A High-End Finish(18)
He looked embarrassed. “He wasn’t inclined to believe Lizzie, but then Hal corroborated the story.”
Oh, fine. It figured Jensen would put more faith in Hal’s story than Lizzie’s. But, then, I probably would, too. “So that’s it? That’s why he let me go?”
“Well.” Tommy wore that same pained expression as he scanned the parking lot again. It was fully dark now and clouds were rolling in. It looked like it might rain. Tommy leaned closer. “We also found out that Mr. Boyer wasn’t calling you from San Francisco like he told you. He made that phone call from Sweet River. He was shacked up at the Cliff Hotel with someone who wasn’t Mrs. Boyer.”
“Whoa.” Sweet River was south of here, about fifteen miles down the highway. Stan Boyer could’ve made the drive there and back with plenty of time to spare. But why? “So, what are you saying? Is Stan a suspect?”
Why would Stan Boyer kill Jerry Saxton? And in his own house?
Tommy scowled at me. “Damn it, Shannon, I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“My lips are sealed, Tommy. I swear.” I stretched up and kissed his cheek. “Thanks. You’re a peach.”
“Just stay out of trouble, kiddo.”
Chapter Four
The next morning I woke up early and after a long shower and a healthy breakfast of coffee and Pop-Tarts—blueberry flavored, to get my daily requirement of fruit—I headed for another one of my work sites. While it remained a crime scene, the Boyers’ house was in limbo, so I’d shifted my men around to other jobs in town.
As I drove away from my house, I remembered Tommy’s warning from the night before to stay out of trouble. But come on. When had I ever been in trouble? It still galled me that Chief Jensen had actually told me not to leave town. My town! Sure, he’d claimed he was just kidding, but I’d bet there was some truth in there. So what was with the cops around here? Honestly, if I had a nickel for every time I’d caused trouble in this town, I’d have maybe one or two nickels at the most. Of course, Jensen had no way of knowing that.
Chief Jensen knew nothing about me and that was starting to become a problem. Maybe it was time to ask my friends to talk me up to him. It might help him see me in a more positive light. Because, frankly, I figured the only reason he’d allowed me to go home last night was because Boyer had lied, not because my alibi had been so strong.
I needed to win him over to my side. How hard could it be? After all, the pitiful truth was, my life was the proverbial open book. I was friendly to everyone. I didn’t drive too fast or drink too much or tell lies or party too heartily, ever. Oh, sure, there might’ve been a few wild teenage moments in high school, but seriously, they weren’t all that wild. In fact, I hadn’t done anything truly wild in years, if ever. I certainly hadn’t killed anyone, even if I’d threatened to do so the other night. In front of witnesses.
Did that make me sound boring? Well, not the threatening-to-kill part, but the rest of it? Because I didn’t feel boring. I loved my life. I had a great job and wonderful friends. I was close to my family; I loved my house and my dog and my cat and my town. I was healthy. I had money in the bank. Okay, maybe I wasn’t blissfully happy, like rainbows and unicorns happy, but who was?
“Stop it,” I murmured, scowling at myself. I was happy enough. Hell, I was downright perky most of the time.
I turned up the radio to distract myself and cruised through downtown past the town square on my way to one of my houses a few streets north of Main Street.
The town square was practically deserted at this time of the morning. Charming shops and cafés faced the pretty central park, where a large gazebo was set beneath sheltering trees. During the summer, free band concerts were held there on the weekends. Everyone in town turned out, carrying their lawn chairs and picnic hampers. The ice-cream shop on the corner did a bumper business on those nights. Some of my earliest best memories had taken place right here. Fireworks. Marching bands. My mom and dad holding hands. Ice cream.
Now, though, the square was silent. I scanned the area, anyway, on the off chance that I’d catch a glimpse of one of my girlfriends opening her shop, but the only place open was the Cozy Cove Diner on the corner. The other shops on the square wouldn’t open for business for another two hours or more.
It was just as well, I realized as I drove on. I should probably avoid the area for the next few days. I knew my gossip quotient had skyrocketed since I’d stumbled over Jerry’s body on Sunday. Everyone in town would be vying to get the inside scoop from me, but I dreaded the whispers and questions that would follow. I had to endure scrutiny and doubt from the new police chief, but not from people I’d known my entire life.
It was a good thing I had a strong alibi for the time Jerry had died, at least according to the county coroner’s estimate. Otherwise, I would probably be bunking in the town jail by now. Despite my alibi, I had a feeling the chief would keep me on his suspect list until someone else confessed to the crime.
After a few more turns, I found Cranberry Circle and parked in front of the work site. The house was a beautiful pale blue Queen Anne Victorian with white trim, a charming porch on the ground floor, and a rounded balcony on the second floor of the tower. It was part of a small group of homes my father had built almost twenty years ago and it was a concept he’d repeated in other areas of town. Here there were sixteen homes, all grouped around a small park and playground. With only one entrance into the neighborhood and the street circling around the park, it was safe for the kids to play and ride bikes. A small coffeehouse thrived on the corner.