Schooled in Deceit: A Lacamas Village Cozy Mystery, Book 1, page 5
I pulled off my jacket and sighed, then turned and gestured the detective to a chair. I knew I hadn’t come across very well when we first met, so I wanted to be less, well, teacher-y.
“What can I do for you, Detective?”
He sat down, even as he looked around the room. I knew he was taking in the wealth on display – silver candlesticks on the mantel, signed artwork, Persian rugs.
I crossed my arms and, in my mind, I dared him to say something snarky about my sister’s house. Granted, as a teacher, this was not the kind of house I lived in or even visited. Our monthly Bunco group generally didn’t meet in a neighborhood with mansions.
“Nice place,” he commented.
I opened my mouth to tell him off, then quickly snapped it shut when I realized he hadn’t said anything offensive.
“You’re house-sitting for your sister?” he asked as he opened his notebook and looked at me. He gestured to the chair kitty-corner to him.
I sat and re-crossed my arms. My legs followed suit, and before I could stop them, the words tumbled out. “Why do you think this isn’t my house? Do you think I couldn’t afford something like this?”
I inwardly cringed. What was wrong with me that I couldn’t be more polite to this man?
Detective Crandall leaned away from me. His eyebrows shot up. He waved his notebook around. “You mentioned last night you were house-sitting for your sister.”
He shrugged, and I could tell he was biting back a smile. He covered it by flipping through his notebook to the page and nodding when he found it.
“See,” he said, thrusting the notebook toward me. “It says so right here.”
I glared at him, then glanced down at the page. Sure enough.
Says she is house-sitting for sister. Why???
I pointed at it. “Are you going to ask me why?”
He pulled back the notebook and read what he had written, then met my eyes with a smile.
“Sure. Why?”
“My sister’s husband is doing some work in Washington, D.C., for a few months. He’s a lawyer. He has a big case there.”
“Why you? Aren’t you from out of town?”
I wrapped my arms closer around me and still tried to shrug nonchalantly. “I’m a teacher. We’re on summer break. It worked out for both of us.”
He nodded, his eyes narrowing slightly. This guy did not miss much, I could tell. My stomach clenched, waiting for him to ask follow-up questions.
He did.
“Your husband doesn’t mind that you’ll be gone all summer?”
“How do you even know I’m married?”
He pointed to my wedding band. I suddenly regretted putting it back on.
“Your husband doesn’t mind?” He asked again while looking at his notebook, apparently trying to give me some private time to come up with a suitable answer.
I didn’t have one.
“My husband doesn’t mind,” I said simply, afraid that if I had to start explaining, I would burst into tears.
He studied me for a moment. That was all it took.
“We’re probably getting divorced!” I blurted, then covered my mouth with my hand as if I could shove the words back in. Tears welled up, threatening to spill out of my eyes.
The detective’s expression turned pensive. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve been through that, and I know it’s a tough deal, no matter what’s involved.”
I nodded quickly as I held myself together with my arms, wishing this seemingly interminable interview would end. We sat in silence a moment longer.
“Tell me again how you found Mr. Wiggins last night,” he ventured.
I took a breath and went through it step by step, with the detective asking questions along the way. We veered over into how Mr. Wiggins accosted me on my first day here – my words, not his – and how he nearly ran me over in the cul-de-sac.
When I finished, he snapped shut his notebook and leaned back in the chair, his eyes fixed on me.
“I’m a pretty good judge of character, Ms. Michaels. You don’t strike me as a killer.”
“Gee, thanks,” I acquiesced, scooching forward on my chair as I hoped the interview was nearing its end.
“But I’ve been wrong before,” he added.
I sat back in the chair and held out my hands. “I don’t know how else to get you to believe it, but I didn’t kill Mr. Wiggins. If I killed everyone who mocked my car or nearly ran me over, I’d have a stack of bodies lined up for you.”
He smiled, and I noticed for the first time how his green eyes twinkled. “That’s a fair statement,” he said.
Then he took a deep breath and stood. “Thank you for your time. The officer who took your statement last night will have it available for you to sign when you have time to come down to the station.”
I stood and stepped toward the front door, hesitating. “Do you have any other suspects besides me, Detective Crandall?”
He smiled as he reached for the doorknob. “I always have suspects, Ms. Michaels.”
With that, he stepped over the threshold and down the stairs. I bit back a smile. Funny guy, that detective.
Chapter 11
Finally alone, I rummaged in the refrigerator for cheese, crackers and a sparkling water, then sat down at the kitchen island and pulled my laptop in front of me.
I flipped it open and pulled up my mystery novel, which I hadn’t looked at in a couple of years. As I read, I munched on the cheese and crackers. Audra had good taste in cheese. I probably should have cut up an apple to go with it, but by then I was comfortably reading, so I let that thought drift away.
Making notes as I went, I felt encouraged that what I read so far wasn’t dreadful. It wasn’t great, but I wasn’t going to throw it in the trash either. I nodded to myself. I could work with this.
I had been reading for some time when movement caught my attention outside the kitchen window. As I stretched my arms over my head, I glanced over and noticed Lisa Wiggins and a man nearly her age standing in her driveway.
