Chapter Sixteen
On Sunday morning, Jazzi hopped on her bike, took it out onto the bike path on the boulevard, and rode toward the marina. There wasn’t that much traffic this early. The wind pushed against her helmet and blew her hair away from her neck. She’d caught it in a low ponytail.
The sky was already a fabulous shade of blue with not many clouds, and the trees along the sidewalk were lush with leaves. She took in the end-of-June colors, from the baskets hanging on the streetlights filled with petunias and marigolds to the bright colored awnings on some of the shops. Not far from the marina, she could smell the aromas from the food trucks—bacon and fried potatoes, tacos and waffles, grilled onions and peppers, and even marinara sauce being prepared for later in the day.
The trucks were preparing for another day of tourist trade from anyone who went boating and paddleboarding to those simply meandering around the marina and heading toward the stores. The boulevard ended at the marina, changing into a two-lane road that circled around that area and led to the developments along the shore of the lake. Jazzi often rode her bike here for the solitude and the scenery. This morning, however, she headed for a development known as High Point. It veered to the east, away from the lake.
The houses were located about an acre apart, some with trees separating the properties, others with privet hedges. Tall fences surrounded a few of the backyards for privacy. All of them boasted green manicured lawns, annuals dancing around the corners in flower beds, and trees like Kwanzan cherry, sweet gum, and gnarled redbuds dotting the lawns, their color traded for greenery, with summer starting. Jazzi branched off onto Dewdrop Circle, which surrounded the entire development. Her legs pumped up the hill and she decided to turn right and venture into the development itself. She’d just turned onto Hemlock Road when she saw flashing lights at the end of the street. As she drew closer, she spotted two police vehicles in front of one of the properties. She slowed, wondering if the police would chase her away. It depended on what was happening.
As she pedaled slower and then stopped, she recognized the one officer who was about her age. He often patrolled the marina. She knew the patrol cops were shifted from one area of town to another. The officer, she knew his name was George, was leaning against the vehicle and peering down at his phone. He often came into the bookstore and browsed while his wife sipped tea and searched for a new mystery title to read.
Looking up, recognition sparked in his eyes as Jazzi removed her helmet.
“Hi, George. What’s going on? Another robbery?”
“Yep. Milford’s going to be tearing his hair out. He doesn’t need this.”
“No suspects for the robberies?” she prompted.
Immediately, he directed a steady-eyed glare at her, which she imagined he’d practiced. “I can’t talk about the investigation.”
Looking as apologetic as she could, she grimaced at her blunder. “I understand. I often take this route when I’m bike riding. I guess I just wanted to know if it’s safe.”
At that moment the other patrol car pulled away, and George stared at the house. “I don’t know what to tell you, Jazzi. This house is vacant right now. Its owners are away. I’m trying to get in touch with them but not having any luck. A neighbor called this in. I can tell you, having two investigations going at the same time has everybody stretched thin.”
He wasn’t answering her question and she understood that he couldn’t. “Last night would have been ideal for a robbery, with everyone’s attention on the concert.”
He nodded to the adjacent house. “The neighbor came over this morning to feed the property owner’s two cats. She has a spare key and knows the alarm code.”
“Was the place ransacked?”
He thought about answering, then warned her, “You didn’t hear it from me, but just the bedroom was tossed.”
Prodding a bit more, she decided, was only natural. “No electronics gone?”
“Nope.”
Only the bedroom ransacked and the electronics untouched. “So that probably means that if the owner had any jewelry, that could have been taken.”
“You could be right. I can’t affirm or deny.”
Like a trail of crumbs, that info led to other basic questions. “If there’s an alarm—I saw a green light on the doorbell—how did the crooks get in?”
“I can’t tell you any more, Jazzi. I’ve already told you too much.”
She took a guess. “Through the back somehow? Maybe they only have one of those front doorbell video alarms?”
George narrowed his eyes. “Do you ride around out here often?”
“Probably twice a week. I don’t always come this way.”
Obviously trying to change the subject, he pointed toward the lake. “Do you like to ride along the lake?”
“I do, and at this time of the morning, there’s not much traffic. Even less back here in the development.”
George’s phone dinged. He must have been waiting for the text. “You’d better be on your way. I have follow-up to do here. I’m going to do some of the report in my car rather than back at the station.”
