Seed No Evil (10 page)

•   •   •

Shaw's Towing was in a building that had once been a car-repair shop. It was a low brown brick structure with two garage bays on one end and plenty of windows. On the other end was a fenced-in lot where the tow trucks were kept. As we got out of the car, two large Dobermans ran up to the fence and began barking at us, baring their teeth as though they would've loved to rip us apart.

“Why do people have dogs like that?” I asked Marco, giving them a wide berth.

“They must be there to protect their trucks after hours.”

“Right. Like someone's going to hot-wire a tow truck and joyride through town.”

“Good point. Let's ask.”

We stepped inside a small reception area and saw a long-haired man in stained blue overalls and a red plaid shirt standing behind a glass counter watching a tiny television propped in front of him. He seemed to be working on either a big wad of chewing tobacco or a large chunk of gum. I saw a coffee can sitting next to the counter and decided on the chewing tobacco.

“Those your dogs?” Marco asked.

“Naw. They belong to the business,” he replied, bending over to spit into the can. “Justin got them 'cause sometimes we hold cars here till the owners come for 'em.”

“I'd hate to see what those dogs would do if anyone broke in,” I said.

“Wouldn't be pretty,” Tobacco Man said. “Those are actually our second set of dogs. First ones got so that even Justin couldn't handle 'em. We had to put 'em down.”

“You did it yourselves?” Marco asked in surprise.

“Naw.”
Spit.
“Justin took them someplace.”

“Is Justin here?” Marco asked.

The guy hitched a thumb over his shoulder. “In his office. Want me to get him?”

“Please,” Marco said. “Tell him it's a business call.”

Tobacco Man disappeared through a door behind the counter and returned a few moments later. “He'll be right up.” The guy noticed me for the first time and did a double take at my neck. I swiveled to stare out the window.

We waited five minutes until a pleasant-looking man in a casual yellow-and-white-checked shirt and tan pants came out. He had thinning brown hair cut short, thin sideburns, and a well-trimmed goatee. He glanced at Marco, then at me, then at me again. Now I was really feeling self-conscious. “Justin Shaw,” he said, reaching out a hand toward Marco.

“Marco Salvare. This is my fiancé and assistant, Abby Knight.”

He gave me a nod but kept his distance, as though afraid to shake my hand. “What can I do for you?”

“Give us about ten minutes of your time,” Marco said, displaying his PI license.

“What's this about?” Justin asked, sounding wary.

“Beverly Powers. We're investigating the circumstances of her death.”

Justin held up his hands, palms out. “Hey, I don't know anything about what happened to Bev.”

“I believe you,” Marco said. “We're here because Abby's mother found the body and may be considered a suspect, so we're collecting as much information about Bev's life as we can. As I said, it'll take about ten minutes; then we'll get out of your hair.”

“I don't know what you think I can tell you,” Justin said, glancing at me again.

“My mom is sick with worry,” I told him. “We're really hoping some tiny detail about Bev or Stacy will make a difference.”

“Stacy?” Justin asked, looking at me with suspicion. “If Stacy is involved, I'm definitely staying out of it.”

My error. I should have let Marco explain. By the tone of Justin's voice, he was mistrustful now.

“I talked to Stacy just yesterday,” Justin continued. “She told me she left before Bev was killed. Are you telling me that's not true?”

Marco glanced over at the man in overalls, who was listening intently. “Can we talk in your office?”

Justin studied Marco for a moment, gave me a wary glance, and finally said, “Ten minutes.”

We were led up a short hallway to an office consisting of dingy white walls, gray metal filing cabinets, and a tan metal desk. On the walls were photos of Justin with various people. One showed him with two handsome German shepherds on leashes. I wondered if those were the dogs that had had to be put down.

Justin walked around behind his desk and sat down in an old chair that needed a good dose of WD-40. He indicated the two brown folding chairs in front of his desk.

“Now, what's this about Stacy?” Justin asked, crossing his arms over his chest as we got situated.

“All we know is what Stacy told us,” Marco said, “and that is that she left at five o'clock.”

Justin gave a nod, apparently satisfied that our facts matched his.

“Had you had any contact with Bev recently?” Marco asked, as I took notes.

“Nope.”

“Do you know of anyone who might have been a threat to Bev?” Marco asked.

“Nope.”

“Do you know if she made any enemies?” Marco asked.

“Nope, but I'm sure Bev did have enemies,” Justin said. “She was that kind of person.”

“By
that kind,
what do you mean?” Marco asked.

