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My head is spinning when I escape the sheriff’s station and I drift back towards the cafe, but a peep in the window shows no sign of Mindy. I’m not sure whether to be glad about that or not. I can’t help but think back over everything my friend has said to me during our long acquaintance. I know she was angry about the way her marriage ended, and bitter that Jessica Patterson replaced her as the new owner of the mansion but theft? I didn’t think her capable of it. Much less murder.
But perhaps I didn’t know her very well after all...
My feet steer me along as if of their own accord, and I trace the familiar route back towards my house - or my former house, as I’m going to have to start thinking of it soon.
“Cassie! Oh, Ms. Clifton, did you get your mail yet?”
Tina Lombard is in her front garden again, but her children are nowhere to be seen, and I’m about to remark on it when I register the piece of paper she’s clutching in one hand.
“Isn’t it the most wonderful news?”
“Hmm?” I lean closer, trying to see what she’s holding but she waves it just out of view, leaving me as confused as ever.
“It’s not a lot, of course, but it’ll be enough to get us and the kids settled somewhere new. We’re thinking of moving a couple of towns away so I can be nearer my family. It’ll be less of a commute for George, too. A win all round!”
“That’s nice dear.” I smile blandly, thinking that it doesn’t matter what exactly Tina is talking about. If she’s happy, I’m happy. And she certainly seems happy. Without warning she throws her arms around me and squeezes me tight.
“Can you believe Mr. Patterson gave us all a lump sum payment for the inconvenience all this has caused? When he’s only doing what he wants to do with his own property! They gave us proper notice. It’s not like he owed us anything.” She laughs. “Not that I’m complaining. A cash injection is certainly a very welcome thing.”
“A what?”
Tina’s smile falters, and when she speaks again her voice is small.
“Oh, didn’t you get your cheque yet?” She tugs on a loose curl, looking unmistakably like her eldest daughter. “Ours arrived in the mail this morning.”
I wrangle control of my face once more and give her a reassuring pat on the arm.
“I’m sure mine will be there waiting for me on the mat. I’ve had a busy day!” It looks like she’s about to ask me what I’ve been up to and I pat her once more on the arm and make my goodbyes. “Now just be sure and give me your new address if you’re going to be moving out of Patterson. You needn’t think that’s enough to escape our friendship!” I smile. “It’ll be nice to have someone new to write to.” She colors, then gives me another hug, only letting go when one of her children starts up wailing inside the house.
Fumbling with the lock on my front door, my eyes are on the welcome mat as I stumble inside, and there, just as I said there might be, is a stack of mail. I scoop it up, taking care to examine each envelope before selecting the one that looks most likely. I tear it open, smoothing out the letter it contains and just catch a loose cheque as it flutters to the ground. My eyes widen when I see the figure marked to pay. And my thumb slides gratefully over the signature David Patterson. This is generous. More than generous! I do a quick calculation of the number of people on my street who will have been greeted with this today and think he’ll have bought himself no end of good feeling amongst my neighbors. Strangely, it doesn’t feel like a publicity stunt. I read the letter, forcing my eyes to focus on it even though they keep straying to my cheque as if I’m afraid it will vanish just as suddenly as it arrived.
“He writes a good letter,” I mutter to myself, as I’m forced to offer a grudging admiration of the man who made me homeless. But not destitute. I look back at the cheque, thinking that even if this outlay hasn’t likely made a dent in his overall financial picture it was still a kind gesture. And to think, I was all ready to accuse him of murder just a few hours ago! I straighten, determined to put things right. I need to catch up with Joe again, too, and make it clear to him that however perfect our original solution seemed, it’s wrong. If David Patterson has enough of a fortune he can afford to give it away - long before Jessica’s estate is even settled - then he had no financial motive for murder. I think back to the antagonistic meeting I witnessed but shake my head. Just because two people don’t get on is no reason for them to want each other dead. And in any case, it seemed like Jessica was the one with the real grudge against him. He’d been indifferent. Amused, even. I read over the letter once more then fold it up, dropping it on the counter with the rest of my mail. The cheque I slide carefully into my purse, then glance around the room. With a sigh, I scoop up another box laden with donations and head out. If I’m going to the bank I might as well kill two birds with one stone and drop off some donations too! I check my phone, but there are no missed calls or messages or anything. Irritation pricks at me. Joe has just abandoned me. For all he knows I’m still chasing down what he now knows is a dead lead. Well, I’ll do my jobs and then I’ll go and find him and tell him what I think of his temporary “teamwork”. I shoulder my purse, then shift my box into a slightly easier position before striding back down the street for the third time that day.
