A Zen For Murder (Mooseamuck Island Cozy Mystery Series Book 1) (3 page)

BOOK: A Zen For Murder (Mooseamuck Island Cozy Mystery Series Book 1)
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A flurry of activity behind her broke her concentration and she turned to see the crowd parting, as if Moses was coming through.
 

Except it wasn’t Moses. It was Detective Frank Zambuco, and he did not look pleased.

***

If there was one word Claire would use to describe Detective Frank Zambuco, it was overbearing. Or maybe annoying. Probably both. The man exuded an amount of energy unusual for his age, which Claire guessed to be about sixty—though it was hard to tell, given the ever-present scowl that normally contorted his face.

He whirled onto the scene, barking instructions, tapping his sausage-like fingers and whistling under his breath. His rumpled, blue, button-up shirt and stained, tan chinos were evidence he had no one at home to dress him. She was not surprised. She figured no woman would be able to put up with him for very long.

“Out of the way. Out of the way,” Zambuco bellowed as he swatted his way toward Robby. “Don’t you people know you are interfering with a crime scene?”

The crowd shrank back from him and he eyed them with beady, dark eyes. “Now, don’t go too far any of you. You might all be suspects. At any rate, I’ll want to question some of you.” He turned to Claire. “Especially you.”

“Me?”
 

“Yep, you seem to be the ringleader often enough.”

“Well, I just came up with the others. I don’t—“

“Right.” Zambuco put his hand up to silence her and turned to Robby. “What have we got here?”

“Looks like she’s been dead a few hours.” Robby turned to look at the body. “It’s Zoila Rivers.”

“Rivers?” Zambuco’s eyes narrowed. “Wasn’t she some kind of fortune teller?”

“Psychic,” Jane cut in.

Zambuco’s left brow ticked up and he glanced at Jane. “Right. Psychic.”
 

Zambuco walked over to the crime scene tape, lifted it and slipped under. He spent the next few minutes wandering around the scene, whistling to himself as he looked things over. His actions appeared to be aimless, but Claire knew they were anything but. Detective Zambuco might come off like a goof, but he was actually a very good detective. Which made her nervous because if Norma
was
somehow involved in this, he would find out.

Claire shook her head to clear her thoughts.
What was she thinking?
Of course, Norma had nothing to do with Zoila’s death. She was sure once she talked to Norma, the argument would be explained and it wouldn’t have anything to do with this.
 

Suddenly, Zambuco turned sharply toward the bystanders. “Which one of you found her?”

“I did.” The tremulous voice came from the corner and Claire looked over to see thin, gray Sam Banes, head gardener, raising his hand tentatively.

“And what were you doing here?” Zambuco asked.

“I’m the gardener. I came to make sure the rakes were out. People are always taking them.”

Zambuco looked around, presumably for the rakes. “And were they?”

“Oh ... I don’t ...” Banes looked around. “I guess not. I forgot about them when I found Ms. Rivers.”

“Ms. Rivers? You mean you knew her?”

“Of course. She comes here most mornings to meditate.” Banes's face crumbled and he looked down at the ground. “Or
did,
I should say.

“And did you see anyone else this morning?”

“No, sir, but I was on the other end of the gardens, tending to the annuals. I just drove over in my truck.” Banes pointed to the white and green Moosamuck Islands Public Works truck visible at the end of the path.

Zambuco nodded, then whirled around, his eyes scanning the small crowd. “And what about the rest of you? Did anyone see anything amiss up here?”

They shook their heads, almost as one.

“Okay. We need to get you people out of here and process this scene.” Zambuco pointed at one of the detectives that he’d brought with him. “Smithfield, you get their names and numbers. Oh, and I want you to halt all boat traffic leaving the island,
including
the ferry.”

“Whyever would you want to do that?” Mae asked.

Zambuco stopped what he was doing and glared at her, then stabbed his finger in the direction of the body.
 

“Judging by the coagulation of the blood, Ms. Rivers was murdered only a few hours ago. It’s early in the season and I happen to know there’s only three ferries a day right now. The first one doesn’t arrive for another twenty minutes … which means the killer is still somewhere on this island and I don’t want him to get away.”

Chapter Four

Dom went back to
Chowders
with the others, his mind mulling over what he’d observed at the crime scene. The method of murder had been brutal, which indicated there was an emotional element.
 

But why chose a public place like the zen garden?
 

It must have been the only opportunity that presented itself to the killer. Dom was certain the killer must have needed to silence Zoila right away—Zoila Rivers knew something and someone else didn’t want her to talk.

Dom had observed the crime scene closely and noticed a few things that seemed strange. He had them catalogued in his photographic memory for future inspection. He’d also observed Claire’s odd response to the body. She had seemed shocked, which would have been appropriate for a regular person, but with Claire’s training and the number of crime scenes she’d attended, it was out of place. Dom was certain Claire had found something startling about the body—whether it was something on or around the body or the mere fact that it was Zoila, he didn’t know.
 

Even now, Claire was acting strangely. He noticed her slight hesitation when Tom and Jane got out of the truck in the parking lot. Almost as if she was reluctant to join them in the diner.
 

“Surely, he can’t stop us from leaving the island!” Alice said as she pulled a skein of light blue yarn out of her tote bag.

“Or the tourists from coming
to
the island,” Tom added.

“That’s right,” Jane said. “I doubt the town council will allow that, and I think they have the final say.”

“A killer on the island.” Mae shivered and turned her wide, brown eyes to Dom. “Who do you think it is?”

“It must be a tourist. A stranger,” Alice cut in, directing her words at Dom. “I mean, it couldn’t be one of us islanders, could it?”

