I look around at the crowd gathered outside the café. The murderer has to be among them. I just don’t believe that Willow killed Taylor Grace.
“You don’t even have the murder weapon!” Nana shouts at Bobby, batting him with her handbag. “I’m this close to having great-grandbabies—you’re not going to lock Willow up while her uterus is still functional.”
I survey the crowd. Most people are a mix of shocked and horrified.
One elegant-looking woman has her arms wrapped around herself. There’s a weird red patch on the white of her sweater under her arm, but I don’t dwell on it because two people here look neither shocked nor upset. Lydia is arguing with her husband, Travis. Neither of them seems at all concerned that Taylor Grace is dead, I notice.
Hollis appears, tears streaming down her face as she wraps an arm around Lylia.
I open the door to gesture them inside.
“Is the body still in there?” Hollis asks, voice trembling. “I don’t know if Lydia needs to see this. Lydia’s in shock, aren’t you?”
“Oh, bring her inside, poor thing,” Beryl tuts.
“She’s pregnant! You’re stressing out a pregnant woman!” Nana snaps at Bobby.
“I’ll go get you some water,” I tell Lydia as her husband helps her into a seat.
The police look longingly at the stacks of pastries for tomorrow.
“Willow won’t mind if you have one,” I tell them.
While they’re distracted, making their choices, I survey the crime scene. There’s a smear of blood on the floor where Willow shoved the door open. Taylor Grace looks like she was killed right before Willow arrived—shot by a small-caliber weapon, a pistol, three times in the back.
Had she been arguing with someone then turned to leave? Or had she been ambushed?
I notice a phone half hidden next to the spice rack on one of the counters. It’s blush pink. I swipe it and stick it in my pocket before the police see.
“Any sign of a murder weapon?” I ask as I slowly fill a glass of water.
“No.” The police shrug.
“Did you check the dumpster outside?”
Bobby snaps his fingers. “Good idea. You should be a detective on the force.” He beams at me.
I let the EMTs come through then head back into the café.
Lydia is being comforted by Josie.
“It was a delayed reaction from the shock.”
“Dead. She’s dead. My sister is dead. Taylor Grace’s dead.” Lydia sobs as I set the water down near her.
Her husband looks angry.
“Do you have any idea who might have killed her?” I ask.
“Yeah,” her husband says.
“No,” Lydia snaps at him.
“Yes, we do.” He’s stubborn.
The police fumble out their notepads. Winston drops his tape recorder. The firemen, who’ve been called for crowd control, roll their eyes.
“She did it.” Travis points at Willow.
