Abigail wanted to answer none of them. She’d done her best to be polite, but she’d been tempted to tell Shannon to hurry up and stop talking.
She hated the questions. She hated the curiosity and that people thought she should be eager to talk about it. She might be, but not with people she barely knew and who were only using her to get what they wanted. Chief Holden was closed-mouth about the murder and the details, which was a good thing—except for Abigail. Since she and Aunt Charlotte, along with Miranda, had found Randall, people seemed to think she knew everything there was to know about it. They wanted details, and Abigail had nothing to tell them.
But now, she was home, and she’d been cooking one of the few things she was good at—spaghetti. It wasn’t much, but it would be filling, and it was easy so she wouldn’t have to sweat in the kitchen.
She was relieved when Lee finally knocked on her door. She’d only started cooking half an hour ago, and if it had been anything more complicated, she would be nowhere near finished. As it was, the sauce was almost done, and she’d put the water on to boil.
She rinsed and dried her hands, then headed to the front door. She almost tripped on the cat, and she playfully glared at him as she opened, keeping an eye on him so he wouldn’t escape.
Lee was standing there, a bottle of wine in hand. He greeted Abigail and handed it off to her.
“You shouldn’t have,” she said as she took it.
“I figured we might need some alcohol to do this.”
That made Abigail laugh. She stepped to the side so he could come in, reached out to block the cat, and closed the door. “You might be right.”
“We don’t have to do this if you’re not comfortable with it,” he said, looking worried.
Abigail wasn’t comfortable with it, but she wouldn’t allow that to stop her, not when Aunt Charlotte might be in danger. She’d tried talking to her again this afternoon, but Aunt Charlotte hadn’t listened. She thought she was doing nothing wrong, and Abigail supposed she wasn’t. The killer might feel otherwise, though.
“I’ll be fine.” She hoped she sounded convincing.
She led the way to the kitchen, Lee behind her. “It’s not much. I was late today, and I had to go to the grocery store.”
“Don’t worry about it. It smells good, and that’s good enough for me.”
“It’s going to be a little while before it’s ready. Do you want to talk now or after dinner?”
“We might as well start, unless you have to focus on what you’re doing?”
“I just have to put the pasta in the water once it’s boiling. I think we have another fifteen minutes before it’s ready to eat.”
Lee grinned and flopped into one of the chairs at the table. There was a bigger dining room next to the kitchen, but Abigail always ate here. Even with Lee, the table would be big enough, and certainly smaller than the one in the dining room. They didn’t need that one, not when there were only two of them.
“I haven’t been here in years,” he commented.
“I wasn’t aware you’d been here at all.”
“I helped your aunt once. I carried something into the kitchen. She offered me milk and cookies, even though I was seventeen.”
That made Abigail smile. “That sounds exactly like her.”
“You think you’ll continue living with her once she’s healed?”
“I doubt it.” Although finding a house was something that worried Abigail. She was going to have to think about it soon. Aunt Charlotte had been to the doctor’s office this morning, and they were happy with the way her arm was healing. Soon, they would take the cast off. She would still need help in the beginning, but she was almost back to her old self.
“Well, let me know if you want to go house hunting.” Lee paused and arched a brow at Abigail. “Unless you want to deal with Miranda on your own?”
“God, no. I don’t know what she has against me, but I always find myself having to resist the urge to tell her we’re not in high school anymore.” And Abigail had to admit that Miranda’s presence made her feel like she was back in time, too. She was ready to ignore all of that if Miranda did, but she wasn’t sure that would ever happen. Miranda was still holding a grudge, and Abigail didn’t know how to deal with it.
“They’re the only real estate agency in town.”
Abigail hadn’t needed Lee to point that out to know that. “That’s fine. I’m sure we’ll find a way.”
“Well, I’m here if you need me.”
Abigail was relieved. She and Lee had been nowhere near best friends when they were in high school, but they’d always been close. She was glad they were able to get some kind of relationship back. She’d been lonely since she’d arrived back in town, even though it was mostly due to her own behavior. She was relieved it was changing. “So, why don’t we go over the suspects?” she asked.
Lee blinked but nodded. “Tell me who you think did it, and I’ll tell you what I know about them.”
The most obvious suspects were Roger and Martha, so Abigail asked about them. She cautiously explained what she’d walked in on, hoping Lee wouldn’t spread the news.
Lee shook his head, looking amazed. “I can’t believe they’re having an affair. I mean, I’m not surprised. From what I know, Randall was a horrible husband to Martha, and she’s a lovely lady. What I’m surprised about is that they managed to keep it a secret. That’s next to impossible in this town.”
Abigail had nothing to say to that. She had a secret of her own, but she had no doubt that eventually, people would find out. It wasn’t the same secret Martha and Roger had, but it was still something she didn’t want to advertise, and she wouldn’t be happy when it came out. She already knew how most people would react—they would be curious and ask what had happened, and if she explained, they would pity her. That was the last thing she wanted. She’d already gotten enough of that with her family, even though they meant well.
“You think they could have done it?” she asked before turning to the stove to drain the pasta.
