Murder by Page One

by Olivia Matthews

  The words “storage room” grabbed my attention. A jacket was missing from the crime scene? I gave the store clerk a measuring look. She was about my height—five-foot three—and slender. Our primary suspects probably wouldn’t be able to fit into her jacket to cover themselves from the blood. Disappointed, I allowed my thoughts to wander. What was my next move?

  “I’m sorry, Blanche. I don’t recall seeing a jacket.” Jo frowned as though searching her memory. “What did it look like?”

  Blanche shook her head, reanimating her curls. “It’s actually my boyfriend’s. He loaned it to me a little more than a week ago. It’s just a plain black spring jacket. It’s pretty beat up, but I told him I got cold in the storage room sometimes, and he said I could hold onto it.”

  Hope revived in my heart. I used the new information about the jacket to tailor my mental image of our suspects’ ability to fit into it. “What size is the jacket?”

  “Well, he’s pretty big.” She nodded to emphasize her statement, changing the course of her swinging curls. “His jacket just about swallowed me up. Donny’s about six-foot five and about two hundred pounds.”

  Any of our suspects would fit into that size comfortably. “When was the last time you saw it?”

  “I’m not really sure.” She angled her head and contemplated the store’s white textured ceiling. Waiting for her to finish her sentence was like waiting for ketchup to come out of a bottle. “Well, no, that’s not right. I had it on last Saturday morning when we were unpacking the boxes for the book signing.” She looked at me again and shrugged a shoulder apologetically. “Donny’s a great guy, but he’s not The One. You know what I mean? And I’m not getting any younger. I need to move on.”

  “I understand.” Although I wasn’t certain I did.

  The young woman smiled her appreciation. “Thanks! But I need that jacket.” A cloud swept away her smile. “I can’t break up with Donny without it. Well, I guess I’ll just keep looking. Thanks, y’all!”

  Frowning, I tracked Blanche’s bounding gait as it carried her briskly across the store. “Now we know how the killer left the store without anyone noticing all that blood.”

  “I’m so sorry, Phoenix.” I freed my tabby from his cat carrier the minute we walked through our front door Friday evening. Our trip to the vet had been enlightening, but still traumatic.

  I carried Phoenix to the faux leather sofa, petting and whispering my apology over and over. My hope was to comfort him as well as myself. The vet’s diagnosis racked me with guilt: stress.

  “I’m so sorry, baby. I don’t know why I didn’t see it myself.” I held him to my shoulder and caressed his back in long, slow strokes.

  All the signs had been there for me to see if I’d just paid attention: mood change, weight loss, lack of appetite, lethargy, hiding beneath my bed. Phoenix had been anxious—even more than I’d been—about our move from Brooklyn to Peach Coast. He still was.

  “I don’t know if I can ever forgive myself.” I turned my head, seeking Phoenix’s eyes. “Can you ever forgive me?”

  He half-closed his eyes as though to say, Sweetheart, keep petting me, and I’ll forgive you for anything.

  I chuckled in response to his expression. It made me feel a little better. Careful to continuing petting him, I rose from the sofa and crossed to the bag I’d left beside the cat carrier. “I need to give you more attention and affection to help you feel comfortable in your new home. I should’ve realized that without the vet having to tell me.”

  He purred as though to assure me he wouldn’t hold a grudge.

  “Thank you.” I pulled the small lavender-scented pillow from the bag. I’d also purchased cat food, snacks, and an extra toy. “The vet said lavender is the most calming scent for cats, so this pillow should help soothe your anxieties as you get used to our new home.”

  Phoenix had probably marked several pieces of furniture in our Brooklyn apartment with his “happy scent,” according to the vet. The scent identified places he was familiar and comfortable with. I hadn’t realized the significance of this. Before we moved, I’d sold our old second-hand pieces and bought second-hand furniture I’d thought was better suited to our new home. My lack of awareness had sent my poor cat into a spiral of confusion, depression, and anxiety. My inattention because of my new job and the investigation had made matters worse.

  “That’s going to change.” I had to find a way to help both of my friends in need.

