Bound to Execute Page 3

  “Ollie, what are you doing here?”

  He furrowed his brow. “I thought I was on the schedule for today.”

  Now it was Cate’s turn to look puzzled. “Well, you were, but I didn’t think you’d be back to work—”

  I interrupted. “Ollie, did you hear about the kerfuffle over at the bank yesterday afternoon?”

  He looked up toward the ceiling. “Oh yeah, Ms. Johnson said that the lady with the leaky hair up at the bank had yelled at her. That woman can be really mean.”

  Cate and I stared at one another. “Ollie, someone has been stealing from the co-op. The mortgage hasn’t been paid in months.”

  I wouldn’t say that shock described the expression that crossed Ollie’s face. Mild surprise maybe. Befuddlement perhaps. But no guilt. No defensiveness.

  “That sucks, Boss. You okay?”

  Cate looked at me again, and she was definitely shocked. “Ollie, the sheriff is looking for you.”

  “He is?” The more Ollie talked, the more he reminded me of the Keanu Reeves character from Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure. Sweet but clueless. “Why?”

  Cate’s voice was just the slightest bit shrill. “Because you are the one who takes the mortgage payments to the bank every month, Ollie.”

  “I do?” Some level of worry seemed to be registering on Ollie’s face at this point. “When?”

  Cate let out an exasperated sigh. “When you take the deposit to the bank? The mortgage payment slip is in the envelope.”

  “It is?”

  I couldn’t take any more of this. Clearly, the guy had no idea what was going on. “Cate, I think we need to call the sheriff.”

  She gave a vigorous nod. “Ollie, don’t go anywhere, okay?”

  He nodded. “Sure thing, Boss. I’ll be here, same as always.”

  Cate and I started to talk as we walked back to her studio around the corner. “A thieving mastermind might have been able to play the dumb kid part that well,” I said, “but somehow, I don’t think Ollie is a mastermind of that caliber.”

  For the first time since last night, Cate cracked a smile. “You can say that again.” She stopped just before we stepped into her office and walked back a few steps to where she could see the front desk. “Ollie, do you drive?”

  “Nope, Boss. Epilepsy. Not allowed.”

  “Oh, wow. Okay. Where do you bike in from?”

  “Wye Mills,” he said as if it was just the other end of the street. Wye Mills was over twenty miles away.

  “You bike forty miles a day just to work here?”

  He shrugged. “I like art.”

  Well, that was that. He liked art. I couldn’t argue with that logic.

  Cate caught up with the sheriff and told him what we’d learned. He said he’d be over to talk to Ollie, just to be sure, but that it sounded like we had to go at another angle. Cate looked deflated. Still, she walked me to the front door and then took up next to Ollie again.

  As I walked out the front door, I heard her say, “Epilepsy. Do you have seizures often?” I smiled. Guess Cate was going to make right on the fact that none of us had taken the time to get to know this kid in our town. I’d have to do the same next time I was in.

  * * *

  The day at the shop flew by. We were busier than ever now that the tourist season had started, and customers were at the register most of the day buying everything from local history books to these cute pocket journals that Rocky had suggested we carry. When closing time rolled around, I collapsed into the chair and a half by the history section and took a deep breath. Daniel and Lucas had headed over to Baltimore to see an Orioles game, and I had decided a night on my own sounded perfect. Mart was away consulting with a winery outside Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, and I didn’t tell anyone else that Daniel was away. I was looking forward to a quiet walk home, a warm bath, and binge-watching Glow Up until I fell asleep.

  I finished up the closing routine just as Rocky came over. “Hot date tonight, woman?” I asked, feigning innocence.

  She blushed deeply and grinned. “Yep. Going to see a movie after we get dinner.”

  “Good,” I said. “I’m happy for you two.”

  Rocky’s smile almost reached her ears as she saw Marcus outside the door at her car. “See you tomorrow, Harvey.”

