Chapter Eleven

~ Maddie ~

I pick up a dozen cinnamon scones from the Briar Patch Bakery and invite Bertha Wimberly over for tea. She doesn’t hesitate, despite the fact that it’s close to six thirty by time she knocks on my door.

“I just love scones, dear,” she said. “I eat my dinner at four thirty so I have time to digest. By now, I’m more than ready for dessert.”

“Would you like coffee or tea?” Jenna asks as our neighbor settles her ample frame on one of the chairs at the kitchen tables.

“Tea, thank you. Earl Grey, if you have it.”

“I just picked up some at the grocery store,” I say as I take the box down from the cabinet.

“It’s such a shame about Riley Buxston,” she says without preamble.

While I’m not surprised that word has already gotten out, I’m happy Bertha is the one who brings it up.

In the past, I’ve invited her in to share things I’ve baked or picked up. She’s an elderly widow and lives alone. Her children are in Florida and don’t get to North Carolina much beyond the holidays. I’ve taken it upon myself to look in on her.

“It’s hard to believe,” I say. “He was supposed to get married today. Jenna just saw him last night.”

I pause, waiting for her to pick up on the cue.

Her eyes flash as she chews the bite of scone she’d just popped into her mouth. She washes it down with a dainty sip of tea and says, “I saw him, too. Right outside Jenna’s door.”

I never know which way she’s going to turn a conversation, but judging by the look on her face, she seems to be more eager to stake her claim to having seen the victim before he met his demise than scolding Jenna for making the dogs bark. Or, worse yet, that she was one of the last people to see him and she was angry at him for waking her up.

Hardly a motive, but it might be something to get her to sympathize with Jenna’s plight.

“Who do you suppose would’ve done that to Riley?” Jenna asks.

Bertha shudders. “I don’t know, but it means there’s a killer on the loose. We’d all be smart to take care and lock our doors and windows. And we need to look out for each other.”

“Yes, we do,” I say. “We can never be too careful. However, all the research I’ve done shows that when someone is murdered, the victim usually knows his killer. It’s rarely a random act. Do you have any idea who would’ve wanted Riley Buxston dead?”

“Heavens no.” Bertha’s pudgy hand flutters to the lace collar on her polyester blouse. “I didn’t know him very well. I mean, Jenna might be a better person to answer that question. She left with him.”

“Yes, I did, Mrs. Wimberly. I took him home after he showed up at my door drunk. I dropped him off and came right back.”

I suppress a smile at how Jenna is doing a good job of refreshing our elderly neighbor’s memory.

“I’m sorry he was being so noisy,” she continues. “I hate that he disturbed you, but I didn’t want to let him inside since he was so lit. He came over here after his bachelor party wanting to talk about the wedding.”

Bertha helps herself to another scone off the plate. “Don’t mind if I do.” She sends a sheepish look my way.

“Take as many as you want, Bertha.”

“Thank you, dear.”

“Mrs. Wimberly, do you remember Riley talking about his fiancée, Grace Marie?”

The woman’s eyes flash. She nods enthusiastically as she continues to chew with her mouth shut.

“What do you remember?” Jenna asks.

Bertha swallows hard. This time she doesn’t bother to wash down the scone with a sip of tea.

“He said if Grace Marie found out he was with Jenna she would kill him.”

My heart leaps at her recounting of events.

“That’s what I remember, too,” Jenna says.

Bertha’s face clouds with grave concern. “Do you think Grace Marie is the murderer? Are they going to arrest her?”

I pinch off a piece of my scone. “I don’t know. It’s too early to tell. The police are still gathering evidence.”

“Mrs. Wimberly, would you be willing to talk to Chief Bradley and tell him what you heard?” Jenna asks.

Bertha holds up her hands, palms out. My heart sinks as I watch her virtually backpedal away from her former delight at being in the center of things. “Oh, I don’t know about that. You know me, I don’t like to meddle. I don’t think I should get involved.”

I have to suppress a snort. Bertha is one of the founding members of the Gossip Brigade. If meddling was an Olympic sport, she would win the gold.

I reach out and put my hand on hers. “Bertha, don’t think of it as meddling. Think of it as doing your part to keep our community safe. Think of it as doing your civic duty to help put Riley’s killer behind bars.”

