“I see.” Lucas changed directions. “Have there been recent social gatherings that would give someone opportunity?”

  Patrick took a few moments, then replied, “We have a monthly get-together. Everyone takes turns hosting.”

  “Could I have a list of everyone who attends?” Lucas asked. “That would be helpful.”

  “We don’t keep track.” His answer came fast. His tone, defensive. “Not everyone comes every time and we don’t take attendance.” Patrick stiffened in response to the questions.

  “Have you had family visit?”

  “No. Most of my family has died off.”

  Lucas cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “It’s life. It comes and it goes.”

  Yes, Lucas fully understood that part, but during the conversation Patrick had grown more and more defensive. He’d taken a step back into the house whether he realized it or not, and his face had turned hard, unmoving, like he didn’t want to reveal anything. In this situation, Lucas couldn’t force him to talk. “Well, if you remember anything, contact me and let me know.”

  Lucas left this last home thoroughly confused at all the reactions. It wasn’t normal. It wasn’t expected. It was suspicious. He said his goodbyes and went out to the squad car.

  His left front tire was slashed. It was completely flat.

  Someone didn’t like him asking questions.

  For some reason, it didn’t make him mad. Yes, it was annoying, but something broke inside him and he laughed. He imagined the thief, the local teen or grandson, sprinting out, knife in hand, while he was inside.

  Then, he changed the tire and drove home.

  Chapter Twelve

  The next day, Belle arrived at The Beanery right before the rush. She’d spent the morning talking with Sir Jack, continuing to build what Joy at the pet store had called the trust bond. When she had received Sir Jack, she was told he was well trained, so it shouldn’t be too hard or take too long.

  That was what she hoped.

  For the next couple hours, she poured coffee, brewed coffee, then finally, when the rush dwindled, she drank coffee. She continued serving the intermittent traffic with a smile, but behind the smile and the greeting, her mind buzzed. She couldn’t stop remembering how Lucas spit out the questions at Forsythia like she was on the stand. It was the strange unsettled way about him. He usually had great tact when subtly questioning people. That wasn’t subtle. Even when he wasn’t being subtle, he didn’t put people off like that.

  He was stressed. He was upset. Frustrated.

  She knew that.

  She wanted to cheer him up. All the times he’d done that for her, she wanted to do it for him. Hopefully, tonight at dinner. They could carve the pumpkins she had purchased at Steele Hardware. Lexie would enjoy that. Belle would too. She had vague childhood memories of carving pumpkins but she wasn’t sure if she was making them up or not.

  Bixby exited the kitchen. They chatted about the flow of customers. Lately, they’d seen the rush last a little bit longer.

  “You know,” she said. “Should we be doing something to actively market? After visiting all the shops, I received the impression we should be.”

  “We could try.” He started cleaning up. Belle joined him. “Your aunt was a firm believer in grassroots marketing,” he said. “That if we provided great service, an addictive product, and a welcoming atmosphere, we wouldn’t need to invest too heavily in advertising.”

  “I see that. So far it seems to have worked.”

  “Think about the fair tomorrow. That is a form of advertising. We’re going to be out there giving away coffee. That is promoting our business at one of the most well-attended events of the year. We gave away fudge while serving the macadamia fudge coffee.”

  Belle immediately felt better. “You’re right. I didn’t really see it like that. Maybe I will have something to share when I attend the small business association.”

  “Definitely. Go. That’s a group of wonderful people.”

  “Did Aunt Eliza attend?”

  Bixby leaned against the counter. “Yes, I think she did several times. Her schedule had grown busy between overseeing The Beanery, the charities, and church. She didn’t have a lot of free time.”

  There was really only one way to ask this question. Just blurt it out. “Ready to do some sleuthing with me?”

  His eyes brightened. He perked up. “Yes. I’d love a change of pace.”

  “And…I have a favor to ask.”

  “Anything.”

  “I’m having all of you over for dinner tonight, then we’re going to carve pumpkins. What should I make?”

  “I have a fantastic recipe for bacon-wrapped meatloaf.”

