End of the Lane Read online

  Abby smiled. “I’ll play it by ear. After all, he more or less warned me to stay away.” Hard to say if he’d been serious. Surely, he could see the benefit of her sharing her own point of view.

  “He might think you’re onto something.”

  Abby tilted her head. “I think you might be right.” Now she had to figure out which tidbit of information he’d found interesting.

  Chapter Eleven

  DOYLE RUSHED TOWARD HER, his eyes bright, his tail wagging.

  “Someone’s happy to see you,” Faith said looking up from her desk. “You’d think you’d been separated for ages. Look at his tail. If it wags any faster he might take off.”

  Abby stooped down, and laughed as Doyle rolled onto his back, presumably putting in a request for a belly rub, which she happily provided. “Did he behave?”

  “He fell asleep at my feet. I tried to play catch with him, but he wasn’t interested.”

  Abby exchanged a knowing look with Doyle. “Next time, try talking to him. I think he likes it.”

  “Really? My dogs only pay attention to me when I bring out a ball.”

  Abby drew out her cell phone and showed Faith the photo she’d taken at Dermot’s house. “I forgot to show you this earlier. Do you recognize anyone?”

  “Yes, all of them.”

  Abby pointed at the woman in the background. “Including Felicia Williams?”

  Faith nodded. “Unlike you, she’s still easing into life in Eden.”

  “Unlike me? What do you mean?”

  “Well, you arrived and made an instant splash,” Faith explained. “Everyone already knows you. Felicia started out spending her weekends here. Then she moved here permanently, or so we think. I doubt anyone can say they’ve had a conversation with her and she doesn’t take part in any of the town activities.” Faith took a closer look at the photo. “Wow. Look at the way she’s glaring at Dermot.”

  “What makes you think she’s looking at him?”

  Faith grinned. “The trajectory of her gaze.” She searched her drawer and produced a ruler. “See. Her eyes are aimed directly at him.”

  “Okay. Let’s play with this. What do you know about Felicia? She’s not sitting with the group, but did she ever socialize with Dermot?”

  “Hard to say. Dermot talked to everyone.”

  “Everyone except Donovan Carmichael and his gossipy neighbor, Thelma Harrison,” Abby said under her breath.

  “It’s not that he never talked to Thelma. He simply steered clear of her. As for Felicia, I never heard him say she visited him at home.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  Faith nodded. “He’d always comment on what was going on in his life. You know, general remarks such as so and so dropped in for a cup of tea, she’s looking great. As far as Dermot was concerned, everyone always looked great.”

  “Would June Laurie know anything more about what went on at Dermot’s place?” The cleaning lady might have acted as a sounding board for Dermot. Then again, as Faith had said, Dermot hadn’t cared for gossiping.

  “I guess you’ll have to ask her. In fact, I’m surprised you haven’t already approached her.”

  “Joshua spoke with her a couple of times, I didn’t want to risk harassing her.”

  Faith grinned and bobbed her eyebrows up and down. “It’s Joshua now, is it?”

  “Don’t read too much into it. Since arriving in Eden, I’ve met so many people, I need to try to remember all their names but saying Detective Inspector Joshua Ryan is a bit of a mouthful.”

  “I guess it’s too soon to ask if there’s someone special in your life, someone you left behind?”

  Abby gave her a brisk smile. “Yeah, too soon. What if I leave tomorrow or next week? The less you know about me, the sooner I’ll fade away from your memory.” She searched her handbag for a pen and piece of paper and, annoyingly, came up empty. “Do you have a spare notebook and pen, please? I filled up my little notebook when I interviewed Bartholomew.”

  “Are you going to draw up a crime storyboard?”

  “A what?”

  Faith shrugged. “I’ve seen it on TV. The detectives always draw up a timeline of events. They step back from it and start telling a story. Hence the storyboard.” Faith clicked her fingers. “There’s a whiteboard in the storage room. I’ll go get it. The Gazette could be our brainstorming headquarters.”

  Abby looked at Doyle and said, “Someone’s been watching too much TV.”

