A Killer Deal (A Seagrove Cozy Mystery Book 1) (2 page)

“The chief is going back to the station,” she said. “This is as good a time as any for us to go, Rosie.”

“If I must,” Rosie said.

Sadie gave her a hand down the stairway and they went out of the shop into the late afternoon sun. Normally it only took Sadie fifteen minutes at most to walk to the police station, but Rosie was unsteady on her feet and cautious, and that slowed them down some. But within thirty minutes Rosie was seated in front of Chief Zachary Woodstone’s desk while Sadie perched on the windowsill.

“Roger Roberts became angry when you called him Robert instead of Roger, used foul language and threw you out of the shop. Is that correct?” Chief Woodstone asked.

“Yes.” Rosie was contrite.

“And why did you think I would arrest you because he yelled at you? I’m a little hazy on this part,” Chief Woodstone said.

“Well, um, I might have said something not very nice back,” Rosie said, blushing.

“And that would be … what?” Chief Woodstone asked.

“I might have said something about his foul mouth getting him killed one day,” Rosie said. “But that doesn’t mean I was threatening to kill him myself.”

“I see,” Woodstone said.

He busied himself with some paperwork on his desk and Sadie could see by the set of his shoulders and the shine in his eyes that he was trying not to laugh.

“Well, Ms. Tricare,” the words were rough with unexpressed laughter, “perhaps you shouldn’t leave town until this matter is settled.”

“Oh, yes chief,” she said breathlessly. “I almost never leave town anyway, but I’ll be sure to stay until this case is solved.” She nodded her head rapidly making her white curls dance on her head.

“Sadie,” Chief Woodstone said, “would you mind escorting Ms. Tricare back to her residence for me? My officers are busy with a murder.”

“Certainly Chief,” Sadie said, and she winked at him over Rosie’s head.

Sadie walked Rosie home, slowly, while Rosie lamented the loss of civilized society. No self-respecting person would have been found dead on the back step of a Main Street store fifty years ago. Sadie said probably not, but what she was thinking was that no one wanted to be found dead, then or now. After all, was it Roger Roberts’ fault he got killed in that alley?

Later that day, Sadie was walking Mister Bradshaw in the park when Chief Woodstone beeped his siren at her. She heard the whoop and looked up to see him standing outside his car waving at her. She and Mister Bradshaw walked over to see him.

“Sadie,” he said. “I didn’t get your statement. Do you have a minute?”

“Sure Chief,” she said. “You want to go back to the cop shop?”

“Call me Zack, damn it, Sadie,” he said. “You’re not my employee. We can do this back at your place if you want.”

“Okay Chief, uh Zack,” she said. “I think I can do that, call you Zack. But when I look at you, the word Chief pops into my head. And that makes things difficult.”

“Well try,” Chief Woodstone said. They walked across the street to Sadie’s shop, and when she opened the unlocked door, he got a look of patent disbelief on his face.

“I was just across the street,” she said. “It’s not like somebody’s going to break in when I’m standing right there.” She pointed to the park.

“And what if Mister Bradshaw had run off, or some other emergency had come up? You waltzed back here hours later and been totally cleaned out.”

“I hate to tell you Chief, but a lot of the stuff doesn’t exactly fit in a pocket, you know.”

“No. But some of the most expensive stuff does. You should be protecting your investment, not running off and leaving the doors unlocked. You’d think we lived in Mayberry.” Chief Woodstone shook his head. “I will never understand it.”

“But we do live in Mayberry, don’t we? I mean in relative terms? Very little bad stuff happens around here,” she said.

“Not counting the murder of Roger Roberts, I suppose?” Chief Woodstone said.

“Yes, the murder of Roger Roberts is definitely bad stuff, and not only because I just lost my favorite bakery. I can’t imagine why anybody would kill him,” she said and hoisted herself up onto the counter next to the cash register.

“That chair is safe,” she said, pointing to a sturdy wooden desk chair, “If you want to sit.”

“I’ll stand for now,” he said. “Tell me about what happened today.”

“Aren’t you going to take notes?” she asked, looking pointedly at his empty hands.

He tapped his forehead. “It’s all in here. I only use the notepad with unreliable witnesses.”

“Okay, Chief,” she said.

“Damn it, Sadie, it's Zack.” He glared at her.

