Schooled in Deceit: A Lacamas Village Cozy Mystery, Book 1, page 6
I grinned but went ahead and closed the book. Perla was a reader, so she understood the allure of new books. Still, no sense in incurring Perla’s wrath for the day. I picked up the stack and headed for the mystery section.
As I reached the shelves, I glanced out the front window and nearly dropped the books on the floor. Daniel Wiggins, Samuel’s hot-tempered son, just stepped outside the hardware store across the street. I looked around frantically, then shoved the books into an empty spot on the shelves.
“I’m on break!” I called to Perla as I threw her a wave, then hurried through the front door, the little bell ding-ding-dinging behind me.
Without looking, I sped into the street, barely dodging a car, whose driver gave me a well-deserved honnnkk! I waved my apologies and hurried on, trying to stop Daniel Wiggins before he got into his pickup, the same one I had seen at the Wiggins’ home the day before.
“Excuse me!” I called as he stepped around the back of his truck, heading for the driver’s side door.
He paused and looked at me, a questioning look on his face. Then he grinned and gestured toward the street. “You should be more careful,” he said. “That car almost hit you.”
I laughed awkwardly, following his gaze to the street, then stepped closer to him. “You’re Daniel Wiggins, right? I wondered if you might have a moment.”
A cloud crossed his face. He hesitated. “Who are you?”
I smiled to try to put him at ease. “I’m actually a neighbor of your father, your … departed father.”
Departed father? Good grief, Misty. I silently chided myself.
Daniel’s eyes narrowed. “A neighbor? I don’t remember you, and I’ve met most of Dad’s neighbors.”
“Audra’s sister. I’m house-sitting for her this summer,” I clarified.
A look of recognition took over his face and he nodded. “Oh, sure, how’s Audra and her husband, Michael?”
“She’s fine, they’re fin—.” I wagged a finger at him, impatient to get to my questions. “Audra’s husband is David. You’re trying to trick me.”
He grinned. “Just making sure you are who you say you are.”
I pressed on. “I’m so sorry about your father.”
“Me, too,” he said, his expression saddening. “Thank you. Is there something more I can do for you?”
“I just was wondering if the police contacted you? They interviewed me, too.”
He nodded, leaning against the side of his truck.
“They seem suspicious, don’t you think?” I tried to draw him in. I have talked to literally hundreds of uncomfortable parents. Surely I could talk to one uncomfortable murder suspect.
Daniel shrugged as his eyes drifted toward the street. “They were checking alibis, I guess. Good thing I have one.”
“You do? What did you tell them?”
His eyebrows sprang up in surprise, then he narrowed them and leaned toward me. “What business is it of yours, Mrs. what-did-you-say-your-name was?”
“Misty Michaels. Ms. Michaels,” I said. “I’m just wondering about the other neighbors’ experience with the police.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t need to tell you anything,” he said, turning to open his truck door.
My eyes flew around the intersection as I looked for some way to keep him there. “They think I did it,” I blurted.
Daniel Wiggins froze, then turned back to look at me, closing the door behind him.
He studied me for a long moment before clearing his throat. “Did you?”
My eyes widened. “No,” I said firmly. “I’m a teacher, not a killer.”
He looked at me a while longer before turning away again.
“See ya, teach,” he said, then stepped up into the cab and slammed the door behind him. He started the engine while I stood there, then gestured out the window for me to move away.
This time, I looked both ways before returning across the street to the bookstore. The bell jingled again, a little less violently this time.
Perla stood by the front window, where she had apparently been watching me.
“Well?” she demanded. “What’s his alibi?”
I shrugged. “He wouldn’t tell me. He just said he had one.”
She pursed her lips, then nodded toward the stack of books I had shoved into the mystery shelf.
“Some detective you are,” she murmured as she walked past me toward the register.
“I’m a teacher,” I muttered to myself. “Not a detective.”
Chapter 13
Perla hovered as I cleaned up the coffee cart. Finally, I stopped and looked her in the eye.
“Did you want something?”
She just stood with her arms crossed, one hand stroking her chin.
“You don’t have a beard, you know,” I pointed out.
She stopped stroking and frowned at me. “I was just trying to get into a good mental state to try to figure out this case.” She nodded as if she had made a decision. “We need to interview more people.”
I held up a hand. “I’ve already badly interviewed one suspect today. I’m out.”
Perla tapped her fingers on the counter I had just wiped down. I stared at them pointedly. She finally moved away with an accompanying eye roll.
“Who else is on your suspect list?” she asked.
I tossed the cloth on its hanger behind the cart. “I keep telling you I don’t have a suspect list. I am not a detective. I’m just a—”
Before I could finish telling her what I was, my phone buzzed. Involuntarily, I looked at it. Rodney and I used to check in with each other throughout each day. Just as I remembered that I wasn’t answering his texts, I noticed it was from him.
Where is the insert for the air fryer?
I frowned. What was he doing with the air fryer? Specifically, my air fryer. He wasn’t a cook. He had no business even touching the small appliances on the kitchen counters.
