Busy as a Beaver Read online

  While the exterior of Michael Carlton’s home had been relatively plain and unassuming, the interior was definitely that of a man who had money and wasn’t afraid to spend it. This was a much more obvious target for a home invader.

  The window opened into the living room, which was dominated by a huge black leather sectional that took up most of the back wall. A sixty-inch flat screen was mounted on the far wall, and built-in surround-sound speakers lined the walls. A Nintendo Switch, a PlayStation, and more Blu-Ray DVDs than I had ever seen in one place filled a cabinet underneath the television.

  Against the side wall was a large cabinet filled with alcohol—Johnnie Walker Blue Label, and others. This was not a cheap liquor cabinet.

  What stood out to me, however, was that it was all still here. This had been exactly the situation at Gloria’s place. There were things worth stealing—heck, that bottle of scotch alone had to be worth $200—and yet nothing had been taken.

  Had the thief panicked when he killed Michael Carlton? But then, these were the same questions we had asked ourselves the last time.

  What on earth was the thief after if he wasn’t here to steal anything? Wasn’t that the million-dollar question?

  I decided to move on. I wanted to find out more about Michael Carlton, like who he might have been close to, or better yet, who might have wanted him dead.

  I darted around the living room, taking a good, close look at everything I could. It was so easy as a squirrel to scamper up the side of furniture, and my newfound keener eyesight meant everything I saw was perfectly in focus. My sense of smell had been improved as well; the metallic smell of blood reached my nostrils, as did the chemicals the crime scene workers had used, and the tangy scent of bleach.

  The problem was basically anything that might have helped me figure out who had killed Michael Carlton had disappeared. The police had taken it all; there was no sign that a murder had happened here apart from a little bit of blood on the floor. And I already knew that blood had to belong to Michael.

  Instead, I decided to focus on Michael’s life. Making my way over to her desk in the corner, scampering up the couch next to it and jumping onto it, I found a pile of mail and began sorting through it.

  It turned out that it was incredibly difficult to sort through mail when you were about the size of a quarter sheet of letter paper. Still, I was going to be a squirrel for a little while longer yet, and I had no other choice.

  The most promising piece of mail that I found initially was a bank statement from the previous month. It appeared Michael Carlton received a pension and had no other sources of income. He was definitely living paycheck to paycheck, which was basically the same as Gloria, as far as I could tell.

  Weird.

  There were a few more bills, most of them paid up but a couple maybe a month behind. Exactly what I would’ve expected from someone who was just scraping by.

  There was a bunch of junk mail as well: an ad to preorder the new iPhone from Verizon, a series of coupons for the local McDonald’s, an ad for cheap apartments in George Town, specials on an Alaskan cruise, and that sort of thing. Nothing stood out in that group, obviously. While Michael Carlton had removed two of the McDonald’s coupons, I highly doubted they had anything to do with his death.

  Underneath the bills, however, was a Post-it note with a date and time scribbled on it, followed by the name of a business: Two Sweets Bakery. Normally, I wouldn’t have thought anything of it, but the date was only three days before the murder. It was a long shot, but I made a mental note to check it out. After all, we didn’t really know anything about Michael Carlton yet, and maybe the people at the bakery would be able to give us a hint in the right direction.

  After checking out the rest of the documents on the table, I glanced at the time, only to realize it was basically time to go. A squawk from near the window told me that Sophie thought the same thing, and just as I scrambled to get back out into the backyard, I turned back into a human. I found myself falling headfirst towards the ground rather than elegantly scaling the outside wall of Michael Carlton’s house.

  “Ow,” I said as I hit the ground and rolled. Luckily, I didn’t hear anything crack, and nothing hurt too badly apart from my shoulder and my dignity.

  “Did you find anything?” Sophie asked, evidently having turned back into a human herself.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Although I’m not sure it’s worth my shoulder being this sore. I think I might’ve dislocated it.”

  “Please. If you had dislocated your shoulder you would be in a lot more pain.”

  “Maybe I’m just hiding the pain. I’m invisible, you can’t see how much pain I’m in.”

  “Maybe not, but I know you. You stub your toe and you act like you’re dying.”

  I stuck my tongue out at Sophie, realizing too late that she still couldn’t see me.

  “Fine. Let’s meet at the car so nobody overhears us in the area, and we’ll compare notes about what we saw inside.”

  Chapter 10

  Five minutes later the two of us were sitting back in the car, I had reversed the spell, and Sophie sat before me once more.

