Little Shop of Homicide (6 page)

It was too dark to see the duck pond I picnicked alongside in the summer, or the small apple orchard whose fruit I gathered in the fall for Gran’s famous pies, but as we drove through the shadow of the white fir and blue spruce lining either side of the lane, I felt myself relax. Gran and this place had been my only refuge after my father went to prison and my mother walked out on me.

A pool of artificial brightness created by the halogen light mounted on the garage roof greeted us as we stopped in front of the house. Like city streetlights, it turned on at dusk and off at sunrise, providing us with an oasis of illumination when we came home after dark.

Gran hopped out of her Buick, moving as if she were seven years old rather than over seventy. The evening’s
activities seemed to have energized her while they’d sucked me dry. By the time I got inside and removed my coat, Gran had already turned on all the lamps and was in the kitchen filling the copper teakettle.

I got down the delicate china cups and saucers adorned with violets and wisps of curling ivy, then sat at the old wooden table and waited. Gran made tea only when there was something serious she wanted to discuss with me. Generally, she was more of a Jack Daniel’s type of gal.

As she fussed with the tea leaves and arranged cookies on a plate, I looked around. There was nothing fancy or new in the room, but everything reminded me of the home Gran had given me as an abandoned teenager. It was here at this table, drinking from these cups, that she had broken all the bad news since we’d lived together.

After settling into her chair, Gran said, “Are you going to take Eldridge’s advice?”

“About what?”

“Hiring a private detective.” Gran reached down and swooped up Banshee, her ancient Siamese cat.

I would have pulled back a bloody stump if I tried that trick. Gran was the only one the feline allowed such liberties. He shot me a malevolent stare and settled on her lap.

“No. Of course not.” She had surprised me; I’d thought she meant getting someone to take care of her. “Everything will turn out fine. I’m innocent.”

“So was my poor Kern, and look what happened to him.” She broke an Oreo in half as if it were someone’s neck.

“Maybe of the embezzlement.” After all, none of the money he supposedly stole had ever surfaced. “But there’s no getting around the fact that he killed a girl while driving drunk, or that he had a bottle of OxyContin in his car.”

“That wasn’t his fault.” Gran crossed her arms. “Kern
said that he had no memory of drinking or even getting behind the wheel. The last thing he recalled was meeting with his boss at the bank.”

“Gran.” I took a quick sip of tea and burned my tongue. “That still doesn’t explain the alcohol in his blood or the pills.”

It hurt me to point out the impossibility of my father’s innocence. Prior to his arrest, I had been a daddy’s girl, convinced he could do no wrong. When he was first accused, I didn’t know what to think. But once reality smacked me in the face and I realized how he had betrayed everyone who loved him, I had turned my back on him. The pain of what he had done and the consequences of his actions had been too much to bear.

“There must have been a mix-up at the lab. Kern probably had a heart attack from all the stress he was under, which is why he lost control of the car.” Gran thunked her cup into her saucer. “And anyone could have planted those pills. He never locked his car.”

“But—”

“Sweet Jesus!” Gran interrupted me. “He was tried and convicted in less than six months. Who knew that small counties like ours had such speedy trials?” She wiped a tear from her cheek. “We should have hired a PI back then, but your grandfather had just passed away the year before and I was having a hard time with decisions. I’m not making the same mistake twice. We’re hiring one for you first thing tomorrow.”

“We just don’t have the money,” I explained as gently as I could. “Everything I have is invested in the store.”

She frowned. “You never said you were having trouble meeting expenses.”

“That’s because I’m not.” Trying to lighten the mood, I deadpanned, “It isn’t hard to meet expenses when they’re everywhere.”

Gran ignored my feeble attempt at humor. “I’ll sell the
house and the rest of the land if I have to.” She swallowed hard and blinked away tears. “I can’t lose you, too.”

“You will not sell your home.” I got up and hugged her. “I promise I’ll be fine. Boone and Poppy are going to help me. We’ll find a better suspect for Detective Woods and he’ll have to leave me alone.”

