“Right.”

  Belle didn’t push or offer an explanation as to why Lucas was stressed. Instead, she focused on Lexie’s pile of homework. They took one page at a time, talked about what was due the next week, and were so focused they didn’t know the minutes flying past, until they heard a beep.

  “It’s Grams. I’m eating dinner over there tonight.” She shoved everything into her backpack, grabbed two cookies, and was out the door.

  Phew. Once again, she didn’t envy Lucas his job of raising a human being. Belle was having enough trouble with a parrot.

  “Want me to lock up?” she asked Bixby.

  “Sure. Then we can get to sleuthing.”

  “You mean asking businesses for money.”

  He came out from the kitchen. “You can call it that if you want, but I think we should go to Graystone Estates to ask for donations.”

  “I like the way you think.”

  She went to lock the door when a car pulled up, and Mona stepped out. Oh, this could be awkward, but it was also an opportunity. Belle pushed open the door. “Hi, Mona.”

  Mona studied her. Belle didn’t want to know what the woman was computing in her mind, what conclusions were forming about Belle’s action of welcoming her.

  “Thank you.” Mona stepped into the shop. “I’m sad that this will be my last visit. At least for now.”

  “Okay. Sorry to hear that. What can I get you?” She moved behind the counter.

  Mona stood, surveying the scene, the table Belle hadn’t cleared yet. Why did Belle feel positively exposed?

  “The pumpkin spice latte, please.”

  Belle wanted to say something to get past this weird moment, so she asked, “Why are you sad?”

  “Everything I see here is confirming my decision. You are a nice person. I like you. I am unable to give you my business right now because you will be tempted to ask me questions about the case. You might even try to disguise those questions through cheerful but subtle conversation. Because you are nice and seem friendly, and I struggle with relationships, I will be tempted to give away more information than I should.”

  Belle handed over the latte.

  Mona kept talking. “You are close to Detective Graystone. You are friends.” She peered at her, over the frames of her orange glasses, eyes narrowed, but not in an angry or judgmental way. “You were at Clay Real Estate yesterday. I assume to ask questions about the case.” She offered a smile, decision made. “That is why I can’t visit here anymore. I wanted you to know so you don’t take it personally.”

  “Thank you…I think.” There was a lot Belle wanted to say, like Go easy on him, keep him updated, but Mona was a rule follower.

  At the door, Mona turned. “I worked hard to reach detective status. I am more than capable of solving this murder.” Then she was gone.

  Bixby exited the kitchen. “Now, she is an interesting character.”

  “Very. You heard that?”

  “Sure did. Sounded like approval to investigate to me,” Bixby said. “Let’s close up. Graystone Estates next on the menu.”

  Belle decided not to be sneaky about this. They entered through the front door and went straight to Phil’s office.

  “Belle,” he said, with surprise. “How can I help you?”

  “Bixby and I are visiting businesses on behalf of the Women’s Charity Organization—”

  “Say no more. I’m sure some of the agents would love to donate their time. Maybe a complimentary house appraisal. Would that work?”

  It was the typical response. Definitely made her job—and their sleuthing—easier. “That would be terrific.”

  He pointed past them down the hall. “All of the offices are that way.”

  “Thank you!”

  She felt only minimally better. There was really only one agent she wanted to talk to, and that was Mia Harmen. She wasn’t sure what she would get from her that Lucas couldn’t, but it was worth a try. Of course, they would ask the other agents, too. It wouldn’t hurt to mention Jeremiah.

  First, they knocked on the other agent doors. She and Bixby each took on different agents. The conversations went about the same. Belle chatted up the coming Pumpkin Festival, mentioned the raffle and Forsythia in the same sentence. They were all willing to give away either a free house appraisal or staging tips if they were thinking of selling. Basically, a one-hour consultation.

  She ended each conversation with a brief apology. “I’m so sorry about Jeremiah.”

  There were a variety of responses. Belle saw reflected in them a lot of different emotions, in reaction to just his name. She saw sadness. She saw envy and greed. She saw confusion. Shock. She saw fear, like maybe they would be next.

