Picture Perfect Murder (Ryli Sinclair 1) Read online

  “Hello? Who’s out there?”

  “Hey, Claire, it’s me, Ryli. I wanted to drop off the rolls of film for Chief Kimble before I went home.”

  Claire Hickman shuffled into the main room. Claire was in her late fifties, stood about five foot nothing, and was as big around as she was tall. She was always bringing in homemade cookies and cakes for the boys, which was probably why she was as big around as tall. And as far as her clothing style went—let me just say, she never met a crushed velour jogging suit she didn’t love. She had tightly curled gray hair that she got styled every week over at Legends Salon and Nails.

  Pretty much everyone in town went to Legends for either hair or nails. Or in most cases, the never-ending supply of gossip that found its way between those walls. The owner, Iris Newman, was known to repeat all the latest gossip about everyone in town as she teased hair and buffed nails. Of course there were other hair salons in town, but they weren’t nearly as popular.

  “Oh, my God. Is it true? Did someone really murder Dr. Garver? I just can’t believe it. Who would do such a thing? I mean, who hasn’t thought about killing that old blowhard…but still, who would actually do it?” Claire took a deep breath and closed her eyes. For a minute, I thought she was going to cross herself.

  “Well,” Claire continued, “it was only a matter of time. You piss off the wrong person, and you never know what someone will do. Truth is, between you and me,” Claire leaned in, looking over her shoulder as though someone would overhear, “I can’t believe her husband stayed with her all these years. He’s such a sweet, gentle man. Can you imagine what it must’ve been like to be married to that bitter, dried up old lemon?”

  I thought about what she said. Who would have cause to kill Dr. Garver? Garver became the superintendent my senior year of high school, and with her came a lot of changes. Our class didn’t get to do a lot of the things the previous seniors had gotten to do. So I pretty much hated her from day one. Juvenile, I know, but it’s true.

  “Oh, you poor dear,” Claire said, patting me on the arm. “You need to get yourself home and have a glass of wine. It always helps me to relax.”

  “I need to stick around for a minute and talk with Chief Kimble real quick.”

  “Uh oh, what did you do?”

  “Nothing!”

  “Tsk-tsk. Girl, when’re you gonna learn not to push that man. He could chew you up and spit you out before you open your mouth to scream.”

  Wow...hadn’t I just thought as much?

  “Not that being chewed up by that hunk of a man would be all bad,” Claire winked.

  I shuttered. “Gross!”

  Claire snorted and turned to waddle back into her cubicle to wait for another phone call. “Believe it little girl. I may be getting old, but I’m not dead.” Claire stopped and turned. “Hey, speaking of which, you suppose it’s too early to call the Professor and maybe see about setting up a date?”

  “Yes!”

  “You and I both know that twelve other old maids are gonna be swarming that man in no time. I need to make sure I’m there, too. Maybe I should call Iris in the morning and make a hair appointment. I want to look good for the funeral,” Claire said, patting her close-cropped curls.

  Shaking my head, I walked into Garrett’s office and started poking around. I’d been in here tons of times, but usually he was in here too, so snooping wasn’t practical. The office had white, bare walls, with a beat-up hardwood floor. His desk was made of metal and looked like it had been run over by a tank. He didn’t have any pictures or personal items except for a traditional banker’s lamp sitting smack dab in the middle of the desk.

  I walked over to his built-in bookcase and picked up a wooden box containing a medal. I brushed my hands over it, wondering how he got it. I set it down and picked up the only photograph in the whole place. It was a picture of Garrett in his police uniform. He was in the middle, with one arm draped over a shorter, sandy-haired guy in a similar police uniform, and his other arm draped over a stunning blonde, who was smiling into the camera. She didn’t have dull, dirty blonde hair like me, but shiny, silky blonde hair that I would kill for. I leaned down for a closer look.

  She was almost as tall as Garrett, slim, and beautiful. She had blue-green eyes and nice full lips. In comparison, I’m not all that tall, have more curves than straights, and my eyes aren’t two-toned complex orbs, just a simple hazel. Looking at her, I felt ordinary and plain.

