Schooled in Deceit: A Lacamas Village Cozy Mystery, Book 1, page 3
I caught my breath. Samuel Wiggins sat on the bench that overlooked the lake. Would he jump up and start yelling at me for some other perceived flaw?
I ducked my head to hustle past, watching him from the corner of my eye. Shadows from the trees began to reach his bench, but he didn’t seem to notice. Something about the way he sat didn’t look right. He seemed slumped over. My steps paused. He was an old man, after all. Maybe I should check that he was all right or maybe he needed help getting home.
Nah, he was fine. He literally nearly ran me down less than two hours ago. I started to move again, then stopped. Sighed. I couldn’t live with myself if I passed by Wiggins, and he needed help. I turned toward him.
“Mr. Wiggins? Are you okay? Sir?” I advanced on the old man, trying not to sound like I was afraid he’d yell at me. Which I was, a little.
I stopped when I was about a yard away. My mouth fell open. It was clear that Mr. Wiggins would not yell at anyone ever again. The old man was dead.
Chapter 5
By the time the Lacamas Village police arrived, I had paced a trail back and forth between the gate and Mr. Wiggins’ dead body.
Every time I thought of it, I gulped back bile. I rubbed my stomach as I watched the EMTs and police officers mark off the area and check Wiggins’ pulse. One of them shook his head.
“How long has he been dead?” one of them asked me.
I held up my hands, palms up, in the international sign of “I have no idea.”
“You’re the one who found him?” A man’s voice came from behind me.
I turned around to gaze up at a tall man with sunglasses perched on his head and wearing a fleece vest. He held a small notebook in front of him.
“I’m Detective Jonas Crandall, Lacamas Village police. And you’re Misty Michaels?”
I tilted my head. “My reputation precedes me? That can’t be good.”
“The dispatcher told me.” He gave a slight smile and gestured toward Wiggins. “Tell me what happened.”
So I did. Which wasn’t much, I realized. I only knew that I had happened upon his dead body about twelve minutes ago.
“Happened upon it?” He raised one eyebrow to let me know how skeptical he found my claim.
I backed up and glared up at him. “Are you doubting me? You sound like you’re doubting me.”
“I’m sorry,” he started. “It was an unusual phrase.”
The words burst out before I could stop them. “Yes, I happened upon him. I was hiking the trail. Sorry my story doesn’t have a plot twist in it.”
“Plot twist?”
“Never mind.” Why was I being so testy with the police detective? Even I knew that wasn’t a good idea. I took a breath and wrapped my arms around my body, my foot tapping nervously.
The detective glanced at the little notebook, then back at me, then back to the notebook.
“You told the dispatcher his name. Are you acquainted with the deceased?” His eyes were elsewhere, but I had the feeling he wasn’t missing much.
I shook my head. “I just got here yesterday. I’m housesitting for my sister...”
I hesitated. He noticed. “And?”
Furiously shaking my head, I tried to minimize the damage I might have caused myself.
“And nothing. He yelled at me yesterday about having a junker car in the neighborhood, that’s all. The police came out to that one, too.”
His eyebrows went right up, which is exactly what I was trying to avoid.
“No!” It came out louder than I intended. I held out a hand. “No raised eyebrows. There’s nothing untoward going on here.”
“Untoward?”
“I’m a teacher. I use the precise words I mean to use. Do you have a problem with that?” What was wrong with me? My voice suddenly had a mind of its own – and it was a little pitchy.
The detective held out a hand as if he were approaching a wild beast. “Okay, okay, I get it. Other than him yelling at you yesterday, were you familiar with the gentleman?”
Those green eyes watched me closely, waiting, no doubt to see if I hesitated again.
I did not. Immediately, I shook my head. I was not going to tell him about Wiggins nearly taking me out near the sidewalk just two hours ago.
“Do you know anyone who might want to harm Mr. Wiggins?” the detective asked.
I threw up my hands.
“I literally just told you I didn’t know the man,” I barked. “How would I know who wanted to kill him? Oh, wait.”
My pointer finger played with my bottom lip, then I wagged it at the detective.
“The professor.” I went on to tell him about the professor leaving. “But he was leaving,” I added, “so it couldn’t have been him.”
The detective scribbled on his notepad even as he made a face. “We’ll check it out.”
His eyes followed two police officers walking toward the shed, so my eyes followed his. The two officers peered into the shed. They pushed open the door, then stepped inside, coming back out again in a hurry, Elijah Douglas between them, pulling headphones out of his ears.
He pulled away from the officers, his eyes flitting around the park, taking in the activity. “What’s going on here?”
The officers stood on either side of him, talking quietly to him, gesturing to Mr. Wiggins. Douglas covered his mouth with his hand as he stared at the old man’s body. Then he ran to the bushes.
I looked away, re-wrapping my arms around my body as I turned to look at Mr. Wiggins, noting that I didn’t feel like vomiting any more when I looked at him. But then, I hadn’t really known the man.
There was what looked like blood on his head and shoulder. A large rock lay nearby.
“Did the killer use that rock?” I asked quietly.
The detective shrugged. “Guess we’ll find out. You can go, Mrs.-”
“Ms.,” I interjected.
