Sitting in my truck, I forced myself to go through all the lists of volunteers, contractors, crew members, plumbers, electricians, painters, and decorators. I even checked the names of the families and single people who were moving in on Christmas Eve, since each adult family member was required to put in some work as a volunteer.
I would bet money that someone on one of my lists knew exactly what happened in the ballroom and the butler’s pantry last night.
Naturally, I recognized many of the names because they were townspeople I’d known most of my life. Either that, or they were fellow contractors or crew members I’d worked with on other jobs over the years. The thought that one of them could be a killer was chilling.
Then, all of a sudden, one name bounced out at me.
“Lizzie!” I blurted, then immediately covered my mouth and glanced around to make sure no one had heard me. And didn’t I feel stupid? I mean, I was alone in my truck, parked back by the garage with the windows rolled up. Still, it was after eight o’clock in the morning, so a few more people were ambling about the property. Most notably, there were more police officers and crime-scene techs. Everyone looked busy with their own work, thank goodness, but I would have to be more careful with my outbursts.
How could I have forgotten to call Lizzie? What kind of a best friend was I? She needed to know that Potter was dead!
Of course, Lizzie was another one who had an excellent reason to want Potter dead. Not that I believed she was guilty, of course, because she wouldn’t hurt a fly and neither would her husband, Hal. Unfortunately, though, Potter’s secretary had heard Lizzie screaming out her threats. And if the police interviewed Patrice—and they would, of course—she would point the finger at Lizzie in a heartbeat. That’s what I was most concerned about.
I pulled my phone from my pocket, slipped on my Bluetooth, and punched in her number.
“Shannon!” she cried when she answered the phone. “Did you hear about Potter?”
“Of course I did,” I said, a little annoyed that I wasn’t the first to tell her the news. “He died on my construction site. I found the body.” Now I was just bragging, which was ludicrous. But it was that kind of a day.
“Oh no, Shannon, you didn’t! Not again. Are you all right? Where are you? Do you need me to come by with a latte and a scone?”
I smiled. That was my friend Lizzie. “I love you and, yes, I’m fine. A latte sounds fabulous, but it’s not necessary.”
“That’s good, because I’m still in my pajamas. Hal’s got the first shift at the store.”
“Lucky you,” I said with a laugh but I quickly sobered. “How did you hear the news about Potter so soon?”
“Don’t you remember Hal’s police scanner?”
I buried my head in my hands. I’d forgotten all about Hal’s fixation on listening to police calls. Not that we got a lot of excitement from the Lighthouse Cove cops, aside from the occasional drunk-and-disorderly call. Well, and except for those times when I happened to find a dead body.
“I thought he was going to throw that thing away.”
“Are you kidding?” she said. “He’s just as obsessed as ever. Still has it going every morning. So we heard the dispatcher call Tommy with the news.”
“Great. I was calling to warn you, but I guess it’s not necessary.”
“Warn me about what?”
“About the fact that Potter’s dead. I mean, in light of what you said to him yesterday.”
There was a pause, then she said slowly, “Shannon, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Lizzie, Mr. Potter’s secretary heard you threaten him.”
Another beat, and Lizzie asked, “But I didn’t say anything bad, did I?”
Was she kidding? Had she been in so much of a rage that she couldn’t even remember threatening the dead man? I suppose it could happen. “Are you feeling all right?”
“I’m fine. I just can’t honestly recall saying anything that would get me into trouble.”
“You remember Potter coming into the room and threatening to close down your bookstore, right? And how you shouted something about killing him, right?”
Again, she paused before groaning loudly. “Oh no! But that’s just an expression. You know I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Of course I do. But his secretary, Patrice, was right there and she will never forget what she heard. In fact, when she heard you say that, she thought we should’ve called the police right then and there.”
“That’s crazy,” she said. “It—it’s just an expression. You know I would never kill anyone.”
“I know that. But she doesn’t know you and I suppose she was being protective of her boss.”
“But he was so awful,” Lizzie said. “I’ve never been so furious and so frustrated all at the same time before, Shannon. Potter kept nagging and mocking me. He called me names, said Hal and I were incapable of running a successful business. He wouldn’t stop. I guess I snapped.”
