“Because of a photo?”
“So, you heard about that,” Geraldine muttered.
“Nick Gale, I presume?” Trey Stone knotted his brows together. “I’ll have to have a chat with him about confidentiality.”
“Detective.” Heat rose in my cheeks. “His wife was with me when I discovered the body, and she was with me when I arranged for the chest to be sent to Bert’s. Surely you won’t expect Dr. Gale to keep secretsfrom his wife under these circumstances. And you know perfectly well we don’t blab to anyone.”
“You better make sure of that,” he said. “And if you have any information about the case, I’ll pass it on to the Cannon Hill investigators.”
If only I had something.
He mustered me. “I’m sorry to have no better news for you. I understand the situation must be tricky, given your personal connection with the suspect.”
“Can you at least tell me if there’s any other evidence pointing at Candice, apart from the photo? Tim Boyd lived in Willowmere. Have you looked into his personal circumstances?”
He sighed. “Officer Lopez, if you’d like to update Ms. Merriweather on what our job entails?”
“We’ve had a quick look at his apartment. There was nothing out of the ordinary. I’m sorry, Bex. He was obviously killed at the fair in Cannon Hill and stuffed into the chest. Ms. Schott had every opportunity to kill him, and as far as we’re aware, she’s the only one with a motive.”
“What about next of kin? He drove a flashy Corvette. Who inherits?” I’d decided against bringing up the ex-girlfriend yet. That could wait until Ange and I had sounded her out.
“Most likely the widowed mother who’s on a cruise to Hawaii.”
Frustrated, I said goodbye to Trey Stone.
Geraldine escorted me out of the station. “It’s hard to accept it, but it really seems as if your ex’s new woman has done it.”
“No.”
She nodded. “Okay. If you have anything other than your gut feeling, I’m here. And this is the first time I’ve heard an ex-wife claim the new one is innocent. Nice, actually.”
“I appreciate that.” I left her with a growing sense of frustration. Once again, I had no choice but to step in where the police didn’t. My friends and I were Candice’s only hope.
Chapter 12
“Say no more.”
I hadn’t finished outlining my plan when Ange switched off the furnace in her studio where she’d been preparing to melt glass for a set of goblets fit for a medieval banquet. My conscience pricked at taking her away from her work again.
She waved off my concerns. “Artists need to be out in the wild in between, to gather inspiration. That’s the joy of being self-employed, no boss to boss me around.” She studied her left hand. “It’ll be fun to become a piece of art myself, temporarily.”
“Unless Tim’s ex gives off crazy vibes,” I said.
“And goes berserk with her mehndi brush? Then you’ll have to put her under your spell, or I’ll use my Wiccan magic on her.” Ange twinkled at me as we left her studio.
In the kitchen, she scribbled a note for Nick, stuck it to the refrigerator, promised the dogs another walk as soon as we were back, and we were on our way.
The tattoo parlor slash henna studio took up the ground floor of a former t-shirt store, where once upon a time customers could decide on their own design and watch while the tees were cut and sewn by hand while they waited. For a while, business had boomed, until cheap clothes became the fashion.
The two t-shirts made in Willowmere in my wardrobe were among my most cherished possessions. I hadn’t worn them in years, but I’d have to remedy that. We’d bought our tees together, Ange, Harper, Reina, and me.
Ange’s thoughts had traveled the same route. “It’s so sad that the store went under. I’m amazed that I have customers, with all the cheap stuff available on the market.”
“At least they’ve kept the name alive,” I said.“Pins and Needles”was written in bold, black letters on the windows. “I wonder if that’s why the new owners chose the premises, because it works for them too.”
Inside, privacy screens divided the left half of the room in private booths. I glimpsed the legs of what I took to be large beds and chairs on wheels through the bottom gap. A pair of sneaker-clad feet tapped a steady beat, and an apparatus gave off a faint buzz.
The right side of the room held a reception desk with large design books. One of them was open and showed a whimsical dragon with its tail curled around its hoard – a stack of books. If this had adorned a t-shirt, I’d have swiped my credit card in a heartbeat.
