Before ending our call, the three of us arranged to meet the next day—Tuesday—for lunch. Spence assured us that would give him enough time to speak with the deputies in person before joining us with an update on the case. I slid my notes from our dinner/criminal investigation to him.
I followed him to his coat closet to collect my purse. “Thanks again so much for all of your trouble. Tonight was a lot of fun. You’re an amazing chef and an even better host.”
“Thank you.” Was Spence blushing? The idea made me smile.
I accepted my purse from him, then turned toward the door. “Good night.”
“Marvey.” He paused as I turned back to him. “Have you considered what we’ll do if the deputies don’t pursue these other suspects?”
“I’d rather leave crime fighting to the professionals, but if the deputies don’t pursue these leads, we’ll have to. Or at least I will. I’d understand if you’d rather not.”
He swept his hand aside. “I wouldn’t leave you to do it on your own, but Marvey, we’d be investigating a murder.”
I frowned my confusion. “We’re not trying to solve the murder. We’re only trying to convince the deputies there are other far better suspects with much more concerning motives than Jo’s.”
“I know, but will the killer understand the difference?”
Chapter 12
Something was wrong. I got a strange vibe as I strode into On A Roll Tuesday morning, the fourth day of May. Fiona’s murder had occurred three days earlier. The atmosphere in the little neighborhood café was…tense. The early morning customers kept sending furtive looks toward the front of the dining area. They may have thought they were being subtle, but they weren’t.
Following the path of their gazes, mine landed on the apparent source of their interest: Willy Pelt, Fiona’s friend from Beaufort. He sat alone at a corner table for two.
“Your usual, Marvey?” Anna May’s customary—albeit delayed—greeting distracted me from my discovery.
The scents of warm rolls, sweet pastries, and hot coffee carried me up to the counter. Along the way, responses to my greetings to the other regulars were either delayed or distracted. People seemed more interested in Willy Pelt’s next breath. I made a mental note to pay my respects to him on my way out.
“Good morning, Anna May. Yes, please.” I stopped at the cash register and dug into my purse for the exact change. “And some of your delicious peach cobbler as well.”
“Of course.” She drew her attention from Willy to give me her seal of approval: cherubic smile and twinkling eyes.
“Anna May.” I leaned forward, lowering my voice as she gave me her attention. “Why is everyone staring at Willy Pelt?”
Her eyes sharpened with interest. “What do you know about him?”
“Just that he’s known Fiona’s family for years.” I struggled not to glance over my shoulder to look at him again. “I had the impression he and Fiona were friends. He was at her signing.”
Anna May lifted her chin as though I’d confirmed her previous intel. “Folks didn’t know much about Fiona. When word spread that one of her friends was in town, people’s natural curiosity came out.”
“Has anyone spoken with him?”
“Why would someone do that?” She cocked her head as if I’d just asked the most unexpected question.
I blinked. “To offer condolences or just to say hi.” Anything seemed better than treating him like a book display.
“Hmm. That’s something to consider.” Anna May turned away. Her period of consideration was very brief.
Soon the music of her grinder and the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans wrapped me in a morning embrace. I inhaled deeply and tried to keep my attention from straying back to Willy.
The usual array of customers congregated within the café—business professionals, college students, and retirees. Many seemed oblivious to everything but Willy. Did he realize he was the center of attention? How could he not?
A male voice called behind me. “How’s Jo holding up?”
I turned to see Dabney McCoy sitting with Etta Cole at their customary table closest to the counter with their bowls of peach cobbler.
A weight settled on my shoulders as I remembered how stressed and desperate Jo had sounded when Spence and I had spoken with her last night. “She’s concerned the deputies seem to be focusing on her.”
Dabney took the final bite of his cobbler and nudged aside the empty dish. “Nobody ’round here thinks Jo Gomez killed Fiona Lyle-Hayes.”
“The deputies do.” I stepped closer to the older couple to hear them over the sound of the espresso machine.
“I can’t speak about Errol. He’s a young man and still new to the department.” Etta shrugged her thin shoulders. “But I taught Jedidiah Whatley high school English, and I can tell you he didn’t become a sheriff’s deputy to solve murders.”
I’d known Etta had been a high school teacher, but it hadn’t occurred to me that she’d been Jed’s teacher. Could she help explain why he wasn’t interested in the library? “Why did he go into law enforcement?”
Etta switched her attention from Willy to me. “Well, sweetie, I suppose he thought that was the best way he could help people.”
Dabney snorted. “The best way he could be a town nuisance, you mean.”
Etta scooped up more peach cobbler. “If you didn’t speed—”
Dabney ignored Etta’s interruption. “All he ever does—”
“—or park illegally—”
“—is hand out tickets.”
“—then you wouldn’t get traffic tickets.”
Dabney snorted again. “Maybe if Jed Whatley spent less time handing out tickets and more time protecting residents, we wouldn’t have had such a gruesome murder in our town.”
Etta dropped her spoon into her dessert bowl. Her face drained of blood at the reference to Fiona’s crime scene.
Dabney’s gaze dropped to her half-eaten cobbler. “Are you done with that?” Without waiting for her response, he tugged the bowl to him and shoveled his spoon into the pastry.
I didn’t agree with Dabney’s depiction of Jed’s responsibility for Fiona’s murder, but I was amazed he’d yet again managed to claim Etta’s dessert. “Neither of
