“It doesn’t matter if you’re interested. It’s still none of your business.”

  “You’re here for them, aren’t you? You think you can move in on my turf?”

  “It’s not your turf, Radisson. We’ve spoken about this before,” Jerry Lee said, and folded his arms. He lifted his chin, but it wobbled slightly. “You won’t bully me. I’m not afraid of you.”

  “You should be, boy. I can buy your whole operation with a single call to my personal banker. Now, I highly suggest you turn around and go back where you came from. Terrible Two’s Antiques is my territory now.”

  Jerry huffed and puffed. “I—I—”

  I drew back and walked to the metal staircase that led to the side of the twins’ upstairs apartment, then hopped onto it and ran on the spot, clanging my feet as much as possible. I strode down again and around the corner.

  William had already sped off down the street, his coat tails flapping. Jerry remained exactly where he’d been moments before.

  “Oh hi, Jerry, how are you today? How was speaking to the cops?” I asked, cheerily.

  “It was fine. Fine, the … cops were fine. They asked me questions and I answered them.” He looked over his shoulder. “No problems.”

  “Hey, you look pale. You need to talk about anything?” I took hold of his forearm.

  “No, no. I’m OK. I just—”

  “I heard what he said, Jerry.”

  “What?” His gaze snapped up and met mine. “Oh, William? Oh he was just being … William.”

  “Rude was how I would have put it. You two know each other well?” I released him and stepped back, so he wouldn’t feel crowded. If Jerry and William knew each other, it was yet another thing William had lied to me about.

  “I wouldn’t say well,” Jerry replied, quickly. “We run into each other from time-to-time, at auctions or sales and so on. Relatively new to the game. He procures antiques and sells them, as well. Mostly to collectors, but it seems he’s found Terrible Two’s Antiques and wants to claim them for himself.”

  “But you surely won’t let him do that.”

  “No, I won’t.” Jerry straightened his ascot. “I most certainly will not. This isn’t the first time we’ve had a bidding war and it won’t be the last.”

  “Bidding for what?”

  “Everything from antiques to paintings to jewelry.” Jerry Lee shrugged. “It’s just part of the business.” The color had returned to his face, at last, and he inhaled sharply, then squared his shoulders. “Now, I’m going to head up the stairs for my meeting with the twins.”

  “You do that.” I gave him an encouraging double thumbs up.

  “I will.” Jerry walked around the corner, and his footsteps sounded on the stairs a moment later.

  I set off walking again, taking the long road back to Grizzy’s house, opting for Main Street, so I’d get to pass by the Burger Bar and check how things were going there. My mind whirred.

  William was a liar and very competitive. But a lot of people were those two things without being murderers. If I wanted to prove anything, I needed evidence, and that was the one thing I didn’t have right now.

  But how to get it?

  The only way was to follow the leads, and I had plenty of them. William, this Elizabeth woman that the twins had mentioned, and then the husband of the victim. All it would take was fancy footwork and avoiding the detectives Cotton and Balle.

  I sniggered. I still couldn’t get over their names.

  “What’s so funny?” The voice had come from my left, from the entrance to the second-hand bookstore.

  None other than the Detective Balle himself stood in the doorway, grasping a dog-eared paperback in his hand. He held the door open with the other, affording me a brief glimpse of the inside of the store.

  I’d been meaning to go in, but life had been too hectic for that the last week.

  The shelves behind him creaked beneath their weight in books, and the smell of reading—worn paper and the faintest hint of dusty wood—drifted out.

  “Hi,” I said.

  Balle was in his uniform. He stepped onto the sidewalk and shut the glass door behind himself. It rattled in the jamb. “Hello, Watson. Christie.”

  “Is that how you’re addressing me now? Watson, Christie? I’ll call you Balle, Liam, then?”

  “Funny.”

  “I try.”

  He lifted two fingers and pinched them together. “Maybe you should try a little less.” But a smile played around the corners of his lips, and my stomach did a flip.

