Crack Of Death (A Rainy Day Mystery Book 3) Read online

  The sliding doors to the grocery store opened and I walked through, scanning the back of the store to make sure I remembered where the pharmacy was located. It was tucked in the back, right behind the aisles of hair care and vitamins. I headed that direction, holding the envelope tight between my hands. The last thing I wanted to do right then was make copies and hang signs for the Dorothy Days festival. I wanted to focus instead on solving Greta’s murder—if that’s what it was—and clearing my name with the sheriff.

  A young man who didn’t look older than thirteen was manning the pharmacy counter. His thick wavy hair hung in front of his eyes and he sported a small stud in both ears. He gave me an uncertain look as I approached. “Are you here to pick up a prescription? Because I’m just filling in while Martha is on break.”

  I shook my head and set the manila envelope on the counter. “No. I just need copies. Two hundred, please.”

  He blanched. “Uh, I don’t know how to work the copier.”

  I bit back a sigh. “Don’t you just put it through the feeder and type in how many copies you want?”

  He gave me a blank look. “I don’t know.” He glanced over his shoulder and I saw the copier. It was similar to the one we’d had in Mack’s office. “I’ve never used it before.”

  “Well, I have,” I told him. “We had the same one in the office I used to work at. Mind if I take a peek at it and get it set up? I’m kind of in a hurry.”

  “Sure, I don’t care.” He motioned for me to step behind the counter and I did, bringing the envelope with me.

  The machine was the exact same model as the one in Mack’s office. I slotted the paper in the copier and pressed the home button. The screen lit up and I tapped in the number of copies I needed.

  I watched as the copier sucked in the sheet of paper and began to spit out pages. With any luck, I’d be finished in less than five minutes, and on my way to hanging them in store windows.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing?” a stern female voice asked.

  I whipped around.

  The boy who’d let me behind the counter was standing next to the register, his hands up in the air in a gesture of innocence. But the woman, a middle-aged clerk with a graying bob, was glaring at me, not him.

  “Me?” I asked, pointing to myself. “I’m just making copies. He said he didn’t know how to do it so I offered to do it myself.”

  “You are in the pharmacy,” she announced. “You do not have permission to be here.”

  I glanced around me. I was standing next to the copy machine, which was nowhere near the prescription medication. It wasn’t like I’d marched over and helped myself to a bottle of pain pills.

  “I’m sorry,” I said as I backed away from the copier. “I…I’ll just let it finish copying.”

  The woman’s gaze darted from me to the white bags slotted in bins behind the register. I assumed they were prescriptions ready to be picked up.

  She zeroed in on the boy again. “Have you been watching her the whole time?”

  He nodded mutely, his eyes wide.

  “Show me your bag,” she demanded.

  “My what?” I held up the empty manila folder. “I just have this.”

  “No, I mean your bag,” she said, motioning to my purse. “Show me what’s inside.”

  On instinct, I clutched it to my side. “Why do I need to do that? He—” I glanced at the kid’s nametag—“Connor has been with me the whole time. I didn’t take anything. I’m literally just making copies for the town festival. Dorothy Days,” I added helpfully.

  But she wasn’t persuaded. Her eyes narrowed. “The sheriff told me to keep an eye on you,” she murmured under her breath.

  I froze. “What?”

  She straightened, and had the decency to look away. Clearly, she hadn’t meant to say that out loud…or at least she hadn’t intended for me to hear them.

  “What does the sheriff have to do with this?” I asked, frowning.

  “Nothing,” she said quickly. “You…you need to go!”

  I planted my hands on my hips. “I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on.”

  The woman’s eyes grew bigger and she scowled. “Then I have no choice but to call Sheriff Lewis himself.”

  Connor held up his hand. “Chill, Martha,” he said to the woman. “She really was just making copies. I was here the whole time.”

  “Yeah, and I told you to just watch the register, not let some criminal behind the counter,” she hissed.

  “I am not a criminal!” My cheeks were hot, and my temper was beginning to flare even hotter.

  The machine quieted and Connor moved toward it, scooping up the copies. “Here,” he said, handing them to me.

  My hands were shaking as I reached out to take them. But I didn’t leave.

  Connor turned to me with pleading eyes. “Come on, lady. You got your copies.”

  I did. I’d gotten my copies. But I’d also gotten some questions…questions I wanted answers to.

  Martha folded her arms across her ample chest. “Well, what are you waiting for? Go! And don’t let me catch you back here again.”

  Someone behind us cleared his throat. We all turned. A man wearing a pinstriped shirt and black tie eyed us with interest. I recognized him immediately as the manager of Toby’s.

  “Is everything okay here?” he asked pleasantly.

  Martha’s expression wavered. “Everything is fine,” she said reluctantly. “Miss Day was just leaving.”

  I had two choices. I could stay and keep demanding answers, which would create a scene and inevitably involve the sheriff, and potentially result in me never being able to shop at Toby’s again, or I could cut my losses and leave.

  I nodded. “Yep, leaving now.”

  I turned on my heel and without a glance back at them, headed for the door. My head was swimming with questions as I made my way across the parking lot. I’d just gotten to my car and was unlocking the door when someone stopped me.