  “What happened to your hair?” I asked. Normally, Sophie’s straight black hair, with a single streak of purple in it, was sleek and perfect. I was totally jealous of it. Right now, however, it looked like Sophie had just gone for a spin in a laundry machine. Her hair was all over the place, like she’d just come in from a casual stroll in the middle of a hurricane.

  “What?” Sophie asked, her hands moving to her head. She let out a groan as she realized what condition her hair was in.

  “Great,” she said. “While I was flying around the house, I didn’t realize that someone had left one of the ceiling fans on in the master bedroom, and I may have gotten a little bit too close to it. After all, I’m not used to being that close to the ceiling when I move around.”

  A little giggle escaped me as I imagined eagle-Sophie flying into a ceiling fan by accident.

  “Do you have a brush, by any chance?” Sophie asked. “If I don’t get this under control now, my hair is going to be awful for the rest of the day.”

  “No, but I need to head downtown to grab some video surveillance equipment anyway, so while I do that I can leave you at a Walgreens or something.”

  I put the car into gear and began driving off towards downtown, summarizing what I had found in the house. Sophie grinned when I was finished.

  “Well, that’s more than I’ve got. I looked in the kitchen and the master bedroom, mainly. The kitchen was a mess, and I suspect that was where the fight started. It looked like one of the men grabbed a knife and went at the other; there was actually quite a bit of blood on the ground there.”

  “That’s interesting, because I could definitely smell some blood in the living room. It looks like neither home invasion went quite as smoothly as the culprit expected.”

  “You know, to me, that indicates that whoever did this didn’t really know what they were doing. I mean, think about it. The first time he tries at Gloria’s house, he ends up being attacked by her cat and running off with nothing. The second time, maybe he did get what he wanted, but I don’t think he came away from it completely scot-free. I think at the very least he was cut somewhere. So, I mean, that really doesn’t scream someone who’s used to attacking people.”

  “I think you’re right.” I nodded. “Hopefully that means the police will have some of the killer’s DNA that they can compare once they find him.”

  Sophie shook her head. “I don’t think they will. Did you smell the bleach in there?”

  “I did, yeah.”

  “In the kitchen, right next to the sink, was an open bottle of bleach. I have a feeling that after the murderer killed Michael Carlton, he grabbed the bleach and poured it all over the blood. I mean, maybe the cops are going to get lucky and he’ll have missed a spot or something, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there is no DNA evidence at all.”

  “Well, that
sucks.”

  “On the bright side, it doesn’t actually affect our investigation at all, since it’s not like we had access to a lab that can analyze DNA anyway. I’m assuming that after you pick up the security equipment you want to check out that café where Carlton had a meeting with someone?”

  “Yeah, I think that’s the right call.”

  When we got downtown I pulled into a lot, paid for parking, and told Sophie I would meet her back there when I was finished.

  “My phone says there’s a CVS just around the corner, so I should be pretty quick. I’ll come meet you at the security store when I’m done.”

  Agreeing to this plan, I made my way to a tiny store that I had a sneaking suspicion used to be a RadioShack. Luckily for me, however, it had exactly what I needed.

  Twenty minutes later, I walked out with a bag of small, battery-powered cameras that were triggered by motion sensor. I had two of them, so I could make sure the entire area around the beavers’ dam was covered.

  As I made my way back to the car, I ran into Sophie, whose hair was back to normal—and had she done her makeup, too? The bag she was carrying definitely held more than just a hairbrush.

  “Hey, sorry, I ended up getting distracted by a sale on basically everything in the makeup aisle.”

  I laughed. “No problem. I thought you looked different.”

  “I’ve been meaning to get a good matte lipstick for ages,” Sophie replied. “After all, if I’m going to search for a murderer, I’m going to look good doing it.”

  We dropped off our purchases at the car, then made our way to the café, which was about twenty blocks away. Whatever—I definitely needed the exercise, and even though it was winter, the sun was out and I had a good jacket and gloves on, so the cold wasn’t too bad.

  Two Sweets Bakery was a small place on the outskirts of downtown Portland, but it was quite cute. Set up in a cottage-like building, the exterior was painted white, with huge windows out the front that showed off the cute interior—small round tables were surrounded by white-and-pastel-pink chairs, and a large cabinet lined the entire right side of the store, displaying delicious cakes and pastries.

  I was definitely going to have to try a slice of cake. For research purposes, of course.

  Sophie and I stepped inside, our entrance announced by the light tinkle of a small bell above the door. The calming aroma of roasting coffee reached our nostrils, mingled with the sweet scent of baking sugar.

