“You again.” Detective Freedman, the guy they’d brought down from Des Moines the last time there’d been a murder in town—one that happened to have taken place in my cafe of all places—stood in the living room, his arms folded, and his bushy eyebrow raised at me.
Average was the best word to describe the detective. It was how I’d viewed him when he’d first knocked on my door months ago to interview me about the murder in my cafe.
Now, though, I knew he was much more dangerous than average. He was thoroughly mediocre.
I didn’t like to think of other law enforcement officials negatively, but since I’d moved to Star Lake, the sheriff from the Brune County Sheriff’s department, his deputy, and Detective Freedman, hadn’t impressed me.
They’d fixated on me back then, and I didn’t doubt it would happen again now.
I stood, my arms folded against my chest, trying to calm myself.
The early hours of the morning had come, and the detective had arrived a half an hour ago. The rest of the guests and servants were awake with strict orders to remain in their rooms until called upon, and the coroner had already removed Nora’s body.
“How are you, Detective?” I asked, and made myself smile. It was tough.
Earlier, I’d gone into my damage control, hyper-analytical mode and documented a crime scene that was most definitely not mine to document. Now that I’d come out of it, the anxiety had slammed home in my chest.
A woman was dead. Killed with my knife. Either, Nora had a lot of enemies—which was a given after everything I’d witnessed this evening—or the killer had wanted to frame me for the crime. Maybe both.
There was the off chance that they’d randomly selected my knives because they were out on the counter, right?
Detective Freedman hadn’t answered my question. He paced to the archway that was the living room entrance and poked his head out, checking the coast was clear or summoning help?
As long as it’s not Deputy Barker or Sheriff Rogers.
Those two got on my nerves.
They’d tried to interrogate me once and failed miserably.
Freedman returned, removing a pen and notepad from his top pocket. “I’m going to ask you a couple of questions, give you my card, that kind of thing.”
“Right.” I was aware of the procedure. “Do you need me to come down to the sheriff’s office with you?”
“Nah, not yet. We’ll make an appointment if necessary.” Thoroughly average Freedman stroked his fingers through his dark hair and considered me. “It ever occurred to you that you’re always involved in the bad stuff?”
Eloquent. “I’m not sure what you mean by that, Detective.”
“There was the woman who got murdered a little while ago in your cafe, and now this.” Freedman tapped his pen against the edge of the notepad. “According to Sheriff Rogers, Ms. Jensen was pretty important in town. I’ve also heard a rumor from some of the kitchen staff that you had a run-in with her this evening. Is that correct?”
“I wouldn’t call it a run-in,” I said.
“What would you call it then?”
Briefly, I explained to Detective Freedman what had transpired earlier on in the evening. “I don’t want to be a part of the Bakers group, so I said no. There was no altercation or run-in, just a simple conversation.”
“The Bakers group?” Detective Freedman’s brow wrinkled. “What’s that?”
I sighed.
This was where the mediocrity came in. Freedman had worked a case in this town before. Some of the Boaters had been involved in that one. Surely, he should know the three different groups by now?
I explained, swiftly again, about the groups.
“Right. OK, so you’re saying that Ms. Jensen was the head of the Bakers.”
“Yes.”
“And you refused to join this group?”
“Yes.”
“Did that make Ms. Jensen angry?” he asked.
“She probably wasn’t that happy about it,” I replied, honestly. “But I doubt she dwelled on it for long. She had a party to attend to, and she was an entertainer.”
“An entertainer. Am I detecting a hint of sarcasm, Miss Pepper?”
“Not at all,” I said. “She seemed to be having a lot of fun at her party this evening. Except… well, with Mr. Cook.”
“What happened with Mr. Cook?” Detective Freedman scribbled down a note on his pad.
I filled him in on the altercation between Mr. Cook and Nora earlier on in the evening. It seemed more important to me than Nora’s interactions with anyone else. And much more hostile. From what I’d seen, the rest of the partygoers had all laughed, clapped, and cheered her on over the course of the night.
