That left six of us—or seven with Eugene—to get whatever answers we could before the police arrived. I glanced around the site. I sort of wanted to pull out my phone and take a video, but that seemed terribly inappropriate. But there was so much in here, I doubted I’d remember it all.
The dust on the floor was disturbed, but that could’ve been from the forensics teams who’d been working here earlier. There were stacks of wood and drywall against the far wall. Buckets of screws and nails were stacked beside them. Tools were strewn everywhere. It’d be difficult for any of us to figure out if anything was missing, but Jim’s crew should know. If the police didn’t talk to them, we should.
“There’s a lot of stuff in here. Were there any security measures? Other than the lock?” I asked.
We all looked around.
Sandy made an obvious show of looking up and down and all around. “I don’t see anything.”
“Nor do I,” Hazel said.
Perhaps that was another thing we could ask Jim’s crew.
Gideon inhaled. “There’s the smell of coffee.”
“That’s probably from the coffee I dropped when we found Winston.”
He sniffed again. “Maybe. But it’s stronger than I would’ve expected.”
“It was a dark roast with a double shot of espresso from Lily’s,” I reminded him.
He grudgingly nodded. “Fair point. Anyone else have anything?”
“I don’t think any of Winston’s family would waste that much blood or use a knife.” Tulip tapped her finger against her chin. “So, I don’t think this is a revenge killing.”
“That’s probably true,” Az agreed. “And I don’t sense any dark magic at play.”
“Um, Gid? I think Eugene has something.” Sandy pointed to a corner where a shadow was vibrating.
We shuffled around the perimeter of the room to where Eugene was quivering. Like much of the construction site, the drywall in this corner had been ripped away to expose the studs behind.
I didn’t see anything of note, but Hazel squealed. “Oh, what’s this?”
She plucked something off a nail.
“What is it?” Gideon asked.
She passed it to Gideon.
I pulled my glasses off—they were for distance, not anything close—and leaned in to study the bright purple fibers in Gideon’s palm. “Maybe someone got their sweater caught on the nail?”
“I thought it was yarn at first,” Hazel said, “but I think it is more like a faux fur.”
“Maybe,” Gideon agreed.
I put my glasses back on and glanced toward where Hazel had found the fibers. Nothing obvious stood out. It was perhaps a tad messier with construction debris than the rest of the space, but that was probably because Winston had told Jim to stop in the middle of a task.
“It’s quite far from the body.” Az’s comment had us all turning our attention back to Jim. “It seems unlikely that this is connected to his murder.”
Flashing lights streamed through the front window. The police were here, which meant our time was up.
“Is that Jim’s van out on the street?” I hadn’t noticed it before, but the red and blue police lights were bouncing off the white panels. “I wonder if he was attacked when he came back for his tools.”
That was the last observation any of us made for the next several hours. Grady had separated us to take our statements. He asked me some routine questions, but I got the impression he didn’t think any of us were the murderers. He seemed more perplexed by having another body to deal with than anything else.
I was one of the last to be interviewed. When I stepped into the alley to return to The Mystic Menagerie, I was pleased to find Gideon waiting for me.
“I thought I’d walk you back.”
