all people knew that.”
“He left me a note, Miranda,” Emily said patiently, as if addressing a slow-witted child. “I’ve shown it to the police.”
Miranda cocked her head. “Which means you were the only one who knew where he’d gone.”
Good point, I thought. When exactly had Emily read the note? Why hadn’t she mentioned it when the police questioned her yesterday? Maybe she had.
“Don’t attack me.” Emily wrapped her arms around torso, protecting herself from her sister-in-law’s wrath. “I did not kill my husband. I was away. At a retreat. I found his note when I returned home, after he was dead.”
Had “looking for fairies” been Mick’s defense should he get caught having a tryst in my shop with the councilwoman? Or had he really been serious about encountering a fairy? According to lore, seeing your first one brought good luck. Had Mick hoped that seeing a fairy would change the course of his business woes or perhaps his affaire d’amour?
“The police will find out what happened,” Emily said. “There will be justice for your brother.”
I questioned that logic. If the murderer got away with it, there would be no justice.
“What’s the business worth?” Miranda demanded, changing tactics. “If you sell it, I want my portion. I’m in his will.” So much for loving her brother and being stunned. Money talked.
“I wouldn’t know if you’re in it. I mean, yes, Mick has written a will, but I’m not privy to the details.” Emily raised her chin.
“Of course I’m in it. I’m his sister.”
If Miranda was in the will, did that make her a person of interest in Mick’s death? I imagined a list of possible suspects: Emily because of jealousy, Miranda because of greed, and Logan because he’d wanted Mick and his business out, but Mick had refused. Which motive was strongest?
“Listening in on a conversation is a bad habit,” a man said from behind me.
I swung around and felt my insides snag. Detective Summers approached and towered over me, casting a shadow across my face. A chill ran through me. I lowered my shears lest he think I was dangerous.
He jerked his head in the direction of the two women. “What have you learned so far? If you’re going to be a snoop, you might as well be a snitch.”
I bridled at both words. “I wasn’t prying. I was tending to my plants. On my own property. Open Your Imagination prides itself on keeping an attractive entry. Is that a crime?”
“According to CVC 21955, it might be.”
I frowned. “CVC 21955 is the code for jaywalking, if I’m not mistaken.”
Summers’s smile broadened. “So you’re up to date on your codes. Good for you.”
“I’m a responsible citizen. I attend city council meetings. I like to know what’s going on in my hometown. Plus, I care for my fellow man. Including Mick Watkins.”
Summers sat in the chair opposite me. Were the white shirt and khaki trousers his uniform? His skin was glistening and his eyes were sharp, as if he’d recently worked out. “How are you doing?”
“Honestly?”
“I prefer honesty,” he said. Dead serious, eyes narrowed.
“I don’t like being a suspect. I hate that someone died on my premises. I’ve never seen a dead body. I’m having nightmares. But you probably don’t care about that.”
“Actually, I do.” He folded his hands on the table. “FYI, I got a call from your father.”
Good old Dad followed through. Swell. “What about?”
Summers grinned. “You, of course. He’d like me to back off. I can’t. But I appreciate that he vouched for your integrity.”
So my father wasn’t as almighty powerful as he thought when it came to working with the police. That had to be a blow to his ego.
Summers leaned back in his chair. “How’s business?”
“We just opened,” I said, “but I’m hoping the incident won’t affect us for long.” I placed my tools on the tabletop. “By the way, that’s Mick Watkins’s sister, Miranda.”
“I know.”
“Miranda wants her share of the estate. Is it possible—”
“Stop. Miranda is not guilty. She was in New York the day of the murder, scouting out antiques.” He smirked. “Yes, we’re doing our due diligence. The woman has a solid alibi with plenty of witnesses. She flew in to San Francisco airport about two hours ago.”
“She lives here?”
“Yes.”
The fact that Summers was verifying alibis should have made me feel better. It didn’t.
Summers said, “If I were you, I’d worry about your own situation.”
Worry and situation didn’t sound good. I put on a brave face. “You said your tech crew would determine whether