If the Shoe Kills (6 page)

Greg went to the grill and turned the steak. “We've got a few minutes.” He paused, then sat back down. “Do you want the bad news now or after dinner?”

My stomach turned. “Now. Then I can have an excuse to just eat apple pie for dinner.”

He laughed. “That's my girl, always looking on the bright side.” Emma dropped her ball in his lap and he threw it again. We watched her spin around and chase after it. “She's getting big.”

Emma was coming up on a year, and the cute puppy had grown into a full-blown retriever. She still acted like a puppy, though, and the legs to my dining room set showed her teething stage. I turned toward Greg, who was still watching Emma. “I think you're stalling. What's the bad news?”

Greg didn't meet my eyes, but he took my hand before he spoke. “It appears Ted didn't commit suicide. Someone murdered him.”

S
aturday morning I got up with the alarm, put on my running clothes, and jogged to the beach with Emma. After Greg left last night, I'd thought about his warning to stay out of the investigation this time. His words echoed in my head: “Jill, you don't have to be involved with every dead body that washes up in South Cove.”

But that was the issue, wasn't it? I was already involved. Once he'd let slip that Ted hadn't done the deed himself, I'd told Greg about the picture of Ted's missing wife, how she looked like Marie. And all I got was a “good to know” and another lecture. I'd made a promise to stay out of the investigation, a promise I didn't think I could keep. I regretted reversing my decision not to talk to Greg before I had hard evidence. I'd kind of slipped into the conversation. He saw things differently than I did. This time, he was a little too different.

Running with the salt air stinging my face, I vowed I'd keep my oath for today. One day at a time, wasn't that the mantra for addicts? That thought made me frown: Was I addicted to the excitement of investigations? Of living out my favorite murder mystery novels?

By the time I'd reached the end of the run, Emma and I were both spent. I showered, got ready for work, and walked into town toward the shop. I had enough to do without adding “find out who killed Ted” to my to-do list. Today would be about the shop. And hosting Thanksgiving. The big day was three weeks away, and I hadn't even ordered a turkey yet.

After the morning rush of coffee addicts had passed through the shop, I browsed the shelves, looking for a holiday cookbook or how-to guide. Was there a
Host the Perfect Dinner for Dummies
book? My sparse cookbook shelves ran the gamut of Asian, Thai, Southern cooking, and an everything-you-wanted-to-know-about-seafood book. I booted up the laptop and was searching the sales catalog when the bell chimed over the door.

Darla Taylor walked into the shop. She'd started a running/diet program last summer, but from what I'd seen, her progress had slowed, so she still appeared five feet tall and five feet wide. She waved and met me at the coffee bar. “Give me a skinny latte with a vanilla shot, please. I'm treating myself.”

“Coming right up.” I started making the drink. Avoiding the holiday festival discussion as long as possible, I focused on her new employee. “So, how's Matt working out?”

Her face turned beet red from the top of her fake blond hair to the edge of her neck that showed in her running gear. She shuddered. Her voice shook when she spoke. “Matt?”

Oh God, don't let there be another problem.
“Yeah, the intern I dropped off Tuesday night? He did show up Thursday, right? I haven't talked to anyone over at the Work Today place since Ted's”—I paused, then chose the safest word choice—“death.”

Darla waved her hand. “Oh no, there's not a problem. He showed up right on time on Thursday and even fixed the door on the shed. He's very handy around the place.”

I handed her the drink, and as I rang up her order and gave her change, I wondered about how handy Matt really was. Darla was smitten, that was obvious. I just hoped she wouldn't get her heart broken by this temporary person in her life. “I'm glad. Sasha's been a godsend around here, especially with the increase in evening shopping traffic.”

Darla sipped on her drink. She glanced around the empty shop. “You're not very busy for a Saturday.”

I shrugged. “It should pick up later, when Toby's on shift. The boy brings in the customers.”

She nodded, thoughtfully. “I guess a lot of people are attracted to a handsome man.”

“Duh. Wouldn't you be?” I laughed and resumed checking out cookbooks. “You don't know of a good how-to-host-a-holiday-dinner guide, do you?”

