I glanced down and saw that Robbie had lost interest. I couldn’t blame him because I was out of ideas after that. I squiggled little circles and spirals, then wrote Mrs. Higgins’s name on the list. Then I laughed out loud and removed her name. Honestly Mrs. Higgins was barely able to walk outside her front gate, never mind sneak into Jesse’s house and smash a hole in the wall.
Tiger jumped up onto my lap and I put my pen down to pet her. As she settled, I remembered Eric’s words about small-town revenge. Could it be someone in town? A neighbor I’d known forever? I thought more about Jesse. Who were his enemies? It was possible that he had plenty of them because he had been a bit of a curmudgeon. I’d always gotten along with him, but did the rest of our neighbors? Had he ever caused trouble for one of them? I knew that the family living on the other side of Jesse used to have a noisy dog that drove him nuts. The family didn’t have that dog anymore. Had Jesse set it loose and caused it to run away? Would the neighbors have killed him for it?
I was grasping at straws.
What I needed here was a long talk with my dad. He had to know plenty of details about Jesse that I didn’t. I dialed his cell phone, but there was no answer. Dad didn’t always carry his phone with him when he was busy. I would have to try him later.
I stared at my list again and wondered who among Jesse’s friends and acquaintances had seen the necklace. My instinct told me that the necklace was the key to Jesse’s death. Why would anyone kill him otherwise?
We already knew that Cuckoo had seen the necklace. Who else had Jesse shown it to? Other antique dealers? Pawnshop owners?
He couldn’t have shown it much around town. If he had, everyone would have been talking about it. And that realization left me exactly nowhere.
I did an online search of such businesses within a ten-to-fifteen-mile radius of Lighthouse Cove. I found a number of possibilities and printed out their names and addresses, determined to visit them and find out if any of them had seen the necklace.
Feeling good about taking some concrete action, I headed out to my truck. Across the street, Mrs. Higgins shuffled out her door and down the walkway. At her front gate, she stopped and waved. “Yoo-hoo, Shannon, dear, can you come over here?”
I felt instant guilt and remorse for adding her name to my suspect list. It didn’t matter that I’d removed her name almost as quickly—my guilt was a living, breathing thing.
I shook it off and I walked across the street. “Hi, Mrs. Higgins. How are you?”
“I’m superfine like Chablis wine,” she said, snapping her fingers in a Z formation.
Oh, dear. Had she been drinking already? She wore a satin pink housecoat with kitten-heel slippers with little tufts of pink fur on the toes. Her hair was in curlers, and her rhinestone-studded bifocals completed the look.
“You look very glamorous today,” I said.
“Thank you.” She touched her curlers gingerly. “Celebrity Wheel of Fortune is on today and I want to look my best.”
“Ah.” I nodded. “What can I help you with?”
“I got a call from Sloane’s telling me my bird fountain is ready for pickup. Can you drive out there and get it for me today? I don’t want them to send it back.”
“They wouldn’t send it back, but I’ll be happy to pick it up for you.” Anything to assuage the guilt, I added silently.
“And you’ll install it for me?”
“Of course.”
“By tomorrow?”
I mentally checked my schedule and my level of guilt. “Sure, I can pick it up today and install it tomorrow.”
She reached out and pinched my cheek. “You’re a good girl.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Higgins.” I returned to my truck, rubbing my tender cheek where she’d squeezed it like a Vise-Grip. Maybe the old gal was strong enough to punch a few holes in Jesse’s walls, I thought, and was tempted to add her name back onto the suspect list, just for spite.
Chapter Eight
“You’ve got to be kidding,” I said, staring at the bird fountain Mrs. Higgins had ordered. It was even bigger and uglier than I’d thought it would be.
“Nope.” John Sloane laughed again. He’d pretty much been laughing his ass off since I drove onto the lot.
“Have I mentioned that your customer relation skills suck?” I felt comfortable telling him that since I’d known him forever. My father and I had been shopping at Sloane’s Stones for almost that long, too.
My critique just made him laugh harder.
“I don’t think it’ll fit in my truck,” I said.
“Oh, we’ll get it in there,” he assured me with a chuckle. “Because there’s no way we’re keeping it here.”
“Thanks, John. You’re a peach.”
His shoulders were still shaking as he walked off to find a couple of guys who could help him squeeze that gargantuan atrocity of a birdbath into the back of my truck.