And someone in this town was hiding the truth.
Ophelia’s eyebrows rose on their own. “How did you know Damian returned to town?”
Monica chuckled. “I heard from Amka at Sam’s, who heard it from Flossy, who heard it from…”
“I’ve got it,” Ophelia said. “Gossip in a small town, right?” But had there been an inflection in Monica’s tone? “You stressed Flossy’s name. You seemed like friends when we quilted together.”
“We are now, but she didn’t like me when David dumped me. They’re second cousins.” Monica took a deeper gulp this time. She leaned forward. “She knew I slept with Brock since she worked at the sheriff’s station and was there that morning when we reported the death.”
So even Flossy could keep a good secret. Interesting. “You’re friends now.”
“Yeah, she forgave me, but she was pissy for a while. She even stitched a vulture into the quilt she entered in the spring fair, and I know it represented me, but she won’t admit it even now.”
Ophelia winced. “That had to hurt.”
Monica snorted. “Not really. Her idiosyncrasies are endearing. Now Flossy creates these little robin decorations to represent me. I think she realized that David was the one to temporarily end things between us. She’s even growing the flowers for our wedding in her greenhouse. Life is weird.”
“Maybe,” Ophelia agreed, though she had trouble imagining what it felt like to have someone craft an evil bird in your honor. “Who else knows about your night with Brock and that you possibly found Hank’s body?”
Monica shrugged. “You never know in a small town. We did see Amka opening the tavern when we drove by on the snowmobile, so I’m sure she figured it out.”
Ophelia paused. “I thought you said you got a late start.”
“Yeah. That’s why we tried to avoid town.”
“What time does Amka usually open the tavern?” From what Ophelia had understood, Amka opened early. Very.
Monica tapped her finger on her lips. “Huh. Usually crack of dawn for those early fishermen, even the ice fishermen, to filltheir thermoses with spiked coffee. I guess she got a late start that day, too.”
Which would explain how Jarod knew about the affair. Amka must’ve told him. Yet another issue to discuss with Amka. “How well did you know Hank?”
“As well as anybody in town,” Monica said easily, taking a sip from her mug. “I talked to him a few times at the doctor’s office. I was having thyroid issues and had to go in once a week, and Hank hung out in the waiting room now and then. He gave me some great tips to find good fishing holes up Crocker’s Creek.”
Ophelia leaned into another bright yellow throw pillow, her body going on alert at the mention of the doctor. “Who was the doctor at the time?”
“A dorky guy named Sheriton Zimmer who definitely missed living in sunny California. He couldn’t wait to serve his three months and leave. It’s amazing we got Doc May to sign a three-year contract.”
Ophelia steered the conversation back as her blood hummed. “Why was Hank seeing the doctor?”
“Dunno,” Monica said with a shrug. “But he’d definitely lost weight and didn’t look as robust as usual that Christmas season. A bad flu hit a bunch of the older folks in town, and Hank had just turned seventy, you know?”
Facts shifted around in Ophelia’s head like puzzle pieces sliding into place. Hank’s age, his health, his routine…something wasn’t lining up. He’d been a man of habit, strong-willed and private. Why hadn’t anyone mentioned health issues before now? “Is there anything else you can tell me about Hank’s death?”
Monica’s fingers tightened slightly around her mug. “No.”
Ophelia didn’t have any other questions regarding Hank. Right now, anyway. “You said you lived at the Tundra. So did Tamara Randsom. Did you cross paths?”
“Oh, no. I moved back in with David in early February when we reconnected, and he proposed. I don’t think Tammy moved out there until after that. Before you ask, I have no clue who would’ve killed her.” Monica cleared her throat, as if shaking herself loose from the tension. “Look…I’m sorry if my drunken night with Brock caused any awkwardness between you and me. I enjoyed quilting with you.” She offered a tentative smile. “I hope we can move on.”
Ophelia blinked, caught off guard by the offer.
As an olive branch, it wasn’t a bad one.
“Of course,” Ophelia said, returning the smile. “I enjoyed quilting too.” She felt a small measure of relief that Brock had an alibi, even though her gut had never pegged him as Hank’s killer. “And none of this is really relevant to the case right now…I don’t think.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “I’ll do my best to keep your name out of the report, but I can’t guarantee that the truth won’t come out.”
Monica gave a relieved nod.
Ophelia sipped her coffee, letting the warmth ease the tension in her chest. Whoever killed Tammy—and Hank—had left a tangle of lies and secrets in their wake. She wasn’t sure how long it would take to unravel, but one thing was certain—she needed the truth.
