This Old Homicide (28 page)

“Scooby, that’s brilliant.”

“Ruh-roh.”

He grinned. “You’re getting the hang of this.”

“I really am,” I said, tickled that I’d remembered the big dog’s signature phrase. “Okay, there’s one problem. When I asked Ned about the necklace, he swore he’d never seen it before.”

“He was lying,” Mac said, adding, “For this scenario only.”

“Okay. And Stephen plays a key role because he wants to help his dad recover what was rightfully his.”

“Exactly.”

“There are a few sticky wickets, though,” I said, repeating an old expression my dad liked to use. “Jesse wouldn’t have bragged about it to all those people if he’d stolen it, would he?”

“Probably not, so that might be an issue. On the other hand, you wondered why he was willing to sell it to one of those pawnshops for less than it was worth. There’s your answer.”

“Right. If he stole it, he would want to get rid of it quickly.”

“Exactly. He couldn’t afford to hold out for top dollar.”

I grabbed my wineglass and took a quick sip. “Sadly, this scenario is worthless because Jesse didn’t sell the necklace. But wow, if he did, then good old Ned would’ve zipped to number one on my suspect list.”

“See? Fun, right?”

“Very fun. Except for the grisly murder-suicide aspect of the thing.”

“Yeah, but since we’re on the side of truth and justice, it’s okay to enjoy the process.”

*   *   *

Staring at my suspect list later that night while waiting for Robbie to finish his business outside, I realized that Mac and I hadn’t applied the Scooby process to Cuckoo Clemens or any of the other shop owners who’d admitted seeing Jesse’s necklace. Of course, except for Cuckoo, I really didn’t suspect anyone in that group.

It had been a long day and dinner was fun. Mac had stayed awhile longer because I offered him three different choices of dessert. I had all of them in my freezer because Jane had begged me to take home a bunch of the desserts left over from her open house party.

Once Mac left, I was so tired and full—thanks to the chocolate mousse cake I gobbled up for dessert—I barely made it up the stairs before falling facedown on my bed. Tiger gave my back a nice little massage before curling up on top of me and we both went right to sleep.

*   *   *

The next day I revisited my suspect list and wondered why I should’ve excluded those shopkeepers. They’d each seen the necklace and could be just as guilty as the next guy.

I also had come up with a great new way to gauge my suspects’ guilt.

I found Mac in my garage, researching something for his next book that involved two of my torque wrenches. I just hoped it didn’t have anything to do with torturing somebody.

I gave him an hour to work out his torquing issues and then tracked him down for some advice.

“I made this groovy chart,” I said, showing him the spreadsheet. “It lists all of the shop owners and their addresses and the distance each would have to travel to get to and from Jesse’s place.”

“Aren’t you clever?” he said, straining to unscrew a bolt using the smaller torque wrench I’d given him.

“I have a socket wrench,” I said, wondering if he’d appreciate me showing him how to do it.

“I know, but I’m trying to make this work with the torque wrench.”

“You might want to use the bigger one, then.”

“Nope,” he said through clenched teeth. “Need to make this work.”

“Okay, then. Anyway, I had this plan to sneak into the suspects’ cars and check their mileage, but that wouldn’t do any good because I don’t have anything to compare it to.”

He stared at me for a long moment, then set the wrench aside. “Unless the person who snuck into Jesse’s house happened to take his car into the shop within the last two weeks or so. Then you might be able to get the earlier mileage from his mechanic and see if the mileage jumped more than usual.”

“Right,” I said, so loving how he got the way my mind worked. “Because of the extra miles he’d have to travel up here all those nights of the break-ins.”

“It’s worth a shot.”

I thought of the logistics. Getting inside their cars. Checking out their mechanics. And even if I found someone with tons of extra mileage on their odometer, it would be inconclusive at best. “You’re being kind. I’m grasping at straws.”

“It gets complicated,” he said sympathetically.

“I know. I should go pound nails.”

“Don’t take it so hard,” he said.

“No, I really have to go pound nails. We’re framing a house over on Chambord Street.”

He grinned and grabbed me in a warm hug. “I love it when you talk construction.”