“Ms. Michaels,” he nodded, accepting my correction. “Is there a number where we can reach you?”
I stopped and stared at him. “I’ve already told you everything I know. Why would you need my phone number?”
His eyes looked everywhere but at me. “Sometimes people remember something later.”
“Then I would call you,” I said pointedly. “Right?”
He cleared his throat, but I plowed ahead. “Am I a suspect?”
“Everyone is a suspect until I know better,” he said, snapping his notebook closed with a flick of his wrist, then looked me right in the eyes.
My mouth dropped. “Are you going to tell me not to leave town?”
The detective gave a small smile. “That only happens in B movies. I can’t legally tell you not to do that.”
He paused. “But it would be nice if you stuck around.”
Chapter 6
“And then he told me not to leave town.” I called Audra the next morning to let her know the news.
Audra was silent for a moment. “Really?” she asked. “I don’t think legally he can do that.”
I gave a heavy sigh. “Okay, he didn’t exactly tell me not to leave town, but he heavily implied it. What am I supposed to do?”
“What do you mean?” she asked. “You’re supposed to go about your business and let the police do their job.”
“But I’m on the suspect list. Me. A suspect in a murder!”
“Well, it doesn’t sound like a premeditated murder, so you probably won’t go to prison for long,” Audra said dryly.
“You’re not taking this seriously,” I protested, as I stomped around the kitchen. I stopped to pull a bowl from a cabinet, then rummaged in a drawer for a spoon.
“And you’re taking it too seriously. You just got to town. They can’t seriously consider you a suspect, right? Just relax, go do your yoga and write your book.”
I didn’t see how I could possibly relax with a killer on the loose in the neighborhood. Audra started to hang up.
“Wait! Audra, who would want to kill Mr. Wiggins? Did he fight with the other neighbors?”
Audra was silent on the other end.
“Au-dra? What do you know?” Her silence grew suspicious. I pictured her looking at the ceiling as she tried to come up with an answer.
She gave a quick sigh. “I don’t want to throw anyone under the bus, but Samuel did have some troubles with the neighbor on the other side, Lindell Stevenson.”
“Oooh, tell me more.” I turned the phone onto speaker and set it on the counter as I poured cereal into the bowl.
“I don’t know all the details, but I do know that Lindell has been wanting to buy Samuel’s property for years. They were always squabbling over the property line.”
I peered through the kitchen window toward the two houses. “Why would he want more property?”
“He practically wanted to build a compound or something there so that his daughters could live nearby.”
“Interesting.”
“I’m sure the police will take care of it, Mist. Now go relax.”
With that, Audra clicked off.
I sat on a stool at the kitchen island where I could see both the Wiggins’ house and his neighbor’s.
Was the property battle enough for Lindell Stevenson to knock an old man over the head and kill him?
A knock at the door interrupted my chewing – both on my cereal and the murder.
I barely had the door open when Perla and Jonathan bustled over the threshold.
“We just heard the news about Samuel Wiggins,” Perla said, turning to face me. “How are you holding up?”
I shrugged, holding my cereal bowl in one hand and the spoon in the other. “I’ve been better.”
“You’re still doing better than Wiggins,” Jonathan pointed out.
I gestured for the two to follow me back to the kitchen so I could finish my cereal and tidy up. Perla set a basket on the counter, opened the cupboard and pulled out two more bowls. She didn’t even have to rummage for spoons.
She set two boxes of cereal on the counter and started pouring cereal into one of the bowls. Jonathan picked up the other box and began to read the side. I watched curiously.
“What are you doing here, besides eating Audra’s cereal?” I finally asked as they dug into their respective bowls.
Perla looked up in surprise. “We heard you were a person of interest,” she said. Then she turned back to her cereal.
“Which we thought was ridiculous since you just got to town two days ago,” Jonathan added.
“Thank you for that,” I said, then licked the last of the sugar and milk off the spoon.
“Who’s on your suspect list?” Perla asked.
I frowned, then picked up my bowl and spoon and took them to the sink. I set them inside to wash later. That was one of the advantages to living alone.
“I don’t have a suspect list.” I returned to my bar stool at the kitchen island. She didn’t need to know that I’d asked Audra basically the same thing just minutes earlier.
Perla looked at me over the top of her glasses, her lips pursed.
“Okay, so far, I only have Lindell Stevenson on my list,” I finally admitted. “Audra said they had property battles.”
Perla grinned and looked at Jonathan from the corner of her eye. “You owe me five bucks.”
Jonathan rolled his eyes and turned toward me. “Who else wanted to kill him?”
I thought a moment.
“C’mon, you’re a mystery writer,” Perla admonished. “You can do better than that.”
I wanted to protest that in fact I was an elementary school teacher on summer break but decided I didn’t want to face the disappointment on Perla’s face.
Slipping off the stool, I paced around the kitchen island, then stopped to stare at Wiggins’ house. “Okay, what about his wife? Spouses often are the culprits.”
Perla made a face. “They often are, but I don’t see it in this case. Lisa does not stand to inherit much since he died. They had an air-tight prenup.”