“I think you did snap, Lizzie. Just for a minute, anyway.” I tapped my fingers against the steering wheel and stared off at the house, watching the police and a few of the remaining volunteers wander around the property.
“Yeah, I did,” Lizzie admitted quietly. “I don’t even know what started it. He just saw me and took off ranting. He was so condescending and mean. It was weird.”
Poor Lizzie sounded miserable and there wasn’t a thing I could do to help her. “It sounds like you were traumatized. And you’re not the only one.”
“What do you mean?”
“Potter was on a rampage yesterday. He had violent arguments with at least five other people.”
“Please don’t tell anyone I said this,” Lizzie whispered, “but I’m glad he’s dead.”
“You’re not the only one.” I glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “Look, I should get going. I just thought I’d better warn you that, as soon as the police talk to Patrice, you’ll probably get a visit from Eric Jensen.”
“Oh, Shannon,” she moaned. “Hal is going to kill me.”
“You need to stop using that particular phrase.”
“Oh God.”
“Don’t worry, honey. You’ve got an alibi with Hal.”
“I’m not so sure about that. He might be so angry with me, he’ll stand there giggling as they cart me off to the pokey.”
I chuckled. “I’ve never heard Hal giggle in my life.”
“No, you’re right, he doesn’t. But what a mess.” She covered up the phone to say something to whoever walked into the room just then. “I’ve got to get going. Marisa’s got a dentist appointment. Will you keep me posted?”
“You bet, and you keep me posted, too. And by the way, I was one of those people who tangled with Potter yesterday, so we might end up sharing a room in the pokey.”
“You’re the best friend ever.”
Even though it was no laughing matter, I was smiling as I disconnected the call.
* * *
I walked back to the front of the house and found Dad’s entire crew commiserating with him. Uncle Pete and Bud were sprawled on the couch with Dad sitting on the chair facing them. Phil Chambers chose to pace the perimeter of the group, banging his fist against his palm. “What I want to know is this: what the heck were Potter and the killer doing in our ballroom?”
“Good question.” Dad took off his baseball cap and scratched his head in frustration. “And why in blazes did they go for my tool chest? I mean, I’m not saying I wanted them to use any of yours, but still, it’s a mystery.”
“I stashed mine in the cloakroom,” Uncle Pete said, wearing a concerned frown.
“I took mine home,” said Bud. “Promised the wife I’d hang some pictures on the wall.”
“Lucky you,” Dad grumbled, then grinned. “I mean that. You’re a lucky man.”
“Don’t I know it?” He wiggled his eyebrows up and down. “Babs made chicken fried steak for my trouble.”
“My cholesterol is shrieking,” Phil muttered.
Uncle Pete rubbed his stomach. “But, oh, man, that sounds great.”
“Sure does,” Dad said.
In that moment, my heart wanted to break for my father. He and my mom had fallen in love and dreamed of a long life together, but Mom died from complications from diabetes. Dad rarely spoke about it, but I knew he had to be lonely sometimes.
Don’t get me wrong—Dad enjoyed the ladies. He and Uncle Pete often dated and flirted with the tourists who came to town every year for their two-week vacations. And the ladies loved them both. But Dad had never been serious about another woman since Mom died.
Maybe I would cook up some chicken fried steak this weekend, just for fun. And for Dad.
It was ten o’clock and I was starting to get nervous. The cops had two hours to finish searching the house, according to Eric’s self-imposed deadline. So we had two hours to wait. I hated sitting around with nothing to do. I had other job sites I could be checking on, but I wasn’t about to leave Forester House while we still had volunteers here, along with my Dad and his crew. The rest of the crews had received a call from Wade, letting them know we wouldn’t be starting until one o’clock. If we were lucky.
Would Eric and his crime-scene people be able to finish by one o’clock? I hoped so. I’d already rescheduled and reconfigured my calendar to accommodate the lost hours. Would it be wrong to check in with Eric to see if he was any closer to making a decision? He was right inside the house somewhere, completely off-limits to me. If I sent him a text, would he consider it pushy?
“That never stopped you before,” I muttered, and pulled out my phone to text a message.
