Who Shot the Serif Page 11

Rosemary's foot just kept bouncing. She finally hazarded a glance at me. "I'm sorry, Jamie. Look, I know you're the prime suspect in Earleen's murder. And I don't believe you did it for a minute. Maybe I should have told you about Jack and me. And how Earleen threatened him. But I know Jack didn't kill Earleen. I couldn't force myself to put Jack in Ridge's sights, too."

  "How do you know Jack is innocent? Does he have an alibi?" I asked.

  "He was with me the morning of the murder." She lifted her chin.

  But I'd heard another story—that Jack had left her place early enough to kill Earleen. "What time was that?"

  She shrugged. "That morning? I don't know to the minute. Six, maybe? The garbage trucks had just been by. Jack moved my can from the street for me."

  I made a mental note to find out what time the garbage trucks had been by last Tuesday. I was pretty sure Ridge was already on it. But just in case. And also, what the route was—had they been past Rosemary's before mine?

  "Rosemary," I said gently, "be careful. I've heard Jack has a nasty temper and can be violent."

  "Violent!" Her foot stopped bouncing. She popped to her feet. "Who told you that? They're lying. I'd never be with anybody who would hurt me or my boy."

  I lifted an eyebrow, and Rosemary went white.

  She grabbed my arm. "He hit his ex-wife—once. Just one time. I'm not excusing him. It was horrible. He gave her a black eye and broke her nose. He was drunk and high. He's an alcoholic. It was a wake-up call. He couldn't believe he'd hit a woman, especially one he loved. He got sober. But the marriage was over. He hasn't had a drink or smoked in five years—"

  "Earleen knew all this?"

  Rosemary's eyes misted over. She nodded. "He made the mistake of telling her after they'd been together a month. When he thought…" She sighed heavily. "Jack's upfront about it with any woman he dates more than a few times. He told me soon after we started dating, too. But you can't tell anyone. Please."

  I didn't have the heart to tell her that if there'd been a police report, Ridge already knew. "It would look better for both of you if you and Jack told Ridge."

  "Me?" She looked suddenly frightened. "Why would it look bad for me? What do I have to do with it?"

  "Withholding information from the police?" It was good I was able to think on my feet. "It's for your own good, anyway. You want Ridge to clear Jack, don't you?"

  "I'll think about it," she said. "You aren't going to fire me, are you?" She looked and sounded so scared and pitiful.

  "Of course not. And I'm not going to blackmail you into talking to the police."

  She slumped with relief. "Thank you. I really need this job."

  Later that day, something she'd said stuck with me—she'd been in a fog, making mistakes and muddling through. Did that explain her suspicious behavior the day I saw her looking into the gun drawer? Or had she seen me spying on her and this was just a cover?

  Things were no clearer to me now. I did know one thing—I had to talk to Ridge and find out about the garbage schedule.

  Around two, I left Flourish in Rosemary's hands and headed home "for a late lunch." Really, I needed some private investigating time. I didn't want Rosemary, or Angel, to overhear me or know what I was up to. On the short walk to my house, I texted Ridge and told him to expect a visit from Rosemary and Jack soon. And for them to confess they were back together.

  I let myself into my house and tossed my keys on the kitchen table as I scrounged for a bite to eat and found the local number for the garbage company. Even in my small town, our garbage was collected by a huge national garbage conglomerate. Long gone were the days of a local garbage company.

  I made up an elaborate story about needing to know the garbage route so I could choose between several properties I was looking to buy. I was quite proud of myself. I rehearsed for a few minutes and called the garbage company. After negotiating my way through the option menu, I finally got to a live person.

  Happily, the customer service person was uninterested in my reasons for wanting the route. I expected her to deny my request, stating security reasons or something. But she emailed me a map of the garbage route for Cedar Valley and that was it. I asked her what time the garbage trucks left their facilities and started the route, and she told me. With that information in hand, I sent the map to my wireless printer. In less than a minute, I was at my kitchen table with a marker in hand, staring at the map and making mental calculations.

