by Nancy CoCo
“What?”
“The sun is out, but you know the wind off the ocean . . .”
“Brisk, I bet,” she said. “Why?”
“She isn’t wearing a jacket.”
“Weird,” Josie said. “Most ladies that age would be wearing a puffy coat.”
“Maybe the killer took it,” I said and squatted down to take a closer look.
“Does it look like a mugging? Is she disheveled?”
“No, I don’t think so. She still has her wedding ring on and what looks like large single diamond earrings.”
“Does she look familiar?”
“There’s something familiar, but her face is hidden,” I said with some relief.
The woman was on her belly facedown. There didn’t appear to be any wounds, but she did have sand stuck in her hair.
“Any idea how she died?”
“I don’t see any obvious signs of trauma,” I said. “There’s some goop in her hair, you know, sand and such.”
“And no one else is nearby?”
I glanced around. “There are a couple of kids walking down the shore toward me.”
“Keep them away,” she said.
“Right.” I stood and watched them. “If they get too close, I’ll wave them off. I’m just afraid that if I wave now, they will come see what’s going on.”
“Oh, okay,” Josie said. “Can you hear sirens yet?”
I held my breath and listened to my heart beat in my ears. “Not yet,” I said.
“Don’t worry, they are on the way,” she said. “Boy, this job is stressful. I mean, I never imagined anyone dying on my first call . . . you know what, I’ll check again.”
I looked down at the dead woman at my feet. Everett was lying nearby watching everything from a rise in the dunes. The grass sprung up around him like the vegetation surrounding a lion on the Serengeti. It struck me that I should keep an eye out for tracks or other evidence and make sure no one stepped too close. I glanced around and saw indentations that must have been the woman’s original tracks in the sand. Just hers. It didn’t look like anyone else had been there.
Her hands were curled into fists. They were drawn against her at the waist. A piece of paper fluttered from the edge of one of her hands, so I took a closer look. She was clutching something. I knew enough to grab a tissue out of the pocket of my skirt and carefully turned her hand to reveal the paper. It whipped about in the breeze. I wanted to take it, but I didn’t want to upset a crime scene. Still, it might just blow away in the wind. Thinking quickly, I grabbed my phone and took a few pictures. Then I used the tissue to pry the paper from her fist.
It was a label. A familiar label.
“What’s going on, Wren?”
I turned at the sound of a deep, male voice. It was Jim Hampton, a regular on the promenade, a beat cop, and a noticeably handsome man. He reminded me of the actor Paul Newman. My Aunt Eloise raised me on old movies, and I remember he played a cop in one of them. Jim’s blue eyes were guarded and unreadable.
I felt a flash of guilt and I think he picked up on it. “Josie, Jim Hampton’s here. I’m going to hang up now.”
“Okay,” she said. “Call me later?”
“I will.”
“Wren?” He raised an eyebrow, looking from me to the body. “What’s going on?”
“Everett found her,” I said.
Jim was a tall man, maybe six foot, with square shoulders and an athletic frame. He hunkered down and felt for a pulse. “She’s dead.”
“I know, I called nine-one-one,” I said and raised my phone. “Josie said she called the police. I’m glad you’re here, but I didn’t hear a siren.”
Then I heard the siren in the distance coming closer. He looked up at me. “I was walking on the promenade and saw you. You looked . . . upset.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze falling to the poor woman.
“I guess I am,” I said and hugged my waist. “It’s not every day you find a dead body.”
“Everett seems to be handling it well,” he said glancing toward my cat, who rolled in the sand.
“He’s used to dead things,” I said, stating the obvious. “He’s a cat.”
“What’s that in your hand?”
“My phone?”
“No, the paper you were looking at.”
“Oh, I found it in her hand,” I said and held it out. “It’s the label off one of my lip balms.” He took it from me.
“You mean it belonged to you?”
“No, it’s from my store. I make it and sell it. It’s beeswax, coconut oil, and honey. My recipe. I also designed the label. That’s why I recognized it.”
