Killer Run (13 page)

“Who?' She frowned as she considered my question. “Oh, the campaign office? I don't know. No one was there. I got the feeling they'd lost the campaign and moved out.”

“Great, no lead there.” I dunked a French fry into the restaurant's “special sauce,” which appeared to be a mixture of ketchup and cocktail sauce.

Aunt Jackie pushed her salad away, half eaten. She took a round, flowered pillbox out of her purse and took one of the white pills with a big swallow of tea. “Actually, it does give us a clue. If the Ashfords did work for the candidate, they would have had to file a more detailed financial statement with the county. So, the records we get from Madeline”—she paused as she checked her watch—“in less than an hour, might just have a peek at the company's financial records.”

My aunt was good at this investigation thing. I felt bad we were going behind Greg's back, but honestly, he and I hadn't really talked about the murder. And he hadn't told me to stay out of things specifically. At least, not this time. Besides, our research would probably turn up nothing and there wouldn't be anything for me to have to tell Greg.

And my aunt seemed happier than she'd been in days. That was worth any lecture I'd get from Greg, especially when I told him about her arthritis. She just wanted to feel useful again.

I finished my lunch as I listened to her talk about how she and Uncle Ted had been part of the campaign staff for Jerry Brown's first term as California's governor. I hadn't heard this story before, and the fact that they were so involved in the local politics made me smile. My aunt had lived a long and exciting life. And if she needed some investigatory play every once in a while, I guess she deserved it.

“Hey, Harrold wants me to find out who's been vandalizing his shop. Do you want to help me with that?”

She didn't answer but nodded her head toward the door. “Look who just showed up for lunch?”

I turned my head and saw Rachel Fleur enter. The travel agent was laughing at something her male companion had said. As I waited for him to come through the door, all I could see was a suit jacket. Then the hostess walked them toward us and to the back, and I got a good look at Rachel's companion.

Michael Ashford followed the hostess to a table, his arm wrapped around Rachel's waist.

“Looks like the grieving widower has a new playmate,” my aunt observed as she motioned our waitress over to the table.

A
fter picking up the envelope from Madeline at the records department, we headed back to South Cove. As I drove, Aunt Jackie read through some of the pages. A few minutes in, she stuffed everything back into the large manila envelope and set it on the seat in the back. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. “You go through those tonight. My head is pounding, and I still have to work in a couple of hours.”

“You okay, besides the headache?” I glanced over at my aunt, who looked a little pale and drawn.

“Stop fretting over me. I didn't get much sleep last night on that mattress of yours. You really need to upgrade when you set up your new guest room.” She snapped the words, then sighed. “Seriously, I'm fine. Nothing that a long, hot bath and a good night's sleep won't fix.”

I pulled the Jeep into our small private parking lot behind the shop and turned off the engine. “Here we are.”

Pausing as she opened the door, she looked back at me. “Do not tell me you're going in to work now. Isn't this supposed to be your vacation?”

“Some vacation,” I muttered. My aunt opened her mouth to say something else, but I held up my hand. “Don't start. I'm not working. I'm going to Josh's to see if I can find a bed frame for the guest room. I'd rather have an antique than go to the furniture store and buy something new.”

“You'll have to buy a new mattress and box springs anyway.” She left the Jeep, shutting the door and meeting me in front of the steps that led up to her apartment.

I shrugged. “I know, but I really want one of those old wrought-iron beds. Besides, he might also have a dresser and one of those full-sized mirrors. And I need to find a quilt shop and see if I can snag a proper quilt.”

“You seem to have a vision.” My aunt took the first few steps slowly up toward her apartment. “Call me if you find something you don't understand in the filings. I'll expect a full report tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, sir!” I clicked my heels together and threw her a salute, which did no good since I was wearing flip-flops and her back was turned to me.

“Don't be a smart butt.” As she opened her apartment door, she waved to me and then was gone. I stood there considering the location of my aunt's apartment and her condition and wondered what I was going to do if she couldn't handle stairs anymore. When we'd talked last night about her health, I'd been supportive, but dismissive of the changes that might be coming. Now, everywhere I looked, I thought about my aunt and her ability to stay independent. Remodeling a guest room on the second floor of the house might not have been the best idea.

I clicked the remote to lock the Jeep and went to wander through Josh's store. If I was lucky, his new employee, Kyle, would be working instead of the owner.

Unfortunately, when the bell rang over the door, Josh looked up from a chair behind his counter. He'd been reading something that he quickly tucked under the counter. “What do you want now, Miss Gardner?”

