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I’d decided we needed a little time to prepare for an interview with Joyce Miller. Going in blind was not an option. We went back to Jason’s house, and I opened my laptop to dig up a little dirt on the mechanic’s ex-wife. What I found was disconcerting.
“I searched Joyce Miller’s name on mycase dot com,” I told the others. We had set up shop in the dining room, and Jason had whipped up what may have been the best grilled cheese sandwich I’d ever had in my life.
“She was arrested two years back in 2012 for assault and three months after that for resisting arrest on a drunk and disorderly charge. Seems like a wild one.”
“No kidding,” Jason exclaimed. “Maybe we should catch her at work as well. Where there will be witnesses if she tries anything.”
“That won’t work,” I replied, looking at the profile picture of our next suspect. “According to her Facebook profile, she’s currently in between jobs. All we can do is respectfully approach her. Blindsiding her will only make her hostile.”
“What did you have in mind?” Gwen asked, taking a bite of her sandwich.
I shrugged. “I’m just going to message her. Tell her the truth and let her know we’d like to come by her place and interview her.”
“What if she says ‘no’?” Jason pointed out, taking a sip of his soda.
“We’ll have to respect that and move on—which would involve getting our answers about her possible involvement some other way.”
I knew I had to use a certain tact with this one. From what we knew about her up to that point, she was the type that would plot against someone if she felt insulted. Some people caved to empty threats, like Kenny Miller and his desire to keep the police out of his shop because of the illegal drugs that were certainly floating around between him and his employees. But, On the other hand, Joyce Miller would be more responsive to a respectful request.
“All right, message sent,” I let them know. “All we can do now is wait for her to respond.”
“Are we wasting our time with her?” Jason inquired doubtfully. “I mean, the person on the video is clearly a man.”
“True,” I returned. “However, Joyce could have hired that man to carry out her revenge. Or, even more likely, he could be a boyfriend she duped into murder. You’d be surprised at the power of persuasion some people can induce in others. Joyce Miller is attractive enough that she has a moderately successful online modeling account. She could seduce the right kind of man to do just about anything.”
“How do you know all this?” Gwen questioned, raising her eyebrow.
“I’ve read like a zillion mystery novels. You pick up on these things after a while.”
A notification on my laptop rang out, and I looked down to see a return message from Joyce Miller. “She agreed to meet. At a coffee shop on the south side of town. Six tonight.”
“That’s just three hours from now,” Jason noted, checking his phone. “What should we do in the meantime?”
“We need to interview more of your mom’s co-workers. Go through her emails and pick out those who were closest to her. Then you can email them and request a meeting. If you could line up two or three for tomorrow, that would be great.”
“I’ll do my best.” He gave me a salute, and that brought a smile to my face.
“Any others can be set up through the week in the evenings, but we need to get as much done as we can before your dad gets back. Hopefully, by then, we’ll have enough evidence gathered to present him and bring him in on this. Maybe even get the police involved.”
Jason left the dining room, bound for his mother’s office and her computer.
“What should I do?” Gwen chimed in.
I tapped my chin with my pen, wondering how I could use my BFF in a murder investigation. “You know what? We can’t rule out the possibility that this was a former student. You have your finger on the pulse at our school. Do me a favor and make a list of anyone in our class, or even lower classmen, who seem like they’d be capable of something like this.”
“That may be a long list,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “There are a lot of jerks at our school.”
“True. Just don’t leave anyone out.”
“I’m on it,” she enthusiastically replied.
I turned my attention to my notes and worked through everything I had so far. A leaf was found on trampled-down clothes inside the closet in the room where our victim was found. An unlocked upstairs window that might have been used for an escape route. A hazy video was taken by the victim a month before her death, which showed a mysterious stranger watching the house from the corner across the street. An angry man who’d threatened the victim over the welfare of his child. That man’s even scarier ex-wife, who had a violent history and was known to plot her vengeance before acting on it. Strange behavior from the victim on the nights leading up to her death, including some uncharacteristically late nights.
There was nothing clear cut. Nothing that would confirm the two main suspects were somehow related to the man in the video. I supposed Kenny Miller had a similar build to the mystery man, though I couldn’t be sure. Kenny had a beard, but in the video, I couldn’t make out a face. And even if one was slightly visible, it was over a month old, and he could have easily changed his facial hair in that time. However, Kenny had a pretty solid alibi, and beyond that, my gut told me he wasn’t our guy.