“Is one o’clock still workable?” I texted to Eric.
I got his reply in less than a minute. “This place is gigantic.”
“Is that a no?” I asked.
“No.”
I smiled. “No, it’s NOT a no?”
“U R not helping.”
I laughed. I didn’t know why, but sometimes Eric’s gruffness was charming. Despite the momentary lightness, I had a feeling he would end up sending us all home. After all, he was right about one thing: the house was enormous. How could they possibly search thirteen thousand square feet of nooks and crannies and corners and cubbies in four hours or less?
I felt bad about the volunteers sitting around doing nothing. Would it be silly to suggest they start pulling weeds or something?
“Good grief, yes.” I almost laughed out loud and figured it was stress related. I really wanted to get back to work.
On the off chance that Eric did allow us to go back to work, we still wouldn’t have access to the butler’s pantry for a few days, and probably the ballroom as well. In that case, I would have to ask Dad and the guys to split up and work in other rooms in the house. They wouldn’t mind, but I knew it wouldn’t be the same for them. They’d been having a great time with the old gang being back together again for one more construction job.
Thinking about the butler’s pantry being cordoned off made me think about Mr. Potter. Why had he always been so horrible to everybody? What had his problem been?
Without warning, the image of his dead body appeared full-blown in my mind’s eye. Sprawled across the pantry floor. ax buried in his fat neck. Blood pooling under his head.
“Oh, yuck,” I muttered, and rubbed my stomach. Yeah, I could still see him lying there like a beached whale in a five-hundred-dollar suit, his starched white shirt collar stained with blood. And for the fiftieth time today I wondered what in the world had brought him into the ballroom and then the pantry last night. Had he just been wandering around? Had he scheduled another meeting to harangue some other poor sap? What if he’d been looking for my father? He knew Dad had been working in the ballroom.
Another chill skittered across my shoulders and I took a few deep breaths to try and calm down the internal turmoil.
Had Potter been after my father? If so, who had he run into instead? Was it someone who’d been working here yesterday? Or had someone new entered the house in pursuit of Potter?
With another deep breath, I stepped off the veranda in search of a distraction. I strolled around to the driveway, crossed under the porte cochere, and headed for the back lawn. Pulling out my phone, I punched in my friend Jane’s number, hoping she would be willing to cheer me up. It occurred to me that she had been working here yesterday afternoon and I suddenly wondered if she had seen anything unusual. But there was no answer, so I had to leave a message.
I was going stir-crazy and it didn’t help that the body remained in the butler’s pantry. I suddenly realized it might be hours before the coroner finally showed up to take Potter’s body away. Our town didn’t have an official medical examiner, so that meant that the Mendocino County sheriff would have to drive over from Ukiah, the county seat, and declare Potter deceased.
I was pretty sure they wouldn’t have to investigate any further into the cause of death. It was pretty clear from the ax in his neck and all that blood that an artery had been severed. So once the sheriff made it official and signed his formal declaration of death, the cops would probably take Potter’s body over to Bitterman’s Funeral Home, where it would be prepared for burial.
And how gruesome was it that I knew so much about the procedures following a violent death? It just proved that Eric was right. I really was the only person in town who kept encountering dead bodies. But it wasn’t on purpose, believe me.
I continued to stroll mindlessly until I happened to pass the window leading into the butler’s pantry. It was still wide open, so I ventured closer.
I could see our local crime-scene team doing their thing, swirling fingerprint powder everywhere and obviously tiptoeing around the body, which was still lying on the pantry floor. The tech was wearing latex gloves and I knew he had Tyvek nonskid booties over his shoes. I’d seen those booties a few times before on the feet of the cops going through the houses of friends who had died. They wore them so they wouldn’t destroy evidence or leave additional footprints.
I didn’t want Eric to catch me snooping, so I continued around to the back veranda and up to the French doors leading to the ballroom. I tried to peek inside but the curtains made it difficult. I did manage to find a sliver of an opening, though, and was delighted to be able to watch the two cops inside as they searched the room.
Talk about snooping.
