by Paula Lester
I went into the lobby, which reminded me more of a doctor’s office than a police department with its framed paintings of serene ocean scenes, plastic chairs next to end tables stacked with magazines, and even a little children’s play area in the corner. The receptionist’s area directly across from the front door had a sliding glass window, and I wondered if it was bulletproof. Probably not. Superior Bay wasn’t known for its violent crimes.
Of course, it seemed like that may have all changed with the death of Arthur Wiggins.
Mary Sue Matthews sat behind the glass flipping the pages of a magazine. She was younger than me by a few years, but I knew her from around town. She was a cop, but I couldn’t figure out how she kept that job. To me, it seemed like she’d popped into the wrong profession accidentally. She wore the standard Superior Bay light blue uniform with the three top buttons undone. Her curly platinum hair was arranged into a perfectly imperfect messy bun that looked like it had taken an hour to get it at just the right degree of disheveled. She wore perfect makeup too—light enough to enhance her features without being dark enough to raise the eyebrows of the elderly ladies who met at Stroves’ Bakery every morning to gossip. Mary Sue glanced at me, blinking her false eyelashes a couple of times. “Hey, Doc. Need somethin’?”
I’d never figured out why Mary Sue had a southern accent. As far as I knew, she’d been born and raised in Michigan’s upper peninsula, just a few hours away from Canada. Unlike Julia, who just sprinkled southernisms into her speech now and then, Mary Sue’s accent was constant. “I’m looking for Crosby,” I said. “Is he around?”
She shrugged, making no move to get to her feet or pick up the phone next to her and hunt down Crosby. “Is this about Mr. Wiggins?”
I had no intention of talking to Mary Sue about Arthur. Number one, she wasn’t my childhood best friend, who I could talk to plainly. Number two, she wasn’t even a very good cop. “I just want to ask him about something. If he’s not here, I can text him.” I pulled out the cell phone from my pocket and hit the home button.
Mary Sue sighed loudly and got to her feet, groaning as though she were ninety-two and I was severely imposing on her health and comfort by asking her to do her job. She shuffled out of the office into the rear of the station.
I put the phone away, crossed my arms, and wandered around the waiting room. A moment later, the door to the back opened, and Crosby waved me through. I followed him to his small office which held a tiny wooden desk and two filing cabinets. I sat on the edge of the desk and picked up the framed photo of Crosby, Aly, Julia, and me from high school graduation. We all looked ecstatic, arms linked and young faces shining. Grinning, I set it back down. “So, what have you heard about Arthur?”
Crosby pinned me with a hard look before sinking into his office chair. “You can’t be slinking around here poking your nose into the Wiggins case.”
I tried to look innocent by widening my eyes a fraction. “I’m not doing that.”
He pressed his lips together, which made him look pretty cute. It reminded me of how exasperated he used to get when Julia would suggest some hare-brained scheme for us to get involved in and I’d be raring to go. Crosby had always hung back, trying to be a cop even back then. Still, if Julia and I dove into something, he always followed along. I never figured out if it was to have his own fun or to keep us from getting in too deep. “Yes, you are. You want to know what I think about the coroner saying Wiggins died of poison. Well, I’m not going to say anything other than it’s a murder investigation now.”
The icy feeling that slithered up my spine told me that was enough. Even though I’d known the department must be treating it as a murder, it was chilling to hear Crosby confirm it. “So, who are your suspects?”
Crosby shot to his feet, grabbed my arm, and hauled me toward the door. “You are,” he hissed. “And if you want to make it easier for me to clear your name, then you need to stay out of it. Poking your nose into the investigation is only going to implicate you more.”
“I’m a suspect?” My voice was squeaky again. Why did that keep happening? I cleared my throat.
“Of course. It happened at your clinic. Everyone there is a suspect. Now get outta here.” He gave me a slight shove out the door to punctuate his order.
“Okay, but . . .”
The door slammed in my face, cutting me off.
