Murder on Cape Cod Read online

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  A couple of minutes later the path was transformed. A cruiser had rolled down the trail, barely fitting onto the narrow path, just. The police car now trained spotlights on Jake’s body. Two bag-carting EMTs rushed in from the street—and then stopped rushing. Ambulance lights strobed over the tops of the buildings from the direction of the town’s main drag. A bicycle patrol officer in a uniform polo shirt and black shorts leaned his bike against the hedge, pulled purple gloves out of a back pocket, and squatted next to Jake. Another officer was already stringing yellow plastic POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS tape over the path behind me.

  Tim held my cold hand in his big warm one. He was a tall man with luscious lips, dark blond hair to his shoulders, and well-toned abs, but right now what mattered was the comfort of him standing beside me. Victoria Laitinen, the recently promoted Westham Chief of Police, stood facing Tim and me. Victoria had pulled her white-blond hair back into a neat bun, the way she always wore it, and her petite figure was trim in the navy uniform of the town’s police force.

  “You simply happened across Mr. Lacey here,” she said, blinking and setting her lips.

  She and I had been high school classmates but not friends, and I remembered that look from twenty years ago. I let out a breath. “Yes. I was walking home from the lighthouse,” I pointed behind me, “and I tripped over Jake. I wasn’t looking down, and the fog was so thick I didn’t see him.”

  “You didn’t see anyone else in the vicinity?” Victoria asked. “Hear any noises?”

  “Nope. Nobody and nothing.”

  “You, Mr. Brunelle?” Victoria turned her all-business gaze on him. “Did you also trip over the body?”

  “No, ma’am.” Tim was unfailingly polite and unshakable. “I was supposed to meet Mac at her house. When I got there,” he pointed toward my backyard, “I heard her talking, so I came through the opening in the hedge and found her here.”

  “When was that?” Victoria asked.

  “I’d just finished talking with the dispatcher,” I offered. “As soon as Tim showed up, I heard the siren. You got here maybe two minutes later.” Westham is such a small town, Victoria almost could have walked here faster.

  “When was the last time either of you saw Mr. Lacey alive?”

  I gestured for Tim to go first.

  He shook his head. “Not in the last couple of days. On Sunday I was doing a training run along the water and I saw Jake with some woman. On the hill down near Westham Point.”

  “I saw him at the soup kitchen this afternoon,” I said. “At around five o’clock.”

  “The one at the UU church?”

  “Yes.” The Unitarian-Universalist church where my father, Joseph Almeida, was minister-in-chief.

  “And Mr. Lacey seemed well?” Victoria cocked her head, looking diagonally up at me since I was six inches taller than her.

  “Yes.” I thought back to the food line. “He seemed happy about something.”

  “What was that something?” She raised eyebrows so pale you could hardly see them.

  I cleared my throat. “I’d told him I wouldn’t pay him for the lousy job he did replacing some shingles on my house until he fixed them the right way, but he said that soon he wasn’t going to need my money.”

  “Interesting. Sounds like you were angry with him.”

  “I wasn’t angry, but I was curious about why he wasn’t going to need what I owed him. Usually he was on my case about paying him promptly. I asked if he’d gotten a full-time job, and he said no, that it was better than a job. That it was ‘wicked good.’ His words.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t suppose you got so mad you wanted to harm him, did you?”

  “What? That’s crazy! I told you I wasn’t mad at him. I was unhappy about the quality of his work, but . . . wait.” I stared at her. “Do you think someone killed Jake?” I rubbed the moisture off my inch-long curls. “On purpose?” Like what the dispatcher had alluded to when she asked if I felt safe.

  She straightened, which really didn’t give her much extra height at all. “Not necessarily. But it was an unattended death, and that makes it a suspicious one. The coroner will determine means of death in due time. My job is to ask the questions.”

  “Chief?” the kneeling officer called.

  “You both stay right here,” she instructed us before hurrying to his side. She knelt on one knee next to him. “What do you have?”

