Chapter Three
I’m up with just enough time for coffee before leaving for the police station. I’m starving but will be seeing Jakob in a while, so I sit at the teeny table watching the rain dribble down the windows, drinking fresh-brewed coffee and nibbling on a leftover slice of pizza. Christine supplied all sorts of food and drink for me while I houseboat-sit. The coffee was roasted here in town and it’s fantastic.
The rain is still making a decisive rat-a-tat-tat on the roof when I’m ready to leave. Wisely, Diablo opts to stay indoors. I leave the sliding door to the deck open in case he changes his mind. It’s a bit over two miles to town and usually I walk, but I climb into raingear and take the bike today.
Soon I pull up behind the police station, which adjoins the parking lot for Christine’s Pizza. Thankfully the restaurant remained open while she’s away. Sure, she left me lots of food as payment for houseboat-sitting, but really, when the world’s best pizza is available, why cook?
Eddie’s car is here, parked in the same place as last night, so he probably never went home. The dispatcher at the computer behind the bulletproof glass is obviously expecting me. She buzzes the door open and waves me back to Eddie’s office. His desk, as always during an open investigation, is piled high with paperwork. A stack of to-go boxes on the nearest corner teeters. Before sitting, I gather it up and take it out front to the trash.
“Since when did you turn into Suzie Homemaker?” he asks.
“I guess you’ve been so engrossed—” I gesture at the collection of paperwork— “that you didn’t notice the smell. What did you have to eat anyway?”
He doesn’t answer. Just shoves the pad of statement forms at me. I sit waiting for him to pass across a pen. Normally I’d get one myself, but there is a sort of orderliness to the chaos on the desktop and I don’t want to disturb it. I realize he’s waiting for me to begin, and make an exaggerated glance at the pad. His little brain-hamster finally gets the wheel moving and he hands me a pen. As I go to work—no explanation needed from him—I’ve done this before, the dispatcher arrives with Anna and three coffees.
There are dark circles around my friend’s eyes. She frowns at me. “How the hell do you manage to look so wide awake?”
Now it’s Eddie’s turn to frown aimed at Anna. “Why do I think you didn’t go straight home last night?”
“Now, Chief—” She flutters her eyes at him— “why would you think something like that?”
He merely rolls his eyes, pulls over a folder, which has either blood or ketchup stains on the tab, and opens it to read.
Anna and I finish our reports quickly. Eddie’s engrossed in his work and doesn’t look up as we leave. I want to talk to him, but would rather do it when we’re alone.
We cross to the Green—the large rectangle of park bisecting East and West Main Streets—and walk to Really Good Wood-Fired Coffee Shop. Known as Really Good to the locals, it’s run by Isaac Thurston, six feet tall with the best haircuts ever. Never is there a strand out of place.
He sees us coming, and rushes around the counter to pull me into a hug. “I heard what happened last night. Terrible.” He releases me and goes back to the counter. “What’re you having ladies?” He chuckles. “Besides coffee, that is.”
Really Good serves the best coffee. And he makes some of the most unusual food recipes. Like my favorite: basil and sun-dried tomato bread dotted with the melting butter served with an aromatic cheese and brown olive relish. I know. Sounds strange, but it’s delish. I have it most every time I’m here. Isaac keep saying he’s going to do something with peanut butter—another of my faves—I’m waiting.
Without being asked, he delivers coffees and wedges of blackberry pistachio baklava. I’ve had these before and they’re as Anna claims ‘to die for’ which, under the circumstances, is something she should not say out loud.
Since there are no other customers right now, Isaac grabs himself some coffee and sits with us. “What do you think about Nona’s death?” he asks.
Leave it to Anna, she answers with, “You mean her murder.”
He rakes fingers through the blond hair—and yes, it drops right back into place—then narrows his eyes. “How would you know it’s murder—” He checks his watch— “less than twelve hours after it happens?”
“You forget,” Anna says, “we were there.”
For a moment, he connects the mental Moore-family dots then turns to me. Without waiting for his question, I explain, “Diablo is family and I’m his caretaker.”
For some reason, this makes Anna laugh.
“So,” Isaac continues, “what happened? Did you see anything?”
“She was electrocuted.” This comes from Anna too as I’m busy stuffing my cheeks. “Someone rigged her guitar so, as soon as she hit the first string…poof.”
Isaac’s blue eyes go grey.
“Then…she lit up like a Christmas tree.” Doesn’t she know when to stop?
Isaac must be thinking the same thing because his gaze roves to me. I make sure to be looking at the food. He sips his coffee, then says, “I know a lot of people didn’t care for her. She had an abrasive side.”
“You got that right.”
“But she had a rough life. Abusive father. They finally escaped from him, but ended up living on the streets for a while.”
“Does she have siblings?” I ask.
“Two brothers. From what she told me, she hasn’t seen any of them since coming here.”
“I wonder why she broke touch with all of them. I mean, I can see not speaking to the father, but…”
“Apparently it’s got to do with money. Way back when the band first formed, they had an agent interested. Even signed with a label. Her family started pressing her for money. Really, they hadn’t even put out their first song yet and they were hounding her.” The front door opens. Isaac slaps the table and gets to his feet.
“Wow,” I whisper. I thought I had family issues. I don’t say that part out loud.
“Seems like she carried that bad karma through her life,” Anna says, “Did you know she was divorced four times?”
“You’re saying because of her past she kept choosing the wrong men.”
“Correct.”
“Always looking for someone to love her.”
Anna nods, chewing.
“All she needed to do was love herself.”
Anna’s face lights up. She brushes her flop of hair from her left eye. “That was very profound. You know that?”
I shrug. Not so profound, really. It’s something I fight against all the time. I’m lucky though; I understand what I need. I’m a constant work in progress.
Fergus enters. He’s rumpled and unshaven—wearing the same clothes as last night. “Good morning, ladies.” He nods toward the front where Isaac is busy prepping a to-go order. “Surprised you’re up and about this morning.”
“We had to write out a report for the cops,” I say.
He gives a knowing nod. “Sad about Mrs. Williamson. I really liked the lady. She had chutzpah.”
It’s the first time I’ve heard the term and lift my brows at him.
Anna responds with, “Balls. She had balls.”
Fergus laughs and continues on to his table at the back. “Will you be working on the case?”
I turn to see he’s speaking to me. “I—”
Anna is laughing. “Do dogs have fleas?”
Rather than answer, I ask, “So, you knew Nona well?”
“She…um…let’s just say she has been very helpful to me at times.”
I don’t know anything about him, really. Only what people say, but I mostly choose to ignore rumors and innuendoes. They’re rarely positive.
“Do you know anyone who’d want her dead?” I ask.
He gives an elaborate shrug. “She’s ruffled some feathers, I can say that, but nothing I’m aware that warrants murder. I can only speak to what I know personally.” He picks up his breakfast sandwich, but says over the top of it. “Someone you might want to speak with is Madison.” He lumbers to his feet, picking up his food and drink. As he rounds the front counter, he calls to Isaac. “I just remembered I have an appointment. Can you bag this to-go?”
“Madison?” I ask Anna.
“Can’t see a friendship between those two. Madison Jackson is a no-nonsense lady and Nona is—was—ah…wasn’t.”
I say under my breath, “Fergus didn’t mention they were friends.”