The Unkindness of Ravens by M. Hilliard (readera ebook reader .txt) 📗

“You have to admit you have a habit of finding bodies. At least this one was still alive. Third time’s the charm, I guess.”

Bitch. She was trying to rattle me, hoping I’d let something slip. Nice try. Two could play at that game.

“Do you really think I killed Joanna Goodhue? Or my husband? I know you checked my story.”

“I did. You’re clear. The investigating officer confirmed your alibi, and said they’d made an arrest.”

I didn’t kill your husband, lady.

I silenced the voice in my head and gave her my best “so there” look.

“But he’s also sure you weren’t being totally straight with him. Some things didn’t add up. He thought you felt guilty, but you were smart enough to keep your mouth shut. One smart cookie, he said. You didn’t come clean, but you didn’t kill your husband.”

Bingo. My face got hot. Well, the best defense is a good offense. I looked her in the eye and smiled. “Everybody has a guilty secret, Officer Webber. What’s yours?”

She blanched. A look that might have been panic flickered across her face and was gone in an instant. I’d scored a direct hit. I’d figured out she was willing to ignore protocol that day in the attic when she had decided to go it alone. Who knew what other bad habits she might have? We might have more in common than I thought.

“We’re not talking about me, Ms. Hogan, we’re talking about you.”

“So we are. Since we’ve determined I didn’t murder my husband, let’s move on to Joanna Goodhue. I’m sure you’ve checked my alibi there.”

The timetable on that was loose, but the police should have been able to verify my movements. I might have been able to pull off a quick trip to the manor attic to do someone in, but with the same problem everyone else had—being seen.

Webber said nothing, which I took as assent on the alibi check. I went on.

“And what’s my motive?”

“None that I’ve found. But I’d put money on the fact you know something you’re not telling.”

“I’ve told you everything I know.” Everything I knew was related. My wild guesses and the various bits of information I couldn’t make fit were another story. Joanna’s note, the whisper of blackmail, the feeling of being watched—all of it either led back to me or sounded crazy, and with Anita on the warpath I had to watch my step.

“If I think of anything else you might find helpful, I’ll call you.”

I picked up my dishes and stood.

“Chair’s all yours. Have a nice day, Officer.”

I left her in the Java Joint and mulled over what I’d learned. I pondered Jennie Webber while watching the hypnotic spin of the machines at the Suds-O-Matic. She had spent summers here as a kid, she’d said, but she had been in the Army for a while, and moved back for family reasons. Which could be anything, but was likely recent since I’d never seen her in the six months I lived here, and neither Dory nor Mary Alice had much to say about her. Everyone has a guilty secret, Beau said, and based on her response to my flippant remark, Officer Webber was no exception. But whatever it was, was it any use to me? Her standard operating procedure was along the lines of Mad Eye Moody in the Harry Potter books, “Constant vigilance!” Not surprising since she’d been in a war zone. She said little and missed less. My guess was she’d picked up plenty of information, both related to the case and random. Getting her to share was the snag.

Although—she had been willing to bend the rules before, and she had the air of an independent operator. The police traded for information when they needed to. I had watched it more than once in dark corners of my dad’s pub when I should’ve been doing my homework. Sam O’Donnell, I thought, was playing a long game. He had not publicly ruled out the accident theory of Joanna’s death, though it was clear he was not treating it as such. Some of those new faces popping up regularly at the library were undercover cops, I was sure, but borrowed from other jurisdictions so they wouldn’t be recognized. They could gather information, but without much context. Jennie Webber had the context, but an official role that put people on their guard. No one wanted to reveal anything that put them in a bad light, even if it had nothing to do with the crime. People lied to the police all the time. The police were constrained by procedure.

I was a free agent.

While no one would be ruled out as a suspect until the actual killer was caught, O’Donnell had taken me at my word last night, so I wasn’t at the top of their list. As long as I didn’t break any laws or do anything to set Anita off, I would be left to my own devices. The constant police presence at the manor and Webber’s habit of popping up were things I could work around and possibly use. People talked to me, and I had well-connected allies. I would take a page from the playbook of Sherlock Holmes.

It was time to activate the Raven Hill Irregulars.

Once back from the grocery store, I touched base with my little band of informants. Dory would be out all day, according to her husband, so I left a message. Mary Alice was home. She had spoken to Sam late the night before, and verified my story about Sadie and reasons for staying late. I filled her in on the latest developments and asked her to call if she heard anything new. Then I checked in with Henri. He had put out some feelers, but thus far had gotten nothing but some odd looks and promises from his acquaintances to let him know if they heard anything of interest. I told him what had happened the previous evening. He clucked over me, warning me to be more