“Yes, well, it’s evidence and you moved it,” he said and stood.
“I have a picture of her holding it,” I said as if to prove my limited prowess in evidence collecting. “I watch crime shows.”
He made a dismissive sound. “I’m not sure that will hold up in court.”
The siren went silent as an ambulance stopped at the edge of the promenade. Two EMTs hopped out and went in the back for their gear. Jim stood. “Better call the morgue. This woman is long dead.”
“That’s what I told Josie,” I said and picked up Everett. He took an interest in the vehicle’s flashing lights.
“Neither one of you are doctors,” the female EMT said. Her shirt tag read RITTER. She was five foot ten with short brown hair and serious brown eyes. Built for power, she hauled a stretcher out. Her partner was a young guy about my height with bleached blond hair and a thin build. He had a surfer’s tan and winked at me.
“Gotta let Ritter check her out,” surfer EMT said. “We’ll call the morgue if she’s—”
“Oh, she’s dead,” Ritter confirmed as she knelt beside the body. “She’s stiff. Fender, call Dr. Murphy and let him know that we’ve got a dead body for him.”
“Will do,” the younger man said. He grabbed his radio and started talking.
Jim took pictures with his cell phone. Then, he and Ritter turned the body. I saw her face and gasped.
Even without color to her skin, I would know her anywhere. It was Agnes Snow.
“You recognize her?” Ritter studied me.
“It’s Agnes,” I said. “Agnes Snow.” Agnes was my aunt’s rival at the local craft fair. They had been feuding over who got the grand champion ribbon for decades. It didn’t matter which craft my aunt picked up, Agnes was always there with an award-winning entry.
Aunt Eloise had been acting secretively, hiding her latest craft, certain that Agnes was spying on her. She’d even gone so far as driving all the way to Portland to buy her materials on the off chance that Agnes was somehow keeping track of what my aunt bought at the local craft store.
I should have known Agnes from the way she was dressed. Agnes always wore high-end boutique clothes. She looked like a woman who came down to spend two weekends a year in her million-dollar beach house, but, in fact, Agnes had lived in Oceanview her whole life. She had married into a local family with political clout. Bernie, her husband of nearly forty years, was mayor of Oceanview for over half those years. They never had children. Instead, Agnes had gotten good, very good, at every craft known to man.
“Wait, is she the ex-mayor’s wife?” Ritter asked.
“Yes,” Jim said. “Bernie Snow’s wife and Eloise Johnson’s biggest rival.” He glanced at me, his blue eyes squinting in the bright autumn light. “Might explain the label you found in her hand.”
“Could I see that?” Ritter asked, stepping closer.
“It’s from one of my lip balms,” I said. “I own Let It Bee. The honey store in town. I make handcrafted lip balms, lotions, candles, and—”
“Candy,” Fender said. I turned to him.
“Yes, candy.”
“The best candy,” he said, grinned a smile worthy of a toothpaste ad, and leaned in. “The honey salted caramel is to die for.”
“Let’s hope Agnes didn’t agree,” Jim said.
“I’m sure there�
�s no connection,” I said. “Besides, it was a lip balm label, not one from candy.”
“You have to admit that it still doesn’t look that good for you,” Jim said his face suddenly sober.
“Wait, you think I had something to do with Agnes’s death? That’s nuts. Why would I call nine-one-one if I killed her?”
“You watch crime shows,” Jim said. “You know the answer.”
“Because I want to involve myself in the investigation?” My voice crept up two octaves. “That’s crazy. It doesn’t happen in real life. Does it?”
Jim raised an eyebrow. “It happens often enough that they put it in a television show.”
“Well.” I hugged Everett. “It’s silly to think I could hurt anyone.”
“Any idea how she died?” Fender asked. He leaned over the dead woman and studied her. “I don’t see any obvious trauma.”
“Cause of death is for the coroner to determine,” Ritter said.
