Eaves of Destruction Page 13

  I had been trying really hard not to think that, but the thought kept popping back into my head. “That’s what I’m afraid of. But I’ve seen Johnny’s chisels. I think they’re the same brand as mine, which means the handles are a heavily reinforced plastic. They’re really strong.”

  “But they’re not wood,” Mac said.

  “Right. I was wondering if Colin’s are made of wood. I hope not.”

  “Maybe we should find out.”

  “I’d better start another list.” I really didn’t want to think one of my guys was a murderer. It felt . . . disloyal even considering it.

  “You’re making salad. I can start the list.” He walked over to the kitchen table, sat down, and wrote a reminder down on the notepad I’d left there. “Okay. Now you won’t forget to ask them about the chisels.”

  I gazed at him as I added ground pepper to the vinaigrette. “I’ve got to assume that Eric already covered this issue.”

  “Since it’s the murder weapon, you’re probably right. He’s pretty good at this stuff.”

  “I know. I just hope he didn’t harass my guys. They’re not killers.”

  “Of course not.” Mac leaned back in his chair and shook his head. He knew all of my guys pretty well now, so having him back me up felt good.

  “I probably would’ve heard if he arrested one of them.”

  “In this town?” He grinned. “You’d hear within thirty seconds.”

  The stove timer went off and I jolted.

  “Easy there, partner,” he said. He got up, walked over to me, and wrapped me in a hug. Just what I needed apparently because in an instant, the jitters faded away and I was warm and relaxed and happy.

  After a moment, he stepped back and touched my cheek. “Okay?”

  “Yes. Thanks.” I rubbed away the last of the goose bumps on my arms. “I don’t know why I’m so jumpy.”

  He laughed shortly. “Seriously? Anyone else would probably be jabbering in a corner by now. It’s all this talk about weapons and murder and picturing the victim with his eyes bulging open.”

  “Thanks for that reminder.” I couldn’t help but laugh. Mac always took such macabre pleasure in discussing the gory details of murder.

  “I’ll check the potatoes.” I grabbed a fork and carefully opened the oven door. The blast of heat was powerful and I waited a few seconds before moving closer to stick a fork into one of the potatoes. “Potatoes are done. They can sit in the oven until we’re ready to eat.” Closing the door, I turned off the oven and set the fork down on the counter.

  “I’ll go start the grill,” he said.

  “Okay. And I’ll figure out what else we need to add to this list.”

  “You can wait for me if you want. I won’t be long.”

  I smiled at him. “I’m much better now.”

  When he returned two minutes later, I had added a new column titled Suspects to the list. Under that heading, I’d written down eleven names: Petsy, Matthew, and Lindsey Jorgensen; Amanda; Joan and Stan Derry; Wade; Colin; Johnny; Sean; and me.

  I imagined there were dozens more people around town who had wished Scully dead at one time or another. Or if not dead, at least forcibly retired. Mac always liked to have a long list of suspects to choose from. But the problem with having lots of names was that we then had to come up with motives for each of them. When it came to someone like Joe Scully, though, it wasn’t hard to find a motive. The guy was as corrupt as the day was long and had always been willing to take bribes for granting favors. And I didn’t exactly know it for a fact, but I wouldn’t have been shocked to find out that he’d been involved in some blackmail schemes in the past.

  I had added my own name to the list, along with my crew, because we all had a motive. We’d all been victims of Scully’s contemptible business practices over the years. As I’d explained to Chief Jensen that morning, Scully was universally despised by contractors, construction workers, and homeowners alike.

  “What have you got there?” Mac asked when he came back inside.

  “Suspect list.” I handed it to him.

  He leaned his hip against the kitchen counter and read what I’d written. “I understand why you’ve got your name here, but it’s probably not necessary. We both know you didn’t kill him.”

  “I know, but it felt right. If I’m putting my guys on the list, I should be there, too. Besides, if the police had heard me cussing out Scully these past few days, they would definitely consider me a suspect.”

  “Well, I’m just going to ignore your name for now. Let’s go alphabetically down the list and start with Amanda.”

  I smiled. “You did that on purpose.”

  “You’d like to clear her name quickly, right?”

  “I would. But speaking of Amanda, I have a question.” I inhaled and let the breath out slowly. “Do you think I’m being played?”

  “By Amanda?” He thought about it. “No.”

  “Okay, good. Let’s move on.”

  “Don’t you want to know why I don’t think so?”

  “I trust your instincts.”

  He smiled and gave me a wink. “And I trust yours. But I’ll tell you anyway. I think that even though she lied to you and withheld information, she’s basically too transparent to actually play you. To me, that idea of being played means someone’s a user. A grifter. They’re scheming to get your money or property, or they want to destroy you in some way. And Amanda doesn’t want anything from you except access to the Jorgensens’ house.”

  That was sort of what my own mind had been telling me, but it was good to have it confirmed by Mac.

  “I think you might be right, but how can you know for sure?”

  “I ran her story through my Baloney Meter and it checks out. And add in the fact that she’s a really bad liar.” He leaned over and patted my cheek. “Kind of like you.”

  “I’m not a . . .” I scowled. “Okay, fine, I’m not a very good liar.”