  On Friday evening, my phone vibrated in the front pocket of my pants. Asleep on my lap, Phoenix never stirred. The lavender-scented pillow must be working.

  Slowly, carefully, I rolled my hips and slipped my right hand into the pocket to free my phone. The screen alerted me that the caller was my mother.

  “Hi, Mom.” My greeting was muted.

  “Why are we whispering?” The echo behind her voice indicated she had me on speaker phone.

  “Phoenix is sleeping on my lap. I don’t want to disturb him.” I rubbed my hand over the length of his side. “I think this might be the best sleep he’s had since we moved here four months ago.”

  “Is he sick?” My father’s voice boomed his concern across the line.

  I hurriedly lowered the volume on the phone. “No, actually, I took him to the vet today. She said Phoenix is suffering from anxiety and stress. He hasn’t yet adjusted to our new place or new surroundings.”

  “Hmmm…” My father’s noncommittal noise was his signature sound. It said everything, but even those closest to him weren’t always certain what that was.

  “You seem to be having trouble adjusting too.” My mother’s tone was thick with maternal concern.

  In the background, I heard the familiar voices of the local news anchors. A sense of nostalgia washed over me. “I like it here, but there’s a lot to adjust to. I still get homesick from time to time.” Phoenix’s breathing lifted and lowered my right hand as it rested on his side.

  “Is there something else bothering you besides Phoenix’s health?” Dad sounded like he’d moved closer to the phone.

  Of course my parents would sense something else was weighing on my mind. Our familial bonds were strong. It was comforting to know distance hadn’t changed that. Now the question was, should I tell them I was investigating a homicide? I didn’t want to lie to them; however, I was still suffering the emotional effects of Dre’s reaction to my helping Jo clear her name.

  Time to change the subject. “I really miss you both, and Dre, Kay, and Clay.”

  “We miss you too.” My parents laughed as they echoed each other. I heard the catch in their throats, an indication they were much more emotional than they wanted me to know.

  “Our anniversary won’t be the same without you here,” Mom added.

  “Cee, she’s already feeling bad.” Dad’s tone was gently chiding. “Don’t make her feel worse.”

  “It’s all right, Dad.” I smiled. “I feel the same way. It’s your fortieth wedding anniversary. I wish I could fly out to be there with you.”

  Mom sighed. “We understand. With most new jobs, you have to wait a year before you can use your vacation time.”

  “That’s right.” I shrugged off my disappointment.

  Of course, Dre and I were planning to videoconference me into the celebration Saturday morning. That wouldn’t be nearly as good as being in the same room with my parents and giving them a real hug, but it would have to do.

  My parents and I chatted a few minutes longer before saying good night. Moving in slow motion, I returned my phone to my pocket. Thankfully, Phoenix remained asleep. I transferred him—and his new lavender-scented pillow—from my lap to the sofa cushion beside me. Poor little guy. Either he was exhausted, or that pillow was a stronger calming agent than I’d expected.

  After reassuring myself Phoenix was out for the count, I jogged upstairs to my office to retrieve my p
arty decorations. I had a celebration to prepare for.

  “Marvey!” Mom’s screech of joy made me wince and laugh. Her image was sharp and clear on my laptop’s monitor Saturday morning.

  Phoenix froze on my lap, staring at the screen. His reaction seemed a combination of curiosity and surprise.

  “Hi, everyone! Happy anniversary, Mom and Dad.” I waved at the gathering of my family—Mom, Dad, Dre, Kay, and Clay—crowded together in front of Dre’s tablet.

  A videoconference for my parents’ anniversary celebration had seemed over-the-top at first. Was I doing it for them or for me? But the grins on my parents’ faces rivaled mine and answered the question. The videoconference was for all of us.

  Dad wrapped an arm around Mom. “It’s great to see you, sweetheart.”

  I heard the emotion in his voice and swallowed back my own. “It’s wonderful to see you too. To see all of you.”

