Illegally Iced (20 page)

“Point taken,” she said. “That’s why I think we should talk to him together. The only problem is that I don’t have a clue where he might be. I suppose we could try his little smithy again, but I’m not keen on going after him in his own lair.”

“Me, either,” I said. “He’s got to do something else at night for fun. Do you have any idea where we might look for him?”

“No, but I know someone who might be able to give us a hint or two.”

“Who are you going to call?” I asked as she took out her cell phone.

She held up one finger and smiled. A moment later, I didn’t have to ask. “Spencer, it’s Grace Gauge. Yes, I know that it’s been a long time. Two kids? Congratulations. Listen, the reason I’m calling is that I’m looking for Murphy. No, nothing like that. I just want to chat a little about blacksmithing. Of course I’m serious. Okay, thanks.”

I grinned as she hung up. “You have some serious spunk, lady. I can’t believe you called Spencer out of the blue like that. How’d you happen to have his number?”

“First I put all of our suspects in the memory on my phone,” she admitted. “Then I added the folks who are connected to them in any way. I can’t always do it, but when I can, it helps.”

“When did you start doing that?” I asked, honestly curious.

“I just decided to do it while you were selling donuts this morning.”

“It’s an excellent idea,” I said. “Two kids, huh? That could have been you.”

“Maybe, but Spencer and I kind of played out our relationship in high school. You know me, once I’m finished with someone, there’s no looking back.”

“Doesn’t that mean you’re cutting out a great many of the eligible bachelors in April Springs?” I asked the question before I realized how it must have sounded to her. “I didn’t mean it that way. I’m sorry,” I added quickly.

“I know that,” she said. “I’m not saying that you’re wrong, but it does sound kind of brutal when you sum up my past dating experiences like that. Maybe it’s time I lowered my standards and started going back through the leftovers.”

I laughed at the way she’d put it. “Don’t you dare, especially not on my account. Just keep being you, Grace. I know that you’ll be fine.”

“Said the girl with a steady boyfriend who happens to be a state cop and a hunk of a man.”

I grinned like a lovesick schoolgirl. “He
is
handsome, isn’t he?”

“Stop rubbing it in,” Grace said. “Let’s get in the car and go track Murphy down.”

“Where did Spencer suggest we look?” I asked.

“I’m not sure that you’ll believe me even after I tell you,” she replied.

“Try me. I can swallow just about anything at the moment.”

“According to Spencer, his little brother is probably at the firing range in Union Square. Are you up for a little drive?”

“I’m game if you are,” I said. “Who needs sleep?”

If James had been shot, Murphy’s hobby might have meant something to the case, but he’d been stabbed. Still, it showed that Murphy wasn’t all that afraid of violence if he shot off weapons for fun, and that was something, a new bit of information, to add to the mix of what we’d collected so far. None of it added up yet to allow us to definitively name the killer, but our investigations were often like that. We just kept adding new information to the facts we’d already collected, and sooner or later, we found our killer. I wished at times that it was a little easier than that, but if there was another way to detect, Grace and I hadn’t stumbled upon it yet.

*   *   *

We found Murphy’s truck parked in the lot at the firing range, just as Spencer had told Grace. The fact that Murphy Armstrong was a sport shooter made sense in my mind. After all, he worked with metal, bending iron to his will, or at least that’s what he was learning to do. I knew that he loved to read by the books we’d seen in his shop, and if Spencer had said we should look in the library or a bookstore, I wouldn’t have had any trouble believing it, either.

“How are we going to do this?” Grace asked as we both got out of her car. “We can’t just walk up to him when he’s shooting and start grilling him about James again.”

“Not when he’s armed, we can’t,” I said. “We could always just wait for him out here in the parking lot until he’s finished.”

She looked at the door to the gun range, and then back at me. “You know what? I like your idea better.”

“Then it’s settled,” I said. “Should we go back and wait in your car?”

Grace pointed to one side near the front of the building. “I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t we go over there? After all, it’s a beautiful night. I think the chill’s finally leaving us.”

“It sounds good to me,” I said.

