Murder Drama With Your Llama (Friendship Harbor Mysteries Book 1)

by Erin McCarthy

  “What’s your name?” I asked gently.

  “Hannah,” she managed between hiccups. “Hannah Quinn.”

  “Hi, Hannah, I’m Sophie and this is Oliver.” I gestured to my friend.

  Oliver smiled warmly at her. “Don’t be so upset, he gave me fits earlier trying to get him back into his stall. He can be super stubborn when he wants to be.”

  His reassuring words only triggered a new wave of tears from the girl.

  Oliver shot me a dismayed look.

  “Why are you so upset?” I asked, moving a little closer. She didn’t move away, which I took as a good sign.

  She looked down, her fingers still curled in Jack’s woolly curls. I could see she was still struggling with her tears. My first instinct was to hug that poor girl, but I didn’t want to freak her out any more than she already was. She poked the ground with the tip of her pink Converse, and just when I thought I was going to have to prompt her again to talk to me, she pulled in a deep breath.

  “I’m the one who let out Jack that day,” she blurted out, her admission followed by a new wave of tears.

  Or course, I knew what day she was talking about.

  “Oh,” I said, trying to find the right thing to say. “Did you do it on purpose? Why?”

  “No! Of course not!”

  That was a relief. “So it was an accident. That’s okay, then.”

  “No, it’s not. I let Jack out and now someone is dead and the police are going to take Jack away. Maybe even put him down.”

  I frowned. What? The police were planning to confiscate my llama? Put him down? Over my dead body. Jack wasn’t going to be punished or killed for something he didn’t even do. Though I couldn’t exactly tell Hannah that. She looked like she was thirteen years old at most.

  “Why would you think that?” Oliver asked softly, joining us in Jack’s pen.

  “That’s what they do, right?” Hannah said, between sniffles. “Like when a dog bites someone and they make the owner put it down.”

  I let out a sigh of relief. She was just worried about that happening. She didn’t have any proof it would. Although her reasoning did make sense. And who knows what nasty Karen could push the police to do. Again, she reminded me of the Wicked Witch of the West. I’ll get you, my pretty, and your spitting llama too.

  “You don’t have to worry about that,” I assured her, and to some extent, myself. “Sheriff Pelletier wouldn’t take away Jack. He knows if Jack did kick Cliff Robichaud it was an accident.”

  For the first time, the teenager looked hopeful. “Do you really think so?”

  I nodded adamantly. “Yes. He told me so.”

  That wasn’t quite true, but I did think Sheriff Pelletier seemed like a nice, rational guy, who wouldn’t see a llama hurt. Maybe there were rules though. Laws against deadly camelids. It was a thought that hadn’t crossed my mind until now and I didn’t like it. But I had to assume if they were treating Jack as a harmful creature, they would have already come to take him to the gallows.

  Unfortunately my reassurance only calmed her for a moment, then more tears threatened to spill down her cheeks. “I'm so glad Jack is safe, but the accident was still my fault. I came over after summer camp to give him a treat and I must have left the gate open. I was in a rush to get to my friend’s house because we were going to the movies. I brought Jack some Froot Loops. Miss Sunny said it was okay. But I know I must not have locked the gate right.”

  She crumbled into tears again.

  “Jack likes Froot Loops?” I asked, hoping to distract her. I knew exactly how she felt. It was a lot of burden to believe you were the cause of a person’s death. Accident or not. “See, I’m so glad you came over here. I would have never known Jack liked those.”

  She nodded, swiping at her face to wipe away the flood of tears. She sniffed. “He also likes Honey Smacks.”

  “He’s got good taste. I like those too.” I moved forward to touch the girl’s arm. I was prepared for her to pull away, since she didn’t know me and she might find it awkward, but she didn’t. Instead she offered me a wobbly smile, which melted my heart. She reminded me of myself at her age with her red hair and freckles.

  “You know,” I said, wanting to comfort her further, “I think you are very brave to admit all this to me. You made a mistake and you were awesome enough to own it. A lot of people wouldn’t do that.”