That left the ex-wife. Our interview should help us piece together whether or not she was involved, but I couldn’t discount the possibility that she would have had help in the form of a hired hand or a loyal lover. I had high hopes that the interview would help us either confirm her involvement or eliminate her as a suspect.
I couldn’t help but feel we were not on the right track. The small fight about the Miller kid caught my attention, but in the end, it didn’t seem like something someone would commit murder over. A crime of passion? Maybe. But the type of careful planning and effort that was put into making Mrs. Kenilworth’s death seem like a suicide pointed to someone who was wronged in a much deeper way.
I could only hope the coming week could produce results.
***
Before we hit the road, Jason was able to schedule three more meetings for the following day with teachers who worked with his mother. By the time we left Jason’s House, we were all a bundle of nerves, and the ride to the coffee shop was taken in silence. Gwen, on the other hand, was still working on her lengthy list in the backseat, as evident from her pen biting and occasional scribbling on the pad of paper in her lap.
We pulled into the parking lot of the coffee shop, and I turned to my partners with a stern look. “All right, let’s try and relax. Again, let me do the talking. We don’t want our suspect to turn belligerent. If that happens, I guarantee she’ll bolt, and we won’t get anything out of her.”
“Got it,” Jason acknowledged with two thumbs up.
Gwen also gave a quick nod, and then the three of us exited the 4 Runner and walked through the parking lot to the door of the coffee house. Inside, the smell of coffee and baked goods filled my nostrils, and I could relax a little as my mind went to work on deciding what I’d like to order while we were there.
Joyce Miller sat slouched in a booth at the far end of the dining area, scrolling through her phone with a bored look on her face. She was short but curvy. Her bleach-blonde hair was pulled up in a bun, and the ends stuck straight up into the air like spikes. She had a round face and pouty lips, and though her photos on social media seemed glamorous and sensual, the version before us seemed far more accessible. She wore no makeup and looked as though we’d pulled her away from an evening of television and junk food, dressed in a battered gray hoodie and pajama pants in a beer mug print pattern.
“Joyce?” I asked as we approached.
“That’s me,” she answered, sitting up in the booth. She moved over, and Gwen slid into the seat next to her while Jason and I sat opposite. “When I got your message, I was a little confused. Do you really think my son’s teacher was murdered?”
“She was my mother,” Jason disclosed, and I noticed the edge in his voice was back. Despite having no concrete evidence against our first two suspects, Jason seemed to have already made assumptions during the interviews. It was something he would have to change if he was going to be involved in the process.
Joyce Miller gasped and reached across the table to take Jason’s hand. “Oh my God, I am so sorry for your loss.”
This reaction was a surprise to all of us, especially Jason, who clearly had to fight the urge to yank his hand away from her grasp.
“We’re in the process of building a suspect list,” I interjected. “We started with people who may have threatened Mrs. Kenilworth recently. Or held a grudge against her in any way. So far, all we’ve been able to come up with is you and your ex-husband.”
“Me?” Joyce Miller was shocked and seemed on the verge of losing her temper. I had to think fast to avoid an outburst.
“Yes, but only because of the meeting you had with her and other faculty members about your son’s behavior,” I said with a wave that I hoped seemed nonchalant. “Your ex-husband threatened her during the meeting, correct?” I pulled my pen and pad of paper from my bag and waited for Joyce to respond.
“Oh, yeah. That.” She clasped her hands together and seemed to calm down. “Kenny acted like a complete idiot.”
“He said you’re more the ‘revenge is a dish best served cold’ type.”
She laughed. “He told you about the fork thing, didn’t he?”
I nodded to confirm. “Only he failed to mention it was a fork. He said it was a knife.”
She rolled her eyes dramatically. “He tends to overexaggerate things. But he got what he deserved. Typically, I am the type of person who would come up with a strategy on how I could get back at someone who wronged me. But I had no reason to do that with Mrs. Kenilworth. I agreed with her.”
“You did?”
“Yes,” she replied without pause.
“Did you mention that during the meeting?” Gwen piped in, seeing the lady was not as dangerous as we’d all assumed.
“I didn’t get a chance to, thanks to Kenny flying off the handle.”