“I'll spare the lady here from the language I'd normally use to describe her,” Justin said. “I'm sure anyone who knew her well would say the same thing.”

“Did you know her well?” Marco asked.

Justin reddened, realizing his mistake, and said quickly, “Once upon a time I knew her—or I should say
sort
of knew her—as well as anyone knows his sister-in-law.”

The woman he'd had an affair with? Yeah, right. I couldn't wait to see how Marco would pull out the truth. I always enjoyed watching his artful tactics.

“That was when I was married to Stacy, of course,” Justin added, smiling as though relieved to have cleared that up. Obviously he didn't want to be associated with Bev. Did he have reason to worry that he'd be a suspect?

“What kind of relationship did Bev and Stacy have?” Marco asked.

“Rocky,” Justin said, toying with a paper clip on his desk.

“According to an employee who worked with both Bev and Stacy, the sisters hated each other,” Marco said. “Would you say that's a fair assessment?”

“Yeah, that's about right,” Justin answered.

“Was their relationship that bad while you were married to Stacy?” Marco asked.

“They'd never had what you'd call a close relationship, but it got to the point of hatred by the end of our marriage.”

“Do you know the reason for the hatred?” Marco asked.

Justin shrugged, but wouldn't meet Marco's eye. “Sisters. What can I say? I never had any, so I can't tell you any more than that.”

More like he didn't want to, no doubt because the sisters' hatred had everything to do with their affair.

“If I told you that Stacy now claims she loved her sister,” Marco said, “and that they were best friends, what would you say?”

“That she must have been drunk when you talked to her,” Justin said. “But hey, I haven't been around them for years, so maybe I'm way off base and some kind of miracle happened.”

My cell phone beeped, so I pulled the phone from my purse and read the message from Marco's mom:
Be law, e-coli donut gets halters at the dunes.

What?

The phone beeped again, and instantly another text message popped up:
Stupid autocorrect.

It was followed by a third message.
Bella, I couldn't get any shelters at the dunes.

Which was just as I'd predicted. I texted back,
Darn it
, suppressing the urge to add
LOL
.

That left the most popular wedding site in town—the gazebo at Community Park—which I knew was booked at least a year in advance.

Marco glanced at me, his eyebrows drawing together at the wide smile on my face. Turning back to Justin, he asked, “What can you tell us about your relationship with Bev?”

“She used to be my sister-in-law. End of story.”

“Is that the whole story?” Marco asked.

Justin checked the time on his watch, keeping his gaze averted. “Pretty much.”

I slipped my phone back into my purse. This was getting good. Now Marco would tiptoe closer to the truth, pushing Justin inch by inch until he cracked wide open.

“When were you going to tell us,” Marco said, his gaze focused intently on Justin's face, “that you had an affair with Bev that broke up your marriage?”

Wow. No tiptoeing today.

“W
hoa, whoa, whoa!” Justin said, trying but not succeeding in smiling. “Where did you hear that?”

“From one of Bev's employees,” Marco said.

“And this employee knew it how?” Justin asked, tilting back on the hind legs of his chair.

“She heard Bev and Stacy arguing about your affair,” Marco said. “This happened on several occasions.”

Justin appeared stunned, shaking his head as though he couldn't believe it.

“We'd like you to validate that the affair did indeed happen,” Marco said.

Justin came down on all four chair legs. “Yeah, it happened, something I've regretted every day of my life since. I won't even call it an affair because it was just the one time and then I told Bev to back off. I knew immediately afterward that I'd made a big mistake because Bev isn't—
wasn't—
one you could say no to and get away with it.”

“How long ago was this?” I asked.

Justin rubbed his eyes with his thumbs. “Happened about a year before we moved to New Chapel, so let's see . . . I guess it's coming up on fifteen years now.”

“How did Stacy find out about the affair?” I asked.

For a second, Justin's expression hardened, his lips flattening into thin, colorless lines. “Bev told her, the bi—” He caught himself and quickly cleared his expression of anger. “But hey, that's water under the bridge now.”

“When did Bev tell Stacy?” I asked.

“About a week after I told Bev to back off.” Justin shook his head, as though he still couldn't believe it. “Stacy and I tried to make a go of it, even moving here to start over, but Bev followed us. Stacy was so convinced that we were still having an affair that she filed for divorce.”

“Did you have any idea that Bev was going to tell Stacy?” Marco asked.

“She warned me she was going to do it,” he said. “Said she had to clear the air, which I've never believed. She wanted to ruin my marriage to get even with me. I tried to talk her out of it, but when Bev makes up her mind to do something, nothing stops her.”

