If the Shoe Kills (16 page)

He laughed as I dug through the cabinet for plates and silverware. “I ordered. We may not be able to have the whole evening to ourselves, but we can carve out an hour or so.” He disappeared into the living room, returning with the gravy boat. He set it down on the table with a low bow. “Tada!”

“Total waste of an afternoon.” I slid half the noodles onto each plate, topping the brimming plates off with fresh parmesan and a couple of slices of garlic bread.

Greg picked up the glass turkey centerpiece. “I wouldn't say it was a waste. This is interesting.”

I held up a soda out of the fridge and cocked my head in an unspoken question to Greg. He nodded so I grabbed two. “You say ‘interesting' like it's ugly.”

He took a bite of the Alfredo. “I suppose someone liked it enough to buy the thing in the first place. Unless she made it in one of those classes Marie gives.”

“Oh God, I forgot about Marie.” I ignored Greg's jab at the centerpiece. I liked it. Miss Emily had liked it. So it was going on the table. “How is she? Jackie said she was steaming mad when she saw her.”

Greg laughed. “Last night she ranted against the kids hanging around town so hard she made Josh look like a Boy Scout leader. She was certain some misguided youth was to blame.”

“You think it was one of our kids?” We'd gone through a perceived youth problem the past summer with Josh Thomas spewing hateful jibes at what he called “the loitering mass of the unwashed.” Actually we'd had problems with one kid, and that kid had been more attached to a gone-bad motorcycle gang than her fellow teenagers.

“I don't think so. But who knows? She did mention the two of you had talked. Is that what you wanted to tell me last night?”

I nodded, my mouth too full of pasta to talk.

“I still don't buy her as a killer.” Greg chewed a bite from the slice of garlic bread, his look troubled. “What I did find out today was interesting, though.”

“Interesting in a good way or an ugly way, like the centerpiece?” I took a bite of the creamy fettuccini noodles and almost groaned, it was so good.

“I don't hate the centerpiece,” Greg countered.

I swallowed and pointed my fork at him. “And you didn't answer my question, either.”

He wiped his mouth on a paper napkin and teepeed his fingers together, watching me. Finally he spoke. “The fingerprints on the brick that was thrown through Marie's window matched the ones we found on the paper from the threat left on your porch.”

A
fter Greg left, I cleaned up the kitchen and wandered through the house. He'd returned to the station to meet with the district attorney. “Just a routine update session,” Greg had said, trying to assuage my fears. But no matter how positive a picture he'd tried to paint on the evidence, he was worried.

Besides, I knew one thing. Whoever had killed Ted was still in town, trying to scare off anyone who might be close to solving the murder. Marie had declared that she was going after the estate for money she felt owed. Me, I had just been the unlucky person to find the body.
And you have a history of solving murders
, my rational side added.

Whatever was going on, I needed to figure out who wanted Ted dead and fast. Marie's name was still on my top-ten list, but honestly, even I didn't believe she had the guts to shoot someone. Up close and personal? That took passion and heat. Marie was scared of Ted still, but not angry.

I stood at my front window gazing out on the ocean view that I could see if I stood on my tiptoes. I wanted to slip into my running clothes and take Emma down to the beach, but I'd promised Greg I'd stay close to the house tonight. My gaze dropped down to the flower bed along the front porch. Gardening I could do, at least until the sun dropped below the horizon.

I grabbed my gloves, a trash sack, and a carryall that held a small shovel, a trowel, and a mini hoe. I called Emma and we headed out front, my cell in my pocket just in case. She wandered through the front yard as I pulled weeds and dug up the beds in preparation for bulbs I'd buy on Monday.

As I worked, my mind wandered through the facts I'd known about Ted. For a guy I'd only met a few weeks ago, there was surprisingly a lot of material already in neat lists in my project notebook. I'd thought about calling it an investigation manual, but thought Greg might not find the humor. Besides, if it said “project” on the front, he wouldn't be tempted to look inside, especially if he thought it could mean a weekend remodeling my upstairs bath. (That item was totally on the to-do list. As soon as this investigation was over.)

Starting at the beginning, I listed out my facts. Ted had lived most his life in Boston. Had married and scared away one wife, Marie. Then, out of nowhere, he decided to move across the country three years ago to work at a program director position that probably paid less than what he'd paid for housing back in Beantown. That had to be because the private investigator had found Marie. But why wait three years before approaching her? Or trying to run her down in the street on his first visit to South Cove? Now that made no sense at all.

“You're troubled,” a soothing voice said.

I sighed. “Darn right, I am. The whole thing doesn't make sense.”

