I had been up all night, tossing and turning, not that I disturbed Mr. Tuttles, who snored happily beside me, or Stormy, curled up at my head. Those two could sleep through the apocalypse, I thought.
I looked at the clock. 3:00 am.
I had a couple of ideas as to who really killed Angie, but I had no proof. Without hard evidence, I would never clear Felyne and see the true killer receive justice.
Whoever set that fire was the killer, I was sure of it. What were they trying to hide? It had to be something the police hadn’t already collected as evidence, or, at least, something the killer didn’t think they collected as evidence. He or she had taken the computer, looking for something, but what?
I closed my eyes and ordered myself to sleep. Sometimes, I found, the subconscious mind would come up with answers the conscious mind couldn’t see.
3:46 am. No answers. Stupid subconscious mind!
Was there something I could do to draw this person out? Whoever it was, they seemed to be paranoid that there was still some evidence that would tie them to the crime. That was the only reason they could possibly have taken the chance on setting the house on fire. And why Nick? Did he see something that night? Maybe he decided to blackmail the murderer, although that didn’t seem like something Nick would do.
As I drifted between sleep and consciousness, I thought of all the people I had met. Who had motive, opportunity, and means?
What if Angie, who had all of these guilty people swirling around her in her role as HOA President, what if she had just been targeted by a psychopath? Maybe there wasn’t a motive. Maybe there was a motive I wasn’t seeing. Or maybe it was one of these people somehow related to somebody in Angie’s life – somebody who had one degree of separation, if you will.
Brady Strong or Max Howard might not have wanted to risk Angie knowing about the sweet payback scheme that kept them employed for a lot of money with little work. But wouldn’t it be crazy if it turned out to be Brady’s wife? Or Max’s girlfriend? What if, for instance, Brady went home to his wife complaining that this crazy HOA President was too inquisitive? Somebody like her might have been worried her husband’s career could be over if Angie reported him.
I’ll call Dayna in the morning and see if they even looked into any of the contractors’ wives. It’s a long shot, but it’s something.
I thought of all the cozy mysteries I’d read in the month since I’d retired. It was never a character you’d never heard of. It was always a character introduced in the first part of the book. But this wasn’t fiction. This was real life, and often in real life, the perpetrator was somebody the police had never even had on their radar.
With the advent of Investigative Genetic Genealogy, many cold cases were being solved, and the number of cases where it was a total stranger were rising.
I looked at the clock. 4:15 am.
I dared a glance at Stormy, fearing that just looking at her would wake her up and start her on her pre-dawn rampage. My heart swelled, though, to see her still sleeping, her little stomach rising and falling with her breath. Maybe she was starting to settle down here, to accept us as her new family. Or maybe she was just really tired because I played “grab the string” with her for hours and hours last night.
I turned over onto my side, and that wasn’t comfortable, so I turned over onto my stomach, and then over onto my other side. That was better.
I had at least a couple of hours before the conglomeration of pets I now thought of as the Animal Kingdom in my house would insist I exit my warm, cozy bed and feed them.
I needed to sleep. I would be worthless if I didn’t get at least another hour’s sleep. My side ached, so I turned onto my back and pulled my pillow to bunch under my neck and head. I thought of sheep, bouncing over a hurdle on a track, and then the sheep turned into black fibers which turned into coins on the ground which turned into an array of motives. I thought of everything I’d seen or heard around the neighborhood.
I sat up straight in bed, startling Stormy and Mr. Tuttles. Could it be? I was no longer sure of anything anymore, but I had an idea.
A neighborhood is its own living, breathing fabric, like a web. Every action in a neighborhood sends out ripples, echoes different people respond to in their own, subconscious fashion.
This neighborhood felt the echoes of Angie and Nick’s deaths in many ways, both obvious and subtle. The threads of the web were resonating with implications, like notes on the string of a guitar, and the murderer would be the one most in tune with delicate shifts of the web.
If a bug lands on a strand of the web, the spider feels it instantly, so how do you find the spider at the heart of a neighborhood?
You didn’t. You let the spider find you.
Mr. Tuttles spun around, barked, and danced while I tried to put his collar on. “Stand still, Little Man! We have important business to attend to.” Energy vibrated off him, no doubt a reflection of my own restless state.
I finally got his collar clasped, and we headed out. Clouds were overhead, making it a cool, gloomy day. The thicker, humid air held a dark aura, heavy with the weight of karma, a portent of things to come. I welcomed it. Didn’t we all have a darker side that thirsted for conflict? I know I did.
I pulled up the weather app on my phone and saw that rain was in the forecast. The heat wave had snapped.
We exited my driveway and started down the sidewalk, passing the stately homes, and then took the pedestrian path that would lead up the hill to the pool. The threat of rain was keeping many indoors, but I knew the regular walkers would be out. It crossed my mind, too, that with two murders in the neighborhood, people might be less likely to want to leave their homes. I wouldn’t blame them if they felt that way.
Sure enough, I hadn’t walked far before I saw Becca, coming around the corner towards me. Perfect.
“Kate!” She walked fast, practically bursting into a jog, making a beeline towards me.
“Becca! It’s so good to see you.” I sounded false even to myself, but Becca didn’t seem to notice.
“I’ve heard they arrested Felyne! I can believe it. She’s such a skinny little thing with a big attitude.”
“I heard that too! It’s so hard to believe, though, don’t you think? I mean, they had her in custody before Nick was killed.”
“Wait, they did?” Her eyebrows rose in surprise.
“They did.” I repeated. “I guess it’s feasible she killed Angie and then somebody else killed Nick—”
“Oh, that’s very unlikely, don’t you think?”
“I’d have to agree. It just seems like it would have to be the same person.”
“Well, shoot! Any idea if the police have any other suspects?”
I shrugged. “I really wouldn’t know. I’ve had some ideas, though. Clearly, whoever killed Angie was trying to hide evidence by burning her house down.” Becca nodded. “Can you keep a secret?”
I looked left and right to see if anybody was within hearing distance, then I leaned towards Becca’s ear. “I think I might have what the killer was worried they’d left behind!”
Becca visibly shivered. “What?” she asked loudly.
“Shhh!”
“What?” she asked much more softly.
“I can’t really say yet, but I absentmindedly picked something up in the kitchen the day I found Angie, and since the fire, I started to wonder if it might be important. I’ve been trying to reach out to the Palm Hills PD, but of course they’re very busy right now, too busy even for me, if you can believe it!”
“I’m sure they have their hands full.”
“Yes. Dayna Afaoma, the officer you met at the funeral, is supposed to give me a call tomorrow. I’m hoping we’ll see the killer arrested soon, maybe even by tomorrow evening!”
“Oh, my!”
“But you have to keep that on the downlow.”
“Absolutely!”
We moved apart, Becca walking with even more purpose, and I smiled to myself. No secrets were safe with Becca.
Mr. Tuttles and I continued our walk, passing the pool and heading down towards the tennis courts. Lexie spotted me coming the other way. “Kate!” she called. “I heard they arrested Felyne!”
I grinned inwardly. The plan was working.
“Come into my parlour,” said the spider to the fly.