It was the first truly kind words I'd heard about Tory. "I'm sure. I can only imagine the void she leaves behind."
Tom slightly lifted his briefcase. "Well, I've got to get to work. Nice seeing you again."
"You too. Take care." I watched him turn the corner toward the offices before I headed toward the exit.
The visit to the company had been more fruitful than I'd anticipated. That was mostly due to my accidental path crossing with Detective Jackson. After listening in on some of his interview with the shipping supervisor, I'd drawn a few conclusions. It seemed Jackson was on the trail of something not above board happening in the Stockton Company, or at the very least, in the shipping warehouse. First, an order went out short a framing hammer, the weapon of choice for Tory's killer. Then there was the unexplained late night truck delivery, a delivery that the supervisor seemed to insist didn't happen. He was either lying or he really had no idea about any late night delivery. Then there was the explosive tidbit divulged by Detective Jackson that the shoe print at the scene matched the brand of shoe Jeremy was wearing. I'd also gathered some information on personal reactions to Tory's death too. It seemed Jeremy had a rather blasé attitude about it, even remarking coldly about Brooke needing a new maid of honor. A surprisingly harsh reaction. Even if Jeremy and Tory weren't close friends, she was an asset to the company. His second lead salesperson, Tom, had a much stronger and more human reaction, even though Tory was obviously his fiercest competition in the tool sales industry. And then there was Cindy's prenatal vitamin purchase. Detection Jackson blew off the information as worthless, but I wasn't so sure.
Storylines were twisting and turning, and I was continuing full steam ahead. There was nothing better than a tangled web of intrigue to get my journalistic energy roaring. I just had to figure out a way to keep close to the investigation, all the while staying clear of Detective Jackson. That wasn't going to be easy.
Chapter 27
Nick tossed the ball for Newman while Emily swept out the chicken coop. And I, being the ever-attentive aunt, played with the goats.
"What's happening at work?" Emily asked from inside the coop.
I sat down on the grass outside the coop so Tinkerbell and Cuddelbug could jump on me and nestle my hair and face. (Who needed a therapist when you had baby goats?) "I'm on a story about the Colonial Bridge project, but there's nothing too intriguing about it. After an interview with a private donor and a few calls to the city council's office, it seems the delay is more about weather and logistics than anything else."
Emily swept the debris from the coop into a pile. "What were you expecting to find?"
"Not expecting as much as hoping that there would be some sort of scandal or intrigue behind the delay. Then I would have a story. As it stands, all I have is a boring update on the progress or in this case the non-progress of the restoration plans."
Nick whistled from the pasture to get Emily's attention. "You've got an egg customer, Emi." Nick had played baseball in high school. He pitched the ball clear across the tall grass and Newman bounded after it, arcing through the tall blades and eventually disappearing in the overgrown pasture. Seconds later he emerged with the yellow ball clenched between his teeth. He was in heaven. Nick was by far his favorite ball thrower.
Emily walked out of the coop and squinted toward the road. A small yellow car turned onto the drive that led to the farm. "That's Raylene. She's a teller at Junction Bank. She stops by for a dozen eggs once a month."
Almost the second Emily had stepped out of the coop, the goats trotted to her, bleating cute little squeaks. She was their surrogate mom. I tried not to take it too personally. I stood up and brushed myself off.
"I'm going to try a new recipe for an egg salad," Emily said as we walked toward the shed where she kept the egg cartons. If it's good, we can add it to your recipe file for the bed and breakfast."
"Eggs-cellent," I chirruped with a grin.
The yellow car reached the chicken coops, and a young woman climbed out. She looked to be about Emily's age. She was still wearing her bank teller's badge on her yellow blouse. She jammed her keys in her pocket and waved to Emily as she hiked across the yard to the shed.
The goats trotted bravely forward to greet her, but once they realized she was a stranger, they bounced back to Emily for safety.
"Evening, Raylene, I thought it was about time for your egg carton."
"Yes, I'm baking a birthday cake for my mother next weekend so I needed some fresh eggs." Raylene smiled politely at me.