“Okay, Zack, here’s the nickel version. Mr. Bradshaw and I had our usual morning constitutional on the green and then went into Roger’s place for coffee and a muffin, or maybe it was a croissant today? Anyway, a pastry. Roger seemed like his usual self. Cranky about something.” She paused a moment. “Organics, I think. Someone putting weed killer on his organic food? Something like that. Then I came back over here, did a sweep around while Mr. B patrolled for rodents and when I went out to dump the trash Roger was dead as a dodo. Lying on my bottom step. You know the rest.”

“And when did Rosie come into it?” Zack asked.

“Lucy and I were up in the kitchen watching the proceedings out back when the buzzer went off downstairs. We trotted down and Rosie was there, all worked up and her curls mashed under a ridiculous hat. So we brought her up here, fed her tea and cookies, got the story and then when you all had disappeared from the alley we brought her round to the station. Well, I brought her round. Lucy stayed here and watched Mr. Bradshaw and the shop. That’s it.”

“You didn’t hear it happen and not realize what it was?” he asked.

“I don’t think so. I fired up the vacuum cleaner and was sucking the dust off the ceiling fans. Dust and spider webs. Too bad Mr. Bradshaw doesn’t chase out the spiders.” She eyed the ceiling, looking for missed webs.

“Too bad, indeed. So you’ve got nothing to shed light on the murder?”

“No. I don’t. What made those burns on his chest?” Sadie asked.

“Not sure, but we think it could be a branding iron of some kind.” His lips thinned.

“What actually killed him then? Those were nasty burns, but they didn’t look fatal to me. Did they look fatal to you?”

“No. I don’t think so. We won’t know for sure until the autopsy report comes back. In the meantime, keep your eyes open for odd behavior. It’s far too easy to get caught up in weird shit around this place.”

“What do you mean around this place?” she asked. “My shop? Are you saying weird shit happens at my shop?”

“No. Not your shop. Main Street. There is always crap happening on Main Street. And so far I’m not blaming it on you, but that could change.” He headed for the door. “Just keep your eyes, open.”

Chapter Two

Sadie woke late the next morning. She looked at the clock and cursed.

“Come on Mr. Bradshaw, we’ve got to get moving.”

Mr. Bradshaw wriggled out from under the covers. Sadie knew she should make him sleep in his crate, but he was such a good snuggler – and it was nice to have a living breathing soul next to her in the night. He shook from his nose to his tail and jumped off the bed, heading for the door to the shop stairs.

“Just a minute, I’ve got to get ready,” Sadie said. “Don’t be so impatient.”

She pulled on a swirly maxi skirt with a sleeveless blouse and slid her feet into a pair of sandals. Then they headed down the stairs and across the street to the park for Mr. Bradshaw’s morning constitutional. Sadie picked up his droppings in a plastic bag and tossing it in the trash. She really had a thing about stepping in dog poop. It was the worst.

It wasn’t until they were headed back across the street that Sadie realized she couldn’t complete her morning routine. The bakery wasn’t open. Roger was dead. Mr. Bradshaw placed his front paws on the glass door and peered in, whining softly. Tears pricked her eyes and she blinked hard. The clock on the corner told her she didn’t have the time necessary to walk three blocks to the Pancake Palace to grab a coffee and muffin. She’d have to settle for instant coffee and toast at home.

As she inserted her key in the front door lock, George Jackson, the book store owner on the other side of the bakery came out his door.

“This is all your fault,” he said angrily pointing his finger at Sadie and punctuating his words by jabbing in her direction. “It’s all that strange garbage you sell, it attracts the wrong kinds of people.”

“I’m sorry,” Sadie said, looking at him with confusion “what’s my fault.”

“Roger’s death, that’s what,” George said. “You and your voodoo, hocus pocus, black magic… things.” He balled his fists and Sadie scrambled to get her key in the lock. His rigid posture reminded Sadie of a rabid dog.

Not that she’d ever seen a rabid dog, maybe what he reminded her of was that deer she’d seen on the internet attacking a hunter.

“George,” she said. “There is nothing voodoo or black magic in my shop. It’s just old China, kitchen wares, and junk. Come in and see for yourself.”

