I put my arm around her. "It won't be. You have nothing to worry about. Just tell them everything you know. Tell them about the photo even if you don't have it anymore." I helped her to her feet, and we headed to the back door. I paused and looked at her.
"How did you get in?" I asked, casually, so as not to sound accusatory.
She seemed flustered by my question. "How did I get in?" she repeated back my question. The oldest trick in the book for stalling. I knew because I'd used it myself more times than I wanted to admit.
"I—uh—I wandered around to the back and saw that the door was open. I know I shouldn't have been snooping around in the backyard, but I knew the back door was broken. I had noticed it when Lionel first invited me to have coffee. I shouldn't have just walked inside, but I really wanted to find that necklace."
"Like I said, I'm sure you'll be able to get the necklace back once the police have solved the case and determined the necklace had nothing to do with the murder."
She nervously crumpled the paper towel between her hands. "I hope they find the killer soon. This is all so upsetting. I haven't been sleeping at all."
"You might want to mention that to your doctor," I suggested. Lola and I led her over the crumpled patio and through the back gate. "Would you like us to see you up to your door?" I asked.
"No, I'll be fine. Thank you."
Lola and I watched her walk to the brick pathway leading up to her house.
"She did it," Lola muttered quietly.
I looked over at her. "Why do you say that?"
Lola zipped up her sweatshirt. We headed back to the car. We'd used up our lunch break talking to Margaret, and both of us needed to get back to our shops.
"She had motive. Jealousy. It seems as if Lionel really broke her heart. She knew about the broken back door. Or maybe she even caused it." Lola unlocked her car and we climbed inside.
"I'm beginning to think Lionel broke that door when he decided to live in the house. Besides, sometimes it takes a little more evidence than a good motive to prove that you have the suspect," I said. "But that's all right. I can't expect you to know stuff like we professionals." I added in a haughty chin lift.
"You're good at solving murders, I'll give you that. But if you're a professional, then why doesn't Briggs give you a badge?"
I tapped my chin. "Hmm, good question. I think I'll ask him if they have some sort of honorary badge. You know like an honorary degree they give famous people at big name colleges. I'd kind of like to have one just to flash around."
Lola laughed. "I was just kidding, of course. But if you bring it up with James, then please don't tell him that I put the notion in your kooky head."
Chapter 22
Ryder had left early and I was closing up the shop on my own. It was especially quiet because Kingston was still at home. He normally kept me company with his chattering and the click clack of his talons as he followed me around on my closing routine. It had been a somewhat slow day, leaving me with only a few clean up chores. I thought about the case as I finished sweeping the floor.
Margaret and Kate both had motives, although, hardly strong ones. Lionel had not been in town long, so it wasn't as if either woman had dedicated years to the man only to discover his propensity for infidelity. While it was true that Kate tended to grow instantly attached to men, she also grew quite instantly unattached. With the exception of Dash, I'd never known her to pine for any of her ex-boyfriends. She usually moved enthusiastically on to the next guy with barely a flinch. But it was entirely possible that she felt strongly about Lionel. I didn't know her well enough, and we'd never been close friends.
I was deep in my thoughts, absently sweeping the floor, when sirens startled me out of my musings. I rested the broom against the wall and walked to the window. It seemed the activity was happening down at the beach. I popped my head outside. Several emergency vehicles were parked along Pickford Way. It seemed something had happened at the marina.
I raced around grabbing my coat and my keys. When I stepped out of the shop, I searched frantically for my car, only to remember that I had ridden my bike to work. Me and my brilliant ideas.
I hurried back inside, grabbed my bike from the hallway outside the office and rolled it out to the sidewalk. I climbed on and pedaled as fast I could toward the beach. My hands and face were frozen by the time I reached the wharf. Briggs' car was parked near the ambulance. I parked my bicycle and hurried along the wharf. Two paramedics were chatting casually as they pushed their gurney, filled only with their equipment bag, back toward Pickford Way. Either it had been a false alarm or they were not needed because it was too late.