I stomped my foot but retreated to the lobby. If Crosby wasn’t going to tell me anything more, I’d just have to figure out another way to get some information. If my staff and I were murder suspects, there was no way I could leave clearing our names to the Superior Bay Police Department. Even if my best friend was on the case.
Marching out of the station without so much as a wave at Mary Sue, I started confidently down the sidewalk. After about ten feet, I stopped short.
I had no idea how to get further information about who could have killed Arthur Wiggins.
Hmmm. I stood there for a minute, unsure which way to go.
With a sigh, I finally started moving, heading the direction I had my whole life when I didn’t know where else to go.
Toward home.
I PULLED MY VW WAGON into the gravel driveway, shut off the car, and got out to breathe in the clean air of home. The big, two-story farmhouse could really use a coat of paint—the gorgeous teal my mom had chosen when we moved in had faded and chipped in the harsh northern winters. But the effect wasn’t so bad—it actually made the house look like part of the landscaping. Aunt Dru called it farmhouse chic.
From the huge wrap-around porch, you could see Lake Superior, only half a mile away if you could go straight and didn’t have to follow the roads.
We had two acres of land, half of it wooded and the other half covered by paddocks and a small barn where we kept a horse, a few sheep, and a dozen chickens. The wooded half flowed into another hundred acres or so of state forest. We couldn’t see a neighbor’s house but could get to the nearest one on foot in five minutes or by car along the dirt road in one.
Juliet bounded toward me, smiling and wagging her border collie tail. “Hi! Wanna play ball?”
Juliet always wanted to play ball. When she wasn’t watching the sheep and chickens, she was snoozing on the porch or trying to get someone to throw the tennis ball.
“Sure. Bring it here.”
With a joyful yip, she raced across the yard, dove to scoop up a yellow ball, and bounded back to drop it at my feet. I threw it a few times and then gave her a pat on the head. “I’m going in for a bit now, Jules. You coming?”
She cocked her head, tongue lolling, and made me laugh. “Sheep check time.” She leaped off the porch, flying over the steps like they weren’t there.
I shook my head and went inside. Dixon, the black-and-white cat who liked to pretend to be my shadow whenever I was home, stretched and climbed out of the window seat to rub on my leg. I stooped to ruffle his ears. “Is Aunt Dru home, Dix?”
He purred, eyes half closed. “In the kitchen,” he said when I stopped petting.
“Thanks.”
As I got close to the big, airy kitchen, I could hear my aunt, Druida Fairtree, humming. She was almost always humming or singing something. I leaned against the doorjamb and watched her back as she washed dishes, a surge of love and wellbeing flowing through me. Aunt Dru had been my only family since my parents disappeared when I was three years old. She’d moved into my family’s home to provide stability for me and had been there ever since—an immovable, larger-than-life force of nature.
She waved a hand, and the dish she’d been washing floated through the air to land gently in the dish rack on the counter. Aunt Dru was good with kinetic magic, and she’d offered to teach me a thousand times. I could do it when I concentrated hard, but I’d always been too busy to buckle down and learn the finer points.
As though she could hear me thinking, Aunt Dru said without turning, “Do you need some tea, Willow?”
“I wouldn’t turn down a nice hot cup of raspber
ry-hibiscus.”
As though on cue, the kettle on the stove whistled. Sending a grin over her shoulder, Aunt Dru poured steaming water into two mugs already sitting on the counter with tea bags in them. She knew me better than anyone.
We sat together at the big wooden table with its stains and scars, looking out at the sheep in the paddock and Juliet resting nearby. We drank tea and munched on lemon cookies. “How are you holding up, dear?”
I gazed into Aunt Dru’s concerned face. It had softened and wrinkled with age, but her ice blue eyes were just as clear as they’d ever been. Her silver hair was pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck, but it was soft, not severe. I shrugged. “I’m freaked out. Julia seems to think my clinic could get shut down because of this, and Crosby all but confirmed that I’m a suspect.”
She lifted one eyebrow and set down her cookie. “Arthur wasn’t a very pleasant man. I knew his dear mother, and I don’t know how she ever raised such a meanie.”
