Chapter Thirteen

“That looks good, Max.” Late Monday morning I try to muster enthusiasm as I speak to Phil’s carpenter. He’s called me out of my office to show me the floating shelves, hung and stained. It’s quiet and still and I’m finding it hard to break the silence except when I have to. It’s almost as if the building knows it’s where a soul left the planet.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your work but I didn’t want to leave until I knew you’re happy.”

Max’s eyelids droop as he gives Ralph, perched on my shoulder, a side-eye but he says nothing about my green buddy. Ralph has been especially needy since Saturday and it’s easier for me to keep him with me than have him scream his new mystery word from his perch. Allowing Ralph to sleep in my bedroom hasn’t kept him from clinging to me all morning. He’s so codependent. I adjust his too-sharp claws as I deal with Max.

“It’s exactly what I wanted. Your attention to detail is off the charts. Thank you.”

“I had to cut the longest one short by a few inches, to fit snug in the corner.” He points to the retail area’s back southern wall, which it shares with the storage room. Where Frannie was…

I shut down the mental trip to Feartown as best I can. No amount of pilot training on compartmentalization is going to erase the knowledge of Frannie’s suffering, but I have to try. For my sake, my family’s, the town’s.

For all of us.

“That’s fine, Max. It all looks better than I imagined.” My fingers itch to start putting up the merchandise displays. A tiny, familiar spark ignites deep in my chest. Enthusiasm for the shop, for my future in Stonebridge.

“Eeeeeetch!” Ralph screams in my ear and his claw tips dig into my hand-knit sweater. So much for soothing him.

“Stop that, Ralph.” I reach up and scratch his nape, which calms him. “You’re a good boy.” It’s always there between Ralph and me, this constant thrum that I imagine is our connection. Now I feel he’s trying to tell me “I know who killed Frannie.” But does he? Did he really see anything, or just hear the murder? I shudder at the thought of what her last moments sounded like.

“Do you want me to change anything?” Max’s concern reflects more emotion the man’s emitted since I met him. Normally a hey, bro’ type of dude, I realize he’s been grim since arriving back to work earlier. And more pointedly, he hasn’t ventured anywhere near the back office, storage room, or entrance, opting to bring all his supplies through the front customer door. The woodworking tools were moved out here by the forensics team and Max didn’t so much as ask to move them back into my office.

“No, not at all. You’ve done a great job, Max. And listen. I know it’s hard, being here right now. Working in a place where someone died. I. Know I’m distracted, and it’s my shop.”

“The place where Frannie was murdered, you mean.” He nods stoically. “I know she had to save her marriage, but it doesn’t take away from what we shared, you know?” His eyes cast downward, as if searching the sawdust for a tiny insect. “It’s hard.” A huge tear trembles at the edge of his lower lid, then decides to take the leap and rolls down his chiseled cheek.

I have to give Stonebridge men credit for feeling their feelings, and not being afraid to show them. But why in front of me?

“I didn’t realize you knew Frannie.” Before I finish my observation, it hits me. Max could be Frannie’s lover.

Holy cannoli!

Easy, easy. Take it slow.

“Um, so you two were, close friends?”

“More than that. The whole town knows, Ms. Angel.” His eyes finally meet mine. “You’re shocked, it seems, but Frannie’s not the first mature woman I’ve been with. People say I have an old soul, so older women are a natural fit for me. I’m twenty-eight and I’ve never dated a woman under thirty-five, even ten years ago.” He looks at me meaningfully. “You know, attraction doesn’t see the years.” He raises a brow.

How I keep from laughing or gasping is beyond me, but somehow I’m able to dig deep for a neutral demeanor. “I’m sorry for your loss, Max. I didn’t realize you and Frannie were currently involved.”

“Oh, we weren’t. I mean we were, all last week. But then, well, we had to break it off. She told me on Saturday.” If he realizes he just admitted to a motive to kill Frannie, he doesn’t show it.

“This past Saturday? That’s awful. I mean, that your last interaction wasn’t a positive one. Can I ask what time you last saw Frannie?” Prying when a potential suspect is at their emotional bottom is becoming too easy for my conscience, even with pragmatic reasons for doing so.

