Summer Walsh Mystery Series (3 complete cozy mystery novellas) Page 3

  Whatever delusions I might have had about people looking at me vanished as soon as a small group of people came up to our table. "Any word about the B&B murder?" a straggly haired man asked, all his attention focused on Jim. "Word's out that the killer is still on the loose."

  "Nothing yet," Jim replied as he opened his menu. "And that's why I'm here with one of the key witnesses. So if you don't mind …" He gestured toward the table where the man came from. "We need a little privacy."

  I knew that he'd never discuss most of the details of the case in such a public place. That was just his way of letting the guy know this wasn't a personal dinner out and letting me know it was strictly business between us. Oh well. I'd felt chemistry for other police officers in the past, including Captain Jerry Stokes from Gulfside, the town where my uncle lives. Jerry was a little flirtier than Jim, but deep down I knew what we were there for, and it wasn't to fall in love and live happily ever after.

  After we ordered, Jim propped his elbows on the table and leaned forward. "So what do you think about this Bert guy? Do you think he knows anything about the murder?"

  "I'm not sure. He smiled at me." I shuddered at the thought of the possibility that Bert might know something yet still have that sweet look on his face. The only thing that separated us was an interior door that looked like it could be blown open with one quick breath.

  "Hate to break this to you, but even murderers can smile."

  "Yes, but wouldn't he be upset about Mrs. Birchfield's death since he had a relationship with her?"

  "Relationship?" He shrugged. "That might be hearsay."

  "True," I agreed. "But behind every rumor often stands a nugget of truth."

  "Cliché."

  "I know, but I still believe it."

  The server brought our food, asked if we needed anything, and left. I was about to bite into my club sandwich when commotion sounded at the door behind me.

  Jim's gaze popped up, and his eyes widened. I had been trained to act cool in all circumstances, so I willed myself not to turn around.

  "Once a cop, always a cop." He grinned. "Are you even curious about what just happened?"

  "What do you think?"

  "We're about to have company. Pretend to be surprised."

  I chewed quickly and swallowed in time to look up and see Mrs. Birchfield's assistant Connie approaching, followed by Mavis who didn't look the least bit happy about something. Jim gestured toward the empty seats at their table, acting as though they didn't look as though they wanted to strangle each other.

  "Would you ladies like to join us?"

  "She's no lady," Connie growled. "That-that woman had the nerve to call and start making all kinds of demands."

  Mavis rolled her eyes. "You would have thought I'd said something mean."

  I didn't want to get involved with whatever was going on between these two women, but I couldn't keep my mouth shut on this one. "Mavis, don't you think the timing is a bit off to be making demands? Connie just lost her boss."

  "That's all the more reason she needs to do what I'm telling her to. She's been filling in for me part-time on an as-needed basis, and if I decide to fire her, she'll be unemployed. In case you didn't already know this, jobs are scarce these days." She flailed about. "I can't keep up with my place all by myself anymore, especially now that I'm the only B&B in town and business is swarming my way … not that the other one was any good anyway. And overpriced! You'd have thought that woman was running a castle."

  "Compared to your place, it is … was." Connie nearly choked on her last word as a tear trickled down her cheek. But something about it didn't look real. Oh, the tear was real, but I didn't see the full range of grief behind it. For the first time since I'd met her, I wondered about Connie's sincerity.

  Jim cast a glance toward me before turning back to Mavis. "Why don't the two of you calm down for now and discuss the employment situation later? Like after the funeral."

  Mavis shook her head. "I'm not going to that woman's funeral. I didn't like her when she was alive, so why should I like her now?"

  "Now now," Jim said as though talking to a small child. "That's no way to talk about the deceased." He looked over at Connie.

  She pouted. "I can't even get to my room, now that the police have the whole place barricaded."

  "I thought you said you had another place to stay."

  She opened her mouth, but Mavis spoke up before she got a word out. "Lola Birchfield was too cheap to give her hired help a permanent room. I, on the other hand offered to give her free room and board in exchange for some light work. That's a lot more valuable than the peanuts that old woman tossed her way."