I recognized my old friend Mindy Payton, now Officer Payton, kneeling next to my father’s tool chest. They would have already fingerprinted the shiny red metal cover and possibly some of the tools I’d found on the floor. Now Mindy was carefully sifting through the tools still left in the box. I prayed she would find some clear evidence of the killer’s identity. Not inside my father’s tool chest of course, but somewhere in that room. There had to be some proof, somewhere, that would tell us who had opened up the box and stolen my father’s ax to kill Potter.
Suddenly Mindy grinned and called her cohort over. Even from this far away, her excitement was contagious and I held my breath as she pulled out her phone to snap a few photos from different angles. Then she turned the phone over and used it to make a quick call. She looked excited as she spoke.
Once she ended the call, her latex-covered fingers reached into the tool chest and extracted something from among the tools and supplies. She held it up so the other cop could see the object glistening and sparkling in the ambient light. And I felt my stomach go spinning out of control.
It was Heather Maxwell’s diamond-encrusted charm bracelet.
* * *
I must have stared at that bracelet for a full minute before tripping away from the French doors. I managed to make it to one of the patio chairs, where I slumped down like a wet noodle.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” I whispered. But I was kidding myself. Finding that bracelet in my dad’s toolbox would mean everything to the police.
But what was it doing there? There was certainly no connection between the missing bauble and Potter’s murder. Was there?
Eric and his men might consider the possibility that the bracelet had slipped off while Heather helped herself to my Dad’s ax. But Heather, a killer? There was no way. Heather had made such a huge deal about showing off the bracelet, anyone working in the house might have been tempted to steal it from her purse. But who would plant it in my father’s toolbox?
Pondering the possibilities, I came up with an idea that made more sense. Namely, that the bracelet had fallen out of Heather’s purse while she was working yesterday. One of Dad’s crew found it and thought it belonged to me. And he put it in Dad’s tool chest for safekeeping.
I shook my head. That was possibly the dumbest theory I’d ever come up with. But how else could I explain it? Dad hadn’t stolen Heather’s bracelet. And Heather wasn’t a killer. So how in the world had it gotten into his toolbox?
I rubbed my temple where a headache was forming.
I had no choice but to face the possibility that this was a premeditated act. A crafty killer had set up my father to take the fall for Potter’s murder. That meant that the same person had taken Heather’s bracelet and left it in Dad’s toolbox. Had the killer stolen the bracelet in the first place or just been lucky enough to find it somewhere? I guessed it was the latter.
As a theory, I suppose it made a lot of sense. Although to be perfectly honest, none of it made any sense at all!
But it might make sense to the police if they didn’t know the whole story. Did they know that Heather had been showing off her bracelet to the entire group of volunteers yesterday? Would the subject come up when Eric interviewed the volunteers? And of course, Dad didn’t know anything about that, either. He was already getting started in the ballroom when Heather decided to display her jewelry.
I needed to find Eric and let him know that this was a setup. That my dad knew nothing about the bracelet. I wondered if Heather had already told Eric about her missing bracelet or if this was a fluke. I wanted to tell him all my theories before he accused my father of murder and theft.
God, this was exhausting. Besides my father, I had no idea who Eric had interviewed this morning. I assumed he’d been searching inside the house, but maybe he’d gone off to talk to some of yesterday’s volunteers. Had he already talked to Daisy? Or Lizzie? Or Santa Steve? And then there was me. I had given Eric my explanation of how I’d found Potter’s body, but I’d said nothing about the argument I’d had with him yesterday. I had to wonder again if there was a witness to our confrontation.
I took one more look through the curtains and saw Mindy and her partner turn toward the ballroom door. That’s when I noticed that Eric Jensen had just walked into the room.
I needed to talk to him! This was so frustrating. I knew I wasn’t allowed inside the house, but right now I didn’t care. I began pounding on the door. They all turned and looked my way. I could see Eric scowling and Mindy looking puzzled. The third cop jogged over and pushed the door open.
“Hello,” I said, smiling at the cop holding the door. Then I glanced beyond him to the chief. “Eric, hi. Can I talk to you for one minute?”
He looked irritated, then resigned, and walked toward me. I took a chance and stepped inside the ballroom to meet him halfway.
