was a flurry of energy. She remained on the patio, winging from container to trellis to fountain while the police conducted their business. A flicker of light and a smattering of fairy dust let me know where she was at any given time. Once, I glimpsed a tech flapping his hand, as if feeling Fiona’s wing vibrations, but none of his colleagues seemed to sense or see her.
Late morning, Summers strode into the main showroom. “Miss Kelly, a word.”
“Please, call me Courtney.”
He smiled, and I could see why all available women over forty might ogle him. Like my father, Summers possessed a forthrightness mixed with a hint of danger. “Do you know if Mr. Watkins had any enemies?”
“You mean other than me?” I quipped. My go-to response when pressed against a wall was sarcasm or humor.
“Other than you.”
“No. Mick and I weren’t close. We didn’t share our personal stories.”
“Okay.” Summers flipped open his notebook.
I was beginning to despise the way he logged everything. “Do I need a lawyer?” I asked, a bite to my tone.
“It might be a good idea.”
“Really?” My insides snagged. Had they found a macramé plant hanger with blood on it after all? Testing the waters, voice quavering, I said, “Simply because of the lease issue?”
Summers consulted his notes. “It’s going to be difficult to corroborate your alibi.”
I breathed easier. No macramé. No smoking gun. Yet. What a relief. I said, “The people I chatted with online know I was at home.”
“Do they?” Summers raised an eyebrow. “Anyone could have been sitting in for you and typing those keystrokes. For all I know, you could have been here, working via this computer or your cell phone.”
“But I wasn’t. I was home. And in bed by two. What time did Mick die?”
“The coroner hasn’t determined that yet.”
“Will you tell me when he does?”
Joss drew near. “Detective Summers, the ISP address will confirm Courtney’s home location.” Given Joss’s history in the tech industry, she knew more about computers than I did.
Summers swiveled to meet her gaze. “I suppose it could.”
That made me feel a tad better, but only a tad.
“Great,” Joss added. “I’ll pin that down for you.”
“Boss,” Rodriguez called from beyond the Dutch door. “You have a visitor. Councilwoman Pauli.”
Summers growled, unable to hide his distaste. Were he and the councilwoman foes? Was there some history I needed to know? To me, he said, “Excuse me.”
If Petra Pauli and Mick had been having an affair, as Joss claimed, this could be an impassioned exchange. I followed him.
The Dutch door was wide open. Summers stepped across the threshold. So did I. Even more people were clogging the street. A few were using their cell phones to record the event. I noticed an exotic, raven-haired woman trying to interview Red and getting nowhere. She held out a fancy recording device. The officer glowered at her and pushed the device aside. Rodriguez had returned to the street to handle a rowdy onlooker.
“Detective Summers.” Petra Pauli strode toward him and forced a smile.
“Councilwoman.”
Man, he could be icicle cool.
Petra was holding the leashes of two black-and-white collies, one with a white muzzle and the other with a brown muzzle. “What’s going on?” With her big blue eyes, luscious lips, sweeping blond curls, and body-hugging black sheath, one might have thought the forty-year-old Swedish bombshell was primed for the runway or a cocktail party. “Why is the grooming shop closed?” she asked, her voice commanding. I’d heard her use the same tone at council meetings. She wanted everyone to believe she was a force to be reckoned with. “I had bath appointments for my dogs.”
An hour ago, according to Joss who had left the shop for a breath of fresh air and a bit of eavesdropping, Rodriguez had questioned Mick’s assistant, Sonja. The minute the inquiry ended, Sonja had closed the shop and gone home ill. She was not a suspect in his murder. She had a solid alibi. She had been with her grandmother at a nursing home. Five nurses had substantiated her every moment. If only a few nurses could attest to my alibi.
Petra saw me lingering and said, “Good morning, Courtney.” She knew my name because I’d spoken up at a council meeting. A few misanthropes had wanted to end funding for the library. I’d opposed them.
“Not so good,” I replied.
The brown-muzzled dog yipped.
“Sit.” Petra tugged on both leashes. The black dog with the white muzzle sat dutifully. The peeved dog shimmied before obeying. Its hair wafted into the air. “Detective,