“Stand back,” said a woman my age as she walked up with a black bag in her hand. She wore a blue shirt that was marked with CSU. “You all are muddying up my crime scene. Is that a cat?”
“Yes, his name is Everett,” I said. “He found the body.”
She stepped over to me. “Hello there, handsome,” she practically purred and scratched Everett behind the ears. He purred back at her. “Is he wearing a leash?”
“He loves to go for walks and the leash keeps him safe,” I said and patted his head.
“Okay,” she said and turned on her heel. “All of you, do not move! I need to see where you all have come in and messed up the crime scene.” She put down her bag, opened it, then pulled on a pair of gloves. Frowning, she took a large camera out of her kit. “Really, Officer Hampton, you know better.”
“We moved the body,” he said. “Needed to see if she was hurt.”
“I have pictures,” I said and held up my phone.
“Someone is smart,” she said as snapped away with her camera. “I’m Alison McGovern.”
“Wren Johnson,” I said.
“Wren, like the bird?”
“Yes,” I said. I was used to the question. “My mom loved the name.”
“It’s cool,” Alison said. “Okay, you two can remove the body.” I watched in fascination as she continued to bully the EMTs and Jim and work the crime scene. I swear she bullied the grass into giving up its secrets. But she did it in a slow and methodical way.
After a while, Jim stood beside me and watched her work.
“She’s good,” I said.
“Thorough,” he agreed. “I’m surprised that cat is letting you hold him so long.”
“Everett? He loves to be held.”
“That is not my experience with cats,” he said. “My experience is they lure you in to pet their belly only to scratch and bite and run to hide under the bed for the next day and a half.”
I laughed. “Yes, that also sounds like a cat. They’re all different, you know. Just like people.”
“So where were you for the last twelve hours?”
I turned to him. “Are you still thinking I’m a suspect?”
“Can you answer the question?”
“Can you?” I asked him. “I mean, twelve hours is a lot of time to account for.”
“I’ve been working for the last six,” he said.
“That doesn’t mean you didn’t kill someone,” I countered. “Did anyone see you every minute of the last twelve hours?”
He narrowed his eyes. “I’m not a person of interest.”
“I’m not either.”
“Not yet,” he admitted and took out his notepad. “That could change at any minute.” He started writing in his pad. “Let’s start from the beginning, you found the body?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
I went over how I found Agnes step by step right up until the time I pulled the label out of her fist.
“I see,” he said as he took notes. “And you know Agnes, how?”
“Like I said—and you know—Agnes and my aunt have this informal competition going.”
“Can you explain what you mean by informal competition?”
“The two of them have been competing against each other my entire life,” I said. “I think it started when they were in grammar school.”
“What kind of competition?”
“Everything,” I said, knowing that was the truth. “Most recently it’s been about crafts.”
“Such as?”
“Quilting, scrapbooking, knitting, crocheting, flower arranging, jelly making . . .”
“Right,” he said. “And how do you do any of that competitively?”
“Oh, there are all kinds of contests,” I said. “Church contests, county fairs, senior center contests . . .”
“I get it,” he said. “I think. So they were rivals.”
“Yes, everyone knows that. You even said it yourself.”
“Do you think your aunt killed her?”
“What? No, no,” I said and hugged Everett just a bit too tight. He squeaked. “She would never. Besides, she was in Portland last night.”
“Why was she in Portland?”
“She had a date,” I said. “I assume she has an alibi for every minute of her night.”
“Did you have a date?” he asked.
“Is that relevant to this case?” I replied, eyebrow raised.
“If it provides you an alibi.”
“No, I did not have a date,” I said and studied the outgoing tide. “I was home alone making candy and a batch of hand and body scrub.”
“Best candy ever,” Fender said as he came back from putting the body in the ambulance. He bent down and picked up his bag, then held out his hand. “Rick Fender.”
“Hi, Rick, Wren Johnson.” I shook his hand.
