After passing through the gate in the white picket fence at the side of Joan’s house, I followed a concrete path into the backyard. A West Highland terrier came running toward me, barking. I crouched down and put a hand out. The little white dog gave my fingers a sniff and then licked them, a gesture I took to mean I was welcome to continue farther into the yard. As soon as I rounded the corner of the house—the Westie trotting along at my heels—I spotted Lisa with an older woman. The two were seated in white wicker chairs on the back porch, drinks on a round table between them.
“Hey, Marley.” Lisa waved when she caught sight of me. “Joan, this is my friend Marley McKinney. Marley, this is Joan Crenshaw.”
“Hi. Nice to meet you,” I greeted the gray-haired woman as I climbed the steps to the back porch.
Joan returned the greeting as she sprung to her feet, her energy and agility not matching her apparent age. “Let me fix you a drink, my dear.”
Lisa raised her glass and grinned at me. “Joan makes a mean margarita.”
“Is mango all right?” Joan called to me through the open sliding glass door that led to her kitchen.
“Mango is perfect,” I replied.
I settled into an empty chair and put my tote bag down on the porch.
Lisa took a sip of her margarita and leaned back in her wicker chair. “This is the life.”
I followed her gaze out to Joan’s back garden, full of colorful blooms, everything carefully tended.
“It’s a beautiful evening,” I said. “And Joan has a gorgeous garden.”
“She does,” Lisa agreed. “I don’t know how she manages it. I can’t even keep a house plant alive for more than a week or two.”
“Love and attention,” Joan said as she sailed out onto the porch, a margarita glass in hand. “That’s what plants need to thrive, just like any other living thing.”
She handed the glass to me and I thanked her. I took a sip of the drink as Joan returned to her seat, and the mango flavor burst across my tongue.
“Good, right?” Lisa said with a smile.
“Delicious.”
“Now,” Joan said when she had her own drink in hand again, “Lisa tells me you were the unfortunate soul who found Ida Winkler’s body the other day.”
“That’s right.”
Joan shook her head. “You poor thing. It was bad enough crossing paths with that woman when she was alive. I can’t imagine how horrible it must have been to find her dead.”
“It was definitely an unpleasant shock.” I took a sip of my margarita to help ward off the memory of finding Ida’s lifeless body.
“And the shocks didn’t end there,” Lisa told Joan. “Now Marley’s a suspect.”
“Good heavens. Not really?” Joan said.
“A person of interest, to be exact,” I said, hoping my status hadn’t changed to something worse. “But I swear I had nothing to do with her death.”
Joan waved a dismissive hand. “Of course you didn’t. I might have known you only a few minutes, but I can already tell you’re not a killer.”
I knew from experience that it wasn’t always so easy to tell a murderer from a good person, but I didn’t say so. I appreciated her vote of confidence.
“I understand you saw a prowler in the alley the night before Ida’s death,” I said.
“I certainly did.”
“Did you report it to the sheriff?”
“No, I didn’t. The prowler took off as soon as he saw me, so I didn’t think there was much point. But now that Ida’s been killed, I suppose it would be a good idea for me to let the authorities know.”
“I think that would be for the best,” I agreed.
“I’ll get in touch with the sheriff’s department first thing in the morning. Do you think the prowler could have been Ida’s killer?”
“It’s possible,” I said. “At the very least, it’s a bit suspicious that someone was hanging around her property the night before her death.”
“Highly suspicious,” Lisa said. “And if we can figure out who he was, maybe he’d get bumped up ahead of you on the suspect list, Marley.”
“That’s what I’m hoping.” I addressed Joan, “Can you describe the man at all?”
Joan took a sip of her drink as she considered the question. “It was dark out, of course, and there’s barely any light in the alley at night, but I’m positive it was a man. He was a bit on the heavy side and was taller than me, but not terribly tall. Maybe five foot nine or so? And I can’t say for sure, but I got the impression that he had a beard. I’m afraid that’s about all I can tell you, though.”
“That’s a start, at least,” Lisa said.
