Ruffed Up Murder (Pet Shop Cozy Mysteries Book 10) Page 3

“Sure… if I knew where he got to.” I climb off the stool and look around for the missing pup. “Spark, did you see where he went?” Spark lets out a soft whine.

  “You’re real chummy with Logan Morse, aren’t you Sturgess?” Mr. Casey asks with a hard edge to his voice. “Why don’t you tell your pal he’s killing our town?”

  “I think ‘killing’ is a bit strong of a term, Mr. Casey. Plenty of other towns have survived, and even thrived, under this sort of commercial presence—”

  “I knew it!” Casey practically shouts. “You’re not with us at all!”

  “Fellas, please,” Holly says sharply. “If we can’t keep this courteous, I’m kicking you both out.”

  Rowdy barks again. I follow the sound toward the restrooms, located down a short hall near the entrance, and I find him barking at a door.

  “Rowdy, what are you doing, buddy?”

  He barks once at me, and then puts his nose to the doorjamb and sniffs like he’s trying to suck something up into his snout.

  The men’s room is to my left; the women’s to the right. I have no idea what this door is, so I have to assume it’s some sort of custodial or storage closet. I try the knob; it’s unlocked.

  I pull it open and peer into the darkness. I can’t see anything. Rowdy lets out a low growl. I feel a light switch just inside the door and throw it on.

  As soon as I do, I look away. In the same instant, I realize that Sarah was wrong; there is something else that could stop Logan Morse from selling to Sprawl-Mart.

  His death.

  CHAPTER 6

  * * *

  Outside, through the doors of the Runside, I can see the blue and red flashers strobe in the night from the several emergency vehicles that responded to my call.

  Inside, the five of us sit in a row on stools as Patty Mayhew, her thumbs hitched in her belt, paces before us like a teacher considering the best way to discipline a group of troublemakers.

  “So let me get this straight,” she says. “The five of you were here having a secret meeting to determine how to stop Logan Morse from selling his land. And then he happens to appear dead in a closet?”

  Beside me, Sarah stares at the floor, holding Spark’s leash with one hand. Holly gazes coolly, her hands folded in her lap. Mr. Casey, admittedly, looks a little bored. Mayor Sturgess is still pale and fidgets nervously, but at least he’s stopped trembling.

  The moments after finding Morse’s body in the closet were sheer anarchy for a few minutes. I imagine the transcript of that 911 call must be pretty entertaining—me trying to tell them where we are and what happened while the others shouted over each other and clamored to see if I was telling the truth, with both dogs barking and yipping in the background.

  “You have to admit,” Patty says, “that seems very convenient.”

  “Not from where I’m sitting,” Mr. Casey grumbles.

  The chief spreads her hands in a grand shrugging gesture and asks, “Is there anything that anyone would like to tell me?”

  Mr. Casey raises his hand as if we’re in a classroom. “At least now the deal won’t go through.”

  “Casey…” she growls in warning.

  A man in a blue windbreaker with the word CORONER emblazoned on the back approaches Patty and whispers something to her.

  She turns back to us with a finger in the air. “All of you stay put a minute.”

  While the two retreat to talk in private, Sarah says quietly, “I can’t believe it…”

  “What? That someone would want to kill Logan?” Holly scoffs. “He flapped his gums to the mayor, didn’t he? Chances are he told a few other folks too. The way news travels around here, I’d bet that half the town knows about his deal by now.”

  “No,” Sarah says, “That’s not what I meant…”

  “Holly has a point there,” I chime in. “Mayor Sturgess, do you know who else Morse might have told about the deal?”

  Sturgess covers his face with both hands. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I…” He sighs behind his hands. “I’ve never seen a body before.”

  “What, never been to a funeral before, Sturgess?” Casey grumbles. “Fat load of good he is.”

  “Give him a break,” Holly mutters quietly. “They were friends.”

