Jeopardy in January Read online

  "Finding Bree must have been terrible, Sara. She was always so sweet." The last comment came from Candice, the one who placed the cupcake temptingly in front of me. Jaclyn insisted that it and the marshmallow-and-whipped cream-topped hot chocolate were “on the house.”

  "Do the police know who might have done it?" asked Mom.

  I looked at their expectant faces and decided they wouldn't be disappointed by the lack of progress. "I spoke with Detective Logan this morning and I don't think so. It has only been a few hours," I reminded them.

  My companions collaborated in a mixture of soothing and shocked noises. I was pretty sure I heard someone mutter that “grouchy” Detective Logan needed to work it out quickly and smart. I held back a smile as I bit into the cupcake again, savoring the chocolate icing when it dissolved on my tongue. In another life, I could have happily trained as a chocolate taster.

  "He needs to find a girlfriend," said my mother. "Doesn’t that man ever date?"

  I stifled a laugh, reminding myself of what we were really talking about: Bree. Dating women was the least of Sam Logan's worries. The detective had earned a reputation for not being the happiest of souls although no one really knew why. The hottest rumor was because he suffered a tragic heartbreak sometime in his past. That morsel was usually followed by the assertion that he really needed a new girlfriend. Or maybe a boyfriend. No one really cared so long as someone could cheer him up.

  Jaclyn reached for my hand. "Thank goodness Jason Rees got there and found you. You could have been killed too!"

  "He's very handsome, isn't he?" said Candice, barely holding back a giggle as her cheeks flushed pink.

  "He is not!" I told them and my mother's eyebrows rose at my quick denial of Jason's good looks. "He's trying to close the library down so he can build tract homes."

  "The bastard," said Candice, her eyes narrowing comically. "How dare he provide homes for new families while also saving our friend? Let's run him out of town!"

  I couldn't help laughing at her mock indignation. "He didn't save me," I told them. "He just happened to drive past the library and saw the door was open. I guess he thought someone had broken into the library. He heard me scream before he got me outside and called the police. Then he waited with me until the ambulance arrived. That's all," I told them, surgically excising some of the bits like when he wrapped his arms around me and held my hand far longer than necessary. I thought about adding that he was probably hoping to find some graffiti or other traces of vandalism but decided that was just being mean. I truly had no idea what he could possibly have ever hoped for.

  "That's so manly," gushed Jaclyn. She leaned into the table, cupping her chin in her palm and eagerly waiting for the next thing I had to say, which wasn't much.

  "Anyone would have done the same thing," I said, shrugging as I tried to think of someone else.

  "Not in Calendar! We have a severe shortage of heroes," said my mother. "Jason Rees was very brave. He had no idea what he was running into, and let’s not forget that he did save you, darling."

  "He's not a hero!" I didn't know why I began protesting so vehemently. Apparently, my companions thought Jason really was a hero. My mother was even getting a little misty-eyed. This was not good. If Jason managed to gain a glowing reputation, my campaign would have been ruined before I even started.

  "Poor Bree though," said Candice. "What a terrible way to die. I can't imagine why anyone would want to kill her."

  "Neither can I." I sighed, remembering last night's questions and this morning's interview. "It's strange, but only after Detective Logan started interviewing me did I realize I didn't know much about Bree at all."

  "I know she came from Salt Lake City," said Mom.

  "No, Nadine, she was from Seattle," corrected Candice.

  "It was definitely Salt Lake. She had a sister," said Jaclyn.

  "No, she had a brother," I corrected her, then stopped. When everyone else remained silent, I added, "She said she previously worked in a bookshop."

  "It was a clothes shop."

  "I heard she was a personal assistant," said Mom.

  "We obviously know nothing about her," I told their puzzled faces.

  "Sure we do. She, uh, ah... Hmmm." Candice stopped and grimaced.