  Was this woman an old girlfriend or ex-wife? One thing Garrett never did was talk about himself much. I do know that in the year he’s been in town, he hasn’t dated anyone. I’ve made it my business to know that much.

  “Are you touching my things, Sin?”

  I squealed and whirled around. Unfortunately, I also banged the picture against the bookshelf. I’m always doing stupid stuff like that. Instead of answering, I put the picture back where it was. I was stalling. I didn’t have the courage to say anything yet.

  Finally I turned around. “Nope. Just waiting for you. You did tell me to wait in your office, didn’t you?” I said defensively. “Believe me, I’d rather be home right now, trying to forget this night.” For a brief second I thought I saw compassion in his eyes, but it was gone in the blink of an eye. Instead of commenting, he shut the door to his office. Great, there weren’t any windows, and now he’d shut the only way to escape out of the room. No one could see him throttle me.

  “Come here.”

  I swallowed and tried to look tough as I walked toward him. I didn’t say anything but stopped about two feet away from him. He looked dangerous in his tight black jeans and black shirt. Usually he wears a uniform, but since he was at home when he got the call, he obviously just threw on some clothes. He looked magnificent in them, probably even better out of them.

  “Closer, Sin.”

  I scowled and leaned in. He knows I hate it when he calls me that. How many times did I have to tell the idiot that my last name was Sinclair, not Sin. I was almost nose-to-chest with him.

  He reached out and lifted a curl from my shoulder, winding it around his finger. “Leave the investigating to me, do you understand?”

  Of all the things he could have said and done, I was not expecting this. Truth was I didn’t know what to say, he’d caught me so off guard.

  “I’m serious. I heard your questions and suppositions back at the house.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I said, suddenly fixated on a chip in the wall over his right shoulder.

  “Yes, you do. I saw the look on your face when you tried to think of people who would want to kill Garver and all the reasons why. This isn’t some cute little puzzle to put together, it’s a murder. Leave it to the professionals.”

  I tried to squelch the urge to kick his ass. Mainly because I knew I’d never win.

  He turned and walked toward his desk. “It’s been a long night. Go home and get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be tough, too. I have to do a follow-up interview with Mr. Garver before he goes to the funeral home, and then I have to start piecing this murder together.”

  “I dropped off the film for you.”

  “Appreciate it.”

  Garrett didn’t say anything else, so I turned to leave.

  “Hey, your brother invited me over for dinner tomorrow night. There’s no football game this week, so I don’t have to help control crowds. Anyway, he said if I saw you first, to tell you to come over, too. We’re gonna start grilling steaks around seven,” he said as he opened the door for me. “Now, go home. I’ll call you tomorrow if I need you. Oh, and Ryli, I know you’ll have to write something for the paper, but use discretion, please. I don’t want anyone knowing that not only is the heart missing, but so are the fingertips.”

  Chapter 2

  My house is a one-bedroom, eight hundred square foot cottage. It currently sports a faded yellow exterior with white shutters. I put a window box under my one and only window in the front of the house to give it more personality. The porch span
s the front of the house and sags dangerously in some places.

  Personally, I love the house. It’s just the right size for me. And the plus, Matt comes over and mows my lawn. He assures me as my landlord he’s supposed to do that. I think he knows if he doesn’t mow it, it’d never get done. When he bought his new place a few months ago, he offered to let me live here as long as I paid the mortgage. Seeing as how it got me out of Mom’s house, I jumped at the chance.

  I unlocked my front door and stepped inside. I felt a brush against the bottom of my legs and bent down to pick up Miss Molly. Molls is my black and white longhaired cat. I’d gotten her from the animal shelter here in town right after I moved into the house. I hated coming home to an empty place, so I thought a cat would be the perfect roommate.

  And I was right. Miss Molly greets me warmly every time I come home…as long as I remember to stock up on kitty treats and catnip.