*   *   *

Three hours later, Mac hunted me down at my construction site. He’d never done that before, so I figured it must be important.

“Guess what,” he said, when I climbed down from the ladder.

“I have no idea.”

“Then I’ll tell you. Come over here.” He walked me over to his big SUV and we climbed inside for privacy.

“Okay, what is it?”

“You know how I have access to police files and information.”

“Yes, because the mayor loves you.”

“Exactly.” He grinned as he shifted in his seat to face me. “So listen. There are traffic cameras out on Highway 101.”

“Oh yeah.” I shook my head. “Everyone whines about those.”

“They take pictures of cars and license plates.”

“I know. Some people consider that an invasion of privacy.”

“Listen to me,” he said softly. “The state of California photographs every car and license plate that passes under those cameras along with the day of the week and the time of day. It’s all recorded.”

“I know,” I said patiently, “and that’s why—” I gasped. “Oh my God! They photograph the cars at the Lighthouse Cove turnoff.”

“I know,” he said, imitating me.

“We might be able to track down the shop owners and see if they came to town on the same days as the break-ins happened.” I jumped across the console and kissed him soundly on the lips. “You’re a genius! That’s brilliant!”

I moved back to my seat, but he yanked me over to his side. “I’m a genius, remember?”

His kiss lasted longer and I had to admit it was much more satisfying than my first exuberant smack on the lips.

It was a few minutes later that he told me he’d requested and received a dozen grainy photos of cars belonging to Stephen and Ned Darby, Bob Madderly, and two of the shop owners I’d told him about. He’d put in a request for information on Althea, too, but her car didn’t show up in any photographs.

That evening when I got home from work, Mac brought copies of the traffic photos over to my place. I ordered a pizza and we went through them together. We were able to see the comings and goings of those four people over the last month. Each photo was time-stamped. On the surface, there was nothing to get suspicious about.

But it was the
absence
of one person that raised my suspicions.

“Why doesn’t Althea’s car show up in any of the records? I know she must drive a car.”

“Maybe it’s registered under a different name,” Mac said. “Was she married before?”

“I don’t know, but I guess I could find out easily enough.” I studied the other photos for another minute. “It might just be a case of her not liking to drive the freeways. Plenty of people don’t.”

Mac pulled out his phone, turned on the GPS navigation app, and followed it all the way to Blue Point. “Mileage-wise, Highway 1 is probably closer for her. But if she’s driving at night, it’s a lot more dangerous than the 101.”

“True,” I admitted. “But she might like the slower pace.”

Highway 1 skirted the treacherous cliffs along the coast of much of Northern California. It was two narrow lanes often bordered on one side or the other by a sheer cliff that dropped hundreds of yards down to the ocean. There were hairpin turns that would cause even a professional driver some anxiety. On a clear day it could be terrifying, but it was even worse after a rainstorm when parts of the highway would tend to crumble and disappear down the cliff. One lane might be closed for miles and stay that way for months. The 101 was infinitely easier, wider, and safer, but it was a whole five miles inland. Many locals didn’t bother to travel that “enormous” distance just for safety’s sake.

“I’m going to go back over my calendar and double-check the dates of the break-ins. And I wonder if Jesse had a calendar that he wrote on.”

“We can check.”

“Should I still bother checking mileage? I was thinking if Jane could get into Stephen’s car…”

“Good luck with that,” he said.

“I’m really overcomplicating things, aren’t I?” I realized that even though Jane thought Stephen was weird, she might not be willing to help me prove that her “guest” had been lying. “I’m going to let this theory go.”

“Probably a good idea,” he said reluctantly.

“I’m so tired,” I said, realizing I’d been up since five that morning.

“Your eyes look a little red,” Mac said, adding quickly, “But otherwise you’re beautiful.”

I laughed. “Thanks for qualifying that. No woman wants to hear how tired she looks, even if she’s falling asleep at the table, which is what I’m about to do.”

He, on the other hand, looked handsome and masculine and just a touch dangerous. He flashed me a wicked smile that made me want to melt, if only I weren’t already dead on my feet.

“I’d better let you get some sleep,” he said. “We’ve got that Planning Commission meeting tomorrow morning. Should be all kinds of fun.”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it.”

