Schooled in Deceit: A Lacamas Village Cozy Mystery, Book 1, page 11
“How are you feeling today?” she asked, setting her purse on the counter.
“Better,” I acknowledged. “Thanks for coming over last night.”
She smiled again. “We women have to stick together, especially in our neighborhood. The men like to think they run things.”
We both chuckled, then Lisa placed her order. While I made her drink, she told me about the plan for Samuel’s services the next weekend. “He has family coming from New York,” she said. “So I wanted to give them time to get here.”
“Let me know what I can do to help.” I handed her a nonfat caramel latte.
“I might take you up on that,” she said, taking a sip. “People keep stopping by to visit, and I’m exhausted.”
“Maybe you should put a small sign on the door to tell people now is not a good time?” I suggested.
“That’s a good idea,” Lisa said, then yawned. She waved and left the store.
I turned to check supplies of syrup and whipped cream.
I was glad not to have to make small talk with Perla and Jonathan. If Perla was the killer, Jonathan was probably her accomplice. I shook my head to shake out the thought. Of course, they weren’t killers, right?
Perla wandered over, picked up a cloth and began to wipe the counter. She tried to catch my eye, but I looked out the picture window.
“How are you really doing?” she asked quietly.
Finally, I looked her in the eye. “I’m scared,” I said. “Someone tried to kill me.”
I scooted onto the stool behind me and wrapped my arms tightly around me. “What were you doing then? Why did you cancel kayaking?”
Perla’s expression was puzzled. “I told you. Andrea wasn’t feeling well, so she went home, and Jonathan can’t really handle the shop on his own.” She looked closer at me. “The police will find this guy,” she said.
“Or gal,” I interjected.
She looked over and nodded. “Or gal. They’ll get them.”
I met her eyes again. “Will they?”
“Of course.”
“Then why are you trying to solve the case?”
Perla barked out a laugh. “I read and write mysteries every day, Misty,” she said with a chuckle. “I can’t help myself. If I can solve it before the police, so much the better.”
“Have you ever solved one before the police have?” I asked.
“Oh, gosh no!” she laughed again. “But I keep trying.”
That made me laugh, too. My heart, which had felt constricted since I put Perla on my mental suspect list, opened up just a little. Surely Perla wasn’t the one who attempted to kill me.
Was she?
Chapter 27
After working a few hours, I headed for home and a quick late-afternoon nap. When I awoke, I stretched and decided it was time to get to work.
Slipping into David’s small home office on the side of the house, I sat at his large mahogany desk. The curtains were closed, I noticed with satisfaction. That meant fewer distractions.
I flipped open my laptop and rubbed my hands together. The brainstorm I’d had after waking from my nap had morphed into a scene in my head, so I wanted to get it down on paper, so to speak.
I typed at the keys as the story flowed onto the page. It wasn’t Hemingway, but it was a start. I felt like an author. I grinned to myself as I allowed myself to future-trip just a little. Maybe Perla would put my book in the “local authors” section of her bookstore next to her own books. Not that she let many authors put their books next to hers, but I could dream.
As I pictured the local authors section, Perla’s stood alone front and center. I hadn’t read one yet. Maybe when this murder case was over and I was less antsy, I would pick one up.
I’m not sure how long I sat at the desk, tap-tap-tapping on the keys. Finally, I stood up and opened the bottle of sparkling lemon water I had brought into the office with me, Then I stretched, the bottle in my hand.
I flipped back through what I had written, noting with satisfaction that I had written several scenes instead of just the one I started with. I yawned and glanced at my watch.
Just after seven o’clock. A snack was in order, and then perhaps I would binge-watch something on my laptop while I crawled into bed. I’d had a lot of late nights since I had come to Lacamas Village.
I had just set out some Gouda cheese and crackers when the doorbell rang. I frowned, wondering who would be calling at this time of night. I paused by the front door.
“Who is it?” I called tentatively.
“It’s Detective Crandall,” came the reply.
I swung open the door and met a cranky looking detective. “What can I do for you, detective?”
I stood with one hand on the door jamb, blocking his way. Then I looked past him and noticed several police cars with red lights flashing at the Wiggins’ house.
He sighed. “Please don’t tell me you’ve been home alone for the past few hours.”
“O-kay, I won’t,” I said, my face crinkling up into a frown. “Except I have. I’ve been in my brother-in-law’s office working on my book.”
He closed his eyes and opened them warily. “Did you talk to anyone? Invite anyone in?”
“Didn’t you hear me? I’ve been working on my book, so no.” I cocked my head to look at him. “Writing is sort of a solitary activity.”
He gestured behind me. “Can I come in?”
I stepped aside, then followed him in, the two patrol officers following me. This was growing concerning.
“Detective Crandall,” I began as he stopped in the living room and turned to look at me. “What’s this about? Since when do you come to my house with backup?”
He sighed again, looking around the room. “Can you show me where you were working?”
“You mean, my laptop?”
He nodded. I shrugged and started down the hallway to the office, the detective close on my heels.
