Chapter Four
The next morning I woke up early and after a long shower and a healthy breakfast of coffee and Pop-Tarts—blueberry flavored, to get my daily requirement of fruit—I headed for another one of my work sites. While it remained a crime scene, the Boyers’ house was in limbo, so I’d shifted my men around to other jobs in town.
As I drove away from my house, I remembered Tommy’s warning from the night before to stay out of trouble. But come on. When had I ever been in trouble? It still galled me that Chief Jensen had actually told me not to leave town. My town! Sure, he’d claimed he was just kidding, but I’d bet there was some truth in there. So what was with the cops around here? Honestly, if I had a nickel for every time I’d caused trouble in this town, I’d have maybe one or two nickels at the most. Of course, Jensen had no way of knowing that.
Chief Jensen knew nothing about me and that was starting to become a problem. Maybe it was time to ask my friends to talk me up to him. It might help him see me in a more positive light. Because, frankly, I figured the only reason he’d allowed me to go home last night was because Boyer had lied, not because my alibi had been so strong.
I needed to win him over to my side. How hard could it be? After all, the pitiful truth was, my life was the proverbial open book. I was friendly to everyone. I didn’t drive too fast or drink too much or tell lies or party too heartily, ever. Oh, sure, there might’ve been a few wild teenage moments in high school, but seriously, they weren’t all that wild. In fact, I hadn’t done anything truly wild in years, if ever. I certainly hadn’t killed anyone, even if I’d threatened to do so the other night. In front of witnesses.
Did that make me sound boring? Well, not the threatening-to-kill part, but the rest of it? Because I didn’t feel boring. I loved my life. I had a great job and wonderful friends. I was close to my family; I loved my house and my dog and my cat and my town. I was healthy. I had money in the bank. Okay, maybe I wasn’t blissfully happy, like rainbows and unicorns happy, but who was?
“Stop it,” I murmured, scowling at myself. I was happy enough. Hell, I was downright perky most of the time.
I turned up the radio to distract myself and cruised through downtown past the town square on my way to one of my houses a few streets north of Main Street.
The town square was practically deserted at this time of the morning. Charming shops and cafés faced the pretty central park, where a large gazebo was set beneath sheltering trees. During the summer, free band concerts were held there on the weekends. Everyone in town turned out, carrying their lawn chairs and picnic hampers. The ice-cream shop on the corner did a bumper business on those nights. Some of my earliest best memories had taken place right here. Fireworks. Marching bands. My mom and dad holding hands. Ice cream.
Now, though, the square was silent. I scanned the area, anyway, on the off chance that I’d catch a glimpse of one of my girlfriends opening her shop, but the only place open was the Cozy Cove Diner on the corner. The other shops on the square wouldn’t open for business for another two hours or more.
It was just as well, I realized as I drove on. I should probably avoid the area for the next few days. I knew my gossip quotient had skyrocketed since I’d stumbled over Jerry’s body on Sunday. Everyone in town would be vying to get the inside scoop from me, but I dreaded the whispers and questions that would follow. I had to endure scrutiny and doubt from the new police chief, but not from people I’d known my entire life.
It was a good thing I had a strong alibi for the time Jerry had died, at least according to the county coroner’s estimate. Otherwise, I would probably be bunking in the town jail by now. Despite my alibi, I had a feeling the chief would keep me on his suspect list until someone else confessed to the crime.
After a few more turns, I found Cranberry Circle and parked in front of the work site. The house was a beautiful pale blue Queen Anne Victorian with white trim, a charming porch on the ground floor, and a rounded balcony on the second floor of the tower. It was part of a small group of homes my father had built almost twenty years ago and it was a concept he’d repeated in other areas of town. Here there were sixteen homes, all grouped around a small park and playground. With only one entrance into the neighborhood and the street circling around the park, it was safe for the kids to play and ride bikes. A small coffeehouse thrived on the corner.
The owners wanted a new paint job, and we also needed to replace half a wall’s worth of rotted wood siding and cedar shingles. Even though the house was relatively young, it was located at the west end of the block closest to the ocean. Despite being more valuable because of its desirable location, this house had suffered more exposure to the elements than the others. The stiff winter breezes and constant salt spray had damaged some of the western-facing exterior, causing the wood and paint to fade faster than the rest of the houses on the street.
The baby blue–and-white facade had been a popular combination twenty years ago. These days, though, many Victorian homeowners wanted more vivid colors with numerous contrasting hues on the windows, doors, and framing.
I climbed out of the truck and saw Billy and Sean already hard at work. The three of us had gone to school together and they were two of the best on my crew. Perched on the scaffolding, they were using claw hammers to pull off the most damaged cedar shingles.
“Hi, guys,” I shouted.
Billy shoved his hammer into his tool belt and rappelled down the scaffolding like an expert rock climber. “Hey, Shannon, honey. You okay?”
Sean followed right behind him. “Yeah, we heard what happened.” Always the straight shooter, he added, “Whoever offed Jerry Saxton did the world a favor. Maybe I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but that guy was a tool.”
