Slash in the Pan Read online

  Gertie sniffed and took another sip. “Some people like to live life all whimsy and dare-devilish, I suppose. Can’t talk sense into everyone.”

  The chair squeaked as Daisy leaned back. “As I was saying, he broke into the house.” She frowned. “But I don’t think he was homeless.”

  My ears perked up at her words. “Why is that, Mrs. Daisy?”

  She blinked back at me, her eyes looking impossibly large behind her glasses. “Why, by the watch the man was wearing. And he only wore a sleeveless shirt and those printed shorts. I think he was a scalawag, I tell you. Up to no good.”

  Her words made me pause. Had the police identified the man yet? What made them say he was a homeless person?

  The rest of the tea went with fewer melodramatics. They caught me up on all the gossip in both Daisy and Gertie’s families. Then they brought out a deck of cards, and that’s when I excused myself. I left them arguing over the rules to Rummy and let myself out the front door.

  My phone vibrated with a text as I hurried to my car. I pulled it out to read a message from Kari.—They identified the body. Devon Walters, a general contractor.

  A general contractor? That’s what Joe was. I texted back, —Why was Devon at Joe’s workplace?

  Her answer was quick. —No one knows.

  I stared across the street at the new construction. It looked all neat and tidy despite the fact that there was a metal dumpster sitting in its driveway. Shrugging my purse higher on my shoulder, I left my car where it was, and walked toward the house until I stood at the top of the driveway.

  The yellow tape had come off from the bottom of the door and fluttered in the breeze. Could Mrs. Daisy really see someone enter through a window on the side of the house? I thought of her strong prescription glasses and her binoculars and didn’t feel confident.

  I chewed on the inside of my cheek—a bad habit I really needed to break—and moved until I could see the back property line which was marked by a brand-new six-foot cedar fence. Interest flickered inside me when I saw that the side door to the house was open, with the screen banging slightly against the siding.

  Did I dare go inside? Years ago, when I was still in elementary school, I remember sneaking into a new house with Frank and a few of the other neighborhood kids. The house had formally been the old McDaniel’s house before a fire destroyed it. They’d spent all summer rebuilding it, and I remember how spooky it had been when we snuck in. There’d been pillows of insulation and nails everywhere, and the unfinished walls had reminded me of skeleton bones.

  This house was nearly finished in comparison with that one. It was so finished that sneaking in really felt more like breaking in. I swallowed hard as images of an uncomfortable visit to the police station jolted through my mind if I should get caught. I could imagine the questions. Especially being found at a murder scene.

  I began to back away from the house when Kari’s face, marred by the pain of desperation, came back to me. There were so many questions. Why were the police so quick to suspect Joe. How had Joe’s knife been used as the murder weapon?

  Maybe I could just take a peek and find something. I knew the police were thorough, but I also knew there was no way Joe was guilty of this. There had to be another answer.

  I crouched down—as if slumping could really hide me from Daisy’s binoculars—and scurried along the side of the house and through the open doorway.

  It was dark inside and took a moment for my eyes to adjust. My mouth dropped in horror when I realized I’d walked straight into the laundry room. This was where Devon Walters’ body had been discovered.

  But, after a second to calm my pounding heart, I realized the room was surprisingly bland and clear of clues. Just a pair of hookups for the machines in one of the walls. In fact, I thought the room was finished until a two-foot hole in the wall caught my attention. I had no idea what it could be for.

  The floor creaked under me, and my heart galloped again. There’s no one here, I reminded myself. Cautiously, I continued forward into the unfinished kitchen. One of the countertops had not been laid yet and was leaning against the wall. The other three countertops formed a U-shape to create a kitchen bar. The floor crinkled under my foot. I glanced to see black plastic runners taped to the vinyl, presumably to protect it from the construction workers.

  There was an empty slot where the sink was to be installed, along with similar bare spots for the dishwasher, the oven, and the refrigerator. A box sat on the finished part of the countertop. I peeked inside to see it was filled with the silver hardware for the cupboard doors.

  I held my breath and listened. Did I hear something in the back room? I waited a moment and tried to calm my breathing.

  Children’s laughter. I realized there must be an open window somewhere letting in the sounds of the neighborhood kids playing. I rolled my shoulders and tried to relax. Carefully, I walked into the living room. Carpet had been installed in here, and the room was finished what the exception of a few window trim boards that leaned against the wall.

  Continuing down the hall, I found the dining room. There was a box on the floor which contained the overhead light.

  There was a long hallway that led to three bedrooms and a guest bath. Goosebumps pricked down my arms the further I got away from the back door. The house was quiet with my footfalls muffled by the carpet. Despite the lack of curtains, the light was dim.

  But, even though everything screamed danger, nothing appeared out of order. The only curiosity I came across was in the master bedroom’s closet. There was a square of carpet cut and then laid back down. It struck me as weird, so I peeled up one corner. Underneath the carpet was another square that had been cut into the underlayment. I assumed it led to the crawlspace under the house. I replaced the carpet and returned to the back door, feeling disappointed. This place was empty of clues. I closed the door behind me and headed back to my car.