  Connie didn't say anything. She merely stood there staring at Mavis as though she couldn't believe what she was hearing. I had to admit this was all very strange. I wondered why Connie didn't just mention that she lived with her mom, but I didn't want to bring it up now. That was something Jim and I could discuss later.

  The manager of the diner walked up and addressed Mavis. "Is there anything I can get you ladies?"

  Mavis shook her head and backed toward the door. Connie, on the other hand, pointed to one of the chairs. "I think I'll take you up on your offer." She glanced up at the manager as she sat. "I'd like a glass of sweet tea, please."

  I could tell that it took every ounce of self-restraint Jim had not to laugh. "I'm glad you could join us," he said. "So what really brought you out looking for us?"

  Connie pursed her lip, squirmed around in her chair for a moment, then looked Jim in the eye. "I've been thinking about all the people who could have done this to Ms. Birchfield."

  "And?" Jim lifted an eyebrow as he leaned back and folded his arms.

  "Remember I told you about Bert? Well, he has a son who didn't like the old lady … er, Mrs. Birchfield. He stopped by a few weeks ago and actually accused her of being a gold digger."

  "Gold digger?" Now it was my turn to be surprised.

  "Yes," Connie said as she continued looking at Jim rather than me. "Bert's son thought Ms. Birchfield might be keeping him around to help finance her expansion."

  "She was expanding?" Jim said. "I don't see how. Her property is locked in by houses all around her."

  Connie rolled her eyes. "There are other places in town, ya know. She had her sights set on an old house in North Charleston. It's been abandoned, but she has a great contractor who can fix it up and make it perfect for guests."

  "Let me guess," Jim said. "She was going to put you in charge of it."

  With a smile, Connie nodded. "Yup. She said I was the only person she trusted."

  "But I thought you said she was thinking about selling," I reminded her.

  Connie appeared flustered for a few seconds but quickly recovered. "She could sell her current place and expand somewhere else."

  That sort of made sense to me, but a couple of things still bothered me about this scenario that she painted. "Why would she need Bert's money … that is, if he actually has any?"

  "She didn't need a thing from Bert, except his attention, which she wasn't getting much of lately." Connie nervously glanced back and forth between Jim and me. "Something seems fishy about him. If you ever get a chance to meet the man, you'll know what I'm talking about. He has this really weird way of looking at people and the creepiest smile." She shuddered. "I don't know what Mrs. Birchfield saw in him."

  Jim made a face. "Love is strange like that. Other guys thought my ex-wife was homely, but I thought she was hot."

  Connie tipped her head forward and gave him a questioning look. "Your ex-wife. So you're not married?" She glanced at me, and I quickly looked away. The last thing I needed was someone thinking I was interested in Jim.

  He hung his head. "Yeah, she ran off with one of my fishing buddies. She said I didn't give her enough attention. I was always working, and the few days I was able to get away, I went fishing. And then one day, Dan couldn't go with me, so I went by myself. When I got home, there they were. Together."


  "I'm sorry," Connie said. "And obviously you weren't the only one who thought she was … um, hot."

  "Good point." Jim shuffled his feet beneath the table. "So let's hear more about this Bert guy. What else do you know about him?"

  Connie looked around as she thought, while I processed the conversation so far. I was glad to hear I wasn't the only one creeped out by Bert's demeanor.

  Finally, Connie spoke again. "He used to read a lot. I remember there were entire days he'd sit in the parlor – that's what Ms. Birchfield called the front room – he'd sit there reading … and laughing."

  "Laughing?" Jim frowned. "Did he read joke books?"

  "No, that's what's so odd about it. Most of the books I saw him reading were legal and financial how-to books." She paused before adding, "And an occasional thriller."

  "That's odd." Jim turned to me. "Don't you agree?"

  I nodded. There were a few things I wanted to add, but I thought it would be better not to share anything with Connie there.

