Fillet of Murder (6 page)

“Are you crazy?” Jill Follansbee, the owner of Time for Tea, tilted her gun toward Talia's chest. “I didn't kill anyone. The minute I saw you, I figured
you
killed him.”

Talia felt her limbs go numb. She'd ended up sitting on one heel, and a dent was forming in her rear end. Beside her was a stack of cardboard boxes—no doubt the object her toe had smacked into. Her voice seemed to come from far away when she said, “Of course I didn't kill him. How could you even think that?” A sudden rush of anger swept over her. Why was she explaining herself to a woman who had no more right to crash a crime scene than she did?

Crash a crime scheme. What in glory's name was she thinking?

Jill lowered her gun. “I have to admit, you don't look much like a killer. More like . . . Peter Pan,” she said, with a pout of her full lips. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Can I stretch out my legs?” Talia pleaded, miffed at the Peter Pan comment.

With a sigh, Jill waved the gun in a circle. “Sure, go ahead.”

Wincing, Talia straightened both legs out in front of her. Her purse had remained slung over her right shoulder, but the bag Suzy had given her was on the floor, its contents scattered. “When I saw someone dressed totally in black sneaking in here, I thought it was Bea.”

“Bea! Are you psycho? She's shorter and at least ten pounds heavier than me.”

“I was working with limited lighting. Give me a break.”

Of course, with the lights on a closer look confirmed the obvious—Jill had at least three inches on Bea, and wore chic designer duds that Bea would've said made her look like a toffee-nose. Talia jabbed a finger at Jill. “And for the record, my hair is a smidge longer and a lot more stylish than Peter Pan's. But you—you knew the code to get in here!”

Jill did an exaggerated eye roll. “Anyone with even a quarter of a brain could figure out Phil's code. Besides, I've”—she flushed a deep crimson—“I've used it before.”

“Can I get up?” Talia drew in a breath. “I mean,
may
I get up?”

Jill set the gun on Phil's desk and dropped into his chair. “I don't care. Do whatever you want,” she said, tears blossoming on her long, thick lashes.

Talia gathered up the goodies that had spilled from her Sage & Seaweed bag, jammed them back inside, and pushed herself upward. Sliding her left hand into her jacket pocket, she fixed Jill with a piercing look. “You obviously came in here looking for something.”

With a loud sniffle, Jill nodded. “Three nights ago I left my diamond and sapphire bracelet here. My husband gave it to me last year, on my thirtieth birthday. I have to find it before he notices it's gone. I wear it nearly every day.”

Talia connected the dots. The picture that emerged was not a pretty one. “You and Phil were having an affair, weren't you?”

“It's hard to explain,” Jill said miserably. “But, sort of, yes.” She lowered her face to her hands.

“Why did you take the bracelet off in the first place?”

Jill lowered her hands. “Without getting too graphic, let's just say it was making the position I was in a bit too uncomfortable.”

Talia felt her own cheeks reddening, and then a thought crossed her mind. She remembered the photo she'd found on the floor that morning, in the showroom—the snapshot of the little girl. She'd been holding it when she and Bea had gone searching for Turnbull, but when she saw his body she dropped it.

Had the killer left the photo there?

“Will you help me find it?” Jill begged, penetrating Talia's thoughts.

“The bracelet?” Talia rose to her feet and looked around the room. On the floor, where Turnbull's body had lain, was a darkened bloodstain. Fingerprint powder coated nearly every flat surface. “All right, but we can't spend much time in here. If anyone sees us, we're toast.”

“This room doesn't have any windows. From outside, no one should be able to figure out we're in here.” Jill leaped out of Phil's chair. “We were on the”—she swallowed—“desk when I took my bracelet off.”

Oh ick. Ick squared.

“Then why don't you search the desk?” Talia suggested. Looking around, she saw a faded blue love seat resting against the far wall. “What about that sofa over there? Did you ever, um—”

Jill nodded sheepishly. “A few times, but I don't think it's there. If Phil had found it, he'd have returned it to me.
Or
 . . . he told me once he had a secret hiding place in here, but I never found out where it was.”

Talia suppressed a shudder. “I'll look there anyway. But let's put a time limit on it, okay? Five minutes, tops. Then we're out of here, whether we find the bracelet or not.”

“Agreed.”

While Jill rummaged through the desk drawers and rifled under the blotter, Talia stripped the cushions from the love seat and squeezed her fingers into its every nook and crack. A set of plastic gloves from the eatery would have come in darned handy, she mused, as her hand rolled over something hardened and rough that—pray God—was an old food stain. She made a mental note to start carrying a pair of disposable gloves in her purse.

Repellent as the task was, her search turned up nothing. It wouldn't surprise her if Turnbull had found the bracelet himself and pawned it for cash.

Talia couldn't help wondering what a classic beauty like Jill ever saw in a man like Turnbull, but she'd obviously had feelings for him. She remembered what Rachel had said about falling for a pretty face. Talia had never met Jill's husband, but it sounded as if their marriage was troubled.

Another thought occurred to her, one that shook her to the core. If Jill actually
had
murdered Turnbull, then Talia was aiding and abetting a killer. Sheer instinct told her Jill hadn't done it, but still—

At least while they searched for the bracelet, Talia could also look for the photo. It was the main reason she'd agreed to help, in spite of the nagging voice in her head warning her to get out of there. But if finding that photo could potentially tie the real killer to the crime, wasn't she right to stay and help?

“Jill, I've got nothing,” Talia said after exploring every square inch of the sofa and underneath it. “We have to go before we get caught. I hate to say this, but even if the bracelet was here, the police probably found it and took it into custody.”

“I'm afraid of that, too.” Jill grabbed Talia's sleeve. “You won't tell the police about . . . me and Phil, will you?”

