Murder on Cape Cod Read online

  “I’m fine.” I patted my sleeve. “Only scraped my elbow.”

  “I wish you’d told me.”

  “I was getting to it. But, Tim, what if Corwin was incarcerated with Jake? What if he came here to kill him?”

  “What if I just hired a murderer, you mean?”

  Chapter Thirty-six

  By eight thirty Tim and I sat holding hands on the couch listening to a Mozart sonata playing softly in the background. I was comfortably full from dinner, and two dishes holding only traces of ice cream sat on the coffee table. Belle snoozed in Tim’s lap.

  But my orderly—obsessed?—mind couldn’t escape thinking about the murder. I’d discovered who the mystery girl was. But who had attacked me with a Harley? Was it Corwin? Had he left the threatening note? And who had hired Billy Crump, PI?

  I sat up straight, looked at Tim, and said, “I have to do something.”

  He raised his eyebrows but smiled fondly. “Be my guest.”

  A moment later I was at the little kitchen table at the other end of the house. I must not have clicked Save after I’d entered Crump’s number on my phone. It was nowhere, but I knew where I could get it. “It’s not too late to call, is it, Abo Ree?”

  She laughed. “Of course not, honey. Don’t you know old ladies don’t sleep much? What can I do for you?”

  The tinkling sound of her laugh always made me smile. “Do you have the card that guy gave you, the private investigator we talked to?”

  “Mr. Crump? I believe I do. Hold on.”

  After sounds of rummaging and a few mild swear words, she came back on the line. “Got it.” She read me the number. “Are you going to ask him to help with the investigation?” She sounded excited at the prospect.

  “Sort of. I feel like I need to know who hired him, and what he’s learned, if anything.”

  “Good luck, Mac, darling. Oops, gotta go. My show’s coming on.”

  I said goodbye and disconnected. I was about to press Crump’s number before I ran out of momentum when a text came in from Flo.

  Bourne Motor Sports rents motorcycles.

  I sat up straight. A lead?

  Orange swish logo. Called them but no way to pin down who rented the one that attacked you, if it was rented. Will convey to detective.

  I slumped again. So much for that bright idea. I tapped back my thanks and disconnected. Corwin had a Harley, too. It wouldn’t be hard to examine it for an orange logo. If he’d bought it from the Bourne shop, it should bear their symbol, too. Edwin had said Corwin was living in Bourne, so he might have bought the motorcycle from that dealer, if he didn’t pick one up off of Craigslist. I couldn’t go traipsing around looking for a Harley tonight, though. I should, however, let Haskins know Corwin drove a Harley. A quick text accomplished that.

  I returned to my plan to call the private detective. I glanced at Tim while the call connected, but he’d joined Belle in an apparently blissful dreamland. The poor guy got up so early, I didn’t blame him. And his snoozing left me free to do a little sleuthing. I grabbed a notepad and pen and sat at the tiny kitchen table. Crump finally picked up.

  “Mr. Crump, this is Mackenzie Almeida. You stopped by my bike shop the other day and I’m afraid I didn’t have time to speak with you.”

  “Call me Billy, please. You have time to talk now, I gather.” The drone of a television in the background alternately blared and ebbed.

  “Yes, and please call me Mac. I wondered if you’d be willing to share information with me on what you’ve discovered.”

  Silence. Rats. Was he going to return my unfriendly behavior? The TV fell silent, too. Maybe he’d only been searching for the Mute button.

  “Frankly, Mac, I haven’t made much headway and my client isn’t a bit happy.”

  “I haven’t learned much either, and was attacked for my efforts.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. No idea who was behind the attacks?”

  “No. I called you because, well, I was still wondering who hired you.”

  He sighed noisily, deep, and long. “I might as well tell you. The executor of an estate hired me. A recently deceased woman—who died of old age, I might mention—was a distant cousin to Jake Lacey. He was her only living relative, and she left him a sizable and valuable piece of property. Property right here in Westham. I was hired to find him and let him know.”

  “So that’s what he was talking about. You had a chance to tell him?”

  “I did. One brief chance on the telephone a few days before he was killed. He told you about inheriting the property?”

