A Zen For Murder

by Leighann Dobbs

  “Well, if you haven’t given all the good information to Benedetti, I’d like to know what you can tell me about Zoila Rivers.”

  “Oh, we don’t know much. Like we told Dom, we go there every Tuesday to talk to Velma’s daddy about business matters.”

  “Velma’s daddy?” Zambuco scrunched his face up. “He’s still alive? And what was he doing at Zoila’s?”

  Velma laughed and swatted at Zambuco’s arm. “No, silly, she channeled him. We talked to his spirit.”

  “Oh.” Zambuco gave Dom a sideways look and rolled his eyes, as if he were wondering if the two elderly women were nuts and whether or not he should trust any information he got from them.

  Dom simply shrugged.

  “And what was her demeanor?” Zambuco continued.

  “She seemed fine. Same as always,” Hazel said.

  “Well, she did have a hard time channeling, like we were telling Dom,” Velma added.

  Hazel nodded. “Thats right. Said her energy was a little off.”

  “But then, Daddy came through and told us to think about running a clambake on the first Sunday of the month.” Velma turned to Dom. “What do you think about that?”

  “That sounds like a fine idea.” Dom took a sip of his lemonade. He was down to the bottom of the glass—the best part, where all the sugar was.

  “We could serve steamers and corn, and—“

  “Ahem.” Zambuco cut Hazel off. “Did she mention anything in particular that was bothering her?”

  Velma and Hazel both shook their heads. “Nope.”

  “She didn’t mention having a disagreement or argument with anyone?”

  Velma’s forehead creased. “She didn’t mention anything yesterday when we saw her … but she did have a fight with someone this morning.”

  “She did?” Both Dom and Zambuco leaned forward, their attention focused on Velma.

  “Velma!” Hazel said sharply.

  Velma looked stricken. “Oh, dear … I guess I shouldn’t have blurted that out.”

  “Who did she have the fight with?” Zambuco asked.

  Velma chewed her bottom lip, her eyes going from Hazel to Dom to Zambuco. “I can’t say. I mean, I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea about the person she fought with.”

  “Well, now you have to tell me,” Zambuco said. “Otherwise, it would be considered withholding information and there might be dire consequences.”

  Velma’s eyes widened. “You mean I could go to jail?”

  “You won’t have to go to jail,” a voice cut in from the porch steps and Dom turned to see Claire Watkins. “And Zambuco won’t force you to rat out your neighbor, either.”

  “I won’t?” Velma’s shoulders relaxed with relief.

  Claire walked over to them and stood in front of Zambuco, her hands fisted on her hips. “No, Velma, you won’t have to because I saw the fight, too. And I’m sure someone else did as well, so eventually, Zambuco will find out who Zoila argued with.”

  “For crying out loud, someone just tell me who it was before I throw the lot of you in jail!” Zambuco said.

  Claire paused, then sighed. “Fine. I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough. The person Zoila had an argument with was Norma Hopper.”

  Chapter Ten

  Zambuco squinted up at Claire. “Norma Hopper? That mean old painter lady?”

  Claire’s gut twisted. She hadn’t wanted to tell Zambuco it was Norma, but she couldn’t stand him threatening Velma. She didn’t want poor Velma to have to bear the burden of being the one who told him, so Claire had blurted it out. Anyway, he’d probably find out from someone else and this way, she could watch his reaction and try to temper the news.

  “She’s not mean,” Claire said defensively.

  “That’s true,” Hazel added. “She just acts that way. Once you get to know her, you realize she’s not that bad.”

  Velma nodded. “That’s right. We’ve known her our whole lives. She’s crotchety, but she’s not a killer.”

  “What did she and Zoila argue about?”

  “I don’t know.” Velma pointed to her ear. “My hearing isn’t as good as it used to be.”

  “Me, either. I could just tell they were yelling.” Hazel looked up at Claire. “Do you know what they were arguing about?”

  Claire shook her head. “No, I saw them from my garden. I could hear voices but couldn’t make out the words.”