  Moments later, Faith reappeared wheeling a whiteboard in. “I have markers in my top drawer.” Grabbing the ruler, she set about drawing a straight line across the whiteboard. “June left at nine in the morning and you arrived at Dermot’s just before midday.”

  “Joshua pinpointed 11.30 as the estimated time of death,” Abby said. “Approximately half an hour before I arrived.” June had left at nine that morning, the killer stepped in, poisoned Dermot and two and a half hours later, he died.

  Faith shook her head. “I can’t believe our local gossip, Thelma, didn’t see anyone else entering the house. She spends her life sitting by the window.”

  “Perhaps she was distracted by something,” Abby offered. “At some point, she would have to take a toilet break or get up to make herself a cup of tea or coffee.”

  “True. We’ll have to get her to admit to it. It won’t be easy. She takes great pride in being a busybody.”

  “She must live in a small world. What could she possibly expect to see from that vantage point? Poe Lane is not exactly Grand Central Station.”

  Faith wrote down the times they had pinpointed. “She does mix it up a bit. At lunch, she goes to the main street and either buys something to take home or she sits at Joyce’s. I’ve often seen her sitting by the window. Rarely, if ever, outside because of her pale skin.”

  Abby tugged her hair back. “Let me guess. Most people get out and about after lunch?”

  “Yes.” Faith tapped the whiteboard. “What else do we have?”

  “We also have a list drawn up by Joyce and her staff placing several people at her café.” Abby waved the piece of paper Joyce had given her.

  Faith stepped back and studied the list of names they had on the board. “I’m going to try to remember if I saw anyone walking past the newspaper. There’s always someone waving at me. It’s just a matter of sifting through all the debris floating around in my mind. I might have seen someone striding by in a hurry and not made the connection.” Faith jumped back.

  “What?”

  “Oh, I was just trying to walk a mile in the killer’s shoes. Picture this, the killer has just witnessed Dermot drawing his last breath, he realizes what he’s done and, panicking, he runs.” Faith pressed her hands to her cheeks. “If the killer is a woman, she might have shrieked and rushed out of the house. Along the way, she would have told herself to act normal and pretend as if nothing had happened. Distracted by her thoughts and the shock of her actions, she might have stumbled or collided with someone.” Faith then proceeded to act out the scene.

  “Wow, you’re good.”

  Faith grinned. “I belong to the local theater group, the Eden Thespians. We put on annual productions. Hey, we should do Mousetrap.” Faith scribbled a reminder on the edge of the board. “I’ll have to suggest it at our next production meeting.”

  Abby tried to picture someone fleeing the scene of the crime but something told her Dermot’s death had not been a careless crime of passion. The killer had put some thought into it—a lot of thought, since he hadn’t been spotted by the local gossip. Could he have made his getaway through a back door or window?

  Faith shook her head. “Ugh! I can see a parade of people strolling by inside my head.”

  “Try to remember something about the day,” Abby suggested. “Something you always do in the morning and take it from there. Are there any regulars you see strolling by every day?”

  “Sure. Plenty of them. Jolly Maeve is one. She can have her city paper delivered right to her f
ront doorstep but she chooses to walk to the store to get it. Otherwise, she’d never get any exercise. I see her every day at about ten in the morning.”

  “Did you see her this morning?” Abby asked.

  Faith was about to answer but stopped. “I want to say I did, but I also want to be sure. The mind can play tricks.” Faith grumbled under her breath. “Oh, heavens. I’d need to undergo some sort of regression hypnosis. I honestly can’t tell you with absolute certainty if I saw Jolly or not. And now this doubt is probably convincing my mind I didn’t see her.” Faith swung toward her desk. “I’m going to call her and find out.”

  Abby studied the board. Taking a marker pen, she worked on a bullet point list.

  “Yes,” Faith said. “Jolly strode by and waved but said I barely glanced up and, like you, she also saw me talking with Donovan Carmichael the other day.” Faith looked at the board. “What’s that?”