  “He only said he was not going to be needing money soon, and he seemed quite happy at the news.”

  “I should think so.” Billy cleared his throat. “The question remains as to whether his inheritance was the reason he was murdered.”

  It was my turn for silence as I turned over this new piece of information. “But . . .”

  “But what?”

  “Do you know about his daughter?” I asked.

  “Daughter?” He nearly screeched.

  “I met her this afternoon. Wendy Rawson. He had left her and her mom when she was a baby, and she tracked him down only a day or two before his death.”

  Billy whistled. “How old is she?”

  “I don’t know, exactly. I’d say over eighteen but maybe not by much.”

  “Strong? Capable of murder?”

  “What?” The word started out as my own screech but I tried to keep it down so I didn’t wake Tim and Belle. “No way. She was devastated that she’d found her father and then lost him again, this time permanently. Also, she’s quite slight.”

  “Okay, maybe not her. But what if her mother found out about the property and did the deed? She could certainly have cause to hate the victim, and would benefit from the daughter’s inheritance.”

  How could a voice sound like hands rubbing together in glee? I shook my head. But it was a perfectly reasonable suggestion, even though it hadn’t occurred to me.

  “I really don’t know anything about Wendy’s mother.” Now my brain was in overdrive. “I have seen a stranger around town, though, a Katherine Deloit. Not a tourist. She’s slim like Wendy. Katherine says she’s a real estate agent from California here to close a deal for a client out West. What if she’s actually Wendy’s mother and she and Wendy haven’t yet crossed paths here?” Was that even possible in our small town? Could Katherine have been lying about everything to throw people off her track? And did she drive a Harley?

  “Or perhaps they are in cahoots.”

  Wow. PIs actually said “cahoots.”

  Billy went on. “Do you know where each of these ladies is staying while they’re here?”

  “Wendy is at the Seaview Motel,” I said. “I think Katherine is in a Victorian B&B in Falmouth.” I supposed they might not have run into each other here in town, whether they were related or not.

  “I’m on it. Surveillance is boring work, but sometimes it’s the only way to find out what I’m hired to find out. And right now my client wants me to find out who murdered his client’s beneficiary.”

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Standing in front of Gin’s candy shop, I checked my phone again. Seven fifteen? My friend was super late for our walk this morning and I’d done all the stretching I needed to. After a delightful early-morning wakeup, Tim had left me rosy-cheeked and cozied up in bed at four. I wouldn’t mind at all if Germain worked out as a weekend open-the-bakery kind of employee. And I might have to cancel my own Sunday morning walks, too.

  I glanced around the side of Salty Taffy’s into Gin’s driveway, but her little red Honda was parked in the back. Was she sleeping in again? Too sick to cancel? I hadn’t missed a seasonal time change. That was back in March. We hadn’t confirmed our walk, but we never did. We only contacted each other if one of us couldn’t make it.

  I texted Gin but got nothing in return. I was getting a bad feeling about this. When was Haskins going to finally catch Jake’s murderer
so we all could stop worrying about it, stop watching our backs?

  As I waited, I thought about my chat with Billy Crump last night. Jake’s circumstances certainly would have changed if he owned valuable real estate. He could have sold it. Or he could have sold most of it but built a house on a small parcel and not have to worry about either money or homelessness ever again, as long as he managed the funds well. It was all theoretical now, though. Had he had time to get a will written and notarized in the few days since he’d met Wendy? She would probably inherit the property, anyway, being his next of kin. Stephen had seen Jake at the county courthouse—but it had been with Katherine, not with Wendy. Had the older woman, if she was Wendy’s mother, been trying to convince him to hand over the property to Wendy now? He’d refused and she’d killed him? But how had she learned he’d inherited it? Too many questions, not enough answers. After my walk, maybe I’d see if I could pay Katherine a visit, myself.