  Zambuco narrowed his eyes. “You ladies wouldn’t be withholding information from me, would you? Because I’m pretty sure you had the opportunity to tell me this before Watson.”

  Clair grimaced. “I didn’t think it was relevant, because Norma isn’t the killer.”

  “Really?” Zambuco glared at her with sharp, dark eyes. “And what else haven’t you told me because you don’t think it’s relevant?”

  Claire held up her hands. “Nothing, I swear.”

  Except the fact that Norma left the island early this morning.

  “Well, it looks like I’ll be paying a visit to Norma Hopper.” Zambuco pushed up from the chair.

  “You’re wasting your time,” Claire said.

  “Maybe.”

  “Do you have any clues that even point to her?” Claire asked, seeing the perfect opportunity to try and find out what clues the close-mouthed detective actually did have.

  Zambuco picked his glass up from the small table beside his chair, tipped it to his lips and took in a mouthful of ice cubes, which he crunched noisily. “We have the footprint down at the lab. Of course, we are still missing the murder weapon, which I’m hoping will be found on the killer’s premises.”

  “The rake?” Dom asked.

  “Maybe. Anyway, the last thing you people need is to know what the clues are.” Zambuco pointed his index finger accusingly at Dom and then Claire. “I know the two of you can’t help but stick your noses in, but remember, you’re both retired now. I wouldn’t want to have to arrest you on obstruction charges and don’t even think about withholding pertinent information again or you may find yourself in the cell next to your friend.”

  Zambuco slid one last warning look at Claire and Dom, bowed to Velma and Hazel and then stormed off the porch.

  ***

  “Oh, dear, I hope I didn’t get Norma in trouble.” Velma’s hands fluttered nervously in her lap. “I didn’t even think … I mean, he asked and I just answered.”

  “It’s okay,” Claire soothed. “He was bound to find out sooner or later, and better he hear it from us than someone who might not like Norma as much.”

  “But now I wonder ...” Hazel’s voice trailed off as she watched Zambuco’s car speed off. “You know how obstinate Norma can be. I hope she doesn’t do something stupid and get herself arrested.”

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Claire said. “That’s why we need to figure out who did this before Zambuco jumps to any conclusions. That’s why I came here, actually—to see what you knew.”

  “We don’t know anything, really,” Hazel said. “We were just telling Dom that our weekly visit with Zoila was uneventful.”

  Velma looked regretful. “Unfortunately, we don’t have any clues as to who killed her.”

  Claire turned to Dom. “So you are looking into this.”

  He nodded slightly. “And apparently, you are as well.”

  “Yeah, kind of like old times.” Old times she’d rather not relive.

  “Almost,” Dom said. “Except this time, we don’t have to work together.”

  It was true. When they were on the job as paid consultants, they didn’t have a choice. But now, they didn’t have to join forces. Although Claire knew they would get the job done faster—and probably better—together. It was just so annoying to have to put up with Dom’s insistence on only considering hard, cold facts when she knew her assessment of the human factor was accurate.

  Claire sighed and plopped down into the chair Zambuco had just vacated. She might regret this, but she could really use Dom’s help.
If Norma was going to be as tight-lipped with Zambuco as she had been with Claire, he might misunderstand and take that to mean she was guilty. Teaming up with Dom offered the best chance to find the killer fast … before Zambuco could gather evidence against Norma.

  “But we could work together if we wanted.” Claire looked at Dom out of the corner of her eye.

  “We could,” Dom said cautiously. “But as I recall, you used to get very irritated with me.”

  “And you with me.” Claire bit into a ginger-snap, swirling the spicy-sweet taste around in her mouth. “But maybe for the good of finding the murderer, we could try to work together again.”

  “Well, we did catch quite a few bad guys back in the day,” Dom said proudly, over the rim of his lemonade glass

  Claire noticed a familiar flicker in his eyes—a spark of light from deep within. The same spark she used to see when they were on a case. Back then, his eyes would light up with excitement. She remembered how that light had been extinguished when his wife got sick. Now, it was back and Claire felt her heart soar for him. She realized this case was about much more than just finding a murderer for him … and maybe it was for her, too.