The situation didn’t take a seasoned investigator to figure out. George wasn’t about to answer any more of her questions.
Tossing her helmet back on her head, she fastened the strap. She hopped on her bike but before she took off, she said, “Take care of yourself, George. I’ll see you around.”
He waved as she pedaled away.
Jazzi pedaled hard, not exactly sure why. Maybe it was because the robberies and a murder led her to think about Brie once more.
Pedaling strenuously, she hardly registered the miles that slipped by. Before she realized time passing, she returned to the food truck area. Checking her watch, she thought about stopping for breakfast.
Slowing, she spotted Oliver. He waved at her. At first glance, she recognized exactly what he was carrying—strawberry breakfast waffles.
With a grin he pointed to a nearby table and mouthed, Do you want to share?
After riding over to him, she stopped and hopped off her bike. “I don’t know. You might need all that for a day at the Kangaroo.”
He shook his head. “Too much for one bloke to eat.”
She doubted that but she liked the idea of sharing the confection with him. After he’d walked her home on Friday evening, she’d often found her thoughts circling around to their conversation. Or maybe it had been her feelings of anticipation yet safety as he’d walked beside her.
Oliver headed for the food truck and grabbed another plate and fork from the shelf on the truck. She met him at the picnic table and they climbed onto the bench beside each other. His elbow brushed hers as he divided up the strawberries and the waffle.
Jazzi’s mind veered somewhere other than the waffle as she caught the scent of his piney woodsy aftershave. She took notice of the blond hair on his well-muscled forearms and wondered why she was having this reaction to him. They didn’t even know each other.
Oliver could be called rugged, but in a way he was refined too. And that accent . . .
He handed her a fork and she immediately cut off a piece of her waffle to busy her hands. The whipped cream on the top of the strawberries made this a dessert. But it looked scrumptious for breakfast too. It would give her energy for the day. At least that’s what she told herself.
“Do you always go riding this early?” he asked.
“It’s the best time. Very little traffic, and just me and the sunrise. It sets me up for my day. Do you know what I mean?”
“I know exactly what you mean. I had a late night with customers stopping in after the concert. The Welcome Summer Festival did us all a favor, didn’t it?”
She watched his large tanned hands as he cut a piece from his waffle. Keeping her mind on the conversation, she answered him. “It did.”
He pushed a few strawberries onto his section of waffle. “Sometimes I sleep late after a night like that, but this morning I just wanted to get out in the air before all the tourists clump around us again. Sometimes it’s a right mess all day, and I just wanted to get away from it.”
“You like winter better?” she teased.
“In some ways I do. I ski, and in the winter season I can get away more. But now my getaway time is early mornings and late at night.”
For some reason, not exactly sure what it was, she shared, “I rode up to the High Point development today.”
“I often do that too,” he said. “More and more developments that are being built are gated. I’m glad that one isn’t yet.”
“I wonder if there are any robberies in the gated communities?”
“I don’t know, but the police might not be releasing all the information on all the locations. Why are you thinking about that?” He took a large bite of his waffle, chewed, and swallowed.
She poked her fork into a strawberry. “I ran into two patrol cars up there.”
“Really? Do you know why they were there?”
“Yes. There was another robbery. Do you know George Engle?”
“The patrol officer who often patrols the boulevard?”
“Yes, he’s the one. I saw him at one of the cars. A neighbor who was taking care of the owners’ cats went over this morning. The bedroom had been vandalized.”
Oliver stopped eating and held her gaze. “George told you this?”
“He did. I’m not sure why. Maybe because the police department doesn’t know what to make of it all. I asked him about suspects and he said he couldn’t talk about it.”
“But he told you the rest,” Oliver scoffed. “That’s not solid police work. I would think none of the detail should be let loose.”
“I get the feeling they’re all inexperienced with real crime. Maybe Belltower Landing has never experienced it before.”
Forking a section of waffle with a strawberry, Oliver nodded. “That’s true. The PD mostly handles neighborhood disputes and domestic calls. Those are very different from what they’re dealing with now.”
She said in a low voice something she thought often. “I still can’t believe Brie was murdered.”
Oliver laid down his fork and turned toward her, his blue eyes sympathetic. “How are you dealing with it?”