“Kenny said you were always against medication as well,” I pointed out.
“I was. But this past year, Scott has been out of control. Kenny only sees him every other weekend. So he doesn’t have to deal with it like I do. Yes, he’s an artistic child, and I’d hate to put him on pills that would, in any way, hamper his creativity, but I am at my wit’s end here. Luckily, my mother has agreed to move in with me and help out. I only hope we can avoid the topic of medication with his father again. Something has got to give soon, or he’s heading for pills to calm his ass down.”
“Did you talk to Mrs. Kenilworth about this at all after the meeting?” I asked, thinking how eager her ex was to implicate her as a possible suspect.
“I made an effort to. Whenever I tried to bring it up, she would apologize profusely and insist she would never mention it again. She was a sweet woman. I know Kenny really scared her with that tantrum he threw.”
“Do you think Kenny is capable of murder?”
Joyce Miller snorted laughter. “Oh, definitely not. That one’s all bark, no bite. Always has been. I’ve only seen him in one fight. At a bar when another guy spilled his beer. Kenny never stood a chance. I ended up spending the rest of that night dressing his wounds.”
“I have to say, Mrs. Miller, you’re not at all what we expected,” I admitted.
“Please, call me Joyce. I have had my share of run-ins with the law, but I’m trying to leave all that behind me. My relationship with Kenny was beyond toxic. The only good that came from it was my little boy. Now, I want a quiet life without all the drama.”
“I understand. Do you know if there was anyone else who could have had a grudge against Mrs. Kenilworth?”
“Honestly, outside of Kenny, I never heard anyone say a cross word about her. Of course, I only interacted with her a handful of times. We’re not very far into the school year. I met her before school started when I took Scottie to see his classroom. Then I volunteered for a couple of class projects, and we had a meeting that went horribly awry. From that, two or three times, I stopped in after school to try and talk to her about the whole thing. She’s never been anything but kind to Scottie and me, and let me tell you something, that boy knows how to get under your skin.”
“One more thing,” I interrupted, ready to wrap up the interview. “Can you tell us where you were the evening of November seventh between five and ten?”
Joyce Miller blew air through her lips. “Was that two weeks ago?”
“Yes. It was a Sunday.”
“Oh. I remember now. I was over at my cousin Dave’s house. They had a Colts party. We watched the game at one. It was over at four. But we kept it going through the late games. Cardinals vs. Rams. Then PATS vs. Dolphins. Scottie passed out after spending all day running around with my cousin’s kids. I decided to crash as well since I had quite a bit to drink.”
“Can we get your cousin’s phone number to verify?”
“Sure.”
I finished writing down the number on my pad and flipped it closed. “Thank you so much for meeting with us. This has helped clear things up quite a bit.”
“Good.” She turned to Jason. “Again, you have my condolences. I know your mother had the best interest of my boy at heart. She was a sweet woman, and I hope you find the answers you’re looking for.”
Jason nodded, on the verge of crying, so he only whispered, “Thank you.”
We stood up from the booth, and I realized a waitress never came around to take our order, and my craving for a pastry was out of control. “The service here sucks,” I observed.
“Yeah,” Jason agreed. “Come on, there’s a gas station down the street. Their donuts are tasty beyond belief.”
Back in the 4 Runner, thoughts of doughnuts were pushed to the back of my mind in favor of the notes I’d taken during the interview with Joyce Miller. “It appears as though the Millers had nothing to do with the murder of your mother,” I declared.
“They could be lying,” Jason stated.
“I’ll check into Joyce’s alibi, but she and her ex-husband both seem to have been nowhere near your house that night. We can keep them on the list of suspects, but I think they’re unlikely.”
“All right. What next?” Jason dismissed the subject indifferently.
“Donuts!” I exclaimed. “Then, I think we should call it a night. We can pick this up again tomorrow with the interviews you set up.”
Jason agreed, but I could tell he was disappointed.
“Don’t be discouraged,” I consoled him so he wouldn’t give up hope. “We’ve only just begun. I had no delusions about solving this case so quickly. We’ve eliminated two suspects, and that’s good.”
“Yeah, but now we have no suspects at all.” He moaned, throwing his hands up in the air.
“That’s not true. Everyone is a suspect until we can prove they aren’t.”