Darla chuckled. “The first Thanksgiving is getting to you?”

This time it was my turn to blush. “Is it that obvious? I just don't want to embarrass myself.”

“You can't. Holidays are about getting people who care about each other together, not what's actually served on the table. You'll do fine, you have a good heart.” Darla smiled. “Although if you want, I can write a series on Thanksgiving disasters for the
Examiner
. Give you some ideas of what not to do.”

My jaw set. “Ugh. I'm not sure I want to know about what can go wrong.”

“Mostly it's a lot of dumb things. Or people being dumb because of too much alcohol. Each year in the news, there are a lot of fires caused by deep-fried turkeys.” Darla laughed. “My stepdad tried that one year when I was a kid, total disaster.”

“I promise no deep-fried turkey. I'm going traditional as much as possible.” I paused. “So, you like Matt? I mean, as an employee?”

There was that blush again. “He's great. Better than I could have expected. I thought since Ted had been having such problems placing this group, we might have gotten the dregs. But Matt told me a story that explained a lot.”

“What story?” I pushed aside the laptop. I'd search later.

Darla squirmed a little in her chair. “I hate to speak ill of the dead, but I'll make an exception for Ted.” She leaned forward. “You know he told the mayor he'd had issues placing these ten, so that's not a secret.”

I'd wondered about that. Everyone I talked to said how well the placements had turned out, not something I'd expected from Ted's evaluation of the group. “So, what was the secret?”

“Matt said that Ted told him once that he had considered him for an assignment a month ago, but he had placed a girl in that spot instead. He told Matt that she was very, very grateful, if he knew what he meant.”

“Wait, you think Ted was involved sexually with his charges?” I sighed. It wasn't uncommon for men who craved power to seek out positions where they held all the cards and others held none.

“I don't think, I know. Apparently there was an incident with a girl a year ago just over legal age. I think Ted's parents bought her silence. I heard she took care of the problem and moved north, probably Oregon.” Darla drained the last of her coffee and stood. “So the people working here either were male, too old for Ted's tastes, or had shut him down. I heard Sasha gave him a piece of her mind.”

“Now I'm beginning to understand Ted's death a little more.” I shook my head.

“I don't. Someone who's that egocentric doesn't commit suicide.” Darla studied me, her newshound radar going off. “Greg is saying that Ted committed suicide, right?”

Greg had warned me that the DA didn't want the cause of death released before they had a chance to do some investigation. I tried to blow it off. “As far as I know.” I paused. “Did you know about his family ties? Are you working on the story for this week's
Examiner
?”

Darla shook her head. “Tom didn't think it would be good for South Cove's business community to be highlighting a bloody death in a car on Main Street along with the new holiday festival committee chair.”

I grimaced. “How are you doing with that? I know you put a lot of your own time into the project each year.” I'd wanted to avoid this topic, but it was better than slipping up and mentioning “murder.”

“I'm upset, who wouldn't be?” Darla's phone chirped, and she glanced down at the display. “Although the woman doesn't know what she stepped into and she's calling me every hour to ask some other stupid question.”

Darla held up her phone to show a picture of Tina Baylor, the mayor's wife. She tossed the phone back into her purse. “She can wait. I told her I'd be glad to take over again and let her shadow me, but that seems like giving up to her. And she said her mother was a Daughters of the American Revolution member and her family never surrendered.”

“You can take her call.” I watched as a customer entered the store, heading over to the new selections area. “Looks like I need to get back to work anyway.”

“Don't worry about it. She'll call back every ten minutes until I answer. I've already tested it up to an hour.” Darla grinned as I gasped. “What can I say? Revenge is best served cold, and the girl is getting her share. Although I still don't think she knows why I'm mad.”

“I hate to see the festival suffer.” I tried to act like the liaison for the city council.

Darla started walking to the door. “Slow your roll, Jill. I won't let South Cove down, even if that's exactly what the town did to me. Maybe if it's a little bit of work, she'll give up and go back to being a housewife and giving huge parties.”

I'd forgotten one of Tina's favorite pastimes was entertaining for her husband's political career. “I could ask Tina if she knows of a good guidebook for entertaining.”

