Chapter 8
The list was short. I chewed on the end of the pen and read through the names again.
Smuckleberry purred in my lap, a big fluffy lump of orange and white. The Great British Sewing Bee played in the background. They were making tiny rompers for children out of sleeping bags and pillow cases. It was amazing how cute they were.
I’d slept six hours and had already eaten breakfast. My second cup of coffee steamed on the end table next to me and the blinds were open to let in the sunlight.
I’d started my murder list on the back of last week’s grocery list.
It was made up of people who had been at the diner that night:
Me (I didn’t do it.)
Aggie (Who had been in the bathroom, then left.)
Buzz (Who had recently taken a break out back.)
Kenny Stratton (Okay, I only put him on the list because he was annoying and also owned a business with Hugo.)
Gail Malloy (Ex-wives and cheaters made excellent murder suspects.)
Simon Vandre (Detective, antique shop owner? Stalker?)
Paul (A truck driver who wouldn’t hurt a fly.)
Juan (Our night dishwasher, who also wouldn’t hurt a fly.)
Jean (Who was blood covered and in shock.)
Random passers through (We were right by the highway.)
“Who should I talk to first, Smuckles? Not Aggie, she’s mad at me. Not Vandre, I don’t even know how to find him. I can talk to Buzz later today when I’m working. Same with Shelly. Oh, she’s not on the list.”
Shelly (Really into murder, but probably only fictional murder.)
The only people I could talk to before my shift were Kenny Stratton, Gail Malloy, and Jean. I’d talked to Jean yesterday. So that left Kenny and Gail.
I leaned my head back and pet Smuckles, letting her familiar, steady purr soothe me.
“Kenny’s probably at his pawn and repair shop. I’m sure the police already tracked him down and grilled him.”
More purring, no comments. Smuck made a wonderful lap warmer and a terrible Watson.
Well, sitting here wasn’t going to get me any closer to answers.
Talk to Kenny it was.
“All right, princess, time to switch up your napping station. You get the whole chair all to yourself.” I carefully shifted, picking her up and placing her down in the warmth left behind.
She stretched paws over her head, then curled back into a crescent. I swear she hadn’t even woken up.
I drank the rest of my coffee while I put on shoes, grabbed my purse, and slid into my jacket.
The thing that always surprised me about Ordinary was how, well, ordinary, it looked. Sure, it was a small beach town on the rainy edge of Oregon, but there were a lot of small beach towns that dotted the coast.
I’d been to most of them over the years.
I loved living near the water. My love of the sea might have something to do with my father, Poseidon. Yeah, god of the ocean. I’d never met him—my father. The current Poseidon was a different person.
Gods can be killed while living in Ordinary. It was something that wasn’t talked about much, but someone, probably Jules, had told me the last Poseidon (also not my father) had been killed before I’d come to Ordinary.
The new Poseidon was handsome and for a hot second, I’d been drawn to him. But then the whole “this guy is holding power my father held” threw a real wet blanket on the attraction.
The drive to Kenny’s shop, Wires and Widgets, didn’t take long because unless it was summer (tourist season) or Bertie had a festival going on (usually weekends) it didn’t take time to drive anywhere in Ordinary.
The windows of the beige, square, one-story building were decorated with handwritten signs that had once been bright but were faded and torn. Most of them had the words: Discount, Sale , Cash Now.
The other decorations were several old teddy bears—the kind that had tape recorders in them so they talked—a variety of printers, transistor radios, a guitar, some kind of sparkly jewelry box, and a tablet.
I opened the door, which didn’t need a bell because it creaked like a Halloween sound effect, and stepped in.
The air was warm and stale inside and smelled like the carpet had flooded a while ago and never quite dried out.
Wood shelves lined the space, loaded with items traded in for cash or bartered for something Kenny had on hand.
The counter was lit from below and jewelry sparkled beneath glass. Behind the counter was an open door, through which I could see a repair space with a couple vacuum cleaners, a microwave, and a computer with tools and parts next to it.
Oh, and there was Kenny, glaring at me from the far corner of the room where he was stuffing the wires of one of those teddy bears back into its belly.
“Can I help you with something?” he asked.
It was always weird when people didn’t recognize me out of uniform, but it told me something, didn’t it? It told me they only saw me as a service, not as a person.
“Yes, I’m, uh…” (This was where coming up with a cover story would have been a good idea.) “I’m here about the toy drive, Boast of the Coast. We’re collecting donations for children in need.
Are there any items or services you would like to donate?
