Chapter Twelve

After Sacha left for the errand to the museum, I printed a sign that read “Closed Due To Unforeseen Circumstances. We'll be back soon!” and stuck it to the front door. A wave of relief overwhelmed me. I decided I needed a couple of days just to figure out what was going on.

I looked forward to my first task after I reopened the boutique. It would have to be interviewing potential assistants, assuming anyone would even apply for the job now. Yesterday, when I posted a Help Wanted sign, I expected plenty of applicants, but after all the local news spread, I wasn't so sure. This was a small town and mud stuck like glue.

The chance that some kind of event could force me to close the shop should have occurred to me weeks before now, but so far, I'd always managed to sail through. I enjoyed keeping busy with the long hours and weighing the extra costs of another assistant against the business profits. So far, I called myself fortunate just to keep going: I was still young, despite what Sacha thought, and my health was good. Perhaps the lack of stress since moving to this town improved my physical wellbeing? In the last year of my previous life, I was always feeling rundown and exhausted, with colds and other ailments to match. That absolutely infuriated Brad, who considered my poor health and nervous disposition a personal affront to him.

Now I spent far more time being out in the fresh air, walking and cycling, and my diet was healthy and much more inclusive. My work life was interesting and varied, and my home life was quiet and serene. Every day, I relished shutting my front door, closing out the world, and pottering around my little house in peace. Sometimes, I felt like the queen of my own castle.

Not anymore though. That temporary peace was gone now, thanks to Brad. He managed to turn my life upside-down in twenty-hours. Or did he? Despite his infiltration into my new life for a few horrific minutes, at least now he was gone forever. That was a lot to get my head around. Would my domain ever return to the sanctuary it once was? That topic filled my head as I began my walk home.

Before I even reached the end of Main Street, I was stopped several times by people who got wind of last night's events with varying degrees of truth. I was asked about the “out of towner,” “the man who had the heart attack,” and “was it a neighbor?” or “a home invasion gone wrong?” Someone even said they heard I'd been attacked by a stalker but valiantly fought back! Another asked if it were true I had to kill him before he killed me! I knew without any doubt that the rumor mill was in full effect. Each time, I gently thanked them for their kindness and concern and replied I didn't know any details. Then I reassured them I was fine although terribly stunned, just like they were. I hoped to quell some of the gossip. If anything, I could count on word spreading with less facts than half-truths. Small towns like this lacked a plethora of salubrious events to focus on, and a murder surely trumped any town business or other gossip.

I stopped dead opposite Belle Rose, the restaurant almost at the end of the street. As soon as the next edition of The Calendar Times was published, the entire population would know everything! There would be no escape or chance to return to the anonymity I previously enjoyed. The past few minutes proved that. And Alyssa Michaels would ensure it. I could only imagine what she unearthed about Brad... If she knew his identity, surely she must know mine too. Not just as his estranged wife but my whole life before I knew Brad might have come tumbling out.

With a grimace, I imagined Jerry triumphantly telling me he knew who I was all along. And then blabbing it to everyone else.

Shaking my head, I forced myself to push one foot in front of the other. I couldn't stand here on the pavement, wondering what my neighbors and acquaintances would think of the newspaper article. Would Alyssa stick to the facts, or embellish the murder in lurid detail? I almost wished Detective Logan hadn't shooed her out of my garden. Perhaps I should have given her a statement then? I would soon find out whether or not my silence was a blessing or a curse.

Instead of heading directly home, I went to All Weather Cycles to confront another piece of Brad's puzzle. When I arrived at the workshop, the door was open and the radio was playing a pop song. Warren was moving around, singing along softly, and fairly well in tune, even if the noise of his clanking tools were off beat.

My bicycle was suspended on a frame in the middle of the workshop, missing both wheels. That didn't look good. I knocked and called “Hello?” as I stepped in, just as Warren slipped from view.

Warren poked his head around the shelving unit, which held boxes of what I assumed were parts for the shop, and smiled. “I didn't hear you come in. What do you think of my singing? Shall I audition for America's Got Talent?”

“I think you've got a good shot at it,” I told him and winked.

“Hmmm, I think you're teasing me.”

“How was your son's show?”

“He made a great Cow Number Five. Next year, he hopes to have a bigger role,” Warren said, proudly. “Come in and let me show you what I found on your bike. I know I said it would be ready this morning but I haven't quite finished it. I was sidetracked with that bicycle over there being more complicated than I thought. I can only apologize for the delay but I promise to get it done today. I'll finish it right after this one,” he said pointing to an expensive looking mountain bike currently stripped of its wheels, pedals and saddle. “I can drop it off at your house tonight, no charge, if it's urgent. It'll fit in my truck, no problem. Or you can pick it up tomorrow. I promise it’ll be ready then.”