  “It’s what I remember. When I arrived at Dermot’s house, there was a piano tune playing. I’ve heard it before but I can’t place it and please don’t ask me to hum it. I don’t even sing in the shower for fear I might shatter the windows.”

  “Was it a jazz tune? Classical? Modern?”

  “Not modern and not classical. Sort of not classical. I’d recognize it if I heard it again.”

  Faith held up a finger. “I have a list of music Dermot had selected for his funeral service.”

  “I doubt a name will help.”

  Faith grinned. “Oh, but I have something better. It’s not just a list. It’s a compilation. I have it on my phone. Here it is.”

  Faith clicked through the playlist, checking with Abby to see if anything sounded familiar.

  “That one.”

  Faith nodded. “It’s a French composer. Erik Satie. Dermot loved listening to him on Sundays.”

  “But I went to his house on Monday.”

  “Then it couldn’t have been this one because when I say Dermot only listened to it on Sundays, I meant it. Dermot loved routine. He said it turned his tasks into something mundane so he didn’t have to think about them.” Abby must have looked confused because Faith went on to explain, “In his opinion, why waste time deciding what you’re going to listen to? His entire wardrobe had been laid out in such a way he only needed to work from left to right. If the weather didn’t agree with the selection of clothes, he merely eliminated or added. Monday’s suit had the option to add a woolen vest or sweater and so on.”

  Abby thought about her process for choosing what she’d wear and cringed. “I usually dive in and grab whatever is there.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Faith admitted. “Okay, I do give it a little thought, but I’m not anything like Joyce Breeland.”

  “I noticed she takes great care with her clothes. What’s up with that? Since arriving, I haven’t seen her dressed in anything that belongs to this century.”

  “You should see her on movie nights. Sometimes we all dress up. Film noire nights are fun. For the last one, I went dressed as a gangster’s mole.”

  “Yes, but... Joyce doesn’t seem to restrict her dress-up days to movie nights.”

  “That’s what we love about her. She adds a vibrant splash of color to life in Eden and we love her for it.”

  Abby tugged the sleeve of her jacket. “I suddenly feel self-conscious.” For as long as she could remember, she’d opted to wear jeans matched with a blouse or T-shirt and a tailored jacket.

  “You look great and I’m not just saying that to make you feel good,” Faith remarked.

  Doyle’s attention skipped from Faith to Abby and then he yawned.

  “We either confused Doyle or we bored him.” Abby turned back to the whiteboard and tried to remember what they’d been talking about before the subject of clothes had interfered.

  “Music and Dermot’s habit of sticking to a routine,” Faith said almost as if she’d read her mind. “What can I say? I’m a great personal assistant.”

  “Do you know if that tune held any sentimental value? Maybe we could connect it to someone from his past. There has to be a reason why he broke with routine.”

  “Where’s your mind going with this?” Faith asked.

  “Well, imagine the killer, someone acquainted with Dermot, pays him a visit. He’s a regular visitor, or maybe someone he hasn’t caught up with in a long while. They reminisce and the visitor asks if he still listens to that same tune every Sunday. When Dermot tells him that yes, he does, the visitor suggests listening to it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the tune has some sort of significance.”

  Faith cupped her chin. “Such as?”

  “It could have been the tune playing when Dermot saw his wife for the first time. This other person had been keen on her, but he’d been dragging his feet. Dermot, however, acted quickly and snatched her for himself.”

  “Giving the killer a motive. Jealousy and revenge,” Faith said. “You’re assuming the killer is a man.”

  “Point taken. It could be a woman, in which case, she might have talked about the first time they’d met and she would have secretly regretted or resented having missed her opportunity with Dermot. Her motive would be resentment. Despite being a widower and available, he’s still not interested in her.”

  “Have you done this before?” Faith asked.

  Abby shook her head. “No, but I’ve read a lot of mysteries. Revenge and jealousy appear to be great motivators for murder.”

  Faith grinned. “That’s the first bit of personal information you’ve revealed. Does that mean you’re staying on?”

