Candy Apple Dead (12 page)

Shortly after six o’clock that evening, I stepped
out of Divinity and locked the door behind me. My neck and shoulders ached with the effort of keeping a smile on my face all day long, and a dull ache throbbed just behind my eyes. Clouds had rolled into the valley while I worked, and now they hung low and menacing along the tops of the mountains, matching my mood exactly. A stiff wind set the hanging planters along the street swinging, and I shivered as I tucked my deposit bag under my arm and turned toward the bank.

The lobby was already closed, but there’s a teller window in the foyer that stays open until eight o’clock on weekdays. Usually, there’s a long line when I get there, but tonight only one other person stood in the lobby.

Iris Quinn is a small woman of about sixty, with a wide smile, teeth too large for her face, and graying hair that hangs to the middle of her back. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her when she wasn’t wearing a cardigan, no matter what the weather. She runs Once Upon A Crime, a mystery book store on the next street over. She’s not a pretty woman, but she’s friendly and intelligent, and nobody knows their product the way Iris knows mystery books.

When the teller passed back her receipt, Iris tucked it into the shapeless leather bag on her shoulder and stepped away from the window. Today’s cardigan was a dull gold. A pair of glasses dangled carelessly from the neck of her blouse. Without them, her eyes had a vague, unfocused look that disappeared the instant she saw me. “Why, Abby! Just the person I was hoping to see.”

I’d been dealing with people all day, some of whom actually wanted to buy candy, some of whom were just morbidly curious about my brother’s part in the fire. Iris’s effusive greeting left me a little off-balance.

I took her place at the window and pushed my bag through the opening. “What can I do for you, Iris?”

“I need a couple of those gift baskets of yours for a book signing next Wednesday. Am I too late to order them?”

“Of course not. Do you want me to include anything special?”

A smile fluttered around her mouth. “Whatever you think a best-selling mystery author would like. Maybe some of those caramels Grace used to make, and that apricot almond bark is heavenly. If you have any in stock, put some of that in.”

I didn’t, but I could make some easily enough, so I nodded. “Sure. No problem. Anything else?”

“Whatever you think is best. I’ll leave that up to you. I just want to make a good impression.” Her smile faded, and she glanced over her shoulder. “Not that there’s much we can do around here right now to make a good impression on anyone.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that, so I said nothing at all.

Iris didn’t seem to notice. “It’s terrible about Brandon, isn’t it? He was so young. Not even fifty, was he?”

“Forty-two.”

“Such a shame. So do you think he was murdered? Or do you think he set the fire himself?”

“I don’t particularly like either option,” I admitted, “but I guess it had to be one or the other.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” She dug into her purse, pulled out a pot of lip balm, and spent a few seconds smoothing some over her lips. The pungent aroma of menthol filled the lobby and made my nose sting. “It’s just so hard to believe. Murder. Here in Paradise. Although I guess Brandon did have his share of enemies.”

I wondered if she was talking about the angry husband of some phantom married lover, or if she actually knew something. “He had enemies?”

“Don’t we all?”

“I’d like to think I don’t,” I said with a weak smile. “But maybe you’re right. Do you know who Brandon’s enemies were?”

“Me?” She let out a laugh that was surprisingly girlish. “No. But it wouldn’t surprise me to find out that he’d left a trail of unhappy people behind him. You know how much he liked to argue. I swear, sometimes it seemed like his greatest joy in life was goading people into fighting with him.”

It wasn’t the most flattering description I’d ever heard, but it was probably accurate. “Yeah, but those arguments were always over little things. Unimportant things.”

“That depends on who you are, doesn’t it? What seems like nothing to one person might mean life and death to someone else. You never know what might push someone over the edge. Even the mildest person in the world can snap under the right conditions.”

I studied her plain face carefully, but I didn’t think she was making veiled hints about Wyatt. I might not see my brother as the powder-keg-ready-to-explode that Rachel described, but even I know he’s not mild. But if she wasn’t talking about Wyatt, who was she thinking of? “Do you know something I don’t?”

Iris’s narrow eyes shuttered, and she turned toward the door. “Oh, now, Abby. What could I possibly know? I hardly even knew Brandon except to speak to.”

I trailed her outside into the rising wind. “Look, I know you probably don’t want to say the wrong thing about an innocent person, but the police think Wyatt’s responsible for the fire and Brandon’s death. He’s not, of course, but if you know anything that might help, please tell me.”

Iris stopped near the curb and turned. “I can’t help you, Abby. I really can’t. You should just leave things alone. Let the authorities figure this out. That’s what they get paid for.”

“My brother is in trouble,” I argued. “I can’t just sit around and do nothing.”

The wind picked up Iris’s hair and tossed it about her head. She tugged the edges of her shapeless sweater together and held them there. “Oh, all right. It’s probably nothing, but if you get me involved in this thing, I’ll never forgive you. I saw Brandon a few days ago, and something about that afternoon has been troubling me ever since.”

“Why? What happened?”

“I saw him talking to someone. Arguing, really. And it wasn’t just your run-of-the-mill argument. I can’t put my finger on it, but they both seemed extremely angry. You might even say dangerously so.”

My heart jumped into my throat. “Did you hear what they were arguing about?”

