by Donna Doyle
Following the sound, she wound her way through the tables to a desk intended for a supervisor they had yet to hire. A work boot stuck out from the side of it, slackly tipped to the side.
“Harold!” Sammy dove around the desk, her blood icing over as she saw him. His face was pale, his eyes staring at the ceiling. She started to ask him if he was all right, but the answer was clear to her right away. Blood soaked the front of his shirt, staining the worn blue into a deep purple. A battery-operated nail gun lay at his side.
Fighting the urge to throw up, Sammy dashed outside to call the police.
5
Half a Stick of Suspicion
“Honey, really. If there was ever a time when you needed to be off work, I’d think it would be now. Go upstairs, make yourself a nice hot cup of tea, and rest.”
“I can’t,” Sammy choked out. Her face felt hot and tired from crying, but she continued mixing up the dough for a batch of dinner rolls. “The very last thing I want is to be upstairs alone. I need work to keep me sane right now.” She’d already prayed her heart out, and that had gone a long way toward making her feel better, but she wanted to be busy. There was always plenty of work to be done at Just Like Grandma’s, and it made her feel like she was making up for some of the time she’d missed while trying to start of SCS.
“I understand. I’m just worried about you, dear. I know how you were looking forward to this day.”
“It’s not just me. It’s Austin, too, and everyone else. Even Rob seemed upset. I never thought a former jock like him would be so into something for the community. And it’s rather disturbing what happened to Mr. Woodland, too.”
Helen laid a comforting hand on her back. “I know, dear. But Alfie is doing everything he can, I’m sure.”
It usually amused Sammy when the older woman referred to the sheriff by his childhood nickname from when he’d grown up across the street from her, but she failed to see the humor in the moment. “Yes, I’m sure he is. He didn’t let me stick around very long. He even had one of the officers put all those cookies back in my car for me. That was nice, but I’m not sure what to do with them now. There’s obviously no party, but I don’t really feel right selling them.”
“Maybe we can find someplace to donate them,” Helen offered with a smile. “Or we can just sit back here and stuff our faces after the customers go home.”
Sammy had to laugh a little at that. “I just might do that! It’s a tragedy, and I feel so selfish.”
“Why’s that?”
She looked up from the mixing bowl to meet her boss’s eyes. “I know the important thing here is that Mr. Woodland is dead. There’s nothing bigger than that. But all I can think about is that nobody is going to be interested in supporting Sunny Cove Services if they think of it as the site of a murder. I really need the community’s help with this. Not financially, necessarily, but I need their willingness to hire these people and keep them employed. And I’m a little worried that nobody will want to work there after something like this has happened.”
Helen put one hand on her ample hip. “Don’t you think someone has probably died in most of the buildings around here?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, think about it. There are a lot of very old buildings in Sunny Cove. Just the amount of time they’ve been standing makes it seem to me pretty likely that something has happened in most of them. I’m sure you could go to the library, look through old editions of the newspaper, and find a tragic event of some sort in nearly every building in this town. It doesn’t mean that it’s cursed or that people won’t go there. They’ll just need a little time to get past it.”
Sammy smiled for the first time since she’d discovered Harold’s body, and it felt good. “Have you always been able to look at the positive side of things, Helen?”
“I always try,” she replied kindly. “I’ve got Jesus at my side to help me remember, but I thoroughly believe that a positive attitude can make all the difference in the world.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
When they’d closed the diner for the night and Sammy had finally dragged herself upstairs to her apartment, she took a moment to close her eyes and remember everything she had to be grateful for. Even though the contractor’s death had tainted her excitement over the opening of SCS, she still had a great business partner who’d done so much to help this project along. She had Helen, and she had Austin. It didn’t hurt that she still had her job at the diner, so it wasn’t as though she’d been counting on the new business to be a source of income for her. With a little help from Heaven, this could still turn out all right.
And Sammy also knew that the Lord helps those who trust in Him. The police were doing their job, as Helen had said, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t help. Turning to a clean page in her notebook, she tapped her pen against her chin as she began making a list of suspects.
First, there was Ken Lowry. The contractor was in direct competition with Harold Woodland, and he’d been very angry when he’d discovered he hadn’t gotten the job. Could he have been mad enough to kill?
Underneath his name she wrote that of Andrew Herzog. Sammy had thought the land developer was guilty of murder before, when he’d been advocating for tearing down a historical building to construct a new condo. The Radical Grandmas had been strictly against him, and when one of them turned up dead Mr. Herzog was one of the first people Sammy thought of. He had a bit of a cutthroat attitude when it came to progress. While he’d proven to be innocent at that time, he’d definitely thought using the Stargazer Theater was a mistake. Would that have made him upset enough to murder someone? Probably not, but Sammy wasn’t going to look past anyone.
Thinking of Andrew brought to mind Jackson and Sons, the contracting company from Oak Hills that Andrew had recommended. As far as Sammy knew, they didn’t know much about Harold Woodland. They would have no real reason to kill him, considering that remodeling the old space was probably not the kind of thing they normally did. But once again, she didn’t want to dismiss anyone too soon. It would at least be a lead to chase down, even if only so she could cross them off the list.
