Flo parked next to Mike’s car at the Love Nest. Yellow police tape sagged across the doors of the Nest and the barn.
“Are you okay going in there, Riley?” Flo said softly.
“I think so.” We got out of the car and walked to the far end of the barn. I swung open the doors (unlocked, of course) revealing Sadie, Buzzy’s 1970s era VW station wagon. I took stock. The orange paint was faded and rust spotted the finish, though the tires looked new.
Flo jutted her chin toward the other end of the barn. “That’s where you found Mike?”
“By the hay bales in the stall by the door,” I said.
Flo skirted Buzzy’s car, walked through the darkened barn and into a shaft of light streaming in through the stall window. She folded her hands and bowed her head. I hesitated, then joined her. After a few moments, Flo looked up, her eyebrows knitted together. “Who do you think killed Mike?”
I shook my head, not wanting to go into my suspicions. “I don’t know.”
“We all know the police talked to Darwin.” Flo turned and we edged past Buzzy’s car out of the barn. “But almost everyone who lives on Farm Lane was against Mike’s development plan. Me, Dandy, Gerri, the Brightwoods, all the kids on the farm. Aaron the Hermit, who knows? Construction would destroy the views. Nobody wants all these new houses popping up.” She gave me a rueful smile. “I know, what do they say? First-world problems.”
I had a momentary vision of all the neighbors trapping Mike in the barn. Would any of them kill Mike to stop the development?
“Well, Mike’s murder won’t stop people from wanting to develop this land.” I remembered what Kyle and Emily said at the Preserve Penniman meeting. With Mike gone, so was any pressure he’d put on Caroline to sell. It was all Caroline’s property now. No wonder Emily wanted to represent her.
“I remember talking to Buzzy about the land trust…” Flo’s voice faded.
Emily. She’d dated Mike. Mike used to meet high school girlfriends in the barn. “The usual place,” I whispered.
“Did you say something, Riley?” Flo said.
Could Emily have done it? She’d been upset seeing Mike with Angelica. Was she jealous and upset enough to kill him?
I shook my head. “Sorry, I’m a little distracted.”
“It’s okay, honey. We’ll talk later.” Flo patted my arm then got in her car and drove off.
The cops had to talk to Emily Weinberg. Was she even one of their suspects?
Sadie’s door opened with a creak of complaint. I eased into the sagging driver’s seat and turned with dismay to look in the back. The backseat, the passenger seat, it was all full of stuff.
Sheesh. Buzzy had definite hoarder tendencies. The back seat was piled with cardboard boxes. On the passenger seat was a stack of books with Penniman Library stickers on their spines, many cozy mysteries with cats on the cover. I made a mental note to return them.
The arm of a handknit white cardigan sweater trailed from under the books. Carefully, I pulled it out. Buzzy had knit many sweaters, always with pockets. I held the soft fabric to my cheek then folded it on top of the books.
I turned the key, wondering if the car would even start. The engine coughed a few times but sprang to life. I heaved a sigh of relief as I pulled out and stopped. As I jumped out to shut the barn doors behind me, dust motes danced in the beam of sunlight streaming into the stall.
I was dying to talk to Emily Weinberg, but I had to make ice cream. How did the amateur sleuths in the mysteries Buzzy read always have time to investigate and interview suspects? Listen to me—as if I were the investigator. I’d call Detective Voelker and tell him about Emily. Sleuthing was his job, not mine.
Still, with my background, I loved nothing more than digging to find the answers to tough questions. My librarian instincts were piqued. This was the toughest question I’d ever encountered. It mattered. Someone had killed my friend’s brother and was still out there. The police were focusing on Angelica and Darwin, but I just couldn’t buy it.
Listen to yourself, Riley. Just because you like someone, doesn’t mean they’re innocent.
I’d learned that the hard way in Rome with Paolo.
I drove down the lane and parked Buzzy’s car by the kitchen door. The clothesline fluttered with laundry and I recognized my Washington Capitals shirt and another I’d bought in Italy.
