The Ghosts of Notchey Creek by Liz S. Andrews

Author:Liz S. Andrews [Andrews, Liz S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Liz S. Andrews

48

“No Place to Lay His Head”

Harley placed her hand to her brow, shielding her eyes from the brightness of the parking lot. Being inside Modern Vintage had been like being in Santa’s workshop—warm and cozy, with holiday music, shelves of colorful trinkets, and the aroma of Christmas potpourri in the air. Now she was back in the real world of concrete, damp air, woodsmoke—and police tape.

In the parking lot, a series of strategically placed police cars blocked the entrances and exits. Uniformed policemen guarded the perimeter, while others moved in and out of Jennifer’s apartment.

When Harley moved to shut the shop’s door behind her, she nearly collided with one of Jed’s deputies. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said to the female officer. “Excuse me.”

Everyone on the Notchey Creek police force knew of Harley, at least by reputation. That October she had been the unlikely heroine who had solved the Middleton murder case. And while Jed had honored Harley’s wishes, that he take public credit for solving the case, everyone knew, in reality, it had been Harley.

“Oh, that’s all right, Harley,” the young female officer said. “We’re just cordoning off Ms. Williams’s apartment so we can take some prints, things like that.”

Although it saddened her that Jennifer’s most precious belongings were being pored over and handled, placed in plastic bags, and dusted for fingerprints, she was glad to hear it, knowing such actions meant getting closer to identifying her killer.

The police officer motioned to Modern Vintage. “You know if Ms. Jacobs is around?” she asked. “Jed’s asked me to break the news to her.”

Deciding not to mention she had already broken the news, Harley merely said, “She’s in the back—in the office.”

“Ah, good. Thanks.”

Harley waved goodbye to the officer and headed in the opposite direction, hoping to take a shortcut through the alleyway, then across the street to Smoky Mountain Spirits. Just as she reached the alleyway, a back door swung open ahead, ricocheting against the brick wall.

Dr. Jeremy Griggs stumbled outside, nearly falling to the pavement. His legs were like limp noodles as he caught himself and straightened his body, struggling to regain his balance.

He looked like an unmade bed.

His salt-and-pepper hair, so neatly styled on better occasions, sprung out like corkscrews from his head. He still had on the same clothes he had worn to the meeting the previous night, but they were wrinkled all over, his shirt half-tucked into his trousers.

For the first time in his life, Jeremy Griggs looked his age.

He must have spent the night in his office, Harley thought, sleeping on his psychiatry couch. Then hearing the police activity outside his window, he had stumbled outside to investigate the commotion.

He readjusted his glasses on his nose, and surveyed his surroundings. His eyes, with sleep still in their corners, widened when he noticed the police.

“The police? What’re the police doing here?”

He watched as the officers unrolled yellow police tape and lined the back perimeter of Modern Vintage. “But that’s Jennifer’s store,” he said, his voice growing frantic.

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