“How does this look?”
Dad stood at the front door of the new Thomas & Thomas office building, admiring the new sign he’d just hung on the door.
“That looks wonderful,” I said. I set down the can of furniture polish I’d been using to dust my new second-hand desk and went to examine it closer. “I can’t believe I’m finally going to be working as a real private investigator.” I rubbed my fingers lightly over the printing. “Thomas and Thomas,” I said with pride. “It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
My father nodded. “It does,” he admitted. “And you deserve it.” He rubbed his hand across his thinning head of hair. “I still can’t believe that Harry Winslow is a cold-blooded killer,” he said. “I’ve known that man for years.”
Mom entered the office carrying a box of donuts. “I can’t believe that Denise got herself mixed up in such a thing.” She placed the donuts on the desk I had just polished.
I rolled my eyes. We’d already been through this several times since they returned from Florida. I wondered how long I’d have to keep defending myself before they finally let it go.
“It wasn’t my fault, Mom.” I reached for the pot of coffee I’d made earlier and poured three cups. Once we knew that Uncle Bob had been successful in leasing the office space and loft apartment, Justin and I had scouted the neighborhood garage sales for office products. A coffee pot was one of our first finds.
I handed Mom a cup. “I keep telling you, I was set up,” I told her. “Your friend,” I added with emphasis, “planted that wallet so I’d find it. He wanted me to be the one to find Angelica’s body and call the police right away.”
“Stop badgering her,” my dad told her. He crossed the room and took the seat behind my desk. “How was she supposed to know she’d landed a job with a killer? He certainly had me fooled. Heck, he had us all fooled.” He glanced at me and smiled. “I think our daughter handled herself pretty well. I’m proud of her.” He accepted the donut Mom handed him and bit into it.
It was the first time I’d heard him say he was proud of me. The revelation left a warm feeling in the pit of my stomach. I placed a cup of coffee in front of him and smiled.
Uncle Bob bounced down the staircase, his face beaming with pride. “The people of Clayfield can thank your daughter for solving the murder of Angelica Belmont,” he said. “If it hadn’t been for her quick thinking, two criminals might have gone free.”
Mom refused to give it up. “You still should have gone to the police and let them handle it,” she said, reaching for a donut.
My cheeks burned. “You’re the reason I didn’t leave my name with the police when I called that day,” I said, louder than I’d intended. I lowered my voice. “I thought that by remaining anonymous, the police would arrive at Michael Black’s house, find the body, and that would be the end of my involvement. I never even wanted to be dragged into this mess.”
Uncle Bob poured himself a cup of coffee, then reached for a donut. “You know, actually, Winslow never meant to hurt Denise. He only wanted her to point the finger of blame at his partner. It was Michael Black who wanted to kill her because she knew Angelica’s body was originally in his house.”
“That’s right,” Dad said, coming to my defense again. “According to the police, Mr. Winslow phoned Michael Black at his motel room and told him he was planning to shut his fiancée up once and for all. He knew his partner would take the next flight back home. If he had stayed put, he would have been better off. Once he left, his alibi was no longer secure. The police would have caught him sooner or later anyway.”
“When he got home and found Angelica already dead, he panicked and threw her body in the river to throw suspicion off of himself,” I added. “But then he had me to worry about. He knew if I ever did tell the police what I saw that morning, he would be their main suspect.”
Uncle Bob spoke up again, his mouth full. “He probably felt his hands were tied,” he mumbled. “He knew if he implicated Harry Winslow in Angelica’s murder, his partner would open up a can of worms about his wife’s murder ten years earlier.”
Dad cradled his cup of coffee and placed his elbows on the desk. “But I wonder if murder could have been proven after all this time. How could they be sure his wife’s poisoning wasn’t accidental?”
“They probably couldn’t,” I answered. “But I doubt that Mr. Black was willing to take that chance.”
Mom sighed. “I wonder what will happen to Heather,” she said. “I kind of feel sorry for her. I think she really has a good heart. She just wanted too much at once.”
Once the police witnessed Mr. Winslow’s confession of murder, he also admitted to selling term papers and test scores to high school students. Heather used her position as an employee in Clayfield School’s office to copy pertinent documents and deliver them to the diner. The fancy clothes and expensive car had been Heather’s payment for supplying the information.
“At least she won’t have to serve any jail time,” Uncle Bob said. “She wasn’t involved in Angelica’s murder. But she will have to face probation for a few years.” He shoved the rest of his donut into his mouth, then swallowed a mouthful of coffee. “I’ve got a lot of unpacking to do,” he said. He glanced at me and winked. “We’ve got a full schedule on Monday morning.”
Once the news reporters had learned of our involvement in the capture of Harry Winslow and Michael Black, Uncle Bob’s business had picked up. A sense of pride swelled my chest, knowing that not only had I convinced my father that I was capable of taking care of myself, but I had also helped Uncle Bob’s agency get off the ground.
The bell my dad had installed above the front door announced a new arrival. I glanced up to see Justin enter the office carrying a bouquet of red roses. “I thought these would look great on your desk,” he said, his blue eyes sparkling as he walked toward me. He placed them on my desk, then planted a kiss on my cheek. “The place looks great,” he said. “You guys have done a great job.”
I heard a heavy sigh from my mom. She shook her head and rubbed her eyes. “Justin, I wish you’d talk some sense into Denise,” she said. “I’m still not sure this is the right move for her.”
Justin squeezed my hand and smiled. The love in his blue eyes melted my heart. I knew we’d reached a milestone in our relationship. It was the best feeling.
He turned to my mom. “Mrs. Thomas,” he said. “I can assure you, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
Shirley McCann’s fiction has appeared in Woman’s World, Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine, The Forensic Examiner, and many other publications.
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