  He laughed. “Don’t look so down. That’s a good thing.”

  I supposed he was right, but why did it not sound like a compliment? “Wait. Baloney Meter?”

  “Everybody has one.”

  I laughed and shook my head as I reached for my wineglass. Honestly, just talking to Mac settled my nerves and made me feel as if everything was going to be all right. “Okay, back to Amanda. Let’s face it: the story she told is just bizarre.”

  “True, but stranger things have happened.” He grabbed his wineglass from the chopping block and sat down at the table with me. “Let’s work backward. Let’s start with the premise that Amanda is the killer. Why did she do it? And how?”

  “She did it because she was asking Scully about me, and once she realized what a jerk he was, she was afraid he would reveal that she’d been following me.”

  “Would he really try to blackmail her over that?”

  “Because she asked him about me?” I shook my head. “Let me put it this way. He might try, but she wouldn’t go for it.”

  He grinned. “Exactly my thought.”

  “Okay. Shall we move on?”

  “Let’s figure out how she could’ve done it first.” Mac rubbed his hands together gleefully. He really did enjoy this too much.

  “I have no idea,” I said. “Did she lure him into Joan’s orangery?”

  “Does she even know Joan?” he asked.

  “She first met Joan the day we checked out the dry rot.” I took a sip of my wine. “But while I was taking pictures of the orangery, she went back to her truck, so she never even saw it, as far as I know.”

  “All right,” he said, disappointed by my answers. “Guess we should let her off the hook.”

  “I agree. She’s innocent.” I checked her name off the list.

  “Good.” He stood. “I’m going to put the steaks on and we can talk about the
rest over dinner.”

  • • •

  We sat at the dining room table, where I’d dimmed the chandelier in favor of candlelight. The steaks were rare, the wine was yummy, and the company was delightful. Everything was perfect, except for all this talk of murder. But even that was enjoyable with Mac.

  After toasting happy times, Mac got back to our earlier conversation. “What do you think about Colin?”

  “I like him. I just hired him last month and he seems like a good guy and a really great worker. He lives in Flanders and he’s worked all over the area, so it’s possible that he’s had to deal with Scully before. But I can’t see how he would’ve had a serious run-in with him. He’s not the one who would’ve dealt with the building inspector.”

  “He sounds innocent,” Mac admitted, “but you should find out whether his chisels are made of hardwood.”

  “I will.” I took a bite of steak and savored the flavor for a minute before glancing back at the list. “Looks like Joan is up next.”

  “Tell me everything you know about her.”

  “Honestly, she and her husband are the most suspicious ones on the list.”

  “Because it was done on their property?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Do they seem guilty to you?”

  “To tell you the truth, I only just met Joan and I’d never even seen Stan until two days ago, when I happened to be there to watch him shout at Scully to get the heck off his lawn.”

  “So he has a temper.”

  “To be fair, everyone who runs up against Scully has a temper.” I took a sip of wine. “He’s such a jerk, you can’t help but start seething with indignation when he’s around. Once, I seriously considered running him down in the street.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Well, sort of seriously.”

  “He sounds like a really good victim.”

  “This is going to sound harsh,” I admitted, already starting to feel guilty. “Even though I’m not happy that Scully’s dead, I have to admit that his death makes my life easier.”

  “It probably does that for a lot of people.”

  “No doubt.” Which didn’t really help with the guilt, but I appreciated his saying so.

  “So, what about this temper of Stan’s?” he said.

  “Since I don’t know him, I wouldn’t want to hazard a guess. But Joan is just a darling woman. She’s friendly and funny and kind. Her home is beautiful and she makes lemonade from scratch.”

  “Definitely suspicious.”

  I chuckled. “I know, right? Seriously, though, I can’t picture her coming at Scully with a weapon.”

  “But you saw her yelling at him.”

  “Yeah, I did.” While I arranged my thoughts, I took a bite of salad and appreciated the crunchy freshness of veggies straight from my garden. “She really let him have it, but he deserved it. And yelling at somebody is way far removed from stabbing them with a chisel.”

  “True. So you’re saying she was fighting fairly.”

  “Exactly. I see her as the type that would yell at him or even sue him, or call the cops on him. But kill him? I just can’t see it.”

  “But we can’t say the same about her husband.”

  “No, like I said, I saw him for the first time the other morning.” Frowning, I took a sip of wine. “For all I know, he could be Jack the Ripper. God, was it really just two days ago? This has been the longest week in history and it’s not over yet.”

  “You’ve had a lot going on.”

  “It makes me a little dizzy.”

  “Well, any day that starts with finding a dead body is not going to be the most relaxing day of the week.” He paused to reflect on his words. “That was amazingly philosophical, wasn’t it?”

  “Plato would be proud,” I said, smiling at him.

  He laughed. “Thank you.”

  We both took a minute to eat a few more bites of steak and potato, and sip our wine.

  “So, what about your pal Petsy?” Mac said finally.

  “No more alphabetical order?”

  “Life is short. I think we should skip to the juiciest suspects.”