  They were in the dining room. From memory, I could almost smell the apple potpourri that sat in a glass bowl just out of sight of the computer on the mahogany table. Or was I smelling the potpourri in my own home?

  The warm tan wall behind them featured the growing collection of framed family photographs. The images chronicled our history from my parents’ wedding to the birth of their first, and so far only, grandchild. In my mind’s eye, I could see the tall china cabinet that stood against the left wall and the matching credenza on the right.

  Everyone started talking at once. I did my best to keep up with their questions while monitoring Phoenix’s movements. He’d bounded onto my dining table and prowled around my laptop. He seemed to be searching for an explanation as to how my family was able to appear in it. I was thrilled by the reemergence of his curiosity.

  “Aunt Marvey, I miss you!” My four-year-old nephew leaned closer to the monitor as though trying to make his way to me. “When can I come for a visit?”

  “Soon, Clay. And you can bring your parents.” I couldn’t stop smiling. “I miss you too. You look five inches taller than when I left.”

  “He’s growing like a weed.” My sister-in-law, Kay, laughed as she plucked her son away from the laptop and off the table. “You look wonderful, Marvey. Small-town life agrees with you.”

  I gave her a wry look. “I don’t miss the subway. That’s a promise.”

  Empathetic groans and eye rolls echoed the sentiment.

  Dre shook his head. “Now you’re practically rolling out of bed and walking to work. Must be nice.”

  “Indeed it is.” I smirked. “But today isn’t about me. It’s about Mom and Dad. It’s time for the toast. I already have my glass.”

  I drew my champagne flute of sparkling apple cider from behind my computer. Phoenix had found his water bowl, which I’d placed beside it.

  My mother’s eyes widened as though I’d performed a magic trick. “You kids thought of everything.”

  “We tried to.” I adjusted my laptop to keep Phoenix on the screen.

  Mom squeezed my father’s hand as it rested beside hers on the table. “This videoconference is so thoughtful of all of you. You make us feel very special.”

  Dre took two glasses of champagne from Kay. He offered one to Mom. “You and Dad are special.”

  “Very special.” I waited while Dad accepted a glass of champagne from Dre. “You taught us the importance of family. That’s why I wanted to be with you today, even if it’s through this videoconference.”

  Dre raised his glass. “It’s not every day that one’s parents celebrate forty years of wedded bliss. Here’s to many, many more healthy and happy years together.”

  “To wedded bliss.” I tapped my glass against Phoenix’s water bowl.

  “And to parental bliss.” Dad took a sip of champagne.

  “Absolutely.” Mom touched her glass to Dad’s.

  Dad shared a glance with Dre and me. “Parents work hard to secure their children’s future. It’s rewarding to see our children happy, healthy, and doing well.”

  Parents work hard to secure their children’s future.

  Dad’s words drew my thoughts to Bobby and his father, Buddy. I felt guilty being distracted during their anniversary celebration, but I couldn’t help myself.

  People in Peach Coast had told me Buddy and Bobby had been close. They’d been friends as well as father and son. That was like my relationship with Mom and Dad. My parents were also my friends. Whenever I had news, good or bad, they were the first people I contacted.

  Mom and Dad were starting to open their anniversary gifts. Thankfully, my package had arrived in time for me to watch them unwrap it.

  My attention drifted again, much to my regret. If Buddy and Bobby had been close, why would Buddy have left Fiona in charge of Bobby’s money? He must’ve known how they felt about each other. If he hadn’t thought Bobby was capable of managing money, why hadn’t he named Betty to be the executor of the account? As Bobby’s mother, it would make sense that she’d manage Bobby’s inheritance.

  Was it that he didn’t trust Betty? What effect would that have had on Betty’s attitude toward Fiona? Each question seemed to draw me closer to identifying Betty as Fiona’s killer. Or perhaps Betty and Bobby?

  Chapter 28

  Questioning Bobby on his own would be challenge enough. Questioning Bobby and his mother… Well, I’d been hoping for better circumstances.