“I can come back tomorrow, thanks. I'm not in any hurry.” I stepped closer to my bicycle, curious about Warren's discovery. “What did you find?”

Warren turned, searching amongst the scattered items on his workbench before finding the two rubber tubes, then beckoning me closer. “See here, and here?” he said, pointing to the tubes.

“What am I looking at?” I asked, squinting closely.

“There’s a hole in each one!” he said, triumphantly as he peeled back a tiny piece of torn rubber. “Judging by the size of them, I bet they came from a nail that wiggled around a bit and tore the tube. They would have gone flat in a matter of seconds. Both inner tubes have to be replaced, of course. I checked the tires and just as I expected, there're two corresponding holes, and both are exactly in the middle, but you won't need to replace those. I can patch repair them.”

“A nail in each tire and tube? Isn't that odd?”

“I thought so. Unless you were cycling over a carpet of nails?” he said, looking skeptical.

“I'm sure I'd remember that if I did. Warren, does this look like sabotage to you?” I asked, sure of his answer already.

“Sabotage? Well!” Warren tugged on his beard, contemplating the limp tubes. “It struck me as odd that both were punctured in the same spot. One, I can understand, but two makes it strange. I can't definitively say it's sabotage though.”

“The tires were fine when I parked it outside my shop. And flat when I got ready to ride it home. I'm sure I would have noticed two nails hanging out,” I explained.

“Well! Who’d want to tamper with your bicycle like that?”

“I wonder,” I said, knowing with certainty that Brad would do exactly something like that. It wouldn't be the first time he tampered with something of mine. Of course, I never caught him in the act, but I was aware of the sly comments to my agent that undermined me, and I noticed missing invitations from my friends that I never received, along with plenty of provocations to make me cry that he calmly explained later, were all my fault. If I mentioned anything was out of line, he told me I was crazy. I’d lose airline tickets that suddenly reappeared after I missed the intended flight to a posh invitation. Or I’d suddenly have car trouble that made me late for other important engagements. All his sabotage was subtle and unnoticed to others but Brad always got his own way. And it happened every single time, while I grew more unnerved and paranoid. Although I never managed to prove he was behind all of it, I never experienced anything like it after I left until now.

Forcing a smile onto my face to cover the cold that ran down my spine, I said, “Thanks for showing me. I'll come by tomorrow. Please don't rush on my behalf. Shall I pay the bill now?”

“You can pay me tomorrow. I'll have an invoice ready for you and I'll throw in a free clean and service since it’s my fault for not finishing on time.”

“That’s very kind of you,” I said. “Thank you so much!”

“Take care, Meredith,” he called out as I left the workshop, relieved that he seemed to be the only local who hadn't heard the latest gossip.

I walked home, taking the most direct route, my head down, feeling far more furtive than normal, and slipped into my garden without speaking to another person. I hurried inside the house, glad to shut the door behind me, and seal the world out. I busied myself by concealing the blood stain on the floor with one of my smaller, inexpensive rugs. It didn't look good, being the wrong size and color, but it was better than seeing the ominous stain. I made a mental note to call the cleaners Detective Logan recommended, but the very thought of doing that made me shudder.

Taking my mind off that task, I began cooking a light supper. I found so much pleasure in following a recipe in the stack I carefully cut from magazines. It kept my mind occupied, passed the time, and the end result was a delicious plate of food to nourish me. I considered taking another workshop from the chefs at the Belle Rose restaurant. Some new skills in the kitchen would be more than useful and I might even meet new friends.

If I weren't run out of town first.

Despite all the things I did to keep busy, my mind continued to drift back to Brad. Had it really been less than twenty-four hours? Was I behaving normally? Was this called normal? I wondered what kind of behavior people expected in a situation like mine. Should I call Detective Logan and demand an update? Or send a thank you note to Vanessa at the Inn? Should I look for more clues?

While I contemplated my ever-growing list of questions, I plated my food and carried it over to the kitchen counter. I previously laid a place setting with silverware and juice in a wine glass. I also cut a couple of blooms from the wildflower bouquet I bought a few days ago and added them to a stem vase, putting it next to my plate. If I couldn't treat myself to nice things, who would?

My mother would, and my sister. Blake was an event-planner and she loved to create beautiful tablescapes for her wealthy clients. She planned my engagement party, and it turned out to be a beautiful evening. Brad rudely nixed her services for the wedding, preferring a popular celebrity wedding planner.

My mother had long been known as the most stylish woman around, and was an advertising executive before she retired, keeping her job even when she married and had children. Fortunately, my father fully supported her endeavors, boasting to everyone that she was more successful than he was. Some envious people tried to emasculate him for saying it, and bring her “down to size,” but my parents were well matched and they started their own successful business. I missed them both so much. I missed all of them. Especially my cat.