  A flip? What on earth was that about? My stomach did not do gymnastics for anyone. Only pizza elicited that level of excitement in me. I cleared my throat. “Doing some lunch time shopping?”

  “Kind of,” he said, and looked down at his book. “I like to read while I eat.”

  “Burgers?”

  “Maybe. I haven’t decided yet.”

  A passerby squeezed between us, clicking her tongue as she walked. I moved closer to the book store so I’d be out of the way. “What are you reading?” I asked, by way of segue. Maybe, if I could soften him up, I could press him for information about the case?

  Balle hid the book behind his back. “Nothing in particular.”

  “Are you shy?”

  “No.”

  “Then why don’t you tell me what you’re reading?”

  Liam ran his fingers through his dark, shining hair, then brought the book out again. He flashed me the cover.

  “The Great Gatsby?” I asked. “That’s nothing to be shy about. That’s great literature.”

  “Sure. Guess I’m used to the others at the station taking issue with my reading material. They’re more into car magazines. Or gun magazines. Or comics. Not that there’s anything wrong with those.”

  “Well, there’s nothing wrong with this, either.” Another strange silence started between us.

  Our eyes locked. My belly betrayed me again. Were those … butterflies?

  “OK,” Balle said, and cleared his throat. “OK, I’d better get going. You have a good day, Wat—Christie.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “I will.”

  And then he was off, swaggering without trying, his broad shoulders stealing the space on the sidewalk. I stared after him, until, finally a thought occurred to me. I hadn’t even squeezed him for information about the case.

  What was that about?

  I didn’t want to dissect that or our odd silences. There was work to be done, and none of it involved mooning over Liam’s eyes or shoulders or choice in reading material.

  11

  The gossip flowed thick and fast in the Burger Bar the next morning. Folks ate their burgers, slurped down their malt shakes, and cast looks up at the front counter, where Grizzy manned the milkshake bar, and I twirled my tray around on one finger.

  I paused to catch it, offering Grizzy a smile. It was mostly to ease her mind—she’d been all over the place the last few days. Firstly, worrying about Jerry Lee, then nervous for her date.

  As for me? I already had big plans for the afternoon.

  A trip to a certain doctor, who just so happened to be the grieving—though, that was still up for debate—widower of Haley Combes.

  “What?” Grizzy asked.

  “What?”

  “Why are you looking at me like that, Chris?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know … like Curly when she’s about to slurp down a bowl of cream.”

  “Hmm, I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” I replied. “But I think we’ve solved the mystery of Curly Fries’ ever-expanding girth.”

  Grizzy pursed her lips at me. “Cat obesity is no joke.”

  “Yeah, you’re not the one who keeps waking up with Curly asleep on your forehead.”

  “Talking about your impending doom again?” Missi appeared and took a seat on one of the barstools. “I’m glad to see you’ve invested in that cat.”

  “It’s not my cat. It’s Grizzy’s.”

  “You have a cat?” Missi asked, and placed a massive tote bag on the countertop in front of her. She clasped her wizened hands over the latch and blinked up at my friend. “When did you get one?”

  Griselda gave her a puzzled look. “Years ago. She’s always around whenever you’ve visited, Missi. I can’t believe you didn’t notice.”

  “Hmm. I have been distracted.”

  “For five years?” I asked.

  “Don’t you start, Watson. I’ve already got a bone to pick with you.”

  “You do? Why?”

  Missi gestured over her shoulder to the booth she usually sat in with her sister. “Look there.”

  A happy family was seated in her spot, two children blowing bubbles into their milkshakes and laughing, while their mother scoffed down a burger, and their father read a newspaper. He turned the page and lifted it, showing off its cover.

  Murder in Sleepy Creek! Who’s Next on the List?

  I sighed. That type of title only served to rumor-monger, but then again, with the gossip circle basically in charge of the Creeker Gazette, what did any of us expect?

  “I can hardly control who sits where,” I said.

  “You’re the waitress.”

  “Fair point, but I can’t reserve the booth at all hours of the day, you know.”