  Patty returns, her fingers steepled under her chin. “Alright folks, here’s what we’re going to do. We’re all going to head down to the police station and get our fingerprints taken…” She glances at me and Sarah, “if we don’t already have them on file. Then we’re going to take a statement from each of you privately.”

  I might have been a suspect in a murder case once before—totally unfounded, of course—so my fingerprints are sort of already on file with the police. So are Sarah’s; similar reason, different case. Remember that thing I said about having a knack for the wrong place at the wrong time?

  About an hour or so later I find myself in a small back office of the police station in downtown Seaview Rock, across a melamine table from Patty Mayhew. The room is windowless and stark, with a very conspicuous camera in one corner.

  Patty folds her hands on the tabletop (her trademark interrogation pose, it seems) and gazes at me evenly. “Alright, Will. Tell me your side of things.”

  “Sure.” I tell her how earlier today Sarah had her emergency meeting, how she came back to the shop distraught by Morse’s deal, and about the subsequent meeting of the council at the Runside.

  “That’s it?” she asks.

  “That’s it. Listen, Patty, I can help here. I think that whoever killed Morse was likely—”

  She holds up a hand. “Let me stop you there. I can’t bring you in on this, Will. You’re a suspect.”

  I groan. “Again?”

  “Look, you’re a licensed investigator now. And even before you were, you know how this works. Regardless of how likely it is you did it or not, I can’t exclude you. Sarah too. Sorry.”

  “I understand,” I mutter.

  “Good. Now, preliminary inspection of the body implies that Morse was dead for several hours before you found him—”

  “How can that be?” I cut her off. “Holly definitely would’ve noticed if someone dragged a body through the front door.”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know, Will, but I would assume that they stashed Morse in that closet earlier, before the Runside opened.”

  I shake my head. “So he was there all day, and no one knew.”

  “The point is,” she says, “I’m going to need you to tell me where you were today, and who can corroborate it.”

  “That’s easy enough.”

  “I’m also going to need to take a look in your garage.”

  “My garage? Why?”

  Patty sighs. “It seems that Morse was murdered by blunt-force trauma to the head by means of a jack handle.”

  “That’s… oddly specific.”

  “Yes, it is,” Patty agrees, “because the murder weapon was in the closet with him.”

  “They left the weapon behind? That’s great! You can get prints from it, right?”

  “Come on, Will. Do you really think that whoever did this was dumb? I doubt we’ll get anything from it. The jack handle was propped next to him; I think they left it behind on purpose.”

  “Why would someone do that?”

  “If I knew that, I’d be chasing down a lead, not sitting here talking with you. Anyway, give me a few names that can provide you an alibi, and then Officer Tom is going to escort you home and check out your garage.”

  “Sure. But I don’t think I own a jack.” I give her Mrs. Blumberg’s name and number, since I was at the elderly woman’s house that morning, and then Dennis, who was with me the rest of the day until Sarah returned from town hall.

  Patty raises an eyebrow. “How long was Sarah at the town hall?”

  I shrug. “About two hours, I think.”

  “Interesting.”

  “No, it’s not,” I insist.


  “You can go, Will. Tom will follow you home. But you get the same warning as everyone else: stay local and keep your phone on. I’ll be in touch.”

  CHAPTER 7

  * * *

  After Officer Tom leaves, which is after he confirms that I indeed do not own a jack, Sarah and I head to bed to find that the animals have already taken it over. It turns out that a queen-sized bed is not quite big enough for two dogs, two people and a cat, which is actually fine because neither of us in much of a mood to sleep. Instead we just sit and chat quietly.

  “Well,” I offer, “that explains why Logan Morse wasn’t returning any of Mr. Casey’s calls; he was already dead.”

  “How do you know that?” Sarah asks.

  “Patty told me that the theory is he’d been dead for hours. She didn’t tell you that?”

  “No, she didn’t.” Sarah frowns. “Is she bringing you in on this case?”

  I shake my head. “She can’t. I’m technically a suspect.”

  “That’s ridiculous!”

