Chapter 16 Mina
Mina
Words swam before my eyes as I studied the café plans spread out over my kitchen counter. Ozzie had been true to his word, and tomorrow—finally—I could get back into the antique store and Luke could get crews working again to bring my dream alive.
Luke’s shoulder bumped mine as he shifted, flipping a pencil between his fingers.
“So, once you have the keys, I’ll have demo rolling again.
The crew is ready, and the dumpster is already scheduled.
We’ll hit the back rooms first, then the common wall.
Hopefully, we won’t find any more surprises hiding behind the plaster. ”
A snort left me. “Yes, please. One skeleton is enough.” I tried to keep my focus on the neat grid of lines he’d sketched out on graph paper, attempting to envision what it would look like finished. My brain was just too tired, though. It was only Tuesday, but it had already been a long, busy week.
Reaching up, I rubbed at the knots in my neck.
Luke’s hand covered mine, pushing it out of the way. “Geez, Mina. Your shoulders feel like you’ve been stuffing rocks in your muscles.”
I groaned as he hit a particularly sore spot. “Yeah, well, I’ve been a little stressed.” I had an employee quit Monday morning right before her shift, which left me short-handed at one of the busiest times of the year. I didn’t know when—or how—I would find the time to replace her.
“I can think of a few ways we can de-stress you.” Luke’s low voice rumbled in my ear, sending a delicious shiver through me, unraveling a few of the more stubborn knots.
“Mmm, I like that idea.” And boy was I ready for it. In the four days since our conversation on my doorstep, we’d been together every evening, and he’d been the perfect gentleman.
I was tired of it.
Spinning in his arms, I locked my hands behind his neck and brought his face down to mine. Our lips brushed.
Ding-dong!
A groan ripped from the depths of my soul, and I turned to glare at the front door. For half a second, I debated ignoring it, but the frantic knocking that followed the bell told me whoever was on the other side wasn’t leaving, and it might just be important.
Reluctantly, I released him. “Hold that thought.”
Grinning, he swatted my butt as I walked away.
Feeling the delightful sting from that all the way to the door, I drew in a breath, locked my dirty thoughts away, and unlocked the door, swinging it open.
One look at Claire’s wide eyes banished the last of my thoughts about what I wanted to do to Luke and told me this wasn’t a social call.
“Ozzie’s not home yet.” She fluttered a hand in the air as she stepped inside. “He caught an assault case earlier today and is wrapped up in that, so I don’t want to call him and disturb him, but I had to tell somebody. It’s eating me alive!”
Curious, I frowned, casting a quick look at Luke as I closed the door. He wore a similar expression of confusion.
Claire walked toward him, pulling her satchel off her arm to drop it on the counter next to Luke’s plans. “Sorry to interrupt. I’d leave, but this is…” One brow quirked, and she shook her head. “It’s something.” She took out a sheaf of papers.
Luke crossed his arms. “What kind of something?”
“Motive, something.”
“Motive?” Even more curious, I sidled closer.
She nodded. “Here. Look.” Flipping through the stack of papers, she handed me a page.
Luke moved around her to look at it over my shoulder. “Is that a deed?”
“Yep.” Claire nodded an emphatic affirmative.
I traced a finger along the page, stopping as I saw the mark in the top right corner. Beneath a red stamp, marked, “RECEIVED,” was the faded scrawl of a signature.
“Whoa.” Luke’s voice rumbled in my ear.
Whoa was right. It was Moira Duluth’s signature. Neat, but firm, she’d signed it just weeks before the timeline Ozzie established for her disappearance. June 1992.
But I was confused. How did her signature on a document constitute motive?
I voiced that to Claire.
She held up a finger. “So, I was pulling historical records for that waterfront listing I told you about last month. The one listed dirt cheap that I was looking at buying as an investment property?”
I nodded, remembering the conversation we had one day as part of a larger conversation about my café. It was Claire’s first foray into investment real estate, and she’d been excited. As excited as I was to expand my coffeeshop.
“Well, while digging I found this.” She licked a finger and leafed through the papers, pulling out one to slap it down on the counter. “Here’s the finalized deed, filed later that same month. Different handwriting, same name—Moira’s. The property transferred cleanly.”
“Why would there be two copies of the deed signed weeks apart?” Luke asked. “The first one should have been the one processed. Unless there was an error and it had to be amended?”
“Nope. The original is a simple transfer from one person to another. In this case, from a woman named Edna Myers to another woman named Sarah Cole.” She pointed at the photocopy of the original I held.
“But in this one”—she tapped the second deed—“it’s transferring from Edna Myers to none other than Walter Shuman.”
“Holy crap,” I breathed. My mind whirled with the implications that brought up, but one question stuck out. “But how is that possible? Wouldn’t Edna notice that the property didn’t go to Sarah Cole? Wouldn’t Sarah?”
Claire’s finger popped up again. “Not if Edna died between the time the original and the forgery were signed.”
“No way.” My eyes widened. “Did she?”
“Yep. And I don’t think Sarah made a stink about it, because I don’t think she knew.
I did more digging into the two women. Edna was Walter’s aunt on his mother’s side.
I also found documentation that Sarah was a home-health aide.