Pushing open the door, I stepped over to the desk and flung open the laptop.
“What were you working on?” he asked, leaning over the laptop.
I pointed to the file containing my book. He hovered the mouse over it and read the information, then nodded. He pursed his lips.
“All this proves is that you were working on this a half hour ago.” His voice contained resignation.
“Jonas, what is it? You’re starting to scare me,” I said, crossing my arms over my body. He didn’t seem to notice that I used his first name.
He turned and looked me in the eyes, his face only a few inches from mine.
“Lisa Wiggins was attacked tonight in her home.”
I gasped and immediately felt light-headed. My eyes broke from his as I grabbed the door jamb behind me and leaned against it.
The detective caught me before I slid to the ground, then helped me sit in the same chair I had been writing in just a short time ago.
I shook my head. “How? Is she okay?”
He studied my face. “She was hit over the head with a candlestick. She is in the ICU, but she is in stable condition.”
I whooshed out a breath and closed my eyes. “I just talked with her this afternoon.” My eyes welled up with tears. “She told me about Samuel’s service.”
The detective leaned a hip against the desk. “Did she say she was expecting anyone?”
I shook my head. “No, but she did say that a lot of people had been stopping by and it was getting exhausting. I felt even more sorry for her.”
I settled into the chair as I looked at the ceiling. “Who could have done this?”
The detective looked at me in silence. My mouth fell open and I nearly fell off the chair as I bolted upright.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “You think it was me? You think I tried to kill Lisa Wiggins? You do, you think I attacked her!”
I stood up, so my face was closer to the detective’s. “You have a lot of nerve coming in here asking questions like I’m some kind of suspect.”
He crossed his arms, tucking his notebook into the crook of his elbow. “I had hoped you weren’t home tonight. But I had to check. You were a person of interest in her husband’s death.”
I stepped away from him, horrified that he would think I had tried to kill Lisa.
I threw up my hands. “I was here, literally, right here at this desk. I don’t know how I can prove it.”
“You didn’t hear anything from next door?”
I cocked my head to look at him. “Have you seen these houses? They’re practically soundproof. I didn’t hear anything until you rang my doorbell.”
The detective wearily pushed himself up from the desk, then strode back down the hallway to the front door, where the two patrol officers waited. He gestured them out in front of him, then turned back to me.
“Make sure you lock up and turn on the security system, Ms. Michaels.”
I gulped as he turned away, stomping down the stairs. I closed the door and clicked the dead bolt.
Another attack. This one felt like the noose was getting tighter.
Chapter 28
I sat on the couch in the living room, my shaky hands pulling a pillow onto my lap. Who would try to kill Lisa Wiggins? Was it the same person? Of course, it was. It seemed way too coincidental for both Lisa and Samuel to be attacked by different people.
It also meant that Lisa didn’t kill her husband. She did have an alibi, I reminded myself. Although, I knew that college classes could be so large that someone might not remember that perhaps she went to class late or left for a while during the class. Anything was possible.
Still, that meant that if Lisa was the killer, someone else tried to kill her. Daniel? Lindell? What could the motive possibly be. I buried my face into the pillow.
My phone buzzed. Rodney.
With a shaky hand, I swiped to answer it.
“Sweetie?” His familiar voice came through the phone. “I’m so glad you answered. Why haven’t you answered my calls? I need to talk to you.”
“Hi,” I said simply. The words just wouldn’t come.
“Hi? Misty, are you okay?” Rodney’s voice sounded gentle in my ears.
“The police just left. My neighbor was attacked tonight.” I don’t know why I just told him that. It was all I could think about, I guess.
“What?” The volume of his voice grew. “Are you all right? Do you need me to come and get you?”
I held out a hand as if he were there and I could stop him from jumping into the car and driving to me. “No, I mean, yes. I mean, yes, I’m all right. No, don’t come get me.”
“What happened to your neighbor? Why would the police visit you?” he asked. I could see him pacing in my mind, the way he did when he was processing information. He probably had one hand rubbing his rapidly increasing forehead as the other hand held the phone.
I told him what little I knew from Detective Crandall, leaving out the part where I was a suspect in the murder of Lisa’s husband. “The police were just interviewing neighbors to see if they heard or saw anything suspicious.”
“Did you?”
“No, I was in David’s office working on my book.”
“Your book? Oh, that mystery novel you started working on years ago.” Rodney chuckled. “I didn’t think you’d ever finish writing it.”
My lips pursed and I felt a pout coming on. “I’m working on it this summer. I’m very close to finishing it, not that it’s any of your business.” That was a total lie. I was nowhere close to being done, but I didn’t want him to know that. “Look, I’m tired and I’m going to hang up now. Goodbye, Rodney.”
I clicked off the phone and tossed it on the ottoman, then slumped back onto the couch, suddenly realizing that I hadn’t found out why Rodney was calling in the first place.
My phone buzzed again. Aha! Rodney also had realized that he didn’t explain why he was calling. I clicked on the phone.
“Rodney, I really don’t want to talk about it tonight.”