  That was one of the things she’d made for her uncle. He loved it. That and canned peas. Bixby must have seen her face.

  “Trust me, this recipe is worth it. It’s the king of all meatloaf recipes.”

  She sighed. “Okay, I trust you.”

  “Now, let’s finish closing up. You can catch me up on what’s been happening on the way.” He paused. “Are you going to drive?”

  “Um, no. That’s okay. You can drive,” she said, quickly.

  “You know, someday you’re going to have an emergency and you’ll have to drive it.”

  Belle knew that was probably what it would take. The station wagon was a beast. She didn’t care if it was ugly, her rattletrap car had been too. It was more about driving it through town and taking off someone’s driver’s side mirror.

  On the drive to Claire Fisher’s home, Belle caught him up on everything. Even if it wasn’t much. Mainly, this Todd McGovern, who might be some kind of missing key, or could lead nowhere.

  “You’re thinking Claire tops the list? I’m assuming because we’re dropping by unannounced to talk about tomorrow,” Bixby said.

  “All of the suspects, excluding Phil Graystone, have a motive and a weak alibi. Unless we bump into Mia or Jamie Finch at the festival, we won’t be able to just waltz into their offices and keep questioning them.”

  “Yeah, I think we burned that bridge with Mia the last time.”

  He pulled into the driveway. “What do we hope to ask Claire, and how can I help?”

  “You can use your baby face and dimples to charm her into confessing what she knows,” Belle teased, as she studied him. She only saw him as a friend, but Bixby had a youthful charm to him even for someone serious and focused. When he smiled, his eyes twinkled, and anyone would consider him cute and fall under his spell.

  He laughed. “The older women do love me. I’ve had a cheek pinched a time or two.”

  “On a more serious note, in the middle of the conversation, what if you develop a cough? You can go with Claire to get water from the kitchen. I’ll sneak upstairs. I want to prove or disprove her alibi of scrapbooking. There should be some evidence of it.”

  They knocked on the door. Claire opened it, caught off guard, and not completely happy about the surprise visit. That was obvious by the frown, but manners kicked in and she offered them a broad, if fake, smile. Belle had seen it before.

  “I thought we should chat about tomorrow. Make sure our ducks are in a row,” Belle said, smiling.

  Once inside, sitting in Claire’s living room, she said, “Apologies for not offering tea or cake, but I’m due for a visit to the grocery store.”

  “No problem,” Belle said.

  “We should have brought something from The Beanery,” Bixby added. “No worries.”

  “What is there to talk about?” Claire asked.

  There was so much she wanted to ask Claire. More personal questions about her marriage to Jeremiah. Mia had mentioned a big fight in the office, and Claire threatening to sue. Surely, Mona was uncovering some of this through her questions. Maybe today was about softening the soil. Tomorrow, during the quiet moments—if there were any at the festival—she could find the right time to ask.

  “Bixby will be with us. He’s bringing the coffee. We have the raffle tickets. Do we need anything else?” Belle asked.

  “I have festive table decorations. There isn’t much to it. Just a willingness to talk with people, draw their attention, then tell them about all the wonderful prizes.”

  “Should we put the gift cards out on the table?”

  Claire nodded, absentmindedly. “Sounds like a good idea.”

  This was going nowhere fast. It would be over in minutes. There wasn’t much to talk about, Bixby was right. Claire was not her usual self. Again, the other members of the Women’s Charitable Society weren’t here for her to need to impress, and she hadn’t been prepared for visitors.

  Belle looked about the place. In fact, this wasn’t the kind of home she’d envisioned for someone like Claire Fisher. Maybe Mia was right in that Jeremiah hadn’t been too generous. Just more motivation to threaten him. Time to soften the soil for tomorrow. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m wonderful.”

  Her words, her expression, her lack of energy didn’t support her answer. “It must be hard. It hasn’t even been a week.”

  Claire drooped in her seat. “We’re flying out west for the memorial service. It’s where he grew up. He still has siblings.”

  “Do you have children or grandchildren?” she asked.

