Chapter 7: Murder Suspect

She left me there, her previously unseen assistant hurrying after her, the petite young man in the precision suit that could have been from New York waving to me on the way by. I'd never even met him, but I waved back anyway.

Did she control the media, too, our mayor? I could only believe that was the case because as the next hour unfurled with lengths of yellow police tape and a firm and unhappy speech from Crew to my guests about staying behind the line while the whispering gathering snapped photos of Pete Wilkins's sheet covered body being wheeled out of my garden, not one reporter made an appearance.

Well, Reading only had one reporter. But still.

I stood off to one side as the bulk of the deputies left. By bulk, I mean two, leaving Robert Carlisle behind. My first cousin wasn't my favorite person in the whole world-we'd spent enough rivalry energy as kids trying to make each other kiss dirt to really get along-and the fact he'd decided to pursue the career I'd always longed for didn't endear him to me any.

Especially because he told me at high school graduation the only reason he was going to the academy was because I couldn't. Jerk.

Rather than engage him in any kind of attempt to pretend I was civil right now, I stayed out of the way, unable to stop myself, however, from lingering near the police tape, staring into the pond where the three fat koi swam, a mix of horror and relief so at odds I was sure I was going to explode. So wrong to be grateful the hideous man was dead. And yet he was dead. On my property. What was he doing here? And when did he die? I'd poked around enough in forensics out of curiosity over the years it was pretty obvious he hadn't been there long. A few hours? And what was that odd, round impression in the dirt next to the rock border of the pond? Not very big-about the circumference of the top of an old fashioned glass ketchup bottle and maybe an inch deep-but pretty obvious. Looked ridged, a near perfect mirror image to whatever left it there. Impossible to miss, really. Did the deputies photograph it? I had to clench my hands on my biceps to keep from moving closer to look.

Okay, I might end up a suspect, but I didn't kill him, so it was all good. And while the immediate issue was out of the way, he had to have heirs. Did that mean whoever inherited from him owned Petunia's? Was it even a valid claim now? Who did I track down and shake really hard to find out?

Hey, was that blood on that rock? I'd seen a faint trail of it in the water coming from the back of Pete's head. Did it mean he'd slipped and fallen, that his death was an accident? Hang on, there was more blood. No, wait. Something red, though, dangling from Fat Benny's gross fishy lips.

"Robert." I really didn't want to talk to him but someone needed to know. "I think they missed something."

I pointed at the scrap of what looked like cloth, grimaced when my cousin leaned in around me, thumbs tucked in his belt and grinned past his ridiculous black mustache that made him look like a refugee from the 70's disco scene.

"You cracked the case, Fanny," he said. "Guess we'll have to take the fish in for questioning."

His guffawing laughter echoed back and forth between the main and carriage house as if to prove to me he was funny. The hated nickname he'd used against me like a weapon since we were five years old reverberated in my brain, setting off firework explosions of rage that likely did permanent damage. His attempt to rile me up as a kid with the obvious reference to my butt had turned into a sly maliciousness he'd never grown out of. I really needed to get out of there. I couldn't keep my mind on one track for long. Punching Robert in the nose was probably not a great choice at this point. And looking back at the crime scene did me no favors. Not when it seemed like the long, smooth scuff at the base of the pond could have been the mark of an expensive boot sliding on the mud.

"Miss Fleming." I spun with a bit of a shriek, hands flying to cover my mouth, hating that I'd been caught not only snooping-I hadn't realized I'd come to the edge of the police tape and was leaning in to look at the crime scene-but sounded guilty about it. About a lot of things. The sheriff didn't look very understanding, either.

"Sorry." I backed up and leaped to one side when Petunia yelped, bent to massage her paw in apology for her, too. This morning needed to be over.

"I don't appreciate being told how to run my crime scene, Miss Fleming." Crew crossed his arms over his chest and clenched his jaw. So much for calling me Fee. "While I realize it's not your fault,"-why did he sound like that was questionable?-"I'll be leaving a deputy here to enforce the security of the scene. Just in case."

I nodded quickly. "Anything I can do, Sheriff."

His scowl didn't lighten. "I think you've done enough." That stink eye look. What the hell did that mean exactly? He just admitted the whole Olivia thing wasn't on me. Tell me handsome and jerk didn't go hand in hand in this case. Though, I had to admit, I was grateful for his attitude because it snapped me out of the fugue of weirdness and shock that had held me all morning.

"Was it an accident?" I gestured behind me. "Looks like blood on the rock. There was more in the water. Slip marks in the mud could be from a man's shoe." Or smooth bottomed cowboy boot.

When I turned back, Crew's eyes had narrowed so far I wished I'd kept my mouth shut.

"Don't mind my cousin," Robert laughed. "She's daddy's girl. But she's no detective, are you, Fanny?"

If I could have committed murder, it would have been Robert's right then.

"If you want to be a police officer," Crew said, "go to school. But being a sheriff's daughter doesn't qualify you to consult on my cases."

Double dose of jerk. Fine then, they could be that way. Except he was right, of course, and I was out of line. Except this was my life we were talking about. And I knew enough to be able to read evidence. Guess I had to keep that to myself from now on.

From now on? Like a trail of murders was going to haunt me the rest of my life and make this a common problem or something. Seriously.

"Any idea what Mr. Wilkins was doing on your property?"

And there it was. The elephant in the room question I was hoping he wouldn't ask me. Not like I got a chance to answer it, anyway. Not with the most helpful and thoughtful of best friends in the world who, with a beaming smile and a breathless, wide eyed grasp at Crew's sleeve, stabbed me in the heart and the back with one bright, cheerful statement.

"He said he was Petunia's new owner," Daisy said. "Showed up yesterday with papers and everything." I almost groaned. "Isn't that right, Fee?"

Crew's arched eyebrows told me everything I needed to know. I'd just graduated from pain in his ass to Fiona Fleming, suspect numero uno.

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