“I play with the kittens a lot.” She managed a small smile.
“I imagine they’re good company.”
“They are. They help distract me. But Brie’s mom has been counting on me too, and I don’t know if I’m supporting her in the right way.”
“How are you supporting her?”
“She asked me to go through Brie’s things with her at the townhouse, and I said I would. We did the kitchen and the living room over a week ago. But tonight, I think we’re going to go through Brie’s clothes and her more personal possessions. She has to have it done in the next few days.”
Oliver’s expression was concerned and kind. “Not just anybody would do that for her. What about her husband?”
“He’s in mourning, and he’s pretty much checked out. I’d want someone to help me in the same situation.” It was time to change the subject before she teared up. She didn’t want that to happen in front of Oliver. “Does Damon Covino come into The Wild Kangaroo often?”
“He comes in enough. He’s there for happy hour . . . tries to pick up women. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t. Why?”
“Have you ever seen Damon be aggressive with women at The Wild Kangaroo or anywhere else?”
Oliver gave her a perplexed look. “I imagine you’re asking for a reason. What is it?”
“At the concert, I saw him and Andrea having an argument. He pushed her against that temporary fence. And then he just walked away as if she didn’t matter at all. He didn’t even know if he’d hurt her.”
“Had he?”
“Not physically. But she did say that he’s a bully. That’s why I wondered if he’s been aggressive with anyone he tried to pick up.”
Oliver’s expression became hard. “He’s been pushy, but I’ve never seen him become aggressive. If he had been, I would have shown him the door. I won’t tolerate that in my pub. I suppose you’re thinking he had something to do with Brie’s murder?”
“It’s possible if he valued his inheritance more than he valued Brie’s life.”
After that conclusion, they both finished their breakfast in silence.
* * *
Jazzi was changing into something cool, for her evening packing up Brie’s apartment with Estelle. She’d chosen lime-green shorts and a simple white short-sleeved blouse. She was ready to step into her sandals when Dawn called to her from the living room.
“Come here, Jazzi. You’re going to want to see this.”
It was possible Freya and Zander were doing something cute, but Dawn’s voice was too serious for that possibility.
Slipping on her sandals and adjusting the strap, she saw Freya scamper into her bedroom. Okay, not the kittens then.
Hurrying to the living room, she spotted Dawn at the counter, studying her phone. She handed it to Jazzi. “Read this.”
Taking Dawn’s phone in hand, Jazzi studied the screen. She scanned the heading. Dawn had been reading the latest issue of The Landing. “What is it?”
“The police chief and his team won’t be happy. Scroll down to the last article on the page—‘No Progress on the Frazier Murder’”
Jazzi was disgusted that Brie’s murder had already been relegated to the bottom of the page.
With frustration, she skimmed the article. “I wouldn’t want to be Detective Milford.” She read aloud the last sentences.
The detective on the case, Detective Sergeant Paul Milford, must have been enjoying the town’s Welcome Summer celebration because he and his team for the past five weeks have been collecting their paychecks but not turning up any leads. Maybe the mayor should put someone else in charge of the Frazier case. Are the police incompetent, or is the killer wily enough to avoid detection?
“That’s brutal.”
“Do you think the mayor will step in?” Dawn looked as worried as Jazzi felt.
“Mayor Harding should do his job and let Detective Milford’s team do theirs.” Jazzi knew solving a murder was not as easy as rounding up suspects and questioning them. A lot more went on behind the scenes. Subpoenas and warrants for financial and phone records, lab work, and dozens of phone calls to ferret out more information. All of it took time.
“This article could cause an uproar,” Dawn said. “Certainly comments and emails to the editor.”
The reporter was Charmaine Conner, who Jazzi supposed was trying to make a name for herself. “They have to build a solid case that will stand up in court.”
“You’re pro–Detective Milford then?”
“I’m pro anyone who finds Brie’s killer. Adding more pressure to the team trying to solve the case will only slow it down.”
Jazzi felt Freya resting on her foot. With a smile that mostly wiped the press from her immediate focus, she said, “I have to go. Estelle is probably already at Brie’s.”
At that comment Dawn’s eyes filled with tears. “Tell Estelle I’m thinking about her.” She took a deep breath. “The munchkins and I will solve the world’s problems while you’re gone.”
