Chapter Twenty-Five
Twenty-Five
It was another hour before I got a call back from Detective Martin, which was precisely the amount of time it took for me to come up with a compelling but utterly insane theory about Melody and Andrew belonging to a secret society and Sebastian being killed because he’d learned about their connection.
I should never be left to my own devices when there’s an unsolved murder on the line.
Martin came directly over from the police station, and I was pacing the living room when she arrived.
“Let’s have a look at these, then,” she said, following me into the formal dining room. Since I never actually ate in the dining room, it had become sort of a catchall for things I was trying to purge from Eudora’s house but hadn’t found the right new home for yet.
There were stacks of books I knew I’d never read but suspected might have too much value to just donate. Boxes of clothes that weren’t quite my style lined the wall, but again, these were so eclectic—and some of them quite high-end brands—that I thought I might be better doing online consignment than just taking them to goodwill. And then there were Eudora’s papers. I had banker’s boxes stacked three tall lining the whole dining table, and I was only about a quarter of the way through reviewing them.
Considering Eudora had once hidden millions of dollars’ worth of land title deeds in a photo album, there was no way I was just going to shred everything in those boxes without going through it first. Who knew what other secrets she might be hiding?
“Moving in or moving out?” Detective Martin asked, eyeing the fortress of cardboard.
“Moving on,” I replied. “It’s all my aunt’s stuff.”
“Ah. Well, I imagine over her life and in a house this size, she probably amassed a pretty impressive collection.”
“She amassed collections that would put the British Museum to shame.”
“The British Museum doesn’t know the meaning of the word.” Her lip quirked up. She held out her hand for the photos, and I was happy to oblige, giving her the freezer bag I’d been carrying around with me. I’d been scared to let them out of my sight since getting home, as if they might grow legs and wander off of their own free will.
“Did you touch them?” she asked.
“I did. I wasn’t sure what they were until I had them out of the envelope, and I also don’t usually carry around gloves just in case I stumble across evidence.”
“Given your proclivity for stumbling across crime scenes, you might want to start leaving some in your purse.”
Her voice was so deadpan I wasn’t sure if this was a joke or not, but the twinkle in her dark-brown eyes told me there was no malicious intent behind her words. She was teasing me.
At least I had moved beyond the it’s suspicious this woman keeps showing up at crime scenes phase of my relationship with the detective. I’d found my way to her good side, and I hoped that by bringing her this evidence, I might stay there.
“Next time I won’t open any surprise mail, I promise.”
“You don’t happen to have a camera installed behind the store, do you?”
While that would have been wise, considering there had been situations behind the store in the past, it was just another thing on a lengthy to-do list that I hadn’t yet gotten around to.
“I don’t, sorry.”
She shook her head. “I’ll check with your neighbors. If they have something, maybe our delivery person was caught making the drop. Not holding my breath, though.” She had on gloves and was handling each photo individually, tipping it this way and that under the dim light of the overhead chandelier. “I’m also not holding my breath that our shutterbug left any prints on these. I see some, but I suspect those might be yours. We have your prints on file, though, so it’ll be easy to eliminate you.”
A small mercy that made up for how utterly humiliating it had been to get printed in the first place. It didn’t matter that I was perfectly innocent of any crimes; the simple act of being fingerprinted had been enough to make me feel instantly guilty of something. I’d almost confessed to the one time in junior high when I’d stolen a bubblegum lip balm on a dare. I’d admitted it to my mother so quickly I hadn’t even given her an opportunity to suspect something was wrong. I was not cut out for a life of crime.
“Thank you for sharing these with me, Phoebe. I hope this will help us, and it certainly sheds some interesting light on the case, I can’t deny that.”
“Did you find anything at the sanctuary?”
“You know I can’t tell you that.”
“Did you find Melody?”
“No, she never did come back to the inn last night; we had a cruiser out front and an officer inside. Her things are still there, however, and we think it’ll only be a matter of time before she has no choice but to show her face. We didn’t find any sign of those gloves you mentioned, though. Or any bank statements.”
Well, that was interesting. Maybe Melody had tried to ditch the gloves.
“What about Deacon?”
She shook her head. “In the wind too, I’m afraid. You think he might be responsible for these?” She tapped the bag of photos.
That actually hadn’t occurred to me, but it made sense. “It wouldn’t be the first time he targeted me as a possible ally. Considering how he showed up here a couple days ago, there’s a chance he might think of me as someone trustworthy.”
“Well, if he should reach out to you again, be careful but keep him close. I’m not sure who is to blame for these murders, and this investigation keeps getting messier by the day, but I would very much like a chance to chat with both him and his friend Melody.”
Part of me wondered, perhaps morbidly, if the reason we couldn’t find both of the cases’ best suspects was because one of them had taken the other out. I didn’t say this out loud, but based on the grim expression Detective Martin was wearing, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she was thinking the same thing.
Detective Martin donned a RCPD ballcap and tipped the brim in my direction before reminding me to be careful.
“Seriously, Phoebe, keep your eyes open, but keep your guard up. Someone, or more than one someone in this case, knows you’re involved, and that could make you a target. The second you don’t feel safe, I want you to call me, and if I don’t answer, call the station directly, okay? Please take this seriously.”
“Trust me, I am.”
She disappeared into the rainy night, leaving me alone in my big house as dusk fell over the town. I would listen to her warning, but my curiosity about the case far outweighed any concerns I had over my personal safety. I didn’t believe whoever had left me the photos had done so as a threatening gesture. I thought they’d done it because they believed I could help.
Which brought me back to Detective Martin’s question about Deacon. Was it possible he had been out in the woods at the same time as me and captured the argument? And if that was the case, had he been out there following Melody, or had he been following me?
That last question gave me enough pause that I went to double-check my locks for the third or fourth time that evening. I might not be an obvious target for the killer, but that didn’t mean I wanted to make myself an easy target if that changed.
Dinner would be leftover sourdough, since I had a fridge full of tuna and egg salad and two full loaves of bread. I’d made Imogen promise to take home the other two. I couldn’t believe how quiet the day had been. It made me all the more grateful for our beautiful weather on Independence Day, which meant we’d made more than enough money to guarantee that a few slow days weren’t going to hurt our bottom line.
The bad weather also hadn’t done anything to dampen our online sales. I was going to need to set aside a good chunk of my day tomorrow to catch up on those, because there were too many to just leave them for another day.
Plus we were finally getting our first kitty guests from the Barneswood Humane Society, and despite all the other messy business in my life, I was super excited to see which cats would be coming to stay with us at the store.
I was just about to sit down to a tasty dinner sandwich when my phone pinged to alert me to a new text.
Honey’s name was on the screen.
Can we come over? My mom might have an idea about your little . . . problem.
Recalling how lucky I’d been with Dierdre’s lack of observation this morning, I knew this was an offer I couldn’t turn down.
I’m home, come on by.
Honey replied immediately. Hope you’re hungry because Mama has been in the kitchen all day.
Magic and a hot meal?
Maybe this day was turning around after all.