"Oh, silly me," Emily piped up. "Raylene, this is my sister Sunni. I was telling her that you work as a teller at the Junction Bank."
"Nice to meet you," I said. "I guess that's what happens when you rely on your phone for banking, you never get to meet the local tellers."
"So true," Raylene said. "Most of my customers are older, retired people who aren't interested in phone banking. Thanks goodness for them, otherwise I'd probably be out of a job."
"I'll put together a carton of eggs for you." Emily pointed back to her shed. "Do you still prefer a mix of medium and large?"
"Yes, six of each if you have them."
"I do." The goats followed Emily as she disappeared into the shed, leaving me outside with her customer.
"So, you're Sunni Taylor the reporter from the Junction Times?" Raylene asked. "I loved your story about Alder Stevens. I went to Smithville High. He was always a good friend."
"Thank you, I'm glad you enjoyed it."
"Since you're on the paper, have you heard any more about Tory Jansen's murder?"
Her question surprised me, but I jumped right into reporter mode. "Not too much yet. The police like to keep evidence close to the vest while the investigation is ongoing. Did you know Tory Jansen?" The question came out maybe a little too enthusiastically.
"Only in a business sense. She was a regular customer at the bank."
"I guess she was one of the no phone banking holdouts," I said.
"Actually, I don't know about that." She seemed to be mulling over her response. "It was strange. She came in once a week on Friday afternoon to deposit a thousand dollars cash."
"Cash deposit? I guess you don't see that too often."
"These days, almost never. And right into her personal account. But she came in every Friday at four, with the exception of this last one. She would pull a stack of twenties and fifties out of the same goldenrod envelope, and we'd chat about the usual stuff, sales at the department store, the weather, the regular. Then she'd take her deposit receipt and walk out."
"During the chats, she never mentioned what the cash was from? The sale of a car or something that might be bought with cash?"
"Never and of course I don't ask. The bank manager would frown on that."
"Of course." I thought back to Friday night when I helped Lana set up for the camping party. The bridal group, Tory included, arrived at the site around six in the evening. That would still have given her time to stop in for her regular bank deposit. "So Tory didn't come in this last Friday?"
"No but then I know she was busy with the bridal shower. She mentioned it to me the week before. Sure is tragic that she's gone. She told me she'd recently earned the title of top salesperson at Stockton Tools."
"Do you think there's any chance that the cash was from sales?"
Raylene's face blanched some at the question. "Gee, I hope not. That would be a big no-no if there was no paper trail for a company's profits." She said it in a hushed tone as if someone might be listening.
"You're right, and I'm certainly not suggesting that a company like Stockton Tools would engage in tax evasion or the likes. I'm sure there was a perfectly simple reason for Tory's weekly cash deposit."
My last comment made her mouth drop to a frown. "I guess it doesn't matter now where she got the money. May she rest in peace."
"Yes, I hope so." There was nothing more aggravating than not being able to rest in peace, I thought wryly.
Emi
ly stepped out of the shed holding twelve brown eggs tucked into a gray carton. "I gathered these just this morning so they're extra fresh."
"Wonderful. Now if they are magical enough to make sure my mom's cake turns out right, then I'll be thrilled. There's nothing more nerve-wracking than baking for a mom who spent the last thirty years perfecting all her recipes." Raylene handed Emily money and took the eggs.
Emily winked at me. "I think Sunni and I know that mom. Our mom can bake her way out of any sort of trouble with the neighbors. She's a flour and sugar genius."
"That's true," I agreed.
Raylene nodded at me. "It was nice talking to you, and I hope they find out what happened to Tory soon. We certainly can't have a madman running around the mountain campsites killing people."
"I'm sure Detective Jackson will figure it out soon enough."
Emily and I waved as Raylene climbed into her car and drove away.
"I pulled out two plums on my visit to your farm today. Goat snuggles and, thanks to your egg customer, I'm leaving here with an interesting bit of information about the murdered maid of honor."
Emily looked over at me. "Really? What's that?"