“You knew him?” I asked.
“Yeah, I knew him.” He scowled. “Remember Luisa Capello?”
“Sure. She went to school with us.”
“Right. She was a year younger and best friends with my sister.” Sean unwrapped a piece of gum, popped it into his mouth, and chewed as he talked. “Anyway, Saxton dated her for a while, and I got the feeling she was crazy in love with him. He led her on, promised her the moon, gave her all sorts of gifts and stuff. She was planning to marry him until she found out he was fooling around with not one, but two other women.”
“Jerk,” I muttered, shaking my head.
“And guess who spilled the beans to Luisa about Jerry’s cheating.” Sean scowled. “It was yet another woman he was cheating on.”
“How many was he stringing along? Three? Four?” Billy pulled his baseball cap off and scratched his head. “I can barely handle the one I’ve got.”
Sean chuckled but quickly sobered. “Just about broke Luisa’s heart. She was seeing a doctor for depression for a while, but I think she’s finally over him.”
“I’m sorry for Luisa,” I said, remembering the pretty, tenderhearted girl from high school. Her parents had moved here from Italy to open a branch of the family restaurant. They were extremely protective of their three thoroughly Americanized children. “She didn’t deserve that.”
“No, she didn’t,” Billy said. “I didn’t know her as well as you two did, but that’s a real drag.”
“Oh, and one more thing,” Sean said with an evil grin. “Did you know that Saxton was also screwing around with Joyce Boyer?”
My ears perked up. “What?”
“Oh yeah,” Billy said, nodding sagely. “Joyce is another one of his conquests.”
“Joyce Boyer.” It wasn’t possible, was it? Joyce was Stan Boyer’s wife. The wife that Stan was cheating on last weekend while Jerry Saxton was being murdered. In their new house! “How did you hear about her and Jerry?”
“From Johnny,” Sean said, naming another longtime member of my crew. “Ask him. He and Todd and the other guys working on the Boyer house got an earful of Joyce and Jerry carrying on last week.”
An earful? I wondered what that meant.
“Yeah,” Billy said. “The guys were laughing about it last Friday night at the pub. Hey, we missed you there, by the way. But I guess we know why you didn’t show up.”
“Believe me, I’m sorry I couldn’t make it,” I said, lamenting that I hadn’t been there to hear about Joyce and Jerry. I’d avoided the pub—and every other public place—last Friday because of my infamous fight with Jerry the night before. “So, Jerry was screwing around with Stan’s wife. Wow.”
“That’s what Johnny said. Apparently the two of them were having sex in one of the upstairs bedrooms while the guys were working there.”
I grimaced. “That is the tackiest thing I’ve ever heard. I mean, besides the fact that a bunch of guys are working there, those upstairs bedrooms aren’t even finished yet. It’s a mess.”
“I know,” Sean said, laughing. “The guys were afraid they’d come away with splinters in their private parts.”
I covered my ears. “Oh, ick.”
“It’s cheesy, for sure,” Bill agreed, and all of a sudden he looked embarrassed. “The thing is, Shannon, we were talking about Jerry because of your run-in with him.”
“That’s okay.” I patted his arm. “Everybody else in town is talking about it, too.”
“The good news is that you gave him exactly what he deserved out on the beach the other night.”
Sean chuckled. “Yeah, you nailed him, boss. Every woman he ever cheated on is praising your name these days.”
I didn’t deserve the praise for nailing him, but at this point, it was too much trouble to correct that generally held belief. I hadn’t even intended to bring up the subject of Jerry, but now I couldn’t let it go. “So, Jerry fooled around with a lot of women?”
“He was notorious,” Sean said. “Ask anyone.”
“Married women, too?”
“Well, there’s Mrs. Boyer,” Sean said, as if that settled it.
“Sounds like everyone in town knew he was a player.” Everyone but me, obviously. And Lizzie.
“A lot of guys knew,” Billy said.
Sean nodded. “Mainly because he liked to brag about it at the pub.”
“Yeah, he kind of had a big mouth,” Billy said.
Sean snorted. “’Cuz he was kind of a big ass.”
“Did you ever hear of anyone claiming that he hurt them physically?”
Sean looked uncomfortable. “Well, it’s not like I’m definitely pointing the finger at Saxton, but Luisa showed up with a black eye once. She said she fell down.”
It didn’t take much of a leap to conclude that Jerry had given Luisa that black eye, but it was too late now for the police to do anything about it. I would love to talk to Luisa about it, though. And while I doubted she would ever hurt a fly, I was putting her on my personal suspect list.
Luisa was a real softie, so it was a long shot. In fact, I almost smiled at the picture of her bashing Jerry over the head with a pipe wrench. She’d barely be able to lift the thing. But Jerry might’ve pushed her to the limit.
And if Luisa hadn’t been pushed that far, perhaps her two brothers or her protective father had been.
As I was leaving, three more of my crew drove up. I rolled down my window to let them know that I’d see them all later in the week. As I drove off, I made a mental note to run by Luisa’s place sometime this week and catch up with her.
