Puzzled, I looked at the woman she’d indicated and realized she was fuming. What the—
It hit me a half-second later.
“You were one of the ladies who hired me to look into the lawn gnome situation,” I said, stifling a groan.
Louella crossed her arms and glared up at me. “That’s right.”
“From what she says, all you did was take a week and a half to tell them there was nothing going on. As if stone garden gnomes just grow legs and walk away on their own!” Candy sniffed.
If only you knew…
In truth, the gnomes hadn’t been working on their own. They’d had help from a quasi-klepto Leprechaun by the name of Barnaby, who thought it was entertaining to move the gnomes from one yard to the other, randomly swapping their places just to watch the elderly ladies in the neighborhood fret about it.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to provide the answers you were hoping for, Louella. But, as I recall, I gave the money back. In full.”
“We didn’t want the money back. We wanted to know who was behind the absurd prank!” Louella snapped, her voice reminding me of my Aunt Margo’s chaweenie dog.
I rubbed at the back of my neck, suddenly wishing I’d decided to spend the day in the office, telepathically begging the phone to ring. “Have there been any incidents since I stopped my investigation?”
Louella blinked. “Well, no. But…” She slid her gaze to Candy, looking for direction.
“The point is,” Candy interjected. “That regardless of your PI business, you’re not at the top our speed-dial list when there’s trouble in town.”
“Fair enough,” I replied, holding both of my hands out, surrendering. “I’ll take the hint and be on my way. If you change your mind, and want a seasoned pair of eyes on this thing, you know where to find me.”
I turned away and a swirl of whispers whipped at my back as I headed back to the stairs. Maybe I’d check out the cookbook section on my way out. It didn’t look like my financial prospects were going to improve anytime soon and I couldn’t live on takeout indefinitely. I had one hand on the door to the stairwell when Candy called for me. “Mr. Rivers!”
My eyebrows knit together as I pivoted and took a few measured steps back toward the group. “Yes?”
She made a show of crossing her arms and had returned to peering up at me over the rim of her glasses. “The police haven’t been able to track down this burglar. What makes you think you’ll be able to?”
I pocketed my hands. “With no disrespect to the BHPD, I have a good eye for detail and specialize in finding the little threads that sometimes get overlooked in the bustle. On top of that, I can spend more time on the case. In fact, I’d be willing to work some things around and put this at the top of my docket.”
Candy nodded pensively and then looked to the others around the table. Four of the five offered shrugs or nods. Louella was the only holdout. She glared up at me, her thin, penciled-in brows doing their best to touch one another. “What’s in it for you?” she demanded.
“I’m not sure I understand the question,” I replied, keeping my tone measured. “As a member of the community, I’m obviously concerned about this situation and want it resolved.”
Desperation never sold anything.
Candy and Louella exchanged a look and then Candy turned her gaze back to me. “All right, Mr. Rivers. Tell you what, we’ll give you everything we have about the burglaries and any assistance you need, in exchange for an interview in our paper.”
My heart sank. “An interview?”
“Yes,” she replied. “We routinely feature interviews with local businesspeople. If you can track down the culprit, we’ll give you the entire front page!”
The man at her right held up a finger. “Expect for the McNally’s ad. That’s pre-paid through the end of the year.”
Candy waved his concern off but nodded. “Most of the front page.”
I crossed my arms and shifted my weight to one side. “So, you’re asking me to work for free?”
“We’ll also pay for any meals you have while on the case.” She cocked her head, mirroring my off-kilter stance. “I think you’re underestimating the reach of our little paper. We have a circulation of over six hundred. That’s households and businesses.”
Yeah, because you leave it on every doorstep, welcome mat, and mailbox in a twenty mile radius and conveniently don’t have a way to unsubscribe. I kept that thought to myself. No point in biting the hand that was offering to feed me. Literally.
“You’ll have a chance to highlight all of the things your business does. Face it, Mr. Rivers—these days, most people rely on Google, not private eyes. This would be your opportunity to tell all of those people why they should give you a call.”
Dang it. She had a point.
As much as I hated the idea of working for free, it wasn’t like I had anything better to do.
I straightened. “All right. I’ll take the case.”
“Excellent.” Candy bobbed her head. “Now, as you can see, I’m in the middle of things here. Why don’t you see if there’s anything you can get from this.” She leaned over the arm of her chair and rummaged around. When she straightened, she extended a plain blue folder, marked with a white label in the upper right corner.
“Thank you,” I said, taking it from her.
It was labeled Break-in Reports in black Sharpie.
“Before writing the article, Ester interviewed the two other victims for their accounts. We also spoke with Chief Lincoln.”
“Great. I’ll take this back to my office and get started.” I held up the folder and then started away.
“Save your food receipts!” Candy called after me.
I waved two fingers and kept walking.
Deciding where my first receipt would be from wasn’t hard. I left the library on foot, bypassed my office, and headed straight to Siren’s Song. The morning rush was in full swing and I ran into a long line as soon as I stepped inside. While I waited, I peeled open the folder Candy had given me and started flipping through the contents. Everything was loose leaf but organized.