I chuckled at Aunt Dru’s choice. She didn’t mince words, but she also wasn’t prone to name-calling. “He was sort of hard to deal with. He was planning on raising my rent again.”
“He did that a lot. To people all over town. I’d say the suspect list would be a lot longer than you.”
“And my staff.” I sighed. “You’re right. How can I narrow down the pool of suspects?” At her raised eyebrows, I wrinkled my nose sheepishly. “I guess I don’t completely trust the police to figure this out. I don’t want my staff getting wrongly accused, and I definitely don’t want my clinic at risk. I thought maybe I’d do a little nosing around and see what I can come up with.” I held up a hand. “Just to give Crosby a little nudge in the right direction, that’s all.”
The corners of her mouth twitched upward. “I see. Well, I don’t know exactly how you could narrow down the list of suspects, but if I were you, I’d consider talking to Cheyenne Meyers over at Arthur’s office. She’s the only one who really knew everything that man had his fingers into. She was his secretary for twenty years.”
I grabbed another lemon cookie and jumped up. I bent to kiss Aunt Dru’s soft cheek and then rushed toward the door. “Thanks! Don’t wait on me for dinner,” I shouted over my shoulder.
Her good-natured chuckle floated with me out the front door.
Chapter 3
I figured it would take some hunting to find Cheyenne Meyers, but it turned out she was manning her desk at Arthur’s office, answering an almost perpetually ringing phone. When she glanced at me as I entered the lobby, she held up a bony index finger and kept talking into the receiver. “No, I don’t know who Mr. Wiggins’ lawyer was and if I did, I wouldn’t tell you anyway,” she snapped before slamming down the phone and then pinching the cord’s connection and yanking it out. Then she turned a narrow-eyed glare at me.
Cheyenne appeared to be in her mid-sixties, with dyed raven hair in tight curls around her head and red reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. She wore at least one ring on every finger and heavy gold earrings that pulled down on her ear lobes. “What do you want?” She bit off the words like they tasted bad.
“I’m sorry about your loss,” I said softly.
She waved a hand. “Arthur was a terrible boss. I only kept working for him because it was better than being at home staring at the wall.” She stood, grabbed a purse from under the desk, and glared at me again. “I’m leaving. Did you just come to deliver ill-conceived condolences?”
I bristled and had to bite back a sharp answer. Did the woman have to be so mean? Maybe working for Arthur and his poor temperament had rubbed off on the woman. Or maybe it was just that thing about birds of a feather. I hesitated, wondering what I could say that wouldn’t further set off the woman’s nastiness.
I heard a rustle behind me and turned to see that someone else had come through the door. Shew. That gave me some time to think. Maybe the new person would tease out some kindness from the receptionist.
I stepped aside, and the newcomer marched past me to tower over Cheyenne. His fists were clenched at his sides, but they were hard to see under the ill-fitting suit coat sleeves.
I realized I knew the guy. His name was Jackson Rimes, and he was Korbin’s roommate. I didn’t know much else about him, but he had a cat he brought in to see me from time to time. A fussy Persian prone to knotted fur.
“Who’s going to be taking over Wiggins’ properties?” he demanded without preamble.
Cheyenne gave him a cool look through her glasses and crossed her arms. “How am I supposed to know that? The man hasn’t been dead for a full day yet.”
“You’re the only one who knows anything about that jerk. In fact, I figure you know everything about him, since you’re pretty much the only one who talked to him for years.” Jackson glanced over his shoulder at me, as though he’d only just remembered that another person was in the room.
I waved and tried to look like I hadn’t been standing there eavesdropping. But, really, he’d been the one who’d barged in and interrupted my conversation with Cheyenne, as much as that had been going nowhere fast. I actually felt a little grateful to him for getting the unpleasant woman’s attention off me.