He blew out a breath noisily, as though trying to shake off his tension. “I guess I should be putting everything into the past tense now, shouldn't I? Damn, it's so hard to believe Bev's really gone.”

He had completely switched tones, from angry to light. I had the unfortunate feeling that Bev's death had been welcome news to a number of people.

“Did you have any contact with Bev after the affair?” Marco asked.

“None,” he said emphatically. “I kept my distance. Bev could make things miserable if she was of a mind to, and she usually was. I wanted to protect myself and my son from her as much as possible.”

“You have a son?” I asked.

Justin grew red-faced again. “I thought you knew that. Didn't Stacy tell you?”

“She didn't mention any children,” I said.

“We have only the one child.”

“How old is he?” I asked.

“He turns fourteen next week. He was born shortly before we relocated here.”

“Why did you want to protect your son from Bev?” Marco asked.

“For the reason I told you earlier. I didn't want him to be around someone like her.”

“Did it work?” I asked.

“I had no control over the situation while Kyle was with his mother, only when I had him every other weekend—and your ten minutes is up,” Justin said, displaying his watch face.

“Just two more quick questions,” Marco said. “Are you positive you haven't had any contact with Bev in the fourteen years since your son was born?”

“She might have been at the house a time or two when I dropped Kyle off, but believe me, I've tried my best to keep away from her—and keep my son away from her, too. She was poison.”

“Have you ever been to the PAR Animal Shelter?” Marco asked.

“No reason to.”

“I thought maybe you got your dogs there.”

“Nope. Got them through a breeder.”

Marco rose. “That should do it, then. Thanks for giving us your time.” We walked to the door; then Marco turned back. “Sorry. One more detail. Where were you Monday evening between five and seven o'clock?”

“Monday?” Justin rubbed his chin as I whipped out the notepad and pen. “I don't remember . . . Oh, wait. Monday! I got a service call on my cell phone as I was leaving for the day. My guys had all gone home, so I took one of the trucks out myself to respond.”

“Can you verify that?” Marco asked.

“I can give you the customer's name,” Justin said. “He'll verify that I responded.”

“Would you do that now, please?” Marco asked. He waited while Justin searched through receipts stuck on a spindle, then, as Justin wrote down a name, asked, “Do you recall what time you got to him?”

“Not exactly, but I'd say somewhere around six o'clock. His car broke down outside of town.”

“That'll do it, then,” Marco said, handing me the piece of paper. “Thanks again.”

•   •   •

“Marco, your mom couldn't book a shelter at Dunes State Park! Isn't that great?”

He opened the car door for me. “Was that what the text message was about?”

“Yep. See how much better it is to let her find out for herself that you can't change locations at the last minute? Just think of it, Marco. Soon we'll be married in that cute little white gazebo with flowers all around it and shady trees overhead.” I sighed dreamily. “How perfect it'll be.”

He patted my knee. “Good, babe. I'm glad you're happy.”

“Aren't you happy?”

“Sunshine, as far as I'm concerned, we could be married in the back of a pickup truck.” Seeing my horrified expression, he quickly recanted. “Of course I'm happy. It'll be beautiful, I'm sure.”

“Way to backpedal, Salvare.”

Marco's mouth curved up at one corner as he glanced my way. It was another of those endearing traits I loved so much.

As we headed back to town, I turned the topic back to our wedding plans. “Have you confirmed the dates of our honeymoon with the bed-and-breakfast in Key West?”

“Yep. Air travel is lined up and I've rented us a car for the week. We went over this a few days ago, remember?”

“Sorry. I've got so many details crammed into my brain that I forget.”

“Not a problem. What's your opinion about Justin Shaw?”

Obviously, Marco wasn't as focused on the wedding plans as I was. “I thought Justin was being honest for the most part, but I'm glad we talked to Emma first or we wouldn't have known about the affair with Bev. Justin sure wasn't going to bring it up.”

“I can't fault him for that,” Marco said. “He probably doesn't care to revisit it.”

“But when we pinned him down, he seemed to be straight with us,” I said. “I didn't get any negative vibrations from him. Stacy is the one who wasn't being honest. I didn't believe her when she said she and her sister were best friends, and this interview reaffirmed that.”

“She's protecting herself. Stacy clearly fears she will be a suspect, and rightly so. Her alibi won't stand up in court. With that said, I wouldn't cross Justin off the list just yet either. I'm going to call the customer on that piece of paper this afternoon to check out his story, and I want to be certain that the shelter staff has never seen Justin there.”

“Did you think he was lying about it?”

