White Colander Crime (16 page)

Nan also rattled off a lot of random information she had gleaned.

From an inside informant at the police station,
not
Mikayla this time: Lori's and Travis's accounts of where they were and when the evening of Shelby's death apparently differed dramatically.

Both agreed that Shelby had said she was meeting someone to talk about something, but that it wouldn't take long. Travis, when asked, said he got the impression her meeting was personal, while Lori claimed Shelby said it was business. Travis told the police that he last saw Shelby at about nine, but there was no mention in the official report that he saw her arguing with Cody, and indeed, Jaymie knew that they had Gus's statement that Cody Wainwright was at the Christmas tree farm until about nine thirty or so when he gave the tale about a family emergency and left. Travis stuck with his mom, he said, and they looked for Shelby after a little while.

Lori had expected her daughter to meet her and Travis at their car at about ten; it was parked at the feed store down near the docks. The village had been advertising free parking for those who wanted to take in the Dickens Days festivities. Lori, though, said that she and Travis got separated. She thought he had gone off to find his sister, and didn't see him for about half an hour, until he reunited with his mother at the car. He told her he hadn't been able to find Shelby. Both of their stories agreed from then; she gave him a ride home and came back to find Shelby, since she was her daughter's ride.

Jaymie sat back; that was an interesting variation. Lori admitted she and Travis had gotten separated, and were not together the whole time, but Travis's statement didn't mention that. Why, unless he was responsible for her death? She skipped back to the list of violations the police had investigated the family for; yes, there was the one she had noticed. Travis Fretter had apparently threatened his sister, Shelby, in a public place, a party at a friend's home. The police were called by the homeowner, who was alarmed when Travis Fretter left the party, then came back with a two-by-four and threatened to kill his sister.

Jaymie shivered. Had he managed to carry out that threat? Was he the type to use his fists if he couldn't find a two-by-four?

She jotted some notes. She would have liked to know what Travis and Shelby were arguing about when she caught sight of them that evening. Would Lori know? Would she tell Jaymie? Probably not. Reflecting on the discrepancies between the mother's and son's stories, she wondered if anyone else that evening saw Travis alone and noticed where he was heading. She jotted down a note to ask Valetta, who had a bit of a bird's-eye view from her position on the porch of the Emporium. And if Valetta had seen nothing, maybe she could suggest others who may have.

She took her empty tea mug downstairs, turned down the thermostat and locked up, then headed back upstairs and changed into pajamas. She returned to the computer, though, and began to scan local social networking sites established on Google and Facebook. She quickly found names of many of the major players in the murder: Travis and Shelby Fretter; Delaney Meadows; Lori Wozny; Glenn Brennan; and even Clutch's daughter, Natalie Roth.

There was a lot of discussion about the tragedy. Many openly mourned Shelby, calling her an angel, a sweetheart, the best friend in the world. But the young woman had her detractors, too. Some said they were sick of people trying to make her out to be an angel when she was well known to steal boyfriends, trash talk friends and go behind people's backs. Jaymie felt faintly sick, like she was watching violence done to the girl who was unable to defend herself.

And then there were a few who hinted darkly at what dangers she was facing. She had told one friend she had information that would bust the town wide open, if he was to be believed. Jaymie jotted down his name and noted his place of business. Austin Calhoun worked for a call center in the same building as the headhunter company Shelby worked for. Since Jaymie was going to the inn in the morning to meet Lynnsey Bloombury, she'd head directly after to Delaney Meadows' business, which was just down the street, and she'd look up Austin Calhoun at Queensville Direct Call Center.

As she looked farther back in time on social networks, she found some troubling passages, bits and pieces Shelby posted that almost seemed like threats. She openly complained about young guys who thought it was okay to hit a woman, and used initials, CW, as an example. Cody Wainwright. Another in particular made her blood run cold. A “gentleman” who had gone out with her, Shelby said, told her that she was mouthy and disrespectful. She should shut up and behave like a lady if she wanted to be treated like one. He apparently told her he was tired of mouthy brats expecting men to pay for everything and then getting huffy when he wanted a little sugar. She ought to behave herself, he said, or someone was going to spank some respect into her.

The man who threatened her was Glenn Brennan.

Sixteen

S
HE TRIED TO
be mindful that this was as reported by Shelby, but still . . . it was a telling remark, like words from beyond the grave. How far was “spank” from “beat”? She looked back and found more references from a few days before she died about someone harassing her online, but Shelby didn't actually say that it was Glenn Brennan who was cyberstalking her, so it was unclear. It was entirely possible that Shelby had reported Glenn Brennan for his behavior online toward her to his company, and that was why he had been fired. That would undoubtedly make him angry.

