“You’re growing a track record for finding corpses.” Detective Aaron Goode, as handsome as the first day I’d met him with his dark hair and sparkling green eyes, stood in front of me on the sidewalk. The police had already established a boundary—the yellow line was up across the front of the house. The coroner had arrived as well.
I bit down on the side of my tongue to keep from snapping at Detective Goode. He didn’t need to know that he got under my skin. Or that finding this particular corpse had caused trouble for me.
I hadn’t had the chance to find out if Brenda had stolen the recipe book. And, of course, it was terrible that she’d died.
Another mystery. This week is full of them.
“Earth to Charlotte,” Detective Goode said, clicking his fingers. “You want to talk about what happened or should I call a therapist?”
“You know, Detective, you’re so fun to talk to. I can’t imagine why there are so many rumors about how rude you are spreading through town.”
“People here have nothing better to do than talk,” he said, unfazed by my jab.
“That’s not true,” I replied, nodding toward the house. “I think we’ve found a second passtime.”
“And they say I’m fun.” Detective Goode opened his notepad and clicked his ballpoint. “Well? What do you have to tell me?”
So many things you wouldn’t like to hear. “Uh, are you questioning me?”
“Here I was thinking you had some level of social perception, Smith.”
I balled up my fists. Man, this guy was as sassy as I was. Sassier, even, and it bugged me. He was like my Jessie Belle-Blue.
“Right, sure. It’s just, I figured you’d want to ask questions that helped solve the crime rather than open-ended ones that’ll get you nowhere.”
“You leave the investigating to me, Miss Smith.” He clicked his ballpoint another time. “Seriously. Leave it to me.”
“Whatever.” And now I’m a teenager. “Look,” I said, “I came over to talk to Brenda Tippett about a recipe book this morning, and when I entered the house, I found her on the floor. In that state.”
“Dead.”
“Correct.”
“And why did you enter the house?”
“I knocked and the door kind of drifted open,” I said.
“Kind of or actually.”
I rolled my eyes so hard that the center of my forehead hurt. “Figuratively. In the fourth dimension. As a tesseract.”
“Hilarious.”
“Ask dumb questions and you’ll get the appropriate answers.”
Detective Goode had gone red. Good. I was annoying him as much as he annoyed me. “So the door was open. What else did you see?”
“A dead woman. A set of muddy footprints on the porch near the swing.” I gestured toward the house.
“Right. Tell me about this recipe book.”
I didn’t want to, but I was likely a suspect due to my presence at the house and the fact that I’d entered without Brenda’s permission. “One of the guests at the Gossip Inn accused Brenda of having stolen her recipe book.” I frowned. “Wait a second, you should know that. She reported that to you, didn’t she?”
“And you thought it would be a good idea to come out here, and what, confront Miss Tippett about this allegedly stolen recipe book?” Goode ignored my question.
“Did Glendaree Bijon talk to you about the recipe book?” I countered.
“And what time did you leave the Gossip Inn this morning?”
“Around 10:30 a.m., but that’s beside the point. Did Glendaree—?”
“I’ll have to confirm your alibi with other witnesses,” he said, flipping his notepad closed. “We might have a follow-up interview soon. Don’t leave town.” He walked off before I could repeat my question another time.
I considered yelling at his back. But, once again, it wouldn’t do anything but annoy him and get me into trouble.
I had to let this go. For now.