*
WHEN I REACH ANNABELLE’S store I hesitate for half a moment, performing a peculiar sort of dance in the doorway while I try and free a hand to turn the handle, until another customer beats me to it.
“Let me.”
The woman’s voice is almost gruff, and when I turn to thank her, her head is down. I continue, anyway. There’s no cost to good manners!
“Thank you.” I cross the threshold quickly, shuffling my grip on my box of donations before dropping it with a dusty thud by my feet. I can kick it along the floor much more easily than I can carry it and last time I checked there’s nothing in there very breakable. I glance across at my neighbor and feel a peculiar glimmer of deja vu. “Is it your drop-off day too?” I nod at the bulging tote bag she has slung over one arm, and she turns, swinging it out of view.
“Huh?”
“You were in here earlier, weren’t you?” I tilt my head, recognizing her at last. “And hey, I know you. Don’t you work for Jessica Patterson?”
“What?” The woman bristles. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She takes a step back from me as if she thinks I’m going to lunge at her and I smile, awkwardly. Since when has five-foot-nothing, grey-haired little old me been intimidating?
The door swings open again behind me and I turn to see Sheriff Cooper stroll in, his blank expression shifting into a smile when he spots me.
“Ms. Clifton. A pleasure to see you again.” He dips his head in that vague allusion to a bow that always puts me in mind of Clark Gable and I smile back, hoping he can’t see the blush I can feel creeping over my cheeks as I remember our last meeting. I was so adamant that David Patterson was our killer and now here I am with a cheque he gave me - purely out of his own good-natured generosity - ready to pay in at the bank.
I jump to attention, eager to finish my jobs, and notice that my neighbor has disappeared further into the shop. I dismiss our interaction and focus instead on kick-shuffling my box towards the counter, where I can see Annabelle standing, her attention consumed by a ratty old paperback she’s reading from the top of a stack of donations.
“Allow me.” Sheriff Cooper scoots around in front of me and lifts the box with effort. “What have you got in here?” He laughs. “Rocks?”
“Try ten years of accumulated memories. I’m relocating.” Bob’s eyebrows lift. He hasn’t heard about my plans for the future. “I’m moving into Serenity Suites.”
If it’s possible Bob’s eyebrows lift even higher, then he seems to recall himself and noisily clears his throat.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll be very happy there.” He hesitates. “Ma’am.”
Ma’am! It’s one thing to be Ma’am-ed by a junior deputy young enough to be my grandson, but I’m sure I only have a decade on the man in front of me. If that!
“I’m going to work there,” I say, archly. “You are looking at the new lifestyle manager.” I draw myself up to my full height and resist the urge to make jazz hands. “With my own apartment on site, as a perk of the job. Which works out very well for me, now that my whole street is set to be demolished.”
“Well, that’s wonderful!” Bob beams, and then his smile drops as he processes the last part of what I’ve just said. “I mean, about your new home. And your new job! Not the demolition.” He drops my box of donations heavily on Annabelle’s desk, making her jump, and scattering her pile of paperbacks to the ground.
“Oh, pardon me!” The sheriff drops to a squat and begins retrieving the books, leaving Annabelle to meet my gaze over the chaos with a resigned look.
“Sorry to bring in another box for you already. I’m just trying to keep things moving while I’m motivated.” I cheerfully open the box and start pointing out various items and whether I think they’ll be profitable to sell.
“And they’re all...ah...yours?” Annabelle eyes the sheriff, who stands and passes her an armful of books. “I have to ask now, you see, after...after...”
“We’re making some progress on that front,” Sheriff Cooper says, then hooks his thumbs through his belt loops. “Matter of fact, that’s why I was coming here to talk to you. I wondered if you’d recovered any more items of - ah - questionable provenance.”
Huh?
“No, only the few that Mr. Patterson queried. Although I have had some interesting donations recently.” Annabelle moves away from the counter and then beckons the sheriff to follow. I’ve got no business coming along, but I also don’t see either of them telling me not to, and with an air of vague disinterest I keep pace. “I’ve put a few things to one side -”
“Oh!”
Both Annabelle and Sheriff Cooper turn to look at me, but my attention is fixed on one particular item in the box.
“What is it, Cassie?” she asks. “You see something you want to buy?” I can sense dollar signs flashing in her brain and on any other day I’d have teased her mercilessly about it but right now all I can focus on is the item she grazes with the pinkie finger of her left hand.
“I see something I recognize,” I say, reaching for the offending item and wiggling it free of its neighbors. “I don’t know about the other items David was upset about the other day, but this one certainly doesn’t belong here. It belonged to the elder Mr. Patterson.” I glance at Bob. “And Mindy, when they were married.”
Both of my companions are surveying me with curiosity now.
“I know because I gave it to them.”