  Nothing they said turned out to be too revealing, except for Sharon Harper. She was an established agent at the company and felt free to offer a few more opinions.

  “I’m not surprised,” she said. “He brought out the best and worst in people. He had a way of rubbing most the wrong way. Trying to help, but insulting. He didn’t realize it half the time. There was that big fight.” Sharon lowered her voice as if she knew it was gossip. “Between Mia and Jeremiah.”

  “Oh?” Belle tried to act casual, like that wasn’t a big truth bomb. “What was it about?”

  “That big bet of theirs. I guess Mia’d had enough of Jeremiah’s taunts. He was ruthless. He’d just managed another big sale. She lost it. Words, insults, were flying. I think she threw a stapler at him. It was bad. He threatened to file for assault. So, she threw a tissue box at him. He just laughed. It was a cruel laugh. Even big-man Phil had to step in and break them up. He sent them home for the day. Told them to work remotely for the next couple days.”

  This was a big deal. She didn’t have the words. Did Lucas know about this? She was pretty sure he didn’t because this was big news. It didn’t make Mia look good. Belle had to trust that Detective Malloy would uncover all this during her questioning. But would Lucas trust someone else? She highly doubted it.

  It was almost the end of the work day. She caught Bixby. “Let’s talk with Mia then head out.”

  He agreed, and she was about to knock on Mia’s door but it was clear she was on the phone. She waited.

  “Are you sure?…What about any previous owners?…What about neighbors?…Uh-huh…Yes… so you’re sure you’ve never heard of Todd McGovern?…Okay, thank you…He had a showing with Jeremiah Fisher. It’s my job to follow up. If you remember anything please give my office a call.”

  Belle knocked on the door and entered. “Hi, there. I’m Belle Baron. We met at the open house?”

  Mia was distracted, a bit frazzled. “Oh, yes, I remember. How can I help?”

  She nudged Bixby and let him take the lead so she could observe. He launched into the spiel about the raffle and the pumpkin festival, while she studied the room. Piles of papers and folders covered Mia’s desk. She had filled her wall calendar blocks with red lettering. A few jumped out at her. They were written in capital letters. SALE. On the floor next to her desk were stacks of folders.

  After Mia agreed to a one-hour consultation, Bixby said, “Thank you.” He softened his tone, like an expert. “We’re sorry to hear about Jeremiah. Sounds like the two of you worked for years together.”

  “Yes, it was a terrible loss to the world of real estate.” She pointed to the piles. “I have taken on most of his current clients. It’s been a chore trying to reach them all.”

  Belle studied Mia’s expression and body language. There was no sorrow written there. In fact, it was the opposite. When Mia looked at the stack of new clients, her eyes practically gleamed. Her face lit up at the thought of the potential profit. Even though she said the appropriate words, her manner, her expression, her words, were cheery, happy, hopeful.

  Time to test the waters. “What’s going to happen to that property?”

  “Which one?” Mia asked.

  “The one that just had the open house.”

  “We’ll lay low about it for a few weeks, let the news of the murder die down, then promote it again. It will sell fast. I’m sure.”

  How convenient that Mia would now be the selling agent.

  Once upon a time there was a real estate agent. She worked hard for years, always doing the right thing, putting in the time and hours. She sold a lot of houses and built a lot of wealth, but there was a co-worker who was always just one step ahead of her. She could never catch up to him no matter how hard she worked or how many extra hours she put in. After a huge fight, where she threw a stapler at him, she lost it. She skulked and spied, waiting for the right opportunity. She found it at an open house. She waited. Then, when he was alone in the house, she crept up behind him and shoved him over the railing. She laughed when she heard the sound of his skull hitting the floor.

  Belle wasn’t about to leave without asking one more question. It was for Lucas, but it was also for herself. In a way, it was for Jeremiah, too. Yes, he may have been underhanded, cruel, deserving of some bad luck, but death? Did he deserve to die in that way? Pushed to his death?