Gran didn’t look convinced. Then again, neither was I.

I
t had been an awful night, and so far the morning wasn’t shaping up to be much better. I had slept through my alarm, spilled coffee down the front of my last clean Devereaux’s Dime Store sweatshirt, and slipped on the ice running to my car. If it hadn’t been for the fact that I couldn’t afford to lose the income, I would have played hooky and gone back to bed. That was the problem with being the boss—no sick days.

Regardless of how bad a mood I might be in, the minute I walked into my shop, its old-fashioned charm immediately enveloped my senses and made me smile. I had always loved this store. When I was a kid, my mom brought me to the soda fountain for peppermint stick ice cream after getting a shot at the doctor’s, Dad took me to the candy counter every Sunday for Bonomo Turkish Taffy, and Gran let me tag along whenever she went to buy a bottle of Evening in Paris—her favorite perfume.

Which is why when I heard that the Thornbee sisters, age ninety-one, were selling the five-and-dime, I immediately put in an offer. The twins’ grandfather had built the shop when Shadow Bend was no more than a stagecoach stop, and the thought of the business being turned into a Rite Aid or a CVS had galvanized me into action.

While I stood thinking about the store, Hannah Freeman arrived. A senior at the local high school, Hannah worked for me three mornings a week as part of her vocational ed program. Once she and I turned on all the lights, the place began to fill with the first customers of the day.

Their excited voices created a cheerful hubbub that wasn’t muted by any newfangled acoustical tile or cork matting. Instead, the sound of people socializing with their neighbors echoed off the old tin ceiling and hardwood floors. Although I had doubled the interior space, installed Wi-Fi, and added the basket business, I had tried to keep the character of the original variety store intact.

Tuesdays, the Quilting Queens and the Scrapbooking Scalawags met here. I gladly provided them with worktables—square footage was cheap in Shadow Bend—and gratefully reaped the benefit of their purchases. Not only did they buy the materials for their projects from me, but they also bought refreshments and any other odds and ends that caught their eye.

I greeted the members of both groups, then walked through the aisles checking that the wooden shelves were fully stocked and that the other customers had everything they needed. After making the rounds, I took over behind the old brass cash register, allowing Hannah to handle the soda fountain and candy case.

It both surprised and delighted me that no one mentioned Joelle’s murder or my visit from the Kansas City detective. Chief Kincaid had assured me that Woods and his partner had talked only to Gran, the country clubbers, and me, and if that was truly the case, there was a chance—albeit a slim one—that I could keep my involvement quiet.

After all, Joelle wasn’t a native, and she had spent much of her time with the new people, those who had moved to our little community from the city and kept their distance from the locals. So, possibly, since Joelle
was
an outsider, and the born-and-bred Shadow Benders didn’t mix much with the commuters, my involvement could fly under the town’s radar.

As I offered up a prayer that I would avoid becoming grist for the rumor mill, I could only hope that the fact I hadn’t attended church in twelve years didn’t mean God had stopped listening to me.

What with the brisk morning business and the lack of gossip, I was feeling a lot better by the time Hannah left to attend her afternoon classes. The hours after lunch and before school let out were usually slow. A lot of days I didn’t see a single shopper from one to three. Which was fine with me, because that was when I generally worked on my basket orders. But today, before I got started on Sister Mary Catherine’s Silver Jubilee Extravaganza, I decided to treat myself.

The evidence of my fluffy figure to the contrary, I usually stuck to a sensible diet—or at least tried to—but the past twenty-four hours had been hell and I needed the comfort of something decadent. Furthermore, I knew exactly what I wanted—a double-thick dark chocolate milk shake with extra whipped cream and two cherries on top.

Anticipating the first sweet swallow, I searched for a straw. Where had Hannah hidden them? The teenager was a good worker, but her idea of logical storage and mine didn’t always mesh. Finally I gave up, grabbed the glass, and took a huge gulp.

