Chapter Twenty-Four
Twenty-Four
I had cleaned up most of the fallen items by the time Imogen arrived a little over an hour later, yet she still managed to kick a button under the cash desk the minute she stepped through the door.
She watched it shoot across the store with a baffled expression. “Did some kid knock over the pin container again?” She shook off her umbrella outside the door before slipping it into the umbrella stand we had next to the door. Her hair was in a bun, tucked under a hood. When she got into the dry safety of the store, she pulled out the tie that was keeping her hair up and let her braids fall around her shoulders.
“I accidentally knocked over the basket,” I lied.
She crouched down and collected the pin from the ground, checking to make sure it was undamaged before replacing it in the basket.
“Pretty quiet in here today?” She peered around the store. One of our regular Friday night Knit and Sip ladies was browsing the used books with the slow patience of someone who had nothing else to do with her day, but I wasn’t complaining; she had already stacked about ten books on the counter.
Imogen deposited her coat in the office before relieving me at the front so I could get the last of the bread loaves finished off before lunch. Given how quiet it had been all morning, I wasn’t expecting much of a rush, but even on our most ghost-town days, we usually went through at least a full loaf of each.
I had made two easy, popular classics today. One was our cheddar jalape?o loaf, which I’d serve with either tuna salad or egg salad, depending on whether or not the person was a vegetarian. The sweet loaf was just cinnamon raisin, simple but delicious, and as I pulled a loaf of it from the oven, my nostrils were filled with the heady aroma of cinnamon, which always made me feel like it was almost Christmas. I’d serve that with a whipped honey cream cheese topped with some chopped hazelnuts. If any of the roasted hazelnuts survived, that is, because I kept snacking on them whenever I went into the kitchen.
With lunch prepped, I finally had time to face the manila envelope that had been taunting me on the kitchen counter while I waited for Imogen to arrive. I was nervous to open it, wondering if it was just a vendor leaving swag or an invoice or if it had something to do with all the deaths that had been happening in town. Everyone involved knew where to find me—Melody, Deacon, and yes, even Leo. If someone wanted to leave me a piece of evidence or something to point me in the direction of the killer, it would make some sense for them to leave it at the store.
I opened the envelope and nervously peeked inside. If there was a finger or an ear in there, I didn’t want it to just slide out onto the counter and scare me out of my wits.
There were no body parts in the envelope but rather a slim stack of photos. I dumped them out onto the counter, and it took me a solid minute for my eyes to tell my brain what we were looking at. The photos were of the river near the footbridge, and for a second I was confused because I had seen this scene as it played out, but not from this angle.
There, unmistakably, was Melody and the man in the baseball cap who I’d seen her arguing with by the bridge. In fact, I could very easily picture my exact location in this scene, although the photographer hadn’t captured it. I was just a hair out of frame, watching things unfold from the bushes.
I hadn’t been the only one watching them, however.
Maybe this was why I’d felt certain I was being followed. Someone else had been there that day.
From this angle I could see very clearly who Melody was talking to, and it sucked every ounce of breath from my lungs. I dropped the photos back onto the counter once I realized.
Two formerly disconnected murders were not so disconnected after all.
The man that Melody had been arguing with that day was none other than Andrew Bachman, the dead lawyer.
Only the buzz from the oven telling me that a new batch of cookies were done was enough to pull me out of my horrified reverie.
I had a million questions to pile on the thousands I was already seeking answers for. How did Melody know the lawyer? Had they known each other before Sebastian’s murder, or had they only met through that initial tragedy? There’d seemed to be a lot of pent-up familiarity between them by the river, leading me to believe they hadn’t only met at the B and B. Something had driven them to meet in private, because otherwise any conversation between strangers could have taken place at the inn rather than in the woods.
I couldn’t imagine why Melody would be in contact with a real estate lawyer. And had whatever they were talking about been enough to lead to not one but two murders?