  It was Connor.

  He smiled sheepishly at me. “Sorry about that,” he said. “Martha’s wound pretty tight. She’s harmless, though.”

  She hadn’t looked harmless to me.

  “Sorry if I got you in trouble,” I said to him. “I really did just need to make these copies.”

  “I know.” He toed the parking lot with his shoe. “I probably should have waited until she got back to help you with the copy machine.”

  “I hope it doesn’t cause problems for you. And if it does, I’m sorry.”

  He grinned. “Eh, it’s just a summer job. I’m heading back to UVA in a few days, anyway.”

  “Well, that’s good, then.” I was glad he wouldn’t suffer any real consequences from letting me behind the counter.

  I set the stack of flyers down on the passenger seat and was just sliding into my own seat when Connor cleared his throat, bringing my attention back to him.

  “The sheriff came by the other day, asking about you,” he said. He glanced around the parking lot as he spoke, almost as if he were making sure no one else was listening.

  I tried my best to remain calm. “He did?”

  Connor nodded. “Yeah. He was talking to Martha. She’s not the pharmacist or anything, but she fills some of the prescriptions and runs the counter. She’s like the assistant or something.”

  I waited, not too patiently, for him to continue.

  “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but, well, I was stocking antacids by the counter and the sheriff wasn’t exactly quiet.”

  I swallowed. “What did you hear?”

  Connor glanced around again. “He was asking if you’d been to the pharmacy lately. I…I know it was you because he asked about you by name. And, well, everyone in town sort of knows who you are.”

  I knew this, but it still felt uncomfortable hearing it.

  “He was asking about a certain kind of pill. I didn’t get the name. And that it had been used in a crime. I guess someone overdosed?”

>   I took a deep, shaky breath.

  Greta.

  “Was that all he said?” I managed to ask.

  Connor offered an apologetic smile. “I don’t know. There might have been more but some kid dropped a jar of pickles on Aisle 3 and I had to go clean it up.”

  “Okay,” I said. I was trying to breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, trying to take those breaths that would quell the panic rising up inside of me. “Thanks for letting me know.”

  “Sure,” Connor said, nodding. His mop of hair fell back into his eyes with the gesture and he pushed it off his forehead. “Sorry about everything back there. But hey, at least you got your copies for free.”

  I managed a weak smile.

  I wasn’t thinking about free copies of a flyer.

  I was panicking over how to keep myself free from ending up in jail for a murder I didn’t commit.

  TWENTY FIVE

  I drove straight back to Savannah Springs’ house.

  She looked surprised when she answered the door, but she quickly planted a sunny smile on her face.

  “Rainy! What a surprise,” she said. “I thought you were off to make copies.”

  “I was,” I told her. “I just had a couple of questions for you.”

  “Oh, okay,” she said, straightening. “What can I help you with?”

  “How well did you know Greta Hedley?”

  Her brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

  “Your neighbor,” I continued. “She lives about a block up. Elderly lady on the corner lot.” I gave a nod toward the right direction. “She died a few days ago, her funeral was on Friday…”

  “Yes, yes, I know,” Savannah said, her brow still wrinkled. “I was there.” I guess I had missed her, just as I’d thought. “What does this have to do with Dorothy Days?” she asked.

  “Not a thing,” I said bluntly.

  She blinked. “I’m not sure I understand…”

  “Can you please just answer the question?” I smiled. “Pretty please?”

  Savannah ran a hand through her hair and looked at me. “I knew Greta. Not well, though. She usually had an entry in the quilt competition, but she never volunteered. A shame, because we have a lot of things seniors can do to help make the festival a success.”

  “Did you see anything suspicious over the last couple of weeks? Anything out of the ordinary?”

  She frowned. “No, not that I can think of.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you asking all of these questions?”

  It didn’t take me long to come up with a reason.

  “I’m a private investigator,” I told her.

  Her blue eyes widened. “You are? So the rumors are true?”

  I didn’t respond to her question. I actually wasn’t lying: I was privately investigating Greta’s death. No, I didn’t have a license, and no, I didn’t have a paying client, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t looking into Greta’s death. At the very least, my statement rang true just on pure definition of my actions.

  “So there was nothing unusual? Nothing that caught your attention?”

  Savannah thought for a minute. “Not really,” she finally said. “I don’t snoop on my neighbors, so it’s not like I’m constantly watching their houses or anything.” She paused. “I mean, I saw people coming and going sometimes, but that’s pretty typical, especially for someone who doesn’t really leave the house. People come to them, you know?”

  “Who did you see?”

  “Oh, the people you’d expect,” she said. She began rattling off names. “Heidi, Carol, George, Lila.”

  I stopped her. “Lila?”

  Savannah looked a little surprised, and she nodded.

  “What was she doing over there?” I couldn’t think of a single reason Lila would go over to visit Greta, considering they were not friendly toward each other.

  Savannah shrugged. “I don’t know. I figured it had something to do with quilting, especially with Lila back in town.” She gave me a disapproving look. “She’s another one who hasn’t volunteered for Dorothy Days. It’s so discouraging when people take part in the activities but don’t give their time—”

  I cut her off. “When did she come by? What day?”