“Nice to meet you, Wren,” he said and grinned. “Can I get a discount on the candy?”
“Come in while I’m there and I’ll see what I can do,” I said.
“Perfect.” He walked back to the ambulance and climbed in the passenger side while Ritter closed the door and walked over to the driver’s side. The two EMTs made an odd couple as Ritter was a large woman with square shoulders and Rick was lanky.
“Well, I’ve got to get back to the store,” I said to Jim. “You know where to find me?”
“Wait while I check if they want you to come down to the station,” he said.
“Are you kidding me?” I asked, somewhat unnerved by the idea. He held up his palm to quiet me while he turned and spoke to someone on his radio.
I’d been by the police station so I knew where it was, but I’d never been inside. In fact, Jim was the first police officer I’d ever spoken to—it was at a chamber of commerce meeting. I was lucky enough to never have run afoul of the law. Until today.
“You can go for now and take the cat home,” he said. “He would be too big a distraction at the station, anyway.” He reached over and scratched Everett behind the ears.
Everett meowed as if he agreed.
Relief washed over me. “Then, we’re going home.”
“I’d advise you not to go anywhere. Right now you’re my only lead and it would be better if you didn’t do anything suspicious.”
“Right.” Everett and I left the beach. The wind was colder than I remembered. I felt like the business owners were watching me as I walked by. Suzy from Suzy’s Flowers stared. I turned my sweater collar up. Mrs. Beasley, of Beasley’s Gifts, watched me from across the street. I waved my hand and she stepped back.
Wallace Hornsby, owner of Hornsby Tailor Shop, peered at me from behind his small round glasses and I sent him an uncomfortable smile. Everett meowed so I hugged him. “It’s okay,” I said. “They’re just curious.” I paused and decided I was going to act as natural as possible. I put Everett down, straightened my sweater, and we walked the rest of the way back to my shop. The last thing I wanted to do was act like a murder suspect. No, really, the last thing I ever wanted to
do was find a dead body. I guess I needed a new last thing.
A fun antiaging fact: a teaspoon of buckwheat
honey in a glass of water taken daily has been scientifically
proven to increase healthy anti-oxidants
in the blood.
Chapter 2
“Is it true?” My Aunt Eloise came rushing through the door of my shop. The bells on the door jangled behind her. “Is Agnes dead?”
My aunt was a tall woman with the big bones of our pioneering ancestors. She wore her gray hair in a messy bun on the top of her head. There was always a pen stuck in the bun. Usually it was one of her cat-fancier pens with pictures of Havana Browns. Dressed in no-nonsense jeans and a cat T-shirt and dark, hooded sweatshirt that was unzipped, she always looked as if she didn’t suffer fools.
“Yes,” I said. “She was lying facedown in the sand dunes close to the promenade.” Not that it was much of a dune as the sand was blown by the wind. I guess it was more of a pile. Just a few miles from here the beaches were flat as the ocean tides came in and out, scouring them. They left only the basalt rocks that took millions of years to wear away.
“Who did it? How did it happen?” Aunt Eloise asked, placing her hands on her hips. She looked fierce and not at all happy.
“I don’t have any idea,” I said. I almost said I didn’t have a clue, but that wouldn’t be true. There was a clue—one of my lip balm labels. I’d come back to the shop and gone through my records to see if I could tell who might have purchased the balm. It had to be in the last few weeks as the label was relatively new. I was working on a new logo and tried a Halloween twist of a bee with a broom. I thought it was quite clever.
“Well, this can’t be right,” Aunt Eloise said and paced in front of the counter at the center of the store. When I had set up my store inside what had started out as a two-story cabin in 1909, and had since been everything from a gift shop to a surf shack, I put the counter in the center and to the left as you entered so I could see the entire shop from one perch and be quick to help whenever I thought I saw a customer with questions. “She and Bernie have a big fortieth-anniversary party planned in two weeks. The whole town is going.”