We were there ten minutes when a car drove up. I didn’t pay any attention to it, at least not until I saw who got out of the passenger side door.

It was Angelica DeAngelis, the beautiful owner of Napoli’s, one of my favorite places to eat in the world. To my surprise, one of her daughters was with her as well. I stood and approached them, but Maria didn’t notice me until I was right up next to them. She jumped a little as Angelica looked at me. “Suzanne Hart, what are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” I said. “Have you and your daughters taken up shooting for sport?”

“Not for sport. We have to protect ourselves. Two restaurants in town have been robbed at gunpoint, and my daughters and I will not go unprotected.”

“I hadn’t heard about that,” I said. “Why just the two of you, then?” Angelica and her three daughters ran the Italian restaurant. I hated that she had to go armed to feel safe in a place that felt like a home away from home to me. “Where’s the rest of your crew?”

“They’re running the restaurant in our absence. Besides, we don’t need them here with us, since either Maria or I am always on duty,” she said. “We are sufficient.”

“Speak for yourself,” Maria said. She had her mother’s dark and breathtaking looks, as did her sisters, and it was a wonder to me that no man had captured the attention of any of the girls yet. If the food hadn’t been so delicious, I would have had to keep watch over Jake whenever we ate there, but he only had eyes for the ravioli. “My mother is pretty good, but I can barely hit the ground with mine.”

“That’s why we’re here practicing,” Angelica said. “Lots of women come. In fact, there’s one from April Springs we see all of the time.” She looked hard at me and then added, “Now, I’ve told you why we’re here, Suzanne. How about the two of you? Are you getting in some target practice, too?”

“We’re looking into the murder of a friend of ours,” I admitted. I might have tried to deflect some of her scrutiny if it had been anyone else, but Angelica and I had a bond. I wasn’t going to lie to her, or try to avoid her question.

“James Settle,” she said decisively.

“Did you know him?” I asked, wondering how James had made such a broad impact in the short time he’d lived among us.

“No, but I understand that he was a good man. I hope you two catch the killer, but don’t take any chances. It’s a dangerous world out there.”

“It can be,” Grace said. “You two need to be careful as well.”

“With our weapons or our restaurant?” Maria asked with a wry smile.

“Both,” I said as I hugged them good-bye.

I was about to promise I’d come visit them soon, not an onerous promise to make at all, when I saw Murphy Armstrong coming out the door.

“See you later,” I said quickly. Angelica got it immediately and she and her daughter headed off into the firing range.

By the time Murphy approached us, I was ready to start asking questions again.

I just hoped that he was in the mood to answer a few of them.

“What do you two want now?” Murphy asked the second he saw us. “Spencer told me you were trying to track me down. It’s bad enough that you’re harassing me at my forge, but now you’re bothering my brother, too.”

“We needed to find you so that we could apologize,” I said. There had to be some way to diffuse the tension between us and still let us have a conversation about his late mentor.

At least he seemed willing to listen. “Go on.”

“We weren’t trying to attack you earlier, and if it came across that way, we’re both very sorry,” Grace said. She moved in a little closer toward the blacksmith, and Murphy didn’t shy away. Grace took one of his hands in hers and continued. “Please forgive us. We just want to make sure that there’s justice for James.”

“I want the same thing,” Murphy said. He didn’t pull away, and after a moment, Grace did so herself. “Is there anything you might be able to tell us about who could have wanted to hurt James?”

“I’ve been thinking about that since it happened, and all I can come up with is something he told me last week.”

That got my attention. “Why? What did he say?”

“He told me that if it weren’t for women and somebody named Woody, his life would be pretty good.”

What an odd thing to say. “That’s not like him to dislike all women. Did he narrow it down any for you?”

Murphy nodded. “He said Rebecca was having a hard time letting him go, and James was getting a little frustrated about it since he wanted to go public with his relationship with Trish. Not only that, but he was having some problems with some woman named Anne, too.”

What? Had Anne had contact with her nephew more recently than she’d told us? “What kind of trouble with Anne? Was it anything recent?”

