Alibis and Amethysts (8 page)

Chapter 10

Jaye shook her head at Raffles as discreetly as she could. Maybe the detectives would
think she’d developed a tic from all the stress she was under. No such luck. Anastos’s
eyes narrowed. “What’s with the head shaking? No one asked you a question.”

“I just can’t believe you really think either of us is capable of murder,” she said,
shaking her head some more to support the lie.

Raffles was staring at Jaye, her ears pricked forward as if she were trying to understand
what was wanted of her. When Jaye failed to provide further explanation, the not-a-cat
advanced warily along the side of the love seat where the detectives were sitting.
Jaye wracked her brain for something that might scare her away, then scuttled the
idea, since she couldn’t be sure whether the animal would run for cover or leap into
her lap for protection. Too late Jaye realized that she’d been staring in Raffles’s
direction.

“Pretty color,” Anastos said, having followed her line of sight.

Brock turned to see what they were talking about. “Strange looking cat you’ve got
there. What kind is it?” he asked in the same skeptical tone he’d been using to question
her.

“She was a stray,” Jaye said with a shrug, “so probably ten different breeds all rolled
into one.” Getting to her feet, Jaye crossed the room as nonchalantly as possible,
although her legs were aching to run. She scooped Raffles up a second before she would
have come into full view and said a quick prayer that the animal wouldn’t spring into
defensive mode and raise her hackles. For that matter, even a vocal objection would
be hard to explain. Her trilling didn’t sound at all like an ordinary feline, and
if she had other sounds in her repertoire, Jaye suspected none of them would be any
more catlike.

“I’ll just be a moment,” she said, clutching the warm bundle of fur tightly to her
chest to conceal as much of her as possible. She could feel Raffles’s heart beating
against her own, although considerably faster. She had no idea whether that was normal
for the animal or a result of fear. Once they were in the bedroom, Jaye set her down
on the bed, hoping she’d be comfy enough to stay put. Then she walked out, closing
the door behind her and trying not to think about the fact that the not-a-cat could
easily turn the knob to let herself out if she wanted to.

“I’m sorry, detectives,” she said, resuming her seat. “She’s shedding like crazy,
and I didn’t want her climbing all over you.” She was getting awfully good at lying.
Jaye waited for them to pick up the thread of the interview, but the interruption
seemed to have broken their momentum. Of course, if they’d been trying to scare her
into a preemptive accusation against Sierra, their mission had been doomed from the
start.

Brock flipped his pad closed and stowed it and the pen back in his pocket. “You’d
be smart to keep our offer in mind during the coming days.” He sounded as calm and
grim as a funeral director. The two men stood and headed to the apartment door.

“We’ll be in touch,” Anastos said as if to remind her that they weren’t going to give
up on Peggy’s murder and move on to a hard-core case of littering instead.

Exhausted both physically and emotionally, Jaye spent the rest of the day in something
of a daze. She worked in the shop virtually on autopilot. She explained the properties
of various crystals and stones when asked, rang up sales, made small talk and packed
purchases for shipment. But if she’d been asked for a detailed account of how she’d
spent the afternoon, all she would have been able to say with any certainty was that
she’d spent it in the shop.

This was definitely not an evening to interview prospective suspects, much less drive
a car. Exhaustion trumped everything. She made a small mushroom and cheddar omelet,
but managed to eat only a few bites of it before even her appetite shut down. All
she could think about was crawling under the covers and closing her eyes. Raffles
obligingly gobbled up the remainder of the omelet before following her new gal pal
into the bedroom.

Jaye awoke the next morning to a sharp pain in her left foot. After the initial wash
of fear passed, she realized that it was the not-a-cat checking out her toes. Or more
accurately, playing with them. Every time Jaye wiggled a toe, Raffles attacked it
as if it were a fascinating new toy. Jaye hated to be a killjoy, but her new roomie
had astonishingly sharp little teeth.

