Chapter 10 #2
Georgie steps in close with all the grace of a drunk raccoon.
“So, Ms. Templeton,” Georgie begins, “where were you between eight and ten last night? I’m asking for my travel blog, of course. I’m doing a piece on A Day in the Life of a Travel Killer.”
Ree rolls her eyes and I think both cats did, too.
Vivian blinks. “I was attending the reception, like everyone else.”
“The entire time?” Georgie presses. “No bathroom breaks? No sudden urges to visit funhouses?”
Vivian frowns. “Excuse me?”
“Do you have experience with safety chains?” Georgie continues relentlessly. “It’s for a story on theme park safety. Very educational.”
“I beg your—”
“Have you ever strangled anyone? Theoretically speaking?” Georgie leans in, that roller coaster on her head now dangerously close to Vivian’s face.
Vivian takes a small step back with alarm creeping into her expression as if she’s just realized she’s being interrogated by someone whose hat has far too many moving parts. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“Georgie has an unusual interview style,” I jump in, desperate to save what’s left of this conversation. “She spends a lot of time in Cider Cove. They’ve had a bit of a spike in homicide cases over the last few years. It’s basically murder central.”
Now there’s an understatement. I’m shocked they haven’t arrested Bizzy yet since she seems to find all of the bodies. But then, she is sleeping with the head of the homicide department. She must be stellar in bed.
“That’s right.” Georgie grins with pride. “My little town of Cider Cove has the highest murder-to-tourism ratio in Maine. Our tourism slogan is Come for the cider, stay for the crime,” she adds proudly. “One might say, I’ve developed a nose for killers.”
“We all have our talents,” I add weakly.
“Georgie,” Ree hisses. “That’s nothing to brag about. If anything, it’s a deeply concerning statistic.”
Vivian fans herself with her fingers, clearly disconcerted. “Well, it’s fascinating nonetheless.”
“Speaking of fascinating,” Georgie pivots with the subtlety of a bulldozer, “did you know that prison pen pals are all the rage now? Especially the handsome ones. Nothing like a man with time on his hands to really commit to correspondence.”
Ree sighs deeply. “There’s nothing like a man with time and a thesaurus.” She averts her eyes at Georgie’s shenanigans despite the fact that she’s playing along. I have a feeling that’s a pattern between these two.
“I... what?” Vivian looks genuinely confused.
“My third husband was a prison pen pal,” Georgie continues. “Embezzlement, not murder. He stole six million, but the man could write a mean haiku.”
Now I’m the one rolling my eyes, and when I do, I spot salvation across the way. “Oh look—lobster rolls!”
Georgie’s head whips around so fast that the roller coaster on her head nearly takes flight. “LOBSTER ROLLS? For brEAKFAST? I’m in!” She marches off without a backward glance.
Clearly her culinary priorities trump detective work. And I’d follow right after her if my hiney wasn’t sitting in the number one suspect position.
That dinner date with the hot detective swoops into my mind and I push it right back out. Oddly enough, nearly every picture I’ve ever taken looks like a mug shot—even my wedding pictures with Clyde—and now it makes me wonder if it was all in preparation for this.
With Ree occupied with the cats and Georgie in pursuit of crustaceans, I finally find myself alone with Vivian. It’s time for a more nuanced approach.
“I’m sorry about that,” I offer. “It’s been a stressful time for everyone.”
“Indeed,” Vivian agrees as her composure returns. “The travel writing world is closer than you’d think. We’re all taking it pretty hard.”
“How well did you know Ned?”
Vivian laughs with a brittle edge to it. “Ned and I were once engaged, if you can believe it. But that’s ancient history.”
My eyebrows climb right into my hairline. “Engaged? Wow. I had no idea.”
“Few do. He had a gift for betrayal. It was decades ago, before he left me for my assistant. Classy, right?” Her tone is matter-of-fact, but her fingers tighten slightly on her clipboard as if she’s restraining herself from using it as a weapon.
“I built my career despite his attempts to sabotage me at every turn.”
“I’m so sorry. It sounds like a complicated relationship.”