  “Sadly, no. We waited too long, then we couldn’t.”

  All of a sudden, it felt wrong. Being here. Tricking Claire so she could search the house for scraps of colorful paper or crimping scissors. Her heart wasn’t in it anymore.

  As if on cue, Bixby started coughing. It wasn’t a very good fake cough, but Belle didn’t want to follow through on the plans. She gave him one look and hoped he understood the message. He stopped coughing.

  She reached out and placed her hand on Claire’s. “Are you sure you’re up for tomorrow? I’m sure I could handle it if you want to stay home, maybe scrapbook, take time for yourself.”

  Claire gave Belle a puzzled look. “Oh, right. No, I’ve pretty much finished up that project. The distraction will be good tomorrow. If nothing else, we follow through on our commitments.” With that, she seemed to remember herself and straightened, plastering on that smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

  On the drive to the grocery store, Bixby didn’t say anything. Belle was silent, thinking back on Claire. They went through the store, picking up the ingredients. Bixby pretty much had the recipe memorized. They decided on homemade french fries and a veggie platter.

  “Perfect for Lexie,” Belle said, as they returned to the car with the bags. “I hope you’re right about this recipe. I have my doubts.”

  “I’m right. Just you wait,” Bixby said.

  Belle continued to ruminate over this murder as they drove to her house. So many suspects. So few solid alibis. Someone wasn’t telling the truth. Unless, there was a suspect they hadn’t considered.

  As they carried the bags to the house, Bixby asked. “How much time do we have?”

  “I didn’t give an exact time. I just said dinner.”

  “Oh, thanks a lot. That means they could show up any time.”

  “Pretty much.” She laughed.

  “Let’s get started then.”

  They entered. She quick said hello to Sir Jack. They washed their hands, then jumped into it.

  Belle didn’t want to stick her hands into the raw burger even if it was filled with spices. “I always used a spoon.”

  “You can, but this works better. Go ahead.”

  She did it. She tried to make Bixby laugh, making groaning noises as she mashed it all with her hands. Like it was the most disgusting thing she’d ever done.

  He laughed and bumped his hip into hers. “Maybe you should have been an actress.”

  Soon, it was in the oven cooking. They cut up the potatoes, then mixed them with olive oil and spices. With everything in the oven, they sat at the table.

  “I’m not sure Lucas will want to talk about the case tonight. For one, Lexie. For two, this night is about cheering him up.”

  “Maybe he’d want to feel he’s doing his part by talking about it. We could tell him Claire didn’t seem to know what we were talking about when you mentioned scrapbooking.”

  “I know, right. That was her alibi.” Belle was leaning more and more toward Claire Fisher.

  Once upon a time, a woman felt jilted. She was furious. After years of marriage and working hard at keeping up appearances, the couple realized they didn’t fit together anymore. The woman moved out, but her husband was stingy. She felt she deserved a bigger piece of the pie, the husband refused. So she killed him. Then covered it up by saying she loved scrapbooking.

  “I can imagine how Lucas feels.” Bixby drummed his fingers on the table. “The energy of this has fallen flat. Can there be such a thing as too many suspects all with strong motives?”

  “Yes, there can be, and there is.” Belle realized he was right. Even though she leaned toward Claire, Mia and Jamie had extremely strong reasons to want Jeremiah out of the way. “Mia had her big bet with Jeremiah. She is very competitive. Even though she refused to answer our question about an alibi, that doesn’t necessarily mean guilt.”

  “It could be she was offended, so she refused to answer.”

  Sir Jack chose that moment to show he was feeling disgruntled, left out. “Talk murder!” he squawked. “Who did it?” And, “Guilty.”

  Bixby clamped his mouth shut but couldn’t hold it in and burst out laughing. “That bird cracks me up.”

  “Crack you up,” Sir Jack squawked.

  “I agree,” Belle said. “He loves to be the center of attention.”

  Bixby lowered his voice. “Either the previous owner solved murders or she watched a lot of Murder She Wrote.”

  He squawked, throwing out murder lines.