Jazzi surely hoped they could.
* * *
Estelle had turned on the porch light at Brie’s townhouse. Apparently she was feeling more comfortable here again. While they’d been packing last week, she’d told Jazzi she’d often stopped in at Brie’s to have coffee and something sweet she had brought with her. Those were the memories Estelle needed to concentrate on right now.
Jazzi went up to the door, saw that it was open, and knocked.
Estelle called from inside. “Come on in, Jazzi.” She must have seen Jazzi’s car coming up the drive.
“It’s hot in here,” Estelle claimed. “Brie’s landlord turned off the air. He doesn’t want to pay the electricity if someone’s not living here, even though he’s going to turn it back on in a week. I have the windows open. It’s not too bad. Harry has agreed to pick up everything tomorrow.”
The inside of Brie’s townhouse was hot, but not stifling. Jazzi followed Estelle to Brie’s bedroom, not sure if she was any more ready to do this than Estelle was.
“How are you tonight?” Estelle asked.
“I’m good. The store has been busy. How about you? How are you doing?”
Estelle brushed her hair away from her brow. “I’m geared up for this. I’m detached. I’m not going to get sucked into grief while we’re here.”
Jazzi knew from experience that wasn’t the way grief worked, but if Estelle thought she could handle it that way, more power to her.
“How’s Harry?” Jazzi asked.
“I’m really not sure. Sometimes he just sits in his chair and stares into space, and other times he’s out and about like nothing has happened to our lives. I know he’s doing the best he can,” Estelle said. “But I want him back—the old Harry—the one who used to joke with Brie and go fishing with her. You know what I mean?”
“I know.”
“Let’s tackle the closet first,” Estelle directed. “Then we can box up the rest.”
Jazzi had noticed the cartons in the living room. Estelle pointed to a large box of garbage bags. “I thought we’d put the clothes in those. They’re easier to lug.”
With a modicum of worry, Jazzi predicted Estelle’s bravado would only go so far. Dumping her daughter’s clothes into black garbage bags had to have sad and melancholy significance.
There was a breeze floating in the bedroom window but Jazzi realized the day’s high temperature had remained within the townhouse’s walls. She was already sweating. She took a clip from her purse and pinned her ponytail on top of her head. That would keep her hair off her neck.
Estelle smiled at her. “You girls and your long hair. I know it’s the style now, but short hair is so much easier to take care of.”
“In some ways,” Jazzi agreed. “Though I don’t have to do much with mine except let it dry after I wash it. And I like to braid it.”
“No curling iron?” Estelle asked in a motherly way.
“Sometimes a flatiron.”
Jazzi knew Estelle was making conversation to keep her mind away from what she was doing. They started on the left side of Brie’s closet.
“She was organized, I’ll give her that,” Estelle murmured.
Yes, Brie was. Tank tops and blouses hung on the left and they led into skirts, shorts, and dresses. Estelle began with the tanks and didn’t seem attached to any. Once in a while she took one off the hanger and lifted it to her nose. “She must have washed all of these. I can’t even smell her perfume.”
From her own experiences, Jazzi knew smells awakened memories, and Estelle was hoping for those.
Jazzi folded while Estelle sorted and laid the clothes on the bed. She let Estelle stow them in the garbage bags.
Suddenly Estelle froze when she pulled out a plaid skirt. Pleated, it was short and sassy. The spell of memories apparently awakened, Estelle waved it back and forth. “Brie wore this on her last birthday. We threw a little party for her. Harry had given her tickets to a concert she wanted to see in New York City. He was up-to-date on her music. I wasn’t. She and Delaney went and had a glorious time from what I understand. On the other hand, I’m sure they didn’t tell me all the details.”
“When was her birthday?” Jazzi asked.
“November. She seemed excited that night. She said she had plans for her future. I wasn’t exactly sure what that meant.”
Jazzi suspected what Brie had said meant that she was going to start using dating apps, and she believed she’d soon have a family. Or maybe that was when she’d made the decision to search for her birth father.
Estelle confirmed that idea. “It was around Christmastime that she told me she was going to search for her birth dad. I guess that was all part of her plan. Sometimes I wonder if she’d still be alive if she had just let fate take its course instead of searching and going after something she thought she wanted.”