I push the plate of scones toward her. She doesn’t hesitate to put another on her plate, even though she hasn’t yet finished her second one. But that’s okay.

“I don’t know what to do,” she says in a small voice. “Should I call the police and report that I saw him here with Jenna?”

My heart falls like it’s suicidal.

“No, don’t do that,” Jenna and I say in unison.

“We can put the chief in touch with you,” I say. “He can call you and set up a time to come by and take your statement.”

“In fact, he already knows that Riley came over to see me,” Jenna says. “If you would concentrate on telling him what you heard Riley say, that would be the biggest help.”

Bertha nods and frowns, as if she’s trying to sort it all out.

“I suppose I can do that.”

Now, we have to trust that Bertha Wimberly doesn’t go rogue and redirect the spotlight back to Jenna.

~ Jenna ~

I box up the rest of the scones to send home with Mrs. Wimberly while Mom feeds Bertha’s hunger for general gossip.

She supplies enough details about finding Riley to send her off feeling like she had the inside track on the murder, but she managed to lace in facts that steered her away from me and toward the idea that there is a killer on the loose. It’s all true. I hate that I have to keep reminding myself that. But perception is everything and doing a little disaster PR on my own behalf was a good idea. It’s not as if we’re setting up Grace Marie to take the fall, we’re merely highlighting her words and actions.

Really, her words speak volumes. We’re not putting words in her mouth. In the twenty-four hours before Riley died, she said she would kill him multiple times.

One might argue that was an unfortunate choice of words, a figure of speech. But it doesn’t erase the fact that she said it.

After Mrs. Wimberly leaves with her care package, Mom and I sit at the table looking at each other. She looks as frazzled as I feel.

“Okay, we need to regroup.” Mom pours the last of the tea into our cups. Then she grabs her notebook and a pen. “I know you’re exhausted, but we need to take detailed notes of our conversation with Bertha.”

I know she’s right, but all I want to do right now is put a pillow over my head and sleep until the chief has found Riley’s killer. If I think too hard about all of the avenues Mrs. Wimberly can go down that might make my case worse, it makes me want to curl up in fetal position and rock.

“Do you think we should’ve just leveled with Mrs. Wimberly and told her that other than the killer, I’m the last person seen with Riley? That what she says to the chief matters?”

Mom pulls a face. “I’m afraid that might border on witness tampering. As it was, we just shared scones and tea with her. We didn’t editorialize or prep her on what to say to Jackson. Now, we need to regroup and trust the process. You did not kill Riley. The truth will prevail.”

The sound of Mom’s ringing cell phone startles me and I jump. More proof that I need to get some sleep.

She gets up, pulls it out of her purse, and answers it. “Hello? Nicole? What’s wrong?”

When Mom sits down at the table, the sound of sobbing on the other end of the receiver comes through. She shoots me an alarmed look.

“Okay, honey, take a breath, and tell me what’s happened.”

The tones of Nicole’s voice comes through the phone, but I can’t make out what she’s saying. Mom keeps repeating uh-huh on her end, but she can’t seem to get a word in otherwise.

“Honey…honey…Nicole, listen to me. Pack your things and go down to the lobby. Jenna and I will be by to pick you up.”

More histrionics follow.

“Of course… No, it’s not a problem.”

I’m terrible because obviously Nicole is upset, but all I want is to get in bed and pull the covers over my head.

“Okay… All right… We’re on our way.”

“What now?” I ask after she disconnects the call.

“That was Nicole,” she says.

“I heard. What’s wrong? Please don’t tell me someone else died.”

I’m joking of course, but the moment the words are out of my mouth, I worry it might be true.

“No one else is dead, but she’s afraid Grace Marie might kill her in her sleep.”

“What?”

Mom shrugs. “Apparently, Jackson interviewed the girls this evening. He has released Tonya, but he told Nicole and Grace Marie they have to stay in Hemlock.”

“Oh. I see.”

“Nicole says Grace Marie wants her out and she can’t afford a hotel room on her own. She asked if she could stay with us.”

“And you said she could.”

She nods.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” I ask. “We don’t know why the chief asked her to stick around. For all we know, we could be inviting Riley’s murderer into our home.” I shudder at the thought.

