Christmas Chills at Pumpkin Hill (Inn Vermont Cozy Mysteries Book 8) by Thea Cambert

Author:Thea Cambert [Cambert, Thea]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Summer Prescott Books
Published: 2021-10-19T20:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

Thankfully, Joe and his crew were able to come up to Pumpkin Hill later that afternoon to pour our slab. The police had released the crime scene, and we had framers coming Monday morning. If the slab had been delayed, the framers would’ve had to be rescheduled, and since Alexander had booked all of the subcontractors in advance, it would have been like dominoes falling. The whole project could have been delayed for a long time.

“Yours is a very small job,” Joe assured us. “We’ll have your slab poured and ready in no time.”

His cell phone rang, and he picked up, had a quick conversation with his cement truck driver, telling him they were all set to do the pour, then hung up.

“Hey, you found your phone!” said Matthew.

Joe laughed. “I didn’t find it. The police did.” When he saw our surprised expressions, he added, “They searched my house and my truck as part of the investigation. This”—he held up the phone— “was under a pile of papers in my truck.” He shook his head. “I’d be way more productive if I weren’t such a slob.”

“So, Detective Dunlap actually came to your house,” I said, feeling proud of Dunlap and Potts for covering all the bases, even though I was sure Joe was no killer.

“Yep, and the good news is, I’m no longer on their list of prime suspects.”

“I never did think you were the kind of person who would hurt anyone,” I said.

“What convinced Dunlap?” asked Matthew.

“Well, for one thing my alibi checked out. I was on the phone with my mom and dad Thursday night at eleven—that’s about when they believe Lyra was killed.”

“You were on the phone with your parents that late?” I asked.

“They’re on the west coast right now. They’re at Big Basin Redwoods State Park, in California. So, it was only eight o’clock there. They called to tell me about their day. We probably talked for at least an hour.”

“So, Lyra was killed around eleven,” Matthew said, then looked at me. “Was that the noise we heard outside? Someone being murdered?”

I shivered at the thought. “Or maybe we heard someone putting the tarp over the slab.” I looked at Joe. “You said you think Alexander did that, right?”

“Now I’m sure it was him,” said Joe. “I just didn’t know it because I didn’t have this.” He jiggled the cell phone. “That night, he’d called me and left me a message—but I didn’t get it until today, when the police found my phone.”

“And what time did he leave the message?” I asked, feeling my heart starting to pound.

Joe looked down at the phone in his hand. “Around eleven-thirty.”

“Thursday night,” said Matthew, nodding.

“That’s right,” said Joe. “And here it is, two days later before I got that message.”

“So, Alexander was right here, right around the time his wife was killed . . . his wife who he was heard fighting with recently.” It wasn’t looking good for Alexander.

“Oh, it’s worse than that,” said Joe. “They were getting a divorce, and, well .

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