“I was too far away. By the time I got closer, the other man was gone. To be honest, the whole thing made me quite uncomfortable. I worried a little about what I should say to Brandon, but it didn’t really matter since I’m not sure he even realized I was there.”

“He didn’t see you?”

“Oh, yes. We even spoke for a few minutes. But I don’t think he was really aware of me, even then. He was too distracted.”

“So who was he arguing with?”

“I don’t have a clue.” She made a vain attempt to control her hair, but it did no good. “I only saw him from behind, but there wasn’t anything familiar about him.”

“Did you notice anything unusual?”

She gave that some thought, but shook her head. “No. Sorry. He was medium height, medium build. You know . . . ordinary. He was wearing one of those stocking caps the kids all wear these days, so I can’t even tell you what color his hair was.”

“You think he was young?”

Iris shook her head thoughtfully. “No. He didn’t seem like a young man, but I don’t know why I feel that way. Young people move differently. This man was more . . . solid.” She flashed an embarrassed smile. “Not much help, is it?”

“It’s more than I knew ten minutes ago. I don’t suppose you’ve told Detective Jawarski about this?”

Her eyes grew round and solemn. “I didn’t see much point in doing that. After all, I don’t know anything,
really
.”

“Maybe not, but you might help take some of the suspicion off Wyatt.”

“Maybe.” Iris glanced up the street, chewing the corner of her lip. “Brandon is—
was
a bit mysterious, don’t you think?”

“Do you?”

“I do. Think about it, Abby. What do you know about him, really? Where did he come from?”

“Texas.”

“What part?”

I started to answer, realized I didn’t know, and shut my mouth.

“What about his people? Do you know anything about them?”

“No,” I admitted slowly, “but—”

Iris patted my arm. “Don’t feel bad. I don’t think anybody knows. Brandon never really shared much of himself with any of us.”

“So you think this man may have been someone from Brandon’s past?”

“It’s possible, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but probably a little too convenient.” I could just imagine how the police would react if I tried to convince them that a mysterious stranger from Brandon’s past had set the fire. Jawarski would probably lock me up just for that.

“It’s also possible,” Iris said, more to herself than to me, “that Brandon set the fire himself, don’t you think?”

I shook my head firmly. “People keep saying that, but he had no reason to set the fire. It’s not like he needed the money.”

“What if he did?”

“But he didn’t.”

“Maybe he didn’t admit it,” Iris said with a sly smile, “but I’ve heard rumors. Several of us have. That’s one of the reasons so many people opposed the idea of expanding the Arts Festival. Folks thought that Brandon was more interested in lining his own pockets than doing what’s best for the whole town.”

Little prickles of discomfort raced up my spine. Ever since I was a little kid, I’ve hated feeling left out, and nothing’s changed just because I’m an adult. Logically, I know that a person can’t live away for twenty years, then come home again and expect everything to be the way it was, but that doesn’t stop me from wishing. I hated feeling like the one girl who didn’t get invited to the party, and I wondered how long it would take me to earn my way back into the inner circle, or if I ever would.

“I don’t get it,” I said. “How would the Arts Festival put money in Brandon’s pockets?”

“Kickbacks.”

“What?”

“That’s the rumor.” Iris found her glasses on their chain and spent a minute situating them on her face. “I don’t know anything for sure, of course, but there has been talk that Brandon is overdrawn at the bank. I’ve even heard that some of his payroll checks have bounced in the past couple of months. But there’s no telling whether or not that’s true.”

I scrambled to take in everything she was telling me. I’d always thought that Brandon was doing well at Man About Town, and this image just didn’t fit with what I knew. “Who told you that he’d been bouncing checks?”

“You know how talk is. I don’t remember where I heard it now, but I think it came from a reliable source.” The clock at City Hall interrupted her, chiming the half hour. Iris looked up with a start, and her entire demeanor changed. “Six-thirty already? Oh, dear. I’m sorry, Abby. I hate to just toss all of this at you and run, but Carma will be wondering where I am. You know how she is.”

I managed a weak smile. Neither Iris nor Carma has ever admitted that they’re more than business partners and room-mates, but I think almost everyone in town understands what’s what. Some people accept it. Some don’t. Same as anywhere else, I guess.

Carma is a notorious worrywart who comes unglued when Iris isn’t where Carma expects her to be. Iris would never stick around to talk to me if she thought Carma was fretting. “Just try not to worry about Wyatt,” she said. “Things have a way of working out.”

It was an optimistic outlook, but I was having a little trouble sharing it. All the possibilities were making my head spin. Had Brandon been the charming, friendly, funny man I thought I knew? Or a scheming stranger with a mysterious past? I wondered if I would ever know.

I was still puzzling over my conversations with
Rachel and Iris the next afternoon when I pulled up in front of the sprawling old farmhouse that had belonged to Elizabeth’s family for four generations. The storm that had blown into the valley yesterday had settled in heavily, and the sky had darkened to an ominous slate gray. In the distance, thunder rumbled, and I could smell ozone spiking the air as I got out of my car.

A tray of caramel apples sat on the seat beside me, a treat for my nieces and nephews. Aunt Grace’s apples had always been a particular favorite of mine, and I thought they might help the kids get through this difficult time—and earn me some good-aunt points at the same time. After all, Wyatt’s kids barely knew me.