  The sunlight caught a glint of silver in the municipal parking lot next door to Gin’s driveway and postage-stamp backyard garden. Only a couple of trees and a low flower bed separated her property from the lot. I peered at the silver vehicle, then sauntered closer, trying to look casual. Was that Katherine Deloit’s car? It was the same color, and the same make as the one she’d had out on the Point. Then I spied the Cape Luxury Rentals decal. She was up and about early. Maybe she was at a coffee meeting with a real estate counterpart from this area closing the deal for her international client. I snapped a picture of the license plate on the back and texted it to Haskins in case he’d want to see it. I added a quick message.

  Thought you’d be interested. Deloit car in municipal lot next to Salty Taffy’s.

  But if she was Wendy’s mom and was hard up for money, why in the world would she rent a luxury car? Why hadn’t she simply driven over from Fall River in her own car? The working-class town was south of Providence west of here. The car was much more consistent with Katherine being the California real estate wheeler-dealer she acted—and dressed—like.

  I glanced around the lot, wondering if Billy was lurking in the vicinity keeping an eye on Katherine. I didn’t see him anywhere. I supposed a good detective would have no problem staying out of sight while on surveillance. I headed back to the sidewalk in front of the shop. A brisk breeze made it chilly to stand in the shade, and I pulled my jacket sleeves down over my hands. I picked a sunny spot to stand in while I decided whether to wait longer or head out for my own walk. I shot Gin one more text before I left. This time she answered.

  Delayed in shop kitchen. Door open.

  I laughed at myself and slid the phone back into my bag. I hadn’t even tried the front door of the candy store. She usually didn’t open until eleven on Sundays.

  I’d rarely been inside when the shop was closed and was impressed by how quiet it was. The air hung onto scent memories of sweetness, butter, chocolate. Twenty bins of colorful wrapped taffy lined up in a candy-lover’s dream. Behind gleaming glass cases blocks of fudge of all varieties waited patiently to be cut into cubes. Truffles in seashell shapes were displayed in boxes with cellophane windows. An earthenware crock held giant spiral lollypops. The tidy organization, clean floor, and polished surfaces were a dream to an OCDer like me.

  “Gin? I’m here,” I called out as I pushed through the swinging door to the kitchen. Usually the candy-making room was busy with Gin hard at work in it making sweets.

  She was in the kitchen, except she wasn’t stirring a vat of fudge. She wasn’t working ropes of taffy. She wasn’t rolling rum balls in cocoa. Straight ahead of me across the room my friend sat in an office chair. Her wrists were bound to the chair arms with heavy clear tape and a wide strip of it covered her mouth. Her wide eyes held terror.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  “Gin, what happened?” I rushed to her side.

  She shook her head quick, then jerked her head backward and sideways. She moved her eyes in that direction, too, so I looked. The only thing that way was the back door.

  “Are you telling me whoever did this went out the back? Hang on a second.” I extended my fingers toward the tape covering her mouth.

  Gin made a sound behind the tape that sounded like she was objecting.

  “Hands off, Mackenzie.”

  I froze at the voice from behind me. A nasal voice. A woman’s voice.

  I turned slowly. Katherine Deloit leaned against the tall stainless refrigerator on the wall next to the door I’d just come through. She pointed a compact black gun at us with a steady hand. My breath rushed in with a rasp when I saw the weapon.

  “You don’t take a hint, do you?” Katherine’s lips were even redder today, her face paler. “I tried to warn you off, but you kept digging.”

  “You left me the note?”

  “Obviously. I’ve been watching you, you know. Poking into business that wasn’t yours.”

  The binoculars. So she had been watching me, in fact, not the owl. “What do you mean?” My throat was almost too thick to speak. Ice water had replaced my blood.

  “You know what I mean. You and your cozy amateurs looking into Lacey’s death. I heard all about it from that nutty mother of yours. You didn’t really think I was interested in astrology, did you? You’re in my way, Mackenzie, you and candy girl here. And nobody stands in Katherine Deloit’s way.”

  “We were only trying to help the detective.” I tried to keep my voice steady. “Did you kill Jake?”

  Her laugh came out harsh and short. “Nice try. I’m not telling you anything.”

  I swallowed down my fear. “I guess you did it for Wendy.”

  “Who?” What sounded like genuine puzzlement mixed with disdain in her voice, like I was an idiot for asking about somebody she didn’t know. “What fantasy are you trying to distract me with? It’s not going to work, regardless.”