He was a suspect, in Jaymie's eyes, and she'd make sure Chief Ledbetter knew about him, too.

She should have gone on to investigate the dating site, but she was tired and uneasy about it all. Jaymie crawled into bed, her mind reeling with all the pain and fear and violence of what she was investigating. She picked up the phone and dialed the number she now knew by heart, and Jakob answered. The gruff but mellow gravel in his voice soothed her better than the sweetest music.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He chuckled. “Reading a report on the specific rates of growth of the various conifers in Michigan and how to maximize it. Oh, and joining an online discussion about common pests in the Christmas tree industry.”

She laughed. “Fascinating!”

He asked about her day, and she told him some of it. As they talked, she began to feel better. “It's such a sad thing to be focusing on this time of year,” she said. “But I feel bad for even saying that.”

“I get what you mean. It's this sense that even at what is supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year something just isn't right. It's because you feel for people, Jaymie. Some folks could forget it, but it stays with you. That's probably what makes you good at looking into things.”

“I guess. I wish I was a little more like those who can just forget about people and move on.”

“Don't say that. You're who you are and I love that you care about people.”

It warmed her and she snuggled under the covers, petting Hoppy's head where it rested on her knee. “I have a bunch of stuff to do tomorrow, but if I come out to the tree farm, will you be there?”

“I'll be there for part of the morning, then I have to go to Algonac, bounce back to Marine City, take some stuff to the store and unload, then be to Jocie's school in time for their annual concert. Her and her tumbling troop are doing a routine.” There was a pause. “Would you like to come?”

Her heart thudded. She was about to say yes, but realized his whole family might be there, and she was just not ready to meet his parents and or brothers yet. Anyway, she was going to be so busy she might not even be able to fit it in. The last thing she wanted was for his family's first impression of her to be a hurried and late one.

“I think I'm going to be running around so much tomorrow I wouldn't be able to guarantee I'd be there.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “And, Jakob . . . I assume your parents will be there, right?”

“Sure.”

“I do want to meet them, but not when I'm rushing in and out. I want to make a good impression.”

“You couldn't make a bad impression if you tried,” he said gently. “But I understand.”

“Thank you. Sleep well, Jakob.”

“Sweet dreams, Jaymie.”

•   •   •

S
HE
SLEPT
BETTER
than expected and awoke with a clear vision of some avenues she wanted to explore. Shelby had a troubled relationship with several people, but she had friends, too, and Jaymie had some names of her supporters from the social media she had explored the night before. She was also going to pick up where Shelby had left off, and find out what had happened to Natalie Roth. Clutch's pain and loss was so potent it affected her still. It seemed impossible that the incidents were not connected, and yet, they were so very different.

The first thing she did was report what she had learned to Chief Ledbetter. Maybe it was wrong to tell him about Glenn Brennan's words as reported by Shelby, but Jaymie was not going to hold anything back from the police, not when it was this important.

Then she said, “Chief, I have some information that leads me to believe that Lori Wozny's and Travis Fretter's stories about what they did that evening are substantially different. I know you already know that, but it made me wonder . . . Why would Shelby's brother lie about where he was that night, during a period that Lori says he was apart from her? I wondered if you were investigating him as a potential suspect in her death.”

The chief harrumphed. “We are reviewing all statements for irregularities. I wouldn't answer your question even if we were just talking as police chief and citizen, but you are now working for Nan Goodenough. I won't be quoted in the press, Jaymie.”

She was silent for a long moment, then said, “I understand, Chief. But I do find it interesting. There's more, though.” She told him about the call she received, explaining about the blood on Cody's coat that was purported to be Shelby's. She hesitated, then gave the name of the girl she suspected, Mikayla Jones, and told him her reasoning. “I'm not one hundred percent certain, but it sure sounded like her.”

He was silent, but it was the quietude of rumination, not anger.

She said tentatively, “And, Chief . . . I know you probably have this, but I've been thinking about something I noticed that night, the fabric caught in the splinter in the table. It wasn't from anything Bill would wear, I'd swear to that. What it looked like to me was the lining of a suit jacket.”

“You do notice a lot, don't you? We had already figured that out, and that's all I'm going to say.”

It was all she needed, as it confirmed her guess.

“And, Jaymie, I suppose you'd want to know this, if you don't already. We've released Cody Wainwright for the time being. We didn't arraign him on the murder charge.”

Jaymie was stunned into silence.

The chief chuckled. “Sounds like Mrs. Goodenough hadn't told you yet.”

“You seemed so certain, Chief; what changed your mind?”

“Where'd you get the idea I was certain of anything? The arrest was premature; the DA decided against arraigning him on murder right now. Doesn't mean it won't happen, just that it's been deferred.” He harrumphed. “Hasty, that's what the arrest was. That's what happens when I go out of town.”