I weaved through the curious onlookers standing in bunches at the entrance to the marina. I searched around for Briggs and spotted him climbing off the boat in the second to last slip. He was talking on the phone. Officer Chinmoor was standing in the middle of the dock keeping curious people from getting any closer to the police activity.
He waved me on. I stopped for just a second. "Officer Chinmoor, what's going on?"
"Murder victim on one of the boats," he said. "Gunshot."
I continued toward the scene and knew even before I reached the vessel that it was Funtasy.
Briggs hung up just as I reached him on the dock. "Looks like we have a second victim from the same killer."
I glanced toward the deck and caught only a glimpse of a high heel sticking out of the stairwell that led below deck. "Was it the woman we saw Lionel kissing? I recognize those high heels."
"Yes, we searched around and found a purse with identification." He pulled out a Washington driver's license with the woman's picture.
"Glenda Jarvis," I read. "Well, I was hoping to find out her name, but I certainly didn't want it to happen this way. So, you think it might be the same killer? I mean, I hope so. I'd hate to have to search for two murderers."
"Nate and his team are on their way. We'll need a lab report on the bullet, but the wound looks the same and she was shot at close range in the chest." Briggs motioned me to head over the gangplank to climb on board. He followed close behind. "From the position of her body, it seems the person might have been hiding below, waiting for the victim to head down the steps. She was shot and then fell forward."
We reached the narrow stairwell that led below deck. Glenda was face down sprawled on the steps. A stream of blood ran down the steps, pooling in front of the landing in a dark red puddle.
"The boat is registered to a Marco Plesser. He lived in Oregon, according to the registration," Briggs said.
I looked at Briggs. "Who on earth is Marco Plesser? This whole thing just keeps stretching farther and wider. Is it possible this person, Marco, discovered that Glenda was seeing Lionel, and they absconded with his nice boat? Then he tracked them down and killed them?"
"At this point, anything is possible."
The cold, wet mist over the marina was starting to seep into my bones. I curled my arms around myself for warmth.
"You should head home, Lacey. I know you rode your bike today. It's going to be dark soon. Or I could have one of the officers drive you home."
I shook my head. "No, you're all busy. I won't stay long." I stared down at poor Glenda, lifeless yet stiff, like a discarded mannequin. "Just a few days ago she was sitting out on deck sipping her pink cocktail and now she's dead. Did you get a chance to interview her?"
Briggs pulled out his notebook. "That was how I found her. I came here intending to ask her some questions about Lionel's murder. She was already dead. I think she's been dead for a good twelve hours, which would put her time of death sometime between two and five in the morning." Briggs turned to me. "Lacey, two victims means this person has no qualms about killing people—"
"I know what you're going to say and I'll be careful. I promise." I tapped my nose. "So, should I take Samantha for a spin?" My nose had its very own moniker, and I was quite fond of it.
Briggs smiled. "Wouldn't be a thorough investigation without tha
t. But be careful. There's not a lot of room on the narrow steps."
He handed me some latex gloves, and I pulled them onto my cold fingers. "Someone needs to invent fleece lined latex gloves for cold weather."
Chapter 23
There were only a few inches on the right side of the body where I could stand without disturbing Glenda Jarvis, the victim. Briggs had set up the police light, which was like ten thousand light bulbs going off at once in a tiny, dark passage. The glare was almost too much, but it kept me from slipping on blood.
Glenda's head was tilted against the second to last step, mostly facing down. Her eyes were slightly open, making it feel as if she was watching me as I crouched down to sniff her clothes. She was wearing a short, champagne pink faux fur coat and a pair of tight black pants. An outfit like that would have indicated that she'd gone out to a party or dancing the night before but then it seemed she was always dressed for a social event. Glamour seemed to be her everyday look. It was interesting considering that Kate had been dressing down for her new boyfriend, leaving behind her usual flashy mod style for a more staid, collegiate look. I wondered if Lionel was the type of man who played women by telling them how they should dress, even if he had no particular preferences. Sometimes it was just a control thing.