“Misty, are you okay?”
My eyes shot wildly away from my phone. I felt like one of those cartoon characters whose eyes spun in their sockets.
Turning the phone around, I shoved it toward Perla. “How do I even respond to this?” I demanded.
Perla pulled her cats-eye glasses off her head and peered at the message. Then she looked up at me. “You tell him where the insert is. Or you don’t, and you just put your phone away.”
Oh, well, that was way more adult than I wanted to be about it. I took a deep breath and clicked off the screen, then dropped the phone back in my apron pocket.
Perla smiled sympathetically and, uncharacteristically, left me to my own thoughts.
I picked up the cloth to clean again. Perla started talking with a customer at the register, paying no attention to me.
I turned my back to the store, pulled out my phone and typed. Middle cabinet, second shelf. Don’t break my air fryer.
Then I dropped my phone into my pocket and turned back to the shop. Perla’s eyes flicked away from mine at the last moment, a smile on her face.
My shift over, I took off my apron and snagged my purse from under the counter, waving to Perla as I left.
I wandered out to my car, knowing I couldn’t just go home and wander around that big house by myself. Why did Rodney have to choose now to send a text? I sat in the driver’s seat tapping the steering wheel with my fingers. I knew where everything was in that house. I had put most of it there. Rodney wasn’t home a lot. Now I knew why. My eyes scanned the parking lot in search of a distraction.
I thought back to what Perla had asked: Who else was on my suspect list?
The first picture to pop into my head was Professor Murphy. He was at the scene of the crime just before Samuel Wiggins died.
It was time to pay him a visit. GPS got me all the way to the university and signs pointed the way to the Humanities building, where I figured I would find the History department. Murphy’s office was on the list by the elevator.
The professor looked up when I knocked on the door, his expression turning to surprise. He stood from behind his desk as I leaned in the doorway.
“So this is where the magic happens,” I said, mentally slapping my forehead that it was the best opening I could come up with.
He shrugged, which really was the only appropriate response he could make. Our eyes didn't quite meet during the awkward silence that followed.
“Can I help you with something?” he finally asked.
“I’d say I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by, but you’d see right through that,” I said. I inched into the office.
He chuckled. “The third floor of the Humanities building is not in the neighborhood for anyone. What's going on?”
I stepped further into his office, prompting him to step back. Kind of a jittery fellow.
“It's like this,” I said. “The police have really been hassling me about Samuel Wiggins’ death. Apparently, I’m their best suspect so far.”
My voice picked up steam and sped up. “And I know you were at the trailhead about the same time.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You think I killed Samuel?”
Yes, my brain responded. Maybe.
“No, no, of course not,” I lied, putting out both hands, palms down as if I could contain him in the room.
“It’s just that you might have seen something while you were there that could help throw suspicion off me? A little?” My voice sounded pleading, like when I asked my principal for time off during the school year. “I mean, where were you when Samuel was killed?”
I watched him carefully.
He stepped further back behind his desk.
“If I was the killer, you'd be taking a real chance right now,” he said, his eyes on me, but his hand waving out the door. “There's hardly a soul in the building this afternoon.”
“Your office hours signup says that Brittany is coming at two-thirty.” I gave myself a mental pat on the back. I wasn’t as stupid as he seemed to think I was.
He glanced at his watch. “She's late.”
He looked back at me. “I wish I could help, but I didn’t see or hear anything unusual that day.”
I studied him as he nervously played with the stapler on his desk. I threw caution to the wind.
“Is there any reason you would want to kill Samuel Wiggins?”
His eyes shot up to mine. “No. Absolutely not.”
The tap-tap-tap of high heels came down the hall.
“You should probably go now,” he said.
Yes, I probably should. I also noticed he hadn’t told me where he’d been when Samuel Wiggins was being murdered.
Chapter 14
As I got back to the car, I noticed another text from Rodney had come in while I was with the professor.
Why are you making this so hard?
Why was I making it hard? Me? I’m the one?
Right.
My fingers furiously typed out a reply. I read then deleted it and threw my phone back on the seat. I didn’t know where else to go, so I went back to the bookstore. It would close in a couple of hours. Maybe I could sit in one of the wingback chairs and read while I calmed down.
Perla looked up when the tiny bell jingled over my head. A wave of relief washed across her face.
“How did you know?” she asked, thrusting an apron my way. She waved a hand around the crowded bookstore.
“What’s going on?” I asked, pulling the apron over my head.
“Jonathan went home with a headache and Andrea already had a doctor’s appointment,” she said. “Then the romance book club came in on the wrong day when the chick lit book club was already meeting. I was just about to call you.”
Perla gave me instructions and we both dove into the crowd. I rounded up the romance book club ladies to the wingback chairs at the front of the store, setting up extra chairs for them and taking coffee orders.
“Now, ladies, remember you’re in public,” I warned them with a smile. “No heaving bosoms when children are nearby.”
They all laughed and got down to business. I had just finished making their coffee orders when Perla showed up with a tray of cheese and crackers from the back. We set it on an ottoman in the middle of the group. More smiles and thank-yous abounded.
