I winced. “Sorry. I’ve got no idea what came over me.”
“I do. You unleashed your inner witch. Great job!” She held out her hand for a high five.
“If it lasts. Linda needs to be willing to change. All I can do is point her in the right direction. Speaking of which …”
“You had a Columbo moment?” Her gaze traveled to my feet. “You’re channeling the disheveled look already.”
I looked down as well. I had put on one black and one blue sock, without noticing it. Dismissing my sartorial choices, I leant against a bookcase. “Linda busted an alibi.”
“She did?”
“I knew Skye was lying when she said she hadn’t been to Cannon Hill in a while. Well, she was definitely there the same day that we were.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“You’re not the only one who has a free-hand mehndi created by Skye. She’s got a distinctive style. I’m sure she did Linda’s too, and we saw her leave the studio.”
“That’s right, we did.”
“There’s also something else.” I fished out the business card that had caused a tiny witchfire wave. “I found this in the chest.”
Ange took it. “Weird that the police didn’t take a peek.”
“I don’t think that Cannon Hill has a large staff. They did some examinations at Bert’s and moved on. And this card had slipped behind the fabric lining. I think it fell out of a pocket when Tim’s body was toppled inside. There’s a fresh scratch in the wood, maybe from his watch or a metal button, that could have been the result of him being dumped.”
Ange flopped down on the floor and mimicked rolling over. “Like this?”
“That’s what I think most likely.”
She rested on her back and read the business card. “Sweet Haven Motel. That’s weird. Why would Tim have the card of a motel on the outskirts of Cannon Hill? I get that he might not want to travel there for business, or fun, or both, and have to drive back 90 minutes to Willowmere, but then why not stay in a good hotel downtown?”
“That’s what struck me. Do you know the place?”
“No, but I wouldn’t mind taking Mrs. Miniver and Mr. Chips for a walk in the area. There should be a nice bit of primeval woods left.”
Cosmo stretched and groomed his flank. “I’ll be back soon,” I promised, texting Ms. Vine to ask her yet again to fill in for me. She instantly replied with a thumbs up emoji. When things were back to normal, I owed her a special treat.
I filled Cosmo’s water bowl, put a few treats out for him, and followed Ange to her car.
First, we swung by Tim’s home in the new subdivision.
It stretched out in a triangle from the farthest edge of the lake that had given Willowmere its name. At the tip were a new private nursery, an eco-friendly co-living and co-working space, and a trendy gym with all the latest equipment and a price tag to match.
Ange wrinkled her nose as we passed it. She taught her yoga classes for free in my lending library.
Sam’s condo was half hidden behind fir trees, and its mix of old school logs and energy efficient smart glass that reacted to heat and sunlight added charm to its sustainable appeal.
The house the late Tim Boyd had lived in was the exact opposite. Concrete walls, expanses of glass, and a paved front yard with precisely shaped ornamental shrubs in concrete containers made me wonder how Skye could ever have believed this man was a fellow environmentalist.
I wrote down the time as we left the place behind and headed for the motel.
“I’d use GPS to do the maths,” Ange said.
“When was the last time that turned out to be correct?” I asked.
“Fair enough.”
The Sweet Haven was half a mile off the main road, through the woods, and consisted of a dozen units, split into two rows with a pool in between. A screened wooden porch connecting the six units on either side.