Inside on the kitchen table was a note from Caroline that said “I caught Rocky peeing on your pj’s so I threw everything in the wash.”
Rocky slunk in and blinked at me. “Thanks a lot, Rocky.” I picked him up for a quick nuzzle but he was not having it. He went boneless and slipped from my arms. He leapt onto the table by the window and swished his tail, glancing back at me expectantly.
How well cats communicate without words. I stood behind him looking out over the farm. It had been his playground, his home, and now he was indoors, his metaphorical wings clipped. I’d have to let him out to explore, but my heart twisted every time I saw the scar on his back, his bent little ear. It was a big, bad world. Rocky was a survivor, but I wasn’t ready to let him out just yet.
Sprinkles sat by the powder-room door, flicking her tail. I sighed and flushed for her, hoping she wouldn’t teach Rocky that trick.
I ran upstairs and picked up Detective Voelker’s business card. A jolt of adrenaline made my hand shake as I dialed. Why was I so nervous? Because you’re a secretive woman who doesn’t want anyone prying into your life.
It was almost six o’clock. Would he still be at work?
“Penniman Police.”
I recognized Tillie O’Malley’s voice.
“I’d like to speak to Detective Voelker, please.”
“He’s in a meeting,” Tillie replied.
I almost lost my nerve. I knew how law enforcement felt about amateurs sticking their noses into investigations. “Hi, Tillie. This is Riley Rhodes at Fairweather Farm. I’d like to speak to him when he has a moment.”
“About?” She drew out the vowels. She knew what it was about.
“Mike Spooner’s”—the next word stuck in my throat—“death.”
“What would you like to report?” she whispered. “May I take a detailed message?”
I rolled my eyes. “Tillie, you know this stuff is confidential. I’ll tell Detective Voelker.”
“Fine.” She took my name and number, then hung up abruptly.
I hurried downstairs and out the front door. Cars jockeyed into the parking lot as I ran to Udderly.
The Gravers stepped out the back door as I entered.
“Hot date?” I said.
Flo laughed. “I wish.”
Gerri said, “Tonight we’re teaching a class on genealogy at the Historical Society.”
“Have fun, ladies.” I went inside and checked the work schedule. Caroline, Brandon, Pru, and I were on tonight. Four people. Thank goodness.
Caroline ran into the kitchen. “I just saw Pru. She had to leave. She has a baby coming.”
Three people would have to do.
A horn blared from the parking lot as customers jammed into the shop. “How about calling in some interns from the farm so we can make ice cream?” I asked. Now that the chiller was fixed, I didn’t want it sitting idle.
Caroline shook her head. “Darwin, Pru, and all the interns are being honored tonight at Town Hall. The farm won the Penniman Prize for fostering relationships in the international farming community. Pru’s going to miss it unless that baby hurries up.”
We were slammed with customers, and a few grumbled when they learned their favorite flavor had run out, but everyone eventually left happy. Who wouldn’t be happy with a three-scoop maple walnut sundae drizzled with the shop’s special warm salted-caramel sauce and covered in fresh whipped cream and a sprinkling of finely chopped walnuts? Or a crisp waffle cone stuffed with mint chocolate chip ice cream full of chunks of bittersweet chocolate? After Brandon went home at closing, slurping a cone stuffed with six different flavors he called The Game of Cones, Caroline and I kept working, cooking different ice cream and sorbet mixtures, the scent of lemon, lavender, caramel, and cinnamon filling the shop kitchen. I told her everything about my conversation with Angelica.
“I like her,” was all she said.
At two a.m., Caroline and I headed back to the house.
Neither of us had the energy to eat. I went up to my bedroom, tossed my phone on the bedside table, and reached for the oversized Washington Capitals shirt I wore to bed. Darn! It was hanging on the line with the other laundry. I flopped onto the bed, too tired to go down and get it.
Rocky followed me into the bedroom and sniffed where the pile of laundry had been. I knew exactly what he was thinking.
“No!” I leapt from bed, picked him up, and ran for the litter box.