  I typed Rosemary's address and the starting address on the route into Google on my phone and had an approximate time from the start of the route to her house. I added in what I estimated was the amount of extra time it would take a garbage truck making stops at each house. Then I typed in Rosemary's address and mine and did the calculation again.

  A knock at the back kitchen door startled me. I looked up to find Ridge waving at me through the window in the door. I would have waved him in, but I was still jumpy and locking my doors for good measure, even when I was home. Maybe especially. I had to get up to let him in.

  "Still locking your doors?" His voice was deep and sexy. His tone was teasing, but there was an edge of relief to it.

  "Yeah." I stepped aside to let him in. "Having someone murdered in your front yard has that effect on people like me. If the killer wants to come back to finish me off, at least he'll have to break down my door or crash through a window. I am the only potential witness."

  "Have you remembered seeing something?" He was hot when he looked hopeful, like he did now.

  Who was I kidding? He was always hot. It was so hard not to see Rut in him and remember all the times Rut and I had—

  I cut that line of thought off. It did me no good.

  "No. If I had, you'd be the first person I told." I took my seat at the table. "Just exercising common sense."

  Ridge took the seat next to me and tapped the garbage route map on the table in front of me. "What's this?"

  "I guess I did remember something," I said, trying not to be affected by his nearness as we sat shoulder to shoulder. "I remembered hearing the garbage truck go by that morning. And I don't know whether it's only a suggested memory, a false memory, but I remember hearing a backfire about the same time. And then—"

  "What?"

  "Maybe I should wait until Rosemary and Jack talk to you."

  "Why don't you tell me first?" he said. "I'm more likely to get the truth out of you than them. It'll give me a yardstick to measure their story by."

  "Only more likely?" I said dryly. "I'm flattered."

  He grinned that sexy-as-sin grin of his. "Like it or not, you are a murder suspect. Tell me what you know."

  I told him everything I'd gathered from Rosemary, Wanda, and Dana.

  "Unfortunately, unless the garbage truck inexplicably took a different route that day, Rosemary's alibi, for both her and Jack, falls apart. She told me the garbage truck had just come by and Jack moved her can back off the curb for her." I pointed to the map. "Since the garbage truck goes past Rosemary's before it comes to mine, Jack could still have followed Earleen on her jog and shot her in front of my house. According to Google, he had plenty of time, even not figuring in extra for the stops the garbage trucks make. Rosemary would have had time, too."

  I sighed. "I'm no closer to solving this than I was right after it happened. Every path I go down dead-ends or leads me to more questions."

  I playfully shoulder-bumped him like I used to when we were kids studying together. "Okay. That's my part of show-and-tell. What do you have? I assume you have a reason for stopping by?"

  "I can't just stop by to see your beautiful face and chat with my good friend?" There was that playful, almost flirty look again.

  "You could. But I'd tell you to get back to work and solve this thing before you have to start visiting me in the state pen."

  "I stopped by the store," he said. "Rosemary told me you'd be here having lunch?" He looked around.

  "I grabbed an energy bar," I said. "Lunch was just an excuse to do so
me sleuthing."

  "I figured. Rosemary spilled and made a statement about her and Jack. She alibied him. And I suppose when I talk to him, he'll alibi her."

  "You dirty, lying devil! You set me up." I mock-glared at him. "By the way, according to my conversation with the garbage company and my map, their alibis are worthless." I looked him in the eye and batted my lashes. "Do our stories jibe?"

  He shrugged. "Nice try. They're close enough. That's all I can say. I wanted to get your opinion of her story.

  "Now you have it," I said. "Is that it? You don't have anything more?"

  "I have a line of inquiry and a theory I'm pursuing," he said—too casually.

  I crossed my arms. "Are you going to tell me what it is? Or leave it to my imagination? I can play twenty questions. If I must. I'm good at it."

  "Can't tell you. And twenty questions won't help. My lips are sealed."

  "Why do I feel like I'm having a one-sided conversation with you? I give you all my intel and you remain enigmatic. Friends tell each other secrets, you know."

  "And cops keep theirs to themselves. If my idea pans out," he said, "you'll know everything. I won't be able to stop myself from bragging about how I cracked this case."

