Hope Hadley Eight Book Cozy Mystery Set

by Meredith Potts

  While I was lost in my thoughts going over which questions I wanted to ask Celeste, a car slowly pulled up in front of Mark’s house and parked on the sidewalk. Suddenly, I was glad I’d been so leisurely making my way back to my car. Ambling rarely paid dividends, but it certainly had here. If I’d been in a hurry getting out of here, I’d already be on my way and wouldn’t have spotted this car.

  My curiosity was reaching peak levels. Who was in the car, and what were they doing here? I zeroed in on the car, desperate for answers. Thankfully, they came to me in short order. As the driver got out of the car, I almost couldn’t believe my eyes.

  Of all people, Kristal Stanton, Mark’s ex-girlfriend, was the driver. Before my father retired from the police force, he’d often tell me stories about how suspects would sometimes perplexingly return to the scene of the crime. On occasion, it was a guilty conscience that brought them back.

  Other times, they began second guessing themselves and whether they’d properly covered their tracks. Was that the case here? Had Kristal left behind a key piece of evidence? Or, was this something else entirely?

  One thing was clear—this wasn’t just some random act. Kristal had come here with a very specific purpose, and I wasn’t going to leave until I found out what it was. In hopes of keeping the element of surprise on my side, I got out of my car as quietly as possible and tiptoed towards her.

  Kristal went up the driveway to the house with such intense focus that she didn’t even notice me sneaking up behind her. Everything was playing right into my hand, and I planned to take full advantage of that. I positioned myself halfway between Kristal and her car, making a hasty retreat difficult. She’d have to get through me if she was going to get back into her car. That was just the leverage I was looking for.

  With all the pieces in place, the time to delay was over. I made the first move.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  Kristal froze dead in her tracks. “Who’s asking?”

  That was the question I’d been dreading, for a number of reasons. My identity elicited wildly different reactions, depending on whether people had seen my old show. Sometimes, I almost thought it was better when people didn’t recognize me as an actress. Then, I could just be myself. As Kristal hadn’t still fully turned around yet, I replied with as much authority in my voice as I could muster.

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  She was determined to see my face before she replied. Kristal turned around and stared me down, looking just as stiff as when my voice first stopped her dead in her tracks.

  Like Paige Richardson, Kristal was a brunette in her early forties with long hair and a full-figured body. Mark clearly had a type when it came to the women he was attracted to, and didn’t seem to have any interest in mixing it up. Kristal was wearing black high heels, a pair of jeans that seemed a little too tight for someone of her size, and a brown sweater.

  Her reply was most peculiar. “Victoria Sassy? What are you doing here? I used to love your show.”

  Uh-oh. That was just the reaction I was hoping to avoid. It was important that the focus stayed on the murder case, not my old TV show. Now, the onus was on me to keep this conversation from getting completely derailed.

  I corrected her. “My name is Hope Hadley.”

  “Oh, right.”

  She heard me just fine, but for whatever reason, the words didn’t compute correctly in her head. They couldn’t have, considering the way she responded.

  “I’m glad a detective like you is here,” Kristal continued.

  This was getting too surreal for comfort. She was kidding, right? I mean, she couldn’t honestly think I was a detective. She must obviously realize I wasn’t the character I once played on TV.

  The dead serious look on her face said otherwise. Apparently, I’d given her sanity too much credit. I’d heard about crazy things like this before. That occasionally an actress got so well known for one role that the two became indistinguishable from one another.

  Instead of trying to explain to her that I was an actress, I decided to let her keep her delusion, even attempting to parlay that to my advantage.

  “Right, a detective like me,” I replied. “As a detective, I can’t help but wonder what you’re doing here.”

  If I thought she was off her rocker before, Kristal’s next answer really floored me.

  “I’m here to investigate this case,” she said.

  “What do you mean you’re investigating this case? You’re a suspect.”

  She scoffed and put her hand over her chest, acting as offended as could be. “Me, a suspect? Where would you get that crazy idea from?”

  “Are you really going to make me go over the reasons?”

  As unwavering as I was being, she matched me step for step.

  “Try me,” Kristal replied.

  “First, you’re the victim’s ex-girlfriend. If that wasn’t enough, Mark was the one who dumped you. To top it all off, you’re clearly still hung up on him. In the investigative game, that’s what we call motive.”

  She shrugged off my points without flinching. “If you mean motivation to solve this crime, then I absolutely agree with you.”

  “You’re not going to change your crazy story, are you?”

  As expected, Kristal got bent out of shape and tried to rationalize her behavior. “Crazy? That couldn’t be further from the truth. When I heard about Mark’s murder, I was so heartbroken that I felt compelled to find out who was responsible for this.”

  “So you’re not going to budge at all, huh? You’re going to stick to this farfetched story about you investigating the case.”

  She was really losing her patience with me now. “Why do you find that so hard to believe?”

  “To start, who investigates a murder case in high heels?”