  She considered my words for a moment, then sighed. “Thanks. But I still feel like total garbage.”

  I understood that very well. But she certainly shouldn’t feel any responsibility in Cliff’s death, especially since I was growing more and more certain that Jack hadn’t been to blame.

  “Do you happen to remember when you would have been here that day?” I hated to freak her out more with questions, but in the end, it would make her feel better. I was sure of that. I planned to have her totally off the hook, once the truth came out about Cliff’s death being a murder.

  Hannah thought for a moment. “It had to have been around two-thirty. I came to give him a handful of Froot Loops. I never give him more because Miss Sunny said too much sugar isn’t good for him. Then, I left. The movie started at three and I was afraid I was going to be late.”

  I considered her timeline. I was certain Cliff left here around one. And when the officer came to notify me about Jack being loose, it was around three. That would mean within a half an hour time span, Jack would have had to have gotten to the scenic walk, kicked Cliff, someone discovered his body, called the police, and for the police to arrive, and the body to have been taken away by three fifteen or so. That didn’t make sense.

  Of course, I wasn’t about to go over all of this with a teenager. And right now, it was more important to assure Hannah that I wasn’t upset and Jack wasn’t at risk of being taken away by the police.

  “You know what?” I said brightly.

  She blinked, clearly confused by my sudden cheerful shift. “No.”

  “I think you should come see Jack every day, if you can. He’s been lonely since my grandmother passed away. And he’s just getting to know Oliver and me. I know he likes seeing a familiar face.”

  Her eyes narrowed, and I could tell she still didn’t know what to make of me.

  “I really do need the help,” I assured her. “And I’d even be willing to pay you if you help feed him, maybe help me clean out his stall, that sort of thing.” Because I wasn’t sure I was quite ready for all of that. Not several times a day, anyway.

  Hannah gaped at me, but I was glad to see her wide blue eyes were no longer filled with tears. “You’d pay me to help out with Jack? Even after it was my fault he got loose? I can tell you’re not from Maine.”

  I wasn’t sure what that meant, exactly. Maybe she had preconceived notions about Californians. But I gave her another smile. “Of course. I really do need help with him. And the gate was an accident. How would a hundred bucks a week sound?”

  She finally smiled. Grinned, actually. “Shut up. A hundred bucks? That would be amazing! I’ll never leave the gate open again, I swear.”

  “I know you won’t.” I held out my hand. “So we have a deal?”

  She took it without hesitation. “Yes.” She shook my hand, then turned to hug Jack around the neck. Jack’s long lashes lowered in what looked like a llama version of an eye roll, but he allowed the snuggle.

  “I think I got the best deal,” Hannah said, mainly to Jack. Then she released him and gave me a huge smile. “I’ll be over tomorrow after summer camp. I have to tell my mom.”

  She hurried out of the gate, only stopping to make sure it was closed and locked. “Thank you.” She ran down the edge of the fence, disappearing into the trees like she’d done the first time I’d spotted her.

  “No, thank you,” Oliver said wryly as if Hannah was still standing here to hear him. “Way to get hired help to clean up after your llama.”

  I shot him an innocent look. “I was just trying to cheer her up.”

  Oliver s
hook his head. “I never knew you were such an opportunist.”

  “What?” I gave him an innocent look. “I only gave Hannah the opportunity to be around Jack, and Jack the opportunity to have some company and some Froot Loops.”

  “Mm-hmm.” He wasn’t buying my guilelessness for a moment.

  “Okay,” I admitted. “And maybe I did like the idea of not having to clean up Jack poops.”

  “Very savvy.”

  I curtsied.

  “But I think the kid raked you over the coals. Did you see her reaction? I think you offered L.A. rates in small-town Maine. So maybe savvy isn’t the right word.”

  He might have a point. “I wasn’t going to negotiate with a kid who is probably barely a teenager.” I clicked my tongue at Jack as if he was a horse. “Come on, Mr. Kerouac. It’s time for some dinner and then sleep.” I started toward the shed.