After she hung up the phone she called Nan, who was happy but cautious. Until the true killer was behind bars, she wouldn't rest. Jaymie hung up, made a cup of tea and wrote an organized list of her day. She performed all her usual morning tasks and took care of the animals.

She then packed a little bag of goodies and dressed carefully in business-appropriate clothes. For her that meant a skirt, boots, sweater and her best winter coat, a cream wool trench handed on to her by Becca, for whom it was now too small. Pinned to the lapel was her favorite seasonal pin, a vintage Christmas tree with pearls and red and green stones as decorations. She walked through the village, saying
happy holidays
to those she knew, smiling and nodding to those she didn't. Queensville meant so much to her. It was home in every sense of the word, and though she didn't understand how her parents could move to Boca Raton and love living there so much, she went to visit them at their condo once a year in March. Still, she didn't get the attraction—the older she got the more she understood the saying “to each his own.”

For her, that was Queensville.

The Queensville Inn was formerly the largest Queen Anne style home in the village, but when it was converted to an inn it had been expanded. A two-floor addition housed the more luxurious modern rooms and suites. She was meeting Lynnsey Bloombury in the coffee shop through the double doors and just off the main entrance. She waved to one of the waitresses she knew and found a table, carefully hanging her coat on one of the coat trees sprinkled throughout the restaurant in the winter. There were many people, tourists and locals, having their morning coffee, and some were breakfasting. Queensville didn't have any other real restaurants, so the inn provided one of the few places for folks to meet for business or pleasure.

An auburn-haired young woman entered, glanced around and spotted her, and crossed the room to stand by the table. “Jaymie Leighton? I'm Lynnsey Bloombury.” She stuck out her hand and they shook. She took off her long parka, slung it over the back of the chair and sat down with a sigh opposite Jaymie. “I'd forgotten how different it is looking for a job in Queensville than San Fran,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“You're here looking for a job?” Jaymie was surprised, given that Lynnsey had a good job in the tech industry, from her mother's report.

“Yeah, I'm kinda lonely on the coast. I was coming back anyway for Christmas, but this thing with Shelby hit me hard. I miss my folks and my friends. I thought it wouldn't hurt to look around while I'm here.”

“But the Queensville Inn?”

“Hey, you gotta start somewhere. Any job to start is better than no job.”

Jaymie nodded, appreciating that attitude. “What do you really want to do?”

She shrugged. “I just don't know. All my friends in school seemed to have some goal, some idea of where they were headed.” She gazed out the window as the wind blew across the outdoor patio, now shrouded in covers over the wrought-iron tables and chair sets. “I never did. And I still don't. I'm a receptionist slash gofer at the firm where I work. They keep saying they don't know what they'd do without me, but . . . it's just not enough. They're all so driven and into their work. I can't hang out with them, because work is all they talk about and I only understand a quarter of what they say, if that. I feel like a fish out of water.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Jaymie said, and explained her own lack of an identifiable “career,” and how she was finally at peace with it. “I've just decided I'm not a career kind of person, and that's okay. I like working, but I get bored easily . . . Funny to say that, when I live in a small town, with no excitement . . . or what other people would call excitement.”

The waitress came over and she and Jaymie exchanged pleasantries, then they ordered coffee and pastries. “The pastries are to die for,” Jaymie said. “The chef is French Canadian. I run a picnic basket business, among other things, and his pastries are always a hit. I guess I'm lucky,” Jaymie went on. “I have several jobs and hobbies and I'm always running, but I love my life.”

“You
are
lucky. I did that in school, a variety of things, I mean. I took office admin and secretarial, organizational classes. After leaving school I worked at a high-end boutique, a cooking school and then in a real estate company. But I just get restless. I moved on to the tech company I work at now, but I'm already bored out of my mind. At least here I'll be restless among friends.”

They shared a chuckle, but Lynnsey's expression grew serious. “But first, I want to help you find out what happened to Shelby. She was my BFF, you know? We went to school together. I lost track of some of the others, but Shelby and I just clicked and stayed clicked, you know?”

“I understand.” The waitress brought their coffee and pastries, and Jaymie poured cream in her cup. “I still stay in contact with the girls I went to university with in Canada and we meet at least once a year no matter what. I email them all the time.” Jaymie examined the other girl. Lynnsey was a tidy, smartly dressed redhead with a pretty, small-featured face and bright hazel eyes. Outwardly she didn't appear to have much in common with Shelby, who was harder edged, more intense, but as friends they may have filled in each other's empty spots. “I've heard all kinds of stuff about Shelby, but if I'm going to figure out what happened to her, then I need to know more from an insider, someone who truly knew her.”