“Well, good afternoon to you, too. I'm surprised your store isn't packed with customers as warmly as you welcome people to your shop.” I closed the door and started scanning the first room for anything that even resembled bedroom furniture. Just because I thought I knew what I wanted didn't mean that I couldn't be swayed toward the right surprise find.

“You aren't a customer,” he said flatly. “You just run that meeting where we never really talk about the problems facing the shop owners of South Cove. What a complete waste of my time.”

I squinted my eyes and stared at him. “Like the issue of removing the sea air from South Cove's streets?” I paused. “Important items like that?”

To his credit, he actually blushed. “I may have gone a bit far on that agenda item.”

I took a breath and pushed away all the things I wanted to say. “We can agree on that. But today, I'm actually here as a customer.” I went on to explain what I was looking for, and Josh pointed me toward the far back room.

“If I have anything like that bed you described, it will be back there. There isn't a lot of demand for pieces like that.” He tapped a finger against his lips. “But let me look at my notebook. Maybe someone called with a consignment I haven't accepted yet.”

I left him poring through a three-ring loose-leaf notebook with pages sticking out the sides. The book must have been three inches thick, but it was stuffed beyond full. Unless he had some organization system that wasn't apparent, he'd be flipping through pages for days.

I wandered through the rooms, reaching out to touch the polished wood on furniture that had been made and used years before I was even born. I imagined the scratches on the legs were from being moved from one house to another year after year. If these items could talk, what story would they tell of the people who owned them? I pulled out my cell and took a picture of a walnut full-length mirror I absolutely loved. The wood frame was carved in curls at the top and bottom of the mirror. I spied a quilt holder next to it and took a picture of that, too. The quilt on the rack was too faded and worn for actual usage, but it would fit in the corner of the room next to the window perfectly.

I pushed through to the next room. This was piled high with bedroom furniture. Wooden sleigh beds, dressers, and nightstands filled the room. I wandered through the area, taking pictures of some items I might consider, but when I reached the end of the room I'd run out of options for the bed frame.

Disappointed, I wandered back to the front and stopped at the counter. Josh was still leafing through the notebook.

“You find anything?” I leaned over the counter, trying to see the page.

He pulled the book away. “If I had, I would have said something.” He put a book in between pages like a bookmark and closed the notebook.” He looked at my empty hands. “I suppose you were unsuccessful, as well?”

“Kind of.” I pulled out my phone and showed him the pictures of the items I'd found. “Can you write me up an estimate of these? And hold them until I make a decision?”

“Why don't I drag them over to your house so you can see how they look inside, too? That way, if you don't want them, I can just bring them back here.”

I thought about the convenience, then saw the look on his face and realized he wasn't serious. “It won't hurt you to hold the items for a week or so. If you get an offer before I make up my mind, just call me.”

Josh wrote down the descriptions of the three items on an order pad with the word
estimation
circled twice. “I suppose I can do that.” He paused, his breathing heavy from the exertion of standing up, I guessed. “How is Jackie? I haven't seen her today.”

“We went in to Bakerstown for a few things this morning. She'll be working in the shop this evening. You can ask her yourself.” I headed to the door and put my hand on the knob. “Just be gentle with her. I haven't seen her this upset in forever.”

As I left the antique store, I thought I heard Josh mumble, “This is all my fault.”

By the time I arrived home, Emma was begging for a run. Since she'd been good and hadn't chewed up anything while I was gone, I thought I'd reward her. I ran upstairs, changed, and for a few minutes, forgot about the craziness surrounding my life.

When I returned home, a truck was parked in my driveway and Greg sat texting on my porch. Emma pulled on the leash to greet him, so I let her off as soon as I was inside the front yard fence. He didn't have time to put his phone away before being attacked by the Slobber Queen.

“What a good girl,” he crooned, leaning in to Emma's fuzzy body. “Who's a good girl?”

My dog wiggled in pleasure, then barked a response. She loved Greg. She'd just had a run. Her life was heaven right now. I walked around the lovefest and unlocked the door. “Can you stay for dinner? I'm sure I have something I can make.”

“Best offer I've had all day.” Greg followed me into the house, and when we entered the kitchen, he let Emma out the back door, grabbing her water dish. He walked over to the sink. “I don't want to watch another minute of video. Do you know how boring it is to watch nothing happen for hours?”

“I can imagine.” I decided bringing up the video feed for the Ashfords' hall could wait for a better time. I opened the freezer. “Brats?”

Greg finished washing out the dish and filled it for Emma. He set it next to her half-full food dish and returned to the kitchen. “Perfect. Especially if you make that olive oil potato salad.”