  The llama lifted his head as if he was sniffing the air, probably trying to get a whiff of some more fruity goodness. But once he realized Hannah and her treats were gone, he ambled after me. Much to my surprise and relief.

  “So speaking of opportunity,” I said to Oliver as I shoveled some hay into Jack’s stall. “Don’t you think there is something wonky about the timeline the day of Cliff’s death?”

  I expected Oliver to disagree, or at least not be particularly suspicious of it, but to my surprise, he nodded. “It does seem to be off.”

  “I know, right? It seems like Jack would have had to have made his grand escape after Cliff was already dead.”

  Again, Oliver nodded. “It does seem like an awful lot would have happened in a pretty short amount of time.”

  “Exactly. And now that I think about it, even the puddle of blood where Cliff’s body had been seemed pretty dried up.”

  Oliver looked less convinced about that observation. “I’m not sure about that. I mean what do we know about how fast blood absorbs into the ground?”

  “Well, in season one, episode ten of Murder, She Texted, there was a murder on the beach and the director was getting frustrated with the prop guy because the blood looked too fresh. He wanted it to look like it had been there for a while. But it wouldn’t absorb into the sand as quickly as he wanted.”

  “Umm, yeah, but that was fake blood. Who knows how real blood absorbs.”

  “I don't know. I mean fake blood is pretty realistic these days.”

  Oliver still didn’t look convinced. He turned on the spigot to the hose used to fill Jack’s water pail.

  “Okay,” I conceded. “Maybe we can’t be totally sure about the blood thing, but the timeline still doesn’t make any sense.”

  He dragged the hose over and began filling the water bucket. “I do agree on that one. So where do we go from here, Miss Detective?”

  I sighed, giving Jack one last pet, before leaving and locking the stall door. Oliver turned off the hose. “I don’t know. We don’t even know for sure who found the body.”

  “You don’t think it was Karen?”

  I shrugged. “I assumed it was Karen. But maybe it wasn’t.”

  “Karen seems like a stone-cold killer to me,” Oliver said, looking down at his hands, dirty from the hose. He hesitated, then wiped them off on an old rag hanging on a nail over the spigot. He grimaced. “We need to order some hand towels for this shed. These rags are disgusting.”

  “I could ask Sheriff Pelletier who found Cliff.” Although I didn’t really want to call him up and ask. He thought this whole situation was already closed, and I was pretty sure he wouldn’t like me stepping on his toes by implying it wasn’t.

  “And what about Karen’s mother? And this Mac guy?”

  I did have a lot more people that needed to be looked into. I even wanted to know more about Millie Hall. Her reaction when I brought up Cliff did seem odd.

  “Maybe I can find out more at the ‘celebration of life’ gathering. They probably will all be there.”

  Oliver nodded. “That’s true. Or you could just meet more people who had a reason to want old Cliff bumped off.”

  I couldn’t argue that. It seemed like just about everyone in this town had some reason to want Cliff Robichaud dead.

  Seven

  “I just cannot believe you are going to stay in that backwoods little town.”

  I sighed into my cell phone, just imagining my mother’s appalled expression. “Mom, this town is beautiful and I wouldn’t exactly call it backwoods. You make it sound like I’m in the middle of nowhere with no neighbors for miles around.”

  I dropped onto the window seat of the room I’d chosen as my bedroom. Since I discovered Hannah was my mysterious nighttime stalker, I decided I could actually stop sleeping on the sofa. I couldn’t quite bring myself to use my grandmother’s room. It still felt like her space and it seemed somehow impolite to intrude on it. Plus, I liked the coziness of this room with its slanted walls under the eaves with its lilac-covered wallpaper in purples and pinks.

  “Well, there is no decent shopping for miles around. And certainly no Starbucks.” I could practically see my mother’s shudder through the phone.

  “There are plenty of shops. I actually saw this one place that has the coolest pottery.”

