Fillet of Murder (5 page)

Only three customers had come in for a meal all afternoon. Each one had taken their goodies outside so they could munch on deep-fried haddock and salty chips while they watched the crime scene technicians go about the tasks of photographing and collecting evidence. Judging from the number of people capturing it on video with their phones, it was quite the spectacle. It didn't look to Talia as if the techs were doing anything exciting, but the looky-loos apparently thought otherwise.

“I hope you're right, luvvy,” Bea said wearily. “But since it's almost six and we haven't sold an ounce of food in over an hour, we might as well close early. How about we—”

The door to the eatery abruptly flew open, dispensing a heavyset, fiftyish woman lugging an overstuffed canvas tote. Talia recognized her—it was Whitnee's mom, Connie Parker. She'd been coming in every week or so to see her daughter, each time thundering through the eatery as if she owned the place. She always devised some dire excuse why she needed to talk to Whitnee, who kept her cell turned off during working hours.

Today the woman's gray-streaked hair stuck out from her head like the tines of an old rake. Beneath an open peacoat that had seen better decades, she wore a uniform-style polyester top that matched her pink polyester pants. Connie moved across the dining area, her thighs making a swish sound with each stride. “Where's my Whitnee?” she bleated. “Is she okay? I heard somebody got murdered right here in this plaza!”

Not in time, Talia moved toward the dining area with the
intention of cutting her off at the pass. Connie edged around the aquamarine counter and bumped past her as if she were a gnat, her gargantuan tote leading the way.

Whitnee's face reddened. “Ma, what are you doing here? I told you, you can't keep coming in here. You're gonna get me fired!”

“Then why didn't you call me? Didn't you get the messages I left on your phone?” Connie dropped her tote and threw both arms around her daughter. “There's a murderer loose. You coulda been killed!”

“I'm fine, and I told you, Ma, I can't talk on the phone when I'm working.” Whitnee wriggled out of her mom's grasp. “You gotta go now, okay? You're embarrassing me.”

“Okay, okay, so long as you're all right.” Connie sent an exasperated glance in Talia's direction. “I guess it's a crime to worry about my daughter now,” she huffed.

“You have every right to worry,” Talia said kindly but with a firm undertone. “But I assure you that Bea, Whitnee, and I all look out for one another. We'll be sure Whitnee gets to her car safely. You have my word.” She moved closer to Connie to encourage a swift departure.

“Yeah, yeah, all right. I can take a hint.” Connie squeezed around the edge of the counter and trekked back into the dining area. Talia followed close behind to be sure she didn't try an end run back into the kitchen.

“Kids,” Connie muttered. “I popped out three, and only one of 'em turned out decent. That would be Whitnee, in case you're wondering which one, and today even she's givin' me grief. She's a good girl, though,
most
of the time.” She swiveled and shot a hard look at her daughter. “My other two—the both of 'em ought to join Deadbeats Anonymous. Can you believe my youngest never worked a day in his life?
He sits in his room playin' with his a-Pad all day. God knows where him and his brother go at night, but at least they go.”

Talia went to the door to open it for her, but Connie hadn't quite finished her monologue.

“Well, at least Whitnee's going to school,” Connie burbled on. “If she can keep comin' up with the tuition, that is. 'Course I heard some bosses repay their employees for the money they spend on college.” Her small brown eyes homed in on Bea, who'd stood speechless during the entire Connie invasion. “I don't suppose you have any sort of deal like that?” she said sourly.

Bea shook herself out of her stunned silence. “I'm afraid not, Mrs. Parker. We're just a small—”

“Hey, never mind that Mrs. Parker stuff. It's Connie, okay? Anyhoo, I gotta go. Time to go clean the zoo. Night shift is a bee-yotch, if you catch my drift. No rest for the weary, huh? You just make sure my girl gets to her car like you promised.”