  Savannah twisted her mouth, thinking. Finally, she let out a sigh. “I don’t know. Maybe last Monday? Sunday? I can’t remember.”

  “And you saw her come by? You saw her enter the house?” I tried not to sound too excited, but this had the potential to be the break I needed. If I could go to the sheriff and tell him I had concrete evidence that Lila had visited Greta just prior to her death, and that George had also been sneaking around and had the ability to get into the house unannounced, then maybe, just maybe, he’d start looking at real suspects and stop hounding me.

  “No,” Savannah said, shaking her head and bursting my bubble with a single word.

  “No?” I asked. Maybe she wasn’t remembering correctly. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure,” she said. “I was mowing. I had to stop to put more gas in and I saw Lila on the sidewalk. Greta was out there, too, which was unusual because she didn’t leave the house much.”

  “What were they doing?”

  “I couldn’t tell,” Savannah said. She shrugged and then leaned against the doorframe. “I knew they were talking because I could hear them, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying.”

  My shoulders drooped. I’d been hoping for some little tidbit, something that I could grab onto and bring to the sheriff. A simple visit from Lila wasn’t going to provide that.

  Savannah’s eyes refocused on me and I felt my pulse hitch up a notch. “What?” I asked. “Is there something else? Something you remember?”

  “I don’t know,” she said slowly. “I was starting the lawnmower again, after I’d gotten it filled back up. And…I thought I heard Greta yell something.”

  I waited, even though I was tempted to try to claw the words right out of her mouth.

  “I’m not entirely sure I heard the right words,” she said, the frown back in place. “But I think she said something like ‘over my dead body.’”

  I tried to remain calm. “You heard her say that? Greta?”

  “I think so,” she said carefully. “I mean, I wasn’t really paying attention, but I do remember that it was odd seeing Greta outside, and I thought it was weird that she yelled at Lila. I know they’ve had some friendly feuds over the quilt competition, but that’s always been in good fun, right?”

  I knew the history between Lila and Greta, thanks to Carol, but apparently it wasn’t common knowledge to everyone; well, at least not to Savannah Springs.

  “Sure,” I said, nodding. “Good fun. Is there anything else you remember?”

  She thought for a minute, then shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.” She gave me a rueful look. “I’m sure that doesn’t help very much, does it?”

  “Every little bit of information helps,” I told her.

  Especially information that put Lila at the scene of the crime.

  Because it just might help me clear my name.

  TWENTY SIX

  I walked back to my car, my brain spinning.

  I had two solid suspects in Greta’s case. Two people who had motive to harm her, and two people who had been placed at the scene in the days leading up to her death. George had a key so he could let himself in whenever he wanted. And Lila had been seen arguing, loudly, with Greta a day before she died.

  I turned the car on and let the air conditioning cool my heated skin. My hands gripped the steering wheel, even though I hadn’t shifted into drive yet. I was still thinking.

  What could I do with the information I had? Who would believe me? In any other situation, the answer would have been clear: talk to the police.

  But this wasn’t any situation: this was me, living in Latney, with a sheriff who was the sole face of law enforcement and who had his own personal vendetta against me.

  I closed my eyes. I could ask to speak to Teddy, t
he deputy who had accompanied the sheriff when he’d responded to the call about Greta. Maybe I could share what I knew with him, and then hope that he would pass it along to Sheriff Lewis.

  I hesitated for a minute before finally reaching into my purse and digging out my phone. I knew it was Sunday and didn’t expect anyone to pick up, but I still had my fingers crossed that someone might be there, or that an answering service might at least put me through to a voicemail.

  “Bueller County sheriff,” a woman’s voice said.

  I was pretty sure it was Trudy, the woman I’d met the day I’d gone to the sheriff’s office when Leslie had been missing.

  I didn’t identify myself. “Hi, I was wondering if Teddy was available?” I realized then that I didn’t know his last name.

  “Sorry, dear, he’s not in, it being Sunday and all,” Trudy said.

  “I didn’t know the office was open on weekends,” I admitted.

  “We have office hours every day, ma’am. You must be new to the county?” I didn’t answer and after a pause, she continued. “May I take a message or transfer you to someone else?”

  “Thanks, but I really need to speak with him,” I said.

  “Well, I’m afraid you’re out of luck for the next few days,” she said. “He’s on a spelunking tour.”

  “A what?”

  “Oh, you know,” Trudy said, “one of those cave adventures. He’s over in West Virginia, and isn’t due back for a couple of days.”

  I swallowed my disappointment. “Is there someone else I can talk to?”

  “Do you need to report a crime?” Trudy asked, her tone changing.

  “No,” I said quickly. “I just…I was just hoping to discuss something with someone there.”

  “Well, the sheriff is available,” Trudy said brightly. “He always comes in after church for a couple of hours. Paperwork and stuff. He was actually out working a case earlier today. Talk about dedication!” She just kept rattling on. “Why don’t I transfer you? Nothing better than speaking with the head honcho, now is there?”

  Before I could respond, her voice cut off and was replaced by Muzak music. When I realized she was patching me through, I quickly ended the call and tossed the phone on my purse.