  “Mia, can anyone account for your whereabouts at the time of Jeremiah’s murder?” Yes, it was blunt, but she was past caring.

  Mia’s cheeks turned scarlet. Her gaze moved from the stack of new clients to the papers on her desk, then back to Belle. She ended the conversation with, “Best of luck with the raffle.”

  Chapter Nine

  Belle watched with fascination as Sir Jack bathed. She had placed a bowl of water in his cage hoping that would be enough. She’d read about parrots bathing in the sink or even in the shower, but Belle feared he’d fly through the house, maybe attack the crown molding or anything made of wood. It would take minutes for destruction to happen.

  Did birds want privacy? She wouldn’t want someone watching her bathe. She couldn’t help it, her eyes glued to the cage as Sir Jack instinctively knew how to wet his feathers and then move about, giving them a good ruffle, to circulate the water. Belle laughed at the huge mess, water splattering everywhere.

  While he finished up, Belle sat in the armchair next to his cage, a bowl of oatmeal in her lap. Her thoughts wandered to her conversation with Mia the day before. How convenient that she received all of Jeremiah’s case files. Of course, Mona would see that, question that. Belle had to trust in Mona’s abilities, but she highly doubted Lucas was able to place that kind of trust in a stranger, even if that stranger was a detective.

  What bothered Belle even more than the stack of case files was Mia’s lack of response to Belle’s question about an alibi. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She did respond, just not with a solid alibi, or any kind of alibi. Her cheeks flushed crimson, which didn’t automatically mean guilt. It could mean she was flustered by the question, or she knew how the situation looked for her, or she didn’t have an alibi and that fact created panic.

  Belle had to admit it didn’t really lead anywhere. There was nothing to follow up on. No next clue showing her what to do next.

  She thought about the phone conversation Mia held before she and Bixby entered the office. It was about a Todd McGovern. Goosebumps broke out on her arms. She’d been so focused on her conversation with Mia, she hadn’t thought about the one she’d overheard. Who was Todd McGovern? How was he important in all of this? Was he even important?

  Belle stood at one end of the plaza. With so many stores all in one place, she’d determined this was the best spot to begin. Tomorrow, she’d hit the more scattered shops on Main Street.

  She told herself this was for the Women’s Charitable Organization and for the town library. Not only that, but what a great chance for her to meet other business owners. Wasn’t that why she didn’t mind when this job was given to her? Now, standing outside, she felt that confidence wane. There were a lot of stores.

  One at a time, she told herself. One at a time.

  Art Smart, an art supply store, sat at the western end. She tackled that one first. It was a cozy shop filled with specialty papers and pencils, paints, brushes in all different sizes. Should she buy something first? Wouldn’t that be the polite thing to do?

  She walked up to the woman behind the desk, who quickly put down a crossword puzzle. “Hi, there,” Belle said.

  “Hello. How can I help you today?” she asked, smiling, cheerful. Her name tag said Fran.

  This was where she needed to ask the question. Just say it. Just drop Forsythia’s name, because everyone knew her, then ask for the donation. “Do you have any starter art kits for a fifth grader?”

  The woman spent the next ten minutes showing Belle the children’s section, then some of the easier adult items.

  “What is this child interested in?”

  “I’m not sure.” Belle had never seen Lexie even doodle on the side of a paper, but this would be good. It would expand her experiences. She chose the starter water color kit. The woman pointed at the table easel and the smock. So, of course, Belle picked those up too. She paid, then stood there, hesitating. Visiting the busy restaurants and talking to the managers had felt different than approaching small business owners.

  “Yes?” the woman asked.

  “Do you know Forsythia Wright?”

  The woman took a moment. “Sorry, I don’t.”

  “Have you heard about the Women’s Charitable Organization?”

  “Hmm. Do they run the food drive?”

  Belle deflated. “No, but that’s a great cause.”