Perla jokingly wiped her brow. “That was close. I owe you dinner.”
I didn’t tell her, but I was grateful for the distraction. There’s no way I could have gone home and been alone tonight. Knowing me, I’d probably give in and call Rodney. And I wasn’t ready to do that yet.
“Misty, you still here?” Perla waved a hand in front of my face, her tone suggesting that wasn’t the first time she’d said my name.
“I’m here.” I pulled her sleeve to follow me to the coffee bar. Then, with our heads close, I told her about my visit to Professor Murphy.
Perla’s eyebrows went up behind her glasses. “Owen Murphy? That man would never hurt a fly. I’ve known him since he was a kid.” She lightly smacked me on the arm. “He’s not a suspect, although he and Samuel hated each other.”
Perla nodded knowingly and went on, answering the question on my face. “It all started when Murph and Samuel used to fight over classroom space when Samuel was an adjunct.”
My eyebrows knitted together. As an elementary teacher, I never had to share my classroom. I did whatever I wanted in it. If I had to share, though, would I get angry enough for murder?
I shook my head. “That’s not enough to kill someone.”
Perla leaned closer. “There’s more. Murph’s parents’ home backs up to Samuel’s. They were always arguing over property lines or something.”
“Then why wouldn’t Murph’s parents have done something?” I asked.
Perla waved away my idea. “They’re both old and feeble. No, if they decided something needed to be done about Samuel Wiggins, they would have Murph take care of it. But they didn’t. Put that idea out of your head. Owen Murphy wouldn’t kill anyone.”
We worked until closing, my mind mulling over what Perla had said about Murph. Is it possible the handsome professor killed Wiggins despite Perla’s protestations?
Perla was ready to make good on her offer to buy dinner, but after our busy afternoon, we were both tired. We headed back to Audra’s house, then got on our phones to search for takeout. I looked up to see Perla staring out the window toward the Stevensons’ house.
“That’s another suspect that we just don't have enough information on yet.”
“Or ... and hear me out,” I said with a sigh. “We have enough information, and the police can take care of it.”
Perla frowned at me.
“I still can't figure out how you consider yourself a mystery writer,” she said. “You don't seem curious about this case at all.”
I blew out an exasperated breath. “Of course, I'm interested,” I told her, my voice rising in pitch. “I'm one of the suspects. I just don’t feel like I have the necessary training to ‘investigate’.” Oh, yes, I did put air quotes around the word.
I leaned toward her. “Actually, I'm trained to be a teacher, not a detective. I have a master’s degree and everything.”
“Pshaw,” Perla waved away my words. “You have all the necessary skills, trust me.”
She turned back to the window. “Tonight, we need to go digging for more information on Lindell Stevenson. I’m going home to change.” She looked me up and down. “You’ll need to wear something darker. You’ll totally be seen in that.”
I looked down at my tan capris and white blouse and grimaced. It was exactly what a teacher would wear on a warm day. In fact, I had worn this very outfit to class many times. “What’s wrong with it?”
Perla looked like I had hit my head. “If Lindell looks out his back window, he’ll see you. Now go change. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”
With that, Perla whisked out the door, leaving me in the kitchen with my mouth open.
Did she really expect me to go snooping around Lindell Stevenson’s back yard?
It turns out, she did.
Chapter 15
Perla showed up back on my front step dressed in black. She pulled a black ski mask over her face. “Do you have one?” she asked.
“Not since I gave up robbing gas stations,” I said.
“You’re hilarious.” She handed me a tin of black shoe polish.
“Now you’re hilarious.” I handed it back. I had pulled on black sweats and a black sweatshirt. Surely, that was enough for whatever Perla planned.
She pursed her lips and put her hands on her hips. “Your face is too bright. He’ll see you.”
“I’ll take my chances,” I said.
“Just a little under the eyes?”
“All right, then can we just get this over with?"
I let her dab a little under each eye, then pushed away her hand.
We headed out the back door, down the stairs and across the yard to Audra’s back gate. Our plan – okay, Perla’s plan – was to traverse the other side of the Wiggins’ fence until we got to Lindell’s house.
“What is it you hope to see exactly?” I whispered as we crept past the Wiggins’ house. “Him bragging to his wife about how he killed Samuel in one fell swoop?”
“That would be nice,” Perla said. “I don't know what I hope to see or hear. I just feel like he’s lying and I want to know why.” She pulled on my arm. “Stay closer to the fence so no one sees us and calls the cops.”
My heart filled with dread. That was all I needed to make this summer the perfect disaster. We got to the gate. Perla stood on tiptoes to unhook the lock on the other side.
“Keep your head down,” she said. “They might have a security camera back here and we don’t want to get caught.”
No, we really didn’t.
“Oof!”
Perla turned just as I fell over a large pile of dirt, landing chest down. The dirt was mostly soft, which made it harder to stand up. I scrambled to my feet, brushing off the dirt and knocking over a plant, its roots pointing upward. I shoved it back into the dirt.