I returned the list of names and numbers I handed over to Detective Logan to my kitchen cupboard. If I turned around, I could reach it. My mother and sister's numbers were both on it, although they remained unused in more than a year. I could imagine their disbelieving voices now if I called. “Meredith? Is that really you?” they would both say. I could hear their voices in minutes if I wanted to and I did, so much, but... how on earth could I explain what happened? I had no answers yet. I needed answers.

Stuffing a forkful of food into my mouth, I chewed thoughtfully. I was halfway through the meal when I sat bolt upright.

How could I forget?

I had the flashdrive!

Leaving my half-eaten supper, I hurried to get my purse from the console table. My laptop was in the bedroom so I scooped it up and brought everything back to the kitchen. I plugged in the laptop and waited impatiently for it to wake up. After inputting my password, the desktop appeared. I had to dig inside my purse to find the flashdrive. When I did, I pulled off the cap and stuck it in the port at the side of my computer. I could hardly contain my excitement when a small window appeared. I clicked open and a folder emerged containing more than a dozen spreadsheets and just as many documents.

I hesitated, feeling quite uncertain, but clicked open the first spreadsheet. Pages and pages of numbers filled the screen. I scrolled through, frowning, wondering what I was looking at. By the end of it, I was reasonably sure they were VdB Tech accounts but I had no clue what the figures represented since most of the fields were no more than acronyms and abbreviations. None of the other spreadsheets made any sense either, although I had to admit I was not a numbers person. My parents understood this kind of financial stuff but that skill wasn't passed down to me. Brad often said it was good I became a clothes horse because I'd never learn how to be a businesswoman. And here I was! A single woman with a flourishing business, although my accounts were a lot simpler than this. Then I hired a bookkeeper. Because smart women don't give up, they delegate, I thought with a smile. It was something Blake once told me. I knew my strengths and stayed honest about my weaknesses. One of my assets was the ability to recognize people who were great at their jobs.

I finished scrolling through all the spreadsheets, eventually feeling reasonably sure I was looking at profit-and-loss sheets, assets, dividends, and other company figures. Sometimes they appeared in red, sometimes in black. The most I could ascertain was: they all pertained to VdB Tech.

The documents didn't make much sense either. Hundreds and hundreds of pages of projections, shareholder arrangements, contracts and non-disclosure agreements. I was bamboozled by the amount of reading, and even though I tried to understand it, the legalese soon stumped me.

Perhaps it was nothing at all to do with Brad’s death. Clearly, he'd been working on some big projects and these documents must have pertained to them. It was the kind of thing only others in the same industry could understand clearly. The only part I could understand was: there was a lot of money involved, more than I made in all my years modeling. Some spreadsheets showed a clear and significant profit. In others, the projects were buried deeply in the red. I couldn't imagine Brad was pleased about that.

I closed the flashdrive and unplugged it, sliding it back into my purse. I planned to turn it over to Detective Logan. He could return it to Brad's family, along with his other possessions. It wasn't like I ever had any interest in the business. It wasn't my field and certainly no hobby. The one time I visited a divorce lawyer, he told me I was entitled to a stake of it if we got a divorce since I loaned Brad a significant sum for his investment in the company. But I didn't want it. The money would have been great to get back, but I knew Brad would fight me to the point of destruction as long as he could ensure I received nothing. By that time, however, all I wanted was my freedom. He could keep his firm. Even if it made billions, I wasn't the least bit interested. I had my own business now and that was plenty.

While sitting at my laptop, I opened the boutique's email and deleted several sales messages. Sacha thought I should start writing a newsletter, even if I didn't go fully online, and that was on my list of things to do. There were two inquiries about the assistant job, which I scanned quickly but didn't reply to. There was an invoice from Nate Minoso for the lock repair, including a discount and another sincere apology. The final unread email was from Alyssa Michaels. She asked me for a statement. I ignored her message. I didn't know what to say.

Recalling Sacha's comments about the man she saw arguing with Brad, I realized I should definitely inform Detective Logan about it. I doubted Sacha would find it pleasant to be questioned by the police, but I knew Detective Logan would consider anything she had to say valuable. Reaching for my phone, I called the police station first, but he wasn’t available; then I dialed the number on his card and waited for his voicemail.

“Hello,” came a man's voice.

“Detective Logan?”

“Speaking.” The tone of his voice changed, sounding slightly less friendly now.

“This is Meredith. Meredith Blake. I hope it's okay for me to call you? I tried the station first, but they said you were in the middle of something. Has there been another development?”

“Sort of,” grunted Detective Logan.

“That doesn't sound very promising. Did I call you at a bad time?”

“That’s why I gave you my number, so you could call me,” he pointed out, but not unkindly.