Emma barked from her favorite napping spot on the porch and ran to the fence. Crap, that voice hadn't been in my head. I had a visitor. I pulled off my gloves and stood, brushing the dirt off my knees. Turning, I saw my neighbor petting and whispering to my dog. Esmeralda had come to call. I steeled myself, squaring my shoulders, and walked to the fence.

“Esmeralda, so nice of you to drop by.” I glanced over at her house, ablaze with light. “I assumed you'd have clients coming in tonight.”

“I do. The sitting doesn't start for another thirty minutes or so. But as I was preparing myself in my reading room, I was told to come to see if you were all right.” She straightened from petting Emma. “Your dog is an old soul.”

I smiled and Emma licked my hand softly. “Now that I believe. She's been a blessing. No puppy terrors for her. Now, if I could get her to stop chewing.”

“Emma's worried about you. She says that there are dark forces surrounding the house.” Esmeralda scanned the area. “I can't believe I didn't notice them before. You need to be careful.”

I laughed and Esmeralda's eyes widened. “You're always saying that. Both you and Greg are sounding like broken records. Don't get involved. Stop investigating. Be careful, the dark forces are out to get you.”

“People do care about you.” My neighbor sniffed, her eyes narrowing.

A heat of shame crept through me. She was only trying to be nice. In a crazy gypsy fortune-teller way, but nice. “Sorry. I'm a little on edge tonight. That's why I came out to work in the flower beds. Idle hands, you know.”

“I don't think that's funny, Jill. You don't want to even use that word until things are cleaned up around here.” Esmeralda glanced back at her house, where a black Town Car had pulled into the driveway. She started to walk away from the fence.

I frowned. “I don't understand, what word?”

She turned back toward me. “The devil. We had a devil killed in town. Now his murderer is still running free, jacked up with stolen power.”

I watched as she hurried across the road and greeted her guest. I squinted to watch the woman who climbed out of the back of the car. I recognized her. Glancing up at the man who stood dressed in a black suit holding the door open, there was no doubt in my mind. David stood there. Regina was Esmeralda's client. I wondered who from the spirit world would be visiting through the fortune teller's glass ball. Maybe Regina's husband wasn't in a big city making money while she and David played by the seashore. I could have read that all wrong. If Regina was a widow, that would explain the ring and the trip to Esmeralda's.

Emma whined next to me.

I reached down and patted her head. “Ready for dinner?”

She bounded toward the porch, and when she reached the front door, she turned and barked.

“I'm coming. Hold on.” I grabbed my gardening kit from the lawn and set it on the front porch so I could finish the bed preparation tomorrow after work. Then Emma and I went into the house. As I locked the front door, my gaze caught Esmeralda's house. The place appeared welcoming, even inviting in the dusky light. I hoped Regina would find peace with the information Esmeralda told her. If I'd known it was Regina, I would have put a bug in the fortune teller's ear about a new love from an old friendship or some crap like that.

But maybe Esmeralda was perceptive enough to pick up on David's longing for his boss all on her own.

After filling Emma's bowl, I grabbed my own and filled it with ice cream. Then I turned on the television and found a sappy old movie. So much for an exciting Friday night. I kept looking out the window to see when Regina and David left, but when the movie ended, I walked over to peer out and the Town Car was still there. Emma nudged my leg.

“Yep, bedtime.” She trotted over to the kitchen door and sat waiting for me to follow. I double-checked the locks on the front door, then grabbed my empty bowl and went to the kitchen to let Emma out. I rinsed my bowl and set it in the half-filled dishwasher. During the next week or so, I'd hand-wash the good china, getting everything ready for the big day. Desserts I'd already ordered from Sadie. I'd found three different stuffing recipes, corn bread, oyster, and what Jackie called “normal stuffing.” I'd read every holiday-based cookbook I had in stock at the store, and ordered two more last week, just to make sure I wasn't forgetting something. I'd even found a fresh cranberry recipe but planned on buying a can of the clear jellied type just in case. Holidays were special. You never knew what missing one thing could do to ruin a dinner.

I'd talked to Greg about his holiday memories. Since it was now just him and Jim, I didn't want to forget the one dish that would cause the day to miss the mark. Greg thought I was obsessing, but I also knew he thought it was better than me worrying about Ted's murder. I wiped down the kitchen counter and turned off the lights. Letting Emma in, I repeated my routine and double-checked the locks on the back door, then we jogged up the stairs to the bedroom. I'd snuck a soda in my jacket pocket and had a book or two on the bedside. Even if I couldn't sleep, I could get lost in a story.