“But wouldn’t that only be used if they divorced?”
Perla joined me in looking out the window. “We’ll have to find out when we visit the grieving widow.”
I turned to her in surprise. “We’re visiting Mrs. Wiggins? I thought you had to open the store.”
Perla’s turn to look surprised. “Of course, we’re visiting her. Jonathan is opening today.”
Jonathan sat comfortably on a stool, spooning in his second bowl of cereal and sipping a cup of coffee. He shrugged. “I just came for breakfast,” he said.
I planted my feet and crossed my arms, glaring at Perla. “No.”
It was a firm no.
Perla looked me up and down, taking note of the Christmas pajamas I was wearing. “You’re going to need to get dressed.”
“Perla,” I stepped around her so I could look her in the eye. “I’m not going to interview Mrs. Wiggins about her husband’s death. I’m a teacher. I teach second-graders. I do not get involved in violent crimes.”
She looked at me, one eyebrow raised. “You said you write mysteries.”
It wasn’t a question, but she seemed to be challenging me.
I nodded as I paced back and forth in front of the stairs by the door. “Yes, but I make things up.” I gestured wildly with my arms. “This is real life. People’s lives are involved. I’m not messing around in that.”
Perla and Jonathan exchanged a glance, Jonathan shrugging as if he gave up. Perla turned back to me.
“You are the police’s Number One suspect.”
I held out my hands to appease her.
“The police will take care of it,” I said, “They will find the real suspect.”
“Are you sure about that? Because I saw more than one cop car cruising past your house last night.” She lifted her chin, daring me to challenge her. “Looks to me like they were keeping an eye on their Number One suspect.”
I gulped and looked away, my shoulders drooping in defeat.
“I guess it couldn’t hurt to go talk to Mrs. Wiggins,” I allowed.
Perla gestured at my pajamas. “You might want to update your leisure-wear.”
I made a face at her and stomped up the stairs.
Chapter 7
Once I had pulled on something more appropriate for visiting, the three of us started down the steps. Jonathan sprang lightly to a parked car to go help Andrea open the store while Perla and I headed toward to the Wiggins’ house next door.
Perla rang the bell. We looked everywhere but at each other, not knowing what to expect. After a few moments, a woman who looked about my age answered the door. Even though the hour was still fairly early, she was dressed for the day. Her makeup in place, it couldn’t completely hide the deep bags under her eyes. I was keenly aware that I only had time to swipe on mascara. Her eyebrows raised in recognition, then her mouth turned downward.
“You heard?”
Perla smiled gently and handed over the basket. “Yes, I’m so sorry about poor Samuel. We wanted to see if we could help.”
As Perla turned to me, I pointed back toward Audra’s house. “I’m Misty. I’m house-sitting for my sister this summer.”
The woman smiled weakly and held out her hand. “Thank you for coming. I’m Lisa Wiggins.”
She stepped aside and gestured for us to come in. We followed her down a short hallway into a large living room that overlooked the lake.
The room contained an oversized leather sofa facing the picture window with two oversized leather chairs. Two nearly empty wineglasses stood on the large coffee tables.
I glanced around to see who else was in the room, but we were alone. It seemed a touch early for wine, but since my husband hadn’t just died, I wouldn’t judge.
Perla strode to the window, looking out at the lake. Lisa set the basket on the coffee table, absent-mindedly toying the muffins inside.
“You’re so lucky to have this view, Lisa,” Perla said, subtly trying to catch my eye and motion me toward the window. As soon as I got close enough, she pulled my sleeve, jerking me closer.
“You can see the trailhead from here,” she murmured, looking at me pointedly.
I peered around her. My eyes followed the trail from the lake to the bench where I had found Samuel Wiggins. I could see only a corner of the bench, for which I was grateful. Not just for me, but for Lisa Wiggins. Imagine being able to see the site of your husband’s murder every day.
Unless, of course, she killed him. I closed my eyes. I could still see the old man slumped on the bench.
I spun around to clear the image from my mind. “How are you doing, Mrs. Wiggins? Is there anything we can do to help?”
The widow lowered herself to the overstuffed couch. I walked over and sat kitty-corner to her on one of the large chairs.
With concern on my face, and it was sincere, I waited for her answer.
Lisa Wiggins looked around the room as if searching for an answer. Finally, she lifted both hands, palms up. “I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t really know what to do, so I’m just kind of sitting here waiting.”
Perla looked at her sharply. “Waiting for what?”
She raised her hands again, shrugging her shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe just for Samuel to come home and take care of things? He always took care of … everything.”
Perla sat on one side of Lisa. “Aw, sweetie. That’s got to be so hard.”
Tears welled up in Lisa’s eyes. She tried to smile through them. Perla thrust a tissue box at her. Lisa smiled her thanks as tears began to seep down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry. I’m not being a very good hostess.”
Perla laughed softly. “Lisa, we’re not expecting cookies and tea. We’re here to support you during a difficult time.”
She took one of Lisa’s hands and patted them.
I broached the subject gently. We didn’t want to be here all day, after all.
“Mrs. Wiggins, do the police have any more information about your husband’s death?”