  "I think she was on the run," I told them. Collectively, they leaned in. "She turned up in Calendar right out of the blue and nobody knows where she came from. She didn't tell anyone of us the same story and no one can verify anything she did tell us. I think she was on the run, maybe from a man," I posited as they exhaled shocked gasps.

  "No way!"

  "Makes perfect sense."

  "Poor Bree!"

  "Maybe her ex found her and killed her. Do you think he might have been stalking her?" asked Candice. She briefly checked the door for customers, then gave up the pretense of hovering or looking ready to serve, and pulled out the chair next to Jaclyn.

  "She never mentioned she thought someone was watching her," I said, thinking back hard. No, Bree appeared perfectly normal. She never seemed worried either, but that didn't mean she wasn't secretly. But now that I thought about it, she was somewhat distracted all week. I assumed it was her concern over the library closing and potentially losing her job, even though it wasn’t ever threatened. Now I wondered if there could have been another cause. "It also doesn't explain why she went back to the library after we closed," I finished. I thought about divulging what Detective Logan said about letting her killer into the library, but decided not to. That could have been official police information and I didn't want to add more fodder to the gossip train. I'd already inadvertently told them enough.

  "Maybe she left something?" said Mom. “Could that be why she went back?”

  "Like what? She had her purse when she left."

  "A book?" asked Candice.

  "She already had two checked out. I suppose I’d better collect them from her apartment. I have her spare key."

  "Maybe you could take a little look around while you're there?" suggested Jaclyn.

  The table fell silent as we each thought about that. "I don't suppose it could hurt," I decided. "Someone needs to locate her family and tell them. Detective Logan said he already searched her apartment but maybe he missed something."

  "You mean there's no one to bury her?" Mom's jaw dropped in horror.

  "No one that I know about. Oh!" I smiled as I remembered something I hadn't thought to mention to Detective Logan. "She filled out a form for her next of kin. All the town council employees do it. I have it in my office at the library, along with her reference." My shoulders slumped. There was a big problem with that. "Detective Logan says I can't go in."

  "You should tell him though. It might be important," said Mom.

  "I should," I agreed. I took the last bite of the cupcake, enjoying the rich chocolate. I didn't have many vices but chocolate consumption was definitely at the top of the list. Also, in second and third place. "I'll call him soon and tell him where to find that information. I better go. Thanks so much for the cupcake, Jaclyn."

  "Don't thank me," protested Jaclyn, holding her hands up. "Candice is the baker. I am very lucky to have her."

  "Thanks, Candice."

  "My pleasure. Anything I can do, just let me know. We all liked Bree," Candice added to a chorus of agreement. "And it's horrible to think an ex-boyfriend might have stalked and killed her."

  I grabbed my jacket from the back of the chair and slipped it on, zipping it up. The snowstorm had ceased sometime in the night, leaving a broad expanse of blue, cloudless sky in its wake. The snow was already melting. Every lawn had perked up, glistening green, but it was still bitterly cold. I added my hat and gloves before slinging my purse across my shoulders. I said goodbye to my mother and promised not to go anywhere dark, or alone, and no, she didn't need to invite Jason to dinner as a thank you, or even send him a card. I wasn't sure what etiquette dictated at times like these but I believed I could handle a genuine thank you by myself.
/>   Detective Logan told me I couldn't go to the library but he hadn't said anything about entering Bree's apartment. With little else to do on my strictly enforced day off, I decided that would be my next stop. Then, I could go home and try to figure out how to contact a member of Bree's family after I provided the information to the police. The thought of her lying cold and alone inside the morgue haunted me and I shuddered. I knew her family would welcome a friendly, helping hand once they arrived in Calendar. Knowing that none of her loved ones, if any existed, even knew where she currently was made me feel awful. If she were in hiding, they might not even have known where to look for her. They couldn’t have known she was dead. It made more sense to give Detective Logan the necessary time to contact them before I stepped in and offered my friendly, local help. It was the least I could do for Bree.

  I paused with my hand on the door handle. It seemed a little crass to ask, given the news I'd just shared with my friends but I had to. "You're all planning to support my campaign to save the library, aren't you?" I asked.