The one thing I knew with absolute certainty as I looked at the photos was that they were my one golden opportunity to help clear Leo’s name. Because as far as I was concerned, Melody Fairbanks had just become the number-one suspect in both of these crimes.
She not only seemed to be secretly stashing some of Sebastian’s funds, but she also had known Andrew. There was nothing coincidental about these murders.
I placed a quick call to Detective Martin, whose phone went right to voice mail, and then I put the photos in a freezer bag. They’d have my fingerprints on them now, but they might also have the photographer’s, and I would dearly like to know who had taken them and brought them to me rather than to the police.
Someone knew I was poking around in this case—and in fairness, I hadn’t really been subtle about it—but whoever had taken these pictures thought I could help. I was hoping I didn’t prove them wrong.
I headed back out to the work floor, where it was as quiet as ever. The rain outside was pouring down in unrelenting sheets, and the sky had grown so dark it already looked like evening. Bob was sitting in the front window watching water drip down from the eaves, his tail flicking every now and then. Out of nowhere, as if possessed, he scrambled halfway up the window, paws and nails scraping glass, and when he landed, one of Daphne’s little paper birds was hanging from his mouth.
“Oh, Bob , you little lunatic.” I went to reclaim the bird from him, but he bolted off the window ledge and hid under one of the chairs, where reaching him was just going to be too annoying to make it worthwhile. He started to bat the paper bird around with his paws, making sure it was good and dead.
“That’s his third one this morning,” Imogen informed me. “He has been hiding them around the store. I think we might need to do a scavenger hunt at some point to reclaim the missing flock.”
“I don’t know what’s gotten into him today. Those birds have been up for almost a week, and I don’t think he even noticed them until now.”
“Or did he just spend a week planning his attack?” Imogen tapped her temple. “Bob’s no fool.”
As if to agree with her, Bob let out a muffled yowling sound from under the chair. The bird was stuffed in his mouth. “Yeah, pal, you killed it. Good job.”
This was why I didn’t let him outside unless he was on the deck with me. I would like to keep my newfound bird friends in one piece.
I had far too much time that afternoon to think about the photographs. It was so miserable outside that even old Mr. Loughery didn’t show up, and I could hardly blame him for wanting to stay comfortable at home with the company of Frodo the cat. If I didn’t have a store, I’d be doing the same.
Thinking of Mr. Loughery and Frodo, I was slapped with a stark reminder. The cats! The cats from Barneswood were slated to be delivered tomorrow, and I’d been so preoccupied the last few days I had done almost nothing to prepare for their arrival.
The kennels were built, thank goodness, and we were only taking two cats to start—though we had enough room for four.
“I completely forgot about the new fosters that are coming tomorrow,” I explained to Imogen, to give reason for my suddenly stricken expression.
“Oh shoot, that’s tomorrow ?” Evidently, I hadn’t been the only one who had put the cats entirely out of my mind. We all must have collectively thought, Oh, it’s okay, I’ll take care of that later . Only later was now.
I went down to the basement, both to check for water, thanks to the deluge outside, and to grab all the supplies I’d put into storage for precisely this event. The basement remained dry, and also spooky, so I hauled the bags from Charlie Bravebird’s pet shop upstairs, hoping I didn’t need to make any more trips to the dungeon for the rest of the week.
“Charlie needs to give you a blue ribbon for being his best customer,” Imogen said, rifling through the bags with the curiosity of someone filming a shopping haul montage.
Dragging everything over to the designated kitty corner, I spent the next hour making sure all four kennels were ready for feline guests. I filled up the litter boxes in only two, but when I was done, each suite had a small covered bed where the cat could relax and also hide if they were feeling shy, a litter box, food and water dishes, some cozy blankets donated by the Knit and Sip crew, and a slew of toys that might tickle the cat’s fancy. Each kennel door also had a small chalkboard affixed to it where we could write the cat’s shelter name and some basic information about their age and temperament.