  "Did you ever see him getting affectionate with Mrs. Birchfield?" Jim asked.

  "Sort of … occasionally, but not that often." Connie smiled and shifted in her seat. "And really not that affectionate."

  Jim gestured for her to continue. I was surprised by how much Connie was able to say so soon after the murder, considering how close they apparently were. And some of her body language made me wonder if everything she said was the truth. She went back and forth between blinking too often and staring without blinking at all. She squirmed when Jim mentioned affection.

  "And then there's Mavis," Connie continued. "She never liked Ms. Birchfield. In fact, I remember her saying something about wishing the old lady would kick the bucket. That was a strange thing for her to say to someone who worked for Ms. Birchfield, don't you think?"

  I shrugged. Some of the things Connie said didn't ring true, so I didn't want to react too much.

  Jim glanced at me with raised eyebrows before refocusing on Connie. "What else can you remember about Bert's son?"

  "He was over six feet tall, had reddish hair, and was maybe ten or fifteen pounds overweight."

  "Beyond physical description," Jim said. "You said he didn't like Mrs. Birchfield. Did he threaten her?"

  Connie's face scrunched up. "I don't know. After he called her a gold digger, she told me to go get something out of the kitchen, so I left. I didn't hear what they talked about while I was gone."

  "Who saw him first when he got to the inn?"

  "Bert. He was in the parlor waiting for him."

  "How did they greet each other?" Jim asked.

  Connie tapped her chin. "They started out shaking hands, but then Bert looked over at me before pulling his son in for a hug."

  "What was his son's reaction?"

  At this point, I could tell that Connie was starting to get agitated. She shifted again in her seat, glanced toward the door, and wouldn't look directly at Jim.

  "I-I don't know. He didn't …" She looked at me but when I met her gaze, she quickly looked away. "I didn't see his reaction."

  Jim puffed his cheeks and blew out some air. I could tell he knew he'd reached his limit with Connie, so I decided it was time for me to say something.

  "Why don't you try to get some rest tonight? I'm sure Jim can talk to you in the morning. This has been a rough day for you."

  Jim nodded. "She's right. I'll be at the station most of the day tomorrow, but give me a call before you come to make sure." He pulled a card from his pocket. "The bottom number rings straight through to me."

  Connie took the card and shoved it into her purse as she stood. "Thanks for the tea."

  As she scurried out of the diner, Jim looked at me. "So what do you think about everything she said?"

  "Well, for starters, some things she said contradicted what she'd told me earlier. And then she said more than she planned to," I began. "And when she realized what was happening, she didn't know what to do."

  Jim laughed. "I can tell you've done this before."

  "A few times."

  "You do realize I'm not asking you to stay here to do the investigation, right?"

  "Yes, of course."

  "You're a witness, not a detective."

  "You don't have to tell me that."

  Jim fixed his gaze on mine, making it easy to read what he was thinking over what he said. "You're the one who found the body, so it's logical that you should stick around."

  "I know."

  He leaned back in his chair. "Just needed to make that clear."

  "It's clear as glass."

  "Good, now that that's settled, any more thoughts about Connie or Bert?"

  "I have several." I glanced around at the still crowded diner. "But I need to tell you later, when we don't have the risk of being overheard."

  "Gotcha." He nodded toward my plate. "You barely touched your food. Are you going to finish that?"

  I shook my head. "I'm not really hungry."

  "Then let's get outta here." He stood and picked up the check. "We can go to the station if that would make you more comfortable."

  "It would."

  As we drove to the police station, I glanced around at all the early Christmas decorations and thought about how Mrs. Birchfield had begun to put some out. With all the mistletoe, decorations, and whatever she was cooking that smelled so inviting, it was clear that she enjoyed this time of year. And now she was gone and wouldn't be able to enjoy all the hard work she'd obviously put into it.

  "It's sad, isn't it?" Jim said, jolting me from my thoughts.

