“Lottie.” Woody points to the set with the clipboard in his hand and Cluck Norris does a mean wobble. “Are you ready to get the answers to some pressing questions?”
“I sure am.” Although we’re not necessarily talking about the same thing. “Woody, can I ask you something?”
“Anything.” He sheds an affable smile my way.
“Please don’t take offense, but I am curious. That day when I found Candace’s body—I happened to see a red handkerchief on the floor near her desk. It looked like the one you had tucked in your shirt when we met that day. But after I discovered Candace, your handkerchief was missing.”
He takes a deep breath as he looks to the set. “It was mine. But believe me, I had nothing to do with how she ended up the way she did.” He casts a quick glance over his shoulder. “I don’t want to get anyone in unnecessary trouble, but the truth is, I went in there to talk to her that day. I wanted to confront her about seeing Burt. But when I got there, someone else was having a confrontation with her. Things went from push to shove quite literally. I had to break them apart. I couldn’t have the star of the show with a black eye with only a few minutes before we were live on the air again. There was quite the scuffle and my handkerchief fell to the floor in the process. I saw it, but I had to haul someone out of the room. I told Candace to take a minute to cool off and never went back.”
My heart thumps wildly. “You were breaking up a fight? The other person—it was Kit, wasn’t it?”
He takes in another deep breath as he casts a glance around.
“Yes,” he whispers. “But she didn’t kill Candace. I took her out into the hall and told her to go cool off. I saw her head to the staff lounge in the back just as I took off for the stage.”
“But theoretically, she could have gone back to see Candace,” I say it more or less to myself.
“Cock-a-doodle-doo!” Cluck Norris screams so loud even Woody is darting his gaze in every direction.
“I’d better see what’s going on.” He winces. “And I’ve got one humdinger of a headache coming on, too. I’ll see you in a few.”
He takes off and Cluck Norris flies down the narrow hall where the noise from the rest of the studio is dampened and the smell of coffee gives way to cleaning products that contain far too much bleach.
The door to Candace’s office is closed and there’s a bouquet of bright yellow flowers situated right in front of it. My heart aches just to see it. But not more than three feet to the left is a door marked Kit Knickerson, and Cluck Norris floats right on through the wood while I head in the old-fashioned way.
It’s cooler in here, if that were possible. The lights are on to reveal a boxy office, somewhat spacious with a messy desk and a filing cabinet. A small orange couch is crammed just to the right of the door.
True to Kit’s word, a few cardigans hang behind her desk on a coatrack, and I don’t hesitate heading over, but it’s not the sweaters that have my attention, it’s the desk in front of me.
“She’s a slob, Lottie.” Cluck Norris is quick to point out—not that he had to. Kit is evidently a very busy girl. “Mrs. Cottonwood used to call Candace a slob, too. She said there’s no excuse for a messy house. I bet the killer’s mother said that as well.”
“She may have,” I say. “But I’ve learned the hard way that sometimes no matter how hard you pick up after someone, they won’t change their ways. And my entire house is becoming messier by the minute because of it.”
“Really?” he chirps as he flies over to the top of the filing cabinet and fluffs his feathers. “I would have figured Everett would be better than that. He is a judge, after all. Order is his business.”
“I was talking about Carlotta.”
“Makes sense. Did you know she has a nest in the corner of her room?”
“No,” I say as my voice raises a few octaves because many creatures make nests, and I’m pretty sure Cluck here is the only fowl in my home.
He chirps, “Carlotta doesn’t know it’s there either.”
“Lovely,” I say, looking at the tiny office with greater scrutiny.
A few errant files cover the top of the desk, about three different cups of coffee are scooted to one end, and there’s a large desk calendar buried under a stack of paper. I push them back to get a better look at the calendar, and when I do the entire thing shifts and I freeze.
Peeking out from underneath it is the corner of what looks to be a bright red file. I pull it out and gasp as the words death of Zack Ross are printed across it.
“This is the file,” I say under my breath. “The one that was sitting on Candace’s desk that day. Everett, Noah, and I all saw it when she was giving us a tour. She looked distressed when she noticed it and she kicked us all out.”
“Don’t just stand there.” Cluck Norris flaps his ghostly feathers my way. “What does it say?”
I open it up and gasp again.
Staring back at me is an eight-by-ten picture of a man floating facedown in the ocean while a few vessels can be seen in the background. The words you did this to my family are scrawled across the picture with a black marker. It’s written in all capital letters and the A’s look triangular in nature. It all feels vaguely familiar as if I’ve seen this before.
Footsteps head this way and I close the file, but before I can put it back where I found it,