  I waved back, set the alarm, and put on Mayhem’s leash. It was the perfect evening for a walk, and my girl knew it. She didn’t even pull as we headed up Main Street past Max’s restaurant. The sidewalk tables were full, and I was eager to move Mayhem along before she helped herself to someone’s roll. But Max grabbed my arm, interrupting himself in the middle of taking a young couple’s order.

  “Harvey. It’s wonderful to see you. You look absolutely lovely tonight.” Max had a lingering crush on me, and despite my best efforts to convince him I was both committed to Daniel and completely uninterested in him, he persevered. On some microscopic level, I gave him credit for persistence.

  “Thank you, Max. Have a good night.” I picked up the pace and headed toward the other end of town.

  We strolled past Daniel’s shop and then out to the south edge of town before turning back through the residential streets near the library. Mayhem loved watching the kids on the playground, and I was a big fan of the restored covered bridge at the end of the park itself. It made me feel connected to history, tied to this place in a way that even the old buildings on Main Street didn’t.

  As we crossed over the bridge, something caught my eye as it fluttered in the wind. I thought it might be a piece of trash and started to make my way down to grab it. I hated litter, and when I could, I filled my pockets with discarded bottles and stray newspaper pages. But as I got closer to the silvery object, I realized it wasn’t a piece of paper. It was a scarf, and as my eyes followed the scarf back up the bank by the bridge, they came to a face.

  I lost my footing and dropped to my butt on the bank. I had the forethought not to scream since I didn’t want to alarm the children on the swings just above us, but I did let out a shocked sob. It was Wilma Painter from the bank, and she was dead.

  Mayhem strained at her leash, eager to get to Wilma, but I wrapped the leash around my ankle and pulled my phone from my pocket. I dialed the sheriff’s office directly – 911 sometimes took longer. Harriet, the dispatcher, answered. I told her where I was and what I’d found. “The sheriff needs to come now, Harriet.”

  “Absolutely. I’m calling him now and sending the officer on duty to you this moment.” I could hear her say, “Covered bridge. Murder,” to someone in the room.

  Even as she spoke, I heard the sound of the siren and suddenly realized that my self-control about screaming was going to be useless if a bunch of children got curious about the police arriving. I let Mayhem tug me up the hill to the swings and quickly told the adults nearby that the police were on their way and that it might be best for the children to not be here. I knew a lot of these parents, grandparents, and nannies from the store, and something in my face must have telegraphed the seriousness of the situation because they nodded, didn’t ask questions, and began moving the children away. From what I’d seen on the hillside near the body, I didn’t think they could have seen anything from that angle, and we didn’t need tiny eyes trying to get a look at what brought out the police car.

  By the time the deputy arrived, the playground was empty, and I took a deep breath of relief. At least the trauma of this day wouldn’t be inflicted on the youngest in our town. I led the deputy back down to Wilma’s body and then took a step back.

  Deputy Dillard was new to the police force in St. Marin’s, and while I had met him a few times when he had come into the bookstore, I hadn’t yet seen him in action. Unfortunately, something about his gangly frame and slightly pasty complexion always reminded me of Barney Fife, but he quickly dispelled my preconceived ideas that he might be a bumbling if loveable fool.

  He immediately took Wilma’s pulse and then gave me a little shake of his head. She was definitely
dead. Then, he stood up and asked me to move back to the top of the hill so that we didn’t disturb the scene any more than necessary. While I sat on the end of the covered bridge with Mayhem at attention next to my feet, the deputy strung police tape around the hillside in such a way that it would be seen clearly if you approached but barely noticeable from a distance. He definitely knew what he was doing.

  Then, he went to his car and brought me back a bottle of water and a granola bar. “You’ve had a shock,” he said kindly.

  I felt tears spring to my eyes as I realized he was right. I let out a shuddery sob and took a sip of the water while he gazed across the playground, near but not intrusive as I gathered myself.

  A few moments and the granola bar later, he turned back to me. “Are you able to tell me about this afternoon?”

  I was a word person, so I immediately noticed that he didn’t ask me to tell him what happened or about what I found. Only about my afternoon, because, of course, this was part of my afternoon.

