I gave my parents my love before wrapping up our conversation. Then, with a small—okay, substantial—amount of guilt, I returned to reviewing Nelle’s ProNet profile.
Was I on the wrong track?
Perhaps.
One murder investigation didn’t make me an expert. That success could’ve been a fluke. A very fortunate fluke. But surfing Nelle’s and Hank’s social media accounts seemed a good place to mine information about and connections between the victims. I continued putting notes on the index cards until my front doorbell chimed.
“Busy evening. Are you expecting someone?” I lifted Phoenix’s napping form from my lap.
He stood on the hardwood flooring and sent me a look of grave disappointment.
“I’m not choosing our visitors over you. I just want to see who’s at the door. Aren’t you curious?”
After checking the security peephole in my front door, I opened it to welcome Jo and Spence. “What’s going on?”
Spence’s expression managed to convey both amusement and chastisement. “Good evening, Marvey. How was your day?”
Not this again. The art of Southern small talk was a minefield for New Yorkers. I despaired of ever mastering it.
“It was fine. Thanks.” I stepped back, gesturing toward my overstuffed sofa in a silent invitation to make themselves comfortable. “How was yours?”
“Busy, but wonderful.” Jo moved past me, her long, heavy ponytail swinging back and forth like a metronome. “Got a shipment of new releases ready to set up for tomorrow. But tonight, we’re here to help with the investigation.”
I caught a light, flowery fragrance from her. When had she started wearing perfume? And why? Did it have anything to do with Nolan? My inquiring mind wanted to know. I’d give her a chance to volunteer the information, but the clock was ticking.
Jo sank onto the sofa and crossed her long slim legs in her lightweight powder blue pants. Her white collared T-shirt had the University of Florida logo in orange thread embroidered into the upper left corner. Her big brown eyes held mine. “You put your life in danger helping me prove my innocence. I’m not going to leave you to investigate a murder on your own.”
I blinked. “Jo, I didn’t help you so you’d feel beholden to me. I helped because you’re my friend.”
“I know.” She tossed a look between me and Spence, who stood beside the sofa. “And I’m helping because you and Spence are my friends.”
Spence pushed his hands into the front pockets of his gray cargo shorts. “I saw what you went through last time. I don’t want you to put yourself in danger for me.”
He still didn’t get it. My sigh eased some of the pressure in my chest. “I’m not going to bury my head in the sand when I have a very real concern for your safety. You heard the deputies. Jed thinks I’m delusional.” The memory of our meeting with the deputies this morning made me grind my teeth.
“If you’re determined to protect me, I’m going to protect you.” Spence crossed his arms over his chest. He wore a plain short-sleeved black jersey that did wonderful things for his biceps.
I suspected he was standing because I was. I admired his chivalry, but he was going to be standing for a while. My pulse galloped with fear for his well-being, making me far too restless to sit. “Are you saying it’s dangerous for me to investigate a threat against you that you don’t believe exists? You hear how that sounds, right?”
Phoenix invited himself to the meeting, bounding onto the sofa to curl up on Jo’s lap. Both Jo and Spence had formed a friendship with my rescue tabby.
Jo smoothed her right hand over his back. “If you two are done arguing, can we figure out a strategy for our investigation?”
“We’re not arguing.” Did Spence sound a little rattled? “We’re exchanging a difference of opinion.”
I arched an eyebrow, correcting him. “We’re arguing, and I don’t have a problem with that. Would you like some iced tea?”
Without waiting for their response, I went to the kitchen to get the refreshments. I poured three glasses of the sweet tea brand I saved for their visits and added a plate of pralines to the tray. They were tasty, though not as good as Anna May’s.
They joined me at the dining table. As I set the tray behind my laptop, I motioned for them to join me. Reclaiming my seat, I gestured toward Nelle’s ProNet profile. “I thought I should start by learning as much as I can about Hank and Nelle. In true crime novels, the investigations start with the victims. To find the killer, we first have to understand the victim. With whom do they associate? What activities, personal and professional, are they involved in? Where have they been and what were they doing there? I’m going to review this information with the librarians in the morning.”
“I’m one of Nelle’s connections on ProNet.” Spence pulled a chair toward Jo before circling the table to sit on my other side. “I also follow her and Hank on GroupMeet and PictureThis.—Followed.” A shadow moved over Spence’s features and his eyes darkened as he corrected his comment to reflect his friends’ passing.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and squeezed his forearm in comfort. He nodded, acknowledging my sympathy. I didn’t know either of them well, but they’d been warm and friendly whenever our paths had crossed. And they’d been devoted to the library.
Phoenix sprang onto a nearby chair before climbing onto Spence’s lap. It was as though he knew his friend needed comfort. Spence scratched behind Phoenix’s ear.
I hadn’t gotten to Nelle’s more sociable social media platforms. But I’d found Hank’s and Spence’s connections on her ProNet network. Learning now that he had even more connections with our victims tightened the cold knot of tension in my stomach. “I hadn’t realized you were on social media.”
Still petting Phoenix, he shrugged. “It’s good for journalists. We find interesting news tips there.”
“I’m on social media because I like it.” Jo leaned forward to look at Spence and me. “You two should follow me.”
I shook my head. “I’m only on social media for the library. That account follows your store and Spence’s paper.”
“Bor-ing.” Jo sang the word as she rolled her eyes.
With a long-suffering sigh, I turned from Jo to address Spence. “Is Brittany Wilson in any of your social networks?”
