Dad had followed through with his threat and sent Gus to protect me. I exhaled with frustration. Honestly?
“On your feet,” I ordered.
Gus lumbered to a stand and ducked out of habit. He was enormously tall, so tall that he might have hit his head on the porch ceiling had I not warned him. “Sorry I scared you, Courtney.”
“No worries, Gus, but you don’t need to be here. I’m fine.”
“Your father said—”
“Tell him I’m over twenty-one. I get to make my own decisions.”
Gus snorted out a laugh. “Uh-uh. You tell him.”
“For a big man, you sure are a chicken.”
He cackled like a hen, waggled the shaka sign at me, and hustled down the path to the street.
As I walked to work with Fiona doing ballerina-style twirls overhead and birds chirping merrily as if they didn’t have a care in the world, I wondered what I was going to do about my father. Ever since I’d left his employ, he’d worried about me. No, that wasn’t entirely true. He’d been concerned when Christopher had dumped me, and he’d fretted about me after my mother died because I’d cocooned myself in my bedroom for three months, only coming out for food and school. I needed to cut him some slack. He was a good man. He loved me, and I loved him.
I called Joss and informed her we were open for business. She hooted with glee and promised to appear before ten.
As I strolled up to Open Your Imagination, I noticed Emily Watkins standing outside of Wizard of Paws, wagging her finger at Sonja, the shop’s assistant. Emily’s pale skin was washed out next to the beige blouse and neutral trousers and shoes she was wearing. Even her tan Michael Kors tote looked drab. I noticed her hand and forearm were no longer bandaged. Had she made a miraculous recovery, or had the injury been a ruse to make her look incapable of murder?
“Yes, yes,” Sonja said, bobbing her head. She was a round-faced Danish woman with warm eyes, shaggy hair, and the patience of Job. Often I’d seen her walking a passel of dogs without ever letting an unruly one get the better of her, and I’d seen her handle rude clients without losing her temper. She didn’t need my help managing Emily, whatever the source of their problem.
I strode into my shop and surveyed the situation. The police had done their best to straighten up, but things were out of order. In the main showroom, all of the display tables that had blocked the path from the patio to the front door had been shoved to one side or the other. On the patio, everything had been rearranged: pots, figurines, and plantings. No stone unturned, I mused. What could they possibly have been looking for amongst the four-inch pots of flowers, seedlings, and succulents? Rope, I concluded. The murder weapon.
Glancing at the fountain where Mick had lain made my stomach do a flip-flop. I tried to push the memory from my mind, but it was difficult with Fiona zipping from vine to fountain to individual fairy gardens. When I asked what she was doing, she said she was investigating.
I let her do her thing and toured the rest of the patio. The Yale lock on the cabinet containing soil and macramé plant hangers was loose. I whisked the cabinet open and peeked inside. Everything looked in order. I counted a dozen hangers—the same number as we’d had the day before yesterday. I breathed easier. One hadn’t been used as a murder weapon.
“Hallo-o-o,” Joss crooned.
“On the patio,” I shouted.
I met her at the French doors. She hugged me with sumo wrestler-worthy strength. Oof. For a teensy person, she sure was strong.
When she released me, I moved inside to the sales counter.
“How are you doing?” she asked, trailing me.
“Fine, given the circumstances.”
“Look what I brought.” She waved a ream of paper.
“What is it?”
“A printout of your online chat.”
I took hold of it. “How did you—”
“My tech friend tracked down the conversation and transcribed it.”
“You can do that?” I asked.
“He can.” She grinned. “I can’t.”
I high-fived her. “You’re a genius.”
“I’m not sure it proves much,” she said. “We’ll have to see what Detective Summers thinks.”
I sighed. “Supposedly his techs are reviewing everything.”
Joss snorted. “Supposedly. That’s why we needed a hard copy. Your lawyer—”
“If I need a lawyer.”
“Your lawyer will want to see it. In the meantime, you need sustenance. I picked up some lemon muffins from Sweet Treats.” She unbuttoned the top button of