He chuckled and stood to leave, but paused to rub my shoulders.

“Please don’t stop,” I whispered, relaxing in my chair. He had strong arms, as I’d learned the first time we ever met, months ago when he picked me up and carried me to his car. My hero.

“You’ve got muscles, Irish.”

“Some days they take a beating.”

He leaned in and gave me a soft, sensual kiss on my neck that sent a thousand tingles zipping through my system. Then he left. I had to admit I was getting tired of seeing him leave. I could acknowledge that much, even if I wasn’t sure what my next move should be.

Robbie and Tiger circled my feet, reminding me that it was time for their evening treat. I spent a few minutes petting them. When Robbie rolled over for a belly rub, Tiger licked his face. Our happy little family.

As I washed my face and got ready for bed, I thought about what we’d discovered with the traffic photos. Not much, really. But I actually felt relieved that Althea’s car hadn’t been in any of them. I’d grown fond of the older woman and I knew Jane had, too. Althea seemed to genuinely care for Jane and I hoped her feelings extended to me, too—if only to get me a discount at her fabulous shop in Blue Point. But seriously, I was glad to know that Althea wasn’t the one sneaking into town to kill Jesse and search his home. So who was?

Despite that question burning a hole in my brain, I climbed into bed and attempted to get some sleep.

*   *   *

Mac met me in the driveway the next morning and we walked to City Hall to attend the Planning Commission meeting.

What I’d hoped would take fifteen minutes to rubber-stamp took over two hours of wrangling and protesting before I was even allowed to speak on Mac’s behalf. There was even one old guy carrying a sign protesting the destruction of the lighthouse.

I assured Teddy Peters, who was head of the Commission, and the other Commission members that we had no plans to change the facade of either the mansion or the lighthouse itself. “May I remind you all that the town allowed MacKintyre Sullivan to buy our lighthouse mansion because we knew he recognized it as a treasured landmark and would treat it with the proper respect? Let’s not forget that Mr. Sullivan is a world-renowned author and a very important new member of our community. It would behoove us to do what we can to create a welcoming environment for him. It might attract more of his ilk to the area.”

Mac reached out and pinched me at that point, probably for referring to his “ilk.” I continued my impassioned speech and maybe I did gush a bit much.

When I finally sat down, Aldous Murch stood up and I had to suppress a groan.

“He might be famous,” Aldous said, “but that don’t give him the right to desecrate our sacred landmarks.”

“I object,” I said loudly.

“This isn’t a court of law, Shannon,” Teddy said mildly. “Let Aldous make his points and then we’ll figure out where to go from there.”

I let Aldous talk. In the end, he helped Mac’s case by being so overly freaked out about any little improvement to the lighthouse mansion that the rest of the Commission members finally had to tell him to sit down.

My blueprints were approved and my applications were stamped and recorded.

Outside on the steps of City Hall, I gave a loud whoop of joy. “We did it!”

“You did it, Irish,” he said, and grabbed me in a quick hug. “Thank you, from me and others of my ilk.”

I laughed with him. “You’re welcome. Thank goodness that’s over.”

On the walk home, we saw Eric heading toward us. All business, he held up his hand to stop us.

“Glad I ran into you two,” he said. “Mind coming down to the station to talk?”

“I didn’t do it,” I said immediately.

Eric grinned. “Didn’t do what, Shannon?”

“Anything. I swear.”

Mac was chuckling and Eric’s grin broadened. “I just want to show you both something.”

I really liked Thor—aka Police Chief Eric Jensen—a lot. I mean, the guy was handsome and smart and had a great sense of humor—when he wasn’t trying to arrest me. But anytime he flashed me that ultrafocused police chief look of his, I immediately wondered if I should call my lawyer.

“No problem,” Mac said. “We’ll walk with you.” He obviously didn’t suffer from the same guilty conscience I did.

“You go on ahead.” Eric gestured toward the post office. “I’ve gotta buy some stamps. I’ll only be a few minutes behind you.”

“Okay, see you there.”

As we headed toward the police station three blocks over, I fretted.

“What’s wrong?” Mac said.

“Why does he want to talk to us?”

“I have no idea, but I wouldn’t worry about it.”