"Lacey, Nate and his team are here," Briggs called down the stairwell. I could only see his outline in the harsh light flowing down the passage.
"Just a minute." The cramped quarters made it hard to get my nose too close, but I quickly picked up the scent of Lionel's expensive cologne. It lingered on her coat but had probably been there for more than a few days since it was faint. That made sense considering Lionel had been dead for several days. It also didn't tell us much because we already knew there was something going on between Lionel and Glenda.
Nate's deep voice poured down past the blinding light. "I hate it when they're on narrow steps," he said. Seemed like a reasonable complaint. It was nearly impossible for me to do a simple nasal inspection. It would be much harder to do a coroner's initial exam. The last thing Nate needed was another person crowding the stairwell. I pushed to standing and climbed back up to the deck.
In the few minutes I'd spent below deck, the sun had dropped greatly. It was definitely time for me to head home. I didn't want to ride back in the dark.
"Why don't I get someone to drive you home," Briggs suggested.
"I've got just enough light to get home safely. But I won't say no to you walking me back to my bicycle. Unless you're needed here."
"I can break away from the scene now that Nate is on board."
He gave me a hand off the boat and onto the dock. He rested his hand on my back, a protective, slightly possessive gesture that I always loved.
"Are you sure you don't want a ride back? It's getting colder by the minute."
"I'll be fine and the chill is nothing a long, hot shower won't erase. Tell me more about today's investigation into Lionel's death, then I'll tell you what happened during my own investigation. Did you talk to Kate?"
We walked through the crowd, which was mostly dispersing because of the cold and the dark. "Kate came into the station looking very distraught. Hilda had to make her a cup of tea to calm her nerves. She said she'd been dating Lionel for about three weeks, and they were quite serious." He flashed an eye roll, but it was pretty much warranted. Three weeks was hardly long enough to become serious, unless you were Kate Yardley. "She'd discovered that Lionel had given Margaret Sherwood a necklace. Apparently, your buddy, Lola, had something to do with that."
"Yes but it was entirely innocent on Lola's part. She had no idea Lionel was seeing multiple women."
We headed along the wharf. The shops and food stands were closing up for the night. I was relieved to see my bicycle was still right where I'd placed it on Pickford Way.
"The necklace didn't matter too much." We stopped at the bike. "Kate turned over the photo. I'm having it tested for prints," Briggs said. "It was definitely Lionel and our newest victim, Glenda."
"I suppose we can take Ms. Jarvis off the person of interest list," I said.
"Looks that way."
"What did Kate say when you asked about her car being spotted at Lionel's house?"
"She was confused and flustered." Briggs took off his fedora and smoothed his hair back before returning it to his head. "She confessed that she drove to his house early in the evening and confronted him about the necklace and the photo. It seems Lionel tried to smooth it over, make excuses. He told her Margaret had been a kind neighbor, and he felt sorry for her being a widow so he bought her a gift. He told her that the woman in the picture was a friend of the family. Kate told him he was a liar and that she never wanted to see him again. She stormed out and that was the last she saw of him."
I could occasionally read his thoughts in his face, but under the failing daylight and the brim of his hat he just looked weary. It had been a long day, and now he would be working late collecting evidence and waiting for the coroner to finish up.
"Do you have any reason not to believe Kate?" I asked.
He shook his head. "Not really. I talked to Margaret Sherwood an hour later. Lionel might have been claiming that he was just buying her a necklace because she'd been neighborly, but as far as Margaret was concerned, they were in a relationship. He took her to dinner several times and whispered in her ear more than once. That part she said with a blush on her cheeks."
"Poor Margaret," I said. "Did she bring up the photo?"