“Brie didn’t strike me as a passive sort of person.” Jazzi admired women who would go out and fight for what they wanted. She was trying to be that kind of person. She couldn’t fault Brie for doing that.
The plaid skirt went on a separate pile on the bed, and Jazzi knew Estelle would be taking it home with her. Sorting through the dresses took a little more time than the rest. Estelle expressed her happiness or sadness over the memories that each held—an emerald-green dress that Brie had worn for Christmas, a camel-colored power suit she apparently used for meetings at the organization she worked for, a designer sundress that Brie had shown Estelle and said she was going to wear to a few parties.
“She wore this one on Valentine’s Day when she was going out,” Estelle said. “She looked beautiful in it. Now I wonder who she met. If a man who asked her on a date could have killed her. Isn’t that awful?”
It was. All of Estelle’s memories were marred by Brie’s murder. The pile of the clothes Estelle would be taking along was growing larger.
Studying the pile for a moment, Estelle sighed. “I’ll hang these in my closet and Harry better not say anything about it.”
There was that bravado again, mixed with fear that she’d lose remembrances of her daughter.
Next, they emptied dresser drawers. Most of those items went into the big black trash bags. Estelle pulled out one creamy cashmere sweater and held it to her nose. “This smells like her perfume,” she said as if she’d found a treasure.
Jazzi discovered a small box that Estelle could use to pack up the clothes she wanted to take along. Soon they’d emptied all the drawers. While Estelle went through Brie’s jewelry box, Jazzi put odds and ends into an open carton to gather what was left on Brie’s nightstand—a photograph of her parents, a book she had been reading, a jar of vanilla-scented hand cream.
Jazzi reached for a pink cartoon-like pig—obviously a bank—sitting by the bedside lamp. She shook it when she put it into the box and then she studied it. A clinking sound alerted her that there might be something other than coins inside.
Turning it upside down she found an opening that was stopped with a rubber plug. She showed the pig to Estelle. “Do you recognize this?”
“No, I don’t. I imagine she kept it to drop in loose change.”
Jazzi shook it. “There’s loose change in it, but I think there’s something else in it too.”
Estelle’s eyes opened wide. “What do you think could be in there?”
“I think we should find out,” Jazzi said.
Estelle removed the black rubber plug and shook the piggy on top of the dresser. Coins fell out, but something else was still lodged in the bank. Estelle handed the bank to Jazzi. “See if you can get it out.”
Turning the pig sideways then straight up and down, Jazzi finally positioned the object directly over the hole. It fell out with a clunk onto the dresser top. It was a flash drive. The silver rectangle was only about an inch long.
“What is that?” Estelle asked.
“It’s a thumb drive or a flash drive. If I load it into my computer, I can find out what’s on it. What do you think?”
“I think you have to. If she hid it, it must be important.”
The whole time Jazzi and Estelle finished tidying up Brie’s townhouse, the thumb drive burned in Jazzi’s pocket. She couldn’t wait to get to her apartment to see what was on it. It might be nothing and she kept telling herself that, but, on the other hand, if Brie had taken the time to hide it, chances were good something important was on it.
* * *
The kittens came to greet Jazzi after the bells stopped jingling when she opened the door. They were still afraid of the noise, and that was good because that noise would keep them safe.
She scooped up both of them. “Let’s go to my room and see what’s on this thumb drive. You can play in there, okay?”
Dawn had left a note: Went to my parents’ house to talk about next weekend’s regatta. Jazzi could see there were scraps of food left in the kittens’ dishes. Obviously, Dawn had fed them.
Jazzi set the cats on the floor and they came scampering after her as she went into the bedroom, pulled her laptop from her desk and settled on the bed. Propping her pillows behind her, she sat cross-legged with the laptop on her knees. Both kittens climbed up the side of the spread. Zander jumped over his sister to reach Jazzi first. When she opened the laptop, he nosed the keyboard.
She picked him up and looked him in the eyes. “If you want to stay here with me, you have to be a good boy.”
His golden-green eyes said that he understood—at least that’s what it looked like to her. She kept cat toys on her nightstand. She picked up one shaped like a mouse and tossed it to the bottom of her bed. Both kittens raced after it, then took it to the floor and tumbled over it. In the meantime, her laptop booted up and she inserted the thumb drive. Several files loaded.