Billy’s words circled through my mind. He’d sworn that Jerry had a big mouth and was always bragging about his conquests. But if that were true, why would Lizzie have ever set me up with him? I couldn’t believe she’d never heard the rumors. She knew this town as well as I did. On the other hand, Lizzie and Hal rarely hung out in the pub, where they might hear the stories. Their lives revolved around their kids. I didn’t have that excuse and I’d never heard the rumors either, so who was I to talk?
So, how did Lizzie meet Jerry? And why had she set me up with him? Someone must have suggested him as a good date possibility, probably because, sadly, Lizzie was always in the market for new and interesting men to match up with her girlfriends. But who in the world would recommend Jerry?
It was time to ask Lizzie that question. I also knew I would have to tell Chief Jensen what I’d heard about Mrs. Boyer. Is he already aware of Jerry Saxton’s affair with her? I wondered. I hated the idea of being a snitch, but why should I be the only person on his suspect list? It wasn’t fair.
A few minutes later, I pulled up in front of Paper Moon, Lizzie and Hal’s bookshop on the square. I almost hated to walk inside because I never walked out without buying something fabulous. The shop was filled with books and beautiful cards and paper items and unusual gifts. But I was on a mission.
The store wasn’t open yet, but I knew Lizzie would be working in the back office. It was quieter here than at home, where Hal would be getting their two kids ready for school. She always did her paperwork and bills here in the mornings.
I walked down the passageway between two shops and found the back entrance.
“Knock, knock,” I shouted as I rapped loudly on the door.
Moments later, Lizzie called out, “Who’s there?”
“It’s Shannon.”
She opened the door to let me in and quickly locked it behind us. Not that our tiny town was dangerous or anything—Jerry Saxton’s murder notwithstanding—but Lizzie loved locks. She was our safety girl and liked to lecture us on personal safety. She knew every type of locking mechanism known to man and probably could have gotten a job at Fort Knox.
“What are you doing here?” she asked over her shoulder as she led the way back to her small office. “Not that it’s not wonderful to see you.”
Today Lizzie wore a simple outfit of mossy green jeans and a matching sweater. I knew she thought the one-color scheme made her appear taller, but she still looked like a perky elf with attitude. Not that she didn’t look clean and classy and ready for business. She did, as always. I was the perfect contrast to her in old work boots with thick socks, jeans, and a flannel shirt over a faded blue thermal henley. In my defense, I was dressed for business, too. Just a different kind of business.
Lizzie poured a cup of coffee with cream for me and we both sat.
“I’m so sorry,” she began, and I saw that her eyes were bright with unshed tears. “He was a horrible man and it’s my fault that he hurt you, and now he’s dead. And I’m glad, damn it. Now that I’ve said it out loud, I don’t care if anyone knows how I feel. Nobody hurts my friend and gets away with it.”
I frowned at her. “You didn’t kill him, did you?”
Her look of shock was priceless. “Good God, no. Did you?”
“No.” I laughed, grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. “So no more apologies from either of us. It’s not your fault that he attacked me. I know your heart was in the right place when you set us up and I know you’d never do anything to hurt me. That’s not why I’m here.”
“All right, okay. I just felt so bad about your horrible date.” She brushed at her eyes and sniffled once. “And then when I heard that he was dead, wow.” Her face contorted in dismay.
“Tell the truth. Did you think I did it?”
“No!”
“It’s okay if you did. The new police chief thinks I did it.”
She gasped. “No, he doesn’t.”
“He did for an hour or two last night. I was the one who found the body, after all. And plenty of people overheard me threatening him.”
“You’ve never been a violent person. I can only imagine that awful man must have hurt you pretty bad.”
“He did,” I said quietly. “And what hurts even more is that I bought into his whole act.”
She buried her face in her hands. “Oh, God, it’s all my fault.”
“And we’ve come full circle.”
“Okay, I’ll stop,” she said, holding up both hands like a traffic cop. “We will never talk about Jerry Saxton ever, ever again.” She swept her shaggy bangs off her forehead and straightened her shoulders, refreshed and ready to change the subject. “So, what’s up? Why are you here? Not that it isn’t a thrill to see you.”
I laughed softly. “I want to talk about Jerry.”
“Shannon!”
“I just need to know how you met him. Why did you set me up with him? Who introduced you? Did one of your friends tell you he was a good person?”
She looked puzzled. “I didn’t tell you? He came into the store a few weeks ago and introduced himself. He was so charming and gorgeous that I immediately thought of you. I wanted you to meet him.”
“So nobody recommended him to you as good blind-date material.”
“No.”
I nodded and drained the last of my coffee. “And you didn’t ask anyone about him after you met him.”
“You mean, did I do something smart like gather some character references? No. I got a positive feeling about him from the very beginning. He was such a good listener.” She rolled her eyes in disgust. “So much for my ability to judge character.”
“You’re a perfectly good judge of character, Lizzie. So am I.” I stood and gave her a tight hug. “I guess we had to find out the hard way how charming a sociopath can be.”