Killing at Wainwright Park: A Murderously Mad Cozy Mystery by Willow Daphne

Author:Willow, Daphne
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Clark Global Publications
Published: 2024-09-13T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

* * *

I stride into Mayor Weston's office, the scent of old leather and lemon polish assaulting my nostrils. My heels click against the hardwood floor, echoing in the cavernous room.

"Mayor Weston, we need to talk." I plant my hands on his polished mahogany desk, leaning forward.

He looks up, bushy eyebrows raised. "Gracie, what an unexpected pleasure. What can I do for Woodlawn's star reporter today?"

I pull out my notepad. "Your statements about Harold Wainwright's murder don't add up. Care to explain?"

His jovial expression falters. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"You said you hadn't spoken to Harold in weeks, but witnesses saw you arguing with him at Preston's Diner just days before his death."

Mayor Weston's fingers drum on the desk. "Ah, well, you know how forgetful I can be. Must have slipped my mind."

I narrow my eyes. Something's off. The mayor never forgets a thing.

A knock at the door interrupts us. Judge Herbert Calloway pokes his head in.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you had company, Carl."

Mayor Weston's posture stiffens. "No worries, Herbert. We were just finishing up."

Their eyes meet, a silent message passing between them. My reporter's instinct prickles.

"Actually," I interject, "I have a few more questions."

Judge Calloway nods curtly and retreats. But not before I catch a glimpse of worry etched on his face.

I turn back to the mayor. "You were saying?"

He clears his throat. "Listen, Gracie. Harold and I had our differences, but I had nothing to do with his death. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a busy day ahead."

As I'm ushered out, my mind races. What are they hiding? And why does Judge Calloway seem so invested in this conversation?

I need answers. And I know just where to start digging.

I duck behind a parked car as Judge Calloway exits City Hall, his eyes darting left and right. He's on edge. Good. Makes him easier to follow.

The judge's polished shoes click against the cobblestones as he hurries down Main Street. I trail behind, weaving through the evening crowd, careful to keep my distance.

He turns abruptly, pushing through the door of Prescott's Diner. My heart races. This is it.

I slip inside, sliding into a booth near the back. The aroma of coffee and pie fills the air, but my appetite's gone. I'm here for a different kind of sustenance.

Judge Calloway settles into a corner booth, joined moments later by a man I don't recognize. Their heads bow close, voices low.

I strain to hear, catching snippets.

"...can't risk exposure..."

"...Wainwright knew too much..."

"...deal must go through..."

My fingers itch for a notepad, but I don't dare. One wrong move and I'm made.

The stranger's voice rises slightly. "We need to contain this, Herbert. If that nosy reporter—"

Judge Calloway cuts him off with a sharp gesture. "I'll handle Phillips. You just make sure everything's in place for the vote."

My blood runs cold. They're talking about me.

I wait until they leave, then bolt for the exit. My mind's spinning. Murder. Cover-up. And I'm right in the middle of it.

As I round the corner to my apartment, my phone buzzes.

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