“You’ll never catch me going in that place. It’s the devil’s doorway. Why was Roger killed on your doorstep? As an offering to the devil. You’re the handmaiden to the devil, that’s what you are. You will come to no good, do you hear me. No. Good!”

“George, are you feeling alright? I’ve never harmed a person in this town. And my shop is just that – a shop filled with fun things, shiny things, happy things. Nothing that belongs to the devil, and nothing the devil would want.” Sadie had the door unlocked and was feeling a bit safer now.

“The devil didn’t say no to the corpse on your back steps, did he? He didn’t say no to that death mask you had in the window,” George said, pointing to the window that did not now, nor had it ever displayed a death mask.

Not that Sadie was averse to having one, she’d just never had the opportunity.

“George, I think you are mistaken,” she said. “I’ve never had a desk match, um, death mask. Are you on new medication? Or maybe you’re supposed to be and aren’t?”

“Don’t you cast incursions on me, young lady. I won’t have it.” He looked around confused for a moment and then spotted his broom resting against the building behind him.

“I think you mean aspersions, George. And I haven’t. You, however, are casting them on me.” She realized that if he’d ever really been listening to what she said, he wasn’t now. “I’m going in now, George, I suggest you do the same.”

“I’ll go in when I’m good and ready,” he shouted at her. Then he turned, picked up his broom and slammed back into his shop.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, come on Mr. B.”

She opened the shop and went in. George Jackson, never the brightest bunny in the bunch, had finally lost his marbles. Or was that hairballs? He was clearly crazy as a loon.

At noon, Sadie put the closed sign on her door, left Mr. Bradshaw to guard the shop and walked three blocks past the park to Clive’s Cantina for lunch. It was warm, but there was plenty of shade on the sidewalk. She smelled the scents of summer on the air - dry grass and blooming flowers, with just a hint of the ocean a quarter mile away.

Clive’s was the kind of corner bar that might be disreputable in another town. But here it was a decent place to go for lunch. She climbed up onto a tall black stool at the bar and hooked her heels on the top rung.

“It’s hell being short,” she said to the bartender. “Can I get a coffee and a burger, please?”

He was a sleepy looking young man with a hairy face, a fat panda tattooed on his arm and a name tag that said, Darren. He put down the rag he’d been using to wipe the counter behind the bar and focused his attention on her.

“You sure you don’t want an Appletini? You look like you could use one,” Darren said and gave her a friendly smile.

“No. Thank you, Darren, I just really need some caffeine,” She said.

“Oh, my name’s Troy, this is my buddy’s shirt. I couldn’t find mine so I borrowed his. We get fined if we aren’t wearing our name tag. One night we rebelled and all swapped nametags. It was a shit storm. You sure you don’t want a little Bailey’s in that coffee?” he asked.

“No, I’m good, thanks, Troy,” she said and wondered if drunk women tipped better.

A tall man in dress slacks and a sports coat wandered in and sat at the bar a couple of stools down. Sadie recognized him as the dean of the small Ocean View Community College. She always thought it would be nice to have an office at the college which was located high above the bay.

“Dean Johnathan Crossgrove,” she said. “How’s life on the bluff today?”

“Oh, Ms. Barnett, I didn’t recognize you. They keep this place so dim. Can I join you?” He was a balding and nearsighted black man, but well-spoken and with a reputation for fairness. Sadie liked him.

“Of course,” Sadie said and patted the chair next to her.

He slid down until he was beside her, and ordered a beer and a fry-up from the bartender.

“Sad mess,” he said after Troy set his beer in front of him, “this business with Roger Roberts. I’ll miss the bakery.”

“Not nearly as much as I will,” Sadie said. “Mr. Bradshaw and I had coffee there every morning. I’m not sure what we’ll do now.”

“Where is Mr. Bradshaw?” the Dean asked, looking under her feet.

“I didn’t bring him,” she said. “I wasn’t sure Clive’s would look kindly on a furry client. I don’t usually bring him places until I’ve been there a time or two and scoped out the canine reception committee, or lack thereof.”

“Understandable,” he said. “I hate to change the subject from something as delightful as Mr. Bradshaw, but do you have any idea who could have killed Roger?”

“None at all. I know he was a bit touchy, but I can’t see a motive in that.” Sadie shrugged. “How about you? Any ideas?”

