Jed escorted me to the front of To Be Read just as Spence returned with the female deputy. Jo was already back, waiting with two members of her staff. Jed’s suspicious gaze scrutinized her before moving on to the rest of the room.
“Excuse me, folks,” he said loudly. “If I could just have your attention for a bit. Now, we understand y’all probably want to go home. Get back to your families. Try to enjoy what’s left of your weekend. Believe me, we understand. You can do all of that once you’ve given us your statements. But just so you know, we may have some follow-up questions for y’all down the road. All right now.”
He gave Jo another considering look before inviting one of her employees to join him in the children’s book section. Spence’s deputy took the other.
Jo was nursing the water one of her employees had given her earlier, or perhaps she’d refilled it. Still visibly shaken, she stared into the mug. “I told my team they could leave after they spoke with the deputies, but they said they’d stay to help close the store.”
“Good.” I glanced at Spence. He was regarding Jo with concern as well. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No, thank you.” Jo’s smile was a weak impersonation of her usual dazzling expression. “I appreciate everything you’ve both done already, taking charge of this…tragedy.” She drew a shuddering breath. “I’m just sick that someone was murdered. But that someone would do something like this in my store… It’s like they murdered a guest in my home.”
I gave her shoulder an empathetic squeeze. Jo’s analogy was perfect. She spent long hours at the store, tending to it as though it was her home. Vases of fresh flowers, bowls of potpourri, and plates of candy were scattered around the floor plan. And she treated her staff like family. I couldn’t imagine how Jo must feel. Fiona’s murder was a heinous act. How much more devastating would it be to have this crime committed in a place she loved so much?
“I’ll stay and drive you home when you’re ready to leave.” Spence’s voice was gentle.
“I’ll wait with you too.” I followed Spence’s gaze.
A young deputy carried out what appeared to be evidence kits. Had she found the murder weapon? I cautiously searched my memory. There hadn’t been anything resembling a weapon near Fiona’s body.
“Thank you.” Jo shook herself as though trying to shrug off the same helpless feeling that threatened to paralyze me. “The store’s closed Sundays. I’ll keep it closed Monday too, out of respect for Fiona.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you.” I examined Jo’s delicate features. She looked tired.
“Do you think the deputies suspect someone here killed Fiona?”
Spence raised his thick eyebrows and lowered his deep voice. “That doesn’t make sense. The killer would’ve been covered in blood.”
That same thought had crossed my mind.
I scanned To Be Read, settling on the front doors. The Closed sign hung in the window. “That’s the only way in or out of the store. Whether you’re a customer, an employee, or a delivery person, you use those doors.”
Jo glanced over her shoulder toward the entrance. “That’s right.”
I frowned. “Question: how did the killer, covered in blood, get past a store full of people without being noticed?”
Chapter 4
The next morning, I went for my usual early jog along an idyllic path I’d found in a park a few blocks from home. Only the faint chirrup of birds singing and memories of finding a murder victim kept me company.
I came to the short weathered wooden fence that separated the dirt trail from the swamp line. Sweat stung my eyes. I wiped them and focused on my black Apple Watch, a gift from my brother. It read a quarter to six a.m. I’d been running for thirty minutes, three miles. I turned toward home to finish my six-mile run.
A faint breeze cooled my heated skin. Each deep breath drew in the sharp scent of dew-laden grass and the musky smell of compost from the swamp. It beat the exhaust fumes that had kept me company on morning jogs through my old Brooklyn neighborhood. I emerged from the park and turned toward home. The sleepy streets allowed me to get lost in my own thoughts instead of playing chicken with the New York traffic. I did, however, miss the energy of the city that never sleeps, and the silent solidarity with other joggers. There was always a trade-off.
But another bonus: I’d been able to buy a house. It was a simple little A-line cottage with a white wood façade and a gray gable roof. Sugar maples and sweetgum trees lined my sidewalk, and black-eyed Susans waved from my front yard.
I jogged up the four steps to my little front porch and turned off my stopwatch. I collected the Sunday edition of The Peach Coast Crier from my doormat before letting myself in and deactivating my security alarm.
Carrying my newspaper and my running shoes, I went in search of my cat. “Phoenix?”
The name suited him. When I’d adopted my four-year-old gray tiger rescue tabby a little more than a year ago, he’d been thin and weak. After a month and a half, he’d gained weight and strength, rising from the ashes like the phoenix of Greek mythology.
In New York, Phoenix would meet me at my front door after my morning run. Since resettling in Peach Coast, he seemed to have given up his security detail. I walked through my living room and down the hallway to my yellow and white kitchen.
Phoenix’s food bowl stood about two-thirds empty near the side door. My shoulders slumped. It used to be that he wouldn’t leave even a crumb behind. The vet had said Phoenix might not have much of an appetite until he got used to his new home.
I passed through the doorway that separated the kitchen and dining room, dropped the newspaper on the table, and then turned