"I'm not quite sure, but it seems Tory might have been knee deep in something illegal. She was making a thousand dollar cash deposit every Friday afternoon at the Junction Bank."
"I usually make cash deposits. Not that much and certainly not every Friday."
"Yes but you keep cash deposits in a business account so it is counted as income. Tory works for Stockton Tools. I doubt they pay salaries or commissions in cash."
"No, I'm sure they don't. That is sort of strange now that I think about it." Cuddlebug hopped up on her back legs and pushed her tiny hooves against Emily's shin, like a toddler begging to be picked up or handed a bottle.
Emily leaned down and ruffled her long ears. "It's feeding time. Would you like to—"
"Yes," I answered before she could finish. "Yes, yes."
Chapter 28
I started the work day not needing a new pair of shoes, but I needed an excuse to browse through Step Up Shoes in the town of Hickory Flats. Hickory Flats was a small town connected to Firefly Junction by Butternut Crest. I'd gotten to the office, slightly baffled about where to go next with the murder investigation. I resigned myself to writing a simple informational article about the Colonial Bridge, including some historical facts and a plea for the city council to get things moving on the much needed restoration project. That left me some spare time to search for clues in Tory's murder.
An hour long intense search online for any possible problems or scandals in the Stockton Tool Company proved fruitless. Other than a few disgruntled customers on Yelp, from all accounts, they were a squeaky clean, highly respected business. My disappointing search caused me to think back to the day at the campsite. I'd had an opportunity to speak to Trina, Brooke's cousin, who was more than happy to be heading back to California. The other member of the bridal party, who had mostly stayed quiet and out of the way during the initial investigation, was Kyla Forrest. I knew she had grown up next door to Brooke, which probably meant she fell into the category of friendship through proximity rather than a natural inclination for bonding. A quick call to my sister Lana and I soon discovered that Kyla worked at Step Up Shoes in Hickory Flats.
The shoe store was decorated in modern country with bright white shelves crisscrossing country blue walls. Wide planks of knotty pine covered the floors, and upholstered benches for trying on shoes finished off each shoe aisle. Kyla was no longer wearing her red hair in braids. She had it clipped up on each side, and a pair of gold hoop earrings dangled nearly to her shoulders. She was just finishing up with a customer at the register when I walked inside.
"I'll be right with you," she called from the counter.
"No hurry. I'll just look around first." I quickly made the decision that a new pair of sandals would be nice for my summer dresses. I walked over to the shelves displaying sandals and looked for a few pairs to try on. I picked up a pair that were made from a soft, supple leather.
"Those are super comfortable," Kyla said from behind. "What size?"
"Seven." I turned around and smiled.
Her blue eyes rounded. "Oh, hello. You're one of the women that works for Lana Taylor."
"Actually, I'm her sister. But I do manage to get dragged into working for her when she's busy. Unfortunately, it's all voluntary."
Kyla sighed. "Sisters. Two weeks ago I spent an entire weekend helping my sister pack up her apartment because she decided to move to the city. Three days later she called to ask if I could help her unpack because she'd changed her mind. My only reward was a pizza, and I didn't even get to pick the toppings. Seriously, who puts meatballs on a pizza? My indecisive sister, that's who."
"This sounds all too familiar to me," I agreed cheerily. It seemed we'd made an instant connection solely based on the not terribly astounding coincidence that we both had sisters. I was thrilled. It meant we could talk 'sister' to 'sister', and with any luck, I could get her to open up about the rest of the bridal party.
I turned back to the shelf and pointed out two other possible choices for sandals. Kyla hurried to the back to find my size. I sat down on a teak wood bench that was upholstered with blue and peach calico.
Kyla returned, her face hidden behind a stack of sandal boxes. She skillfully lowered the tower of boxes to the floor.
"I love the way this store is decorated," I said. "Did you do it?"
"No," she laughed. "I wish I could take credit. The owner, Milly, has great taste. I did help her pick some of the fabrics for the benches though."
I smoothed my hand over the calico upholstering. "Really cute choices." I slipped off my shoes and pulled on the nylon socks used for trying on sandals. "Have you heard from Brooke? How is she doing?"