  Missi harrumphed, but didn’t argue back. Instead, she rapped her knuckles on the countertop. “Can I get a Choc Malt and a burger, please? I want all the good stuff. I need my energy today.”

  “Coming right up,” Griz said, and delivered the order to Jarvis in the kitchen with a ring of the bell.

  “Why do you need your energy?” I asked.

  “Oh, because we’ve got another bajillion interviews lined up with potential clients and customers. Collectors who are coming to study the pieces we do have. The whole living room is filled with antiques, some of which I didn’t choose, I’ll add. I can’t even keep track anymore. My ledgers are a mess and that cop of Grizzy’s hasn’t taken the tape off our store’s door yet.”

  “These things take time,” I said. “They have to be thorough with the crime scene.”

  “Speaking of taking time.” Missi leaned in, talking out of the side of her mouth as Griz leaned on the counter in the kitchen window and chatted to Jarvis. “What’s going on with your... investigations?”

  “Nothing yet. I’ll update you when I have something solid. But I do have an appointment with the husband later on,” I said.

  “Good. Good. Dr. Rich. Piece of work if you ask me. Last month, I went in for a bunion, and he misdiagnosed it as a boil. Terrible man. I had to get a second opinion from the GP over in Logan’s Rest.”

  “What are we talking about?” Grizzy asked.

  Missi and I exchanged a glance. It was difficult to hide the truth from my friend, but it would only upset her. “Flowers,” I said. “I was asking Missi what she knew about them. You know, in preparation for our gardening on Sunday.”

  Before my bestie could reply, or call me out for the lie, the bell above the door tinkled, and she perked up. “Ah, here’s Jerry.”

  We turned in our seats, and there he was. Mr. Lewis with his ascot neat and tidy, a lemon yellow that suited his jaunty disposition. Things had been looking up for him of late. The police hadn’t spoken with him or stopped by the house in the past day, and it seemed he’d moved on from the murder.

  So easily. Hmmm.

  “Good morning,” Jerry Lee said, and took a seat on the stool next to mine. He readjusted his shirt, then placed his leather briefcase on the counter. “Isn’t it a wonderful day?”

  “It sure is.” Grizzy delivered a milkshake to the counter, and Missi accepted it, then peeled paper off a straw and inserted it into the creamy goodness.

  She lifted the cherry off the cream and gobbled it up. “Ah, that’s better. The only thing that puts me in a good mood is one of your milkshakes, Grizzy. And seeing Jarvis working hard, of course.” She leaned over and peered at the chef through the kitchen window, grinning.

  “I’m in a great mood. I’ve gotten a lot of business done, and I know that everything is going to work out fine,” Jerry Lee said.

  “What makes you so sure?” I asked, and twirled the tray again. “Did they say something to you?”

  “Well, no,” Jerry said, and placed a hand on the top of his briefcase. “But I know I’m innocent, and that means they can’t arrest me for something I didn’t do. I trust the justice system.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Grizzy said. “What can I get for you, Jerry?”

  “Oh, how about one of your specials?”

  “Sure, I can do that.”

  “But hold the onions, please.”

  “No pro—” Grizzy cut off.

  “No pro?” I asked.

  But she shook her head.

  I glanced in the mirror behind the bar and caught sight of what had freaked her out. The two detectives had entered the restaurant. No one paid them any mind—it wasn’t unusual to spot the local cops in the Burger Bar. This place did have the best burgers in town. But the look on Balle’s face told me he wasn’t here for a Double Cheese.

  The officers strode between the tables and came to a halt at the bar next to me. Detective Balle’s woody cologne drifted over, and I forced myself not to react.

  “Good morning,” Grizzy said, and offered Arthur a nervous smile. “What can I get for you gentleman today?”

  “Nothing, Miss Lewis,” Balle replied. “We’re here for Jerry Lee.”

  Arthur nodded, though he wouldn’t quite meet Grizzy’s eye.