  “Oh God, pottery. Next you’ll be telling me you bought a quilt. Or even more ridiculous, made one.”

  I glanced at the quilt on the bed, made up of squares that matched the walls. Well, I hadn’t bought it, so that was something, right?

  “Mom, you told me it was time to do something with my life. And I am.”

  “Your father and I meant a real job. You went from acting to running a pub. How’s that any different than trying to be an actress and waiting tables here in L.A.?”

  Her words stung a little. “It’s a lot different. I own the pub. And I own this house.”

  “That house,” Mom groaned. “That ancient cluttered house. I can only imagine how much junk my mother added over the years since I was last there.”

  I couldn’t imagine my mother growing up here. My mother’s style had always been clean, minimalist and modern. I suspected I was the only preschooler in the US who had an all-white, mid-century modern playroom.

  “She has a lot of pretty amazing stuff,” I said defensively, mainly because I really liked the things my grammy had collected. They were interesting. They were personal unlike the houses I grew up in. Everything had a story. “Did you know that Grammy was on the cover of the Woodstock album?”

  I’d discovered the album cover framed in one of the other bedrooms, a blurry figure circled with her name and an arrow handwritten over it.

  “You mean the person you can’t even make out, sprawled on the ground, covered with a dirty blanket and surrounded by litter?”

  I loved my mom, but sometimes she really did get on my nerves.

  “I think it’s pretty awesome she was there. And on the album cover too.”

  “Who even knows if that’s really her,” she scoffed. “Your grandmother never let the truth get in the way of a good story.”

  I really didn’t want to argue. After all, I didn’t know my grandmother, at least not in person, even though being here the past few days, exploring her home had made me feel close to her. But clearly, something had happened between her and both her daughters that had affected their relationship permanently. In fact, something had happened that seemed to have affected the locals too. I hesitated to ask my next question, not sure if I wanted to work Mom up any more than she already was. But my curiosity got the better of me. It usually did.

  “Speaking of good stories, a couple of the locals have made comments to me about Grammy. One mentioned ‘messy business’ and another said that I didn’t fall far from the tree. Do you have any idea what they might have meant?”

  There was silence on the other end of the line, then she said, “Why on earth would someone say you didn’t fall far from the tree? You are not a thing like my mother.”

  I wasn’t so sure of that. Being in her house, surrounded by her
things, I definitely did feel a connection with her. I felt like I was probably more like Grammy than I was my mother. Not that I’d ever tell Mom that. She still had hopes I’d be organized, immaculate, and aware of what designers were trending. I looked down at my old leggings and vintage AC/DC shirt and knew one hundred percent that would never happen.

  “Well?” my mother prompted.

  “It might have been because I was on the front page of the local paper. Because my llama accidentally killed someone. Well, he didn’t actually kill anyone. It’s just most of the town thinks he did. But I know he didn’t.”

  There was more silence. “You have a llama?”

  I tried not to laugh. That was the one thing she took away from that? I should have guessed the idea that I had a pet would overshadow the whole “someone died” portion of my story.

  “Yes, Grammy had a llama. His name is Jack Kerouac.”

  There was a long-suffering sigh, then she said, “Of course, she did, and of course, he is.”

  “He’s actually a really sweet llama,” I said, feeling the need to defend him.

  “I’m sure he is. When he’s not killing someone.”

  I gritted my teeth. “I told you he didn’t actually kill anyone.”

  She sighed, and I got the feeling she might be gritting her teeth too. “Alright, I’ll take your word for it. Listen, it sounds like things are less than ideal there. I’m sure you could get enough from that place to buy a small condo back here. Your father and I would help you go back to college and get a degree that would be more useful than your theater degree.”

  I closed my eyes and pulled in a calming breath, determined not to overreact to her one of her favorite laments, my useless college degree. It hadn’t been useless. I had worked as an actress for five years.

  “Mom, I'm staying here,” I said, firm, but calm. “I like it. This is really good for me.”

  Another pause followed by a sigh. “Okay. But I think I should come see you soon.”