After she’d showered and made coffee, her first order of business was to call Sierra,
even though at 7:00 in the morning her friend was probably still elbow-deep in dough.
Shortly after opening the bakery, Sierra had had to hire part-time help to work the
counter. It had proven logistically impossible to get the baking done when she was
constantly running up front to help customers. In true Sierra fashion, she’d hired
the first person she interviewed. When Jaye had questioned the wisdom of that decision,
Sierra had replied simply that Ruth Ashford was the right one. She’d felt it in her
bones. For as long as Jaye had known her, Sierra had trusted her “bones” to make decisions.
In spite of Jaye’s misgivings about hiring a seventy-something worker without references
or experience, Ruth had proven to be a good choice. She was always on time, honest
to the penny, and she seemed to know everyone who lived within a thirty-mile radius,
which was great for business. As far as Jaye could tell, her only faults were dozing
off in the folding chair Sierra had provided for the infrequent lulls between customers
and eating her weight in chocolate chip cookies. Ruth had even offered to reimburse
Sierra for the loss in revenue caused by her addiction, but Sierra wouldn’t hear of
it. She simply made an extra batch each day so they wouldn’t run out.

To Jaye’s surprise, it was Sierra who answered the phone.

“Good timing,” she said brightly. “You caught me between the cinnamon raisin breads
and the cupcakes—carrot with cream cheese frosting, by the way. Should I save one
for you?”

“Make it two,” Jaye said, after which she launched into a quick recap of the past
twenty-four hours, everything from Raffles to the ME to the detectives’ visit.

“It’s getting serious,” Sierra murmured.

“No, it
is
serious,” Jaye said. “If it gets any more serious, we’ll have to hop the border to
Mexico. But listen, I’m sure there are other people who had good motives to kill Peggy.
It’s just a matter of figuring out who they are and which one actually did it. At
lunchtime I’m going to pay Adam Grayson a visit.”

“I should go with you,” Sierra said, “but I have that big order to deliver up in Flagstaff
today.”

“Who invited you?” Jaye said, struggling to lighten her tone. There was nothing to
be gained by harping on the gravity of the situation. “You’d only cramp my style anyway.”

***

The Grayson Gallery was empty when Jaye walked in. A bell chimed somewhere in the
back to announce her arrival, but she was left to browse alone for a full five minutes
before anyone appeared. The gallery was a spare and elegant space with thick silver-gray
carpeting that minimized noise and lighting engineered to showcase each painting and
sculpture to its best advantage. The artwork was grouped by artist and included works
that ranged from impressionist to abstract, as well as some pieces Jaye had trouble
categorizing. Under ordinary circumstances, she would have enjoyed wandering through
the gallery, but given her limited lunch hour and the reason for her visit, she was
nearly out of patience by the time Adam Grayson finally emerged from the back.

He sauntered in with the easy grace of the self-confident. He was close to six feet
tall and slender, with silver hair that hadn’t receded despite the fact that he had
to be hovering on the cusp of fifty.

“Welcome to the Grayson,” he said in a cultured tone as he crossed the floor to a
sleek mahogany desk on the far side of the gallery.

“You have a beautiful collection,” Jaye said, trying to sound equally smooth and refined
but certain she’d fallen miserably short. Stress was a dandy poise killer. Who was
she kidding? On her best day she couldn’t pull off acting like a silver spoon–fed
aristocrat. If Sierra had been there, she would have enjoyed a good laugh at Jaye’s
expense.

“Any piece calling to you in particular?” Adam inquired, leaning against the front
of the desk.

“It would be hard to choose just one,” Jaye said, “so I guess it’s a good thing I
can’t afford any of them.” Much better to get that out in the open right away. Now
she could concentrate on the real reason she was there.

“I like honesty,” he said with a laugh. “You look familiar—are you from around here?”

She walked over to him and held out her hand. “Jaye Saylor. I moved here six months
ago. I have a little shop near Tlaquepaque. Maybe you’ve seen it—Crystal Clear?”

“Ahh, then you’re the proprietor of what I’m afraid I called ‘yet another crystal
shop.’”

“Ouch.”

“No offense.”

“Almost none taken.”

“I’m just not one of the believers. I am, however, a big fan of the tourists who come
to check out the vortex and learn about crystals, since many of them also feel the
need to take some of our artwork home with them.”

Jaye was surprised to find that behind the poise and elegance Adam Grayson could be
open and funny. “Someday, if my ‘yet another crystal shop’ does well enough, I might
just relieve you of a painting or two.”