  “Sarah, the very reason we were having that meeting was a motive for any one of us. She can’t discount me for the same reason she can’t exclude any of you.” I raise an eyebrow and ask, “You were really at town hall earlier today, right?”

  She hits me gently with a pillow. “Yes, doofus. Of course I was. There was a clerk there, too; they can confirm it.”

  “Good. Last thing we need is you getting arrested again…”

  She sighs. “It just seems like too much of a coincidence.”

  “I know. Whoever killed Morse must have known that we were having that meeting.”

  “No, that’s not what I mean. Will, did you finish reading the latest Bill Mulligan comic?”

  “Sarah, I don’t think now is really a good time—”

  She rolls her eyes. “No, Will, don’t you remember how it started?”

  “Um… yeah. Bill found the body of some rich guy… in a closet… at the bar…” I trail off as it hits me. “Oh, wow. How did I not see that earlier?”

  “I honestly don’t know.”

  I jump to my feet. “Do you know what this means?!”

  “That someone mimicked Dennis’s comic? Yes. That’s what I was trying to tell you earlier.”

  “Well… how did it end?” With everything else going on, I didn’t get the chance to finish reading it.

  “You really want me to spoil it for you?”

  “Normally, no. Under these circumstances? Yes. Please.”

  “Okay.” Sarah scrunches up her nose as she thinks. “Um, it turned out that the rich guy’s valet was actually his estranged eldest son, who murdered him to inherit his fortune.”

  “Huh. Okay. So, in our version, Logan Morse wasn’t a rich man, but he was about to be a rich man. Did Sturgess say anything to you about how much Sprawl-Mart was going to pay him for his land?”

  “He said it was around one-point-two million.”

  I let out a low whistle. “That’s a lot of dough. And if I recall, Morse’s wife passed away a few years ago, right?”

  “That’s right… where are you going with this?”

  I pace the length of the room as I rant. “Morse certainly didn’t have a valet… but he does have a son, who would stand to be the beneficiary of his land, right?”

  Sarah scoffs loudly. “Will, that’s fiction. You can’t possibly make that connection.”

  “Sarah, look at the cases we’ve been involved in. How many times has it been about money?”

  She hesitates. “That’s… a valid point, actually.” Then she shakes her head. “But if that was true, wouldn’t it be kind of obvious, based on the comic?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. How many people in town that you know of read Bill Mulligan?”

  “I don’t know. Just us, I guess.”

  “Right. So what if Morse’s son, um…”

  “Kyle.”

  “What if Kyle read the comic and thought, ‘Hey, that’s a good idea,’ killed his father, and hid the body at the Runside? If anyone realized it, they’d say the same thing you are now: it’s too obvious. Couldn’t possibly be true, right? If anything, the fact that it mimics the comic book would point to…” I stop myself before I say the thought out loud.

  “No way,” Sarah insists. “No one would suspect Dennis just because someone copied his plot.” She stares off for a moment, considering the implication. “…Right?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Uh-uh. That’s crazy.”

  “Crazy happens. Dennis is still considered a new guy around town. He’s young, and he wears that black beanie everywhere he goes… we know he’s a good kid, but you know how other people might perceive him. Besides, he’s got a criminal record.” When Dennis was a teenager, he accidentally crashed his parents’ car into a lake. He was so afraid to tell them that he stayed quiet while they reported it stolen to the police. When they finally discovered what had happened, Dennis and Sarah’s mother—who could easily play the wicked queen in any given fairytale—still pressed charges against her son, to teach him a lesson.

  “That’s not fair,” Sarah murmurs.

  “I know. That’s why I’m going to talk to Kyle Morse first-thing tomorrow morning. If his plan is to get that money, he’s going to be signing that agreement tomorrow.”

  “So you’re going to do the thing that Patty explicitly asked you not to do? Will, you could lose your license.”

  “I’ll be very discreet. Besides, if it means keeping Dennis—and us—out of trouble, maybe it’s worth it.”

  “Fine. But please, just be careful.”