  “So what do you say? Can we work together?” Claire stuck her hand out.

  Dom regarded her hand cautiously, then nodded and extended his own for a firm shake. “Yes, I think we can.”

  Velma and Hazel, who had been following the conversation, silently picked up their lemonade glasses and held them out so the four could clink rims.

  “Here’s to the two of you finding the killer so we can all sleep at night!” Hazel said.

  “Here! Here!” Velma added.

  Claire’s stomach twisted as she clinked glasses with the others. Would she and Dom be able to work together to convince Zambuco Norma wasn’t the killer and set him on the path toward the real murderer? Claire sure hoped so, because from where she was sitting, if she didn’t know Norma the way she did, she’d be putting her at the top of the suspect list, just like Zambuco was probably doing right now.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dom loved sitting at the docks down in Crab Cove and watching the boats glide in and out of the small harbor. Right now, however, his attention was on Claire, who sat beside him recounting how she had witnessed the fight between Norma and Zoila that morning.

  “So that’s why you were leaning over your railing like that?” Dom snapped a pistachio out of its shell and popped it into his mouth.

  Claire’s brow creased. “You saw me?”

  “Yes, I was on my patio. Could hardly miss you leaning over like that. I wasn’t sure if you would fall down the hillside or not.

  Claire laughed. “Well, I have to say I was glad Daddy spent the extra money to have those railings cemented in.”

  “So, what were they fighting about?”

  Claire’s face darkened. “That’s the thing. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, just that they were yelling. Zoila had a paper in her hands and she was waving it in front of Norma.”

  Dom’s eyebrows tingled. “A paper? What kind of paper?”

  Claire scrunched up her face. “I’m not sure. I mean, they were pretty far away.”

  “Was it writing paper? Or newspaper? How many pieces?”

  Claire closed her eyes and tried to remember. For once, she wished she had Dom’s eye for detail. “I think it was one piece. It looked old.”

  “Hmmm. She didn’t have any piece of paper when she was killed. At least, I didn’t see one at the scene.” Dom leaned back in the chair and looked out at the cove. From where he sat, he could see the row of shops to the left. Mae Biddeford was walking down the sidewalk purposefully. He watched her go into the seafood store with three jars of purple jam clutched in her hand—grape, Dom assumed. He popped two more pistachios into his mouth. “Any idea what was on it?”

  Claire shook her head.

  Dom stared out at the cove. He was beginning to regret his decision to team up with Claire—so far, she hadn’t produced much valuable information. But there was still time. “Did you ask Norma about it?”

  “Yes. She practically threw me out of her studio. Didn’t want to talk about it.”

  Dom munched his pistachio thoughtfully. “So, after the fight, Norma went right to her studio? Did anyone see her?”

  “Well, she didn’t actually go right to her studio …”

  Dom turned sharply to Claire. “Where did she go?”

  Claire sighed and looked out over the cove. “She took one of the boats.”

  Dom’s brows shot up. Now they were getting somewhere. “She left the island?”

  “Yep.”

  “Where did she go in the boat?”

  “She wouldn’t tell me.”

  Dom picked another pistachio out of the thin, pink and white striped bag as he thought about the murder weapon. Could Norma have taken it out to sea to dispose of it? If she had, someone would have seen her with it. “Did anyone see her leave the island?”

  “Yes, she borrowed Bryan’s boat and Jeremiah Woodward saw her.”

  “Did they see if she had the zen garden rake with her?”

  “The rake? Why would she have that?”

  “We think it was the murder weapon.”

  Claire’s back stiffened. “Oh, so you think she was disposing of it. Well, I can assure you she wasn’t doing that, because she isn’t the killer.”

  Dom settled back on the bench. He remembered that in the cases they’d worked together in the past, he could always count on Claire’s assessment of the suspects as being spot on. He respected her opinion in that area, but he wondered if her judgment was clouded by her friendship with Norma.

  “How can you be so sure that Norma didn’t kill Zoila?” Dom asked.