 

Jackie had already opened the shop when I arrived the next morning. Piles of floor pillows lay stacked in corners and by the bookshelves. One big overstuffed chair sat over by the history section, a white fur rug on the floor in front of it. A table sat nearby with a bowl of candy canes. Santa's den was almost ready. I could just see Toby sitting in the chair, grinning at each child as they whispered their secret wish list to the big guy.

Jackie burst out of the back carrying two boxes. She nodded to the coffeemakers. “Might as well make yourself useful. The coffee isn't started yet.”

I hurried to the sink and washed my hands, slipping an apron over my head. “What have you been doing? Coffee is always the first priority when you open.”

Jackie dropped the boxes on the floor with a bang. “Not when you're playing hostess to thirty kids waiting for a miracle to happen, like having heat in their apartment this year. Or for some, even an apartment.” She shook her head. “I can't believe you're so selfish when there are true innocents out there who need our help.”

“Making coffee isn't selfish, it's survival. Those kids have parents coming into a confined situation with excited, screaming children. Without coffee to serve them, we could be looking at infanticide.” I measured out the ground coffee, inhaling the deep, dark smell. In one pot, I made the sinfully chocolate blend that made the shop smell like a bakery even though all of our pastries were made off site. “I didn't expect you until later. And why all this today? I thought the party was next weekend.”

“It is. I just want the shop to look festive and inviting. I thought I'd get more done last night, but Josh came in and we talked for a while.” Jackie ripped open one of the boxes and put a copy of
The Night Before Christmas
on Santa's table next to the candy canes. In the chair, she put a poster with a picture of Santa and next Saturday's date listed. “We're giving away the books as part of our donation.”

“How many books did you order?” Thank God the holidays only came once a year or the shop would go bankrupt with all of Jackie's giveaways.

She frowned at me. “One for each kid at the center and any of the regulars.” She paused. “I had the printer make up coupons for one free book for the kids and drink coupons for the adults. That way, they have to come back to redeem their coupon and maybe they'll buy another book then.”

I couldn't argue with her marketing logic. Although it occurred to me that several of the families might just come in for the free book and drink, because paying for the bus to get here would take up their disposable income for the week. I hated the thought that families had to choose between buying books for their kids and putting food on the table.

We worked side by side all morning. Our regulars threw their change into the donation jar and filled it so often, Jackie had to empty it three times. When she grabbed it again, I raised my eyebrows. “How much do you think we've raised so far?”

Jackie grinned. “I don't know, but I think we may be able to do more than just buy books for the kids. We can talk to the center's social worker about where the money might do the most good.” She handed a customer his cup of to-go coffee in a holiday motif sleeve. “I'm looking forward to our party.”

As I got ready to leave, I watched Jackie chat with Mary Simmons. The early Saturday rush had ended. Now we just had a few stragglers sitting and enjoying a quiet moment in the weekend rush. Toby still hadn't arrived, but Jackie had waved me off anyway. She could handle the shop, and if she got in trouble, she knew how to use a phone.

Mary rarely left the B&B she ran with Bill—mostly, in my opinion, because there was too much work to get done. Bill wasn't much for the hospitality scene. He spent most of his days in his den, working on a new historical tome on California history, although I'd heard his new project focused on Central America. The couple had closed up shop for two weeks in September to tour every country from California to Panama.

Mary had her digital camera out, showing Jackie some of their pictures from the trip. I watched as a look of longing crossed my aunt's face. I wondered if the business was doing well enough to give out bonuses. But no, even without looking, I knew I couldn't take that kind of hit, not this year. Maybe soon though.

“Jill,” Regina called me over to the sofa where she sat reading with David. “Were you at the winery last night? I told David I thought I saw you, but then we lost sight of you.”

I sat on the arm of the couch. “Yep, that was me. You two are great dancers. Do you take lessons?”

Regina's laughter bubbled through the café. “David's the dancer. He's been teaching me since we've been in town. I only learned the fox-trot and the waltz as a girl.” She glanced at the man reading next to her and dropped her voice. “Tell me about that hunk you were with last night. I hear rumors you're dating the local sheriff? His eyes are amazing.”

I felt my face heat. “Greg King's South Cove's detective, not a sheriff.” I straightened a pile of books on the coffee table. “But he does have dreamy eyes.”

“Next you two will be talking about his butt. What happened to women? All they want to talk about is the pieces of a man, not the essence.” David laid his book on his lap and took a sip of his coffee. “Mark my words, a man who is caring and thoughtful is worth ten times the man so hooked up on his own looks to notice the gem he has on his arm.”

This time it was Regina's turn to blush. “Now you know how women have felt all these years, being objects of lust rather than people. What's good for the goose is good for the gander, correct?”

David shrugged and lifted his book. “I'm not saying that's not true. Women have to be smarter than men. If they want to win the game, that is.”