shop. A board had been nailed up over the charred frame of the door. The only way in would be to pull that off. I’d have to satisfy my curiosity by looking in the window next to the door. Oddly enough, the fire had not blown out the glass or damaged the window. I pressed my face to the glass.
It was just starting to get dark out and I couldn’t see inside very well, but it looked like that was where the fire had started. From what I had been able to see from my shop across the street, the fire had not reached the front of Paisley’s store. The back of the store, however, had been burnt pretty badly. I shuddered, wondering about Paisley’s body. It had been found toward the front, so maybe it hadn’t been burned.
I wondered about the sequence of events. Had Paisley been working late and surprised someone intending to burn her store? Or did they kill her and then set fire to destroy the evidence? Did she die as a result of the fire, or did they kill her before? Maybe she didn’t even know her killer and it was all the work of some random, fire-setting maniac.
“ Meow!”
Pandora was over by the alley that led back to the street. Apparently, she didn’t find the back of Paisley’s shop as interesting as I did.
“Okay, I’m coming. Just a minute.”
I scanned the area around the back door, but didn’t see any clues. There was a pile of charred wood to the left of the door and a cardboard box with a blanket in it. I stepped closer to examine the box. Little white hairs dotted the blanket. Did Paisley have a cat? I scanned the parking lot looking for a cat, but if she’d had one, it was long gone. I made a mental note to keep an eye out.
I didn’t find anything else outside. It looked like the place had been swept clean. The surfaces had been dusted for fingerprints. Some wet cardboard was piled next to the dumpster. I glanced in the dumpster, which was empty.
“ Meow! ”
I jerked my head in Pandora’s direction. “Quiet! We don’t want anyone to know we're back here.”
Pandora gave a haughty toss of her head and started poking at something that was wedged against the asphalt and the corner of the building. Her tail twitched violently, the kink pointing directly at the object of her interest.
“What’s that?” I walked toward her. She pried it loose before I got there and sent it skidding along the pavement. It slowed to a stop right in front of my sneaker. I looked down. It was a charm. A fancy letter ‘B’.
I bent down to pick it up. Could it be a clue? I held it up, studying it in the light. Something niggled my memory. It looked similar to something I’d seen before. And then I remembered—it looked oddly similar to the pin that Maisie Beardsley often wore.
A sense of dread washed over me. Could this charm belong to Maisie? And if so, what was it doing here?
I slipped the charm into my pocket and stood. I glanced around the alley for more clues, but there was nothing.
The charm didn’t really mean a thing. It could have been lost at any time by anyone. It didn’t necessarily point to the killer, nor was there any proof it belonged to Maisie. Plenty of people had charms with B’s on them.
But it made me wonder about Maisie. I doubted the elderly artist would have come all the way out here in the middle of the night to kill Paisley and set fire to her store. For one, I didn’t think she’d be physically able to, and for two, I doubted she was capable of that kind of violence despite her crotchety demeanor. Then again, she had seemed pretty worked up over Paisley winning the slot in the art show.
I didn’t really know Maisie all that well. George had a much stronger motive to kill Paisley, but I still needed to find out more about Maisie. How seriously did she take this art stuff, anyway? Fortunately, I knew just who to ask—my neighbor, Elspeth Whipple.
Chapter Eight
Elspeth Whipple was like a second grandmother to me. Growing up, I’d spent a lot of time with my
It was just starting to get dark out and I couldn’t see inside very well, but it looked like that was where the fire had started. From what I had been able to see from my shop across the street, the fire had not reached the front of Paisley’s store. The back of the store, however, had been burnt pretty badly. I shuddered, wondering about Paisley’s body. It had been found toward the front, so maybe it hadn’t been burned.
I wondered about the sequence of events. Had Paisley been working late and surprised someone intending to burn her store? Or did they kill her and then set fire to destroy the evidence? Did she die as a result of the fire, or did they kill her before? Maybe she didn’t even know her killer and it was all the work of some random, fire-setting maniac.
“ Meow!”
Pandora was over by the alley that led back to the street. Apparently, she didn’t find the back of Paisley’s shop as interesting as I did.
“Okay, I’m coming. Just a minute.”
I scanned the area around the back door, but didn’t see any clues. There was a pile of charred wood to the left of the door and a cardboard box with a blanket in it. I stepped closer to examine the box. Little white hairs dotted the blanket. Did Paisley have a cat? I scanned the parking lot looking for a cat, but if she’d had one, it was long gone. I made a mental note to keep an eye out.
I didn’t find anything else outside. It looked like the place had been swept clean. The surfaces had been dusted for fingerprints. Some wet cardboard was piled next to the dumpster. I glanced in the dumpster, which was empty.
“ Meow! ”
I jerked my head in Pandora’s direction. “Quiet! We don’t want anyone to know we're back here.”
Pandora gave a haughty toss of her head and started poking at something that was wedged against the asphalt and the corner of the building. Her tail twitched violently, the kink pointing directly at the object of her interest.
“What’s that?” I walked toward her. She pried it loose before I got there and sent it skidding along the pavement. It slowed to a stop right in front of my sneaker. I looked down. It was a charm. A fancy letter ‘B’.
I bent down to pick it up. Could it be a clue? I held it up, studying it in the light. Something niggled my memory. It looked similar to something I’d seen before. And then I remembered—it looked oddly similar to the pin that Maisie Beardsley often wore.
A sense of dread washed over me. Could this charm belong to Maisie? And if so, what was it doing here?
I slipped the charm into my pocket and stood. I glanced around the alley for more clues, but there was nothing.
The charm didn’t really mean a thing. It could have been lost at any time by anyone. It didn’t necessarily point to the killer, nor was there any proof it belonged to Maisie. Plenty of people had charms with B’s on them.
But it made me wonder about Maisie. I doubted the elderly artist would have come all the way out here in the middle of the night to kill Paisley and set fire to her store. For one, I didn’t think she’d be physically able to, and for two, I doubted she was capable of that kind of violence despite her crotchety demeanor. Then again, she had seemed pretty worked up over Paisley winning the slot in the art show.
I didn’t really know Maisie all that well. George had a much stronger motive to kill Paisley, but I still needed to find out more about Maisie. How seriously did she take this art stuff, anyway? Fortunately, I knew just who to ask—my neighbor, Elspeth Whipple.
Chapter Eight
Elspeth Whipple was like a second grandmother to me. Growing up, I’d spent a lot of time with my
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