  I nodded, and he sat beside me on the edge of the bridge, notebook in hand. I told him about my walk through town and back out through the park. About coming down to get what I thought was a wrapper or piece of paper. About discovering it was Wilma’s silver scarf and then finding her body.

  “Okay. Then what?”

  I sat up straighter. “Then nothing. I called Harriet, and here we are.”

  He smiled. “Right. But what did you do while you waited? You were at the top of the bank when I got here, so you must have climbed up, right? ” He looked me in the eye. “Just thinking about the crime scene and footprints. Want to rule yours out.”

  I sighed. “Got it. Yes, I climbed back up and told the adults on the playground that a police car was on the way.” When I saw his eyes narrow, I quickly said, “I didn’t tell them why. But I did want them to be able to get the children away.”

  A slow smile spread across his face. “Good idea. Thanks for that, and thanks for not telling anyone about Ms. Painter. Word will spread fast enough without us helping it along.”

  Now, it was my turn to smile. He hadn’t been here long, but he sure knew our town already. “You got that right? Familiar with small towns, are you?”

  “Grew up in Princess Anne.” He named an adorable town full of Victorian houses further down the Shore. “You couldn’t get a haircut without it getting printed in the church bulletin.”

  “Here, it might not make the bulletin, but it will be the talk of the coffee hour after the service.”

  “Good to know,” he said as he stood. “There’s Sheriff Mason now.”

  I looked up to see the sheriff’s pick-up coming into the parking lot on the other side of the park. Recently, Daniel had bought an old Chevy pick-up that he was restoring for me, and so I was particularly keen on old trucks. I still had a lot to learn, but I could tell this one was a Ford, probably sixties. A side-step in a rusty red. It shone in the afternoon sun, and when the sheriff stepped out in blue jeans and a ball cap, he looked right at home.

  His face was serious when he walked up. “You found her, Harvey?” he asked quietly.

  I nodded.

  He looked down the bank then turned to Deputy Dillard. “Coroner will be here soon. Crime scene techs, too.” He looked over at the swings. “Good work clearing the playground.”

  “Oh, that was all Harvey,” the deputy tilted his head in my direction.

  Tuck smiled. “Thanks for that. Dillard here got your statement?”

  “He did.” I stood and gathered most of Mayhem’s leash in my hands. “I’ll be at home tonight if you need me.”

  The sheriff gave my arm a squeeze and then turned back to his officer. They had work to do, and as much as I liked the sheriff, I wasn’t thrilled to have to see him twice in less than twenty-four hours. Plus, I wanted to think through all this. I mean, it seemed far too coincidental that the day after Wilma threatens to foreclose on the co-op, she is killed.

  Mayhem and I finished our walk across the bridge and up the backside of Main Street before cutting across toward home. I kept thinking about Ollie, about how he had seemed so clueless about what was going on, and I thought about doubling back and asking the sheriff what he’d learned when he questioned him that morning. But I knew the sheriff had more important things to do and that he would not take kindly to me inquiring about his investigation. Nope, I’d have to find out from Cate.

  I picked up the pace on the last few blocks toward home, eager to call Cate and tell her about Wilma while also getting the low-down on Ollie, but when I reached our driveway, I saw my parents’ car there. I wasn’t expecting them, but now that they lived in town, maybe they’d just decided to stop by. I’d been intending to have a conversation about boundaries – like calling first before coming over – but my relationship with my mom and dad was the best it had been since I was a child and felt nervous about hurting their feelings when our connection felt really tender. Still, I was a little annoyed to find them there unannounced.

  Mom was around the side of the house, weeding our planter boxes, and I considered slipping inside quietly, my tendency to want to avoid my parents still strong. But Mayhem had other ideas and let out an excited bark as we approached. Mom looked up and smiled, which made me feel guilty. She was happy to see me, and I needed to be happy to see her, too.

  I smiled back. “Thanks for weeding. That was on my schedule for this afternoon, but I got waylaid.”

  Mom looked at me closely. “Are you okay?”