“She does have a motive,” I add, feeling foolish and alarmist for thinking such thoughts, but when there’s a murderer on the loose, we can’t be too cautious. “She admitted she and Riley had an affair and he threw her over for Grace Marie.”

Ugh. Does this mean until they catch Riley’s killer I’ll see every person with a motive as a murderer?

“Right, but we don’t know if she had the means and the opportunity,” Mom says. “That’s what we need to figure out.” She drums her fingers on her phone.

I can virtually see the wheels in her head turning.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to let Jackson know we’re bringing her here.” Mom types out a quick text.

A moment later, her phone rings.

“It’s Jackson,” she says.

“Hi…”

As with Nicole’s call, I can hear his tone, but I can’t understand what he’s saying.

“Right… But, Jackson, you can’t force her to stay in town if she’s not under arrest. Grace Marie threw her out of the suite and she can’t afford a room on her own.”

She looks at me and raises her brows, a sign that she’s right.

“After everything that’s happened today, I would imagine it would be pretty awkward for them to stay in a hotel suite together. Okay… Okay… Right. I understand. I’ll tell her you want to talk to her again before she leaves.”

Mom disconnects the call and shakes her head. “Let’s go get her. It will be a good opportunity to pick her brain to see what she knows.”

It’s dark outside when we arrive at the Hemlock Inn. The town’s only hotel shines like a beacon at the end of Main Street. In keeping with the local tradition of decorating for the holidays, owners Ernie and Fay Goodwin have spared no expense. Triple strands of garland made of large gold balls are tiered and swaged under the three arches that make up the entrance. The apex of each garland strand is anchored by a wreath adorned with gold ornaments and twinkle lights. At each corner of the portico, Christmas trees decorated in a matching gold motif stand sentry surrounded by red and white poinsettias.

As I steer my Subaru under the canopy, I spy Nicole, looking small and forlorn. She’s wearing an oversized puffer jacket, which looks as though it has swallowed her whole, leggings, and Ugg boots. Her dark hair is piled in a messy knot on top of her head. She’s standing next to two suitcases, looking like a little girl who’s running away from home. Mom jumps out of the car to help Nicole with her baggage.

“Thank you so much for saving me,” Nicole says after she climbs into the back seat. “I couldn’t spend another minute in the same room with that monster.”

It feels as if she’s baiting us to ask for details.

I bite. “What did she do?”

“After Chief Bradley left, she had another fit. I’m telling you, that girl is unbalanced. Now she can have the place all to herself.”

I’m surprised the Buxstons haven’t reached out to Grace Marie with an offer to take her in. Lord knows their place is large enough. Maybe they’re still processing their own grief, or maybe they don’t want to deal with their former future daughter-in-law’s particular brand of crazy right now.

“I was fixing to call the police,” Nicole continues, “but I called y’all instead. I hope the chief doesn’t expect me to stay here long. I have to work Monday morning.”

“Yes, about that.” Mom turns sideways in the seat so she can see Nicole. “I spoke to the chief before we left the house. He has no grounds to hold you here.”

Nicole gasps. “Really?”

“Yes. Unless he arrests you, he cannot force you to stay. When they catch the killer, if you’re named a witness, you’ll have to come back and testify. Oh, and he said he wants to speak to you again, tomorrow before you leave.”

“Why?” she whines. “I told him everything I know. What does he want?”

“It’s probably just a routine follow-up,” Mom says. “Are you hungry, Nicole? Why don’t we stop at Girabaldi’s Pizza and get something to eat? With everything that’s happened today, I’ll bet you haven’t had a chance to eat very much.”

She doesn’t answer.

I glance at her in the rearview mirror and see her staring out the passenger-side window.

Situated between Derry’s Donuts and the Clausons’ gas station and convenience store, Girabaldi’s is located on the other end of downtown, just past the shopping district. The trio of businesses are the last commercial properties before the road out of town gives way to farmhouses and pastureland. The pizza place in an old farmhouse the Girabaldi family converted into a restaurant. Antonio and his wife, Carla, live upstairs. On the first floor, they make the best pizzas in Western North Carolina.