“This better be good,” he said.
“It’s about that bracelet,” I said, speed talking so I could get everything said before he kicked me out. “It belongs to Heather Maxwell and she was showing it off to the volunteers yesterday, but here’s the thing: My father wasn’t around when that was going on. He would have no reason to steal it because he didn’t even know about it. And besides, what does a bracelet have to do with Potter’s murder? So here’s what I think. I think my father is being set up.”
Eric smiled thinly and I knew I was pushing up against every last nerve in his system.
That didn’t stop me, though, because my father’s honor—and freedom—was at stake. “Ask yourself, why would the bracelet be inside his tool chest? And why would his ax be used to kill Potter? There’s only one reason. It’s because he’s being framed.” I frowned. “I just don’t know why. Who would do that?”
I ignored his scowl and forged ahead with my other brilliant theory. “One possibility is that maybe one of his crew saw the bracelet on the floor somewhere. They might’ve thought it was mine so they put it in Dad’s tool chest for safekeeping. That sounds plausible, right?”
It sounded even dumber when I said it out loud.
“Never mind,” I said, thoroughly disheartened. “Sorry to waste your time. I just . . .” My mouth was so dry. Where was a two-gallon bottle of water when you needed it? “Look, I don’t know what’s happening here, but my father is innocent.”
“And that’s what I’m trying to prove,” he said, his voice deep and quiet.
I blinked in surprise, then stared up at him. “And I’m not helping?”
He shook his head. “Not really.”
But I had one more point to drive home. “So you talked to Heather and the other volunteers about the bracelet? And you know there were at least thirty-five people out there who saw her showing it off and bragging about how valuable it was?”
“Yup.”
“And you know my father wasn’t one of those thirty-five people, right?”
“Go,” he said through his teeth, apparently having reached the end of his patience.
“Oo-kay. Gone. Thanks for your time.” I scurried across the shiny ballroom floor and escaped through the French doors. I was almost surprised when a barrage of bullets didn’t follow me out.
I kept walking, not wanting to stop and talk to anyone. I was feeling chastened, and a little mortified, but definitely exhilarated at the same time. I would get over the mortification part because I’d succeeded in grabbing my moment with Eric. All I’d wanted was to try and convince him that my father was innocent. I think he got it and had been leaning that way already. Now he would have to prove it.
“Shannon! Wait up.”
I turned and saw a tall, heavyset man running to catch up with me. I had no idea who he was, but I waited for him anyway. He looked pleasant enough and there were plenty of witnesses around, so I had no reason to be apprehensive.
And why was I thinking in those gloomy terms anyway? For heaven’s sake, it wasn’t like there was a marauding band of large psycho killers roaming the estate. My only excuse was that I’d been traumatized by Potter recently, another big, tall man who’d come after me.
Without warning, another image of Potter’s body, now covered by a tarp in the pantry, sprang to mind.
“I’m glad I caught you,” the man said, breathing heavily. “I can’t believe what I just heard. Potter’s really dead?”
“I’m sorry, do I know you?”
“Oh,” he said, taken aback. “Oh! Yes, you do.” He started to laugh. “Ho ho ho! Yes, you know me.”
“Steve?” My eyes narrowed as I focused on his facial features. I still didn’t recognize him without the white beard and red hat, but I knew that laugh. “Sorry. You look really different from your Santa Claus persona.”
“I would’ve said something, but I was in a hurry and didn’t realize you might not know who I was. Anyway, your father tells me you found the body. Are you all right?”
“Oh, well. Sure. As right as I can be, I suppose. Given the circumstances.”
“Of course.” He stroked his chin, which was completely beardless. It was probably an unconscious gesture on his part, something he did when he was dressed as Santa Claus. But it made me realize how flawless his costume was. “I can’t say I’m sorry to hear the news,” he said. “Potter was an awful man. But it’s disturbing to know that you were the one who discovered him.”
“Disturbing is a good word for it,” I admitted. “So how are the rest of the Brigade taking the news?”
“Oh, most of them didn’t know him very well. Just me and Slim. We knew him all too well.”
I frowned. “Yes. Me, too.”