  “I know her. She’s not the type. Plus, she seemed shocked when I told her how I’d seen them fighting and that Zoila had been murdered hours later.”

  Shocked about the murder, or shocked Claire had witnessed the fight? Dom wondered.

  “We can’t go on emotion. We must go with the facts and solid clues. Of which we have very few,” Dom said. “We need to find out what the police know about this footprint.”

  Claire chewed her bottom lip. “Maybe I could get my nephew to tell us. He owes me for all the cases I’ve helped him with.”

  “And we should try to reconstruct Zoila’s morning, and probably the prior day.”

  Claire smiled. “Just like old times.”

  “Exactly. Except we don’t have the benefit of the police badge and associated clout.”

  “That makes it more challenging. But we have an advantage in that we know the people involved. We might be able to get more information than the police because they trust us.” Claire settled back on the bench. “So, let’s see. We know Zoila argued with Norma and then went to the meditation garden. But we don’t know if she had a stop in between.”

  “We could ask Norma if she knew where Zoila went after the argument,” Dom offered.

  Claire tilted her head. “We could, but she might not tell us. For some reason, she is being exceedingly closed-mouthed. We should ask around to see if anyone was up at the zen garden that morning, and if they saw anything.”

  “I talked to Banes.” Dom told Claire about his conversation with the groundskeeper and the bag from Chowders.

  “It sounds like you think the bag from Chowders could be significant? Why is that?”

  “Banes said the kids leave trash sometimes, but I don’t think kids would have a take-out bag from Chowders. They usually eat junk food.”

  Claire scrunched up her face at him. “So, you think the killer ate at Chowders?”

  “Not necessarily. I talked to Shane and Sarah after Kenneth, and they acted very strange when I asked about Ben.”

  “Why would you ask about Ben?”

  Claire had shifted in her seat to face him and Dom knew she was going to be upset, but he had to mention the clues as he saw them.

  “Kenneth said he was at Zoila’s
yesterday and I know he does delivery for Chowders. There was a Chowders bag up near the crime scene…” Dom shrugged, letting his voice trail off.

  “Ben wouldn’t leave trash up there!”

  “Not normally … but if he was fleeing a murder scene, he might.”

  Claire’s cheeks burned. Her face turned incredulous as she stared at Dom. “You can’t seriously suspect Ben? You know he couldn’t kill anyone and I can assure you from a psychological standpoint, he’s not capable. Besides, why would Ben want to kill Zoila?”

  “That’s the big question. Why would anyone. If we could answer that, we’d have our killer. Besides, it seems that Ben has an alibi.”

  “He does?”

  “Yes, Sarah said he visits his mother on the mainland on Wednesdays and I don’t think he would have been on the island when she was killed.”

  That's right, Claire thought. How had she forgotten that? Of course Ben could not have done it. She felt a pang of worry—she'd noticed herself getting more and more forgetful and hoped it was just a normal sign of aging and not something more sinister.

  “Right. Well, I can assure you it wasn’t Ben or Norma,” Claire said in a clipped tone. Then, she calmed down and gave the situation some thought. It was better to act professionally, not emotionally. “We need some more leads to follow. Are you sure Banes didn’t see anyone else up there or hear anything? You’d think Zoila would have screamed.”

  “No. He was cleaning up horse poop on the trails and he said he doesn’t hear very good,” Dom said. “As far as I know, no one else has come forward to say they were there that morning.”

  “Meow!”

  Dom looked down to see a large Maine Coon cat weaving in between Claire’s ankles. Claire reached down to pet the cat’s head.

  “Is that your cat?” Dom asked.

  “No. She’s a stray, but she comes to my garden sometimes, and I always leave something out for her. I call her Porch Cat.”

  “Oh. I’ve seen her on my patio. I wondered who owned her. She seems to stroll by in the afternoon, most days.” Dom tossed a pistachio to the cat. She looked up at him with suspicious green eyes, sniffed the pistachio disdainfully, then rubbed the side of her head on Claire’s calf while she presented Dom with her back end.