Pushing Up Daisies Read online

  A horrible thought crossed Willow’s mind, and she shoved the door open all the way, hurling her weight against it until it slammed flat against the wall. No one hiding behind the door then. She was all out of ideas.

  A flash of movement caught Willow’s eye, and she lunged forward, pushing aside some cardboard boxes on the floor to see a flicker of fluff and fur bouncing away.

  As she sat back on the floor, letting her heart rate clamber down from its highest speed, Willow began to laugh. A cat, maybe a small raccoon. That was the thief that had kickstarted her morning. When the shadow flashed across her vision again, she stood up and closed the conservatory door firmly behind her. She didn’t rate the lives of her pots nearly so much as she wanted her morning coffee.

  One caffeinated beverage later, Willow stood at the door again, this time armed with more than a book. She had an old butterfly net and a crocheted rug. If the first was too small, then the latter could be tossed atop her intruder. While they fought for freedom, Willow could then scoop them up and dump them into a cardboard box, out of trouble’s way.

  A few minutes later, and the butterfly net proved equal to the task. Willow dropped the rug and lowered the insect net from shoulder height when a face full of curiosity peeped over the edge, trying to fly to freedom.

  “Into the box you go,” Willow said to the wide-eyed kitten. Her own eyes were watering, and she sneezed three times in quick succession as she picked up the box and took it through into the lounge.

  “Fancy waking me up at the crack of dawn,” Willow complained. It was only just edging past seven o’clock now, and having stayed up reading till past midnight, it wasn’t an hour she’d been expecting to see. “Now, who do you belong to?”

  The kitten had a large red bow around its neck, a sight Willow might have found endearing if her allergies hadn’t been revving up into full swing. As she pulled it free, the kitten grabbed her hands, attempting to lift itself up and over the edge of the box. She shook it loose with a wry smile.

  “Well played, kitty, but you won’t beat me this time.”

  When the kitten jumped, this time getting its paws on the top edge of the box, Willow gently shook it again until the cat retreated. She quickly emptied her end-table of figurines and used the doily covering it as a roof for her makeshift cage.

  As soon as its sides were tucked under the base of the box, the kitten grabbed hold of the fabric and started to walk along it, upside-down, gripping on with its claws.

  As Willow stared down in horror, she realized the crimson smudges on its paws looked like blood.

  “Well, Sheriff, I don’t know where it came from. The bow around its neck says it originated from the Fowler’s Pet Store in town, but I doubt it broke out of there on its own.”

  Willow rolled her eyes as Jacob Wender, the elected sheriff of Aniseed Valley, broke into a lengthy explanation of something she didn’t bother to listen to. The man had been one year under her at school for goodness’ sake. She didn’t need a lecture from someone younger and with worse grades than her.

  “It doesn’t matter where the kitten came from. What I think is more pertinent is that the little thing has blood all over it.”

  Willow stared at the smudges on her hand in frustration. She wanted to wash them off immediately but didn’t want to get in trouble for destroying evidence.

  When she watched people on the television having a shower to clean themselves up when they knew jolly well they should wait for the police to arrive and examine everything, Willow would roll her eyes in exasperation. Now, belatedly, she shared their anguish.

  “You want me to what?”

  Having dropped the thread of the conversation somewhere along the line, Willow was disturbed to hear that the sheriff expected her to go outside and investigate.

  “I’m not stepping one foot outside my door if there’s the likelihood of something covered in blood lurking out there. I’ve watched horror movies, Jacob Wender, and I’m well aware that no matter how sensible it seems at the time, you don’t go down to the old boat shed.”

  A confused silence greeted her at that one, but Willow didn’t feel up to explaining a horror movie series to a representative of law and order. “Please, can you come down here and take the kitten into the lab and sort out where it’s been and whose blood it stepped in?”

  Sheriff Wender assured her he wouldn’t.

  Willow rolled her eyes again, but although that made her feel better, it didn’t help her situation.

  “I just want you to know that if I walk out the back door and a murderer is standing there waiting for me, it’s on your head. Do you understand that?”

  The sheriff agreed half-heartedly. Willow was starting to believe he wasn’t taking her call seriously.

  Willow checked that the kitten was still contained inside the box. It sat in a corner, the pointy tips of its ears making it look a lot more attentive than the sleepy gaze on its face.

  “Fine,” Willow grumbled into the phone. “I’m going outside.”

  She peered cautiously through the slit window in the kitchen door before she opened it. Being one-handed because of the phone made her feel about as vulnerable as having the sheriff on the line made her feel safe.

  The first few steps, Willow was sure a heavy object was about to smash into the back of her skull at any second. Once she survived two yards along the path, her shoulders began to relax.

  “Just a moment, I’m still getting out into the garden,” she complained into the landline when the sheriff questioned what was happening. “Give me at least a few minutes to walk out into the open so the murderer can attack me.”

  The sheriff laughed. The cheek of the man.

  Willow hesitated, scanning the back garden for any signs of disturbance. The long grass where she cultivated a variety of wildflowers perfect for tinctures and teas would shield any murderers from view until it was too late. Safer to go down the path to her right, so Willow did just that. Three steps farther forward, and she saw the first sign of trouble.