Max looks at the floor, scratches his neck. Doesn’t make eye contact. “It was sometime after I ran into you that morning. I knew it was coming, you know? I just didn’t want to see the signs. But we were through at least a week ago.”

“Signs?”

“She kept talking about going on vacation with Ken. To a romantic spot. Not something you do when you’re going to choose your boyfriend over your husband.”

“No, I suppose it’s not.” He seems truly sad, just like Ken did. But wouldn’t a murderer be cold-blooded enough to be able to put on a show?

Ralph starts to preen my hair, making soft cooing noises. Max finally looks up at both of us.

“If you don’t mind, Ms. Angel, I need the rest of the day off. I’ve got to process this, man.”

“You work for Phil, not me. But I’m okay with you knocking off until tomorrow. All that’s left is the cashier’s counter.” I almost say plan on taking time off for the funeral, too but the date to lay Frannie to rest hasn’t been set. Since her body had to go to Lehigh Valley for the autopsy, it could be another few days or so.

“Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” He gathers his personal tools, and departs through the front door, his shoulders slung low. I briefly watch as he slings the large canvas duffle into the bed of his pickup. Neither Ken nor Max can come off my suspect list. Not by a long shot.

I lock the door and turn back to my office. I’ve avoided the storeroom and can’t blame Max for steering clear of the back of the shop. The police are done with their investigation and the cleaning crew I hired came in when I opened this morning and took care of scrubbing the shelf and floor. If I didn’t know Frannie’s body had been there, I wouldn’t be able to tell anything awful had happened.

But I do know. The memory’s like a brand that’s still smoking on my brain.

Still, it’s important to move on, keep going with my plans. Life is for the living and all that. But it’s also true that justice matters.

Before I can convince myself to stay in the too-quiet building, I make a decision.

“Come on, Ralph. Let’s get you upstairs.”

“You’re kidding! He confessed to the affair then and there?” Crystal’s eyes bug out behind her glasses, her arms elbow-deep in the cut flowers she’s arranging for a customer, working through her usual noon lunchtime. A lot of red and white carnations, interspersed with noble fir branches. A large red vase waits on the stainless work counter for the festive bouquet.

I couldn’t bear to talk to her on the phone, or wait until she gets off work. I rationalize the thirty-minute roundtrip drive is part of my necessary workday. After all, I won’t be fruitful with my own business until I have solid answers.

“He did.” I notice that all of her bouquets appear to be Christmas themed. “Where are your Thanksgiving arrangements?”

She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand. “In the storage refrigerator. I’ve delivered the vast majority of them. We’re getting close and my customers seem to want the Christmas decor earlier each year.”

“Speaking of which, any chance you can make room for a large Christmas centerpiece for the shop?” I was already counting on the Thanksgiving arrangement she’d promised for our family turkey dinner.

“I already did. Remind me to show you.”

Comfort in the form of fuzzy warmth around my center makes me smile. “You’re the best big sister ever.”

We’re at Crystal’s workbench, behind the small storefront of the nursery she runs. It’s adjacent to Brad’s landscaping business which is basically a converted antique barn that houses all of his equipment. A graveled road winds around to the back of it, where pile upon pile of everything from river rocks to mushroom compost reside. Crystal’s flower fields occupy a few acres on the other side of the supply storage. As I drove in, I caught glimpses of the battered gray sunflower fields, their cheery autumnal hues snuffed out by our first frost last month.

Crystal and Brad established Finnegan’s Lawn & Landscaping almost thirty years ago. The florist part is all Crystal’s baby, with cut flowers her specialty. Crystal owns the floral and nursery part of the company outright since she decided she needed to be “more than a wife and mother 24/7.” The annual contracts she receives from several south central Pennsylvania catering firms are enough to entirely cover her overhead. She handles several business offices, too, ensuring their lobbies are never without the most current seasonal decor.

“Hmmm. So Max and Frannie. You say he’s not more than thirty? Wow. That puts a new spin on the whole story, doesn’t it? Do you think he did it?” Crystal never stops working as she helps me sift through the facts.