“I hate to say it, but he had a falling out with one of my junior professors. Complained about the classes he held on the green. I can’t help but wonder…” Johnathan shrugged his shoulders.

“Surely not,” Sadie said. “If we counted every person that Roger complained about then everyone in town would be a suspect. He tended to be a complainer.”

“That he did,” Johnathan said, “poor man. Even grouchy people deserve to live.”

“There’s a slogan for you, ‘grouchy people deserve to live,’ we can add the bumper sticker to our cars next to ‘save the whales’ and ‘black lives matter.'” She looked up, realizing what she’d just said. “I apologize, that didn’t come out right. I do believe black lives matter.”

“No offense taken,” Johnathan said, “I know what you meant. How about one big slogan: All those people you dislike and distrust, and all those animals you kill for profit, deserve to live in peace and prosperity.”

“You are very kind,” Sadie said. “But it wouldn’t do. Some numbskull would be whining about not thinking it applied to black people, or whales, or whiners because they don’t really count. No, I’m afraid we are going to have to plaster our cars with bumper stickers until society catches up.”

“Meanwhile, do you think they have any leads on Roger’s murderer?” he asked.

“I don’t think so, but I wouldn’t really know if they did. I’m not on the list of people to call when a lead comes in. I find out from the five o’clock news like everyone else.”

“Really? Somehow I thought you were in thick with Chief Woodstone.” He shook his head. “I just hope it doesn’t turn out to be one of my associate professors. That would be unfortunate. Finding replacements for professors in the middle of a term is a nightmare.”

“That would be a scandal and a half. Imagine the headlines: Local Professor Gives Lessons in Murder. You’d have people lined up down the block for that class,” Sadie said.

“That is an unfortunate truth I’d rather not dwell on,” he said. “Human nature is not what it should be.”

“Oh, I think human nature is exactly as it should be, but not what we’d like it to be. We still carry outdated survival instincts. I would hope that eventually they’ll be bred out of us.” She thought a moment about her childhood. “Do you remember when people used to say that someday we’d be nothing but heads in jars? Our heads would be huge from thinking and our bodies would wither away? Hilarious.”

“Yes, I do remember that, but I don’t think they included blacks in that equation at the time,” he said. “We were at the beginning of the second wave.”

“And you’ve proved them wrong headed. You have earned your place in the head in a jar society, haven’t you?” She smiled at him.

“I’m glad you think so, Sadie,” he said. “Not everyone does.”

She patted his arm. “You can put your jar next to mine. We’d be good company for each other. Just an average middle-aged white woman with a passion for chocolate next to an intelligent, distinguished black man with good taste in beer. Does chocolate go with beer? I’ve never tried that combination.”

“It wouldn’t matter, we’d both be heads in jars. Both beer and chocolate would be things of the past.”

“That’s a depressing thought,” Sadie said. “I take it back. I’m not going to be a head in a jar after all. But I promise to come visit you.”

“Very generous of you,” Johnathan said. “But I too will pass on jar-hood. However, I appreciate the sentiment.” He slid off his stool. “This has been a strange and enjoyable conversation, Sadie Barnett, I hope we can do it again sometime.”

Sadie paid for her meal and hurried back to take Mr. Bradshaw for a walk in the park. The paths weren’t crowded by any means, but the green was definitely the place to be. One of Chief Woodstone’s off-duty deputies was walking with two young co-eds gesturing with his hands and turning from one to the other to emphasize a point. She nodded at the deputy as they passed, but he didn’t seem to see her. Too engrossed in his conversation to notice a middle-aged woman was her guess.

On her way back to the shop she saw George Jackson hassling a group of young people who were listening to music and tossing a Frisbee around. He seemed to be trying to get them to move away from the bookstore to the other side of the park.

“Listen Grandpa, one of the young men said. “The park is a public place. If you didn’t want to be near people who were enjoying life you should have put your bookstore somewhere else. Across the street from the park doesn’t seem like it’s working for you.” George threatened to call the police and stomped away.

Sadie decided to wait awhile before crossing over to the shop. She didn’t want to run into George again anytime soon. She and Mr. B went to sit on a bench in the shade. She let Mr. B off his leash so he could sniff around while she sat. They’d done this many times and she had no fear of him running away or attacking anyone. She could hear the Frisbee throwers complaining about George and she looked over to see Chief Woodstone taking notes.