“Was Grace Marie hard on you after you got back to the hotel?” I ask as I drive.

“You should’ve seen her. I thought I could stay in my bedroom and we’d be okay. She’d have her space, I’d have mine, but no. After Chief Bradley left, she pounded on my door. She was screaming at me, telling me I had to leave. That’s when I called you.”

“That’s crazy,” I say.

“Oh, you have no idea. She’s whacked.”

“Do you think she’s crazy enough to have killed Riley?” Mom asks.

The question is a little jarring, but the car isn’t a bad place for a conversation like this since it feels more like a dialogue and less like an interrogation.

“I do,” Nicole says. “I mean, it seemed like every day that ticked closer to the wedding, she became more and more unhinged. I don’t think she loved him. I think she loved his family’s money and social standing. She loved being a bride and being the center of attention, but she didn’t love him. Not like he deserved—” Nicole’s voice breaks.

“Did you love Riley, Nicole?” Mom asks.

Nicole is quiet for a moment and then I hear a sob. I glance in the rearview mirror again. She’s crying.

“I did. I loved him. And now he’s gone. I don’t understand why he wanted to marry her. He had to know she didn’t really love him. If she didn’t want him or she couldn’t go through with the wedding, she didn’t have to kill him. She could’ve just walked away.”

Mom and I exchange a quick glance.

“Did she talk about not going through with the wedding?” I ask.

“No.” There’s a note of defeat to her voice. “If she would’ve skipped out, she would’ve gotten nothing.”

“Yes, but since Riley is dead and they weren’t married, she gets nothing,” Mom says.

I slant another glance at Mom. She and I are thinking the same thing. Unless Grace Marie killed Riley in the heat of a moment, it doesn’t make sense that she’s the murderer. It would’ve been tantamount killing the goose that laid the golden eggs.

“If she wanted his money and to be part of the family, it kind of seems like she wouldn’t have a motive to kill him,” I say.

“All I know is Grace Marie wasn’t in the hotel suite all night. About a half hour after we went to bed, I got up to ask her something and she wasn’t in her room.”

“Do you know what time she got back?”

“I don’t know exactly, but if they checked the hotel’s security footage, I’m sure it would tell us.”

“Where do you think she went?” Mom asks.

“Your guess is as good as mine, and I’ll bet we’re guessing the same thing.”

“Where was Tonya? Did she know Grace Marie was gone?”

“Tonya was sleeping.”

“If she was sleeping, then you don’t have an alibi proving you were in the hotel all night.”

“I don’t need an alibi when the hotel’s security footage will clearly show me entering the hotel with Grace Marie and Tonya at 10:00 p.m. and not leaving until the next morning.” Her tone is awfully snotty for someone who has asked us to do her a favor.

Mom and I exchange a glance and it’s as if I can read her mind. Security footage shows me as the last person to come and go from Riley’s apartment. We know darn good and well that someone else found a way get into Riley’s condo and avoid the cameras.

“Did you kill Riley, Nicole?” I ask as I turn into the Girabaldi’s parking lot and steer into a parking space. The question sounds accusatory and downright mean, but her self-righteous tone is getting on my nerves.

“I can’t believe you’d even ask that.”

“The chief asked you that, right?”

“Of course.”

“And he wants to talk to you again?”

“Apparently.” She snorts. “Will you stop. Please.” Her voice cracks.

I kill the engine, unbuckle my seat belt, and turn around to face her. She’s quietly sobbing now, her face in her hands.

I feel like the ugliest bully in the world.

Mom and I sit there for a moment, unsure of what to do.

“I’m sorry, Nicole,” I say. “I’m not accusing you. I’m just asking. If it makes you feel any better, Chief Bradley asked me the same questions.”

I stop myself before I tell her he has me pegged as the prime suspect.

“It’s cold out here,” Mom says. “Why don’t we go inside and get something to eat. A full belly and a good night’s sleep will do wonders for your outlook.”

Nicole looks up. “I can’t go in there looking like this.”

The neon lights from Derry’s Donuts cast her tearstained face in an eerie green glow. She swipes at tears that keep falling and draws in a shuddering breath. “Go in and order and I’ll join you in a second. After I get ahold of myself.” She presses her fingers to her eyes.