Most of the notes appeared to have been taken during interviews with the first two families that were burgled. The loopy penmanship was tough to read, but I got the gist of the first few pages I skimmed through as I slowly shuffled closer to the counter. Everything lined up with what Chief Lincoln had already told me.
At the back, there was a separate envelope that contained photographs. A Post-It indicated they were taken by Candy’s insurance agent, necessary for her homeowner’s claim. According to a copy of the claim, she’d had two TVs stolen, along with most of her jewelry collection—some of which she’d noted were heirloom pieces—along with a prescription pill bottle she kept stuffed with emergency cash. The total value of everything taken was just under five figures, most of which was attributed to the various jewelry. Judging by the detailed notes about the different pieces, it was clear the harder loss was sentimental; apparently, the vintage brooches and rings had been passed down through generations of her family.
When the couple in front of me stepped to the side, I glanced up and saw I was next in line. I closed the folder and approached the counter. It didn’t look like Holly was working, but that wasn’t unusual these days. She ran a potion-making business out of her kitchen and had recently been cleared to partner with some shops in the Seattle Haven. The workload kept her busy to the point she’d cut her hours back at the coffee shop and only worked a couple nights a week.
A college-age girl with strawberry-blonde hair smiled as I approached the counter to order. I’d seen her a few times before. She was one of Cassie’s newest hires, but I hadn’t learned her name yet. Paisley, a more seasoned barista, made my drink in record time and handed it over with a friendly greeting. We made small talk for a few minutes while she was making other drinks, and then I turned away to find a table.
The shop was packed. I almost gave up, but an elderly gentleman ambled away
from his table before I reached the door. When I was sure he was indeed leaving, I hurried to take the vacated seat.
As I picked at my scone, I opened the folder again and laid out everything in front of me, careful to keep the notes in chronological order. I went through every paper and photo twice while I drank my coffee and ate the scone. When I finished the last morsel, I briefly debated ordering a second one since I wasn’t on the hook for the tab, but decided against it, gathered up the notes, and closed the folder again.
The three homes weren’t close together, but none of them were more than a twenty-minute drive from the center of town. After I checked my watch and mentally mapped out the rest of the day, I took my phone from my jacket pocket. Referring to a Post-It note I’d stuck to the front of the folder, I dialed the number Candy had listed for the Marrion’s, the first family that was burglarized.
A woman answered on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Hello, is this Karen Marrion?”
“Yes, it is. May I ask who this is?” She sounded leery.
“My name is Nicolas Rivers. I’m a private investigator. I’ve been … hired … to look into the string of robberies in the area and was told you were affected.”
“Oh. Well, I’m not sure how much I can help,” she replied, sounding confused. “I’ve already told the police and that reporter everything I know.”
“I understand that, Mrs. Marrion. But it would be helpful if you’d go over it again. If you’re willing, I’d like to come to your home and have you walk me through it. You’re more than welcome to call Candy and verify that she’s retained my services.”
Karen was quiet for a long moment and I started to worry she was going to shoot me down and tell me to leave her and her family alone. It wouldn’t be the end of the world, but I preferred to work in a hands-on fashion, and seeing the different crime scenes would go a long way toward helping me understand the full breadth of the events.
“Um, you can come here, I guess,” she said. “Do you need the address?”
“No, ma’am. I have it in the report. What time would work best for you?”
“Oh, anytime. The kids are already off at school. We’ve been trying not to talk about the break-in around them. They’re still a little traumatized by the whole thing.”
“Understandable.” I checked my watch again. “Tell you what, I’ll head out that way and be there around ten o’clock.”
“Okay.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Marrion. I’ll see you soon.”
We traded goodbyes and hung up. I called the second number on the sticky note—the one for the Lancaster family—but had to leave a voicemail. I tucked the coffee receipt into the inner pocket of the folder along with the Post-It and stood to leave. Cassie waved at me from the front counter as I passed by, and I waved back as I backed into the glass door, pushing it open.
The morning was brisk but it wasn’t raining. I fussed with the collar of my coat as I crossed the street to where I’d parked my sedan. Once behind the wheel, I cranked up the heat and then plugged the address into the onboard GPS system while waiting for it to warm up. According to the GPS, I’d arrive right at the top of the hour.
“Off to a good start,” I said to myself, putting the car in drive.
Chapter 4
The Marrion’s home was out in the country, further inland than the majority of Beechwood Harbor’s residential neighborhoods. I guessed they had at least a few acres of land and as I pulled up the long gravel driveway, I spotted a pen with a couple of goats on one side and a large chicken coop on the other. The house itself was a two-story farmhouse with shutters on every window and a wrap-around porch holding a trio of painted Adirondack chairs.
I parked beside a pickup truck and climbed out of the car. The home was nice enough and had a cozy, lived-in feel. The paint was faded, and the roof looked due for a replacement, but the yard was spotless and clearly well maintained. It wasn’t the standard choice for a break-in. From the outside at least, there was no indication that there would be anything highly valuable on the inside.