  So she was, in fact, a ruthless real estate dealer, not Wendy’s mom. She must have thought if Jake died without family, she could buy the property for Mr. Wu from the state or the town or whoever it defaulted to. Jake couldn’t have told her about his daughter or Katherine wouldn’t have reacted the way she did. And Wendy would be dead by now, too.

  None of that mattered if Gin and I didn’t get out of here alive. Thoughts raced through my brain at supersonic speed. If Billy was tailing Katherine, had he seen me go in? Would he realize she had Gin and me hostage? Unlikely. He didn’t know Katherine had a gun. What about Haskins? Would he figure out Jake’s killer and rescue us? No way. Anyway, in the mysteries our book group read, the resourceful and self-reliant protagonist always managed to rescue herself. That’s why we liked her. She didn’t need any brave white knight swooping in. I would have welcomed one, but I knew Gin and I were on our own here.

  “You,” Katherine barked, gesturing at me with the gun. “Get that stool and put it next to her.”

  A stainless steel stool sat at the far end of the long candy counter, but it was half-hidden by the big red taffy-pulling machine on top of the counter. The stool was the only other seat in the room. She was going to tape me up, too, and then probably shoot us both. My heart beat a terrified fist against my sternum. What could I do? I didn’t spy a tool anywhere. Nothing heavy and unanchored I could throw at her. No knives in evidence. I had my EpiPens, but it would take too long and be too obvious to grab one out of my bag and take off the safety cover. Anyway, if I got close enough to attack Katherine, she’d shoot me in the process. Or worse, the defenseless Gin.

  “Move,” Katherine ordered, her pitch rising like she was losing her cool, getting desperate.

  Wait. Why didn’t she simply shoot us now and leave? Why order me to get tied up, too? If I rushed her, would she shoot then? Maybe she didn’t have any bullets in that thing. Heck, maybe it was a fake gun. She could be stalling. She might figure if she left us tied up, we wouldn’t be discovered here for a long, long time. I knew Katherine was never going to get that property, but she didn’t.

  “Relax. I’m going.” I sidled
toward the stool but I kept my eyes on Katherine. As I moved, the weight in my right pocket reminded me I did carry a weapon. Or at least a tool, albeit a very tiny one. As I passed the red taffy machine, I flipped the switch to ON. A din filled the room. The noise of the rotating arms caromed off the walls.

  Her eyes wide, Katherine let out a string of obscenities. “What is that? What did you do?” Her gun-holding hand wavered.

  The machine hid the lower part of my body as I passed behind it. I eased out my Swiss Army knife and opened the tiny—but wicked sharp—blade, then palmed it as I grabbed the stool with my other hand.

  “The taffy machine must be on a timer.” I carried the stool as close to Gin as I could get and sat. “Right, Gin?” I cleared my throat.

  Gin nodded. Her eyes signaled something to me. Possibly gratitude.

  Katherine pressed her lips together and shot me a glance burning with vile. She moved slowly, cautiously toward us, skirting the counter on the other end from the machine. “No crazy moves, got it?” She pointed the weapon at my head and grabbed the wide tape dispenser off the counter. Sweat made little rivulets in the makeup on her forehead. She stepped back, breathing hard. “Put your hands together in front of you. Like you’re praying.” Another barking laugh. “You’re going to need all the prayers you can get, especially once I light a match to the joint.”

  A match? She was going to burn us up with no way out? Not on my watch, she wasn’t. She wasn’t exactly an experienced criminal. Both me and Gin with our hands in front and our legs free? Bad move, Katherine. She gestured with the gun, so I complied, sliding my palms together, willing my hands not to shake. I took care not to reveal the knife as she moved toward me, the dispenser in her left hand.

  The sticky tape hit my left wrist. I heard a shout from outside. Katherine glanced in that direction. I gripped the knife and jabbed it into the tender veined skin of her inner wrist.

  She cried out, dropping the gun and the dispenser. She grabbed her wrist with her other hand. I pushed up from the stool. With the heels of my hands I used all my strength to push her. She staggered back. Her head hit the counter and she crumpled to the floor.