“Do you want me to stay out here with you?” Mom asks, in full mothering mode.

She shakes her head. “No, I just need a minute. Go on and I’ll be right there.”

~ Maddie ~

Jenna and I are quiet as we walk from the car to the restaurant. I know she feels bad for upsetting Nicole. I can see the angst in her drawn face, but someone had to ask the tough question.

I’m still not one hundred percent convinced she’s innocent. The lady doth protest too much methinks.

When we get inside, Antonio Girabaldi greets us with a hearty hello.

“Look who it is. It’s my favorite Bells,” he says in a booming voice, arms spread wide. “It’s lovely to see you tonight, ladies. Two for dinner?”

The place is decorated in typical pizza parlor fashion. To the left is a walk-up counter with a cash register where people can place takeout orders. Behind it is the kitchen, with its blazing pizza ovens and stainless steel workbenches stocked with flat cardboard boxes and containers holding every pizza topping imaginable. Farther to the right, booths line the walls and four-top tables covered with red and white checked tablecloths occupy the center floor. On the walls hang posters of various Italian scenes—Tuscany, Rome, the Leaning Tower of Pisa, among others.

The place is moderately busy for a Saturday night—Gosh, is it still Saturday night? It feels like we discovered Riley’s body weeks ago.

The thought makes the image of him lying on the marble floor flash in my head. I try to blink it away, refocusing on our host.

“Hi, Antonio,” I say. “Actually, there will be three of us. Can we have that booth in the far corner?”

Antonio glances in the direction I’m pointing. He flashes a conspiratorial smile and holds a menu up alongside of his face as if to keep his words between us. “Private business to discuss? It wouldn’t have anything to do with Riley Buxston, would it? Poor guy. I can’t believe there’s a killer on the loose in our community. Any juicy details to share?”

“No news on our end,” I say. At least none that I’m willing to share. “What have you heard?”

His brows arch. “There are two theories floating around,” he says in a hushed tone as he walks us back to our table. “The first one is his crazy bride offed him. The other is it was a burglary gone bad. That Riley woke up in the middle of the night and surprised the perp.”

Jenna and I look at each other. Amid all the speculation, it hadn’t crossed our minds that it might have been something as simple and random as a break-in. I hadn’t even thought to ask Jackson if there was anything missing.

Before we can discuss the particulars with Antonio, another party enters the restaurant. “I’m sorry, ladies. I’d love to stay and chat, but we’re shorthanded tonight. I need to tend to the customers. Molly will be over to get your order. Keep me posted if you hear anything about the case.”

After Antonio walks away, Jenna says, “Do you think it could’ve been a break-in? We haven’t even considered that. I wonder if the chief has?”

I shrug. “I’ll ask him the next time I talk to him.”

Molly comes over, takes our drink order and chats for a few minutes, asking the same questions that Antonio raised and offering the same theories. When she leaves, I realize Nicole has been outside in the cold car for a long time.

“I’m going to check on Nicole,” I say. “I’ll be right back.”

“Mom, I don’t think you should go out there by yourself.”

“I’ll be fine. Wait here and I’ll be right back.”

I can see a reflection in the glass door and I realize Jenna is right behind me.

“I’m not letting you go out there alone.”

“Alright, come on.”

“Is everything okay?” Antonio asks.

“Yes. I’m just sticking my head out to check on the person we’re waiting for. We’ll be right back.”

As I push open the door, a party four enters capturing Antonio’s attention. Jenna and I brush past them out into the cold night.

From where we stand the lights from the restaurant coupled with the neon reflection of the donut shop sign create a glare making it difficult to see in the car windshield. But when we step closer, we can see Nicole isn’t in the car.

“Where did she go?” Jenna asks, glancing around the parking lot.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I kept my eye on the door and didn’t see her come in. I think Antonio would’ve told us if he’d seen her enter—you know, maybe if she’d gone to the bathroom. But maybe we should check with him?”

We go back inside and Antonio informs us he didn’t see her and nobody gets past him. Still, Jenna checks the restroom and comes out shaking her head.

When I open the trunk to check for Nicole’s luggage, it’s gone.

Jenna and I stand and blink at each other.

“She’s gone,” I say. “But where did she go?”