Talia wanted to rub the ache from her eyes, but then remembered where her hands had been. “No, but I think you should.”

“But—”

“Your husband doesn't have to know,” Talia said. “Just be honest and up front about it. Think about it, okay? If you know that you didn't—”

“I didn't. I didn't kill Phil!”

Oddly, Talia believed her.

“Then come clean about the affair, and let the police do their job. I don't suppose you have an alibi for last night?”

“I was home alone with my daughter. My husband was working late—one of his endless business meetings.” She smirked as if she didn't care, but Talia could see the pain in her expression. “I would never leave my Carly at home alone. My mom sits if I'm out, but Wednesday's her bridge night.”

Talia smiled at the child's name. “How old is Carly?”

“She'll be eight next month.” Jill's eyes grew misty. “She's the love of my life, Talia. I can't get in trouble over this. I
can't
. She needs me.”

For the second time that day, visions of a wardrobe designed around a single color scheme—orange—flashed through Talia's head. “Jill, we have
got
to get out of here. Do you want to grab a coffee somewhere?”

“Let's go to my shop. I'll brew us a pot of tea. I just have to fetch my gun.”

•   •   •

“Wow. This is the most fabulous tea I've ever tasted.” Talia savored another mouthful, swallowing slowly to keep the flavors lingering on her tongue.

Jill beamed as she stirred her own tea. On the table before them sat an exquisite blue cast-iron teapot etched with a serpent. “This is one of my new blends. It has a smidge of lavender, along with the faintest hint of blueberry. Scrumptious, isn't it?”

“Out of sight, as Bea would say.”

Jill offered a weak smile. “Poor Bea. Phil really had been giving her a hard time, hadn't he?”

“Terrible,” Talia confirmed.

“I don't know how everything turned bad so quickly. Phil . . .” She pushed a lock of her lush black hair behind one ear. “Look, I know he wasn't the most pleasant man to deal with, but he'd been under a lot of pressure lately. And now he's—” Jill's eyes grew watery.

“What kind of pressure?” Talia asked gently. She helped herself to another cup from the spectacular teapot.

“Mostly from his ex. She's a half owner in the lighting shop. I guess she wanted him to make some sweeping changes, changes he would've hated.”

“Like what?” Talia asked.

“Pretty much a complete overhaul of the place. Plush new
carpeting, updated window treatments, that sort of thing. She felt the place was too stodgy, that it was deterring the younger buyers—especially the ones who had plenty of dough to spend and could easily go elsewhere.”

Talia hadn't realized Phil had a business partner. Maybe the police should be looking at
her
as a potential suspect. Didn't Rachel say Turnbull referred to his ex as the K-witch?

“Jill, forgive me for being so blunt, but . . . honestly, what did you see in Phil? You are so amazingly gorgeous, you have a daughter you adore, this wonderful shop—” Talia broke off, realizing how insensitive she must sound.

Jill's voice grew quiet. “Phil and I have a history, Talia. We go way back. Oh, don't worry, I know he did everything in a skirt, so to speak.” Her smile was achingly sad. “In the end, he always came back to me.”

Yeah, for a guaranteed roll in the hay.

Talia had so many questions. Not the least of which was: what about your husband?

Jill laughed. “Now I can read your mind. You're wondering where my dear, devoted spouse fits into the picture.”

“I guess so.” Talia shrugged. “
Is
he devoted?”

“Oh absolutely—to his job. If I really want to rev up the fire in his furnace, I just give him a spreadsheet filled with scads of lovely numbers. Gets his
blood
flowing every time, if you catch my drift.” The irony in her tone was unmistakable.

“Were you thinking of leaving him for Phil?”

Jill laughed. “Good heavens, no. Are you nuts? Phil would've made a rotten husband. He didn't like kids much, either.” She frowned, and a tiny crinkle formed between her eyes. “I can't believe I'm speaking about him in the past tense. It seems so . . . surreal.”

Talia felt a surge of sympathy for Jill. Right or wrong,
the relationship she'd had with Turnbull had been a significant part of her life. “Murder never makes sense,” Talia said, and then a thought struck her. “Jill, do you have any photos of Carly? I'd love to see them.”

A grin spread across Jill's face. “Oh gosh, I just got her school picture. It came out really good—well, of course I'd think that, right?” She went over to the oak counter that housed a sleek cash register, and reached underneath it for her handbag. She dug out her wallet and sat down again, extracting a photo from one of the slots. “Here, this is her third-grade picture.” She gazed lovingly at the photo and then handed it to Talia.

“Oh, Jill, she's adorable,” Talia said. The little girl's curly hair, a pale shade of auburn, framed a sweet, heart-shaped face. The impish twinkle in her dark brown eyes spoke of a child who was loved deeply and felt secure in her nook of the world.

Talia peered closely at Carly's face. Was she the same little girl in the photo Talia had found in Turnbull's showroom? There was a least a four-year age difference in the two pictures, and kids changed a lot from toddlerhood on. And even if the two photos were of the same child, did it mean anything? Couldn't it simply have fallen out of Jill's handbag during one of her assignations with Phil?

Talia didn't realize she'd been studying the picture so intently until Jill slipped two fingers over it and tugged it away from her. Talia flashed an innocent smile. “You're very lucky.”

Jill stared at it again, her eyes filling with tears. It was in that moment Talia wondered if Carly was Turnbull's biological child. Yet another secret Jill was keeping from her husband?

Jill blotted both eyes with the tip of a manicured finger. “I guess we should go, but I want to tell you that I really appreciate your help tonight. And I'm sorry I pointed a gun at you.”

“Yeah, I meant to ask you about that. Why
did
you have a gun?” Talia swallowed the last mouthful of her tea.