  "Sounds like you," I said. "You always were a braggart."

  "Seriously, James," he said, and rubbed his forehead like he was fighting a headache. "Contrary to popular belief, I've been working this case twenty-four/seven. I've barely slept."

  Until that moment, I'd been too self-absorbed to notice the traces of fatigue clinging to him. Or maybe it was that my attraction to him always rattled me. But I suddenly noticed the idea of dark circles beneath his eyes and the stubble on his cheeks.

  Ridge was the picture of perfect health. He'd always been the guy that could pull all-nighters without feeling the effect. As a cop, he worked all kinds of weird shifts, and none of it seemed to mess with him. That he was showing any signs of stress and sleep deprivation at all, however faint, was alarming. And touching at the same time. I knew he'd do his best to solve any murder. But I also realized he was putting in this Herculean effort for me. And because he didn't care for the trip to Purdy, where the dangerous female convicts were held.

  I lightly touched his arm. "Ridge, get some sleep and take care of yourself. You're no good to me dead on your feet."

  "I will. When this case is solved." He studied me. "Don't look so worried. I'm catching naps when I can. The case just won't leave me alone. My mind can't stop working on it. There's too much at stake."

  I leaned my head on his shoulder, like the old days. He put his arm around me. We sat like that for too long while I contemplated whether I should tell him everything else I knew. Finally, I lifted my head and cleared my throat. "There are rumors that Earleen and Artie were having an affair. They're not true."

  "Of course they're not true," Ridge said as if everyone should know it. "No one has ever been able to understand it, but Artie is truly in love with Phyllis and stupidly devoted to her. She may be too dumb to realize it, though. What's your proof?"

  I told him about the lingerie store, leaving out how I found out which store. He was smart enough not to ask.

  "So Earleen was helping Artie plan an anniversary surprise for Phyllis," I said. "Which, as you hinted at, doesn't leave her out from murdering Earleen in a crime of passion."

  "Hard to imagine Phyllis that passionate," Ridge said with a grimace that made me laugh. "Not that anyone would want to."

  "Yeah," I said. "Hey, another thing—Dana stopped by the store this morning and offered to sell me any of Culp's stock that I wanted at rock-bottom-going-out-of-business prices. She also offered to sell me the building. Not at such a discount, though, I imagine."

  Ridge lifted an eyebrow. "Huh."

  "Huh?" I said, a little indignant. "That's your entire comment?"

  He shrugged again. "I never thought Dana was so bad in high school. She didn't seem to hate you like Earleen did. She wants to dump the store, lock, stock, and barrel. You're a likely candidate to buy the stock. It's just business. Are you biting?"

  I frowned. "Now? How would that look? The last thing I need is people thinking I murdered Earleen so I could grab her pens and gift items for a steal."

  "Yeah, two motives." He whistled.

  I shoulder-bumped him again. "Dana seemed genuinely sorry for the way Phyllis is acting. She apologized for her."

  Ridge got a faraway look.

  "Ridge! Wake up."

  He startled.

  "I lost you for a minute. Take a nap, for heaven's sake. You can curl up on my sofa or nap in my guestroom."

  "I'm fine."

  "You are not." I glanced at the clock. "I have to get back to the shop."

  "I can't sleep on the job. I'd have to fire me, and that's no good. The next police chief might not be so sure you're innocent." He pushed back from the table. "I'll walk with you partway. I have someone else to talk to in town."

  Chapter Seventeen

  The moment I got back to Flourish, Rosemary had to run to pick her son up from school. It was a quiet day. Foot traffic was falling off at an alarming rate. Perk Me Up and the café and bakery both seemed busy enough. I chased my worries away and dug into one of the few commissioned projects I still had left. I was head down, deep into my work, when the door opened and Phyllis strode in. Not the person I wanted to see. But fortuitous. I didn't want to see her, but I needed to. This saved me the trouble of seeking her out.

  "There you are." Phyllis was loaded for bear. Her eyes blazed. Her jaw was set. As she charged over to my desk, I almost swore I saw smoke coming from her nostrils.