"To be honest, I've only had a quick exchange of texts with her. She seems to be doing all right. Tory's parents are having a rough time of it, of course. But I don't know much else. I was mostly included in the wedding because our moms are good friends. Brooke and I used to hang out when we weren't busy with our own school friends. We lived just a side yard away from each other. That made impromptu play dates convenient. Our moms would have liked for us to be closer, but we just didn't mesh that well."
"Yes, I had a neighbor friend too. We'd spend a Saturday afternoon building a fort in the backyard, but we hardly said two words to each other once we were at school. Then you probably didn't know Tory well."
Kyla knelt down in front of me and threaded the leather strap on the sandal through the buckle. "Well, we did all go to the same school. I knew Cindy better than Tory. We were both in band together." She slipped my foot into the first sandal and adjusted the toe strap to fit snuggly.
"I saw Cindy yesterday morning buying vitamins at the pharmacy." I leaned over to look at the sandal. My first statement didn't get a reaction, so I decided to add the kicker. "They were prenatal vitamins."
Kyla's face shot up. "Prenatal?"
"Yes. Maybe they were for someone else," I suggested.
She focused back on the sandal and muttered something to herself.
"What?" I asked, hoping she'd repeat it.
Kyla shook her head. "It's nothing. It's just that about a month ago, I was driving along Smoky Highway on my way back from the city and I passed that crummy little motel on the side of the highway, The Great Smoky Motel, I think it's called. And I can only imagine how smoky the walls inside the rooms look. The place is so rundown, I'm surprised people stop there at all. I think it's mostly truckers who need a bed and shower. Anyhow, imagine my shock when I glanced over and saw Jeremy Stockton stepping out of one of the rooms with none other than Cindy."
I sat back hard against the upholstered seat. I was hoping to get some details about the bridal party. The last thing I expected was something so huge. "Are you sure it was them?"
"Sure as the nose on my face. I decided to push it out of my head. Like I sa
id, Brooke and I aren't all that close. Especially not sine we've both grown up and moved away from the neighborhood. I didn't want to upset my mom by being the catalyst for some big blow up." She sat back on her knees. "Does that make me seem like a weasel? I was kind of hoping it was just some one time fling or even something innocent. Although it was hard to come up with that possible scenario. It's a really sleazy motel." She finished adjusting the second sandal.
I might not have needed them, but the new shoes were turning out to be well worth the right turn from my monthly budget.
I got up and walked around. They were comfortable and cute. I did my runway model impression and spun around on the new sandals to walk back to Kyla. She clapped her approval.
"I'll take them." I sat down to take the sandals off and put on my work shoes. "Do you think Cindy might be pregnant with Jeremy's baby?" I asked, delicately.
Kyla stood up and brushed off the knees of her pants. "It would sure explain Cindy disappearing into the forest every few minutes to get sick. I thought she'd carried some terrible flu bug with her. I've been downing all kinds of juices and vitamin C trying to get ahead of it. I guess I can't catch what she has anyhow." She laughed but stopped herself quickly. "Poor Brooke. I never did like Jeremy. Pompous, rich guy and boy, did Brooke's mom like to brag about what a 'catch' Jeremy was to my mom. Especially since I don't even have a steady boyfriend, let alone a rich one."
She carried the box of sandals to the counter. "I'm glad I haven't ordered my bridesmaid dress yet. It's expensive. I was trying to save up for it so I wouldn't have to put it on my credit card." Kyla circled behind the counter to ring up my purchase. "Maybe I'll be able to use that savings for a new pair of sandals. I've been eyeing the same pair you just bought."
It seemed slightly wicked to be talking about shoe buying at the expense of someone's happiness, but if what Kyla said was true, Brooke would be well rid of Jeremy. It would be worse to go through the chaos and expense of a wedding and then find out the truth. It seemed it was up to either the groom or the bridesmaid to come clean. I wasn't sure how any of it tied into the murder, but it definitely put a shameful spin on the entire dynamic of the wedding party.
Killer Bridal Party Page 13