  “It simply means I wanted you to understand I don’t have a natural devious bone in my body. I can’t think like a killer because I’ve never personally entertained thoughts of killing anyone.” Abby flinched.

  “Are you sure about that? Is there something you want to share with me because confession is good for the soul?”

  “No.” She’d killed a suit, but that didn’t count. “If I send you this photo, can you print it out?”

  “Quick change of subject and, yes. I’m sure Sebastian won’t accuse me of misappropriating company supplies or time.”

  “Did Dermot mind?”

  Faith chortled. “No. He wasn’t petty. Sorry, I... I had a phone interview this morning for an office position.”

  “I guess it didn’t go too well for you.”

  “They wanted to know how I felt about taking a company pen home and having coffee breaks outside of scheduled times.”

  “What did you say?”

  A splotch of red spread across Faith’s cheeks. “I hate being put on the spot. I didn’t want to lie.”

  Abby laughed.

  “It’s not funny. Where am I going to find a job like this one? I told them I had another call coming through and would get back to them.”

  “At least you’re honest about not wanting to lie.”

  “Yes, but that won’t pay my bills.”

  Abby typed in the email address, attached the photo and hit send.

  Faith swung into action and produced a photocopy of the photo. “Shall I do the honors and pin it up on the board?”

  “Yes, please. Now to find out where Felicia Williams lives.” At some point, she wanted to pay her a visit.

  “And why would you want to know that?”

  Both Abby and Faith swung around.

  Abby smiled. “Aha! Just the man I wanted to see.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “THIS IS BREAKING AND ENTERING. I’m an officer of the law. I can’t be seen doing this.”

  “Relax. Doyle is keeping watch. Besides, I have the front door key and permission from the owner. Hold steady while I try to climb the fence. I don’t want my jeans to rip.”

  “I’m taking a photo of this,” Faith said. “The local detective helping a possible murder suspect to break into Dermot’s house. No one will believe me.”

  “Hey, I’m not a suspect,” Abby complained.

  Faith shrugged. “The capt
ion has to be interesting enough to grab people’s interest.”

  “Remind me again why I’ve been fooled into helping you break the law?” Joshua asked.

  “Because I’m a foot taller than Faith and she wouldn’t be able to give me a hand up. Now, put your back into it. Heave-ho.” Abby made a grab for the top of the fence.

  Joshua grunted. “This is ridiculous. Come down. I’m going to try myself.”

  “Hey guys...”

  “I know I can do this,” Abby insisted. “And why is this fence so high? Don’t people in this town trust each other?”

  Faith tried to get their attention again. “Guys.”

  “Hang on, Faith. I’m nearly there.” Gritting her teeth, Abby pulled herself up another inch. “If the local gossip swears she didn’t see anyone going in through the front door, other than me, then the killer must have jumped the fence. It stands to reason, and if the killer can do it, so can I.”

  “I’ll tell you what else stands to reason,” Faith murmured. “We’re standing in the alley, therefore, there must be a back gate leading to the alley, and guess what? Here it is.”

  “Huh?” As Abby turned, she wobbled, lost her balance and toppled over Joshua.

  “Thank you. This photo is sure to amuse everyone.”

  Abby dusted herself off. “Hey! You can’t have fun at my expense. Think of my reputation. What will people say about me?”

  “You’ll live.”

  Joshua cleared his throat. “Can we go in now? I’d feel better if we didn’t stand around out here waiting to be caught red-handed.”

  “You’d make a dreadful criminal,” Abby murmured.

  They made their way into the backyard. A cast iron garden table and chairs setting sat on a paved area under the shade of a tall Eucalyptus tree with lush green ferns surrounding it all. The perfect setting for an afternoon tea. Noticing Joshua wasn’t even bothering to inspect the backyard, Abby frowned. “Hey.” She saw him struggling to keep a straight face. “Hey. Wait a minute. You knew about the back gate.”

  Faith laughed. “Thank you for providing me with the best story for our movie night. Joyce usually has the best ones, but I believe this will trump anything she can come up with. You’ll be talked about for years to come.”