Murder by Page One by Olivia Matthews (read aloud txt) 📗

in the general store’s parking lot. My words sped up as the silence on his end of the line built to a crescendo.

“My God, Marvey. That’s dangerous!”

I hadn’t heard that particular tone from my older brother since my thirteen-year-old self had shared with him my plans to travel to New Orleans for Mardi Gras and still make it back in time for the Ash Wednesday Mass in Brooklyn.

I prepared my best defense. “Mom and Dad know about Fiona’s murder.”

“But do they know you’re playing Nancy Drew?” Dre’s response was an indication that my best defense had fallen short.

I paced away from the bookcase and wandered toward the fireplace. The pale wood mantel was crowded with photos of family and friends, old and new. The current trend was to store photos in electronic albums, but I preferred to surround myself with images of the people who mattered most to me.

Toward the center of the group of photos was a framed image of Dre after our last run in Marine Park, one of our favorite workout locations. He was dripping with sweat and smiling into my phone camera.

I smiled at the photo. “It’s more like Brenda Starr, reporter.”

“Are you laughing?” His incredulity was choking him. “This isn’t funny. You can’t investigate a murder.”

“I’m not investigating a murder. I’m collecting proof that there are other—better—suspects than my friend.”

“And how are you doing that?” His restrained tone was the first sign he was laying a verbal trap for me.

“By asking people who knew the victim if they know who might have a motive to hurt her.”

“That’s investigating, Marvey.” His “duh” was left unspoken but still clearly heard.

I turned away from the fireplace mantel. The photo of Dre after our run wasn’t a fond memory right now. “What would you have me do, then? For some unfathomable reason, the deputies are solely focused on my friend for this murder. She’s innocent. What would you have me do?”

“Peach Coast may be safer than Brooklyn, but that obviously doesn’t mean it doesn’t have any crime. We’re talking about a murder.”

This didn’t seem the right time to point out that he knew the name of the town to which I’d moved. “If you were me, what would you do? Would you walk away from your friend?”

This time his silence was longer. I sensed his turmoil and understood it. I was his family. He wanted me to be safe, but we both knew he’d be lying if he said he’d turn his back on a friend in need. We weren’t raised that way.

His weary, frustrated sigh ended the heavy silence. “Just be careful.”

“I promise.” It was a promise I intended to keep.

“And if there’s even the suspicion of another suspicious incident, I won’t tell Mom or Dad. I’ll come down there myself.”

“I understand.” I nodded, although Dre couldn’t see me. “I love you.”

He grunted. “I love you too.” He ended the call without another word.

This “discussion” was far from over. Dre was just pausing to regroup and compile additional, more effective ammunition. I’d probably hear from him again in the morning.

Family. We were uniquely qualified to drive each other crazy.

I’d stepped out of the living room for ten minutes, fifteen tops, to get my pendant-making materials. I wanted to work on Jo’s gift. When I returned, I almost dropped my plastic tub of supplies. Phoenix had once again stacked all his worldly possessions against my front door—his food bowl, bed, toys, and blankets. He stood beside his belongings, returning my gaze in defiance.

I was tempted to tell him to clean up his mess himself, but I sensed extreme empathy was needed. This moment was an emotional one for both of us.

Swallowing a sigh, I set the tub with my supplies on the coffee table and faced him. “Phoenix, I sense your frustration. I’m frustrated too.”

I scooped him up from the entranceway and carried him to my oversized, overstuffed, faux brown leather armchair. Phoenix turned his back to me in a feline snub. I wasn’t going to win him over so easily.

I petted him with long, slow strokes from the crown of his head to his tail. “I’m very concerned that you’re unhappy. I don’t like seeing you this way. You haven’t been yourself since our move.” He deigned to send me a look over his shoulder before turning away from me again. “Hopefully, our visit to the vet tomorrow will help me to understand what’s causing your unhappiness.”

Phoenix shifted to lay across my lap. A good sign.

I continued petting him, now in silence. He was getting tired. I glanced over my shoulder toward the door and Phoenix’s belongings. In a little while, I’d get up and put his treasures away. For now, I was going to focus on my cat. Jo wasn’t my only friend in need of help.

“One block to go.” Jo’s pronouncement was weak. She wiped the sweat from her eyes as she kept pace beside me on my right.

Early morning dew mingled with the sweat on my cheeks as we jogged toward Bobby’s house shortly before dawn Friday morning. Each breath drew in the musky, grassy scent of the wetlands that were always nearby.

“That’s right.” My wrist muffled my response as I dabbed at the sweat above my lip.

I wasn’t sure why we were whispering. Maybe that’s what people did when they were on their way to steal another person’s trash. Technically, it wasn’t stealing to take trash that someone had set out on the curb, though. Police didn’t even need a warrant to search it. I’d researched that yesterday.

“Since we’re jogging together this morning, do we still need to jog together tomorrow morning?” Jo puffed the question between breaths.

I shot her a wide-eyed look. “Yes, we do. Our Saturday-morning jogs were your idea.”

Shortly after Jo and I had met, we’d started jogging together every Saturday. Our arrangement gave her a partner to help motivate her to work out more. She’d gotten out of the habit when she’d been launching her bookstore.