We’ll list you in the newspapers of the three towns that are participating, so you’ll get free advertising. ”
“Free? You mean after I ‘donate’ my valuable stock?” (Yes, I could hear the sarcasm quotes.)
“Exactly!” I said pouring on the cheer. “Even one item helps.”
He squinted. “You look familiar. Where have I seen you?”
“I waitress at the Blue Owl.”
The tenseness in his body eased. “Right. That dump. What’s with the side hustle?”
“I’m a volunteer for the festivals.”
“Bertie’s things? That bitter old bat thinks she runs this town.”
Wow. I’d never run into anyone who didn’t like the festivals or said things like that about Bertie out loud.
“The festivals do help the community,” I said. “I bet some of them brought you business, too.”
He made a rude noise. “Do you think tourists come to town with their broken vacuum cleaners? I fix old things and pawn old things. Those festivals are only good for the coffee shop, brewery, and that over-rated bakery.”
“Bertie’s open for suggestions. Maybe you can pitch a festival that would feature your business.”
He made another rude noise. “You sound like Hugo, always looking for the bright side. Look what that got him.”
“Hugo Molloy?”
“Yeah, my partner. Well, ex-partner. He died.” His eyes widened and he swallowed hard as if saying those words had shocked him.
“He was a cheat and…and a fool and a terrible business partner, but now…” He shook his head. “I never thought someone would, you know…” He pumped his fist up and down mimicking stabbing motions. “Who does that?”
“An enemy. Someone who hated him. Do you know anyone who might be angry with him?”
“Yeah, sure.” He moved over to the window. “Lots of people. He had a gambling habit that ran him into trouble more than once. He was decent enough to customers. I didn’t let him get away with cheating them unless I got a cut—that’s a joke.”
It didn’t sound like a joke.
“I suppose he had friends too. People he loved?”
He shrugged. “I suppose. He loved this shop, never wanted to sell. Loved these stupid bears.” He turned the teddy bear in his hands like he was seeing it for the first time. “Collected them to stuff in the window. Like anyone cares about old bears.”
Kenny stared at the toy’s blank happy face, lost in his thoughts.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said quietly.
“Loss? He did this to himself. He stole cars, collected traffic tickets like reward points. He was bad to his wife…” His eyes went wide again, and I wondered how he haggled with his emotions so close to the surface.
“It wasn’t her,” he insisted. “Gail didn’t kill him—not that I said she did—I was just making a…
what do they call it? Character. Telling you what kind of character he had.
His morals. He was a cheat. With money, and you know, his wife, and he was always trying to outsmart everyone he thought was better than him.
He thought he could outsmart me, too, but look at me now.
I’m the full owner of the store and he’s dead. ”
Kenny’s thinning hair glistening with sweat. His pupils were dilated like he was afraid I’d pull a gun on him or something.
I thought about checking the future to see what was going to happen next, but I was right here. I knew what was going to happen next. I was going to ask him a few more questions because I was solving a murder.
“Did Hugo live in town?”
“No, he didn’t want to be that close to the cops. Up the road toward the valley. A mobile home park.”
I knew the one he was talking about because it was the only one around here. “What about Gail?”
“What about her?”
Careful, Piper. Don’t spook the suspect.
“Have you seen her? Since his…since his death?”
“No. Why would you ask that? What have you heard?”
“You were business partners with Hugo, so I thought you and Gail were friends. Maybe you knew how she’s holding up.”
He wadded the bear and stuffed it into the corner of the window. “Gail—Mrs. Malloy—and I are friends enough. But we’re not friends. I have work to do.” He stomped over to the counter and turned on the computer there.
“So, about the donation?” I asked, trying to buy a little more time to snoop around.
“There is no donation! Can’t you see I’m trying to count inventory here?”
The door wailed, and Joanie Aster stepped into the shop. “Hi, good morning.”
Joanie was one of those effortlessly beautiful women. Her T-shirt was tucked in with a cute belt, and she wore a lightweight jacket and a baseball cap with the high school barnacle mascot on it.
“Joanie!” I said, “I’m sorry to hear about the fire.”
“Yeah, that was not great. Lost one unit, but I think I can rebuild the other. I’m just happy both of the units were empty.”
Kenny was pretending to be busy while he eavesdropped.
“Fire?” he asked casually, as if everyone in town didn’t know about the fire yet.
“Couple nights ago,” she said. “I’m just glad the fire department got there so quickly.”
“Do they know how it started?” Kenny asked.