Cancelled by Murder by Jean Flowers Page B

remembering what had happened during a summer storm. I noticed that the yellow-and-black caution tape had been removed.
    I had a strong urge to pull over. A short walk down the narrow alley between Daisy’s shop and Liv’s card shop would take me to the backyard. The scene of the crime. And there was plenty of parking at the curb.
    Ben’s thinly veiled warning to behave myself and do nothing that would bring negative attention to the post office rattled around my head. But Ben was an old man, I toldmyself. Old people were overly cautious. I knew he also cared about me, though he couldn’t completely abandon his reputation of surliness to show it. But he loved his town, too, I reasoned, and would want me to take an interest in all that was going on, to be active in a way that he might not be able to.
    By the time I made my decision, I’d arrived in front of the police department. Bad place to park, considering what I was about to do. I made a right turn down the next street and came around again on Main Street, parking before Mahican’s, on the same side of the street as Daisy’s. And the police station. But far enough away, I thought. I tapped my steering wheel. I still had a choice. Turn the key in the ignition and continue on home. Yes or no?
    A minute later, I exited my car and walked toward Daisy’s Fabrics. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see Sunni. How likely was it that she’d choose this moment to take a stroll outside her building? Not very, I hoped. I made it to the alley between the shops and traipsed along the gravel path to the back lot where Daisy had died. I imagined her fighting until the end and choked back tears.
    The area was half landscaped, with a lawn and a row of flowers toward the front, tapering off to more gravel and rocks for the few feet before the back fence. The enormous branch that had fallen from the maple hadn’t been moved; its brown leaves extended into the untended section.
    Although the sky was overcast, it was well before sunset and I saw shadows everywhere. There was nothing sluggish about my imagination. I stepped toward the branch, not sure what I expected to see. Blood? Signs of a struggle? Anindentation where Daisy’s body had lain? My eyes burned from my efforts to hold back tears. I imagined the police combing through the gravel for evidence, checking every rock of significant size.
    I saw nothing unusual and questioned why I was here at all. To investigate as if I were a cop? To lose points from Sunni? To indulge a morbid curiosity? To win points from Cliff for brilliant scouting work and perhaps get a coupon for a free evening with a bodyguard? Or simply to mourn my friend. Whatever the reason, the fact was that I was standing where a killer had stood only a few days ago, and if I were smart, I’d beat it out of here.
    As I started back down the narrow alley toward the street, I heard a loud, prolonged clatter, as if a cabinet had fallen over and emptied its contents. The noise was coming from inside the shop. I stopped short and leaned against the white clapboard building where Daisy’s Fabrics was housed. More noise, this time of the thumping variety. I held my breath. What if Daisy’s killer had returned to the scene of the crime? Didn’t they always do that? Was that my real goal today—to meet the killer?
    What was wrong with me?
    Above my head was a window that I hoped was closed. The last thing I wanted was curious eyes peeking down and outing me. I hadn’t thought to try the back door that led down a few steps to the spot where I’d been standing; I hadn’t thought of entering the shop at all. Unlike the intruder. Was the intruder now planning to exit that way, or through the front door? Could it be Cliff roaming around inside? Maybe it was a crime scene tech back for furtherscrutiny? Or Jules, or a cleaning crew, or any number of people with a perfect right to be in the closed shop?