  I held my ground and looked at her calmly. "May I help you?"

  "Stop sticking your nose in Artie's and my business." Her voice was threateningly low.

  "I wasn't aware I was—"

  "You're spreading rumors that Artie and Earleen were having an affair."

  I tried very hard not to pale. I'd been listening to rumors, sure. But spreading them? Where did she hear that? Was someone throwing me under the bus? I opened my mouth to defend myself, but Phyllis cut me off.

  "FYI, I know my husband and my best friend. They weren't having an affair. Earleen was helping Artie plan an anniversary surprise for me—a cruise to the Bahamas and all the trimmings. I've known what they were up to for months. But I had to pretend not to. You can ask Sue LaRue if you like. I told her a month ago what kind of perfume to sell Artie if he came in."

  She rolled her eyes. "How dumb do people think I am? Talking behind my back like I don't know what was going on. Artie is the sweetest man alive, but he couldn't plan a romantic getaway without help to save his life. And he'd never make it as a spy. You don't think I found the receipts and saw the texts from Earleen?"

  She let out a huff. "People in this town gossip too much and get up in other people's business too often. Artie and I are just fine, thank you." She pointed at me again. "But if you ruin Artie's 'surprise' for me by going around asking questions and spreading rumors so that he has to defend himself and tell the truth, I will kill you. I promise." Her eyes filled with tears.

  I couldn't tell whether they were sentimental tears because of Artie's romantic streak or angry tears. It probably didn't matter. She'd just shattered her motive for murdering Earleen. And all without me having to ask her a single question.

  "Word to the wise," I said. "Threatening to kill anyone is dangerous these days, even if innocently done as a figure of speech."

  Phyllis turned red. I thought she might explode.

  "Anyway, not that I've been spreading rumors, but message received."

  Phyllis wasn't placated.

  I hitched my thumb toward the door, indicating she could use it.

  She held her ground. "I have another matter to discuss with you. I heard Dana paid you a visit this morning."

  "What if she did?" Phyllis' attitude galled me. "It's none of your business."

  "I think it is."

  I stood to meet
her face to face. "If you have something to say, just say it."

  "She offered to sell you the stock from Culp's. I'm here to tell you you'll never get it. Dana wants to sell Culp's, which would have Earleen turning in her grave." She lifted her chin. "I won't stand for it. Artie and I are going to buy her house, the business, and the building." She tapped her chest. "I'm going to run Culp's."

  "Good for you," I said, feeling sick in the pit of my stomach. Now Phyllis could fill in for Earleen and accuse me of running her out of business. "It's not the best investment. But if you want to throw your money away and can afford it—"

  She took in such a deep breath that her chest puffed out like a proud rooster's. "You just can't stop digging at me, can you? You and all the other popular people from high school who still think they run this town."

  She pointed her finger in my face. I brushed it away.

  "As soon as things are settled, I'll have plenty of money. I was Earleen's best friend. I'm the beneficiary of her life insurance policy." Her expression went from angry to smug. "You don't seriously think she left everything to Dana, do you?"

  She thought she had me. But she was wrong. She'd just given both Artie and herself a motive for murder.

  Before I could reply, she turned on her heel, one could only assume preparing to storm out. But something at Perk Me Up caught her attention.

  I followed her line of sight to where Angel stood, open-mouthed, watching us. I hitched my thumb toward her. "I give you my witness. Should anything happen to me—"

  But Phyllis wasn't listening. Her eyes got a steely glint, the kind a supervillain gets when he spots his next victim. "And you, Angel. Mind your own business or I'll spill yours. Yes, I know your little secret. You think Earleen wouldn't tell me?"

  With that parting shot under her belt, Phyllis finally finished storming out, dramatically trying to slam the door behind her. Fortunately, after too many customers had let the door slam shut accidentally, I'd had Jack install soft-close hinges. There was no way to slam it now. But it was fun to watch Phyllis try.

  I watched her go and turned to Angel, who'd gone ghostly white. Oh, boy. Not good. Angel wasn't easy to scare. Rumor had it that she had more than a few relatives with Mafia ties. If that didn't scare her, why did this?