She shook her head. “No, but I have a strong hunch, and that’s what us detective types go on.”
He snickered. “Really, you’re going to explain the fundamentals of being a detective to me?”
“It was a joke.”
“Don’t quit your day job. Although you can feel free to quit your second job as an amateur sleuth if you’d like,” he cracked back.
She laughed. “Very funny.”
“You’re not the only one who can joke around here,” he replied.
“All joking aside, I think it’s time we get down to investigating this case.”
“All right, what have you got?”
“It turns out a number of people had reasons to want Hope Riddle dead.”
“Go figure.”
“I’ll tell you all about them while I look over the crime scene,” Meg said.
Chapter Nine
Meg and Connor went inside Hope’s house with completely different intentions. She was eager to poke around, looking for any clue that might have been left over. He had other things on his mind.
“My team has already gone over every inch of this house. What do you expect to find?” Connor asked.
“I’ll know it when I see it,” Meg replied.
He corrected her. “If you see it, you mean.”
Meg had really hoped to look around the place alone. Having company threw a wrench into her plans, especially given the spell she was looking to cast. She had to survey the scene without the help of her magical witch powers, at least until she could think to come up with a big enough diversion to give her the time to cast the spell. Connor remained right by her side, meaning she’d have to make due for now.
She made small talk. “Did your team find anything?”
“No fingerprints, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“That’s not surprising. The killer probably wore gloves or wiped the prints off the murder weapon before they left. Were you able to find any useful clues?”
“Unfortunately not. As far as I can tell, the killer was very good about covering their tracks. All we have right now is what you already know. Hope Riddle was hit over the back of the head with the frying pan that we found on the ground beside her.”
“Did the neighbors see or hear anything or anyone coming from this house last night?”
Connor shook his head. “Not a peep. Although we weren’t able to interview the Galloways, as they weren’t home this morning.”
That was interesting, considering both Galloways had a reason to want Hope dead.
“Do you know where the Galloways are now?” Meg asked.
“My men are working on it. They won’t be leaving town. My team will make sure of that.”
“What was the time of death again?”
“The coroner put it between eleven and midnight.”
Meg kept looking around the house.
Connor continued. “I told you; we already searched this place from top to bottom.”
“It never hurts to look twice. If you’re bored, you can wait outside.”
“No, that’s ok.”
Just then, Connor’s police radio went off.
A voice was heard over the radio. “Detective Smith.”
Connor turned to Meg. “I have to take this.”
“Go for it,” she replied.
Meg welcomed Connor taking the call. Knowing him, he’d want privacy, which meant he’d be walking out of the room. With the place to herself, she’d have the opportunity to cast the spell she’d been wanting to.
As expected, Connor excused himself and stepped outside to answer his radio. Meg immediately went to work, closing her eyes and casting an eagle-eyed spell. This little slice of magic allowed her to survey the scene with extra keen eyesight that could pick up on details her naked eye couldn’t.
Unfortunately, the spell did not yield the results she was hoping for. She got the superb eyesight she’d be looking for, but after a thorough search, she wasn’t able to turn up any clues. Much to her chagrin, the killer had covered their tracks well.
Meg didn’t have time to bemoan her fruitless search. Before frustration had the chance to set in, Connor poked his head back in the house with breaking news.
“Hope’s husband Andrew is at the coroner’s office to identify her body. I don’t know about you, but I have a few questions for him,” Connor said.
Meg nodded. “You aren’t the only one.”
Chapter Ten
Meg and Connor headed off to the coroner’s office, where Andrew Riddle awaited. Andrew was a slender man in his mid-fifties with scraggly brown hair, matching brown eyes, and a twenty-six pocket fisherman’s vest on. He identified Hope’s body with grief all over his face. Meg and Connor gave him a moment to process his thoughts before peppering him with questions.
“I can’t believe it. She’s gone. She’s…” Andrew trailed off, not even able to finish the sentence.
His voice cracked as he uttered the words. He looked completely heartbroken. The question became, was this all an act?
There was a time when Meg never used to think about these things. Given the suspicious nature surrounding Hope’s death and the fact that Andrew was her soon to be ex-husband, she couldn’t help but wonder if this was all just a cover.
Meg was usually good at spotting a liar. There were the telltale signs; sweaty palms, dilating pupils in their eyes, a change of timbre in their voices. None of that was present here. If this was all just an act, Andrew had an amazing poker face. He had Meg convinced.
Connor appeared to be buying it as well. “I’m sorry, Mr. Riddle. This must be an awful time for you.”
“It is,” Andrew replied.
“I couldn’t help but notice how long it took you to get over here after you got news of your wife’s death. My deputy called you two hours ago,” Connor said.
Andrew tensed up. “Yeah. I would have been here sooner, but I was out of town.” He looked off into the distance. “I can’t help but feel guilty.”
Meg’s eyes got wide all of a sudden. “Guilty?”
He couldn’t be on the verge of confessing, could he? That would be refreshing. In her experience, suspects never admitted wrongdoing without having it drawn out of them. Maybe there really was a first time for everything.
