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Authors: Angela Pepper
Tags: Mystery
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the house behind me. “This is my father’s house. I’m just here cat-sitting for him, and it was Jeffrey who got his kitty paw prints all over the scene.”
The crime scene investigator stepped back, like he’d just realized he ought to be afraid of me. “You’re Finnegan Day’s daughter? I’m sorry, ma’am, but I really can’t discuss an ongoing investigation with you.”
“But we weren’t discussing anything. I was giving you some tips, as a concerned citizen. Did you find any jewelry? Or any paperwork about changes to a will?”
“Please call the office and go through the official channels.” He gave me a curt nod and rushed over to the woman he was working with. They spoke for a moment in hushed tones, then started walking toward the house.
“Do you know about his daughter?” I called after them.
They stopped walking, and the man said, “I’m sorry, but we can’t discuss the case with you, ma’am.”
“Fine. Don’t discuss it. Just… scratch your head if you already knew Mr. Michaels had a secret daughter he was back in contact with.”
The two of them looked at each other, neither moving to scratch their heads for a full minute. That meant they hadn’t known about the daughter.
“I only just heard about the daughter myself,” I said. “Someone in town mentioned it to me. You should pass that along to whomever’s in charge of the investigation.”
The male investigator said, “Rumors are not evidence. We don’t have enough of these plastic baggies to hold a tenth of this town’s rumors.”
“But even a rumor holds the seed of a truth, doesn’t it?”
The two of them looked at each other for a moment. The woman leaned in and said a few things to the man in a hushed tone. He replied, and they talked quietly for a moment.
I started smiling, thinking they were taking me seriously.
The woman straightened up and said to me, “You’re Stormy Day, right?”
“Yes,” I said hesitantly.
“Then it’s true you invented one of those big social networking sites? It was all your idea, that came to you in a dream, and you stayed up three days coding it?”
I laughed, way louder than was appropriate for a crime scene. “My knowledge of computer coding extends about as far as setting the coffee maker to burn a pot of coffee before I wake up.”
She shrugged. “That’s not what I heard.”
I sighed. “Fine. You’ve made your point. Rumors are not always the truth.”
The guy gave me a hopeful grin. “Hey, do you have any good stock tips? I’ve got a few dollars, and I like to play the markets.”
I frowned at him. Of course I had stock tips, but he wasn’t getting them from me. I’d gone cold turkey on that whole world, for my own mental health. And my head was finally clear of it. I wasn’t going to break my finance-world sobriety, so to speak, by giving this guy investment advice.
“We shouldn’t be talking to her,” the woman said to the other investigator. “She is the daughter of our suspect.”
I clenched my fists and yelled, “My father is not a suspect!”
They both gave me horrified looks, like I was about to jump the fence and beat them senseless. Why were people so freaked out by a petite woman raising her voice?
The investigators held up their hands and told me to be calm.
I answered, “I’ll be calm if you stop barking up the wrong tree. My father served this city with everything he had. Now leave him alone, and go follow up on all your leads, rumors or not. That’s what real cops do.”
They nodded and promised they would.
With that straightened out, I returned to my car, got the dozy-eyed cat, and used my key to let myself into my father’s house. The kitchen light was on, which meant Pam was home.
Yelling at the investigators had worked me up to a stormy state. Pam had better not say one word about my haircut. If she compared me to a woodchuck, I was going to show her what a woodchuck does when it’s riled up.
Chapter 11
“Pam!” I
The crime scene investigator stepped back, like he’d just realized he ought to be afraid of me. “You’re Finnegan Day’s daughter? I’m sorry, ma’am, but I really can’t discuss an ongoing investigation with you.”
“But we weren’t discussing anything. I was giving you some tips, as a concerned citizen. Did you find any jewelry? Or any paperwork about changes to a will?”
“Please call the office and go through the official channels.” He gave me a curt nod and rushed over to the woman he was working with. They spoke for a moment in hushed tones, then started walking toward the house.
“Do you know about his daughter?” I called after them.
They stopped walking, and the man said, “I’m sorry, but we can’t discuss the case with you, ma’am.”
“Fine. Don’t discuss it. Just… scratch your head if you already knew Mr. Michaels had a secret daughter he was back in contact with.”
The two of them looked at each other, neither moving to scratch their heads for a full minute. That meant they hadn’t known about the daughter.
“I only just heard about the daughter myself,” I said. “Someone in town mentioned it to me. You should pass that along to whomever’s in charge of the investigation.”
The male investigator said, “Rumors are not evidence. We don’t have enough of these plastic baggies to hold a tenth of this town’s rumors.”
“But even a rumor holds the seed of a truth, doesn’t it?”
The two of them looked at each other for a moment. The woman leaned in and said a few things to the man in a hushed tone. He replied, and they talked quietly for a moment.
I started smiling, thinking they were taking me seriously.
The woman straightened up and said to me, “You’re Stormy Day, right?”
“Yes,” I said hesitantly.
“Then it’s true you invented one of those big social networking sites? It was all your idea, that came to you in a dream, and you stayed up three days coding it?”
I laughed, way louder than was appropriate for a crime scene. “My knowledge of computer coding extends about as far as setting the coffee maker to burn a pot of coffee before I wake up.”
She shrugged. “That’s not what I heard.”
I sighed. “Fine. You’ve made your point. Rumors are not always the truth.”
The guy gave me a hopeful grin. “Hey, do you have any good stock tips? I’ve got a few dollars, and I like to play the markets.”
I frowned at him. Of course I had stock tips, but he wasn’t getting them from me. I’d gone cold turkey on that whole world, for my own mental health. And my head was finally clear of it. I wasn’t going to break my finance-world sobriety, so to speak, by giving this guy investment advice.
“We shouldn’t be talking to her,” the woman said to the other investigator. “She is the daughter of our suspect.”
I clenched my fists and yelled, “My father is not a suspect!”
They both gave me horrified looks, like I was about to jump the fence and beat them senseless. Why were people so freaked out by a petite woman raising her voice?
The investigators held up their hands and told me to be calm.
I answered, “I’ll be calm if you stop barking up the wrong tree. My father served this city with everything he had. Now leave him alone, and go follow up on all your leads, rumors or not. That’s what real cops do.”
They nodded and promised they would.
With that straightened out, I returned to my car, got the dozy-eyed cat, and used my key to let myself into my father’s house. The kitchen light was on, which meant Pam was home.
Yelling at the investigators had worked me up to a stormy state. Pam had better not say one word about my haircut. If she compared me to a woodchuck, I was going to show her what a woodchuck does when it’s riled up.
Chapter 11
“Pam!” I
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