“Ah, yes,” I mumbled, pulling a face. Of course he did. “I spoke to my assistant today and she mentioned seeing my, uh, that is, she saw Brad having an argument with another man yesterday as we were closing for the day. It wasn't far from my shop. I thought you should know.”

“Did she say who the other man was?”

“No, she didn't. But that has to be a clue, right? It indicates Brad knew someone here?”

“That, or he bumped into another tourist and got an earful.”

My heart sank. I didn't consider it could be a random encounter. “I suppose...” I broke off dejectedly, thinking about what Sacha told me. “I...”

“But maybe it was something else,” Detective Logan interrupted me and his enthusiasm soared again. “What's your assistant's name and address? I'd like to speak with her.”

“Well, since she's a teenager, I'd better give you her mom's number. I'm sure she wouldn’t object if they felt Sacha was assisting you.”

“I'll make clear that I only want to speak to her as a potential witness. I have a pen ready.”

“For? Oh! Yes, yes, of course.” I clapped a hand to my forehead as I reeled off Sacha's full name and her mom's phone number. “She said Brad came into the shop too. Not that day, but the day before.”

“Is she sure about that?”

“Yes. He asked for me by name.”

“That's not unusual, since he was looking for you.”

“He asked her if I had a boyfriend. I found that very personal.”

“I'll speak to your assistant and see what security footage I can dig up to corroborate her statement. Thank you for that. It's very helpful.”

“Do you think so?”

“Of course. Are you okay otherwise?”

“I am, thank you. Warren at All Weather Cycles confirmed my suspicion that someone deliberately flattened my bicycle tires. They had nails pushed through them.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I know it doesn't help the investigation but it indicates Brad was up to no good.”

“I'll make a note of that when I find some footage around your shop. Perhaps something will show up to substantiate it.”

“I decided to close the shop for a couple of days. I need a little time to collect myself. I'm at home now.”

“That sounds sensible. I'll look into this and check in on you again soon. Call me if you need anything else. Anything,” he emphasized.

“The latest development with the case... is it anything serious?” I asked.

The silence that followed was so long, I wondered if we'd been disconnected. Finally, he said, “The murder weapon is missing.”

“What?” I gasped. “How could that happen?”

“Police error,” he snapped, then sighed, explaining, “It was picked up and catalogued but vanished sometime between the crime scene and the police station. There's an investigation under way.”

“I don't understand.”

“Neither do I,” said Detective Logan, “but I intend to find out.” Detective Logan hung up and I set my phone on the counter, relieved that I passed on the information but thoroughly perturbed about the shocking news. It was such a surprise that I forgot all about the flashdrive. I was sure the detective had far bigger concerns than VdB Tech's finances. Now I was eager to know the identity of the mystery man who confronted Brad although it was highly unlikely I could find out by myself. Besides, the detective could be right. It could have just been an irate tourist. Maybe Brad lied about something as innocuous as when he was returning to his parking spot or... I couldn’t say, but Brad had no problem putting a stranger to shame if he felt like it.

My worry now was the knife... If it truly went missing, how could anyone prove that it wasn't mine? Or that I wasn't responsible? Kate DeWitt claimed I had it in my hand but I couldn’t be sure about that. Without any contrary evidence, it couldn't be proved unequivocally in court that I never touched it.

With shaking hands, I shut down the laptop before helping myself to two cookies from the cat-shaped tin I kept on the counter. I kept it as a reminder of Mabel. As I munched my treat, my phone flashed a message. I grabbed it, wondering if Detective Logan had already discovered something. No, not a message, but a reminder that I was scheduled to give a speech at the town museum tomorrow afternoon. I recently lectured about fashion and Tess Hernandez promptly asked me if I were interested in giving any more talks. The fee was small and she was so enthusiastic to learn more about fashion history that she reignited my own interest. I remembered being like her when I majored in art history and minored in fashion. I was working as an appraiser when the model agency scouted me.

After I accepted her invitation, Tess lined up a small seminar for the museum patrons to discuss how to preserve important fashion items. I already wrote my speech and prepared a presentation folder I planned to pass around. It held photos of the most recent well-kept fashion finds in towns. There were some remarkable dresses beautifully preserved in trunks and attics that were donated and on loan. Tess was planning a wedding exhibit for her next show. With so many upcoming summer weddings in town, I knew my speech would be popular with the patrons. Knowing how to properly preserve their items would ensure their survival for future generations.

Could I handle it now though? With this awful murder looming over me? I was so excited to conduct the speech since it was a members' only perk, I could hardly back out now without making lots of trouble for Tess. Besides, I didn't do anything wrong! I decided to be stoic. I would give the speech, answer any questions and hand out Blake's Boutique cards. Some of the ladies would undoubtedly want new dresses for their formal occasions and that was good for business.

Brad was dead, killed for a mysterious reason I couldn't fathom, but I wouldn’t allow that to stop me from living my life!