  Tim extended a strong arm around my shoulders as I watched the bike officer turn Jake onto his back. My breath rushed in with a rasping sound and my hand involuntarily covered my mouth. Through the mist-laced light from the spotlights I could see a knife embedded to its hilt in the tender side of Jake’s neck. I’d seen that knife before, with its four-inch carved wooden handle. I’d last seen it embedded in the guts of a striped bass. Held by my brother Derrick.

  Chapter Three

  Tim and I nestled on my two-person sofa an hour later. I’d tucked it in the nook under the sleeping loft. A tall narrow bookcase to our right was jammed three layers deep with cozy mysteries, and a low cabinet to my left held a lamp on top and storage underneath. A small coffee table in front of us also doubled as a bookcase, with a double-sided shelf below the table top. With only four hundred square feet, I had to make every inch count. Usually my cozy home gave me a warm fuzzy feeling inside. Not tonight.

  “Cheers.” He held up the glass of cabernet sauvignon he’d brought. “Even though it’s not a cheery night.”

  I clinked and sipped before speaking. “No, it’s not.” The fog still filled the air outside and I was glad for the electric heater on the wall even though it was June. “Not cheery at all, in more ways than one.” Victoria had kept us at the crime scene for another half hour, so it was already past nine thirty. She’d said a detective would want to talk to me tomorrow.

  Belle, my African Gray parrot, hopped onto Tim’s shoulder. “Gimme a kiss, handsome.” She cocked her head, making a kissing sound. “Gimme a kiss, huh?”

  Tim almost spilled his wine, he laughed so hard. “Did you teach her that?”

  I giggled. “No, but I’ve said it to you before.” Belle, the only pet I wasn’t allergic to, had been with me since I moved back to Westham a year ago. I’d gotten her when I’d graduated from college. These birds lived for decades, and my parents had kept her during my years abroad. “Go on, she won’t stop until you at least make the sound back.”

  Tim rolled his eyes but blew Belle a kiss.

  “Mmm.” The parrot nodded her head. “How about a treat? Gimme a peanut please.”

  “Belle,” I scolded. “No treats before bed. Go get in your cage.”

  She gave me a wolf whistle but obeyed, hopping to the bookcase and then to her cage. In a compact space like this, she didn’t have far to go.

  “Oh, well.” I swirled the wine in the glass, watching the red trail down the sides. But that reminded me too much of blood. When I shuddered, Tim squeezed my shoulder.

  “Thinking about Jake?”

  “Of course.” I set the glass down and twisted to face him, wrapping my arms around my knees. “You saw the knife. That means he was murdered. Do you know of anybody who had it in for him? Except, I can’t believe someone would go so far as to actually kill another person. Right here in Westham.”

  “Murders happen all the time. You read books about them every week.”

  “But those are fiction! They’re made up. I read stories that come out of an author’s imagination, Tim. They’re not real life.”

  “Ever hear of the news?” He kept his voice gentle. “Dorchester, Chicago, LA, Miami. And it’s not only big cities. Even in little towns people are murdered.” He sipped from his own glass.

  “I guess. Jake said he was going to be coming into some money soon. I wonder where he thought it was coming from.”

  “My first thought was blackmail.”

  My eyes went wide. “Blackmail? Like he knew dirt on somebody and was going to make
them pay for not telling?”

  Tim bobbed his head up and down once.

  “Doesn’t that happen only in books, too?”

  “No. I read about a guy doing exactly that just last year. Got caught, finally. I guess he was lucky he didn’t get killed for doing it.”

  I grimaced.

  “So did I detect some tension between you and the police chief?” He nudged my foot with his knee.

  I rolled my eyes. “Yeah. She never did like me. She thought we were rivals in high school.”

  “Were you?”

  “We both got top grades. She was the top competitor on debate team. I was president of the Math Club. I didn’t care, but she always had a thing about me.” I lifted a shoulder and dropped it. “It was ages ago. I still don’t care. As long as she doesn’t accuse me of murder based on some imagined slight from decades past.”

  “She can’t do that. They need evidence to make an arrest. They don’t have any.”

  “I guess.” I frowned. Should I tell him I thought the knife was Derrick’s? Maybe it was a common haft. Maybe dozens of people on the Cape used them to gut fish. Just because I’d never seen one like that other than my brother’s didn’t mean his was the only one. I was going to keep that bit to myself for now.