“Our doors are open from ten to seven, six days a week.”

Finally, the opportunity Jaye had been waiting for. She dropped her voice to a stage
whisper even though they were alone in the gallery. “Speaking of which, do you ever
worry about who might walk through those doors? It’s been on my mind a lot since that
poor woman was murdered. I mean, there might be a killer on the loose in our town.”
She ad-libbed a little frisson for effect and watched Adam’s face for any signs of
guilt. Of course, she didn’t know what guilt might look like on him, but she hoped
she’d be perceptive enough to spot it. So far nothing. He didn’t pale. He didn’t avert
his eyes from hers. He didn’t start tapping his foot or fussing with things on his
desk out of nervous energy.

“You can’t live in fear,” he said with a shrug. “There are a million things that can
kill you at any given moment, yet look at how many people make it to ninety or even
a hundred these days.”

“I hate to disagree,” Jaye said with a self-deprecating smile, “but I’m absolute proof
that you
can
live in fear. In fact, I’m doing quite a good job of it, thank you. I’m constantly
looking over my shoulder and checking to make sure I’ve double-locked the doors at
night. I’m even thinking of buying a guard dog. I’ll feel a whole lot better after
they catch the creep who killed Peggy.”

Still no reaction from Adam. If he was the killer, he had the best poker face Jaye
had ever seen. Of course, if he was the killer, he didn’t have to worry at all about
being the next victim. Time was running out, and she was getting nowhere. She’d have
to say something more pointed and risk being thrown out of the gallery. “Oh, I am
so sorry,” she said, her hand flying to her mouth in feigned embarrassment. “Listen
to me—I can’t believe how thoughtless I’ve been.” Too bad she couldn’t blush on command.

Adam’s brows drew together. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“I forgot that you and Peggy were, well . . . together until recently, and here I
am talking about how she was murdered. . . .”

“It was over between Peggy and me long before we acknowledged it. Of course, I’m still
heartsick over what happened to her,” Adam said with a nicely executed sigh, “but
it’s not quite as crushing as it might once have been.”

“Thank you, you’re being very gracious about it, but I know I sometimes suffer from
hoof-in-mouth disease.”

Adam’s lips curved up in a respectful, low-key smile in keeping with the present topic
of conversation.

“I suppose you must have your own theory about what happened to her.”

“Not really. If Peggy had been found in her own home, I’d be inclined to think she
was the victim of a robbery gone bad. But in Sierra’s yard—it just makes no sense.
I don’t believe for a moment Sierra had anything to do with it.”

Score a big one for the home team. Jaye considered mentioning that she was the person
who’d found Peggy, but decided against it. For now, she needed to stay on point. Sooner
or later Adam would figure out who she was. “I’ve heard there were bad feelings between
Peggy and a few of the other townies,” she said, going for broke. “But that’s probably
just rumors and gossip.”

“I’m sure she chafed against a few people over the years,” Adam said. “Not all that
surprising. A small town is like a dysfunctional family in that way.”

If Adam was guilty, he wasn’t doing his defense any favors by taking the onus off
everyone else. When added to the fact that he was clearly no fool, Jaye was left to
conclude that, although he might have fallen out of love with Peggy, it wasn’t likely
he’d disposed of her in a more permanent fashion. She was about to inquire who might
have been so chafed that they chose to eliminate the source of the friction, when
the door opened, admitting a young couple with a toddler. Within the first ten seconds,
the two-year-old ran full tilt into a narrow pedestal holding an intricate piece of
Chihuly glass. The child started wailing at the top of his lungs as the blown glass
wobbled back and forth on its stand. By the look on Adam’s face, it was obvious their
chat was over.

Jaye said she was glad they’d met, although he didn’t appear to hear her, and she
left the gallery feeling pretty good about her second outing as an amateur sleuth.
She’d managed to draw Adam into a discussion without alienating him or raising suspicions
in his mind about her interest in the case. But the wind dropped out of her sails
by the time she reached her car. She might have eliminated Adam from the list of possible
killers, but she hadn’t elicited any new leads from him—namely, which citizens of
Sedona Peggy might have rubbed the wrong way.