  "Absolutely. You can count on us," chimed the chorus of replies I hoped for.

  "You should make some posters and plaster them all around town," suggested Candice. "I can help, if you like?"

  "Yes, please!" I replied, giving my mother and friends a little wave before I left them to continue their conversation about the case. I could hardly imagine they wouldn't. Murder was a terrible thing; and in a gossipy town like Calendar, I had no doubt it would be the biggest news for weeks to come.

  I tried to think about Bree as I walked to her apartment but I was still struggling for answers. Bree entrusted me with a key to her apartment in case of emergencies since I was the only person she knew in town. She asked me to take it, only a few days after the front door banged shut behind her one day, locking her out and requiring an emergency call to the 24-hour locksmith. At first, I was surprised but also a tiny bit pleased that she considered me trustworthy. I promised I would keep the key in a sealed envelope and forget about it unless she mentioned it. I did manage to forget about it but now I knew exactly where to find it.

  Instead of walking directly to Bree's apartment, I took a detour past my house and picked up the still-sealed envelope. A few minutes later, with the winter chill becoming more evident and the temperature rapidly plummeting, I parked my car outside on Oak Street. After unlocking the door to her apartment, I stepped inside. Heat welcomed me and I guessed it was still set on a timer, probably switching off while she was at work. I pushed the door closed behind me.

  The apartment seemed unnaturally still, but it could have just been me. I was prone to ascribing a feeling to things that didn’t really exist. But there was an undeniable echo of Bree's death that I felt strongly. Everything looked the same from the last time I visited, only a couple of weeks before. I dropped in briefly to leave her some groceries after she went home early, her red eyes and runny nose the telltale signs of the beginnings of a cold. I bought her some chicken soup from the deli, a crusty loaf of bread that was perfect for tearing off chunks to dip, two large boxes of tissues, and some OTC medicine. Two days later, Bree was back at work, apologizing more than once for leaving me to work alone.

  Bree told me her apartment was furnished and now I looked more closely at the simple furnishings I barely noticed in prior visits. A couch was covered in a thin cream blanket. A coffee table with deep scratches at the corners and legs had obviously been moved one too many times and survived more than a few tenants. A remote control and a magazine were left on top of it, as if Bree would come back any moment and pick them up.

  A cheap lamp and a small, flatscreen TV were the only electrical items. I moved past the TV and looked over at the mantel. Two framed photos featured a nice-looking couple in their fifties. Bree told me they were her parents. I studied them, wondering where they were now. The background didn't provide any clues. One seemed to have been taken at a party, and I saw balloons and a metallic banner in the background. The other had a pretty cabin in the backdrop, nestled beneath snow-capped mountains. A vacation home, maybe? I put the photo frames back in their places and looked around for the books Bree had checked out. It took me a few seconds to conclude they weren't in the sparse living room.

  A small kitchen occupied a quarter of the living room. A cheap coffee pot and toaster sat on the counter. The single plate, bowl, and flatware on the drainer were dry. I opened the cabinet doors, looking for a slip of paper or anything else that might tell me where Bree's family lived.

  Closing the last cabinet, I knew my search was futile. The cabinets, like the living room, were empty with only the absolute basics for daily living. Nothing was expensive, and almost everything was disposable. Unlike me, Bree didn't use any of her shelf space to hide her bills or correspondence or even an address book. I turned around, growing more puzzled.

  In the bedroom, I found the books I was looking for on the nightstand. A sliver of paper was folded and used as a bookmark, which she discarded beside them. I assumed Bree finished reading them. I hoped she enjoyed them. I doubted I would have been very happy having a pulp romance for my last ever item of reading. As soon as that thought crossed my mind, I winced. What a horrible thing to imagine! With a sigh and a grimace, I tucked the books into my purse, fully determined not to remember their titles. Something about that made me squeamish. I didn't want to be reminded of it when the next person checked them out.