I nodded my agreement. “You didn’t get a look at his face?”
“No,” Joan replied. “It was too dark for that. And he only glanced my way for a split second before hightailing it in the opposite direction.”
I sipped on my margarita as I absorbed her answers. The description wasn’t much to go on, but it was better than nothing. Off the top of my head, I couldn’t think of anyone who fit the description of the bearded, heavyset man. I did, however, know that Kirk Jarvis didn’t fit the bill. That didn’t make him any less likely a suspect in my mind though. The prowler and the killer weren’t necessarily the same person, and if Kirk was the victim of blackmail as I suspected, he was the only person I knew of who had a firm motive to kill Ida. So far, anyway.
“Do you have any idea what the prowler was up to?” I asked Joan.
“Not really, other than the fact that he was definitely focused on Ida’s property. He must have been in the alley for a while before I went out for a look, because it took three or four minutes for me to go out there after Angel raised the alarm. At first I thought there was just a raccoon or something in the yard, but Angel didn’t stop barking, and when I opened the door, he went straight for the back gate. That’s when I decided to have a quick look.”
I recalled what Lisa had told me the day before. “And the man was looking into Ida’s yard?”
“That’s right,” Joan confirmed. “He’d opened the back gate a crack and was peeking through it. I don’t know if he intended to go into the yard or if he was just having a look-see, but it was definitely Ida’s property that had his attention.”
I asked Joan another question or two, but she couldn’t provide any further information on the prowler.
“Did you enter any flowers in the show this year?” Lisa asked Joan, her gaze on the colorful blooms in the garden.
“Oh yes. I like to put a few entries in each year.”
“Did you win any prizes?”
“I don’t know yet. I was volunteering at the thrift shop all day, so I won’t know until I go to the show tomorrow.”
“Joan often wins the prize for scoring the most points in the category for roses,” Lisa told me.
“I don’t doubt it,” I said as I admired the flowers from the porch.
“Sheryl Haynes always gives me some good competition though,” Joan said. “She’s won that prize more recently than I have.”
“How well do you know Sheryl and her family?” I asked, pouncing on the opportunity to learn more about the woman.
“Oh goodness. Not terribly well, but they’ve lived across the alley there for well over a decade. Sheryl seems nice enough. Always proper and dressed like she’s on her way to a country club, but I have no reason to complain about her, unlike some people.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I’ve heard people call Sheryl judgmental and scornful. I’ve also heard one or two people say that she’s the last person who should be judging others.”
“Why’s that?” Lisa asked.
“There have been rumors about her past, but I don’t know how much truth there is to them.”
I hoped Joan would elaborate, but she didn’t.
Silence settled over the porch until I broke it with another question, “What about her daughter?”
“Ah, Melinda, yes.” Joan looked down at her empty glass and then glanced at mine and Lisa’s. “Anyone for another drink?”
“No, thank you,” I said quickly. “It was delicious though.”
As much as I’d enjoyed the mango-flavored drink, I wanted to be able to walk home in a relatively straight line. Lisa declined as well, and Joan returned her attention to our conversation.
“Melinda must be, oh, about twenty-three or twenty-four now. She never stirred up too much trouble right here in the neighborhood, but I did hear her having a tantrum now and then, even in her late teens. She was suspended from school once or twice, I believe. I think one time she got into a fight and another time she was caught smoking in the girls’ locker room.”
I rested my empty glass on my knee. “Does she still live with Sheryl?”
“I don’t think so,” Lisa replied.
“No,” Joan said. “She rents a place with some friends here in town, but she’s been spending a lot of time at her mother’s place since her father passed away a few months ago.”
“Right,” Lisa said. “That was sad. It was very sudden and unexpected.”
The older woman nodded. “That’s right. He had a massive heart attack while at work one day. There one moment, gone the next.” Joan shook her head sadly. “Sheryl and Melinda have been cleaning out the house. Planning for a fresh start, I think.”
“I heard that Sheryl wants to move to Florida,” I said, recalling my conversation with Patricia Murray.