  “Good idea.” But the thought of Petsy drove me to take another gulp of wine. “She’s thoroughly unpleasant, to put it mildly. She’s probably the most capable of anyone on the list of killing another human being. Actually she’s the perfect suspect. But I don’t see how she could’ve done it.”

  “Why not?”

  I thought about it. “When I got to the Jorgensens’ house this morning, we talked a little bit about the murder. I mentioned Joan’s name and Petsy seemed frankly contemptuous of her. So why would she ever have gone to the Derrys’ house for any reason?”

  “What better reason than because she hates her?” He patted his mouth with his napkin as he considered my question. “It’s a great way to spit in Joan’s eye, metaphorically speaking. She kills someone on Joan’s property and lets her take the fall. It’s kind of perfect.”

  I nodded slowly. “And she’s vicious enough to find that scenario appealing. But it still seems too far-fetched to be real.”

  “So you don’t think she did it?”

  “Unless she had some personal reason for killing Scully, I don’t see it. I can’t tell you how much I wish she was guilty, but I’m not seeing the means and opportunity. Did she arrange a meeting with him? And how did she get into the orangery? Does she have a key? Seems unlikely since she and Joan despise each other.”

  “Well, darn. As she’s our most capable and likely suspect, I hate to move on from her so soon. But so be it.” He glanced back at the list. “Her husband and daughter are just too nice, right?”

  “They’re really nice. They’re polite and friendly and calm.”

  He waved his hand in the air for emphasis. “Which makes them both perfect suspects.”

  I laughed. “Of course it does.”

  “What if one of them looked out their window late last night and saw Scully tiptoeing up the walkway to the Derrys’ backyard?”

  I could picture it. “Go on.”

  “They stopped to throw on a bathrobe and then took off after him.”

  “To kill him or just talk to him?”

  Mac considered. “They just wanted to have a word with him. Maybe even warn him that Petsy was on the warpath.”

  “And in the middle of the conversation, something went dreadfully wrong.”

  “Clearly,” he said, his mouth curved in a half grin. “Question is, would they have brought a chisel with them?”

  “That’s where we go off track,” I said, pointing at him with my fork. “Why would any of them bring a chisel along? Or did they just pick up the chisel from one of the guys’ toolboxes? But I don’t know that the chisel was one of theirs, so that’s a big question mark. I think they had to have brought it with them.”

  “Why? You tell me.”

  “Hmm. Maybe it’s something they carry around for general self-defense.”

  “Like a can of mace?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Because everyone needs a sharp weapon when traversing the mean streets of Lighthouse Cove.”

  “Especially in the middle of the night.”

  “Okay,” Mac said, chuckling as he reached for his wineglass. “So they always have something with them in case they have to defend themselves.”

  “Plus, Scully’s a creepy guy,” I added. “If they happened to see him skulking around, it would have been smart to bring a weapon along, knowing they might need to threaten him a little.”

  “Okay,” he said, nodding. “Go on.”

  I frowned. “I have no idea where to go from here. But whoever it was, I can’t see them casually rummaging through Johnny’s or Colin’s tool chest while they’re in the middle of an argument with Scully. So they mus
t’ve brought the chisel with them.”

  He speared a lettuce leaf with his fork and took a bite. “You said Matthew is a painter. He might have a set of chisels.”

  “You think?”

  Mac shrugged. “Sure. Painters sometimes apply thicker paint with a sculpting tool. Or maybe he actually does some sculpting as well as painting.”

  “Hmm. Maybe.” I absently ran my finger around the rim of my wineglass. Here was yet another reason for taking a tour of Matthew’s art studio. “Is that likely?”

  “Absolutely. Plenty of artists work in multiple types of media. Look at Leonardo, or Picasso, or Calder. Matthew could, too. Have you seen his studio?”

  “Not yet. I’m hoping we’ll get a look at it tomorrow.”

  “Good. Take pictures. And notes. Find out if our painter is also a chiseler.” He took a beat before adding, “See what I did there?”

  “I did,” I said, laughing. “You are brilliant.”

  He sighed dramatically. “It’s both a gift and a burden.”

  Chapter Eight

  I had assured Mac the night before that I would check out Matthew’s studio with Amanda sometime today. But it was getting close to noon and we hadn’t even seen him yet.

  Earlier Lindsey had come to the door to let us in and mentioned that both of her parents were out at meetings this morning. My first thought was that Petsy went to a lot of meetings. I figured it was just her way of getting out of the house and I would bet money that Lindsey and Matthew didn’t mind at all. And I would readily admit, I didn’t, either.

  “I’m going to take a lunch break,” I said to Amanda, setting my tools down on the tarp. “I have to meet a friend. Will you be all right on your own?”

  She smiled. “Of course. Please don’t worry about me, Shannon. I can fend for myself just fine.”

  “Of course you can,” I said. “I’m just concerned because of, well, you-know-who.”

  She glanced toward the doorway and lowered her voice. “If Petsy comes home, I’ll just go outside and visit with the guys. Or I’ll go for a walk. I’d rather not be around her, frankly.”

  “I don’t blame you. And on the off chance that there’s any trouble, just yell for Wade or Sean. They would be happy to kick Petsy’s behind if she causes you any grief at all. And you can call me if you need anything.”