  Tim stroked my foot. “I bet you were cute in high school.”

  I’d met the hunky baker shortly after I’d opened the shop almost exactly a year ago. He’d been crazy about me from day one, wooing me in the bike shop with pastries and jokes until I consented to go out with him.

  “I mean, in a different way than you’re cute now,” he hurried to add. “In a young girl way, not in a gorgeous woman way.”

  Gorgeous woman? Hardly. I was fit, almost wiry, with a speedy metabolism that meant I never had to worry about my weight. And I thought I was reasonably attractive. But not exactly model material. “I guess I was cute, if you think geeky is cute. I wore glasses and loved numbers. I read a lot. I didn’t go on a date until college.”

  “Did you dance or play sports or anything?”

  “I wasn’t bad at softball, but I was really good at climbing.” I gazed around my welcoming space, the framed blue Thai temple rubbing on the opposite wall, a colorful hand-painted Cape Verdean market scene next to it, the bright woven rug on the hardwood floor. Nowhere to climb in here except up to the sleeping loft.

  “Like rock climbing?” he asked.

  “Yes, and indoor, too. I’m kind of fearless that way.”

  “Honey, you wouldn’t catch me going up a perpendicular wall for anything. I get nervous around heights.”

  I smiled. “That’s because you’re so tall.”

  “Did you ever fall off?”

  “Only when I was learning, and I was wearing a harness. No harm done.” My smile slid away. “I can’t stop thinking about poor dead Jake. You told Victoria you saw him with a woman out near Westham Point the other day. Was it somebody from here in town?”

  “I didn’t recognize her, but I wasn’t that close. Her profile looked sort of businessy, though. You know, blazer, heels, that kind of thing.”

  I nodded slowly. “She hadn’t been into the bakery? Most out-of-towners stop in at some point, don’t they?”

  “Mac, half the time I’m in the back baking. I don’t see all the customers who come through. You know that. And unlike you, I didn’t grow up here. It’s not a big town, but I’ve never set eyes on half the year-round residents. Not to mention summer folks.”

  “I know.” This murder business was already frustrating. I’d have to find Derrick first thing tomorrow and make him look for his knife. Or ask him if he and Jake had had problems in the past. I didn’t want to call him about it tonight, but I could see if the news had hit the local stations. I grabbed my tablet from the coffee table and clicked through to the news affiliate. A reporter with light-brown hair and a station jacket protecting her dress from the fog spoke dramatically to the camera.

  “Our developing story tonight, from Westham on the Cape. A local businesswoman found a body on the Shining Sea Bikeway. We’re here in front of Mackenzie Almeida’s bicycle shop on Main Street.” The view zoomed onto the front of my shop, then back to the reporter. “The police suspect foul play.”

  I groaned. “Wonderful. Not exactly the kind of free publicity I’m looking for.”

  “Ms. Almeida was apparently walking home from a meeting when she literally stumbled over the body,” the reporter went on. “Westham Police Chief Victoria Laitinen says her department is cooperating with both the State Police Detective Unit and the Barnstable County Bureau of Criminal Investigation on the case. Authorities are not releasing the victim’s identity pending notification of next of kin, but one source says he was a handyman.” The camera switched to a shot of the lights and police tape on the bikeway behind my house. Various personnel conferred, knelt on the trail, did whatever police did after a murder.

  “Not a scene I want to relive.” I pressed the Power button.

  “You’re going to be fine, Mac. Who knows, maybe you’ll get an influx of customers from all this.” Tim stroked my cheek. “Look on the bright side.”

  I wasn’t sure how he could be so optimistic, but I was too tired to care. I yawned and extended my hand. “Take me to bed, handsome.”

  “Shh.” He tilted his head toward Belle’s cage. “We don’t want her to learn that one.”

  Chapter Four

  I dragged myself out of the covers at six thirty. Tim had left at his usual four o’clock to get the bakery going, and I was due to stop by Gin’s Salty Taffy’s candy shop at seven for our walk. Having found a body last night put a damper on my mood though, despite the morning sun shining through the wide, foot-high clerestory window at the end of the loft. At least the fog had burned off early today, or had blown through, more likely.