“Sounds like a plan.” I took out the meat and put it in the microwave to defrost, then grabbed a pan and filled it with red potatoes from the vegetable stand I kept on a wooden cart in the corner of the kitchen. Taking the potatoes to the sink, I washed and prepped them, then started some eggs boiling, as well. Finally I joined Greg at the table. “You look tired.”

He put his hand on mine and pulled it to his mouth, kissing the palm. “I am tired. And I just can't help thinking we'd be sitting deck side looking at icebergs and drinking some fruity drink that's served with an umbrella right now.”

“Life happens.” I guess I should have said “murder happens,” but Greg knew what I meant. “I've been busy anyway. I got to spend some quality time with Aunt Jackie this morning, and I went shopping for furniture for the guest room.”

“Any luck?” Greg leaned back in his chair and studied me. “Do I need to go pick something up in the truck?”

I shook my head. “Not yet. I'm going in to Bakerstown tomorrow to see if I can find something at the flea market over on Bloomer Street. If I run into something, I might just borrow your truck and run back to get it.” I pushed my notebook to the other side of the table, hoping he would think I'd been making notes about planning the remodel and not about Sandra's murder. “Sorry the videos were a bust. You didn't see anything on them?”

Greg tapped the table with his fingers, then shrugged. “I've got a clear shot of Sandra walking through town and right past the bed-and-breakfast where they were staying. Then after Diamond Lille's, the feed ends. I guess the council didn't get the rest of the cameras installed to the end of Main yet.”

“Too bad, you might have been able to find who's been messing with Harrold if they had.”

“Poor guy. He doesn't need this kind of harassment.” Greg ran his hand through his hair. “So, Sandra was heading out toward the highway, and that's the last she was seen until Josh found her the next morning.”

“Maybe it was just a hit-and-run,” I theorized.

“That's a rational theory, except”—he paused, looking at me—“we're just talking, right? No trying to solve the case on your own, promise?”

Darn, now I felt like a total heel. But I hadn't done anything to get myself in hot water yet. And Aunt Jackie had enjoyed our little trip. Tomorrow I'd tell Aunt Jackie we needed to focus on Harrold's request for help and ignore the stack of Promote Your Event filings sitting on the backseat of my Jeep. I held up my hand. “I promise.”

Greg laughed. “Somehow I don't believe you, but this one point has me confused and I'd appreciate your input. You are good at these puzzles.”

“Gee, thanks?” I leaned forward a little, my heartbeat speeding up to match my excitement. “Why can't this be a hit-and-run?”

“Because whoever ran over Sandra did it three times. Doc's found evidence of the initial hit, then two sets of tire tracks where the driver drove back over the body.” He watched me as I thought about his words.

“A hit-and-run would have been a single strike. Unless there were three vehicles involved, and even then, one of the drivers would have felt a stab of conscience and reported the accident by now.”

Greg nodded. “Exactly. So, whoever hit Sandra went back to make sure the job was done. Not to mention the fact they got out of the car and moved her body off the road to the trail.”

His words triggered a memory, and I stood and opened the cupboard over the washer, retrieving the Baggie with the cup I'd found a few days ago. I put it on the table in front of him.

“What's this?” He turned the cup over and read the logo. “A cup for the winery? Am I running prints or DNA?”

“Stop teasing.” I leaned against the kitchen wall. “I found that on my run on Sunday and thought you might be interested. It was on the road by where the dump site was located.”

Greg sighed and put the cup aside. “Even if there is something, do you know how much trash we collected after the race? Someone could have thrown this out of their car weeks ago.”

“Look, I know it's a long shot, but I didn't want to leave it there, just in case.” I walked to the cabinet and grabbed the kettle-cooked potato chips and ajar of salsa from the fridge. I poured the chips into a large wooden bowl and the salsa into a container shaped like Texas that I'd gotten as a present years ago. I returned to the table with the treats and a handful of napkins. “Going back to the hit-and-run, there's one other reason they would run someone over more than once. Maybe the killer was too angry to stop. You know, that whole act of passion thing.”

We munched on the snack, not talking for a few minutes. Then Greg glanced out at Emma, who stood at the screen door watching us eat, drool dripping from her chin. “One more thing, I saw several coyotes wandering through the streets. You may not want to keep Emma outside for very long. And definitely not when you're not home.”

“Great, there go my new sofa pillows.” I wiped the grease from my hands and glanced toward the living room. “You sure they're coyotes and not just wild dogs?”