And since Nora hadn’t been well-liked, it stood to reason that people had treated her that way out of fear or respect. Or a healthy mixture of both.
Doesn’t matter. This is not your business.
“Are you aware, Miss Pepper, that your knife was the murder weapon?” Freedman asked.
“Yes,” I said. “I was the one who found the body.”
“How convenient.”
“You can’t seriously be suggesting that I would be dumb enough to stab and kill a woman with my own knife, clearly engraved with my initials, then call 911 and pretend that I had found the body?” I asked.
Freedman didn’t answer, but scratched a note onto his pad. “I noticed there were two knives missing from your set. Where’s the other one?”
“I have no idea,” I said, then launched into my description of the scene, how I’d found the body, and why I’d gone to the kitchen in the first place. Of course, I left out the part where I’d checked out the scene myself first. “So, the last time I touched those knives was tonight at 07:30 p.m., and you can ask Fran and Noel about that. They both saw me pack them up.”
Freedman made another note on his pad. “I’ll be checking in with them later.”
I nodded, trying to ease my shoulders.
I couldn’t plausibly expect Freedman not to suspect me given the whole issue with the knives, but this was still super annoying.
All I’d wanted was to cater this party, maybe give out a few business cards to potential clients or diners who might stop by the Starlight Cafe, and instead, this had happened. My knives used as a murder weapon on a woman who, quite frankly, probably wouldn’t be missed by many of the town’s residents.
The last thing the Starlight Cafe needed was more complications.
Don’t be selfish. A woman’s dead! But I struggled to drum up much pity for Nora. Sure, I didn’t believe she had deserved what had happened to her—no person deserved death in such a horrible manner—but that didn’t change the fact that she was gone.
And I was very much in the spotlight.
Detective Freedman scratched away on his notepad. “Around what time did you go to your room this evening?”
“I was in my room from 10:30 p.m., after we finished kitchen clean-up, all the way until midnight when the power went out.”
“Then why did you pack away your knives earlier?” Detective Freedman asked.
“Because I wasn’t using them,” I said. “I’m not the cook.”
“Then why bring them with?”
“In case my staff needed my help,” I replied. “And because they were precious to me.”
“Knives are precious to you?”
Don’t get frustrated. “This particular set was. My father gave them to me for my birthday.”
“Wait, isn’t your father dead?” he asked.
I sucked in a breath, and Detective Freedman had the decency to look ashamed.
“Sorry, I meant, isn’t he… uh, deceased.”
Because that’s so much better. “Yes, he passed. But his lawyer gave me my gift on my birthday.” Not that it was relevant to his case at all.
“Did he die of a terminal illness or something?” Detective Freedman asked.
“I don’t see how that matters,” I replied, a little snappier than I probably should have, but this man had crossed the line. I didn’t want to discuss my father’s death, or how suddenly he had been taken from us. Most days, I didn’t even want to think about it. One second my father had been running his cafe, the next he was gone thanks to, according to the police report, reckless driving.
He wasn’t a reckless driver. Ever.
“Is there anything else you need to know about what happened this evening?” I asked.
Detective Freedman reviewed what he’d written on his notepad, flipping through the pages. “No. Not for now. But I will be in touch. Don’t leave town, Miss Pepper.”
“This is my home, Detective. I didn’t plan on leaving it.”
“What? This mansion?”
“No. Star Lake.” I colored, holding back a snappy retort. I was tired, frustrated, and I missed Waffle and Gran too much.
Freedman rolled his tongue over his teeth. “You’re free to go. I know where you live.”
“Good luck with the case, Detective Freedman. I hope you figure out who did this fast. The last thing Star Lake needs is another tragedy.”
Freedman grunted and left the living room, gesturing to a police officer down the hallway. The two walked off, likely to get another guest to interview, and I was alone again. I yawned and checked my watch.
Tonight had been a rough night, and I couldn’t wait to get back to normal life in the cafe.