but I think you should.”

  “But—”

  �
�Your husband doesn’t have to know,” Talia said. “Just be honest and up front about it. Think about it, okay? If you know that you didn’t—”

  “I didn’t. I didn’t kill Phil!”

  Oddly, Talia believed her.

  “Then come clean about the affair, and let the police do their job. I don’t suppose you have an alibi for last night?”

  “I was home alone with my daughter. My husband was working late—one of his endless business meetings.” She smirked as if she didn’t care, but Talia could see the pain in her expression. “I would never leave my Carly at home alone. My mom sits if I’m out, but Wednesday’s her bridge night.”

  Talia smiled at the child’s name. “How old is Carly?”

  “She’ll be eight next month.” Jill’s eyes grew misty. “She’s the love of my life, Talia. I can’t get in trouble over this. I can’t. She needs me.”

  For the second time that day, visions of a wardrobe designed around a single color scheme—orange—flashed through Talia’s head. “Jill, we have got to get out of here. Do you want to grab a coffee somewhere?”

  “Let’s go to my shop. I’ll brew us a pot of tea. I just have to fetch my gun.”

  • • •

  “Wow. This is the most fabulous tea I’ve ever tasted.” Talia savored another mouthful, swallowing slowly to keep the flavors lingering on her tongue.

  Jill beamed as she stirred her own tea. On the table before them sat an exquisite blue cast-iron teapot etched with a serpent. “This is one of my new blends. It has a smidge of lavender, along with the faintest hint of blueberry. Scrumptious, isn’t it?”

  “Out of sight, as Bea would say.”

  Jill offered a weak smile. “Poor Bea. Phil really had been giving her a hard time, hadn’t he?”

  “Terrible,” Talia confirmed.

  “I don’t know how everything turned bad so quickly. Phil …” She pushed a lock of her lush black hair behind one ear. “Look, I know he wasn’t the most pleasant man to deal with, but he’d been under a lot of pressure lately. And now he’s—” Jill’s eyes grew watery.

  “What kind of pressure?” Talia asked gently. She helped herself to another cup from the spectacular teapot.