  “Ah, Sheriff Wender,” she said in a small voice, resorting to formality as her brain scattered in panic. “I think you’d better get down here.”

  The shoes on the path in front of her were beautifully tanned leather. Without venturing any farther forward, Willow knew they were handstitched in Italy. The soles were emblazoned with the name of the family company that crafted them. She remembered it by heart. Had sat across the table as the man who wore them crossed his legs on the chair opposite and gave her a broad smile.

  The shoes were sitting at the same angle now, the toes pointing up to the sky overhead. A yard from them, her garden fork—the big one for turning earth at the end of planting season—had its handle pointing in the same direction. The prongs were buried deep into the chest of the body that lay there.

  The body of the guest who hadn’t shown up the night before. Roger Randall.

  Chapter Three

  While the pathologist worked on the body, Sheriff Wender escorted Willow back inside, putting on the kettle and seating her at the kitchen table. She didn’t know whether it was deliberate or a fortunate accident that he sat her down, so her back was to the body outside.

  Even though she didn’t want to see the sight again, Willow found her head turning to glance over her shoulder and had to force it to face forward again.

  “What time did you say Roger Randall was expected last night?” The sheriff had a notepad out, ready to scribble down everything she said.

  The pathologist had already said Roger’s watch had stopped at eight-seventeen in the evening. Unless he found evidence to the contrary, they were working on the assumption that it had broken at the same time as he was killed.

  Willow bit her lower lip. Now wouldn’t be the right time to let the wrong information slip. No matter how shocked she was—and so far, that was higher up the scale than ever before—her lip needed to stay buttoned until she was sure it wouldn’t reveal something better kept secret.

 
; “I didn’t say.”

  Willow looked down to see her hands wringing in her lap and folded her arms across her chest instead. Nobody needed to see that. Jacob would think she was nervous or had something to hide.

  Like now, when he was frowning at her.

  “I thought you said he came over at night sometimes?”

  Willow nodded and shrugged, again having to fight not to look back over her shoulder. “That’s right. He came over during the day, too. It’s not something regular or anything.”

  “And why would he do that?”

  The sheriff stared straight at her while asking the question, and Willow met his gaze head on. She wasn’t about to give him the answer he wanted. The man would have to work a lot harder to earn that reply.

  “Mr. Randall held a reverse mortgage on my property.” Willow shifted her glance, looking out the window for a second to the blue sky. It would be a brilliant day. “I think he liked to ensure I wasn’t destroying his investment or something.”

  Jacob put the notebook down on the kitchen table and started to crack his knuckles. Willow could remember sitting behind him at school assembly and listening to him doing the same. Her mother would have had a fit if she’d taken up that habit. It causes arthritis and sounds uncouth, was her reasoning.

  Willow didn’t know about that, but the noise certainly got on her nerves.

  The sheriff gave her a funny look. “How often would he ‘check on your property’ in a week?”

  Willow shrugged again, trying for a nonchalance she didn’t feel. This was worse than when Molly died. At least then, the police hadn’t been involved.

  “Maybe once, maybe not at all. It depended.”

  “Depended on what?”

  Willow scowled, highlighting her discomfort before she could wrestle her facial muscles back under control. “I don’t know what it depended on, Sheriff Wender. I didn’t think to ask, and now it’s a bit late.”

  The kitten mewed. Willow turned, grateful for the distraction and lifted the doily. “Do you want some milk?” she asked in a baby voice. To her surprise, the kitten appeared to nod. She dropped the edge of the doily, tucking it back under the corner of the box while fetching a saucer of milk. “Here you go.”

  “That the kitten you called the station about?”

  Willow rubbed her forehead. She’d frowned too many times already today. If she didn’t watch out, her wrinkles would double in size by tonight. Usually, her days were carefree. Her garden called out to her. There were weeds to be pulled, bushes to be deadheaded. The ground needed to be turned over and mulched, ready for the long winter ahead.

  The garden had a dead body in it, a voice in Willow’s head reminded her. You won’t enjoy going out there ever again.

  “I saw the kitten had something on its paws that looked like blood. Yes, it’s this cat. I don’t have any others.” Willow frowned again before she could stop herself. “Actually, I don’t have any. This little thing just broke into my conservatory. I guess someone’s missing it.”

  “Cute.” The sheriff prodded at the doily for a few seconds, failing in an attempt to distract the kitten from its milk.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “But you say it isn’t yours?”

  Willow nodded. She waved a hand over her watering eyes and red nose. “I’m allergic. Just having it inside for an hour did this to me. I could hardly keep one as a pet.”

  “Right.” The sheriff picked up his notepad again. “So, Roger came by once a week to look at your house. Any other business he’d be around here for?”

  Willow shook her head. “I don’t know. You could ask the neighbors if he had any business with them. As the main realtor in town, I imagine he dealt with most people at one point or other.”

  The sheriff nodded and leaned over to pick something up off the bench. A red ribbon, Willow frowned at it for a second, then remembered it had been tied around the kitten’s neck. The pet store name was on it.

  “That came with the kitten.”

