Sweet Revenge (Cocoa Narel Chocolate Shop Mysteries Book 1) (12 page)

Chapter 17

I was a bit shaken up after our lunch with Frederick Flowers, who to me seemed like the stereotypical homicidal maniac. The therapists had told me that I needed to exercise, and I had been trying. Now it was important than ever, considering I had ended up eating three desserts. But who’s counting?

I hadn’t walked back down to the walking track since I had found Ridgewell Dugan’s body. I even shuddered every time I looked out my living room window. I knew I had to get over that, or it would make living in my house rather unpleasant. Still, I expected I would be uneasy until the murderer had been caught.

There was nothing else for it. After I put out another dish of cat food for Mongrel—who still hadn’t been out of his basket when I was around—I put on my workout clothes and steeled myself to walk along the creek. After all, it was a lovely afternoon. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the gentle breeze lifted the scent from the lemon eucalyptus trees and carried it along to me.
It’s broad daylight
, I silently encouraged myself.
You can do it!

Of course, Hamilton had been murdered in the dark, and the sun was now high in the sky. Plus, plenty of people use the walking track. I could see the turn-around point of the walking track from my house, and I had found Hamilton’s body off to one side near the creek. I headed straight for the walking track, relieved to see people walking their dogs along it, and some kids kicking a ball to each other.

Once I reached the walking track, I experienced a great sense of relief. I wandered aimlessly along it, thankful that I could let my mind run blank to some degree. It was good not to have to think of murderers, suspects, and motives for once.

I was glad that the grass was short, because I wouldn’t want to add snakes to my list of worries. I wandered on, finally relaxing and finding a sense of peace. I nodded politely to passing people, dodged out of the way of overly friendly dogs, and generally enjoyed myself. Finally, I realized I had gone too far. I was out of breath, and my calves were aching. I had to retrace my steps, but I didn’t feel quite up to doing so, not yet. I walked a few paces from the walking track, and sat on the seat under a spreading willow tree.

This too was relaxing, and I watched as the wood ducks played in the creek, expertly weaving their way around the reeds.

“Narel?”

I spun around, startled. It was Borage Fletcher. My first instinct was that I was pleased to see him, and I silently scolded myself. What if he was the murderer? Here I was, alone and with a possible murderer. “What are you doing here?” I asked him.

“I go for a jog every afternoon, work permitting,” he said.

“Oh.” I felt foolish. He was dressed in running clothes and running shoes. What else would he be doing?

“I hope I didn’t disturb you,” he said, as he took a tentative step forward.

“No, not at all,” I said. “I’m only having a rest to get the energy for the walk back.”

He looked puzzled. “Where are you walking to?”

“Just to my house.” I pointed to my right. “It’s just at the end of the walking track.”

Borage still looked puzzled. “It’s not all that far.”

I realized he probably didn’t know about my accident. “I’ve only just been released from the hospital,” I told him. “I had a terrible accident. Someone ran a stop sign and hit me. I was in the hospital for months.”

“I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” He walked over and sat down next to me. “Were you seriously hurt?”

“Yes,” I said. “I was in intensive care for ages, and I’ve had several major reconstructive surgeries.”

“Oh.”

I wondered if he’d previously thought that I’d had cosmetic surgery for the sake of it—and a stack of stomach staples to boot. After all, I did look completely different.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he added.

I tried to shrug it off. “Well, I’m better now. It’s just that I get tired very easily.”

“That’s understandable,” he said. “Narel, I came by your shop earlier to tell you I was really Tom. I’m so sorry I kept it from you and Carl. It’s just that I didn’t really know how to bring it up.”

I smiled at him. “No, that’s all right, seriously. I don’t mind at all. I really do understand.”

He smiled at me and we sat for a few moments in companionable silence. I took the opportunity to study him once more. He certainly had changed since high school. Back then he had been a gawky adolescent and now he was a super hot man. Still, I didn’t know if he was single. Lucinda had asked him if he was married, and he had answered in the negative, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t have a girlfriend, and a serious one at that. Plus he had said he had a girlfriend, but that was likely just to fend off Carl. And there was certainly no way I was going to come straight out and ask him. I supposed I would find out in time. “I didn’t see you at the reunion,” I said.

Borage shook his head. “I really didn’t want to have anything to do with The Populars,” he said. “I had enough of them in high school. I really can’t handle seeing any of them again.”

“Lucinda is the only Popular left now,” I pointed out.