“I want to say no. I like Martha, and Roger is a nice guy, too. I love spending time in the bookstore, especially in the winter. They don’t look like they could have done it, but what do I know?”
“So we’re keeping them on the list for now.”
“I think so. Even if on their own, they wouldn’t have done it, it doesn’t mean that together, they’re innocent. Both of them had their reasons to kill Randall. They could have decided to do something about it together.”
Abigail nodded, then moved on to the next suspect. “What about the man at the coffee shop? The one who fought with Randall? They were talking about Randall not paying his debts.”
Lee’s eyes widened, but he nodded. “I know who you’re talking about. Dewey.”
“I think so. Aunt Charlotte told me he’s a handyman?”
“He is. I don’t think he had anything to do with it, though.”
“Why not?”
“What reason would he have had to do it? Now that Randall is dead, he might not get his money. He could go to Martha, but with everyone being a suspect, he still might not get paid. It doesn’t make sense.”
Abigail wasn’t sure about that. They still didn’t know if the murder had been planned or a spur of the moment decision, or maybe not a decision at all. As far as she knew, Dewey might have fought with Randall and knocked him over the head. It was a possibility, no matter how little Lee liked it.
She was going to have to talk to Dewey. She’d already talked to Roger and Martha, although not since she’d found them together in the bookstore. So far, there were only three people on her list, and she didn’t know if any of them had something to do with the murder. She had to talk to them without them realizing she suspected them, but how?
11
Abigail had found a way to talk to Dewey. Roger and Martha would be different, but Abigail had half a mind to just go to the bookstore. He probably already knew she suspected him. There were too ma
ny things stacking up against him, and she would be surprised if Chief Holden didn’t share her thoughts. She didn’t want to think it was Roger, though, and he wasn’t her only suspect, which was why she’d called Dewey and had asked him to come over.
The kitchen sink didn’t work. She had no idea why, but when she turned on the water, only a trickle came out. It had been fine yesterday when she’d washed the dishes, and whatever had happened, she couldn’t fix it on her own.
It was the perfect excuse.
She would’ve found something else if this hadn’t happened. There were plenty of things to fix in the house, and she wouldn’t hesitate to do it, both to satisfy her curiosity and to help Aunt Charlotte.
A knock on the door made her jerk. She put down her coffee mug and headed to the entrance.
She didn’t know what to think of Dewey, and she was nervous. So far, the only time she’d seen him had been at the coffee shop, and he hadn’t been happy. He’d been yelling at Randall, and while Abigail could understand the urge, it hadn’t given her a good first impression. Still, she had to do this. Aunt Charlotte had organized another meeting at the shop today, and they’d tried to involve Abigail once again. They were talking about who the killer might be, and while some of their ideas were over the top weird—someone still suspected the mayor—Abigail was afraid. They weren’t even discreet about it, and it would be too easy for the murderer to find out what was happening. She was scared for Aunt Charlotte, and she’d tried explaining why to her, but her aunt had brushed her off. Abigail hadn’t been surprised, but she wasn’t happy about it, either. If Aunt Charlotte didn’t stop, Abigail might try to talk to her mother. She usually could talk some sense into her sister—usually.
She threw open the door and smiled at the man standing there. He was wearing jeans and a plaid shirt, with a white t-shirt under it. He was holding a toolbox, and he smiled at her and tipped his head. “Ms. Kinsman?” he asked. His voice was deep, deeper than Abigail had realized at the coffee shop.
“That’s me. Come in,” she said, stepping aside.
He did and looked around, taking in the entrance. “What’s wrong this time?”
Abigail blinked at him. “This time?”
“Your aunt always calls me when she has a problem. The house isn’t new, and it’s starting to feel its age.”
“I didn’t know that. It’s the kitchen sink. Water doesn’t come out anymore.”
Dewey frowned. “That’s weird.” He headed to the kitchen without Abigail needing to point him where it was, which made sense since he’d already been there before.
Abigail hadn’t expected it, but maybe she should have. Lee had told her Dewey was the handyman in town, and that almost everyone called him when they had a problem. He offered good prices and even better work ethic, and he was fast. He sounded like the perfect handyman, and Abigail couldn’t help the twinge of guilt that tightened her chest.
What was she doing, digging into people’s lives? She shouldn’t, and she wouldn’t if her aunt weren’t involved.
She forced herself to smile and followed Dewey to the kitchen. “I don’t know what happened. It was working fine yesterday, but then this morning, it didn’t anymore. I had to leave it as is because I had to go to work, but I need water in the kitchen.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll check it, and I’ll tell you what’s going on.”
He moved with ease, obviously knowing what he was doing. He opened the cupboards under the sink, sat down with his back to it, and disappeared under it. Abigail could only see his lower body, and she hovered there, not sure what to do.
She had to ask questions, but she didn’t know how. What would Dewey do if she asked him if he’d killed Randall? She wasn’t planning on doing that, but she also wasn’t sure how to be discreet.
She cleared her throat. “Aunt Charlotte told me that you do the fixing for most of the town. I should have realized you’d been here before,” she said.