“He’s twenty-eight, for the record. I have no idea who did it, but he has a dang good motive, wouldn’t you say? Also, for the record, you didn’t mention this at Latte Love on Saturday.” I hand her the noble fir stem she’s reaching for. “Does that make sense to you, though? That Frannie was stepping out on Ken so recently? With this guy Max? You’d said that they’d made up, moved on from their transgressions. Well, his, anyway. I thought all that was behind them.”

“Hmm. What Max said about the entire town knowing—it’s a bit of an exaggeration. I didn’t mention it because while I’ve heard a rumor or two about her in the last weeks, I didn’t think it was anything more than malicious gossip, most likely from one of the small business owners she was haranguing to get in step with the Frannie Stonebridge agenda. You know she wasn’t one to make bosom buddies with anyone, not where hardcore business was involved. Some folks tried to say her beau was underage, but the kibosh was put on that by Ken, actually. He confided in Brad that he’d forgiven her for what he thought her one-time fling, and told him the guy was in his twenties.” Brad and Ken were fishing buddies.

“When they had their troubles two years ago, are you certain Frannie wasn’t cheating then, too?” Not that I want more suspects on my list, but I’d hate to overlook anyone obvious.

Crystal pushes her glasses up from where they’ve slipped to the tip of her nose. “There were rumors back then that Frannie’s flirting with other men was a bit over the top, but nothing substantial. Ken’s definitely the one who had the affair back then.”

“I know about that, then.” I don’t want to betray Ken’s confidence even to Crystal. No matter that he’s still on my suspect list, it’s too sleeve to break trust given during such extreme sorrow.

“You’re not a gossiping type, Angel. Since when have you become the gatherer of all things Stonebridge?”

“Since I found Frannie dead in my shop. Murdered. Like, only two days ago.” I’m trying to keep our banter in the sisterly zone we both love, but I can’t keep the strain out of my tone. I’m looking pretty worn out, too. When I woke up this morning, I had what seemed a brilliant idea to honor Frannie. I was going for a low-key holiday theme when I dressed in my favorite red ski sweater, green corduroy short skirt, and matching green tights with glitter snowflakes. But I’ve caught a glimpse or two of myself through the day and my hair’s out of control, highlighting the serious bags under my eyes. Add in the coating of sawdust over my outfit and I’m passing more as the town’s bedraggled elf.

“Sorry, sis. You’ve been through the wringer. And you’re not out of it yet.”

“Tell me about it. I’m not upset with you, Crystal.”

“I know that, Angel. Yeah, Ken’s affair was in full Technicolor, surround sound and all. At one point he shacked up with her in her apartment. Oh, sorry. You need to know who. It was Liza, the assistant at the real estate office.”

“She must have been there before Jenna, then. Jenna’s the only assistant I know of.”

Crystal nods. “Yes, the one assistant stayed on, but Liza left. They looked for a replacement quickly but I don’t think they ever found one. Frannie even went so far as to ask me if I had a few hours a week to spare. It was hard times finding hourly employees that year, and then there’s Frannie’s reputation as a less-than-ideal boss. Her former reputation, that is.” Crystal sighs. “It’s so sad, really. I don’t think either of them, Ken or Frannie, ever have been truly happy.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t say more yesterday at the coffee shop.”

“We got a little sidetracked after you caught a glimpse of Nate the barista, remember?”

Nate. Yeah, I remembered. “Feels more like two months ago than just Saturday.” When I’d allowed myself that little thrill of attraction.

Crystal’s gaze turns critical, and she sets her flower trimmers on the tattered workbench. “You need a break. Why don’t you go to the house and catch a catnap? There are no reminders of murder in our guest room.”

I wave away her concern. “I got a good night’s in my own bed last night. Besides the shock of it all, I can’t say I feel that stressed.” Except for the possibility of the shop not opening on time part.

“Uh huh. Because you get interrogated by Stonebridge’s lead detective every day.”

“Trinity’s cleared me as a suspect. My alibis all checked out and I have zero motive. As we both know.”

Crystal sets the vase aside, picks out several different types of bare branches from her buckets, and begins arranging them in a barrel-shaped vase. “The problem is that too many people in Stonebridge have motive. The question is, who had the wherewithal to take it to such a grisly end?”