CHAPTER 33

I did get a moment mid-afternoon to text the group. I said I’d talked to Lincoln and that he wanted to be kept up to date on our discoveries. I didn’t include what Silas had hinted at, since he hadn’t told me anything of substance.

Tulia responded first.

Doris is acting frantic. Saying somebody murdered her cat. Implying I had something to do with it.

I tapped out a response.

She came in here earlier with the same complaint. Ignore her if you can.

Flo chimed in.

Doing research. Will stop by the bike shop in a bit.

I replied.

I’m here ’til 5:00.

What kind of research? She clearly didn’t want to include whatever she was digging up in the thread. I’d have to wait.

“Mac, I’m heading out to pick up Cokey,” Derrick said, clipping on his bike helmet. “Back in a flash.”

“No problem.” I loved that he used the seat on the back of his bike to transport his daughter around town whenever he could. She loved her pink helmet, my brother got more exercise that way—which he needed—and you couldn’t beat the cost.

Another text pinged in, this time from Zane.

DiCicero stocked up on the hard stuff today. Single malt, Hendrick’s gin, and my own ZS rum.

I wrote back.

Pricey purchases.

Zane confirmed.

No kidding.

Tulia added a comment.

Party time, now he’s single? Definition of poor taste.

Flo contributed.

Or drinking away his sins?

Maybe Phil had already been a heavy drinker, and his supplies had run out. With a wife around to be the responsible one, he might have developed some bad habits. As a single dad, though, that was going to have to change. Or had Flo been right, and Phil wanted to avoid thinking about what he’d done? I read over the thread. All of us in the group were veering close to being judgmental. I added a note to that effect.

Too judgy. We shd ease up a bit on Phil. He did just lose his wife.

Norland responded.

Agree. Not our job to convict.

Several customers wandered in, and my phone went back into my pocket. Derrick returned with Cokey, who ran over to hug me.

“Titi Mac, I learned a new song today,” she bubbled.

I smiled my apology at the gray-haired customer I was assisting and leaned down. “Cokey, I’m helping this nice man. You sing it for me later, okay?”

“Okay.” She skipped off to where she’d dropped her backpack.

“Sorry about that. She’s my niece.”

“No worries, ma’am. She’s a cutie.” He handed me his credit card. “I have three granddaughters, myself. They keep me young.”

I rang up his pink handlebar streamers and a kiddie-sized helmet. “I guess these aren’t for your own bike?”

“Indeed not.” He chuckled and signed the slip. “I live in Sandwich, but you have the best bike shop around.”

“Thank you so much.”

“It’s worth the trip. You know,” he lowered his voice. “I heard there’s a . . .” He glanced at Cokey. “An investigation in progress here in Westham. I hope you won’t lose business because of it.”

“Unfortunately, you heard correctly. My business doesn’t seem to be suffering, thank goodness, and we have excellent law enforcement officials on the case. May I recommend picking up some delicious seafood to take home to Sandwich? The Lobstah Shack next door has takeout chowder, cod cakes, and seafood salad that you and your family will love.”

“That’s the kind of recommendation I like. Thank you.” He picked up his bag. “I’ll be back.”

I returned his thanks, feeling all rosy inside. A customer who drives cross-Cape to buy a few things for his grandkid’s bike? My favorite kind. I hoped Tulia’s takeout would hook him in the same way, because her business had suffered from the murder of the week more than mine.

Next I explained the difference between a road bike, a hybrid, and a mountain bike to a mother shopping with her adult daughter. I showed another customer where we kept the patch kits and a third our array of shirts. I’d finished ringing up the hefty purchase of our highest-end hybrid to the mother-daughter duo when Flo hurried in. Did Flo ever not hurry? She always seemed to zip around.

“Mac, you gotta hear this.” The words tumbled out of Flo.

I held up my hand. To the bike buyers I said, “Bring it back after your first couple of rides and we’ll make sure it’s all working properly.” I thanked them, then turned to Flo. “Just keep your voice down, okay? The little one with the big ears is here.” I tilted my head toward Cokey, who busily drew at the rental counter. My niece had remarkably acute hearing, and she always paid attention. All of us grownups had learned to be careful about what we said when she was in the room, even if it looked like she was immersed in her own activity. My grandfather customer clearly knew to not use words like “murder” near a child even though he didn’t know Cokey from anybody.

“Turns out Doris is living with Ogden Hicks,” Flo began, her eyes bright.

Interesting. “Like, living with in a relationship or does she rent a room from him?”

“I don’t know. The town voter roll has her at the same address as his.”

“Curious. Or maybe not. I mean, he’s a widower. She’s unattached, as far as I know.”

“Right.” Flo frowned. “I tried to dig into her personal past and didn’t get far.”

“Beyond being Miss Rhode Island way back when?”

“Exactly.”

“A few days ago,” I began, “I asked Doris if she owned a house in Westham. She scoffed and basically said she couldn’t afford to buy. Maybe Ogden gives her a room on the cheap to help him with his mortgage payment.”

“Because he supports his disabled son. That could be, Mac.”

“Don’t take this wrong, but Doris’s address is all you found out?”

“Afraid so. I might be on the track of more, but it’s too early to share it.” She glanced at her smart watch. “I have to get back to the library for a meeting.”

Too early to share. That reminded me of what Silas almost told me. “The Quaker man who knows Ogden also knows something about him, but I don’t know what it is.

“Wait. What Quaker?” Flo stared at me.

Right. I hadn’t told the group about Silas. “Never mind. He’s a guy I met.”

“Fill us in when you can. Listen, I really have to go.”

“Okay. I promise to tell the group. See you at Town Hall tomorrow?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for my mother’s funeral.”

I gaped.

“Just kidding, Mac. Mama died twenty years ago, and we don’t do funerals in my family. Give me a good old-fashioned Polish wake any day.” She bustled out, nearly clipping an incoming customer.

Cokey materialized at my side. “Titi Mac, what’s a fewnrill?”

I tousled her angel hair. “It’s where people say goodbye to . . .” I gazed down at her. “It’s a goodbye party, honey.”

“Will Kendall and her daddy have one for her mommy?”

Out of the mouth of babes. “I expect they will, Cokester.” When and what shape it would take was above my pay grade, for which my gratitude knew no bounds.