When I was done, Imogen brought over something I hadn’t seen her working on, and when she handed it to me, I could barely believe it was her doing it. Her cheeks reddened. “Don’t you dare say anything.”
She had made a little paper bunting that said WELCOME in multicolored flags. I bit my tongue at her request, but as soon as I’d hung it on the outside of the kennel, I turned around and forced her to submit to a tight hug.
Imogen wasn’t big on displays of warmth or affection, but she did wrap her arms around me and give me a hug back. “You worked really hard on this. I know those cats are lucky.”
My heart was full.
Bob pressed his face up against the metal cage doors, trying to get a good whiff of the new toys inside. He set down his paper bird, now thoroughly crinkled and damp, and reached a paw into the lowest kennel door, hoping to grab a spring toy I’d left in there.
“Bob, that’s not for you,” I scolded.
But a cat is going to do what a cat is going to do, and Bob eventually did succeed in getting the little spring toy out. It went skittering across the hardwood and so did he, a furry ballistic missile on a mission.
“Ah, let him have it. He could probably use the exercise,” Imogen teased.
Bob was a little on the portly side, so I acquiesced. It wasn’t as if he were disturbing anyone. The sole customer we’d had in the store was gone.
I was thrilled the cat condos were now ready for their guests and jotted down a note on the staff reminders pad for Daphne to get some social media posts up about the cats during her shift the next afternoon.
When an hour and then another passed without a single visitor, I decided it was time to throw in the towel. The storm showed no signs of relenting, and there was no sign of any foot traffic out on Main.
“I’m calling it. Let’s close early.”
Imogen, who had been reading at the counter, set her book down. “Are you sure? I don’t mind staying if you want to head home. I really don’t have anything better going on tonight anyway.”
I hemmed and hawed about this and then finally agreed to let her stay. Sometimes it was nice to be out of the house, and it didn’t seem like she was in a hurry to leave. I was planning to pay her either way, but at least this way we’d be open in case anyone wanted to stop by for a reprieve from the weather.
Bundling Bob up into his backpack, I grabbed the photos I’d left in the kitchen, double-checked that everything was ready for me in the morning, and bid Imogen farewell, making her promise to close up anytime she wanted if she decided she would rather leave early after all.
“Yes, because sitting here with a cup of tea and a book is such a terrible way to spend a rainy afternoon,” she quipped after me.
Hard to argue with that.
I wanted to head to the police station to see if Detective Martin was in. She still hadn’t returned my phone call from earlier, but I expected there was a lot on her plate, given that our sleepy little town had just had two back-to-back homicides. I decided I’d wait to hear from her. I wanted very badly to show her these photos, hoping they might help clear Leo of any suspicion, but if she was busy, I couldn’t force her to be available.
Leo was probably lying low, and I considered stopping by his house to check on him, but I was honestly more worried about finding him not there. If the police had taken him in for questioning, I couldn’t help him avoid that. The fight had happened, and it was inevitable that he was going to be asked about it eventually.
Instead, I bypassed all immediate responsibility and went home.
I released Bob, who headed directly into the living room and made himself comfortable on the back of the couch in a now-permanent Bob-shaped divot. He looked about as happy and cozy as only a napping cat can be. I’d have loved nothing more than to join him for a late-afternoon doze, but my brain wouldn’t turn off.
This new information about Melody and Andrew was helpful, but it wasn’t a smoking gun. I grabbed my laptop and an apple from the bowl on the kitchen counter and plopped down on the sofa. I did a quick search on both Andrew’s and Melody’s names and then their names together. Absolutely zero hits with their names combined; the only thing that seemed to connect them was that their names had both recently appeared in articles in the local paper.
Then I tried to search any connections between Sebastian and the lawyer.
Again, only the newspaper.
Since I couldn’t exactly point to the paper’s sole features writer as the killer, I was left at square one. Whatever the connection between Sebastian and Andrew had been, I couldn’t find it, and I didn’t understand how Melody was involved.
Whatever it was that had brought the three of them together, though, it had been worth killing over.