I think Edna intended to leave the property to Sarah as a thank you. ”
“But Walter got greedy and snatched it out from under her.” I set the paper down on the counter and crossed my arms, completely disgusted. “I can’t say I’m surprised after the way he tried to squeeze every last penny out of me in that sale.”
“I’m honestly surprised he sold the store to you,” Luke said.
I looked up at him. “Why?”
“Moira Duluth signed off on the original transfer. If she caught someone altering the deed, that’s a damn good motive for murder.
With Walter’s name on the forgery, it makes sense why she ended up inside the wall in his antique store.
My question is why he sold the building and didn’t let it languish, unoccupied, until he died.
I mean, why risk getting caught? He knew what you wanted to do, right? ”
I chewed on the corner of my mouth, my gaze moving from his to Claire’s, then back. “Mostly, yeah. That’s a good point.”
“It’s not proof he did it, but it’s damn close,” Claire said. She rubbed her temple. “Ozzie needs to hurry and wrap up his case for the night so he can come home and look at all this.”
A laugh bubbled up, and I couldn’t hold back the tiny chuckle that escaped. “He’s going to hate you. The man worked all day, finally gets home, probably ready to kick off his shoes and veg for a bit before bed, and you’re going to hit him with this stuff.”
Claire groaned. “I know. Maybe I should wait until morning.”
Luke arched an eyebrow. “Do you think you can play it cool until morning? It’s not like you can avoid him. You two live together.”
Pursing her lips, Claire shook her head. “No. He’ll be able to see something’s wrong the moment he steps in the door. I can’t lie to the man. Not well.”
“Here.” I stepped away from the counter to the crock pot by the stove and lifted the lid. “You can hit him with this to soften the blow.” Reaching into the cupboard in front of me, I removed a plastic container, then ladled a healthy portion of elk stew into it.
“Oh, bless you. Yes, that’ll work.”
Luke chuckled. “I’d disagree, but it’s definitely some of the best stew I’ve ever had, so…”
I tossed him a quick grin over my shoulder. “Thank you. I’ll send some home with you too.”
“Yum. That’s my lunch tomorrow.”
Filling another container, I put lids on both, then handed one to Claire.
She set it on the counter beside the deeds and the café renovation plans.
For several long moments, we stood in silence, the only sound the soft rustle of paper as I fussed with the deeds.
An image of Moira’s pretty face from the picture I’d seen in the newspaper floated through my mind’s eye.
Her neat handwriting drew my attention. It stared back at me like a beacon, flashing a clue that had never seen the light of day until now.
I could almost feel her presence, urging us to keep going—that we were on the right track.
Lifting the papers, I tapped them on the counter to line them up. “If you need backup when you show this stuff to Ozzie, give me a call. I know the timing isn’t ideal for him, but this can’t wait. Moira deserves justice.”
Claire took the papers and slid them into her satchel with a sigh. “Yeah. I just wish I’d discovered it earlier, or even tomorrow, so I don’t have to spring it on him so late.” An ironic smile twisted her lips. “Or that I was a better liar.”
“Nah,” Luke said. “I’d rather have a woman who springs important things on me when I’m tired than one who can lie to me to my face. I’m betting Ozzie feels the same.”
“True.” Flipping the flap over on her bag, Claire picked it up and slung it over her shoulder, then grabbed the stew container. “I’ll keep you guys posted.”
We followed her to the door, waving goodbye as she hurried down the driveway to her car. Once she was safely ensconced and pulling away, I closed the door and leaned against it.
What just happened? Had Claire really discovered a motive for Moira’s death?
“That was a little crazy,” Luke commented on his way back to the kitchen.
A quick chuckle escaped me. “Yeah, just a bit.” I eyed him, looking for that spark that lit earlier, before Claire arrived, but her revelations had chased away any romantic notions Luke and I had for the evening.
It also felt wrong to just shove it all aside for the pleasure that surely awaited us if we continued where we left off.
I pushed away from the door and followed him. He reached for the renovation plans to gather them up.
“I should get going. We’ll get an early start tomorrow.”
The snort that left me wasn’t very ladylike. “If Ozzie gives me the keys now, you will.” Even if he didn’t need to go through the building again after learning about the deeds, I wouldn’t put it past him to hold onto the keys as a “punishment” for meddling in his case again.
“I wouldn’t worry about it. There isn’t anything new the police can look at, even with the new information.
He’ll probably be more likely to show up at the coffeeshop in the morning and give you another lecture about sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.
I’m sure Claire’s going to get the same talk tonight. ” He grinned.
I chuckled. “Yeah.” I hoped he was right. This renovation needed to start. I was so ready.
Papers rolled up and tucked under his arm, Luke walked closer, then leaned down to give me a tender kiss.
My toes curled. So did my fingers as I clutched his shirt.
When he pulled back, the majority of my tension about how tomorrow would play out had melted away.
His soft smile and the sassy look in his eyes told me he knew what he’d been doing.
He kissed me once more, softly, then stepped back. “I’ll see you in the morning. Sweet dreams.” Heat flared in his eyes, turning them a molten silver.
A soft hum rumbled in my throat as thoughts of what his kisses promised rolled through my head. He’d wished me that same thing every night since our seafood and beach date. There had been some sweet dreams, indeed.
One day soon, though, I hoped to replace them with the real deal.
Warmth flooded my veins.
That day couldn’t come soon enough.