A welcome mat cut in the shape of a dog bone instructed me to “wipe my paws,” and I smiled before pressing the doorbell. A cheery chime rang through the house and was immediately drowned out by a chorus of barking dogs.
Explains the mat, I guess.
A woman’s voice carried through the door, shushing the dogs and telling them “Back, back, back!”
After another minute, the door opened a crack and a woman’s apologetic face peered out at me. “I’ll be right with you, Mr. Rivers. Let me get these guys out back.”
“Of course,” I replied with a quick nod. “Thank you.”
As she closed the door, I slid my hands into my pockets and glanced around the property. It was no wonder the cops hadn’t been able to get any eyewitnesses. The next house was some distance away and mostly concealed by trees. There was a sprawling pasture on the other side, with a few cows grazing near a pole barn. Whoever was behind the robberies might be an amateur, but they’d at least had the sense to choose houses that wouldn’t have nosy neighbors watching them.
Karen Marrion returned to the door a few minutes later and ushered me inside with a string of needless apologies. “They’re good dogs, but they get a little too excited when company comes over. I should have thought to put them out when you called,” she said, shaking her head.
“No problem.” I smiled, taking a seat on the well-worn sofa she indicated as we entered the living room. “How many do you have?”
“Three,” Karen answered, taking the gliding chair across from me. The interior of the home matched the outside. The furniture was solid, but obviously old. The couch had a tear in the arm, and a couple sun-bleached lace doilies were doing a poor job of hiding it. Hardwood floors ran throughout, likely original to the home, with a series of mismatched rugs in random places. Most of them were askew, no doubt due to the herd of doggy paws as Karen had hustled them outside.
From around the corner, a tea kettle whistled, and Karen jumped to attention. “Would you like something to drink? I was making myself a cup of Earl Grey.”
“That sounds great. Thank you.”
She held up a finger and smiled. “I’ll be right back.”
I checked my phone when she stepped out of the room. The Lancaster’s hadn’t returned my call yet. I’d been hoping to visit them next. Whenever I started an investigation, I liked to get the interviews done right out of the gates. I’d head back to the office if I didn’t hear from them by the time I got back to Beechwood Harbor.
Karen came back into the living room holding a mug in each hand.
“Thank you,” I said, taking the one she offered me.
She took her seat in the glider, careful not to slosh any of the scalding contents of her own mug. “So, how does this work?” she asked. “I’ve never talked to a private investigator before.” She paused, her lips quirked to one side, before adding, “At least, not that I know of.”
“It’s pretty simple. Like I said on the phone, I’m investigating the string of local robberies. From what I understand, your home was the first one. I’d just like your account of it and if you’ve seen or heard anything odd since then.”
“Well, we—that’s my husband Berry and I—were taking the kids to Disneyland for the first time,” she began. “We were gone for a little over a week. When we got home, nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but when we got to the front door, Berry noticed it was unlocked. He told me to take the kids back to the truck. He went inside alone while I waited with the kids. He came back a few minutes later and told me that everything was going to be okay and tried to brace the kids for it.” Her voice thickened and she paused to clear her throat. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be,” I replied, offering a sympathetic smile. “I can imagine that was a pretty jarring experience.”
She nodded and swallowed hard. “We had such a great time on the vacation. To come home to that … well, it’s been h
ard to separate those memories from the ones we have from the trip.”
“I understand.” I let my eyes drift away and focused on cooling down my tea, giving her a moment to compose herself.
“I suppose we should count our blessings,” Karen said after a few sniffles. “I lie awake at night sometimes and wonder what would have happened if we’d been here. Would they have hurt us? The kids?”
She broke off and squeezed her eyes closed, giving a slight shake of her head, as though trying to banish the thought.
“I worked as a journalist for a paper in Los Angeles for years before getting into PI work and more often than not, these types of home invasions aren’t about hurting people. Thieves like these don’t target people with the intention of hurting them. They want the whole thing to be as frictionless as possible.”
“That’s what Chief Lincoln told us too. He also said he doesn’t expect them to come back. But still …”
“I know,” I said quietly. “It doesn’t fully erase the fear.”
“No. It doesn’t.” She took a long sip of her tea and seemed to relax a little. A whine sounded from the other room and she smiled sadly. “They’re lucky the dogs weren’t here.”
“I’ll bet!” I laughed. “Looks like you have quite the little farm here. Was there someone here during the day, watching the animals?”
Karen nodded and set her mug on the table beside her chair. “My sister and brother-in-law are just a few houses down the way. She came over during the day to take care of the animals. The dogs were staying at their house, actually. I didn’t want to trouble them with it, but they insisted. I interviewed a pet sitter, but she wasn’t comfortable working with the farm animals.”
“Mmm.” I took a long drink from the mostly-cooled tea. “Did they see anything suspicious? Strange cars driving by or people lingering? I imagine something like that would stick out in a neighborhood like this one. Not a lot of cross traffic.”
Betwixt Page 21