  Standing on the steps, I made my bed, smoothing the multi-colored quilt my grandmother, Abo Reba, had made to welcome me back last year. She’d found cotton fabrics with prints representing many of my experiences and influences up to that point. Softballs flying, whimsical dollar signs, bicycles in all colors, a lighthouse, a Thai riverboat, even a stylized map of the Cape Verdean islands off the coast of West Africa. This morning the cheery coverlet didn’t cheer me in the least. I zipped through a high-speed shower, put in my contacts, and wiped down the shower walls and sink. I threw on shorts and a long-sleeved t-shirt before lifting the cover from Belle’s cage and opening her door.

  She hopped onto my shoulder, her red tail rustling. “Good morning, Mac. I love you.” She nipped my wet locks. “Hmm.”

  A little smile pulled itself onto my face despite how I was feeling. “Good morning, Belle. I love you, too.” This bird with her eerily human voice could always lift my mood, even if only for a minute. “Can I have a kiss?” I pursed my lips and leaned my head toward her.

  She made a kissing sound. Her curved beak moved but the sound came from farther down in her neck. “Can I have a kiss?” she echoed.

  I smacked my lips again. “Now hop down, I have work to do.” I threw a coffee pod into the machine. I usually didn’t cut my departure this close, but I had to get that swig of caffeine into me before I left the house. Next up was to feed and water Belle, brace my bad knee, tie my sneakers, and add enough milk to the mug so I could down the java in record time.

  Dark heart or not, I made sure everything was tidy before I left. I’ve been called a neat freak, but really I just like things to be in order. “A place for everything and everything in its place” is one of my favorite aphorisms. It’s pretty much a requirement for living in a tiny house, anyway. My choice of residence is like living on a boat without the motion, and when one or two things are left lying around, the whole place looks messy.

  Ten minutes later I set out on Westham’s Main Street, arms swinging, water bottle in a waist pack, EpiPen bag across my chest. After a near-fatal encounter with a wasp a few years earlier, I never went anywhere without a double dose of the medicine. Since t
he little embroidered bag also held my phone, it was a handy accessory. In my pocket were my single house key and the tiny Swiss Army knife I never left the house without. You never knew when you might need one. I wasn’t a girl scout, but I like to be prepared.

  To the right of my shop was the Lobstah Shack, which was a mostly takeout seafood restaurant, not a lobster shack at all, and then both my father’s white church and the red-doored Episcopal Church across from it.

  Today I’d also tucked earbuds in my bag. During our first walk after a book group meeting, Gin and I each listened to the audio book of the mystery for the next week’s book group meeting. After our first day of listening simultaneously, Gin and I finished either listening to or reading the mystery on our own so we could talk during our walk. But I wouldn’t press Play on Cracked to Death until Gin and I hit the trail. And maybe not even then.

  Across the street was Tim’s bakery, Greta’s Grains. He’d named it after his mother, even though the retired professor now lived on St. John Island in the Caribbean. He’d told me she’d taught him to bake and it was his way of saying thanks. Right now the alluring scent of fresh-baked baguettes, bâtards, and brioches floated out of Greta’s open front door, but I didn’t have time to pop in and say hi. I blew a kiss in that direction, earning me a puzzled look from the driver of a convertible who drove by at that exact moment. Oops.

  The police department and fire department sat beyond the bakery. A good-sized man of about fifty in a square-hemmed short-sleeved shirt climbed out of a state police cruiser. Dark hair skirting his collar, he carried a cardboard holder of coffees into the police station. I’d never seen him before, and could only surmise he was working on Jake’s death. Or maybe he was Victoria’s husband delivering a dose of decent java. I’d heard she’d recently remarried but I didn’t know the new spouse.

  On my side of the street were more charming shops and the century-old red-brick and white-pillared Town Hall, which housed the library in a new addition to the right. The town green spread out in front of the municipal buildings. I hurried on, spying Salty Taffy’s ahead. Gin stood on the sidewalk in front of her place. She had both hands on the brick wall and one leg extended behind her stretching her hamstring.