“You seem to have been following in our footsteps, Ms. Hamilton. If you’d talked to us, you would have known we’ve already made most of these inquiries. But please let us know if you learn more about the ex-boyfriend.”
That didn’t make sense. “But you’ve already talked to him. It’s Randall Moffit.”
Deputy Wolverson started to say something but stopped and looked at Inwood. When he nodded, the deputy went on. “He has a solid alibi for the time of the murder.”
“Sure, but he could have hired someone else to do that.” How, I didn’t know, but if he had buddies that would paint their bodies in Tigers blue, maybe he had a friend good enough to commit murder for him. “Moffit must have been the one who was following her around to Crown and Trock’s TV set. Did you check his alibi for those days?”
The detective sighed, so I knew they hadn’t. “And what about the phone call that lured Cade to Carissa’s house?” I persisted. “Did you ever check up on that?”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Hamilton,” he said, “but we’ve found no proof it was ever made.”
My mouth went dry. “But maybe it was a landline call. A local one. That doesn’t mean it was never made. You can’t prove a negative.” I could see I was losing the detective’s interest and started talking faster. “But local calls do show up somewhere. I mean, they must, right? Every call is routed through computers, and computers keep track of everything. It’s just a matter of getting the data.”
Inwood stood. “Thanks for your input, Ms. Hamilton. And please drop that note off at the sheriff’s office tomorrow morning. Have a good night.”
He walked off, the deputy followed, and I was left alone with nothing but my own frightened thoughts to keep me company.
Chapter 17
I pushed away my fears for Cade. There had to be something I could do. I had to find something that the police had missed. Only… how? I sat on the quiet bench, thinking hard, watching people walk past and cars drive by.
Cars. I smiled. Got it.
I pulled my cell out of my purse to check the time. If high-end car dealerships kept hours similar to downtown merchants, I had almost half an hour until closing.
Bright lights shone out the windows of Talcott Motors. Half a dozen people wandered about inside the showroom, some obviously potential customers, others just as obviously salespeople. And, through an open doorway, I spotted Jari.
Perfect. I unbuckled my seat belt and was half out of the car, half not, when a Ring! Ring! sounded at my left ear.
“Hello, Minnie, dear!” It was Zofia on the rear seat of a bicycle built for two. In the front was a white-haired man who looked vaguely familiar.
Zofia waved gaily, the jewels on her ringed hand flashing in the setting sun. “How nice to see you. Do you know Claude? He has a summer home across the street from your aunt. Claude, this is Minnie, the young lady who drives the bookmobile.”
Claude and I nodded at each other and made nice-to-meet-you noises as Zofia talked on. “I’ve been having so much fun this summer and it’s all thanks to your aunt Frances.”
“It is?”
Zofia smiled fondly at the man sitting in front of her. “If she didn’t live where she did, Claude and I would never have met.”
“A tragedy,” Claude said, turning to pat her hand. “It would have been a tragedy.”
“Oh,” I said lamely. Remembering my promise to my aunt, I mustered up one last effort. “Leo will be so disappointed, don’t you think?”
Zofia made a rude noise. “Haven’t you seen the goo-goo eyes he and Paulette have been giving each other for weeks? Open your eyes, young lady, and you shall see.” She flung her arms out, palms up. “A wonderful world is out there, just waiting for us to discover it!”
Laughing, I said, “I hope I can be just like you when I grow up.”
“My dear, you can be anything you’d like.” Zofia blew me a kiss. “Toodle-oo!”
Smiling, I waved and watched them pedal off, their feet rotating in tandem.
“Minnie?”
I turned. “Hey, Jari.” All things come to those who are willing to wait outside in a parking lot for a little while. “Can I talk to you?”
• • •
A few minutes later, we were sitting on tall stools at a high table in a local drinking establishment. If I stretched, the tips of my toes brushed the stool’s top rung.
“What can I get for you ladies?” asked a long-haired young man with a notepad in his hand. He went away with two drink orders; a cosmopolitan for Jari and a sedate glass of house red for me. I glanced about, knowing there was no possible way that Kristen would be here, but leery that she might have spies out. If she heard I was drinking a house red, she’d try to force me to eat something horrible, like shiitake mushrooms.
Jari and I made idle chat about the weather, the summer crowds, and the upcoming winter until our drinks showed up. “Cheers.” Jari held up her glass.
“Cheers.” I sipped cautiously at my wine. A little sweet, not much depth, but not too horrible. Thanks to Kristen, I was learning something about wine, but not enough to ruin my enjoyment of a cheap glass of the stuff. The best of both worlds.
Jari took a large swallow of her reddish drink, started to put it down, then took another large swallow. “That’s exactly what I needed,” she said. “You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had.”
“Brush-off Bob giving you a hard time?”
She blinked. “Who?”
I explained the nickname and she threw her head back and let loose with a huge laugh. “That’s perfect,” she said, wiping her eyes carefully with a small square napkin. “Just perfect. Do you have names for the other guys?”
“Not yet.”
“Maybe I’ll try to come up with my own. There’s got to be something good that rhymes with Tim.” She sipped at her drink. “What was it you wanted, anyway? Something else about Carissa, I suppose.” Her newly lighthearted demeanor slipped a bit.
“I’m afraid so.”
Her shoulders heaved; once, then again. Finally she looked up. “Okay. Fire away.”
I had a number of things to ask but thought I’d start with an easy one. “Carissa’s obituary said she’d gone to Wayne State. Do you know what degree she had?”
“Pharmacy,” Jari said. “She’d been a pharmacist ever since she got out of school, but she said she got tired of counting pills and all the insurance hassles. One of the reasons she moved up here was to get away from all that.”
“Don’t pharmacists make quite a bit of money?” More than librarians, I was sure.
“Yeah, I guess. She’d saved a lot, so probably. I asked her once if she thought she’d ever go back to it, but she said she was having more fun selling cars than she ever had handing out medications, so who knows?” Jari shrugged.
“That big Petoskey stone of hers must have cost a lot of money,” I mused out loud, then could have kicked myself. Well, maybe Jari hadn’t heard exactly how Carissa was killed.
“Oh, she didn’t buy that,” Jari said. “Her ex-boyfriend, the Weasel? He gave it to her. She thought it was about the prettiest thing she’d ever seen, so she always had it on the table in her living room.”
Which made it an easy choice for a murder weapon. Right there on display, and quieter than a handgun with the bonus of no registration. “And you never knew the Weasel’s name?” I asked.
“The police wanted to know that, too, but like I told you before, I never knew it.”
“Do you know where he works?” I asked. If I knew where Randall Moffit worked, maybe I could find out who his buddies were and figure out if any of them would be the type to—