Or, perhaps not. Andrew apparently was feeling guilty about something else. “Yeah. I would have never left town if I knew something like this was going to happen.”
“But how could you know something like this would happen?” Meg asked.
“I couldn’t. It’s just one of those things; you can’t help but ask what if, you know? Like, what if I’d have been home last night? Maybe she’d still be alive,” Andrew speculated.
“By the way, where did you go last night?” Connor asked.
“Lake Mendocino. A buddy and I went on a fishing trip. That’s why it took me so long to get here,” Andrew replied.
Meg furrowed her brow. “Actually, that seems pretty quick.”
Andrew looked confused. “Come again?”
“Lake Mendocino is three hours away. Connor’s deputy called you only two hours ago.”
Andrew quickly revised his story. “Well, we were just outside of the lake. And we drove home in a blitz. We didn’t exactly follow the speed limit if you get my drift.”
“We do. Now, you said we. Who was with you?” Connor asked.
“My friend Michael Newman,” Andrew replied.
“Where is he right now?” Connor wondered.
“Yeah. Why isn’t he with you?” Meg added.
“He’s waiting in the car. Michael doesn’t like talk of dead bodies, not since he lost his wife a few years back,” Andrew revealed.
“So if we went out to the parking lot right now, he’d be able to confirm all this?” Connor asked.
Andrew looked completely confused. “Yeah. Why?”
“We just want to know exactly where you were when your wife died,” Connor said.
“But, the
deputy told me Hope had been killed by a burglar,” Andrew replied.
“We’re not so sure now,” Connor said.
Andrew backed away. “Wait a minute. You don’t believe I could have done this, do you?”
It didn’t take Andrew long to break out into a full panic. For a man with a supposed alibi, that seemed very peculiar.
“We’re not ruling anything out,” Connor said.
Andrew shook his head vehemently and denied involvement. “I loved her.”
The more out of control Andrew’s emotions became, the calmer Connor remained. It was an old detective trick he’d learned over the years. When a suspect saw the police keep such a tight lip and an even keel, it often made them freak out even more, possibly letting vital information slip in the process.
“Crimes like this are usually committed by someone very close to the victim. For example, a jaded spouse,” Connor said.
“I’m not jaded,” Andrew declared.
“You are separated, though, and on the road to divorce court,” Meg said.
“No. I’d never do anything like this,” Andrew replied.
“That’s what you say. We’re going to go ahead and verify your story anyway to see if you’re telling the truth,” Connor insisted.
There was no mistaking the fear in Andrew’s eyes. If there weren’t a slew of police deputies around, he looked like he’d try to make a break for it.
Chapter Eleven
Amazingly enough, Andrew Riddle’s alibi checked out. His friend, Michael Newman, was parked outside and corroborated Andrew’s entire story. Meg couldn’t believe it. Despite what both Andrew and Michael had told her, something didn’t add up to their stories. Unfortunately, it was just a hunch right now, but it was a big one.
For example, if Andrew was telling the truth back there, why was he sweating so much when she and Connor questioned him? The panic on his face and fear in his eyes made even less sense now.
Connor clearly felt the same way.
“Is it just me, or was something fishy about that whole exchange?” Meg asked.
“You mean, other than the fact that he was wearing a fishing vest to the coroner’s office?” Connor deadpanned.
His wisecrack surprised Meg. “Really, Mr. By-the-book is choosing now of all times to make jokes?”
“It’s a nervous habit. I was just blowing off steam, and it turns out I have plenty to blow off.” Connor watched Andrew Riddle and Michael Newman drive away. “You’re right. That was fishier than week-old tuna salad. Still, we had nothing to hold him on. His story checked out.”
Meg threw a theory at him. “Maybe that’s because Andrew planned out his story beforehand with Michael Newman.”
“It’s possible, but we can’t prove that. What we need is evidence, and we have none of that. What we do have is a number of other suspects.”
Meg sighed. “Yeah, too many.”
“Speaking of, do you have any idea who you want to start with?”
Meg didn’t have to think long about that one. “Actually, I have a very good idea.”
Chapter Twelve
Meg and Connor headed back to Oak Street, but not to check out Hope’s place. This time, they were paying the neighbor she reportedly had a falling out with a visit. It was also the same neighbor that wasn’t home this morning when the police were investigating. That could just be a strange coincidence. Then again, it could also be much more. That’s what they were here to find out.
Thankfully, they saw a car in the driveway at the Galloways house, so it was clear someone was home. Would they answer the door? If not, Meg could always walk around back and cast a spell in private drawing them outside.
Luckily, it didn’t come to that. Brooke Galloway opened up shortly after Connor knocked. Brooke was in her early fifties, with wavy blonde hair, a trim figure, and a sweater with a drawing of a cat’s face on it. Meg paid close attention to Brooke’s body language in hopes of gleaning any insights she could. Brooke wasn’t tipping her hat either way; at least not yet.
