I parked my grandmother’s Mini-Cooper at the entrance of the cul-de-sac, beside a house with tall green hedges bordering it, and took quick stock of the scene.
To the left of Brenda’s quaint, clapboard home was a nearly identical one, the only difference being the door was unpainted, and the guy in the front yard. He walked around with a shovel, wearing a pair of gardening gloves, and stopped to dig in the flowerbeds.
The boyfriend. Lauren had given me the addresses and numbers for both Misty and the boyfriend, and this was the correct address. Not that it took rocket science to figure out what “he lives next door to Brenda” meant.
I emerged from the car and strolled over, tucking my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “Hi,” I called, noting that it was pretty darn weird how Brenda’s boyfriend had decided to do gardening work so soon after she’d died.
The muddy prints?
I glanced down at his shoes, but he wasn’t wearing any. The man stood barefoot, dirty toenails and all, in the flowerbed. He stopped digging the shovel into the ground and rested a forearm on its handle, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.
“Who are you? You don’t live around here.”
Who shall I be today?
In my experience, suspects didn’t often like talking about crimes, and I would get in trouble with Detective Goode if I messed this up.
“I’m sorry to interrupt you,” I said, “but are you Norman Sweet?”
“Yeah,” he replied. “That’s right. Who are you?”
“My name is Carly Jones.” I stuck out a hand, grinning at him. “I’m from Gossip News Online. We’re an upcoming online publication aimed at delivering the people of Gossip the news, more news, and nothing but the news. Haha!” I completed the sentence with a suitably goofy chuckle.
My favorite part of being a spy had been incapacitating people and the least favorite playing a role, but I was desperate.
Norman wiped his sweaty hand on his blue jeans and accepted my shake. It was as damp as I’d expected it to be. “Nice to meet you,” he said, then glanced at Brenda’s house.
I took that moment to study his features. Sharp nose, and dark eyes, tan skin, and a receding hairline, but not unattractive. Early thirties, maybe? And Brenda had been around a similar age so that added up.
“You here to talk to me about… about Brenda?”
“Yes,” I said, “if that’s all right with you.”
His brow furrowed.
“You see,” I continued, before he could say anything I would regret, “we at Gossip Online want to ensure that the truth is told about current events.”
“Wait a second, didn’t you say you were from Gossip News Online?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said. Gossip News Online.” Of course, I’d messed up that part already. “So, about those nasty rumors, Mr. Sweet.”
“What rumors?” He stiffened out of leaning on the end of his shovel. It flopped over and hit the picket fence with a bonk. “Who’s been spreading rumors about me?”
“Well, everybody, Mr. Sweet. Haha!” Was that goofy laugh too much? Maybe I need to dial it back a bit. “Everybody’s saying that you were the last one to see Brenda alive. And you know what that means, don’t you?”
His expression darkened. “Now, you listen here—”
“I just wanted to make sure that you had a chance to say your piece. To set the record straight.”
“There’s no record! No straightening required. I told everything I know to the cops.”
I was losing him. Shoot. Come on, Charlie. “You’re probably right. It doesn’t matter that everyone thinks you murdered your girlfriend in cold blood.” I turned to walk away.
“Now, you wait one hot second!” The gate clacked. Norman caught up to me. “Just wait. Listen. Listen for a second.”
I turned to him. “Yes?”
“I didn’t do anything to Brenda. Heck, I didn’t even see her on the morning she died. I had to leave early for work, you see? And Brenda was tired because she stayed up late baking pies and meeting with her friends.”
No mention of their alleged argument. “Which friends?”
“I don’t know. She doesn’t tell me her every move. I mean, she didn’t. She never used to… aw, nevermind.” He exhaled. “I didn’t see Brenda that morning. I didn’t see anything except…”
“Except?”
“There was this white car that circled the block,” he replied. “It was weird. It was early in the morning so the streets are usually quiet. I didn’t expect to see anyone around, but this white car, I think it was a hatchback, Kia thing, I didn’t pay much attention, circled the block then drove off. That’s it. I bet whoever was in that car did it.”
“You do?”
“Sure.” Norman Sweet gulped. “Just make sure you put that in your online article thing. That I saw a white car. And that I wasn’t here. That’s it. OK?”
“Thank you, Mr. Sweet.”
But as I watched him skedaddle, barefoot, back into his garden, I couldn’t help noticing how easy it would’ve been for him to jump over the fence in muddy boots and stride up to Brenda’s front door.