  Right after the videoconference celebration for my parents’ anniversary Saturday, I drove to Fenton’s Hardware & Repairs, planning to speak with Bobby. I spent a few minutes exploring the metal shelves of tools and gadgets while working up my courage for one last push through Bobby’s Sphinx-like demeanor. My goal was to make this latest interview a quick one. I didn’t want to leave Phoenix on his own for long. But after spying Betty at the checkout counter with Bobby, hope shriveled and died.

  Betty appeared to be in full Helicopter Mama mode. Bobby’s strategy for coping with that seemed to be to ignore her. Customer traffic was slow. During the downtime, Bobby cleaned counters and rearranged product displays.

  I drew a deep breath, then made my way to the front of the mid-sized store. It smelled of cut wood, construction glue, and turpentine. “Good afternoon, Betty.” Her reply was a brusque nod. I turned to Bobby. “Hi, Bobby.”

  “Afternoon, Ms. Marvey.” His expression was inscrutable, but not unfriendly. “How can I help you?”

  I tilted my head and added a pleasant smile. “I’m looking for enlightenment.”

  A smile slowly brightened his hazel brown eyes. “Don’t librarians think they can find such things in a book?”

  “Good one.” Again I suspected he was more of a reader than he let on. “But this particular book raises more questions than it provides answers.”

  Betty came to life. “What are you talking about?” Her tone was defensive. “Bobby doesn’t have time to talk to you. Can’t you see he’s at work?”

  This from the woman who seemed to be under the mistaken impression that today was Bring Your Parent to Work Day. “You appear to be the kind of mother who’d make it her duty to raise her children to be strong and independent.”

  Betty lifted her chin. “That’s right. I raised Bobby to think for himself and to be able to stand on his own two feet.”

  “Then why won’t you let him do that now?” I asked gently.

  She gasped, looking at me as though I’d insulted her peach cobbler. “Well, I—”

  “It’s all right, Mama.” Bobby turned back to me. His eyes gleamed with humor. The right corner of his mouth curved upward before he managed to compose his features. “Are you talkin’ about Fiona’s book?”

  Betty bristled. “You have no right to harass—”

  “Mama,” he interrupted her. “I said I can handle this. Thank you.”

  Betty’s pale cheeks had pinkened.

  Ignoring her discomfort, I off
ered Bobby a smile. “Everyone in Peach Coast says you and your father were close.”

  A smile softened his inscrutable square features. “We were, especially as I got older.”

  I chuckled. “That reminds me of a Mark Twain quote.”

  Bobby returned my smile. “The one about his father gainin’ knowledge between the time he was fourteen and twenty-one?”

  “That’s the one exactly.” Bobby had only deepened my suspicion he was more of a reader than he’d let on. Surely, this was a sign we were meant to be friends—provided he wasn’t a stone-cold killer.

  Betty rolled her eyes at him. “You know, I was the one in labor with you for thirty-six hours, not your father. Are you done?” Her question, directed to me, was dry and bitter.

  My smile faded. “Bobby, if you and your father were so close, why did he appoint Fiona to manage your inheritance? You appear to be a responsible adult—”

  Sensing an affront to her child, Betty charged in. “What do you mean, ‘appears to be’? Of course he is. He’s—”

  “Mama.” Bobby’s voice was tense. “Please let me handle this.”

  A hapless customer approached the checkout counter at that moment. His appearance helped to distract from some of the tension. Bobby handled the sale with polite efficiency. It was strange the way he managed to remain distant yet approachable at the same time. He’d probably fit in well in New York.

  Once the customer had disappeared, Bobby turned back to me. “How’d you hear about my inheritance?”

  Stalling tactics. I couldn’t blame him. I had a few of those myself, but now wasn’t the time. I had a cat waiting at home, and I needed the truth. “Bobby, your father didn’t appoint Fiona to manage your inheritance, did he?”

  Betty’s face filled with heat. “Are you calling my boy a liar? Is that what you’re doing? Because if you are—”

  “Mama.” His tone was sharp. “Be still.”

  This time, she wasn’t the only one shocked by Bobby’s curt command. I had the sense the mellow young man didn’t often lose his temper.