“Not my personal accounts.” Spence shifted Phoenix’s weight to settle back onto his chair. He set his right ankle on his left knee. “She might follow the paper, though. As you know, we have followers all over the country.” He gave me a winning smile.
I ignored his unnecessary reminder that my parents followed the paper on Chirp. Mom and Dad often commented on the posts.
Heaven help me.
“Let’s set aside social media for now.” Turning away from the computer screen, I collected the stack of still-blank index cards. “What do we know about Nelle and Hank? And what connects them to you and Brittany?”
“As I said before, the only thing I can think of is that we’re all from Peach Coast, born and raised.” Spence narrowed his eyes, staring across the room as though scanning his memory for something more.
I tapped my computer screen. “According to Nelle’s social media profile, she was born in Nashville, Tennessee.”
Spence’s lips parted with surprise and recollection. “That’s right. She’s lived in Peach Coast for so long I hadn’t remembered she wasn’t born here.”
I didn’t correct Spence’s reference to Nelle in the present tense. “When did she move to town?” Every detail could help our investigation.
Spence was silent as he considered the question. “The summer before her first year of high school, I think. Yes, that’s right. She arrived just in time to start school with her graduating class. I started two years later.”
On a fresh index card, I noted Nelle was from Nashville. On a separate card, I wrote she’d started high school in Peach Coast. This was another detail that focused on high school. The town only had one high school, though. Still, could this be significant?
Jo leaned forward to claim one of the glasses of sweet tea. “So she’s the only one of the group who wasn’t born here. That weakens the theory that the two murders are connected.”
I turned the latest index card face down on top of the growing stack. “I prefer to think it narrows the possible links.”
Jo inclined her head as though conceding my point. “What else do we have?” She gave Spence a considering look. “You aren’t neighbors.”
Spence shook his head, still stroking Phoenix’s side. “We live in different parts of town.”
I stared unseeing at my computer monitor. “Which seems to rule out proximity as a connection.”
Jo continued down a mental list. “You don’t work for the same company, either. You and Brittany are self-employed.”
Brittany owned and operated Coastal Cycles, a bike shop near the beach. She sold new bikes to residents and rented bikes to tourists who wanted to take self-guided tours around town. In addition, Brittany was an attorney, licensed to practice law in Georgia, Florida, and South Carolina. A beachfront bike shop owner with a law degree; there was a story there.
“Nelle worked for Malcovich Savings and Loan, and Hank worked for the public school system.” Spence set Phoenix on the floor.
“Which rules out an employment connection.” I frowned.
My anxiety spiked with every potential motive Jo removed from our list. At what point would we start ruling things in? We needed to find a connection—fast. That piece of paper wasn’t going away, which meant neither was the threat. With each passing moment, it grew larger in my mind. I stood to pace off some of my anxiety, bringing a few index cards with me.
“Hank was on the Grace Takes Action board with me, and Brittany and I are on the art board. I think Hank and Brittany were on the business council.” Spence’s words gave me a slight reprieve.
Grace Takes Action was a nondenominational, faith-based nonprofit that helped members of the community in need, whether it was the homeless, the hungry, or neighbors struggling with addictions.
Encouraged, I paused in my circuit around the dining table and spun toward him. “Perhaps this has something to do with these volunteer organizations. Nelle was on the library’s board of directors. Is there an issue that multiple organizations are addressing that connects back with the suspect?”
Spence frowned. I sensed him searching his memory. “The art board and Grace Takes Action don’t have overlapping issues.”
I made a face. “I don’t think the library board does, either.” I grabbed another index card and made a note to double check. “According to the coach’s obituary, he’d graduated from the University of Georgia and was an assistant coach at a high school in Athens. I suppose a lot of Peach Coast residents graduated from that university.”
“Including Brittany.” Spence gave me an ironic look. “She went into law to please her family. Most of her relatives are lawyers, but she wanted to open a bike shop on the beach.”
I’d known there was a story there.
Jo selected a praline. “Hank had been excited to get the head coaching job with his alma mater a few years ago. He was also the geometry teacher.” She bit into the treat.
I settled back onto my seat. “June said she and Hank broke up before he died.” I looked from Jo on my left to Spence on my right. Phoenix was grooming himself across the room. “She thought Hank was in love with someone else but she wouldn’t tell me who.”
Jo’s eyebrows arched in intrigue. “Could June have suspected Hank was in love with Nelle?”
Spence shook his head. “I can’t see June killing anyone much less two people, one of whom she cared about. Can you?”
“No, not really.” Jo sighed. “Besides June wasn’t at the event so the list couldn’t be hers.”
Good point. I was relieved we’d used logic instead of emotion to remove June from our suspect list. “So far, the only real connection the four of you have is your high school. That’s where Nelle enters the picture.”
“There’s only one high school in Peach Coast: Mother Mathilda Taylor Beasley.” Jo’s tone was dry. “And Spence was in a different graduating class.”
“Did you associate with each other in high school?” I turned to Spence. “Did June and Hank date in high school?”
“I don’t know.” Spence gave a reluctant smile. “I was two years behind them. And I didn’t exactly run with the cool kids.”
I gave him a dubious look. “That’s hard to believe.” Spence was easily the coolest person in town. He really was like the unofficial prince of Peach Coast. Why would someone want to kill the prince? “We’ve made a start, albeit not a very impressive one.” I frowned at my small collection of index cards.
“But it’s a start.” Jo rose to her feet and stretched. “Hopefully, if there’s a reason to be concerned we’ll come across something during our research. Or the librarians will.”
We had to move much more quickly. I didn’t know how much time we’d have until the killer struck again. All I knew was that they would.