  “Of course,” Jerry Lee said, jovially. “What can I help you with?”

  “I’m afraid you’re going to have to come with us, Mr. Lewis.” And Balle drew a set of cuffs from his belt.

  Griselda went pale and pressed her hands to her cheeks.

  I groaned and put my tray down. “Really? You’re going to do this here?”

  “We have a warrant from the judge for your arrest, Mr. Lewis,” Balle said, ignoring me completely. “I’m going to ask you to come with us, peacefully, and I won’t have to put these cuffs on you. Will you comply?”

  Jerry trembled on the spot, the confidence draining from him, immediately. “But I’m innocent. You have to know I’m innocent. I didn’t’ do anything wrong!” The last bit came out too loud, and the other diners in the Burger Bar turned their heads, lowered their voices.

  “Will you comply?” Balle repeated.

  “Don’t make this any harder than it has to be, Jerry Lee,” I said. “Go with them. They’ll take you either way.”

  Jerry glanced from me to Balle then back again. Finally, he got off the chair. “All right. I’m coming.”

  Arthur stepped up to Jerry’s side. Balle took a position on the other. Together the men walked him toward the door. Balle’s voice was hushed, but it traveled in the now quiet restaurant. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney…”

  The door opened, and the men exited onto the street. Jerry Lee was guided toward the cruiser parked out front.

  “This isn’t happening,” Grizzy said. “How can they do that?”

  “They have a warrant. They’re well within their rights.”

  “But how? Jerry Lee’s innocent.”

  The cruiser drove off, and the talk in the restaurant resumed, folks leaning forward to discuss what had happened with renewed fervor. This would be the talk of Sleepy Creek for the next week. Until someone had an affair or Maura’s cat started another turf war.

  “They have reason to believe he committed the crime,” I said.

  “But—”

  “Griz, the police can’t make an arrest like that unless they have evidence that indicates he was involved in the murder,” I replied.

  “He’s not.” Grizzy folded her arms.

  Missi slurped on her milkshake, her eyes shifting back and forth, observing us.

  “They think he is.”

  “But … look, there’s got to be a way to help him. I know my cousin wouldn’t hurt anyone. He certainly wouldn’t murder them. He’s innocent. I’ll prove it. Somehow. I don’t know how.”

  “I think I know how,” Missi said.

  “How?”

  “Ask Christie to help. She’s a detective, and she might be able to solve the case. If she thinks Jerry Lee is innocent, then maybe she can find out who really did it and clear his name.”

  I met Missi’s gaze, briefly. If this got me out of the Sunday poppy planting escapade, then I was all for it. That and I wasn’t entirely sure Jerry had done it. He was still on the suspect list, but I didn’t have any evidence to support the assumption.

  If only I had access to what Balle does. To the files.

  “I couldn’t ask her to do that,” Griz said. “That would endanger her career back in Boston.”

  “I’m happy to help. Let’s face it, Griz, this is what I do best, and I’m not going to sit back when the murder happened so close to home. It’s affected Missi and Vee, it’s affecting you and your family too.”

  Griz licked her lips. “It would be selfish of me to say yes after I’ve been so set on you not doing exactly that.”

  “Let’s put it this way,” I said, and pressed my palm to the countertop. “I’m already looking into it, and I’m going to continue.” It felt good to get the truth off my chest.

  “You are?” Before Griz could reprimand me, Jarvis dinged the bell in the kitchen window.

  “Order up, mon.”

  My bestie collected the burger in its basket and delivered it to Missi. “You’re sure about this, Chris?”

  “Sure as I’ve been about anything,” I replied.

  “Well, if you’re doing it, then I’m going to help you.”

  “What? No way. You can’t—”

  “I’m helping.” Grizzy’s bottom jaw jutted out. “Just try to stop me.”

  One of the customers at the table’s raised a hand, and I collected my tray and hurried off before Griz could get into her stride. She’d made up her mind, and I respected that. How could I fault her for wanting to help her friends when I was doing exactly the same?

 

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