  I nodded. "It's always sad to see someone die before they're supposed to."

  "Who's to say when someone is supposed to die, though?" He pulled up to a light and glanced over at me. I saw the look on his face that let me know he felt the same way I did.

  "Murder is a terrible way for someone to die." I focused my attention straight ahead to keep from looking at him. Seeing his angst tugged at my heart, and I didn't want to risk getting too emotional around him.

  Jim cleared his throat. "I've seen enough murder victims you'd think I'd be numb to the whole thing by now."

  "You never get numb to that."

  "I suppose you're right. It's pretty horrific."

  I decided now was as good of a time as any to bring up the mistletoe. "Do you think the mistletoe over the doorway has anything to do with her murder?"

  He shrugged. "There's no way to know just yet. Besides, how do we know she was murdered there? Maybe the murderer dragged her body over there."

  "Maybe so, but based on the position of her dress and apron, I don't think she was moved."

  Jim grimaced. "You're right." He pulled into the parking lot that was more like a storefront than police station. "You keep showing that you know your stuff. Why did you give up police work?"

  "It got to me, ya know?"

  "Are you happy with what you're doing now?"

  I shook my head. "That's just it. I've had one job after another, and I can't find anything I like."

  "That actually happened to me. After being on the force for five years, I decided it was time to have a normal life …" He smiled at me. "Whatever normal is. Anyway, I took a job in retail selling electronic components."

  "And?" I tilted my head and met his gaze.

  "How many ways can you say boring?"

  "I'm sure it's not boring to someone who loves selling electronics, but I know exactly what you mean. My last job was selling women's lingerie, and I couldn't get past how long it took some women to pick the right undies. I mean, they go under your clothes, so what's the big deal? If they fit and don't pinch, get them."

  Jim chuckled. "Summer, you just opened yourself up big-time, but I'll do you a favor and let it be. Let's go inside and talk about the possibilities."

  He led me through the small front of the station with a row of metal desks on one side and filing cabinets on the other, past a locked room that I suspected housed more sensitive files, and down
a hallway with offices on either side. We finally got to the one at the end. He pushed open the door, flipped the light switch, and gestured toward a side chair.

  "Have a seat. I'll go get us some coffee."

  "No coffee for me, but thanks."

  He feigned shock. "What? You were a cop, and you don't drink coffee?"

  "Not at this time of day. It keeps me up at night."

  "Maybe that's what's wrong with me. I haven't had a full night's sleep in a while." He hesitated before backing away. "I'll try to stop tomorrow, but now I need some. Be right back."

  After he left, I walked around the office and looked at the framed documents and awards. Detective James Lupton sure did have a lot of commendations – from heroic feats at schools to going above and beyond at old folks' homes.

  He came back with a Styrofoam cup in each hand. "Sorry it took me so long."

  "I was serious when I said I really don't want any coffee," I said as he set both cups on his desk.

  "Oh, those are for me. I always drink my coffee black but chase it with half coffee-half cream."

  People had told me I developed a lot of quirky traits when I was a cop, so I didn't mention how odd this was. Instead, I decided to get right to the point.

  "Has forensics finished with the prints and DNA at the B&B?"

  "Probably. They don't waste time."

  "Did they get everything out that they needed yet?"

  "I'm sure they did."

  "From what I remember, there was quite a bit of mistletoe."

  Jim shook his head. "Unless there's a reason, I doubt they'd remove the mistletoe."

  "Did you notice that there was some loose mistletoe hanging over Mrs. Birchfield's body?"

  A look of amusement flashed across Jim's face. "So you think someone might have been smooching while the murder took place?"

  I was about to comment when commotion broke out in the front of the station. Jim cast a questioning glance at the door and then went into full police mode. I had to grip the armrests to remain in the chair and not jump up to help, but I knew it was against policy for a civilian to get involved. I didn't want to cause more trouble. However, my curiosity was too powerful, so once Jim had enough time to get to the front of the office, I slowly made my way to the front.