  The nightstand drawer was empty, barring a hairbrush and some of the cloth headbands Bree occasionally wore. I pushed the drawer shut and moved over to the closet. One rail held an assortment of clothes, all familiar items I'd seen Bree wear. A few shoes were arranged neatly on the floor, along with a large, empty bag. The shelves held folded sweaters, t-shirts, underwear, and socks. Rifling through the clothes made me grimace but I pushed the items apart, looking for anything that might have slipped between them, something that might have had a phone number or an address. Nothing!

  I stepped back and pushed the closet doors shut.

  There was one place left for me to look. My search of the bathroom took all of one minute, the amount of time it took to open the mirrored cabinet and examine Bree's meager collection of shampoo, conditioner, deodorant, and toothpaste. No medicines marked with her name or even a pharmacy.

  I stepped back into the bedroom and paused. I wasn’t surprised that Bree didn't have an address book. I only had one because my mother gave me one for Christmas ten years ago. It was an old-fashioned thing to have nowadays. Most people put their contacts into their smartphones now. Perhaps Bree did the same. I remembered that her phone was missing and Detective Logan couldn't find it. I wondered if he'd taken the necessary steps to track it down yet.

  What puzzled me the most as I looked around the bedroom was the glaring absence of anything personal except for the two photographs in the main living area. There weren't any favorite trinkets or collectibles. No birthday cards or letters or anything that had obviously been a gift. No high school yearbook or college pennants for nostalgia. No cozy pillows or pretty glassware to make the apartment more like a home.

  It seemed like Bree had no intention of ever settling into her apartment. It looked more like a motel room. She could have easily thrown her clothes into a bag and taken off within an hour, maybe even thirty minutes, and fled to a new town without a backwards glance. I recalled a book I once read where the protagonist victim managed to pack all of her things in a "go bag" so she could get out of wherever she was in less than thirty minutes. If her husband were close by, she had to move as fast as she could to avoid being found by him.

  I paused in my search, thinking about the things I would take with me if I needed a fast getaway. If I were on the run, I would need much more than just my clothes. I would need my ID too. If Bree had anything like that, it wasn't visible. I tried to think like a woman on the run. Someone who was scared of her own shadow. I would definitely hide it, I decided, just in case anyone discovered my address and got into my apartment
. Any further away, and the documents would have been too hard to get if I needed to leave in a hurry, like say, in the middle of the night.

  Starting in the living room, I began running my hands down the sides of the sofa, then under the coffee table. I opened the oven and the slim dishwasher, peering inside, and used my fingers to feel around the gap between the top and the counter. I stood on tiptoes to see the top shelf of the cabinets. Nothing. I pulled myself onto my knees on the counter and stretched upwards, peeking at the gap between the cabinets and the ceiling. Nothing but dust.

  In the bedroom, I checked under the bed and in between the mattress and the divan base. The fabric was ripped and threadbare with age but nothing had dropped down to the floor. I patted each shelf in the closet and stepped over to the nightstand, pulling open the drawer and feeling underneath.

  My fingers brushed over a paper and tape.

  Dropping to my knees, I craned my neck down to see. An envelope was taped underneath the drawer. I peeled off the tape and pulled the envelope free before pushing the drawer shut.

  When the apartment door suddenly opened, I froze.

  "I'll check everywhere," said a male voice I didn't recognize. "She wasn't that smart. She must have hidden it somewhere and I'm not leaving town without it."

  Chapter Five

  My hiding place was dark and cramped. I held my breath, my heart thumping with fear, and waited for movement, unsure of how long I was curled up tightly at the base of the bed. The footsteps finally exited the room and the shuffling of bedclothes along with the opening of drawers and closets stopped too, but I couldn't tell how long it had been. I guessed ten minutes but without any light to check my watch, I couldn't say for sure. I was too afraid of turning my cellphone on in case the light seeped through a crack in the base that I hadn't seen, thereby revealing me to the mystery man. Counting slowly seemed to help until I began to stumble over my numbers.