Gwen leaned between the front seats and spoke up with exasperation laced in her tone, “When you put it that way, it seems like we have a ton of work to do.”
“We do. Hopefully, tomorrow’s interviews will lead us in some new directions. We’re going to figure this out. You’ll see.”
“I wish I had your confidence.” Jason sighed while looking down at his feet.
I couldn’t respond. There were only so many reassurances I could give him. He clearly wasn’t in the mood to hear it.
After gorging on the incredible donuts from the gas station on the ride back, Jason dropped Gwen off first, and then he pulled into the driveway of my house. I picked up my bag and opened the door. I was about to tell him goodnight when he mumbled, “What if we can’t figure this out?”
I studied him and let out a long sigh. “Remember when I got lost in the children’s museum on that field trip, and you left the rest of the group to come find me?”
He smiled at the memory. “Yeah, I remember.”
“You noticed I was gone when no one else did. I owe you for that. I can’t promise we’ll figure this out, but I can promise I’ll never give up trying.”
“Thanks, Holly. You’re a good friend. I wish we never drifted apart.”
I smirked. “We’ll just have to make up for the lost time.”
“You got a deal.”
For a moment, we only exchanged goofy smiles, our eyes locked, and my cheeks quickly turned red. I wanted him to kiss me. There was a split second where I thought he wanted the same. That he’d lean in and softly plant his lips on mine. That realization seemed to dawn on both of us at once, and we each looked away at the same time as if we had become privy to something that was supposed to be kept private.
“I... guess I should get inside,” I managed.
“Yeah. I’ll text you in the morning.”
“Okay. Goodnight.”
I walked up the driveway and to my front door, turning to offer Jason an awkward wave in place of a passionate kiss before stepping inside to find my mom and dad on the couch watching a comedy on TV.
“Aren’t you two a little too sophisticated for Seth Rogan?” I asked.
“Not at all,” my father replied. “We both find his brand of crude humor appealing. Plus, he’s on your mother’s list.”
I held out my hands in a stop motion. “That is an odd choice and far more information than I needed.”
“Your dinner is in the microwave,” my mom called. “It may need warming up.”
“Thank you.”
In the kitchen, after heating my meal for thirty seconds, I pulled the plate of meatloaf and mashed potatoes from the microwave. I didn’t need my food super-hot, but I didn’t like it cold either. My mother, being the picky eater she was, always insisted on a hot meal and was quick to show her disgust when my father or I shoved a cold piece of pizza or chicken into our mouths.
As I picked at my food, still full from the donuts, I ran the details of the case through my mind once more. There was nothing so far that gave us a clear-cut suspect or even what Mrs. Kenilworth may have been involved in that would get her killed. The more these answers eluded me, the more obsessed I was with finding them. On some level, it felt a little scary. All other things in my life, schoolwork, mystery books, and even the impending possibility of moving to a new city, had been pushed from my mind. All I could think about was the details of the case I was working on with my best friend and the boy I realized I had a crush on.
I rinsed my plate and placed it in the dishwasher, then pulled bottled water from the fridge and made my way upstairs. My father continued to buy cases of water despite my mother’s objections and insistence we’d take better care of the planet if we used the water in the filter pitcher she brought home. To avoid conversation from both sides, I would take a bottle and refill it several times from the pitcher before replacing it. They seemed content with this and kept the water feud between themselves.
Marlowe stood from her kitchen dog bed (my mother had purchased a dog bed for nearly every room in the house, much to my father’s chagrin) and followed me upstairs to my room. There, she jumped up on my bed and curled up. She had a bed in my room also but refused to use it. Though she wasn’t allowed on the furniture in the rest of the house, I liked having her at the foot of my bed when I slept.
I resisted looking at the notes I took on the case for a few minutes, telling myself there was nothing more to glean from the information I had gathered thus far, and dropped down on my window seat with the book I was currently trying to get through. However, unable to concentrate, I stood, dropped the book back on the seat, and went to my bag to retrieve the notes. Again, I studied them well into the night and came up with nothing more than what I had.
Before long, bedtime came around. I got under the covers, rested my head on my pillow, and streamed episodes of Castle that I’d seen three times before. Eventually, I fell asleep to the sounds of New York’s fictional finest working a murder case and Marlowe’s snores at my feet.