  “Does he want us to talk about it in there?” She thought about it. “It is good to spend time around him but not talking directly to him. Let’s move into the other room.”

  They sat at the small table by the window. Every time she sat here, she thought about her last talk with Aunt Eliza. She’d never stop regretting walking out instead of staying and having the difficult conversation. That made her realize how many difficult conversations she’d had since arriving in Everly. Mostly with Lucas, concerning mistakes she’d made, or thought she’d made. Her heart beat a little harder.

  “Who did it?” Sir Jack asked.

  Belle turned to the parrot. “We don’t know yet. That’s the problem. Could be Claire. Could be Mia. Could be Jamie. Could be this Todd McGovern, whoever that is.”

  “What was Jamie’s alibi?” Bixby asked.

  “He was driving around town looking at properties. Absolutely no one can confirm his whereabouts.”

  Once upon a time, a man was driven by the need for success. He wanted it all. He wanted fame. He wanted money. But his career wasn’t growing the way he’d envisioned. When a successful real estate agent started stealing business from him or sales or big clients, this man was driven over the edge with envy. He snapped. Then, he killed the man in a moment of passion.

  Lucas and Lexie knocked, opening the door and entering right away. Lexie raced toward Belle to give her a hug.

  “Smells delicious!” Lucas exclaimed.

  “That’s because Belle’s cooking,” Lexie said, laughing.

  “Ouch.” Lucas rubbed his chin. “I have a table and carving tools.”

  “A table?” Belle asked, then added, “I had help in the kitchen.”

  “Well, yeah.” Lucas studied the space. “Then we can all do it together. I brought a tarp. Pumpkin carving is messy business.”

  “Hi, Bixby,” Lexie chirped.

  “Hi, Bixby,” squawked Sir Jack.

  Belle laughed. “Do you want to feed him?”

  “Will he bite me?”

  “I’ll show you how to do it.” Belle fetched the cut-up pieces of fruit from the fridge.

  Lucas was busy setting up. Bixby was busy pulling dinner out of the oven. Belle was showing Lexie how to feed Sir Jack. After she successfully fed him some, she asked, “What’s all this?”

  Belle sighed. “All the tools to make a homemade toy for his cage. I haven’t started yet.”

  “That sounds like fun.”

  “You want to help?” Belle asked.

  “Yes!”

  “Okay, then. I’ll plan something with your Uncle Lucas for sometime tomorrow.”

  Belle was nervous about dinner. She knew it would be delicious with Bixby helping, but she wanted to keep the conversation lively, uplifting. She wanted to buoy all their spirits, but it was hard. They had reached a dead-end in solving Jeremiah’s murder. They needed a breakthrough, an epiphany. Plus, she wasn’t sure if talking about it was what Lucas needed or not.

  Throughout dinner, she talked about the pumpkin festival instead. She wanted to know what the fuss was all about. “How much can you really do with pumpkins?”

  “Pumpkin weighing. Painting pumpkins. The pumpkin people contest. The pumpkin carving contest. The parade. The food.”

  “The pumpkin pie contest,” Bixby added, “which I’m entering.”

  “I’m entering the pumpkin derby,” Lexie said.

  “What is that?” Belle asked.

  “You make a car out of the pumpkin. Ours will win, right Uncle Lucas?”

  “We’ll see. Either that or it will fail miserably and we’ll count it as bonding time.”

  Sir Jack squawked, “Could be Claire.”

  Belle jumped up to start clearing the table, ignoring the suspicious look from Lucas. Sir Jack seemed to be quite chatty tonight. She had a feeling he wasn’t done.

  They cleaned up and moved to the other room. Lucas had set up the table near Sir Jack’s cage, which Belle was starting to regret. She cut off the top of the big pumpkin. “Seriously? We scoop it out with our hands?”

  “Told you it was messy.”

  “Okay, then.” She stuck her hands in, squealing at the mushy texture, then scooped it out and into the trash Bixby brought from the kitchen. Pumpkin guts were mushy but better than sticking her hands into raw hamburger.