  Once again, she heard the voice of her aunt and uncle in her head. Who do you think you are asking people for money? Greedy shyster. They’ll see right through you. Then, Really, Belle, you won’t amount to anything. Just give up right now. Quit. Then, What a joke? You raising money for the library. Do you even read? Fraud.

  Enough. Belle straightened. If her aunt and uncle didn’t see her read, it was because she didn’t have time or she read at night with a tiny lamp by her small bed. She muffled those voices. “I’m with the organization and we’re running a raffle at the Pumpkin Festival.” She took a deep breath. She could do this. “All the money raised will go to the town library. We’re asking local businesses for donations.” The woman didn’t say anything at first, so Belle kept stumbling forward. “I can always come back another time…”

  “No, no. Just trying to think of the best thing. Are you looking for gift cards or something like a painting lesson?”

  Relief whooshed through Belle. She didn’t like asking for money, but this was for a good cause. “Whatever you’d like.”

  “How about both?”

  When Belle left the shop, she realized she hadn’t introduced herself as another small business owner. One thing at a time.

  She entered Everly Barber. She entered a clothing store. Both were generous and offered gift cards. There was nothing she could buy in Everly Barber, but she walked out of the clothing store with a pumpkin-colored sweater she could wear at the festival. It was on the sale rack. But it was something.

  When Belle walked into the salon, she realized this might prove more difficult. The hair dressers were all busy with clients, chatting away, blow dryers running. She waited a few minutes. Finally, an older woman with silver hair and lines and wrinkles that revealed a full life, noticed her.

  “Hold on. I’ll be right there.” Then the woman went right back to the client, talking non-stop. Belle wasn’t even sure she took a breath.

  A few minutes later, finishing up with the client, the woman turned to Belle. “Highlights. Definitely highlights.”

  Belle stood, somewhat speechless.

  “Maybe you’re in for a trim? Even if you are I’m willing to throw in a few foils on the house. You’ve got this gorgeous hair that would look fantastic with highlights.”

  Belle thought about it. It would be the best opportunity to talk with the woman. She imagined nonstop chatter about the murder suspects. This could be a gold mine.

  “I’m Sally Mayes, by the way,” she said. “What do you think? You up for it? I can tell you’re new to town.” She winked. “I can fill you in on all the gossip.”

  “Yes,” Belle said. She could have thrown out her lines right there at the front desk, but instead, she’d have an entire hour with Sally, who seemed to know everyone. Maybe even Jeremiah and Claire. Maybe this mysterious Todd McGovern.

  Sally studied the open book at the desk. She smiled. “Just so happens I have a cancellation tomorrow morning. Ten o’clock work for you?”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “Okay then, see you tomorrow.” Sally went right away to greet a customer who’d walked in behind Belle.

  No time to say anything about a donation. That would have to be tomorrow. The wait would be worth it.

  Belle moved ahead to the next business. Steele Hardware. That might be a good shop for a gift card. Or even a gift basket. Bags in hand, Belle entered. It was a wide space with metal shelving, a tiled floor. There was a strange scent of tools or paint or something like that. She couldn’t pin it down.

  This time, she went straight to the desk. What appeared to be a high school student with dark floppy hair sat behind the desk, chewing gum, glued to his phone.

  She cleared her throat. The older boy quickly shoved his phone into his pocket. “How may I help you?”

  “I’d like to talk to a manager if he or she is available,” Belle stated with confidence this time. She did peer through the store when she arrived. What could she buy from the hardware store?

  The worker flagged down the man appearing from an aisle. “Darren.” Then he nodded toward Belle as if to say, You’re needed. Here’s another whiny customer.

  The man, blond-haired, with dimples, strode toward her with confidence, with the air of I’m in charge. He did not appear that old, but then again, neither did she for a business owner. “How can I help you?”

  Belle was ready for her somewhat prepared speech now that she’d been in several businesses, but Darren kept talking.

  “Let me guess why you’re here.” He had a way of smiling when talking, something about him that emanated friendliness and kindness. He studied her. “Paint. You’re repainting the bathroom.”