Talia saw Bea let out a quiet breath of relief after Connie left. Whitnee looked as if she wanted the floor to swallow her in one giant gulp. Talia felt for the girl.

“I'm really sorry,” Whitnee said in a tiny voice. “She's, like, a major worrywart, but she means well.”

“Aw, that's okay, luvvy,” Bea said. Fatigue had etched dark lines around her eyes. “She's a mum. She has a right to worry. Look, we're going to close up shop now. It's been a terrible day, a simply horrid one. I think we're all entitled to an early night.”

“Can't argue with that,” Talia said. After closing, she planned to head straight next door to Sage & Seaweed—the specialty bath and body shop adjacent to Lambert's. The owner, Suzy Sato, imported most of her products from
England, and the selection of scented bath salts was mind-blowing. The prices made Talia a little light-headed, too, but she reminded herself that every woman deserved a bit of luxury on occasion. A long soak in a scented tub later would go a long way toward soothing her frazzled nerves. The day she'd had would surely warm the chambers of the devil's heart.

They all pitched in to finish putting away the perishables. After Talia wiped down all the surfaces with lime-scented cleaner, Bea locked the door and they left. In keeping with her promise to Connie, Talia walked both Bea and Whitnee to their cars, which were parked in the town lot adjacent to Peggy's Bakery. The cold breeze of late afternoon had turned into a biting wind, but the sky was clear and scattered with stars.

“You watch who's around you,” Bea admonished, sliding into her mud-brown vintage Datsun. “Until the coppers catch the killer, we could all be in danger. Where's your car?”

“I parked behind the lighting shop this morning, remember?”

“Dear God, luvvy, you're not walking back there alone. Hop in.”

Knowing it would be futile to protest, Talia accepted the ride. She hadn't told Bea she planned to visit the bath and body shop—it would only worry her needlessly to think Talia was tromping around the arcade alone.

It was freezing inside the Datsun. Talia rubbed the arms of her jacket. The clunker didn't heat up very quickly, but Bea loved the old car. She'd bought it when she first immigrated to Massachusetts from the UK, and she refused to give it up.

Bea drove around the block and stopped behind the Fiat,
the headlights of the Datsun illuminating the quiet, darkened street. “Flash your lights when you get in your car,” she told Talia. “And please be careful, luv, okay? There's a killer out there.”

Talia leaned over and gave her friend a quick hug. She started the Fiat and flashed her headlamps, and Bea tooted and pulled away. Warm air blew out of the vents almost instantly. She rubbed her hands together to squeeze some warmth into them. All at once, she realized that Turnbull's Caddy was still parked beside her. Had the police realized it belonged to him? How long would they leave it there?

She drove around the block, this time snaring a spot on Main Street, only a pebble's throw from the arcade. Sage & Seaweed was one of the two shops closest to Main. A fast walk would take her there in less than a minute.

Talia locked the Fiat and scooted across the cobblestone to the bath shop. A shiver raced up her arms. She told herself it was from the cold. She didn't believe for a moment that she was in any danger.

Someone had wanted Phil Turnbull dead. It was as simple as that.

Wasn't it?

The spicy aromas of pumpkin, cinnamon, and vanilla swirled around Talia, enveloping her in a cloud of sensory delight. She inhaled slowly, each breath drawing her closer to the mythical Shangri-la. She began to feel lighter, more at peace. She now understood the attraction of aromatherapy. Sage & Seaweed had to be the best-smelling shop on the planet.

Well, except for Lambert's when the deep fry was in high gear, and the fish and the chips were sizzling in the baskets.

“Talia!” Suzy Sato dashed out from behind the long glass counter that ran along a portion of the rear wall. Springy reddish curls bounced around Suzy's head like mini Slinkys. She grabbed Talia and pulled her into a hug, her sky-blue eyes burning with questions. “I heard about you and Bea finding Turnbull,” Suzy gushed. “My word, you poor thing.
Are you okay? You must be wiped. Come over here and tell me all about it.” She took Talia's hand and tugged her toward the back of the store. “Sit,” she said, pointing at one of the padded stools in front of the counter.