As I was relishing the taste of the rich chocolate and the smooth sensation of the silky ice cream sliding down my throat, the sleigh bells above the entrance jingled and an incredibly gorgeous man strode in. He was at least six-four, with the type of powerful, well-muscled body produced by hard work rather than hours in a gym.

A shiver ran down my spine, and a flash of heat swept through my body. His arresting good looks totally captured my attention. Where had this guy been hiding all my life? Not in Shadow Bend, that was for sure.

He stopped just inside the door and did a swift recon of the store. Spotting me behind the soda fountain, he took in the huge milk shake I still held and his sapphire blue eyes twinkled. His lips twitched when his gaze reached the whipped-cream mustache above my mouth.

Great!
A hot man finally crosses my path and I look like a greedy six-year-old. I hastily put down the glass, grabbed a napkin, and wiped away the evidence of my immaturity, wishing for the first time in ages that I had bothered to put on makeup, done my hair, and worn something other than an oversized sweatshirt and jeans.

As he moved toward me, I noticed that his face was lean and chiseled and that his bronzed skin pulled taut over the elegant ridge of his cheekbones. The strong column of his throat rose from the collar of his shearling jacket, and faded Levi’s molded the muscles of his thighs.

He was the kind of man who would look good wearing anything or, even better, nothing at all. It was a testament to my sadly lacking love life that I was thinking entirely inappropriate thoughts about a perfect stranger the day after I’d been accused of murder.

Not wanting to consider what that said about my character, I made an effort to regain my poise and asked, “May I help you?”

“Are you Devereaux Sinclair?”

“I am.” I sincerely hoped this would not turn into a déjà vu of yesterday. “And you are… ?”

He held out a large, calloused hand. “Jake Del Vecchio. Tony is my granduncle.”

The Del Vecchios had arrived in Shadow Bend around the same time the Sinclairs had. Our properties shared a border, and Tony had purchased all the land we had sold off. Although Tony ran one of the largest and most successful cattle ranches in the state, he was getting up there in years. I’d heard that a relative had come to help him out, but I hadn’t come across the guy until now.

“Nice to meet you.” I leaned forward to shake Jake’s
hand. The touch of his palm against mine sent another shiver through me, and my pulse began to pound. I had to suck in a much-needed breath before I could ask, “How’s your uncle?”

“Uh.” He swallowed hard. “Fine.”

We stared at each other, and for a nanosecond, I could actually see the sexual awareness zinging between us. Then a shutter seemed to come down over his eyes, he released my hand, and whatever had been there was gone.

“I haven’t seen Tony in quite a while.” Tony might be our nearest neighbor, but he had never socialized with us. I had frequently wondered why. “He doesn’t seem to leave the ranch very often.”

“Yeah.” Jake’s tone indicated he was back in control. “He’s always been like that, even before Aunt Sabina passed away a few years ago. A lot of times when I came to stay with them, we’d only go into town once or twice the whole summer.”

“Did we ever meet?” I asked, sure that I would have remembered him but thinking it would have been odd if we hadn’t.

“A few times, when Aunt Sabina took me with her to the grocery store.” Jake grinned. “Guess I didn’t make much of an impression.”

“Sorry about that.” I shrugged. “You know how it is in a small town. The cliques are formed in preschool, and it’s hard for new kids to join in, especially if they’re stuck out in the country.”

“I never considered myself stuck. I loved working the ranch with Uncle Tony and being fussed over by Aunt Sabina, but I know what you mean.”

We smiled at each other in mutual understanding until I asked, “Is there something I can do for you?”

“I hear you might be in some hot water.” Jake raised a questioning brow. “Tony asked me to try and help you.”

“Help me?” Tony wasn’t exactly a regular on the
grapevine. How could he have heard about my problem so fast? “With what?” I crossed my fingers, hoping that this was about something other than me being a suspect in Joelle’s death.