“Yes, and I suspect Melinda will go with her. That’s where Sheryl grew up, and the family made frequent trips there all through Melinda’s childhood. Sheryl will probably want to be closer to the rest of her family now that her husband’s gone.”
Angel jumped up from his spot by Joan’s feet, his attention captured by a squirrel darting across the yard. Yapping fiercely, the little dog flew down the steps, chasing the squirrel up a tree. Joan called him back and a moment later all was quiet again, but I realized that the sun had dipped below the houses while we were chatting.
I told the others that I needed to be on my way, and Joan collected our empty glasses. Lisa and I followed her into the kitchen, Angel at our heels. Joan deposited the glasses by the sink and led us through the adjoining dining room and living room toward the front door.
“Sorry about the mess,” she said, waving a hand toward the couch, which was covered in piles of clothes. “As I said, I volunteer at the local thrift shop, and sometimes people drop off donations here rather than at the store. I’m sorting through these things before I take them in on Monday.”
She grabbed a little girl’s Cinderella nightgown and an adult-sized red T-shirt that were teetering precariously at the top of one pile and set them on a smaller heap.
“If you’re ever looking for anything secondhand, just come on by the shop,” she told me. “The shop’s profits go to local charities.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I assured her.
At the front door, I thanked her for the drink and for talking with me.
“Anytime, my dear. It was lovely to meet you.”
“You too,” I said.
Lisa and I took our leave, following the path to the sidewalk. After we’d exchanged a few more words, Lisa headed for her house and I set off down the street. When I reached the corner, I paused, wondering if I should turn right or left. Going right would take me home, but if I went left I could circle around into the alley and get a look at the back of Ida’s property.
I’d been in the alley on Wednesday when I’d spoken with Ray in his cruiser, but I’d been far more focused on my conversation with the sheriff than my surroundings. Checking out the alley likely wouldn’t give me much in the way of insights, but I decided to go have a look anyway. Fortunately, the mango margarita had given me a pleasant buzz without making me too tipsy and I was able to walk briskly without crashing into anything.
Once I was in the alley, standing between Joan’s property and Ida’s back fence, I realized that the detour had been a waste of time. As I’d suspected, there wasn’t much to see. The gate leading to Ida’s yard had been sealed by the sheriff’s department, eliminating the possibility of getting a closer look at the scene of her death. While I could have climbed the fence to avoid the sealed gate, that wasn’t a real option in my mind. I had no intention of trespassing on a crime scene, and I figured there wouldn’t have been much point anyway. I’d had a close look at the scene after I’d found Ida’s body. Maybe I’d missed something in my state of shock, but even if that was the case, any potential clues had likely been taken away by the sheriff and his deputies, logged, and stored as evidence.
Deciding there was no reason to linger, I turned around, intending to set a course for home. As I passed by the back of Sheryl Haynes’s property, my gaze wandered over the fence—far lower than the one surrounding Ida’s home—and I saw that the back door stood open. Movement flickered beyond the doorway. Instead of continuing along my path home, I unlatched the gate, letting myself into Sheryl’s yard.
I passed a garage on my right and a small rose garden on my left as I followed the concrete path to the back steps. Once up on the back porch, I tapped on the doorframe.
“Hello?” I called, not seeing anyone immediately inside the door.
Footsteps sounded somewhere close by and a young woman with brown hair appeared in the kitchen. Her eyes narrowed when she saw me.
“Who are you?” The question held no warmth.
“My name’s Marley McKinney. I met Sheryl the other day. Are you her daughter?”
“My mom’s not here.” Her tone was anything but welcoming.
“I won’t keep you then.” I almost turned to go, but then paused. “Are you all right?”
Melinda’s eyes narrowed further. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I heard you were upset with Ida the day she died. I was upset with her too, you see. She’d been vandalizing my restaurant. Had she been doing something similar to you?”
Her expression closed off even more than it already was. “No.”
She clearly didn’t want to have this conversation, but I decided to press a little more.
“Some other conflict then? She seemed to cause trouble for a lot of people.”