Stumped, Sammy got up and put the kettle on. Helen’s suggestion of a cup of hot tea hadn’t been a bad one, and she had a big box of chamomile just waiting for a night like tonight. The rain drizzled down the windows and tap danced on the roof just above her head. Sammy couldn’t see anything through the darkness outside her kitchen window other than the streetlights, each with a humid halo around them. “Who else would want to kill Mr. Woodland?” she mused quietly to herself. Her voice sounded too loud in the quiet space.
A mug of tea in hand, Sammy returned to the kitchen table. This had become her thinking space, an area where she made lists and plans. Sometimes those lists and plans had involved finding a murderer, but they’d also revolved around experimenting with new recipes or coming up with ideas to further her baked goods business. The old wooden chairs were surprisingly comfortable, and Sammy felt cozy and safe in her little apartment. She leaned back and tipped her chin toward the ceiling, thinking.
A thump on the door brought her upright with a jolt. Sammy had nearly dozed off, but she was wide awake now. She hadn’t even heard anyone come up the stairs. “Who is it?”
“Sheriff Jones,” came the muffled reply through the door.
“Oh.” Sammy quickly opened it, suddenly self-conscious about the sweatpants and hoodie she’d thrown on after work. “What are you doing here? I mean, what can I do for you?”
He gave her a slight smile, something that wasn’t often seen on his solemn face. Alfred Jones was a tall, muscular man with natural tan that complimented his dark hair. There were streaks of silver through it, but he still looked young for his age. He took off his hat and strode into the apartment, still in uniform. “Mostly, I wanted to make sure you were all right. You were pretty upset at the theater today.”
Sammy didn’t know if she should be flattered that he cared or insulted to
think she couldn’t handle it. “I’ve been better,” she admitted. “But how did you get in here? Did I not lock the outside door?” The stairs that led down from her apartment door opened up into the back room of the diner, so anyone who wanted to get in had to get into Just Like Grandma’s first.
“You did,” he reassured her, “but I ran into Helen down at the store. I told her I was concerned, and she came over here and let me in. I told her I’d lock it back up when I left.”
“I see.” Sammy pressed her lips together and rocked back on her heels, wondering just what Helen was up to. Her boss had dropped some hints from time to time that she and Sheriff Jones would make a good couple, and she had to wonder if Helen was pushing this further along.
He nodded toward the notebook on the table, just a few feet away. “Dare I ask what you’re doing?”
There was no point in trying to hide it. He’d seen her lists before, and this wasn’t the first time she’d tried to find a killer. “You can ask, but you probably won’t want to hear the answer.”
Raising one eyebrow, he turned the notebook so he could see. He read it quickly, giving a slight nod. “Not a bad start.”
“And?”
“And I think you need to leave this to the police, Sammy. There’s a lot to deal with on a case like this, and you really don’t need to get involved.”
Her heart jumped up in her throat. “Is there someone dangerous out there?”
Sheriff Jones tipped his head to the side. “I don’t know if I’d say that. I shouldn’t say anything, really, but I think if I tell you it might ease your mind a little.”
“What is it?” She could barely get the words out around the tightness in her throat.
He sighed. “There was a note in Harold Woodland’s pocket. It looked like the start of a suicide note, so there’s a good possibility he killed himself.”
Sammy sank slowly into one of the kitchen chairs. “I’m not sure that makes me feel better at all.” She didn’t like thinking about what might happen to his soul. She also didn’t like to think that someone she’d come to know over the past few weeks was feeling hopeless enough to do such a thing and she hadn’t noticed.
“Well, we don’t have all the details yet. We’re working on it, though, and we don’t draw any conclusions until we’re absolutely sure. I just want you to know.”
“I do know.” She propped her chin on her hand, feeling depressed all over again. “I just wish I could go back and change it all. Maybe if I hadn’t hired him, this wouldn’t have happened.”
“Whoa, hey now.” Jones sat down across from her, tipping his head down to catch her eyes. “Don’t talk like this is your fault. We could blame ourselves for every bad thing that happens around us, or we can move on and understand that we don’t have control over it all.”
She reached out a finger and poked at the notebook. “I guess I like having a little bit of control. Maybe that’s why I like to do this.”
“I can understand that.” Jones looked at the list again. “Maybe we can figure out if there’s anyone else who belongs on this list.”
That got Sammy smiling. He was probably just humoring her, but it was a sweet gesture. “I’m being rude. Can I get you a cup of tea?”
“Sure.”
She got up and went back to the stove. The kettle was still hot, and she poured a second mug of tea. “I have a bunch of leftover cookies here, too, if you’d like some. More than I know what to do with, unfortunately.”
“I don’t think I can pass up a chance at Sammy Baker’s famous cookies, especially not if I’m getting them for free.”
Sammy blushed as she handed him a plate with an assortment of cookies. “Okay, now tell me who else you think belongs on this list.”
“No, no. You’re supposed to tell me. You’re the detective genius who’s supposed to give me all my ideas so I can take credit for them.”