Borage looked grim. “That’s so true. And, Narel, do you think you should be out and about? I mean, it’s safe now at this time of day, but if I were you I wouldn’t walk early morning or late afternoon. Weren’t you the one who found Hamilton Howes?”

I shuddered. “Yes, I was, and you won’t catch me walking at those times. It took all my courage just to go for a walk now.”

“I felt awful having dinner with Hamilton Howes only hours before he was killed,” Borage said. “He’d even asked me to forgive him for what he did at school.” He swiped his finger across his phone. I looked over his shoulder to see a photo of a well-dressed Hamilton and a happy Borage, both having a beer.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Borage said. “I didn’t mean to look at his photo in front of you. It’s just such shock. Sorry about that.”

He was doing a lot of apologizing, and that would normally irritate me, but I found it endearing. Unless he was the murderer, of course. I saw a documentary on murderers when I was in the hospital, and it said that murderers just look like anyone else. They seem like nice normal people. Borage certainly seemed like a nice normal person.

“Who do you think the murderer is, Borage?” I asked him.

He looked startled. “No idea! But since all The Populars but one have been murdered, I can only assume it was one of us.”

“One of us?” I repeated.

“Yes,” he said. “I mean, one of the people they victimized in high school. What else would they have in common?”

I stood up and stretched my back. Borage stood up also. “That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking,” I told him. “There possibly could be another motive, but it seems to me like someone from high school who they bullied is now taking revenge.”

“That’s how it seems to me, too,” Borage said, “but I still don’t think we should be taking any chances. Again, I don’t want to frighten you, but please make sure you keep all your doors and windows locked at all times.”

I nodded.

“Are you walking home now?”

I nodded again. “Yes, I am. I feel rested now.”

“Do you mind if I walk you home?”

“No, of course I don’t mind. That would be great, thanks.” My stomach did cartwheels. I wondered if Borage actually liked me, or whether he was genuinely concerned for my welfare given that there was a murder on the loose. Maybe it was a bit of both. I certainly hoped so, anyway.

“Actually, I want to sell my house and buy a new one, so I will list it with you,” I said. “Oh, by the way, I’m not in any rush. It’s a bit hard opening a business when I’ve just got out of the hospital, so I’ll probably wait until I feel like my business is running smoothly before I sell the house and buy a new one.”

“What sort of house will you be looking for?” Borage asked me.

“I do like cute cottages,” I said. “I’d like something in the same area because I like the outlook over the park. I also like the area where Carl lives, which isn’t too far from here.” I pointed to the end of the walking track. Carl’s street ran off mine at right angles and had a view over an adjoining park. There was no walking track behind his park. The local council kept the grass nice and short, and the area was generally devoid of people. That was something I could go for.

“You and Carl are very close, aren’t you,” Borage said.

“Yes,” I said. “He’s been my best friend since high school. Oh, of course you know that. I keep forgetting that you used to be Tom.” I felt silly when I said that, because he still was Tom—only his name had changed. At any rate, Borage didn’t seem to think I had said anything untoward.

“How many bedrooms, that sort of thing?”

“I haven’t really thought that far ahead,” I said. “My house was left to me by my aunt, and it only has one bedroom. If it was bigger, I’d keep it, because I like the view over the park and it’s in a nice quiet area. It’s a shame the land it’s on is so tiny or I’d be able to extend.”

“So yours is the little house right at the end?” Borage asked.

I nodded. “The house is new and doesn’t have any character. My aunt bought it as a new build. She thought she’d have it for years, but she passed away from a heart attack. It was very sudden.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Borage said.

I jumped as I heard a crack of thunder in the distance. I looked at the horizon and saw the clouds gathering. “Looks like a thunderstorm coming,” I said, stating the obvious.

We had reached my yard, I turned to thank Borage for walking me home, when there was a hissing sound.

The next thing I knew, I was flat on my back on the grass, and Borage was on top of me. Although it happened in an instant, it seemed to happen in slow motion. Why was Borage on top of me? Not that I was complaining, mind you. Truth be told, I was quite enjoying it. My mind tried in vain to clutch at what had happened.

“Narel, are you okay?” Borage asked.

I wondered why I wouldn’t be okay. What had happened? I must have missed something.

“Narel, are you okay?” Borage asked again, more urgently this time. “Stay down,” he added.

I finally found my voice. “What happened?”

Borage looked up and away to the side. I followed his gaze.

There was an arrow, firmly embedded in my fence, a short distance from where my head had just been. It slowly dawned on me that someone had shot at us.

“Now,” Borage said, “we’re going to make a run for your house. We’ll only be out of cover for a short distance and then your house will block the direction the arrow came from. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” I said, but I had no idea whether or not I was ready.