  “Uh, what’s wrong with that?”

  “Everything is wrong with that. When was the last time you saw someone investigate a case in heels? Never. No one investigates in heels. Do you know why?”

  That was a rhetorical question. Knowing Kristal, if I gave her the chance, she’d actually try to come up with an answer.

  I continued before she had the chance to. “Because we’re on our feet all day. I can’t imagine less comfortable footwear than heels. More importantly, what if a suspect takes off on you. How could you possibly expect to keep up with them wearing those?”

  “I didn’t think of that,” she admitted.

  “Clearly.”

  “Just because I came here in heels doesn’t mean I’m not here to investigate this case.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. I don’t know who you think you’re fooling, but it’s not me.”

  My lack of restraint immediately came back to haunt me.

  Kristal lashed out at me. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

  This was a dangerous and crucial crossroad in our conversation. She’d gone from friendly to annoyed to on the brink of shutting down. It would prove disastrous if she did go quiet on me. Since I didn’t have a police badge, she was technically right—I couldn’t force her to talk. She could end the conversation right here if she wanted. The only feasible idea that popped into my mind came with a big risk that could backfire on me if I wasn’t careful.

  “You’re right,” I replied.

  Kristal breathed a sigh of relief, mistakenly thinking I was backing off. She let her guard down too soon. She just didn’t realize it until I finished my thought.

  “You can explain yourself to the police instead,” I continued.

  Her eyes darted open as I pulled out my cell phone and got ready to dial 9-1-1. It was a complete bluff on my part, but she didn’t know that. My only hope was that she wouldn’t call me on it.

  “Stop. Put your phone away,” she pleaded.

  I had her right where I wanted her. It was time to double down on my efforts. I was more aggressive with my questioning than ever. “What’s the matter? Do you have something to hide
?”

  “No. I just…what do you want from me?”

  “I just want the truth,” I said.

  “That’s what I’ve been telling you. Like I said, I’m here to find out who killed Mark.”

  She was really getting on my nerves now. Instead of belaboring the point even more, I went after her from a different angle.

  “Where were you last night between eleven and midnight?” I asked.

  She was dismissive. “Why does that matter?”

  “Trust me, it matters more than you think. Now, answer the question.”

  She scrambled again. “You first. Tell me where you were and I’ll tell you where I was.”

  Kristal clearly felt like that would put me in a bind, but that was far from the case.

  “My old friend Penelope Willett and I were having a few drinks at Crafty Cabernet Wine Bar on First Street. There’s at least a half a dozen people that could vouch for that, in addition to the manager.”

  Kristal was deflated. “Oh.”

  I fired the question right back at her. “Your turn. How about you?”

  She grimaced. “What was the question again?”

  I couldn’t believe how dumb she was playing. Then again, perhaps it wasn’t an act. Maybe she really was this thick. Either way, I wasn’t going to let her worm her way out of this.

  “Where were you between eleven and midnight?”

  “I was, uh, asleep.”

  “Asleep?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Were you alone?”

  She acted outraged. “That’s none of your business.”

  These were some seriously softball questions. If she was already wilting under the pressure with these, what would she do when I got to the hard stuff?

  I pressed on. “If you don’t have anything to hide, you don’t have anything to worry about.”

  Finally, I was able to get a straight answer. “Yes, I was alone. Are you happy now?”

  “Why would that make me happy? It just proves you don’t have an alibi,” I said.

  She flew off the handle. “Why are you asking me these questions? I’m investigating this case, and you’re treating me like I’m a suspect.”

  “Ok. Let’s assume I go along with your logic. Say I believe you’re investigating this case, what have you found so far?”

  She somehow found a way to be argumentative even when I was taking her side. This was maddening.

  “Oh, so now you want to compare notes?”

  I called her out again. “You don’t have anything, do you?”

  She was vehement in her denial. “That’s not true.”

  Before I had a chance to rebut her statement, she threw a name at me.

  “My theory is that Eric Peterson did this,” she continued.

  I pressed her for more details. “What are you basing that on?”

  “My instincts. Sometimes investigators have hunches, and I was just coming here to try and back up my theory.”

  She was starting to talk a good game, but her words rang hollow in my ears.

  “Do you want to know what I think happened?” I said.

  Not realizing that my question was rhetorical in nature, she opened her mouth to answer.

  I wasn’t going to stop talking until I got my point across. “I think the real reason you’re here is because you’re worried you might have left something incriminating here last night, so you came back to try and cover your tracks.”

  She jumped back on the defensive. “I already told you, I was asleep at the time of the murder.”

  “You also told me you have no one to verify that.”

  “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

  I pulled my phone out again. “Like I said before, you can explain yourself to the police.”

  This time, my bluff didn’t scare Kristal. She had a full head of steam and would not be intimidated. I’d managed to keep the upper hand throughout the rest of the conversation but suddenly found myself blindsided as she barreled towards me and knocked my phone out of my hand.