  “I will.”

  If it wasn’t for the fact that I’m a suspect, and that Dennis is at risk, I’d almost find it funny: they say art imitates life, but sometimes, life imitates art.

  CHAPTER 8

  * * *

  The next morning, Sarah heads to the Pet Shop Stop with Spark and Basket while I take Rowdy with the intention of going to Morse’s tree farm. We agree that it would be best, for now, not to say anything to Dennis for fear of him freaking out and doing something stupid, like trying to plead his case to the cops when there’s a chance they might not make the connection between the murder and Bill Mulligan.

  Instead of heading directly to the farm, I figure I ought to get some information first, and there’s one place in town that’s better than any other for that sort of thing. I head to the barber shop.

  Sammy Barstow has been my best friend for going on two decades. Every day the people of Seaview Rock sit in his chair and lay out their woes, their gossip, and their triumphs. If you can’t talk to your barber, who can you talk to?

  Sammy’s as good at listening as he is at cutting hair. His reputation did take a bit of a hit a while back when it became public that he was involved in the blackmail scandal, but the judge recognized that he had good intentions and went lenient on him, sentencing him to a thousand hours of community service over a three-year period, which he’s nearly halfway through.

  I arrive at his shop, a few blocks away from the pet store, just as he’s opening up for the day. Luckily the elderly gossipers, Frank and Marcus, haven’t yet arrived. The retirees like to hang out in the shop and pretend to read the newspaper as they eavesdrop on various goings-on, but without them around we can talk privately.

  “Hey Will,” Sammy greets me heartily. “How’s it going?”

  “Not too great, Sammy Boy.”

  His smile disappears. “Yeah, I heard about old Logan.”

  “You heard already? It just happened last night.”

  He furrows his brow and says, “I’m not sure we’re talking about the same thing. I’m talking about him selling his land to Sprawl-Mart.”

  “I’m talking about him being found dead in a closet at the Runside last night.”

  For a moment, Sammy’s eyes widen in disbelief, but then he shakes his head sadly. Funny thing, when something happens enough times it
loses its shock value, and there have been enough bodies in Seaview Rock over the last couple of years for it to just not be that astonishing anymore.

  “Can’t say I’m all that surprised,” he admits. “Lots of people would be real angry if they knew.”

  “How do you know about it?”

  He grins. “I’m a barber. People trust their barber.”

  “Come on, Sammy. Don’t be cryptic. I’m a suspect in this. So is Sarah.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry, Will, I didn’t realize. How is it that you manage to always get mixed up in stuff like this?”

  “Sammy. Who told you?”

  “Right. It was, uh, John Blumberg.”

  “What?” Old Mr. Blumberg? “How does he know?”

  Sammy shrugs. “You got me.”

  “What else did he say, Sam?”

  Sammy stares at the ceiling as he recalls the conversation. “He asked me to keep it under wraps; he said most folks didn’t know yet. I told him that I think it would be a good idea to let the people know; most of us around town would have something to say about it. He said no, that it was never going to happen anyway, and there was no point getting people in a panic.”

  “Wait, wait.” I hold up one hand and pinch the bridge of my nose with the other. “So John Blumberg said it was never going to happen, and then Morse shows up dead?”

  Sammy frowns. “Well, when you put it like that, it does sound odd.”

  “Blumberg’s gotta be, what, eighty?” There’s no way he could have done this… but then again, when I visited Mrs. Blumberg yesterday, her husband was nowhere to be found. “What about Morse’s son, Kyle? What do you know about him?”

  “Hmm.” Sammy thinks for a moment. “Not much, to be honest. I know that he’s worked on the tree farm his whole life. I know that he and Logan had some problems between them ever since his mother died. Outside of that, not much. Why, what are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking that if Logan is dead, Kyle Morse stands to make a great deal of money off of Sprawl-Mart. I’m also thinking that the deal is supposed to be signed today, which doesn’t give me a lot of time. I should get up there.”