Inwardly, Talia groaned. She'd come in here to get away from the murder, not to talk about it. She'd already had to tell the awful story to both her mom and dad. When she'd talked to them earlier that afternoon, it had taken the better part of twenty minutes to convince her agitated mother that she wasn't headed to the pokey.

Suzy sidled around the other side of the counter, plopped onto her own stool, and plunked both elbows atop the glass. She gaped at Talia. “I heard Phil's whole
head
was nearly severed, that when you found him it was hanging by a
tendon
!” She gave a dramatic shudder, her eyes rolling back in her head.

“Suzy, there was no severing.” Where did she hear such a thing? “And besides, I only caught a momentary glimpse. Once I realized he was, you know, gone, I pushed Bea out of the room and called nine-one-one. I hardly saw anything.”

Okay, that part was a bit of a fib. But she had no intention of blabbing about the crime scene to Suzy, who would no doubt broadcast it on Facebook. Plus, the police had cautioned her against telling anyone what she saw. She did not need to add any more troubles to her day.

“But was there blood, right? Lots of it, I'll bet.” Suzy clasped both hands against her ample chest. “Oh, it must have been horrible, simply terrifying. I'd probably have
fainted
if I'd been the one who found him.”

Luckily, Talia wasn't the fainting type. She smiled sweetly at Suzy. “Anyway, Suzy, enough about the murder. I came
in for some nice relaxing bath oil, or bubbles, or whatever you recommend. Tonight I want to put this entire day out of my head and have a long, luxurious soak in the tub.”

Seemingly mollified, Suzy instantly morphed into sales mode. “Oh, I have just the thing! I'm so glad you came by. I've been experimenting with oils and creams, and I've designed my own blend of pumpkin bath oil. Perfect for the season, right?”

“Is that the luscious scent I detected when I walked in?”

Suzy grinned. “Yup. One of them.” She slid aside one of the cabinet doors on her side of the counter. She reached inside and carefully removed a tall bottle filled with a thick amber liquid. “Now smell this,” she said, removing the silver cap and waving the bottle under Talia's nose.

Talia closed her eyes and breathed in the scent. “Mmmm, that's heavenly. Did you say you made it yourself?”

“I did. I've been taking classes online. Eventually I want to have my own line of bath products, so I'm trying out some of the methods I learned.” Suzy's blue eyes beamed. “I want you to take this bottle home and tell me what you think after you've tried it. No charge.”

“Oh no, I couldn't—”

“I insist. You'll be my first tester.” Suzy smiled, her eyes lighting up. Talia saw how excited she was about the prospect of creating her own product line.

“Thanks, Suzy. I'll look forward to my bath tonight.”

As Suzy fussed with placing the bottle in a salmon-colored bag lined with a nest of silver tissue, Talia perused the various lip glosses perched on a circular display. She didn't want to leave with only a freebie—the least she could do was support Bea's neighboring merchant. Although she
hadn't known Suzy all that long, she'd always felt a kind of camaraderie with the thirtysomething woman. And Suzy had always treated Talia as if they were the best of buds.

After narrowing down her choices, Talia snagged two tubes of seasonal gloss—a Vampire Smooch and a Butternut Squash. She dug out her wallet and pulled out a twenty. “Can I ask you something, Suzy?”

“Sure!” Suzy tucked the lip glosses into the bag with the bath oil.

“Phil Turnbull came into Lambert's on Wednesday. He told us you were on board with signing the petition against the comic book store. According to him, only Bea and Jim Jepson were the holdouts, and he was sure Jepson was going to cave.”

Suzy swallowed, and her face flushed red. “That's . . . not true. I never told him I would sign.” Avoiding Talia's gaze, she went back to fussing with the silver tissue. “Besides, why would I object to a comic book store?”