  For not the first time in my life, I wished that I actually had a poker face, or even a rummy face, but I was never good at hiding how I was feeling. “Yeah, I am. Just made a hard discovery on the way home.” I sighed. “Come have a glass of wine. I’ll tell you about it.”

  She nodded. “Alright. I can’t stay long, though. Your dad is grilling out, and you know how he gets if his monthly night of cooking isn’t treated with the utmost honor.” She gave me a small smile, but then jutted out her chin. “If you need us, though, Harvey, I can call him and let him know to put the steaks on hold.”

  “No, no. I don’t want you to miss Dad’s steaks, but I think you’ll want to hear this.”

  We made our way into the bungalow, and I poured us each a glass of pinot grigio, which we carried to the small patio behind the house. I took a sip and said, “You remember that woman we were talking about last night, the banker?”

  “Wilma something?”

  “Right, Wilma Painter. Mayhem and I just found her body over by the covered bridge.”

  Mom set her glass down hard on the patio table. “You what?”

  “Right. The sheriff is there now.” I put my head down on the table by my wine glass.

  I felt Mom’s cool hand on the back of my neck and then heard her lift her glass again. “That must have been a shock.”

  “It was.” I sighed. “But I can’t help but think that there’s some connection to what’s happening at the co-op.”

  Mom sat up very straight. “That’s why I came by. I almost forgot. I ran into Cate when I was at Elle’s farm stand. The sheriff has cleared Ollie, which is good news. Right?”

  I let out of a long, slow breath. “Definitely. But that means we have no idea who was stealing from the co-op, which isn’t good news? And now, we need to figure out who killed Wilma.”

  Most of my friends would have stopped me right there and noted that we needed to do no such thing, but Mom didn’t say a word. I had clearly gotten my curiosity from her, even if she had lectured me not to be nosy almost every day of my childhood.

  “True. But Cate also said that the sheriff had some other lines of inquiry to pursue.” Mom averted her eyes.

  “There’s something you’re not telling me.” I leaned forward and placed my hand on hers. “Mom, what is it?”

  “Well, I guess they’re looking into Henri Johnson. Seems there’s some question about whether she might be involved.”

  I let my body fall back against the chair. “What?! No. There
’s no way. Henri was stupefied about this yesterday. Plus, what would be her motivation? She’s married to a doctor, for Pete’s sake. And the co-op benefits her, I mean that’s where she works and sells—”

  Mom held up a hand. “I know, Harvey. You don’t have to convince me. I’m just sharing what I heard at the salon.” My mother got her hair cut and dyed once a month like clockwork. I had forgotten this was the Saturday.

  I sighed and tried to let my shoulders drop back down and away from my ears. “You’re right. Of course.” I leaned back and stared at the perfect blue sky. “This just sucks.”

  I heard Mom take another sip of wine. “It does. Royally.”

  * * *

  Mom headed home a few minutes later, and I called in an order of take-out from the Thai place in town. Tonight called for pad Thai and I decided I’d follow it up with a batch of peanut butter popcorn.

  I plopped into my reading chair. When the food arrived thirty minutes later, I was in my cute but very comfy plaid PJ pants, an oversized T-shirt, and the bear slippers Daniel had bought me for our two-month dating anniversary.

  I dropped onto the couch with takeout containers, banishing Aslan to the chenille throw at the other end of the sofa. Just as I started to queue up all the greatness that is a reality show makeup competition, Cate rang the bell. She was in sweats and a T-shirt that had more than the required number of holes, and she had a headband tucked up around her straight, black hair. “I didn’t feel like being alone,” she said.

  I pointed toward the containers and the TV. “Come on in.”

  Cate gave me the firsthand update on events, and I listened attentively, not feeling it necessary or helpful to let her know Mom had already filled me in. “The sheriff is going to get an earful from Bear – probably Pickle – too. He must have some serious information if he’s even considering going that route.”

  Bear, Henri’s husband, was an ER surgeon here in town, and his best friend, Pickle, was an attorney. The two came off as a pair of good ole boys what with their affection for gas-station chicken and storytelling, but they were both well-educated, well-respected men, men who didn’t tolerate fools.