“Oh, it’s all water under the bridge,” she says with a dismissive wave. “Although Ned specialized in complicated relationships. The man collected enemies like some people collect theme park pins.”
Theme park pins? I hike a brow her way. Now there’s an interesting analogy coming from her, considering the fact there were two hard-to-find pins next to his body, and those same pins were tacked onto her vest just minutes before.
Speaking of enemies... “Did Ned have any specific disagreements with anyone at the conference? Any recent arguments?”
“Ned had disagreements with everyone. It was his second career,” she sighs with the weariness of an editor who’s spent way too much time dealing with difficult personalities.
“But recently he’d been threatening several of us with some kind of exposé.
Don’t ask me about what. It was all very cloak-and-dagger, even for Ned. It was odd.”
“That does seem odd. Who do you think could have done this to him?” I venture, watching her reaction closely and trying to channel my inner detective rather than my inner theme park manager who’s in way over her head.
Her pause is just a fraction too long. “Between you and me, I wouldn’t rule out Wallis. He and Ned had some kind of business arrangement that was falling apart.”
I clear my throat. “Come to think of it, I did see them having it out with one another and it looked pretty heated.”
“Oh, I don’t know what that was about.” She winces as if trying to remember. “But I bet Patty will. She has some past connection to the park and she seems to specialize in collecting dirt on others. She is, after all, trying to make her foray into politics—and that is what politicians do best.”
“There are no truer words,” I mutter, mostly to myself.
I rake my eyes over her tailored pantsuit in an autumn rust color that complements her coloring perfectly, but I can’t help but notice that the vest with the collector pins is missing.
“I was admiring your pin collection yesterday,” I tell her. “The historical park pieces were incredible. Do you have them on hand today?”
“Oh, no. They’re back at the inn where I’m staying.” She brushes invisible lint from her sleeve. “I only wear them for special occasions.”
“The Country Cottage Inn?” I ask, suddenly hopeful that we share the same temporary residence.
“That’s the one,” she says as her face brightens. “Such a charming place.”
Her phone chirps with the insistence of modern technology refusing to be ignored, and she checks the screen with a frown that suggests whatever she’s reading isn’t good news.
“I’m afraid I need to put out another fire,” she sighs. “Ned always knew how to cause a scene, in life and death. Some people have talent for chaos, even from the grave.” She offers a tight smile. “If you’ll excuse me.”
She walks away just as Fish and Chip race back to me with Ree trailing behind them.
Come quick! Red alert! Fish yowls my way. Georgie challenged Patty Sherwood to a lobster roll eating contest and now she’s distributing campaign buttons!
It’s a political seafood meltdown, Chip adds. I saw mustard on a baby.
I look up to see a growing crowd gathered around the lobster roll stand, where Georgie stands on a hay bale like some kind of crustacean-themed revolutionary, waving half a lobster roll like a scepter.
Beside her, Patty Sherwood, in her pink hiking boots and campaign-ready smile, is addressing the impromptu audience while distributing what appear to be Sherwood for Mayor buttons with the efficiency of a politician who never misses a photo op.
“Oh no,” I groan. “This is not how you conduct a subtle investigation.”
“To be fair,” Ree offers, “nothing about Georgie has ever been subtle.”
As I rush toward the crustacean calamity unfolding across the path, my mind races through what I’ve learned.
Vivian had motive—a jilted fiancée with a long-standing grudge and a career built despite her ex’s sabotage attempts.
She had the opportunity—by her own admission, she was at the reception.
And her pins—her distinctive, vintage collector pins—were found beside Ned’s body like a calling card.
Sometimes the most obvious suspect is the right one—the person with the clearest motive, the means, and the opportunity.
But if that’s the case, why does this feel too easy?
And more importantly, why would Vivian leave her prized pins at the scene, practically leaving her signature at the murder scene?
Unless, of course, someone wanted us to think exactly that—which would make this whole investigation a lot more complicated than a simple case of revenge served cold with a side of safety chain strangulation.
Someone wanted revenge for something.
And they got it.
A scream goes off to my right, then another and another, and sure enough, Georgie Conner is at the nexus of all that terror.
I look over at Fish and Chip and shout, “RUN!”