“Now, you listen here, Jackson.” Cheyenne shook a ring-bedecked and arthritis-gnarled finger. “Just because you had disagreements with Arthur doesn’t mean you have a right to barge in here and interrupt my grieving time with your nonsense. You turn around and march yourself right back out of here this instant. And if you want to know who’s taking over Arthur’s holdings, you’ll have to wait for the lawyer and the court to announce it. Just like everyone else,” she harrumphed.
He shrank back from the small woman’s angry tirade, looking unsure about what to do next. Glancing over his shoulder at me again as though to seek my counsel—as though I had any idea how to handle Cheyenne Meyers—he stepped back and shrank even more into his oversized coat. He dropped his eyes and mumbled, “I’d appreciate a call once you know who my new landlord will be. I need to have an urgent conversation with him.”
He dashed toward the door, and I don’t think he heard Cheyenne say, “It could be a her, you know.” Then she winked at me.
I snorted. So, the dragon lady had a funny bone. How refreshing. And Jackson’s interruption had given me time to think of something to say. “It looks like you’re trying to leave. I’ll get out of your hair.” We walked out the front door together. As Cheyenne locked it, I said, “Did you see Mr. Wiggins this morning? You know, before . . .”
“He came by and got the day’s schedule like he always does.”
“Did you notice anything strange about him? How did he seem?”
She slipped the keys into her purse and two horizontal wrinkles appeared above her eyebrows. “Actually, he seemed a tad worked up about something. He had that infernal yapping dog with him, so I was preoccupied with making sure it didn’t pee on my desk or something, but I did notice that.”
“Worked up? Like upset?” I kept pace with Cheyenne as she headed toward a red Chevy sedan parked on the street in front of the building.
“He wasn’t himself. Told me to move all his appointments from today to next week. I’ve never known him to do that before. Then, when he tried to grab the dog’s leash, he sort of stumbled a little. Spilled some of his dratted coffee on the rug.” She shook her head. “That man and his Stroves’ coffee. Took me an hour to clean it out after he left.” She opened the car door and pinned me with a glare. “I’m going home now. Unless you plan to spend your day in the hospital, I suggest you don’t stand in front of the car.” She slammed the door and fired up the engine.
I hopped onto the sidewalk and waved as Cheyenne drove off, not at all surprised when she didn’t return my cheerful gesture.
THE NEXT MORNING, I was pleasantly surprised to see a few appointments on the books. I was also happy to see Jeremy come through the door. He verified that he was feeling much better.
He and I both had enough work to get through the morning at
a comfortable pace. Still, business was slow compared to how it should be right before the dog show, and a tiny niggle of alarm pestered the back of my mind.
My clinic was already running on very thin margins. I’d lost some clients to the Red River vets lately, and my overhead was creeping up. I couldn’t afford to lose much more business if I wanted to keep all my staff members.
I shoved down that thought hard. There was no way I could face firing Jeremy, Korbin, Theresa, or Catherine. I felt responsible for them. I’d already slashed my own salary in recent months, but I would cut it back more if I needed to. Things would get better.
Of course, Superior Bay was a small town. People were obviously concerned about the fact that someone had been murdered in my clinic. If I wanted business to bounce back, the killer needed to be caught—proving no one at Superior Bay Animal Hospital had been involved.
“Dr. Morgan, Mrs. Chapel and Ella Bean are in Room One waiting to see you.” Catherine handed me the file. “Korbin isn’t here yet, so Theresa is going to have to help both you and Dr. Miller for now.”
“That’s weird.” It wasn’t like Korbin at all to be late. He was usually at the clinic before his shift started, getting the coffee pot going or scrolling through his phone for a few minutes before he punched in.
I shrugged it off and went into the exam room. “Hello, Mrs. Chapel. How are you and Ella Bean today?”
“Oh, I’m just fine. And Ella Bean is rambunctious as always. I just need you to look at her ears.”
There was little else I could look at. Ella Bean was an adorable Corgi with enormous ears. I reached out to ruffle one and the dog leaned into my hand, rubbing. She grunted, and one hind leg started moving in the air. “Looks like she wants to scratch her ear. Has she been doing that a lot at home?”