  Why had Devon Walters been killed here? And why had Joe's heirloom knife been used as the weapon to kill him? What were the police thinking was the motive?

  Chapter 7

  I slid into the front seat of the Volkswagen and drove to Cecelia’s bed and breakfast. Absentmindedly, I turned the radio on.

  “Sheriff Mullins says they are no closer in finding the culprit of last week’s jewelry heist at MarkTown’s Jewelry store.” A male newscaster reported. “And in other news, police have identified the man discovered at Ridgeline Hill neighborhood as Devon Walters, a general contractor from Georgetown Pennsylvania. Police are unsure how Walters came to be in on this construction site since he had no connections with the developer, Dan Clark. Although, there is some controversy since Walters had originally been set to work on the building site when he was underbid by General Contractor, Joe Missler.”

  I gasped and hit the steering wheel. That was it! That was the connection. My thoughts spun in my mind as I turned the corner. Devon was a competing general contractor. So why was he at this building site? It was the last place anyone would think Devon would be.

  I needed a minute with the internet. There was a parking lot ahead for the neighborhood playground. I pulled over and scrambled for my phone. It was a beautiful day outside, and I could hear Dunning Creek making its soft shooshing in the background.

  Okay, the first thing I needed to do was find out precisely who Devon Walters was. He had to have some enemies. Everyone had enemies. I hoped I could find someone who was public in their opinions of him. Right now, all I had was that Devon was probably angry with Joe for underbidding him on this contract.

  I went to my favorite social media site and typed in his name. There were about six people of that exact name who popped up in the search bar. I glanced through and smiled when I saw one of them had mutual friends with me.

  I clicked on the mutual friend and frowned when I saw it was Joe Missler. That was odd. Why would Joe be friends with Devon if he was a competitor?

  A whole array of pictures popped up after I clicked Devon’s name.
Pictures of him snorkeling in water so blue it looked like watercolor paint. Another picture showed Devon with a group of friends in a bar, all of them laughing. I studied the photo. He seemed to be short and in his late-thirties. A quick glance at his birthdate confirmed that.

  Another photo showed him with a lady in some restaurant. He was dressed to the nines, but his skin held the sheen of being a heavy sweater. And he was a hairy guy. Everywhere at least, but his head, which showed two receding lines by his temples.

  I couldn’t help the distaste that grew in the pit of my stomach, despite not knowing the guy. I’d met men like him before, and the only word I knew how to describe them was smarmy.

  There was another picture of a bar, but this time Devon was standing with a different group of people. As I continued to look through his photographs, I noticed that was a pattern. Every photo was him with a new group of people.

  But there were two people that showed up time and time again—a man and a woman. I clicked on a photo of the two friends standing with Devon, hoping to learn their names. I grimaced when I saw no one was tagged.

  The last photo was of a group of construction workers standing outside a different bar. I couldn’t see the name, but I recognized the fluorescent tube in the shape of a beer stein that glowed in the window and knew it was the Rusty Breakers.

  Devon hadn’t written a description on the photo; however, there was a stream of comments, all saying things like “Congrats!” and “You’re building this whole town.”

  Hmm. The group of them must have been there celebrating something big. The date marked it this time last year.

  I wondered if they might have been celebrating Devon getting the Ridgeline Hill contract, and it made me question how soon after this picture did Joe underbid him and steal the contract.

  It also made me curious if this was a bar they hung out at often. Maybe I could go snoop around there and see if I could learn anything. Since Devon had been murdered, it only stood to reason that there would be gossip about it.

  My phone rang in my hands, scaring the tar out of me. I answered it. It was Cecelia, my boss, and longtime family friend.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “GiGi, are you available to help with dinner?”

  “Of course!” I turned the speaker on and started the car.

  “It’s just the Carrol’s and the Stern’s tonight.” She sighed, and I could imagine her lips pressing together the way they did when she was stressed. I knew why she was worried. Tourists had been kind of thin these last few months, even though we’d expected that it would pick up by now.

  “Sounds good. I’ll be there in about ten minutes,” I said as I got back on the road.

  “That would be perfect. The guests are out for the afternoon, so we have time to get some tidying done.”

  I stifled a snort. When Cecelia trotted out the word “tidying”, it meant more than your average straightening up. It included windows, cupboards, and dusting baseboards. Heck, it could even mean slapping the porch railings with a new coat of paint.

  “Okay, see you then,” I said.

  About ten minutes later, I pulled into the Baker Street Bed and Breakfast and parked. The climbing roses bloomed in a blanket of fragrant red roses on either side of the manor’s door. Dang, they look good! I smiled. Frank and I had worked on the porch all last month, and it looked terrific. Fresh, white paint covered the roof’s lattice, the railing’s spindles, the decking, and the front door.

  Cecelia had purchased two half wine barrels and placed them on either side of the porch steps. These were filled with flaming red carnations, pink hyssops, and fresh ferns.

  The porch was welcoming with its wicker chairs and swing. I gave the swing my characteristic little push before entering the home.

  The bed and breakfast was quiet, with a wave of cinnamon hitting me as I walked through the door. I meandered into the living room, where soft music played.