He gestured wildly, but she fervently shook her head. Whatever it was he wanted, she was clearly not on board. I stood up and moved closer to the window, wondering if I could subtly open it without them noticing. I rolled my eyes at my own nosiness, then quietly pushed open the window and leaned closer.
“You won’t get away with this. My dad would never agree to that,” the man yelled as he stomped around a dark blue pickup and flung open the door to the driver’s seat.
He sat down heavily, slammed the door, and started the engine. He sat there a moment, staring at Lisa, who stood just in front of the truck, her expression dismayed. The engine revved loudly, and she jumped back, one arm crossing her body to protect herself.
The truck shot forward a foot. Lisa sprang out of the way, falling into the grass.
I gasped. Then the man put the truck in reverse and revved it backwards down the driveway. The truck roared out of the cul-de-sac.
I raced out the kitchen door to the back patio and waved at Lisa.
“Are you all right?” I called, stepping down the back stairs as quickly as I could. A narrow path led through some bushes onto the Wiggins’ property.
Lisa was on her feet, brushing grass off her pants. She seemed surprised to see me.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help but see that from the window,” I said, turning to point toward the house. “He was a little scary. Was that Samuel’s son?”
Lisa smiled weakly as she nodded. She waved her hand in the direction he had sped off in. “Daniel has always been hot-headed. He’ll cool off and be fine.”
I peered closely at her. “You could press charges. I would support you. When he revved the engine, it scared me, and I wasn’t standing right in front of his truck. That must have been terrifying. Are you sure you’re okay?”
Lisa turned to me with what seemed to be the first genuine smile I had seen on her face, although to be fair I had known her for less than a day. She reached out to give me a quick hug.
“Thank you, Misty. I appreciate that. Really, I’m fine.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, what was he angry about?” Not that it was any of my business, but nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?
She pursed her lips and looked in the direction Daniel’s truck had taken.
“He’s not happy about the changes Samuel made to the will,” she said, her eyes clouding over as she pushed hair out of her face. “I have spent twenty years trying to get Daniel to like me or even just … accept me. I guess it will be a relief to not have to see him anymore.”
Her face remained clouded, her mouth downturned.
“Family is hard,” I said. “Twenty years is a long time. He’s family, isn’t he?”
Lisa nodded, tears welling up in her eyes as she turned toward me. She quickly wiped them away and thanked me again for taking the time to come over. She chuckled and looked toward my sister’s backyard. “That’s something Audra would do, too.”
“Well, you know, good neighbors and all that.” I started to feel a little awkward and pointed toward the house. “I’m just over there if you need anything.”
With that, I slipped back through the hedge and headed for home, wondering if the change in Samuel’s will spurred his son to do the unthinkable.
Chapter 12
The next morning was rainy and cloudy. I had told Perla I would work at the bookstore.
I yawned as I sipped my homemade vanilla latte at the kitchen island. Audra had all the latest gizmos, for which I was grateful. I knew I could make more coffee at the store, but I didn’t want to wait that long for coffee.
Part of me wanted to crawl back into bed. I still felt that end-of-the-year teacher tired, but I knew a few more days of restful sleep and not planning lessons for second-graders would turn it around. I didn’t mind working in the summer. I still got my teaching paycheck, but it was spread over twelve months, so it was nice to make extra money over the summer and during school breaks.
Most of the teachers I knew had second jobs or side gigs. A couple drove for ride-sharing services. One of the kindergarten teachers delivered food through an app. I typically just taught summer school. It didn’t give me much of a chance to recharge in the summer, but it paid well.
This year, however, I couldn’t stomach the thought of teaching in the summer. The bookstore was a change of pace.
I finished off my latte, dressed and headed out of the neighborhood. Passing a farmer’s market, I made a note to stop on my way home. I only worked until two.
I made it to the store with two minutes to spare. The “Closed” sign was still up in the door, but the knob turned, and I let myself in, firmly closing it behind me.
“Good morning!” I called.
“Come on back and give me a hand.” I followed Perla’s voice down the center aisle to the back of the store, where Perla stood surrounded by boxes.
“We just got a new shipment in, and I’d like to get them onto the shelves as soon as possible,” Perla said, gesturing around her.
I stashed my purse under the register and took the blue apron Perla handed me.
As I started unpacking books, Perla flipped the “Closed” sign to “Open,” then returned to help me unpack the books. We worked for only a few minutes before the little bell above the front door jingled.
Perla glanced up to see who it was. “Good morning, Yolanda.”
She looked pointedly at me. I stood up from the boxes to get a look at the woman who had just come in and made a beeline toward the coffee counter. It was the woman at Lindell Stevenson’s house, so I assumed it was his wife. Perla followed me to the counter.
“Your usual?” Perla asked.
Yolanda nodded, glancing around the room, although we were the only ones there. She leaned toward Perla.
“You heard about Samuel Wiggins.”
Perla nodded, with a glance at me to see if I was listening. Oh, yes, I was. She rolled her hand to get me moving on the coffee. Perla instructed me to Yolanda’s “usual,” which turned out to be a caramel latte with an extra shot of syrup.