“Yes, can I help you?” Brooke asked.
“I hope so,” Connor replied, pulling out his detective badge. “Connor Smith, Enchanted Bay Police Department.”
Confusion came to Brooke’s face. “Police? What are you doing here?”
“We have to ask you a few questions about your neighbor,” Connor said.
“Which one?” Brooke asked.
“Hope Riddle,” Meg said.
“What about her?” Brooke replied.
She still had the look of confusion. Even more, it actually seemed to be genuine. Brooke was either very good at playing dumb, or she really didn’t know what had happened last night.
Meg’s instinct was telling her it was just good acting. It was difficult interviewing a suspect with a good poker face. That really ramped up the cat and mouse game.
“Can we come inside?” Connor wondered.
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Brooke replied.
That was the first sign of Brooke showing her hand. If she had nothing to hide, there was no reason to not let them in. So, what was she hiding?
Before they got the chance to find out, Brooke’s husband, David Galloway, came to the door. David was in his late fifties with black hair, bifocals, an angular face, and a full body spandex bicyclist’s outfit.
“What’s going on?” David said.
“We need to ask you some questions,” Connor replied, flashing his badge again.
Brooke was getting fed up. “All right, fire away.”
“We’d like to ask the questions to you separately—and inside. Unless you don’t mind the whole neighborhood watching,” Connor said.
Brooke noticed her neighbor, Nellie Neilson, across the street watching through the open blinds of her living room. When Nellie saw Brooke and Connor turning to her, she made a slapdash attempt to pretend she was just dusting the windowsill.
“So, what’s it going to be?” Connor continued.
Brooke groaned. “Inside it is then. But I’m going to warn you, it’s messy in there.”
Chapter Thirteen
Brooke wasn’t kidding. The place was a complete mess. That wasn’t the most striking thing to Meg. What really got her was the sheer volume of cats everywhere. On the short walk from the doorway to the living room, she’d spotted at least eight. There was no telling how many more were in the rest of the house.
Meg was a cat-lover herself, but she didn’t collect them like they were going out of style. This wasn’t the work of just any feline aficionado. This was an obsession. If the large number of cats wandering around weren’t distracting enough, there was the added fact that the Galloways’ house appeared to have been converted into a de facto kitty playground. There were scratching posts, cat hammocks, climbing towers, and nylon cat tunnels everywhere. So much so that Meg almost tripped over one on the way into the living room.
A zoo of felines like this could not go unmentioned. Although, what was there to say, except “yikes”?
Connor decided to break the ice with the understatement of the century.
“It’s a shame you don’t like animals very much,” Connor deadpanned.
What Connor intended as a joke, Brooke Galloway used as a jumping point to bare her heart.
“They’re wonderful creatures, aren’t they? I don’t know what I’d do without cats. I’d probably go crazy,” Brooke replied.
Go crazy? She seemed to already be there. Meg had to restrain herself to keep from saying anything offensive. Besides, despite the furry interruption, there were more important matters at play. While Meg was determined to keep focused, Connor couldn’t resist taking about the cats a little longer.
“How many do you have?” Connor asked.
The expression on David’s face seemed to say “too many.”
Brooke did an actual count, first in her head, then with her hands. “Fourteen.”
“Wow. It’s a good thing I didn’t bring the K-9 unit with me,�
� Connor joked.
That yielded only a scowl from Brooke.
“Anyway, what a crowded house. How do you keep them all under control?” Connor wondered.
“We’re just their staff,” David replied, with resignation in his voice.
“David is just joking around. They’re all very well behaved,” Brooke said.
Just then, a tabby cat began scratching the couch instead of the scratching post that was right beside it.
“Mittens, no. You know the couch is for sitting, the post is for scratching,” Brooke said.
Mittens the cat didn’t listen and kept tearing into the couch.
At the risk of the murder case getting completely lost in the feline chatter, Meg tried to get things back on point. “We really do need to ask you some questions about Hope Riddle.”
Brooke gritted her teeth, clearly hoping her cats had provided an adequate distraction to keep from the topic at hand. “Oh, right.”
“Mr. Galloway, we’ll start with you,” Connor said.
“Oh, ok,” David replied. “What do you want to know?”
Before Connor asked his first question, he turned and stared at Brooke.
She looked back at him, not sure why the detective wasn’t talking.
“Mrs. Galloway, please excuse us? We’ll get to you later,” Connor said.
“Oh, right. Well, fine. It’s lunch time anyway.” Brooke addressed her army of felines. “Kitties, gobble gobble time.”
Brooke then walked into the kitchen. The cats rushed behind her with mouth-watering anticipation.
Meg and Connor then went to work on David Galloway.
“I just want to say, I’m not sure I’m the right person you should be asking about Hope Riddle,” David said.
His attempts to deflect did no good.
Connor lobbed his first question. “Where were you between eleven and midnight?”
“Um, my wife and I were out on the town,” David answered.
“Where on the town exactly?” Connor said.
Witch Cozy Mystery Nine Book Set Page 28