“I do. I’m glad you called me. Having someone come in from the city would have cost you a lot more, and more often than not, they can’t even finish the job they’re doing because they’re missing parts.” He grunted and made a jerky movement, but Abigail couldn’t see what he was doing. “If you ask me, they do that on purpose.”
“I’m happy I called you then. What did you work on recently?”
There was a pause, and Abigail almost slapped herself. She was obvious, wasn’t she?
“Nothing much,” Dewey said, his voice rumbling. “I fixed a few lights in the grocery store the other day.”
“I heard Randall was going to hire you to work on the hotel he was planning on building,” Abigail said, then held her breath. She had no idea what she was doing, so she decided to just come out with it. She wasn’t going to outright accuse Dewey of having killed Randall, but maybe this was the best way to do it. She hoped the innocence she was trying to put in her voice was obvious, but just in case, she made sure to stay close to the kitchen door.
Dewey visibly tensed, and she expected him not to answer. Instead, he said, “Those were the plans, yes.”
When he didn’t add anything, Abigail had to. “I guess it would have been a big job for you.”
“Biggest I’ve ever had. But I was thinking about getting out of it.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. He had a lot of plans, but he couldn’t even buy all the shops, and he wasn’t paying me for some of the stuff I’ve done on the house. I wouldn’t want to work on the hotel and not be paid, you know?”
Abigail relaxed. Dewey had gone where she’d hoped he would go. “He didn’t pay you? I can’t believe it.”
Dewey snorted. “You better believe it, Miss. I know you haven’t been back long, and that we don’t know each other, but Randall wasn’t a good man. I’m relieved your aunt didn’t sell to him. I’m also relieved we won’t do this hotel thing. I would have done the job if he paid me, but I don’t want the town to lose its charm. I don’t want it to be even more full of tourists than it already is during the summer.”
“I wouldn’t want that either. I came back because I love this place. It wouldn’t be the same if it changed.” She paused, wondering how to move the conversation back to Randall. “Well, I’m sorry he didn’t pay you for the work you did for him. Do you think his wife will give you the money now?”
“No idea. I’ve yet to talk to her. I didn’t want to push since she just lost her husband and everything. I want to get paid, but she had nothing to do with that, and I don’t want to bother her. I guess I’ll never see the money, but that’s fine.”
Dewey might never get the money now that Randall had died, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t the killer. Abigail still had no idea what to think. She wanted to ask Dewey where he’d been when Randall had been killed, but that would probably come out as too forward. No. She had to find another way to do this.
This was why she’d never thought about becoming a detective. She sucked at it.
12
Abigail shouldn’t have let herself relax. She should have kept an eye out, be more careful. Instead, she’d thought Kevin had left town, and she hadn’t checked to make sure that was the case.
That was how she’d ended up watching him from down the street. He was standing in front of the shop, clearly waiting for her, and she had no intention of talking to him. She couldn’t keep standing where she was, though. Eventually, he would see her, and then, it would be as she’d feared. He would confront her in front of everyone, which was what she’d been trying to avoid. It was one thing for him to come over to the house, but this was entirely different, and she didn’t like it. She wanted him to leave. Couldn’t he understand that?
She looked around. She had to find a way out of the situation. She could head home, but he would still be able to see her on Main Street for a bit. Her only other option was to hide. Where, though?
Her gaze stopped on the bookstore. She hadn’t seen Roger since she’d walked in on him and Martha, and sh
e didn’t know what Chief Holden had done with the news. She hadn’t wanted to talk to Roger in case he realized she’d been the one to tell the chief of police, but as it was, his shop was her only chance out of this situation.
She moved toward the bookstore.
Abigail was in before she could think better of it. She closed the door and peered out the window, relieved that she had a good view of Kevin and the soap shop. She didn’t want to see Kevin, but she did have to keep an eye on him.
“Abigail?”
The voice made Abigail jump. She turned, her heart racing. “Roger. Hi.”
Roger looked perplexed at her behavior, but thankfully, he didn’t ask. “I didn’t expect you, not at this hour of the day. How are you doing?”
Abigail peeked outside again. She couldn’t see Kevin, not unless she stepped closer to the glass, and she didn’t want to be that conspicuous. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? Because you don’t look fine. You look scared.” He frowned. “Are you scared of me? Do you think I killed Randall?”
Oh, God. Abigail couldn’t do this. “Of course not.” It wasn’t a lie. She didn’t think Roger and Martha had killed Randall.
“What is it, then?” Roger pushed.
Abigail didn’t want to tell him, and when the shop door opened behind her, she was relieved, but only for the time it took her to realize who was walking in.
She slowly turned around to face Kevin.
This was why she hadn’t been able to see him in front of the shop. He’d noticed her, and he’d come to get her.
She hoped Roger wouldn’t mind that she and Kevin were doing this here because she wasn’t about to allow Kevin to corner her when she was alone. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at her soon-to-be ex-husband. “Kevin. What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to talk to you, see if you finally came to your senses.”
The words made Abigail bristle. “I came to my senses when I decided to leave you. You can go. I won’t change my mind, no matter what you say.”
Lethal Suds Page 11