“It didn’t seem to be,” Murphy answered. “I’m guessing that there was some kind of a long-standing feud between them, and every time he tried to resolve it, he couldn’t manage to make it work. I got the impression that he regretted the rift between them and wanted to make things right; he just didn’t know how to go about it, and it really bothered him.”

“Who’s Woody? Is that anybody you know? Maybe it was one of your customers?” Grace asked.

I tried to think if we’d come into contact with anyone named Woody during the course of our investigation, or even in daily life, but I couldn’t come up with anyone. “Does that name ring any bells with you?” I asked Grace.

“No, I don’t have a clue who he was talking about.”

VANILLA POPPERS

These poppers are also a nice treat when it’s cold outside, and they offer a nice change of pace from the regular dense donuts we fry. The vanilla gives it an old-fashioned hint of flavor. The vanilla flavor might be subtle, so if you’d like an extra pop, double the amount to 3 teaspoons.

INGREDIENTS

Mixed

• 3 eggs, lightly beaten

• 1 cup sugar, white granulated

• 1 cup buttermilk

• ½ cup sour cream

•
¹
⁄
₈
cup oil (canola is my favorite)

• 1½ teaspoons vanilla extract

Sifted

• 3 to 3½ cups flour, unbleached all-purpose

• 1 teaspoon baking powder

• Dash of salt

• Canola oil for frying (the amount depends on your pot or fryer)

INSTRUCTIONS

In one bowl, beat the eggs lightly, and then add the sugar, buttermilk, sour cream, oil, and vanilla. In a separate bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder, and salt.

Add the dry ingredients to the wet, mixing well until you have a smooth consistency.

Drop bits of dough using a small-sized cookie scoop (the size of your thumb, approximately). Fry in hot canola oil (360 to 370 degrees F) 1½ to 2 minutes, turning halfway through.

Yield: 10–12 donut drops

CHAPTER 13

And then I remembered James’s skewed sense of humor. It would be just like him to give his cousin Forrest a nickname like Woody. “I know who he was talking about,” I said.

“Who?”

“Forrest.”

She shook her head. “You have to be right. I should have gotten that, too.”

“Who is this Forrest guy?” Murphy asked.

“He’s someone who was connected once to James’s life,” I said, not wanting to go into too much detail. “Can you remember anything he said about Woody in particular?”

“Just that he wasn’t going to get what he wanted if James had anything to say about it.”

That could have meant a dozen different things, but I had the feeling every one of them led straight back to the family fortune. “How long ago did he say it?”

“Two weeks ago, maybe even ten days, but I know that it wasn’t much past that.”

“So, they were in touch recently.”

“I guess so. The day they spoke on the phone, I was working on some hinges with James, and he took the hammer from me and wailed on that iron like it owed him money. He felt better after he got out some of his aggression, but I wouldn’t have wanted to be Woody or Forrest or whatever that guy’s name was.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us that might help?” Grace asked in that soft and pliant voice I’d heard her use to get information in the past.

“Sorry, but that’s it. So, you two don’t think I killed him anymore, is that right?”

“We’d still love to hear your alibi just so we can cross your name off our list once and for all,” Grace said gently. “I want to believe you, Murphy; I really do. Help me do that, won’t you?”

He looked down at his feet, and then he finally said, “The truth is, I’m afraid you’re going to think less of me when I tell you.”

“We won’t judge you, no matter what you were doing,” I said. What kind of dark secret was this man hiding? Could it really be worse being considered a murder suspect than admitting where he’d been when James had been murdered? I suddenly wasn’t so sure that I wanted to hear what he had to say, and I hoped that I didn’t live to regret my promise.

“Okay, but it goes no farther than this,” Murphy said. “Truth be told, I was taking a class when James was stabbed.”

“A class?” I asked. “What’s wrong with that?”

“It was tap, okay?”

I kept repeating,
I will not smile, I will not smile,
over and over again, and somehow I managed to keep it buried down deep inside me.

“I didn’t know you wanted to be a dancer,” Grace said.

“It was an introductory thing, and I thought I’d give it a shot. I saw Fred Astaire in an old movie a few weeks ago and I thought he looked cool. I’ll tell you one thing; it’s a lot tougher than it looks.”