“I never take a suspect's word on anything. Check every statement, Sunshine. Remember that. I also want to find out if there was any way Justin could've gotten access to a shelter key through his son.”

“How do we do that?”

“We need to talk to Stacy again.”

“Think we can catch her at the shelter at five o'clock? Unless the funeral is today.”

“The coroner hasn't released Bev's body yet, Abby. Nothing happens until that final autopsy report is done. Reilly will let me know when it's in. So I say it's worth a try. There's a photo of Justin on his Web site that I'll enlarge and copy. If you can leave work twenty minutes early, we can question the staff about him and then we'll be in the reception area when Stacy is ready to leave for the day.”

“Weren't you going to talk to Emma's coworkers at PAR at five o'clock?”

“I can do that later this evening. When we finish at the shelter, do you want to go back to the bar for dinner?”

“Will you be embarrassed by my fat neck?”

Marco smiled. “You will always be the most beautiful woman in the room to me, Abby. So the answer is no, I won't be embarrassed. Will you be upset if I tell you I need to work at the bar this evening?”

“Of course not, but isn't that what you're training Rafe to do?”

Marco scratched his nose, as though the question made him uncomfortable. “It's taking a little longer than I expected.”

“Don't worry about it, Marco. I understand.”

He pulled up in front of Bloomers and reached for my hand, bringing it to his lips. “You're my sweetheart, you know that?”

“Yes, but it's always good to hear you say it. I'll see you before five.”

“Get out those flyers,” he called, as I exited the car.

“Yes, boss.”

Inside Bloomers, two women were browsing the gift items on the display shelves, so I said hello and continued on into the workroom, where I immediately checked the spindle. This time three pieces of paper fluttered there.

“Hello, dear,” Grace said, sailing through the curtain. “How did it go?”

“I'll give you a rundown when Lottie's free,” I said. “How's business been?”

“We had a nice afternoon in the coffee parlor, but for the shop, only a few customers here and there.”

I sagged onto a stool. “A few customers and a whopping three orders on the spindle. I'm starting to get nervous, Grace.”

“I don't think you should be worried just yet, love. You know the economy is still struggling.”

“So is my bank account. We had such a good month in July, I was hoping the trend would continue.”

“What needs to continue, love, is your determination to succeed. Let me tell you what famed businessman and entrepreneur Richard M. DeVos said.” Grace cleared her throat and lifted her chin. “‘If I had to select one quality, one personal characteristic that I regard as being most highly correlated with success, whatever the field, I would pick the trait of persistence. Determination.'”

Lottie walked in, clapping with me.

“That was fantastic, Grace,” I said. “I don't know how you remember all those quotes.”

“It
is
a gift, isn't it?” Grace said.

Lottie put her arm around me. “You've got pluck, kid. You'll make it. And those two ladies you saw out front just dropped a cool hundred and twenty dollars on a pair of crystal candlesticks and a bouquet of roses. How about that?”

“That's great. How can I feel down when I have you two around?” I asked, giving them each a hug.

“Um, Abby,” Lottie said, pulling back to look at me, “take a look at your neck in the bathroom mirror. Looks like you have a rash now, too.”

•   •   •

Oh, boy, did I have a rash. It went from my neck down my torso all the way to my ankles, and it itched. I had become a freckled frog with a skin condition.

“Perhaps you should see your family doctor,” Grace said, peering over my shoulder as I examined my swollen, bump-covered glands in the mirror. “It's probably nothing serious, but why take chances?”

Normally, I'd tough it out and wait for whatever it was to go away, but with my wedding right around the corner, I took her advice and made the call. Luckily, thanks to a kindhearted nurse, I snagged an appointment for first thing in the morning. Now all I had to do was keep myself from scratching so I didn't make my condition worse. To distract myself, I pulled an order from the spindle and set to work.

The arrangement was for a woman's forty-third birthday, a gift from her family. They gave me a budget from which to work but left the design entirely up to me, so I decided on a pastel palette with an oval cream-colored ceramic bowl.

Climbing around containers in the first cooler, I pulled out white carnations, Apple Blossom pink stock flower, Bellamosum light blue delphiniums, blue Veronicas, waxflowers, leather fern, and lily grass, then laid them all out on the worktable.

Grace came in with a cup of green tea for me, which she said would be good for my rash, and admired the blossoms. “Those should be lovely together.”

“Thanks. Any word on when our cooler will be fixed?” I asked.

“The plumber indicated the part he needed would be in at the earliest tomorrow afternoon,” she said. “By the way, you have your dress fitting this evening.”

Wouldn't that be fun in my condition?