“That’s good, because I’m not Rodney.” Perla’s voice came through the phone. “I just heard about Lisa. Come to my house so we can talk strategy.”
What strategy? She clicked off before I could protest. Just as well. After the detective’s visit and news about Lisa, I was too antsy to stay home alone. I found my shoes and a sweater, then headed across the circle and around the corner to Perla’s house.
It did occur to me that I was potentially going to the home of the person who had attacked Lisa. But if Perla was the killer, she probably wouldn’t attack two people in one night, would she?
Chapter 29
To my surprise, Yolanda pulled up to the curb just as I reached Perla’s house. She got out and hurried around to the passenger side door, from which she gestured for me to come over. When I did, she handed me two bags of what smelled like Chinese food. My stomach rumbled. I wasn’t going to question this. I waited for her to grab another bag, then lock up the car before starting up Perla’s driveway.
Just as I turned to ask Yolanda what she was doing there, the front door opened and Perla drew us inside. She looked around, then quickly shut the door.
“Did anyone see you?” she asked.
Yolanda and I exchanged a glance and shrugged.
I walked past at least three police cars on my way to Perla’s house, so I was reasonably sure that someone had seen me.
“I didn’t know I was supposed to lose a tail on my way to your house,” I muttered.
Perla frowned, then ushered us into her dining room. Music, what sounded like South American flutes, came in through the open window. Jonathan was already there, setting paper plates and napkins on the table along with plastic forks.
He looked apologetic. “Perla doesn’t have chopsticks.”
“We’ll survive,” Yolanda said, setting down her bag and starting to unload the contents onto a lazy Susan in the center of the table. I followed suit, even though they weren’t my bags.
We were mostly silent until everyone had filled their plates and taken a seat at the table.
After a few bites, Perla peered at Yolanda. “What did you find out?”
Yolanda swallowed her food, then rummaged in her purse for a small notebook, not unlike the one used by Detective Crandall.
She flipped it open, staring at the words. “They wouldn’t let me in because I’m not family.”
“You went to the hospital?” I looked up from my plate. Surprises just kept piling up.
Yolanda threw a glance at Perla, then turned to me. “Yes, as soon as I heard about Lisa’s attack. She doesn’t have family here, but I’ll get to that in a minute.”
She took another breath and started again. “I did find out that Lisa is in the ICU and expected to recover. She hadn’t regained consciousness, though, and it sounded like they were going to keep her in a semi-coma so that any brain swelling could go down.”
“That’s good news for the killer,” Perla commented as she scooped Kung Pai chicken onto her fork.
I turned to look at Perla. “You sent Yolanda to the hospital?” It was clear she was good at ordering people around, but this was getting out of hand.
They all ignored me.
“We don’t know for sure that Samuel’s killer and Lisa’s attacker are the same person,” Yolanda insisted. “We’re just assuming.”
“It’s a good assumption,” Perla fired back.
My gaze bounced back and forth between Yolanda and Perla. “What happened to ‘let’s let the police handle this’?”
Perla’s fork clattered to the table, then she turned her gaze on me. She stared at me for a moment, then dropped her gaze and picked up her fork. “That’s fair. I did say that.”
My brain couldn’t keep up with how fast Perla’s mind changed about the investigation. I dropped my eyes to my plate and scooped up another bite of chicken.
“It’s just that the police don’t seem to have a handle on either of these cases. Do you know that Detective Crandall questioned me about the attack on you at the lake?”
My eyes flicked to Jonathan and Yolanda, but apparently this was not news to them.
“What did you tell him?”
Perla shrugged. “As soon as I closed, I came right home.”
“You don’t have an alibi?” My mouth froze mid-chew.
Perla shook her head. “If I knew I needed one, I would have made sure to have one.”
“That’s what a lot of guilty people say,” I said without thinking.
Perla stared at me. “You don’t really think I took a shot at you on the lake? Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know why anyone would take a shot at me on the lake.”
She pointed a finger at me. “If it was me shooting at you on the lake, I would have hit you.”
Jonathan nodded. “She’s right, actually. She’s a very good shot.”
“Shut up, Jonathan,” Perla grumbled. “You’re only here for the free food.”
She suddenly stood up and stalked to the back patio, slid open the door and leaned out. “Elijah, turn down your music!”
Then she slammed the door closed and came back to the table, muttering about Elijah and a hot tub.
“Elijah Douglas lives next door to you?” I asked. “I have some of his grocery bags I need to return.”
“He’s not home that often,” Perla said. “And when he is, I swear he’s in that darn hot tub.”
“Was he home last night? Would he be able to give you an alibi?” I was trying to help her out. I didn’t want Perla to be a killer.
She made a face as she dug back into her meal. “He was home. He spends enough time in that hot tub ‘meditating’.” She put air quotes around meditating.
My turn to make a face. “You can see Elijah’s hot tub from your porch?”
She shook her head. “No, but his lights and the music were on.”
She waved away the image of Elijah in his hot tub and turned back to Yolanda. “What else did you learn?”