“What have you heard?” Perla asked, leaning on the counter, her eyes on Yolanda.
Yolanda sighed audibly. “They have been hounding Lindell with questions, like he would have anything to do with such a thing.”
Perla shook her head, making a tsk-tsk-tsk sound.
“Mrs. Stevenson?” I looked up from the coffee, then wiped my hand on the apron and held it out toward the other woman. “I’m Misty Michaels. I’m house-sitting for my sister, Audra, in your circle.”
Recognition dawned on her face, and she briefly shook my hand. “I saw you talking to Lindell yesterday. Nice to meet you. Have the police questioned you as well?”
She watched me closely for my answer.
“Don’t you know it.” I told her how the detective was waiting for me right after Yolanda saw me the previous day.
Perla jumped in. “Did the police want to know where Lindell was when Samuel was killed?”
Yolanda rolled her eyes. “Fortunately, Lindell was at his office in Vancouver when Samuel died, so there’s no way they can tie him to it.”
My hand froze on the espresso machine. I couldn’t hide the frown, so I ducked my head. That’s not what Lindell had told me at all.
“Did the police question you separately?” I asked. That was the only reason I could think of for the different stories. I handed the caramel latte to Yolanda.
She took a sip before she responded. “Yes. I’ve never been interrogated by the police before.”
“That must have been frightening for you,” I murmured.
Yolanda’s eyes met mine. They didn’t look frightened. She was assessing me. Finally, she nodded. “It was. I hope to never have to go through that again.”
After she took another sip of her latte, Yolanda Stevenson set off through the door and I waited on the next customer who had come in. I threw a glance at the front window and stopped. Lindell’s wife stood paused at the window, watching me for a long moment before moving on. She gave a little nod of her head when she realized I had seen her. Did she know more than she said about Samuel Wiggins’ death?
The rest of the day passed quickly, with a steady stream of customers into the store. Most of the coffee orders were familiar – vanilla latte, cappuccino, mocha. I still didn’t feel confident about making some of the fancier drinks on Perla’s commercial-quality machine.
One woman ordered a café con miel. I stared at her for a moment, then across the room at Perla, who gave me the “go ahead” sign, so I turned back to the woman.
“I’m new here,” I said as I snagged a cup and started setting up the espresso machine. “Could you please repeat that one more time, slowly?”
“Ca-fe. Con. Mee-al.”
I gritted my teeth. “I don’t know what that is. Can you walk me through it, please?”
A café con miel, as I discovered, was a layer of honey with a shot of espresso topped with steamed milk and ground cinnamon.
After her thorough instructions, I handed the woman her drink and she eyed it, apparently found it to her satisfaction, and took a sip. She looked at me in surprise.
“This is very good,” she said, with a nod of approval.
“Gee, thanks,” I murmured, then lifted my face toward her. “We can all learn something new, can’t we? Is there something I can help you find in the store?”
She looked at me and laughed lightly. “I hardly think so,” she said.
“Try me,” I said with a sigh as I wiped my hands on a towel.
She sighed and set her cup back on the coffee counter. “I’m looking for a book, actually a series, if possible, for a young boy. He’s seven. I’d prefer something without dragons and magic and nonsense like that. Perla usually looks something up for me, but I can see she’s busy, so I’ll just wait over there.”
She gestured to one of the wingback chairs by the window.
“If you like,” I ventured, “I might have some books for you. They’re about a boy who loves stinky smells.”
Her lips curved downward. “Stinky and smelly? That sounds repulsive.”
I laughed in agreement. “I thought the same thing until I read some with my class. I teach second grade.”
Her eyebrows went up. “Then why are you working here?”
I chuckled, assuming that was a rhetorical question. “Hard work and a little extra cash never hurt anyone,” I said, turning away from her. “Let me see if I can find those books.”
I headed over to the children’s section, shaking my head. I knew Perla had all the books catalogued in the computer, but a glance at the register counter told me she was still busy. I rummaged in the children’s chapter book section until I found a couple of books in the series, then I hurried back to the woman in the chair. She sat languidly, her feet crossed at the ankle, staring out the window.
I almost hated to interrupt her reverie. No, I didn’t. She was condescending.
“Here they are.” I handed her the books. “There are a few others in the series in the children’s section if you don’t like those.”
I left her to peruse the books and went to see if I could help Perla at the counter.
She gestured with a chin nod toward the woman in the chair. “Charla giving you a hard time?”
I grinned. “Nah. She seemed to think barista-ing was beneath me.”
“It is if you keep making up words like barista-ing,” Perla said dryly, then handed me a stack of books. “Go shelve these, will you, please?”
I took the stack of books to the edge of the counter to check the spines so I would know where to shelve them. It looked like most of them were new mystery novels. I carefully opened the front cover of the top one but hadn’t even had time to move my eyes down the title page when a raspy voice interrupted me.
“Read on your own time, Michaels!” Perla gave me a shooing sign as I met her eyes.
I held up the book innocently. “How will I know what to recommend to our customers if I don’t read the books?”
Perla’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times, then she shook her head as she turned to the next customer at the register.