Dom preened his left eyebrow as he felt an ember of excitement start to glow in his chest. Just like the feeling he used to get when he was an active consultant. Before Sophia got sick and he retired. When life was exciting.
 

“It could be anybody,” Dom replied. “Does anyone know if she had any enemies?”

They all looked at each other and shrugged.

“None that I know of,” Tom said.

“Me, either.” Jane added.
 

“Perhaps she became privy to sensitive information through her work,” Dom suggested. “She was a psychic, so she might have discovered information someone didn’t want known.”
 

Mae’s brows shot up. “That’s true. Maybe she had a vision about something bad that someone did.”

Dom nodded wisely. “Yes, it could be. The police will probably want to check her latest clients. If she had sensitive information on someone, it stands to reason that person might be mad or upset. Can you think of anyone who has been acting strangely?”

Another round of shrugging occurred between everyone. Everyone except Claire, that is. Dom noticed that she kept glancing toward the door while she fidgeted in her chair.

Dom pressed his lips together. “It could be an old feud, too. But Zoila wasn’t from the island, right?”

“Oh, no,” Alice said to Dom. “She moved here about two years ago. Not long after you did. Bought old man Barrett's cabin up, near the conservation land.”

“She said the old hunting camp had the perfect ambiance for her psychic readings,” Jane added.

“And was she well-liked?” Dom asked.

Tom shrugged. “Well enough. She kind of kept to herself. Though I’m told plenty of townsfolk snuck up to the camp for a reading or two, at times.”

Dom smoothed his eyebrow. An old hunting camp? Secret meetings? This was getting better and better. But if Zoila lived in a remote camp, why wouldn’t the killer just kill her there?
 

There was only one reason—the killer must have not had time to wait until Zoila went home to that cabin. Which probably meant something had happened earlier in the morning. Something unusual.
 

He stole a glance at Claire. Maybe even something that would cause Claire to lean over her railing for a better look.

He didn’t have time to think about what that might be, though, because just then, the door opened and Detective Zambuco stormed in.

***

Zambuco’s brows zoomed up when he spotted the crew at the table. He strode toward them, grabbing an empty chair and pulling it across the floor, then shoving it in between Dom and Jane before folding his tall frame into it.

Everyone at the table scooted their chairs around to make room.

“I’ll have a root beer. Lots of ice,” Zambuco said to Sarah, who had come over to take his order. Then he turned his sharp eyes to the rest of the people at the table. “So, what do you people think? Got any ideas who did it?”
 

“Us?” Jane’s brows rose. “How would we know who did it?”

Zambuco tipped back in his chair and looked at Dom. “What about you, Benedetti? I know you’ve investigated quite a few crime scenes in your day. You must have an opinion.”

Dom smiled patiently. “True. But I’m retired now.”

Zambuco snapped his chair back to the ground, accepting the glass Sarah handed him.
 

“Let’s hope you stay that way. I don’t need you people meddling.” Zambuco looked pointedly at Claire. “Especially you.”

“Me?” Claire looked at him innocently.

“Yes,” Zambuco said as he crunched an ice cube. “I know how you like to give your opinion even when it’s not wanted.”

Dom’s lips curled up in a smile. He agreed with that. In fact, he had to stop himself from nodding so as not to hurt Claire’s feelings.

Zambuco continued on. “Seeing as I have you all here, I’d like to get the ball rolling with some questions.”

“Okay,” Claire answered, and the others nodded their assent.

“Did any of you notice Ms. Rivers acting out of the ordinary this week?”

His question was met with silence. In fact, the entire diner was silent as the other patrons were carefully eavesdropping on the conversation. Dom figured that by now, word had spread about the murder, and everyone knew Zambuco was here to investigate it.

“So, no one noticed anything?” Zambuco persisted.

Everyone at the table shook their heads. The customers at other tables bent their heads together, whispering, probably asking each other the same question.

“Did she take on any new clients or have a falling out with any regular clients?”

Claire pressed her lips together. “I don’t think any of us know much about her client list.”

“Do any of you use her services?” Zambuco asked.

The diner was filled with more silence. The only sound was the clinking of ice cubes as Zambuco chugged down his root beer while everyone at the table looked each other over. Even though the people on Mooseamuck Island were like family, they still liked to keep their private lives private. Dom wondered if anyone at the table
had
used Zoila’s services and was afraid to mention it.

“Well, I certainly didn’t,” Mae said finally.

Tom shook his head. “Not me.”

Alice’s knitting needles clacked faster. “Nope.”

Claire, Dom and Jane shook their heads.

Zambuco studied them with intelligent, bird-like eyes, then waved at Sarah and pointed to his glass for a refill. “Banes said Ms. Rivers meditated there every morning. Was that well-known?”

“Oh, yes, I would say so,” Mae said. “Everyone knows everyone else’s habits here on the island.”

Sarah appeared at Zambuco’s elbow and filled up his glass. He looked down into the glass thoughtfully, swirling the ice around. “So, then most anyone on the island could have done it. Even someone at this table.”

Mae gasped. “Well, it certainly wasn’t one of us!”

“No?” Zambuco chugged down the second root beer. “So, no one here had a beef with Ms. Rivers?”

“No.” Claire spoke for all of them.

Zambuco tapped his fingers on the table. “And no one has anything to add?”
 

“No,” they chorused.

Zambuco rose out of the chair and turned to address the rest of the diner patrons. “What about the rest of you? Does anyone know who might have wanted Zoila Rivers dead?”

Silence.

“Okay, then.” He turned back to Dom’s table. “I want you to all stay accessible. I might have more questions.”

“Well, we can hardly go anywhere, since you’ve stopped the ferries,” Mae huffed.

BOOK: A Zen For Murder (Mooseamuck Island Cozy Mystery Series Book 1)
10.73Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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