Darla paused at the door and laughed. “Are you kidding? People like her are born knowing how to set a formal table and what side dishes to serve with what wine. I'm pretty sure that's what she studied in college, not marketing.”

I watched Darla disappear through the door. The customer stepped to the counter with three beach reads and ordered a large frozen mocha and a tall black coffee to go.

“My driver loves your coffee. He's been coming by every morning to get our supply, even though I keep telling him the coffee is included in our lodging.” She grinned at me. “So I decided I had to meet the woman whom David's been raving about. If I didn't know better, I'd say he's got a bit of a crush on you.”

“I'm sure it's the coffee he loves, not me.” I mentally reviewed my early customers over the last week and thought I knew whom she was talking about. “I remember him. He's a tall, slender man, likes his coffee very black and dark, and buys young adult. Those must be for you.”

The woman laughed and held out her hand. “I'll tell you his dirty secret. He doesn't think I know. He loves tales of teenage angst. And don't get me started on the Greek gods phase. The man reads like he is still in high school.” She straightened the Mystery Group flyers on the counter. “I'm more of a literary reader. Although I do allow myself time to enjoy a few genre books when I'm vacationing. I can't tell you the grief I'd get if any one of the members of my book club saw my purchases today. I'm sure I'd lose my chair status.”

“I think any reading is good reading, even if it's commercial fiction. A good story well told is worth the time.” Jackie had come to the store with the same mind-set. She'd wanted to cut the romance section by half and add a larger classics shelf, but when she saw the figures on the actual sales, she changed her mind, fast. Now I even caught her reading the romance category books we carried. Just for research, she claimed.

“You probably sell a lot of these. When I take the train into town, all I see are people reading romance or mystery or even those kids' books. I can't abide vampires. I guess I'm showing my age.” The woman absently touched her face, the skin around her eyes as smooth as a teenager's.

“Everyone has their own taste. I wish I could stock more variety, but as you can see, the shop's limited on shelf space.” I put her drinks in front of her on the counter and rang up her purchases.

“Well, today I'm going to just enjoy the story. I've got my camp chair in the trunk and I'm going to the beach outside town and reading until the wind drives me back to the bed-and-breakfast. It might not be summer, but it's a beautiful day.” The woman held out her credit card.

“I'm thinking my afternoon's going to involve an hour or two of reading, as well.” I glanced at the name on the card—Regina Johnson. “A girl's got to stay up on the newest releases, right?”

“Especially if she runs a bookstore.” She signed her charge slip and then walked out toward the street. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

Customers like her—smart, funny—were the reason I loved owning a business in a tourist town. You got to know people on their best days. When anything was a possibility. I knew my commuter customers by the mood surrounding them as they ordered. Vacationers were more relaxed, more willing to play. One more reason I loved living and working in South Cove.

Toby arrived right on time, and as I transitioned my barista into his shift, Jackie and Josh walked into the store. Well, Jackie with Josh following her.

“You don't have to explain,” Jackie muttered. “A woman knows when there's someone else.”

“Jackie,” Josh gasped. “How can you even think that? I'm so sorry I forgot to meet you last night. I just got lost researching a new batch of stock I have coming in. Time got away from me.”

Jackie stepped around the counter and poured herself a cup of coffee. “Research. Right.”

He parked his large frame on a stool by the counter. “I swear. It's pretty interesting. The batch is supposed to be from an apothecary from a central California mining camp. Although I haven't totally verified that yet . . .” Josh gazed around and apparently noticed Jackie's cold stare causing him to stop talking.

“You're forgetting you live next door in that ratty apartment above your store. You don't think I can see when someone goes up your back stairs. Or did you think I wouldn't recognize her?” Jackie shook her head. “I'm not talking about this ever again.”

“Lovers' quarrel?” Toby fake-whispered in my ear.

“Shhh,” I said, but it was too late. Jackie and Josh both turned and stared at us.

Josh spoke first, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Enjoying yourselves?”

“No, I mean, what happened?” I took a step toward the two, hoping I'd be able to turn back if the words started flying my way.