“Go!” Borage grabbed my arm and half-pulled, half-dragged me to the safety of the house. My heart was racing one hundred miles an hour.

When we reached the safety of my front door, my hands fumbled with the key in the lock. I had always been annoyed in movies when people are in danger and can’t get the key in the lock, but now I was in the same predicament. My hands were trembling horribly. Finally, Borage took the key from me and swiftly unlocked my door. He all but pushed me inside.

“Wait here,” he said. “I’ll go and shut the curtains in your living room.”

Within a short time, he had returned. “Come in,” he said. I followed him into my living room and sank into my sofa. I was shaken. It all seemed surreal. I vaguely wondered whether I was having a dream and would soon wake up. At least Borage wasn’t wearing anything that looked like rope, and Mongrel was still in his basket.

It slowly dawned on me that Borage was calling the police. When he had finished his call, he walked over and sat next to me on the sofa. “The police are on their way,” he said. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Not for me,” I said. “But please help yourself. I have wine or something in one of the cupboards. I would love a nice hot cup of tea, though.”

“Leave it to me.” Soon Borage returned with a nice hot cup of tea. I sipped it slowly. What is it about hot sugary tea that makes someone feel better? Although it was a horrible incident, at least now I realized that Borage wasn’t the murderer. That was a huge relief. What wasn’t such a relief was that the murderer was now targeting me, or perhaps Borage—maybe even both of us. So what about the theory that the murderer was one of the victims of The Populars? This incident seemed to blow that theory out of the water.

Chapter 18

I hadn’t yet finished my tea when there was a knock at the door. I hoped it was the detectives and not the murderer, although I did wonder why a murderer would knock at the door. Still, you can’t be too careful.

Borage went to answer the door and promptly returned with the two detectives, Rieker and Clyde. Rieker wasted no time coming to the point. “Does anyone need medical attention?”

“No, the arrow missed both of us,” I said, relieved that neither of them had any rope on their person.

“Forensics are out now looking at the weapon,” Rieker said. Clyde went back outside while Rieker sat on the chair opposite me and flipped open his notepad. “Please take a seat, Mr. Fletcher.”

We both told him what had happened, which didn’t seem to take too long—the first time that is, because he made us repeat ourselves several times. I started to think it was worse to go over the same thing again and again than to be shot at with an arrow.

“And so you two just happened to meet up in the park?” There was a good measure of disbelief in his tone.

“Yes,” I said somewhat defensively. “I went for a walk and got tired and sat on the seat.”

“And I was on my afternoon jog and saw her there and stopped to talk,” Borage said. “I offered to walk her home, as I’ve already told you several times.”

“And neither of you saw anyone that you knew at any point?” Rieker asked us.

We both shook our heads. “I wasn’t really looking,” I said, “but I didn’t see anyone I knew throughout my entire walk, apart from Borage, of course.”

“Can either of you think of anyone who has a grudge against you? Please think before you answer. Most people always answer ‘no’ to that question, and then they eventually think of someone who it could be.”

I tapped my chin. “I can’t think of anyone who has a grudge against me.”

Rieker looked at Borage. “What about you? I’m sure realtors must have a lot of enemies.”

“I’ve only recently moved back to town, and I can’t think of anyone who have any reason to kill me, or even wish me any sort of harm,” Borage said. He was frowning deeply.

Rieker looked disappointed. “Is there anyone you can stay with, Miss Myers, until this all blows over?”

“Don’t you think it’s safe for me to stay here?” I asked him.

Rieker was silent for a moment before answering. “It’s better to be safe than sorry,” he said. “It would be best if you could stay with someone. Is there anyone you can stay with for a few days to a week?”

“I suppose Carl won’t mind if I stay with him.”

“All right then, call him now and arrange it, please,” Rieker said. “I’ll have a uniformed officer drive you there. Collect your things now, please.”

I thanked him and left the room to go pack. As I left the room, I heard him asking Borage if he had someone who he could stay with. When Borage answered that he didn’t, Rieker informed him that he would request a patrol car to be parked outside his house.

I was truly worried. I had thought the murderer was one of the victims of The Populars, but now whoever it was had turned on me, and on Borage for that matter. Unless Borage was hiding something and had changed his name for a reason other than what he had told us. What if he was wanted by organized crime? What if Borage was the real target of the murderer? Had the murderer killed the others to throw the scent off their true victim? I had seen such things in movies, where someone murdered a bunch of innocent people so that the motive for the real intended victims would be obscured.