  Walking into the tiny kitchen to give Miss Molly a treat, I couldn’t help but think about what Garrett had said to me. Why on earth would the killer keep the heart and the fingertips? What did they signify?

  I mean, the no heart thing was a no-brainer. Anyone who’d met Vera Garver knew she had no heart. So I can see the symbolism of cutting out her heart. But why cut off her fingertips? What on earth could that symbolize?

  “Meow.”

  I bent down to pick Molls up and stroked her fur. Her rhythmic purr calmed me at once. “What’s the matter Miss Molly, you scared, too?”

  “Meow.”

  “I know. I’m a little freaked out myself. How about you sleep with me tonight?”

  Miss Molly leapt out of my arms and sashayed into the living room. Well, I guess that answered that question. Not that I’m surprised, she hardly ever wants to have anything to do with me. I don’t know why I bother.

  I changed into sweats and a t-shirt, grabbed a pint of Tiramisu Gelato from the freezer, and sat down on my couch. Maybe the mixture of fantastic Italian ice cream and lack of sleep would give me some ideas for a story.

  Twenty minutes later, not only didn’t I have a story, but my stomach hurt from all the ice cream I’d blindly shoveled into my mouth. I tossed the empty container and crawled into bed…Miss Molly nowhere in sight. Big surprise there.

  * * *

  I woke up to the sound of vibrations coming from my cell phone. Funny how I thought I might be able to sleep through that little annoyance. No such luck. It was Hank Perkins, owner of The Gazette. I was being summonsed to the office for a debriefing. It wouldn’t have been such a big deal if I’d gone right to sleep last night. Unfortunately, I tossed and turned and actually began to see sunrise before I finally drifted off.

  I threw on jeans, t-shirt, brushed my teeth, and piled my hair on top of my head. I loved dressing up and primping. But most days when I go to the office, I just throw on whatever is clean...or at least semi-clean. Grabbing my travel mug full of coffee, I threw Miss Molly a kiss and ran out the door.

  Granville has a population of just over ten thousand. At least, that’s what the sign outside the city limits claims. I’ve not known that number to change much in the twenty-eight years I’ve been alive, so who really knows.

  The town is made up of two main streets, Elm Street and Pike Street. They meet in the heart of downtown at a four-way stop. On the downtown square we have the courthouse, Legends Salon and Nails, a couple banks, a Subway, two café-type restaurants, and a handful of antiques stores. On the outskirts of town going west, we have a Dairy Queen, the elementary, middle, and high schools, along with a small hospital. On the east side of town we have a small family-run grocery store, the police station, and the newspaper building where I work.

  Thrown into this mixture are numerous houses and churches. I’ve attended the same church that my mom and brother have for about as long as I’ve been alive. In fact, Pastor Williams and his wife, Sharon, have pastored there for as long as I’ve been alive—a slight exaggeration, but not by much. Come to think of it, Dr. Garver attended my church and was even on the church board.

  It doesn’t take more than two minutes for me to get to work, so believe it or not I’m hardly ever late. I pulled into the open slot outside the one-story brick building that housed the newspaper. The staff is basically made up of three people…the owner and editor, Hank, his wife, Mindy, and me.

  “About damn time,” Hank grumbled around the unlit cigar in his mouth as I pulled open the glass door and walked in.

  “Leave her alone, Hank.” Mindy said as she greeted me with a hug. “Can’t you see she’s had a hard night?”

  “I don’t care. I have a paper to run. I can’t take time out to worry about the princess’s lack of beauty sleep.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him and barely resisted the urge to shoot him the bird. Not that it would have bothered him any, he probably would have shot it right back at me. Or just literally shot me. He’s a “Kill ‘Em All, Let God Sort ‘Em Out” kinda guy. A retired Marine who still walks the walk and talks the talk. Once a Marine, always a Marine. Oorah!

  His closely shaved military haircut did little to disguise his bulbous forehead, nor did it help cover his protruding ears. He was fifty-two years old, mean as the day was long, and didn’t give a damn about anything but his wife and his paper.