“I noticed him out on the lawn yesterday,” Steve continued, frowning. “I could tell he was hell-bent on shutting down our TV interview, so I want to thank you for intercepting him.”
“That was my pleasure,” I said firmly, feeling irritated all over again that Potter had been sticking his nose in everyone else’s business. “He would’ve embarrassed you and the entire project on live television. It wasn’t right.”
“He was a raging blowhard,” Steve said tightly. “He could’ve done some real damage to our cause. I appreciate your intervention.”
“You’re not the only one he inflicted damage on yesterday,” I assured him. “I’m just glad I was able to stop him before he got to you.”
He shook his head. “I truly believe he was crazy.”
“I couldn’t say, but he did seem to enjoy tormenting people and that’s not normal.” I scowled. Even dead, Potter was creating chaos. I tried to lighten the mood. “He definitely belonged on the Naughty List.”
Steve threw back his head and laughed heartily. “Ho-ho-ho! Good one, Shannon.”
Hearing his laughter, I couldn’t help but smile, and finally I joined him. On a day like this one, it felt darn good to laugh.
* * *
It was one o’clock when the afternoon volunteers showed up. My contractors were here, too, and we met on the western lawn to discuss today’s jobs. I was trying to be optimistic, even though Eric hadn’t yet emerged from the house to give us the go-ahead to start working again.
I was going over my schedule of work that still needed to be done in each room when I received a text. “Be right out,” it said.
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Wade wondered.
“I have no idea,” I said, but I didn’t have a positive feeling about it.
“Guess we’ll find out soon enough. Here he comes.”
Eric walked across the lawn and splayed his hands in frustration. “I’m sorry,” he said, clearly unhappy. “We’re going to need the rest of the day.”
There were groans of disappointment. I was bummed, too, but not surprised. There were just too many rooms and too much square footage for the cops to investigate in a few short hours.
I turned to Eric. “Do you need to talk to any of us today or can I send everyone home?”
“We’ve got everyone’s contact information, so we’ll be in touch.”
Blake, my attic contractor, overheard him, and asked, “Are we going to have to come down to headquarters?”
“For the majority, the answer is no.” Eric scanned the small crowd. “For some of you, we’ve just got a few logistical questions to ask.”
“And we’re good to go back inside tomorrow morning?” I asked.
“Yes. Except for the pantry and the ballroom. We’ll be working in there for a few more days.”
“Got it.” I glanced at Dad, who nodded briefly. I was glad the work in the ballroom wasn’t too involved and I was hopeful we could still finish it in a week or so. The pantry was a little more extensive with all of its woodwork, but with any luck, we’d have a full week to work in there once the police cleared the space.
I grabbed Sean and we walked with Eric around to the back porch, where the volunteers waited. The police chief told them the same thing and they took it well enough, sticking around to commiserate with others in the group.
I decided to say a few words and jumped up onto the veranda. “Thanks so much for coming today, and you heard Chief Jensen. You’re free to go home, but if any of you would like to return tomorrow, we can definitely use your help. Give your names to Sean if you can make it either in the morning or afternoon.” I watched Sean wave his hand at everyone and within seconds I was happy to see a crowd formed around him.
“We’ve got an eight o’clock call tomorrow morning,” I continued. “Let’s see if we can make up for lost time.”
There was a smattering of cheers and I appreciated that. It had been a rough morning.
I was surprised when Marigold stood and waved at me. I had completely forgotten she was going to be here and I felt a weight lift from my shoulders. Marigold was like a ray of sunshine on a dreary day. I jogged over and gave her a hug.
“You poor thing,” she said. “Another body?”
“It was awful,” I admitted. I wanted to tell her about my father’s possible connection to the crime, but Eric had warned us not to say anything. I trusted her completely and I usually confided in my friends about all sorts of things, but since this was about my dad being a suspect, I held off saying anything. It felt weird, though, not to share all that I was thinking with one of my best friends.
“Walk me to my car?” she said, weaving her arm through mine.
“Of course. I’m sorry you took time off work for nothing.”
“I’m not,” she said. “I got to see you.”
I squeezed her arm. “I’m glad for that. So how’s Daisy doing?”
