Page 64 of Murder By the Millions

“She never remembers me, you pig!” She raised a hand, as if ready to slap him. Thinking better of it, she raced from the shop without explaining the purpose of her visit.

Iggie, rousing as if from a drunken stupor, darted after her. “Finette, wait! I didn’t mean it. Finette!”

Through the plate-glass window, I saw the councilwoman climb into her blue BMW coupe, which she’d parked on the street, and slam the door. Iggie reached the car and tried the passenger door. Locked. He pounded on the window. Finette made a rude gesture and screeched away.

Exasperated, Iggie swatted the rear of the car, a move that by sheer force swung him around. Realizing all of us were gawking at him, he marched to the shop’s front door, whipped it open, and poked his head inside. “Hold the Patterson book for me. I’ll be back.”

Noeline emerged from the aisle into which she’d retreated and said, “Well, criminy! What a tornado of bad energy.”

We all tittered nervously.

After a long moment of silence, Tegan said, “I can’t believe they went at it. You’d think Finette, respecting her elevated position on the town council, would have some decorum. And Iggie? What a jerk. Accusing her in front of all of us. As if she could’ve killed Jason. Allie, you heard her extolling his virtues.”

Noeline joined us. “Tegan’s right. Finette’s a good soul. She looks after her great-aunt. Iggie is a cretin.”

“Iggie might have wanted to cast suspicion on someone else,” Chloe suggested, plunking the Patterson novel onto the sales counter.

I said, “Vanna says he ruined a couple of his competitors’ reputations.”

“Indeed. An aspiring contractor, for one,” Noeline said. “He built the small homes division to the east of Asheville.” She wiggled her fingers. “You know the one I mean. Starter homes, each about three bedrooms. It was a huge hit. Half of the houses sold within six months. But then Iggie put out the word that the houses were cookie-cutter styles and lacking imagination and made of cheap wood, siding, and flooring. The remaining houses didn’t sell, and the ones which had sold went back onthe market. Presto!” She snapped her fingers. “The builder was ruined and left town with his tail between his legs. Last I heard, he went to Raleigh to live with his sister.” She fanned the air. “And don’t get me started about what happened to Stella Burberry’s brother. It was appalling.”

I knew Stella well. She was an accountant and an avid book club attendee. I occasionally prepared personal meals for her. She hated to cook. So, of course, I couldn’t help asking, “What happened?”

“Her brother bid on three apartment complexes,” Noeline said, “and each time, Iggie outbid him.”

Apparently, Iggie did close some of the deals he negotiated.

“Outbidding another builder isn’t unheard of, Mom,” Tegan said. “Lots of people—”

“He paid the Realtor to get the inside scoop so he’d know how much to outbid!” Noeline growled.

“And the Realtor told him? Isn’t that actionable?” I asked.

“Maybe. I don’t know.” Noeline sighed. “Even if it is, Iggie is despicable and deserves to die.”

“Mother!” Tegan cried.

Noeline clamped a hand over her mouth. “I didn’t mean it. No one deserves to … I didn’t mean … Oh!” She sucked back a sob and hurried from the shop.

CHAPTER13

I wasn’t actually in love, but I felt a sort of tender curiosity.

—Nick Carraway in F. Scott Fitzgerald’sThe Great Gatsby

Around half past ten, I needed a snack. “Does anybody want something from Ragamuffin?”

Noeline had hurried off without leaving the goodies she’d brought in, and I was craving a raspberry scone. The sugar influx wouldn’t be good for my overall sagging energy, but I didn’t care.

“Cinnamon bun,” Tegan requested.

“Ditto,” Chloe chimed.

I grabbed my purse, told Darcy to sit tight, and left. As I drew near to my favorite coffeehouse, I saw Zach exiting the shop, a to-go bag in hand. He veered left.

I kicked up my pace and shouted, “Hey, Zach, wait up!”

He caught sight of me, and his brow puckered with a peeved expression.