  My natural instinct was to bend over and pick up the phone from the grass. As I was off-balance, Kristal shoved me aside and bolted towards her car.

  I let my phone go for the moment and followed her. “Hey. Where do you think you’re going?”

  Kristal reached her car and swung the driver’s side door open. “I’m out of here. Leave me alone.”

  I rushed over to the passenger side door and tried to think of something that would keep her from driving off, ultimately saying the first thing that came to mind.

  “Running only makes you look guilty.”

  Kristal paid no attention to me, firing up her engine and switching into drive.

  I only had one shot of keeping her here now. As a last resort, I could move around to the front of her car and try to act as a human roadblock. I decided against it when I saw the crazed look in her eyes and realized there was a good likelihood of getting run over.

  Instead, I let her drive off and picked up my phone from the grass, lamenting how close I’d come to making a breakthrough, only to leave empty-handed.

  Chapter Nine

  After that surreal encounter with Kristal, I knew a stop back home was in order. All it took was an interview with one of the suspects for my best laid sleuthing plans to go astray. Before things went too far afield, I was determined to right the ship.

  There was still a whole slew of suspects left to question, and I couldn’t afford a repeat of what just happened. I had to make the most of the limited time I had with each suspect. That meant focusing on the case, not getting distracted by talk of my former thespian life.

  Luckily, there was one easy way to take the focus off me—a disguise. A few years back, when my old TV show was garnering huge ratings, I got a taste of what it was like to be a bonafide celebrity, with all the perks and pitfalls that entailed. When most people pictured superstardom, it was the spoils they thought of. Visions of a life of luxury darted to the forefront of their minds.

  There was a flip side to celebrity as well—the complete loss of anonymity. My days of being inconspicuous were over. In addition, when everyone knew you, they all had opinions of you, and weren’t shy to share them with you, for better or worse.

  To keep some semblance of privacy when I went out in public, I had the costume department at the TV studio whip up a proper disguise for me, consisting of a fiery-red curly-haired wig, floppy hat, and wide-rimmed sunglasses.

  It wasn’t some jaw-dropping transformation, but then again, I didn’t want it to be. If the disguise was too extreme, it would draw attention to itself like a Halloween costume that was worn in December. This new look of mine was just enough of a tweak to help me blend in with the crowd.

  Once I arrived home, I dug out my old disguise and put it on. Part of me wondered if it would still work. As I looked in the mirror at the bright red wig, floppy hat, and oversized sunglasses, I became confident that this would do the trick. With that out of the way, I could focus once again on the case, and more specifically, the next round of suspects.

  Chapter Ten

  With my true identity disguised, I headed back out to investigate. After Kristal Stanton had given me Eric Peterson’s name as a lead, I headed over to the pier. Both Eric’s and Mark’s bait and tackle shops were located there. While Kristal had most likely name-dropped Eric to throw the finger of blame off of herself, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that there was a kernel of truth to her statement.

  As Eric was already a suspect on my list, this gave me even more reason to talk to him. Part of me was in disbelief that the bait and tackle shop was even open that morning. If my rival had been murdered, I would have kept the doors shuttered for at least one day out of respect for the deceased.

  Eric didn’t agree with my line of thinking. The shop opened on time like it was just any other day. It looked like business as usual, and a brisk business day at that.

  There was an old adage about the busine
ss world stopping for no one. That was on full display here. Perhaps for a cutthroat business like this, the prospect of losing a day’s worth of sales was too much of a hit to take. I was about to find out. Before I went in, I reconsidered my timing when I spotted Mark’s bait shop across the way. While Eric’s place was bustling with business, thus making it harder to get him alone, Mark’s shop was dead quiet.

  I revised my plans and decided to hit up Mark’s shop first and double back to Eric’s place later in hopes that business might have quieted down by then.

  ***

  The first thing that struck me about Mark’s bait shop was how rickety the place was. The store was decades old and looked like it hadn’t been updated or cleaned in as long. It was an unappetizing shack, as grimy as it was rusty.

  As I entered, the place didn’t become any more welcoming. It was the bait shop equivalent of a dive bar. A locals only fisherman haunt, where tourists or casual fishers dared not enter. Some would say the place had character. I just thought it needed a good scrubbing. I’m not talking running a few rags or a dust mop around the place. We’re talking bringing in a professional cleaning crew here. What looked back only smelled worse, like taking a whiff of a fish tank that hadn’t been cleaned in weeks.

  Tyler Howard, the co-owner of the shop, was behind the counter, going over some printed reports from the cash register. He was a burly man in his midforties with a trucker hat covering his long brown hair and a tank top that showed off the barbed-wire tattoo that circled his left bicep.

  Tyler put all his weight on his right leg, which was understandable, due to the hobble in his left leg. An old knee injury from his former career as a professional fisherman was the culprit. He’d banged up that knee pretty bad, which left him with this nasty souvenir that forced him into early retirement. With his days at sea over, he took his savings and opened this business with Mark Butler.