With the first file, Jazzi understood what kind of documents she was reading. This was a diary of sorts. Keeping it on a thumb drive and hiding it away made sure it was private. First Jazzi read through the diary from two years ago. It was filled with thoughts and feelings about Brie’s work, about her mom and dad, about possibly searching for her birth dad someday. She hadn’t been ready then and she wrote about the risk involved—possible rejection. That could be worse than not having her questions answered. The same thread wove through many of her postings over the next year and a half. Each file related Brie’s thoughts and activities for about six months at a time. Jazzi quickly scanned them and then settled on the last file.
Looking over the side of the bed, Jazzi could see the kittens were still playing with the mouse, getting caught in the folds of the bedspread that fell onto the floor. But they were having fun and they were busy. So was she.
She reached January of this year. She saw that Brie had started writing differently. There was one section about her urge to date, to marry a good man, to have a family. But after that . . .
She wrote about Vic Finch. She’d apparently swiped right on the dating app. Her thoughts wandered around her own personality after she met him. She wondered if she was stuck-up. Had he said something to make her think that?
Brie thought of Vic as rough around the edges, needing to climb any ladder fast. He’d wanted to have sex on the first date. Maybe he was the kind of man who believed the woman owed him for buying her dinner. Brie made some notes about his car, his apartment, his love of anything shiny and new. That was why he detailed cars.
Jazzi skimmed day-to-day activities until she reached another name she recognized—Gregg Rizzo.
Handsome. Could be a possibility. Seems like a gentleman. Is he? He has a romantic streak. If we keep dating, he’ll probably send me flowers and buy me pretty cards. He’s tame and a little set in his ways.
Brie’s notes on Casper Kowolski followed.
Friendly with boyish charm. His food truck is his life. He lives to cook, but he doesn’t aspire to be a famous chef. He has no ambition. Could the food truck eventually fund a family?
The next entry paragraph concerned Nolan Johnson.
Nolan’s red hair is a sign of his hot temper. He doesn’t show it much, but I glimpsed it. A waiter brought us the wrong meal. Nolan was mean to him. He likes nice
things. He wants to own a Lamborghini someday. He isn’t family man material. Too much golf talk.
Underneath that she’d written:
Will I ever find the right guy?
Then Jazzi came to the last entry. Damon Covino.
He’s condescending with a tongue that could lash through a woman. I heard it. Connie is just as bad. I heard her talking to Damon about Andrea. Connie runs the family, not Joseph. Even though Joseph holds the purse strings.
Brie also wrote:
Connie doesn’t have a heart. She only cares about Gucci purses and Jimmy Choo shoes and the best bottle of Dom Pérignon champagne that money can buy.
Andrea Covino. Can I ever break through Andrea’s walls? She protects herself or thinks she is by being sarcastic, short, her language filled with quips, not real sentiment. She’s still the younger version of herself who can’t play tennis anymore, not professionally anyway. Does she want a life of simply coaching? Really designing pontoon boats? Or maybe she wants to work for Joseph like her brother does. Is she jealous of him? I didn’t talk to her long enough to decide. I’d like to get closer to her, I really would, but I don’t think she’ll let me.
Brie’s thoughts returned to Damon again.
Damon Covino thinks I’m a bother. He obviously doesn’t understand love between parents and children. He takes whatever his mother will give him, but does he love her?
Does he even respect Joseph? Maybe he sticks it out with his stepfather because he wants to run the company someday. He has a sharp edge that I don’t want to see. As long as I stay in my lane, he might let me alone. If I step out of it, I hate to imagine what will happen.
A chill ran up Jazzi’s back. Brie was explicitly direct at pointing out character flaws. She seemed intuitive to all of these personalities. Did that make her a threat to any of them?
The last comments that she’d ever written were about Joseph Covino.
Joseph is a dear, and I’d be glad to call him my father. My adoptive father might have a problem with that. He’d feel as if they were competing, but they don’t have to compete. I can love them both. Just how can I convince them of that?
Jazzi deeply felt Brie’s words. As Jazzi had gotten to know her birth mom, she felt she could love her mom and her biological mom. But balancing relationships wasn’t easy. Taking a deep breath, Jazzi knew what she had to do about the flash drive. She picked up her phone and called Detective Milford.