“Fine. She’s covering for me at the shop. She’ll be happy to see me, what with all the Christmas shoppers we’ve been getting.”
“Did she tell you what happened yesterday?”
She grinned. “She had the absolute best time. She thinks you’ve been holding out on us because there are so many good-looking men working in construction. We never knew.”
“She got a big kick out of that,” I said, laughing. “I think her crew really enjoyed her being here.”
“Good, because she’s coming back Thursday.” She glanced over her shoulder at a few of my contractors as they headed for their trucks. “I may have to come with her. I see what she means about the eye candy around here.”
“The guys will be happy to see you both.” I hesitated, then said, “Did Daisy mention anything about Mr. Potter?”
“No,” Marigold whispered, glancing around. “I just found out he was dead a little while ago. This may not sound very nice, but I can’t say I’m sorry. He came into our shop a few times and he was very unpleasant. Just because his bank held the deed to our store, he thought he could boss us around, make demands, expect favors, you know? I explained that it doesn’t work that way. We’re not indentured servants, for goodness sake.”
Honestly, the more I heard about Potter, the more amazed I was that he hadn’t been murdered sooner. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. I know his temper could be nasty.”
“I do sympathize with his family, of course.”
“Yes, of course. Me, too.” I wasn’t sure how to broach the subject, so I just said it straight out: “But I wasn’t talking about his death. I wanted to know if Daisy told you about their confrontation.”
“Confrontation? Daisy?”
“Yes, and Mr. Potter.”
“But they barely know each other.”
That was what I was afraid of. “Actually, they seem to know each other better than you think.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Did you know they went out on a date a while back?”
“No!” She stopped walking and gaped at me. “My aunt Daisy and Mr. Potter? On a date? There’s no way.”
“It’s true.” I glanced around. I didn’t want anyone to hear us talking about Daisy’s confrontation with Potter on the off chance that it would fuel speculation about Potter’s murder. “And when they ran into each other yesterday, they had a big argument.”
“I don’t believe it,” she said. “Aunt Daisy never argues. She’s quite possibly the most pleasant person I’ve ever known.”
“I agree. That’s why I was so shocked when it happened.”
Her eyes were wide with concern as she grabbed my hand. “Tell me everything, Shannon.”
I related the conversation, including the remarkable name-calling. “She called him an old goat and a horny toad and a bug-eyed worm.” I smiled in memory. “It was fantastic.”
Marigold shook her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you’re talking about my aunt Daisy. I’ve never seen her behave that way.”
“That’s the effect Potter had on people. She was really ticked off. He was mocking her and saying ugly things. He’s just awful.”
“And she hit him with her purse?”
“She tried. Unfortunately, it barely grazed his head. In fact, he just grabbed it and threw it across the lawn.”
“What a toad.”
I smiled at that. “But Marigold, there’s more.”
“Oh no. What else?”
I took a breath or two before divulging the rest. “She wouldn’t go into any detail, but the night of their date, I believe he tried something and she wouldn’t allow it.”
She pressed her hand to her chest, breathless. “You think he tried to . . .”
“He tried to kiss her, but he didn’t get anywhere.”
“Good.”
“It made him angry, though. He said some cruel things and I think she’s still hurt by it.”
“That brute.” Marigold rarely showed anger, but now she was seething. “If he wasn’t already dead, I’m not sure what I would do.”
I gripped her hand. “I struggled with whether to tell you or not.”
“I’m glad you did. And I’m going to find a way to talk to her. I’m just not sure how to approach her.”
“Well, I have a suggestion.”
“Anything, Shannon. You’re always so smart and brave.”
Smart? Brave? Nothing could have felt further from the truth. But it was nice to know my friend thought so. Still, I laughed. “And you’re very kind. Crazy, but kind.”
We both laughed, then Marigold sobered. “Tell me your suggestion.”
“There was a witness to Daisy’s confrontation with Potter, so I have a feeling that Eric Jensen may pay you a visit.”
She gasped. “Are you saying Daisy is a suspect?”
“She won’t be for long, believe me. But you might tell her that I warned you that Eric heard about her confrontation.”