His face popped up. "She didn't mention anything about a photo." His brow perked up. "How do you know about a photo?"
I smiled sweetly. "I might have gone back to the crime scene."
He sighed in surrender. "Lacey—"
I put my hand against his chest. "Before you start the lecture, I just popped in there at lunch. And Lola was with me."
"Yes, that makes me feel much better because the two of you together are such solid, safety conscious decision makers."
"Thank you," I said politely.
"Maybe you missed the sarcasm in my tone," he suggested.
"Nope, I just decided to ignore it and take the whole thing as a compliment. Now, are you interested in my story? Daylight is disappearing fast."
"Yes, go ahead. And make it fast so you can get home. I want a text the second you get in the door."
I smiled. Admittedly, I'd been a little miffed about his sarcastic comment, but it was hard to stay mad at him. "We used the back door to get in the house. It was ajar and I was going to mention it to you because I thought it was rather sloppy of the evidence team but it turned out Margaret was inside the house."
I couldn't see his ears under his hat, but I was sure they perked up. "Really?"
"Yes, she was looking for the necklace. Turns out she yanked it off in a bit of drama, then regretted leaving it behind. I told her it was in evidence, which upset her, naturally, because then she was sure you were considering her a suspect."
"Which we are," he said.
I shot him a surprised look.
"No alibi, she was wandering around his house, apparently snooping in windows and she had motive. Although, admittedly it's a stretch. She seems like a sweet lady. But what about this photo? She didn't mention it."
"It was a picture of Lionel and Kate. Someone left it anonymously in her mailbox. The same person who was trying to warn Kate that Lionel was a cad."
Briggs motioned for me to climb on my bike. "I'll have to ask her for the photo and find out why she failed to mention it."
I threw my leg over. "I think she thought she'd be in trouble. She tore up the photo and the shreds were already picked up with the garbage."
"That won't be much help then."
"You should have your team search for photos at this crime scene. Maybe Glenda received one too."
"Good thinking, Sherlock." He leaned over and kissed me on the nose. "That little button is frozen solid. Hurry home and let me know the second you get in the door."
"I will." I blew him a kiss and took off toward Harbor Lane.
Chapter 24
Ryder was running late due to a flat tire, so I was alone in the shop. Naturally, it was a busy morning. Two separate pairs of customers were browsing my centerpiece portfolios. One pair needed something elegant for a winter social, and the other needed flowers for a sixtieth wedding anniversary. Both pairs were still deep in discussion and debate, so I took a moment to pull our sidewalk chalkboard outside. It was a reminder for people to order their Thanksgiving table centerpieces early. I positioned the chalkboard so that people driving along Harbor Lane could read it.
My gaze inadvertently swept toward the beach. I just happened to catch Heather, the photographer, hurrying across the street to Franki's Diner. Her camera was around her neck, and she clutched her camera bag in her hand. Both objects were somewhat cumbersome, but she managed to get across quickly.
I walked back inside. My customers were still perusing the portfolios. I considered that a good sign. I offered a plethora of beautiful choices, so many that it was hard to choose.
I headed over to the potting station to plant some tiny lavender into pots. I was elbow deep in potting soil when the door opened. "Be right with you," I called.
There was no answer, but I felt a warm presence behind me. I spun around. "James, I wasn't expecting you this morning." I reached for a towel and wiped my hands. "Any news on the latest murder?" I asked as quietly as possible.
Briggs looked around at the customers browsing my bouquet notebooks and motioned for me to follow him outside so we could talk more freely about murder and gunshots.
"It seems we're looking for one killer. The same gun was used to kill Glenda Jarvis. Still no sign of the weapon. Here's more craziness to make this a harder case. Just like with Lionel Dexter, we can't seem to find any family or previous existence of Glenda Jarvis. They both appear to have just popped spontaneously onto earth."
"What about Marco Plesser, the owner of the boat? It seems like he might be key in all of this," I suggested.
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