CHAPTER 8
“ O h Bizzy.” Mom makes a beeline my way as Emmie and I sit enjoying our coffee in the Country Cottage Café. “Did you see baby Mack? He’s getting so big. Every time I turn around, he’s grown another inch. Our baby is all grown up. I just miss him every minute we’re apart.”
“Well, you’re in luck,” I say. “Apparently, Mackenzie has started up a YouTube channel and he’s the star.”
“Oh, we know all about it,” Georgie says. “We’ve been glued to the tube ever since they debuted a month ago. And guess who’s responsible for making that kid go viral?” She hitches a thumb at herself.
“Oh, you are not.” Mom bats Georgie’s hand down. “My grandson just so happens to be the cutest thing around. That’s what brings all the viewers to the streaming yard.”
Emmie and I exchange a quick glance. Although I have a feeling my mother’s not wrong.
“Hello,” I say to Claudia and Vera and both women offer meager smiles my way. It’s clear they’re just broken over what’s happened. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Please, won’t you join us?” I motion for them to do just that and they quickly decline.
“We’re actually just stopping by to have a quick cup of coffee,” Claudia says. “We’re going over the arrangements today. Blythe’s husband, Beau, is so distraught, he’s left all that to us.”
Distraught? Vera glances to the ceiling. The man was cold as stone. It even made me shiver, and I don’t shiver for anyone.
I try not to judge the man. Everyone expresses grief differently. There are no set rules for these kinds of things.
“He’s very lucky to have you both,” I say.
“And we’re lucky to have Ree,” Vera says. “She’s offered to drive us wherever we need to be today. Neither Claudia nor I had any sleep last night. We’re just a wreck. But more important than sleep is making sure Blythe gets the perfect send-off. She didn’t have any children of her own and her parents and siblings are long gone. We’re all the family she had.”
“She did have three stepchildren she helped raise,” Claudia mentions. “Their mother may have poisoned them against her early on. They feel bad about the news but don’t feel they were close enough to make any plans for her in this regard.”
“Well, then she was really lucky to have you ladies,” Emmie says, lifting her mug their way.
“So what does Jasper think about the case?” Mom asks.
“What case?” Vera looks mildly alarmed. “Did something happen?”
“Well, Blythe’s case,” Mom insists. “Jasper is Bizzy’s husband and he happens to be the lead homicide detective.”
“Homicide?” Claudia’s eyes enlarge at the thought and you can see thousands of crimson tracks in them as if she’s been up all night weeping and I bet she was. “Well, surely he doesn’t think that this was a homicide. I mean, we all saw what we saw. I know it’s frowned upon, but that doesn’t change the facts.”
Vera nods. “Our sweet Blythe did the unthinkable. I only hope she’s finally at peace now.” She glances over her shoulder before leaning in. “Beau confided in us last night and let us know that he thought all that stuff about someone watching her was nonsense. He says he’s pretty sure she concocted it all just to get attention. Apparently, they were having a little rough patch and, well, Blythe did lean toward the dramatic.” So does Beau, but everyone knows that. And a homicide investigation? Geez, I’d be shaking in my boots if I were Magda. And I almost want to laugh.
That was a strange thought.
“Wow, that’s unfortunate all the way around,” Mom says, clutching at her chest. “You never truly know what anyone is going through, or what they’re capable of.”
Claudia nods. “You can say that again.”
They take off for a table nearby and I shake my head.
“That was a pretty awful thing of her husband to say even if it was true,” I say. “Why besmirch her the day after she passes away?”
“Maybe he’s upset with her.” Emmie shrugs. “I mean, she did take her own life. I can understand why he’d be angry, at least initially. And it’s one of the five stages of grief.”
“True, but it’s stage two. It comes after denial and he doesn’t seem to be in denial about anything.” I pull out my phone and type in Blythe Betty’s name. All sorts of articles come up regarding her shop, Memories and More. I click into some of the images that feature Blythe herself and scroll through them one by one. And by the fifth picture, I gasp so loud I nearly inhale what’s left of my cinnamon roll and all of Emmie’s.
“Knew it. Blythe Betty didn’t take her own life last night,” I say as I scoot toward Emmie. “Look at these pictures. If this isn’t evidence of her innocence, I don’t know what is.” I point to the evidence at hand, and it just so happens to be Blythe’s own hands I’m pointing to.
Emmie squints at the screen. “What exactly am I looking at?”
“The scissors she’s holding in this one,” I say, pointing to just that. “And the pen she’s holding in this one, and this one, and this one. Blythe Betty’s gun was found in her right hand. But she’s not right-handed. Whoever killed her got it wrong.”
“You mean?”
I give a brisk nod. “She was murdered.”