“Ah.” She nodded slowly. “And that way I can ask her about her date with Mr. Potter.”
“Yes. Do you think that would work?”
Her eyes narrowed in thought. “I’ll let you know.”
* * *
It was almost two o’clock in the afternoon when I trudged back to my truck, dragging my backpack alongside me. The volunteers and crews had gone home for the day, but glancing down the driveway, I saw all the police cars parked on the edge of the lawn. Except for one. Eric’s big black SUV was parked next to the veranda, and he and my father were getting into the car.
“What? No.” I went running to the car and grabbed the passenger door handle. “Dad, what’s going on?”
“I’m just going with Eric to answer some questions.”
I glared at the police chief. “Are you kidding me?”
“Before I can clear him,” he said with infinite patience, “I need some answers.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
Dad squeezed my hand. “Shannon, honey, that’s not necessary. You’ll be waiting around the police station for hours when you could be home getting some work done.”
I stared pointedly at Eric. “For hours?”
He shrugged. “As long as it takes.”
His casual attitude annoyed the heck out of me and I pointed at him. “I’m following you.”
“Suit yourself.”
I turned and jogged back to my truck, then watched as the chief backed the SUV down the driveway and turned onto the street.
A mewing sound came from somewhere close by and I glanced around, trying to locate it. Then it stopped and I forgot all about it. Still irate, I started to toss my backpack into the back of the truck, but stopped when I noticed a large bundle of . . . something . . . in my truck bed.
Sudden chills rushed up my spine and I backed up slowly, not knowing what was inside the bundle or where it had come from.
In keeping with my foul mood, my first thought was that it was a bomb.
“You’re ridiculous,” I muttered. But what was it? It looked like a big pile of blankets inside a laundry hamper. Whatever it was, it didn’t make sense.
I glanced around to see if anyone was nearby, preferably a cop. But all the cops were working inside the house. All of my contractors had taken off for the day. I was on my own out here.
Taking a deep, fortifying breath, I leaned over the side of the truck bed to get a better look at the bundle so I could figure out what it was. Maybe it was a Christmas present. Or a bale of cotton? Not that I’d ever seen an actual bale of cotton before, but I imagined it was thick and fluffy.
I moved to the cab door and opened it, tossing my backpack and tool belt inside. Shutting the door, I circled around to the back of the truck and reached for the tailgate—and stopped in my tracks.
The mewing returned and it sounded closer now. I wondered if the animal had crawled under my truck.
I stooped down to check but didn’t see a creature hiding beneath the truck. Straightening, I lowered the tailgate and hoisted myself up into the bed, then hesitated. Was it smart to approach this thing when I had no idea what it was or where it had come from? Probably not. But it didn’t look dangerous. It looked soft. Still, I was hesitant to get any closer. Who had left it here? Was it a friend or an enemy? One of my crew guys? Was it an April Fool’s joke? In December? Would something jump out at me if I got within a few inches?
I returned to the idea of a Christmas present. But from whom? And why?
The mewing grew louder and more urgent. Some mama cat had her hands full, I thought with a frown. I glanced out at the tree line. Was there a new litter of kittens out there somewhere?
It didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to go exploring in the woods when there was something truly odd sitting right here in my truck.
I crept closer to the pile and stared, trying to figure out what it was. At least the blankets appeared clean. And pink.
The sound of kittens hushed abruptly and I felt nothing but relief. I took one more step toward the basket and the mewling suddenly erupted again. I jolted and almost fell backward.
The whimpering sounds were definitely coming from inside the basket.
Was this a joke? I pictured my friends hiding behind a tree, watching me and laughing their butts off.
“If somebody left me a bunch of kittens, it’s not funny,” I called out to no one in particular, then braced myself and reached for the top blanket. The soft crying turned into a pitiful wailing, growing even louder. It sounded as though there were some sort of phantom banshee living inside the pile. With a toothache, maybe.
But no, I knew what that sound meant, and it filled me with terror.
“This can’t be happening,” I muttered. Summoning my courage, I grabbed the blanket and pulled it open.
No way. If only it were kittens, I thought. They would be the least of my worries.
But there were no kittens. There was simply a baby.