Talia chewed her lip. Was Suzy telling the truth? She could have sworn she saw Suzy's pupils dilate when she asked her the question. She hadn't meant to trap her in a lie—she was genuinely trying to find out if Turnbull had been deceiving Bea.

“No, you wouldn't, of course. Thanks, Suzy. I was pretty sure Turnbull was lying, but I just wanted to get your take on it.”

The door opened and two customers strolled in. From their ages, Talia surmised they were a mom and her teenaged daughter. Since it was close to seven, they wouldn't have long to shop. But it gave Talia a chance to escape without embarrassing Suzy any further.

Suzy's face relaxed when she saw her new visitors. She pushed the bag across the counter toward Talia. “Let me know how you like the bath oil, okay?”

•   •   •

Talia stepped outside onto the cobblestone plaza. A white half-moon framed by a smattering of twinkling lights hung low in the eastern sky. Feeling instantly chilly, she tucked her scarf more tightly around her neck. In the window of Jepson's Pottery, a clay jack-o'-lantern grinned wickedly. Jim Jepson—Talia's high school geometry teacher turned potter—was no doubt working late.

The arcade was otherwise cloaked in darkness. The police tape, about the only thing visible on the darkened arcade, still stretched across the front of Classic Radiance like a long yellow snake.

Anxious to get home, at least to Nana's home, Talia had started toward her car when she spied someone emerging onto the rear of the plaza where Time for Tea, a specialty tea shop, sat perpendicular to the lighting store. Something about the person's shape suggested “female,” but from this distance she couldn't be sure. The person was slight, and appeared to be clothed entirely in black.

Oh Lordy, it looked like Bea. She must have circled the block and parked behind the arcade so she could return to the scene and snoop.

But why? Surely she wouldn't be able to get in.

Talia watched Bea fast-walk toward Turnbull's shop and duck under the crime scene tape. Whatever her friend had in mind, it was nothing short of insane.

Talia shifted her polka-dotted Keds into third gear and raced across the cobblestone. Following Bea's lead, she
dipped under the yellow tape and rounded the corner of the lighting store. She was just in time to see her friend punch at the keypad adjacent to the rear entrance.

Which was crazy. Bea couldn't possibly know Turnbull's entry code.

Talia felt her jaw drop when the door swung inward. She saw Bea scurry inside. As the door crawled to a slow close on its hydraulic hinge, Talia rushed for it. She caught it a nanosecond before it would have slammed shut, and then darted inside. A whiff of honeysuckle waltzed on the air, and in that fraction of a second she knew.

It wasn't Bea.

The door closed behind her with a soft click. Heart crashing in her chest, Talia dropped into a low crouch. The beam from a slender flashlight bounced over one of the walls. She held her breath, praying one of the bounces wouldn't stray to where she was huddled. All at once, she realized where she was—Turnbull's office.

Crickets and crumpets, not again!

Except that it made perfect sense. His office was located at the rear of the store, and that's exactly where she was.

Now, however, she was trapped. Her best hope was to hide until the intruder left, and then get the heck out of there. To her right, she made out the vague outline of a file cabinet. Still scrunched into a low stoop, she inched over to it. Her legs cramped painfully, but she kept going until—

Ach. The toe of her sneaker smacked something solid, making a dull thunk sound. Still clutching the bag from the bath shop, Talia dove behind the file cabinet. Her left hand skidded over something sharp—a pin? She palmed it just as a harsh fluorescent light flooded the room.

The intruder had found the wall switch.

Heart pounding like a jackhammer, Talia turned slowly. She stared up at the raven-haired woman with the flawless skin, the stunning blue eyes, and the perfectly manicured fingers curled around a silver gun. The woman pocketed her penlight so she could concentrate on the firearm, which she now gripped with both hands.

Talia's insides turned into one big jelly roll. “Jill Follansbee,” she rasped. “What are you doing here? You killed Phil Turnbull, didn't you?”