Sammy laughed. “All right, then. How about Julia Richardson. She saw that I was interviewing Woodland, and she told me I shouldn’t use him because he did a shoddy job on her bathroom. I wouldn’t think that it would be enough motive to kill someone, but I didn’t see how bad of a job he did. Maybe it brought up some old memories.”
He nodded and slid the notebook toward her. “Probably worth putting her on the list. I mean, in case it wasn’t a suicide. Anyone else?”
“I haven’t been able to come up with anyone,” she admitted. “I’ll be sure to let you know when I do.”
The two of them ate the plate of cookies and drank the rest of their tea as they discussed the other options on the list and tossed around a few other ideas. In the end, they didn’t write down any more names, but Sammy felt a little bit better.
“I appreciate you stopping by,” she said when Jones got up to go. “I’m still worried about how SCS is going to do, because I’ve put so much work into it, but maybe it’ll be okay.”
A strange look crossed his face and left just as quickly as it had come. “Yeah, so, you and Rob Hewitt, huh?”
“Hmm?”
“The two of you have been spending a lot of time together, lately.”
She could feel her face coloring, but mostly just because he asked the question. “Oh, no. It’s not like that. We’ve just been putting in a lot of time on this project.”
“I see. I’d heard some rumors.”
“Just friends,” she said, feeling like she was back in high school all over again.
“You have a good night, and I’ll be sure the door is locked downstairs.”
“Thanks.” Sammy shut the door gently behind him, feeling a little too giddy.
When she went to bed a little later, her mind turned back to the list as she realized there was someone she’d forgotten. Harold hadn’t been very easy on his workers, especially that man with the dark hair. She quickly added Garrett’s name with a question mark after it, since she didn’t know his surname, and went to bed.
6
Two Heaping Tablespoons of Town Gossip
The diner wasn’t very busy the next day, but Sammy wished it was. She liked the distraction. Quite a few people popped in to pick up pastries or doughnuts, but most of them didn’t stay to eat.
Except for Julia Richardson, who lingered at her favorite table while she slowly ate the soup of the day—a delicious lentil soup that Helen had put together—and then leisurely drank a few cups of coffee. Sammy was spending most of her time in the kitchen, but she happened to be the one to come out and pick up her check.
“Oh, Sammy! I didn’t think you were here. I wanted to talk to you about something.”
She couldn’t make any excuses about being busy, considering the restaurant was nearly deserted. And the truth was that she wanted to get started on her list. “What can I do for you?”
“It’s more of what I can do for you,” Mrs. Richardson explained. “I wanted to say I’m sorry about what happened to your contractor. To be fair, I warned you not to use him, but I can’t say I expected that to happen. And now you have to wait to open.”
“It’ll be all right,” Sammy assured her with a forced smile. “We’ll get it all figured out.”
“Sit down, dear, sit down.” Mrs. Richardson gestured at the seat across from her. “I’ve heard about how you’ve been involved in a few of the strange things that happen around this town. I thought I might have some information that would help you out.”
Sammy sat, but she shook her head and waved off the customer’s notions. “This is a police matter, and it doesn’t have anything to do with me.”
“Pish tosh! You can’t kid a kidder, sweetheart! I know you’re at least thinking about it.”
She could at least humor her, and in the process she might learn something. “Okay. Lay it on me.”
Mrs. Richardson leaned forward. “Harold Woodland had been working in Sunny Cove for a very long time. He was known as a shrewd businessman, and it worked well for him for a long time. But the more money he made, the greedier he became.”
> It sounded like quite the parable, but Sammy was interested in what she had to say. “I’m listening.”
“While I can’t talk poorly of him for wanting to make money, it was his methods that really made people start talking about him. He started using cheap materials that didn’t hold up, he cut corners to the detriment of his customers, and he wasn’t very nice to the men who worked for him. Why, there was one young man helping him with that bathroom of mine, and Mr. Woodland did nothing but yell at him the entire time!”
The contractor had seemed very nice when Sammy had interviewed him, but she was starting to understand that she hadn’t seen the entire picture. “I can’t say anything yet about the work he did or the quality of it. Things seems fine at SCS so far, but only time will tell. As for the workers, well, I did see some of that myself.”
“And then there’s his poor wife!” Julia exclaimed.
“His wife?” Somehow, Sammy hadn’t thought about Mr. Woodland in terms of his family at all yet.
“Oh, yes. High school sweethearts, those two. But he was never home because he was working all the time, staying out late at night or working on the weekends to get his projects done. It really upset poor Tracy. She tried to drag him to counseling a few times, dear thing, but it didn’t do them much good.”
Sammy licked her lips, thinking. “How do you know all this about them?”
Julia flicked her bedazzled fingers in the air. “Simple. He’s my cousin.”
“What?” Sammy stared across the table at Mrs. Richardson for a long moment. “He’s your cousin? And you still didn’t think I should hire him?”
“Blood is blood, and I would do whatever I could for family, but not if they’re going to rip people off or break their promises. Harold was a bit of a black sheep, I guess you could say.”