  Suddenly, I remembered my message from the city hall about the fire marshal. Life was making me forget to follow up on this. Now, who was that coroner who’d signed off on Derek’s death certificate? Croker something. I typed in the name, and he popped up as the first option. After navigating through several sites, I was able to locate an email address for the coroner.

  Before I got busy with my day and forgot again, I typed a quick message.

  Dear sir,

  I wondered if you would have time to answer a question I had about your observations on my fiancés’ death certificate that you signed nearly two years ago. His name was Derek Summers. I remember talking with a fire marshal at the time named Barnett. Oddly, I can’t find any information about him. I remember he met with you as well. Do you have any recollection of the event?

  Sincerely,

  Georgie Tanner.

  I hit send and then walked into the kitchen.

  “What’s that long face for?” Cecelia asked before I even had a chance to put my phone down. She was in the middle of making a salad.

  “Hi, yourself, Cecelia,” I said as I walked to the sink to wash my hands. “Life’s been crazy lately. I don’t even know where to start.”

  “Beginning always works for me.” Her no-nonsense response made me smile. She’d always been like that.

  I helped her tear the lettuce. “Well, what’s on my mind at the moment is Derek.”

  Immediately, Cecelia’s face creased with concern. She set down the carrot she’d been peeling. “Oh, honey.”

  “No, it’s not that. It’s not his death. Or maybe it is. I’m so confused. There’s a part of my life that recently has just been turned upside down.”

  She hummed sympathetically. I have to admit, a few tears welled in my eyes. But I knew what was bothering me wasn’t what she thought it was. I sniffed. These sniffles weren’t coming from the cold though, and I couldn’t hide it. A tear trickled down my cheek, and I wiped at it.

  “These things take time, GiGi. And you aren’t ever going to forget him.”

  “I know. Believe it or not, it’s not that. I thought that his death was the worst thing that ever happened to me. But now, I realize I might not have even known who he really was. A few weeks back, I found out that he was working for a real bad guy by the name of Mikey. Cecelia, I had no idea. All I knew was that Derek had gotten a new job. He told me he was transporting art for a dealer. Well, he was working for Midnight Trucking, and they’re a transporter all right. Of everything bad that you could possibly think of. Oscar told me they were a part of a crime ring he’d been trying to bring down for a long time.”

  “Oh, my heavens! What does this mean?” She pushed me gently away with her mouth open in shock. “You always said you didn’t believe he committed suicide.”

  “That’s exactly it. So I’ve been searching since then, and I just discovered that the city has no record of the fire marshal who told me straight to my face that Derek had committed suicide.”

  “Oh, honey. No wonder you’re a mess.”

  My phone dinged then. I flinched like my phone was a snake under the bathroom toilet. I knew I had to face it, but I wasn’t sure if it was going to bite.

  Chapter 8

  I pulled my phone out, my hands shaking, I just knew it was going to be a response from the coroner. My finger hovered over pushing the new alert for the email. Taking a big breath, I opened it to read,

  Ms. Georgie Tanner,

  Yes, I remember Derek Sommers. Let’s talk in person. I have time for lunch at the Flying Irishman Deli on Thursday. Does that work for you?

  Robert Croker

  The coroner was still around. And he remembered me! The giddiness over the fact that I finally felt like I was going somewhere whisked away the heavy doom and gloom emotions I’d had just moments earlier.

  “My goodness. What was that about?” Cecelia asked. My smile must have been contagious because the corners of her mouth turned up as well.

  “It’s Robert Croker. The county coroner. He remembers Derek and is willing to s
peak with me. I think I’m on the right track!” My face was starting to hurt, I was grinning so hard.

  “Well, don’t you look like the Cheshire cat who drank the syrup. That’s wonderful news, GiGi. You deserve some answers. My stars, you were always such an analytical child. Had questions for days, and I’m happy to see that’s still the case. The world’s a better place because of people who like to dig about.”

  “You think so? I seem to remember always getting into trouble for it. In fact, I remember being warned about a cat with nine lives. I spent years worried about that poor cat,” I said, still grinning. I couldn’t help a little tease.

  “GiGi, that mouth of yours I swear. I’m sure I was telling you that satisfaction brought him back.”

  I laughed. “You probably were, Cecelia. I didn’t always listen very well.” I gave her a hug and then passed her the plastic wrap to cover the salad.

  Once it was in the fridge, Cecelia reached under the sink for the glass cleaner. She handed it to me and pointed to the paper towels.

  “If you could just hit the front windows.” She motioned her tidy, white, updo in the direction of the living room.

  A couple hours later, the house was spotless— squeaky clean as Cecelia called it— and the table laid for dinner. The guests were home and in their rooms washing up. I was just waiting for Cecelia to tell me the food was ready to place on the table. I leaned against the doorframe and pulled out my phone. Idly I brought up the picture of Devon at the local bar.

  The establishment wasn’t too far away. I’d actually never gone myself, but I knew it had a reputation for the best chicken wings in town. Or so they claimed.

  Years ago, an ex-boyfriend of mine used to meet his brother there. They’d go two or three nights a week, and I was never invited. “It’s just a dirty sports bar,” my boyfriend had told me when I’d asked to go. “You’d hate it.”