  “I guessed that.” The sheriff pulled a plastic bag out of his pocket and dropped the bow inside it. Willow realized for the first time the man was wearing latex gloves.

  “What?” she said, leaning forward. Willow had watched enough episodes of Miss Walsham Investigates over the years to know an evidence bag when she saw it. “You think the kitten did it?”

  She sat back, smiling a little at the small joke. It felt good to have an expression on her face other than dull shock.

  Not that it lasted long.

  The sheriff shook his head and stood up, pulling cuffs out of his back pocket. The pathologist knocked on the back door, but Jacob ignored the signal.

  “I’m arresting you for the murder of Roger Randall,” he said, snapping the cuffs over Willow’s wrists.

  Her mouth dropped open in astonishment. “What do you mean? Why on Earth do you think I’m a suspect?”

  At that, the sheriff laughed again. From his demeanor, it all appeared to be a game.

  The gall of the man! Willow sat up in her chair, the urgency of the situation suddenly hitting her full force.

  “What are you doing? I didn’t kill him. Surely, you know that.”

  “What I know is, there’s a dead man in your back yard with your pitchfork sticking out of his chest. You deny having any relationship with him apart from owing him money on your house, and a kitten is sitting in a box with yours and Roger’s name written on its collar.”

  The sheriff twisted the evidence bag around until the writing on the other side of the tag was evident.

  “To Willow. I wanted you to have something as cute and cuddly as you are. Love, Roger.”

  As Willow’s eyes filled with tears of sorrow, Sheriff Wender led her out of the house and down to his patrol car.

  “This is all just a horrible mistake,” Willow insisted.

  She was sitting in an interview room with Sheriff Wender sitting opposite her, a stern expression on his face. When he started to crack his knuckles again, the tension in her body overflowed.

  “Stop doing that! You must know as well as I do that I had nothing to do with this crime. Sure, I didn’t want you to know Roger was my boyfriend. That’s not a crime. I don’t need the entire town sticking its nose in my business.”

  Willow hit the table with her fist for emphasis. A moment later, she thought showing so much aggression when she was trying to talk someone out of believing her capable of violence was probably a mistake.

  Not the first one either.

  “Look,” Willow said, holding her palms up on either side in a gesture of supplication. “I know a man has been killed on my property, and that’s obviously going to cast some suspicion my way. Sure, you want to follow up on that, I understand. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be doing your job.”

  Willow glanced up under her lashes to see what effect her conciliatory tone was having on the sheriff. She hesitated before speaking again. His face telling her loud and clear it wasn’t necessarily going the right way.

  “I’ve never even had a fight with Roger.” Willow sat back in her chair, placing her hands on her knees so they wouldn’t do anything stupid. Like bunch into fists and pound on the table again. “You can ask around town, and everyone will confirm that.”

  Jacob Wender nodded and shifted in his seat. “From what you’ve said, you and Roger kept your entire relationship secret. It’s hardly a surprise, then, if nobody saw you argue. I’m guessing nobody saw you two together at all.”

  “I didn’t have any reason to kill Roger.”

  “Fine. And once I can independently verify that, it’ll go some way toward letting you off the hook.” The sheriff leaned forward, palms flat on the table. “But until then, you’re our prime suspect. You had means and opportunity. Even if we can’t establish a motive, you must understand how it looks.”

  “This is ridiculous.” Willow found herself banging her fist on the table again.

  “I see the years haven’t mellowed your temper,” the s
heriff said mildly.

  Willow flushed. At school, a mild argument with a teacher had once led to her stomping out of an assembly, screaming at the top of her lungs, with everyone watching.

  Small towns were terrific to live in, Willow thought, but boy, they didn’t let you forget anything.

  “Instead of hauling me in here and asking me questions, you should be out on the streets finding the real killer.” Willow sat on her hands to stop them going anywhere they shouldn’t.

  “And what if I say I think I have the right killer sitting in front of me?”

  Some measure of logical thought finally penetrated through the confusion clouding Willow’s mind.

  “Go and ring my doctor,” she said confidently, sitting back in her chair. “He’ll tell you I faint at the sight of blood.”

  “Hardly a medical condition, I would have thought.”

  Willow frowned again before she could catch herself. Those wrinkles would be deepening for sure. “It became a medical condition the first time I cut myself while gardening and ended up cracking my head on the way down. It’s in my file.”

  “Not conclusive.” The sheriff shook his head. “That’s the kind of thing you could fake.”

  The ridiculousness of that answer made Willow burst into laughter. “You’re saying I’ve been fainting for fifty-four years just to get it on record so I could kill someone without detection.” She shook her head, still smiling. “I’m such a criminal mastermind that I could lay the groundwork for an alibi for five decades and then be stupid enough to kill a man in my own back yard?”

  “Maybe you didn’t look?” The sheriff placed a hand over his eyes. “Blind people can be murderers, too. You have to see the blood to faint from the sight of it, right?”

  “Don’t be stupid. How would I know where to stab?”

  Sheriff Wender sat back in his chair. “I don’t have to come up with the explanations, you do.”

  Willow shook her head, squeezing her eyes tight in disbelief. “That is literally your job. To explain what happened. That’s the only reason this county pays your salary at all.”