“It was nothing. Now if you don’t mind—”
A door opened and closed somewhere beyond the kitchen.
“Melinda?” Sheryl’s voice rang out from the front of the house.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway and she appeared in the kitchen, a designer purse hooked in the crook of her elbow. She stopped short when she saw me, recognition registering on her face a second later.
“Ms. McKinney, isn’t it?”
“That’s right,” I said. “But, please, call me Marley.”
Melinda crossed her arms. “She was just leaving.”
“Now, now, Melinda. There’s no need to be rude.” Sheryl dropped her purse on a chair and beckoned me in beyond the doorway.
“I stopped by to see how you’re doing,” I said to Sheryl as I stepped into the kitchen. “The day Ida died wasn’t the most pleasant of days.”
“No, it certainly wasn’t. And to think it’s now a murder investigation!”
Melinda shot a glare in my direction. “I’ll be upstairs.”
Without another word, she disappeared into the hallway. Seconds later, footsteps thumped up toward the second floor.
Sheryl shook her head but didn’t comment further on her daughter’s behavior. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, that’s not necessary, thanks. I won’t stay long.”
Sheryl fiddled with the string of pearls around her neck. “Ida’s murder was unsettling, of course, but I’m doing all right. How about you?”
“I’m okay,” I said. I didn’t bring up the fact that I was a person of interest in the investigation. “But I can’t help wondering what exactly happened to Ida.”
Sheryl shook her head again. “That woman. She was far better at making enemies than friends. I suppose someone finally had enough of her.”
“Any idea who that might have been?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“You live right next door to Ida’s place. Did you see or hear anything unusual that morning? Did Ida cry out at all?”
“Not that I’m aware of. If she’d screamed, I certainly would have checked to see what the matter was, even though she wasn’t my favorite person in the world.” She paused before adding, “I was out in the garden that morning, and I did hear someone running along the alley.”
My attention sharpened at those words. “When was that? Do you know which direction they were going?”
“To the north, from the direction of Ida’s place. Not that that means they were coming from there, necessarily. As for the time, I don’t know exactly, but it was right before I heard Melinda shouting. I went out to the front yard and saw her over on Ida’s front porch. I brought her home and it took me a while to settle her down, and then I went back out to water my tomato plants. It was ten or fifteen minutes later that I heard movement next door and spoke to you through the fence.”
As I absorbed that information, I wondered if Melinda could have killed Ida, then run down the alley and circled around to the front of the street to pound on her door, making sure she was seen and heard so it would look as though she didn’t know Ida was dead at the time. But if Melinda had killed Ida, why not cut back through her mother’s yard? Why risk being seen running behind several other properties? Maybe because she didn’t want Sheryl to see her?
“Whoever is responsible, I certainly hope the sheriff will solve the case quickly,” Sheryl said.
“So do I.” My voice didn’t give away just how fervently I hoped that would be the case.
“Mom!” Melinda’s voice screeched from somewhere above us. “What do you want me to do with all these papers?”
Sheryl let out a quiet sigh but then pasted a smile on her face. “I’d better go help her.”
I stepped back toward the open door. “Of course. Take care.”
“You too. Thanks for stopping by.”
Once I was out on the back porch, Sheryl shut the door behind me. I followed the pathway toward the back gate, planning to head straight home this time. The light had started to fade from the sky, shadows deepening around me, and I swatted at a mosquito that tried to land on my bare arm.
With the pesky insect warded off for the moment, I latched the gate behind me and started on my way, but a scuffling sound behind me drew my attention. I whipped around in time to see a man drop down from the top of Ida’s back fence, landing with a thud in the alley.
“Hey!” I called out.
The man’s head snapped in my direction—just for a split second. Then he whirled around and tore off along the alley, disappearing into the deepening murk of dusk.
I remained standing in the same place, stunned by what I’d seen. The man had worn a baseball cap and sunglasses—despite the late hour—so I couldn’t be completely certain that I’d recognized him. All the same, I felt fairly sure that the man who’d been trespassing at the scene of Ida’s death was none other than the local bank manager, Mitch Paulson.