A High-End Finish(50)

Flustered, I looked around and pointed to my favorite pink tool chest. “I’m just going to pack my tool chest in my truck, if you’ll excuse me.”

“I’ll help you.”

“That’s okay.”

“I can see you’re still in pain, Shannon,” he said softly. “Let me carry it for you.”

I didn’t mention that I usually carried it out there on a dolly, mainly because he lifted it up as though it barely weighed an ounce instead of sixty-plus pounds. But, then, he probably bench-pressed three times his weight on a regular basis. The man had muscles on his muscles.

As we approached my truck, I noticed for the first time that Wendell had parked his car directly behind my truck in the driveway. I stopped and glared at the hated car. I hadn’t seen it earlier because he’d parked at such an odd angle.

“Damn it,” I muttered through gritted teeth. “I’m going to kill that guy.”

Eric turned and looked at me. “What’s wrong?”

Oops. “I didn’t mean that,” I said in a rush. “But this car isn’t supposed to be parked here.”

“Do you want us to tow it?”

“I would love it.”

He started to move and I held up my hand reluctantly to stop him. “But you’d better not. It would cause more problems than it’s worth.”

But I could feel anger coursing through my system. My shoulders were tight and my jaw was clenched. I felt so powerless. How could something this petty fill me with such fury? Because it was Wendell Jarvick. He was a horrible man. If only I could have him banned from the town forever.

“I can’t wait till he’s gone,” I said.

“Is he the guy that caused the ruckus at the pub the other night?” Eric said.

“That’s him. A real piece of work.”

“He won’t be around much longer, hopefully.”

“That moment can’t come soon enough.”

We got to my truck and I pulled the tailgate down. As Eric loaded my tool chest into the truck bed, I wandered over to Wendell’s car. I was truly tempted to do some damage, so I kept my hands firmly inside my pockets.

Maybe I could dig up a bunch of worms in my garden and put them on the driver’s seat. Happy at the thought, I tried to glance inside the car, but along with having tinted windows, there was a layer of condensation on the glass, so it was hard to see. Without thinking, I tested the driver’s door and found it unlocked. I pulled it open and stared in shock at what I saw on the front seat.

I jumped back and screamed as loud as I’d ever screamed before. If they weren’t awake already, I probably woke up half the folks in town.

“What’s wrong?” Eric shouted. “What happened?”

Dizzy and sick, I slammed the door shut and shook uncontrollably. This couldn’t be happening. I took a couple of big gulps of air and waved at the car door. “In there.”

Eric came around and pulled open the door and took a step back. I summoned enough courage to venture another peek inside—and was sorry I did.

Wendell Jarvick lay sprawled on the seat, his eyes open as though he were staring right at me. Blood was smeared across the smooth taupe leather seats. Something was protruding from his neck and I could feel my heart sinking in my chest because I recognized the tool. It was my extralong pink Frearson screwdriver.

My contractor’s brain kicked in to remind me that the Frearson differed from a Phillips-head screwdriver because of its more pointed, V-shaped head. The better to stab someone in the neck, I thought.

I squeezed my eyes shut but the image wouldn’t go away.

“Shannon.” Eric’s tone was a warning and his arm blocked me from moving any closer, as if I wanted to. “Don’t touch anything. Step back now.”

“Is he . . . ?” It was a stupid question.

Eric leaned in and pressed his fingers against the pulse point on Wendell’s neck, a few inches away from where the screwdriver protruded. “Yeah.”

No doubt about it, Wendell Jarvick was dead.

Stumbling over to the garden wall at the side of the drive, I lost the cup of coffee I’d gleefully chugged a half hour ago.

? ? ?

An hour later, I was cooling my heels inside the house as my yard was turned into an official crime scene. The county coroner’s van was parked in front of my driveway and four police cars surrounded it, blocking off as much of the view from the curious public as possible. That didn’t stop any of my neighbors from lining up along the sidewalk on the other side of the street. I glanced out the window and saw a few folks still wearing their bathrobes at almost ten o’clock in the morning. Good grief. Some of my neighbors were real slackers.

Someone pounded on my front door and I checked to see who it was before opening the door. “Thank God it’s you guys. Come in.”

Jane and Lizzie scurried inside and I shut the door quickly because, despite what Mr. Bennet claimed in Pride and Prejudice, I did not live to make sport for my neighbors.

“We came as soon as we heard,” Jane said, tossing her purse on the chair.

Lizzie glanced out the bay window. “Shannon, what in the world happened?”

“You won’t even believe it,” I muttered.

“I just saw you twelve hours ago,” Jane said. “How could so much pandemonium occur between then and now?”