  Mindy on the other hand was his opposite in every way. She was as gentle as he was mean. She had platinum blonde hair that was teased for miles, something she never let go of from her Texas pageant days. I don’t know her real age, because she won’t tell me, but I’m guessing around fifty.

  For an older lady, she has a killer bod, which she loves to show off. Skin-tight floral pants and neon colored off-the-shoulder shirts or sweaters are her signature, paired with designer five-inch high-heeled shoes. Think Naomi Harper from Mama’s Family...only way smarter. Thank goodness for Nick at Nite reruns.

  I secretly covet her shoes. She actually got me to try them on once. I was walking around the office feeling all cocky, when I tripped over my own feet and fell head first into the filing cabinet. Between the knot on my head and the bruises on my legs, it wasn’t hard to convince me that heels weren’t my thing, no matter how much I wanted them to be.

  “Honey, you just sit down right here and tell me all about it.” Mindy handed me a cup of her special blend herbal tea and pushed me into a chair. The front office was averaged size, had no walls, and was sparsely decorated. When you walked through the glass front doors, you pretty much walked into the whole office. We have a back room where we put the paper together, a small bathroom down the hall, and another tiny closet that Hank used as his office. Mindy and I worked in the front office area, which was fine by me. The less I had to deal with Hank, the better off I was.

  Hank thrust his hands in my face. “Let’s see it.”

  “See what?”

  “The damn article. I know you didn’t just go home and sleep. Give me the article.”

  “Are you freaking serious? I didn’t get home until after one, and then I had to try and get all that blood out of my head before I could sleep.”

  “You’re telling me you didn’t write anything? What the hell do I pay you for?”

  I knew better than to answer him, so I just gave him my best “bite me” stare. To a seasoned Marine, I probably just looked like an idiot. But I didn’t care. There was no way I could put together a story last night. I took a drink of Mindy’s herbal tea and said nothing.

  “I want you to get out today and get reactions. Go up to Legends. Hell, you know Iris is going to be shooting her mouth off. I want specific gut-wrenching reactions from people. Quotes, dammit. Give me lots of quotes!”

  “Fine,” I said as I walked to my desk. I set the hot tea down and picked up my spiral notebook I used for jotting down insightful bullshit that usually kept Hank off my back. I really didn’t want to talk with a bunch of gossiping old ladies, but I did want to keep my job. Matt appreciates it when I make his mortgage payments.

  * * *

  Befo
re I headed to Legends, I made a quick stop. My mom’s a retired elementary school teacher. She taught kids in Granville for thirty years before she decided to call it quits. The majority of the younger population in town has gone through Janine Sinclair’s classroom at one time or another. Eventually, though, she decided she didn’t like the changes being made with the new administration, so she retired.

  Mom’s house is five doors down from Matt’s new house. Mom keeps saying she’s going to sell, that it’s too big and she doesn’t need a two-story house. But I don’t think she’ll ever do it. There are just too many memories in her house. Today I’m hoping for a homemade cinnamon roll.

  I pulled my Civic into the paved driveway and got out. I love this house...the memories I have here are priceless. I walked up the extra-wide front steps and onto the gray, wooden wrap-around front porch.

  I could smell the rolls before I entered the spacious kitchen. Mom had updated the kitchen about five years ago. She said since this is the room she loves to be in most—besides her library—she was going to make it hers. She had a gigantic Vulcan range that consisted of six burners, a griddle, and two side-by-side convection ovens underneath the stovetop. She also had all the latest cooking and baking gadgets like a KitchenAid mixer with tons of attachments, a state-of-the-art blender that could heat up soup and crush an iPhone... all at the same time! She even had a refrigerator just for her wine.

  Again, being my mom’s daughter could be seriously intimidating at times.

  “I was wondering where you were. It’s after eight, and you know I have cinnamon rolls.” Mom leaned down and kissed the top of my head. I’d already devoured two rolls by the time she walked into the kitchen.