  “I feel like we’re cheating on Betty just by being in here,” Sophie muttered. “And yet, I have no intention of leaving.”

  I giggled slightly. “I know exactly how you feel. I think we need to have some food here though. You know, just to make sure that it’s not quite as good as Betty’s.”

  “I totally agree,” Sophie nodded as we stepped into the line and waited our turn to order. It seemed as though the midmorning rush was just starting to die down, and by the time it was our turn to order, there was still no one in the line behind us. Good; this would give us the opportunity to ask the woman behind the counter a few questions.

  “Hi there, how can I help you?” a perky blonde woman who looked to be in her mid-twenties asked Sophie and me.

  Sophie ordered a hazelnut latte and a slice of bourbon pecan pie, while I decided to go with a red velvet cupcake and a mocha. As I handed some cash over to the lady at the counter, I leaned towards her slightly.

  “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have been working four days ago, would you?”

  “Thursday? Sure, I was here from open until two.”

  Great. That fell right into the time period Michael Carlton should have been here.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have seen this guy, would you?” Sophie asked. She pulled out her phone and showed it to the woman, who nodded sadly.

  “Yeah, I saw that guy on the news this morning. He’s the one who was killed in that home invasion yesterday, right?”

  “That’s the one,” I confirmed. “He would have been here Thursday just before noon.”

  “I do remember him,” the woman said. “As soon as I saw his picture in the news this morning, I recognized him. He had coffee with Chuck. He’s a regular now, just moved to the area a couple months ago. I hadn’t seen that man before, though.”

  “Do you know where Chuck works?” Sophie asked.

  The woman shook her head no. “He usually comes in not too much later than this, though. Why are you asking about Chuck?”

  “We think we know someone in Willow Bay who might know Michael, but we’re trying to figure out how. We were hoping to speak to someone who knows Michael, someone who could maybe give us a hint in the right direction.”

  “Oh, ok. So you’re not reporters or anything?”

  “Definitely not. Angela here is the vet in Willow Bay, and I’m her technician,” Sophie replied with a charming smile. I had to hand it to her, Sophie was really good at getting people to let their guards down.

  “Alright. Well, I’ll let you know if he comes in.”

  “Thanks,” I told her as Sophie and I made our way towards a small table in the far corner against the window, where we could both enjoy the sun’s rays and have a private conversation far away from eavesdropping ears.

  About three minutes later, the waitress came by once more, this time bearing a tray laden with our coffee and treats. Sophie and I dug in, obviously only because we had nothing to do until Chuck showed up. I had to admit, while Betty’s would always hold a special place in my heart, the red velvet cupcake I had settled on was absolutely delicious. It might not have been quite as good as what Betty cooked up—after all, people drove in from all over the state just to get some of her pastries—but this was easily the best café I had ever been to in Portland.

  “Is your pie as good as my cupcake?” I asked Sophie, who quickly took the plate and covered it with her hand, baring her teeth at me. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  “Seriously, though, have a piece,” Sophie offered, removing her hand and motioning to the pie with her fork.

  “I’m a little bit afraid to,” I laughed, reaching over and taking a small bite. I motioned for Sophie to do the same with my cupcake as I moved the fork to my mouth, and I had to admit this was a pretty darn good pie as well. I made a mental note to ask Betty to add bourbon pecan to her menu.

  “We need to tell Charlotte this place is here,” Sophie said. “After all, she spends so much time in Portland that she needs a good place for pastries when she can’t get Betty’s.”

  I nodded in agreement and looked up as the waitress made her way back over towards us. “The man that just came in, he’s the one you’re looking for. That’s Chuck,” she told us in a quiet voice.

  “Thank you so much,” Sophie said, beaming at her. As soon as she left I got a better look at the man. He looked to be in his late fifties, maybe early sixties. His hair was completely gray and beginning to thin at the top of his head. His clothes were worn, but obviously good quality. They were a little bit old-fashioned as well; I imagined this man must’ve bought them maybe fifteen years ago and didn’t feel the need to replace them with new ones until they were truly worn out.

  As soon as the man paid, he made his way towards Sophie and me and grabbed a chair from a nearby table before sitting down at ours. “I hear you ladies want to speak to me about Michael Carlton,” he said.

  “Yes, please,” I said, getting a closer look at the man. He might have been a bit older than I initially suspected, but his glistening blue eyes and kind face told me that despite his years, this man was still very active mentally, if not physically. He had, after all, a little bit of a limp as he made his way towards us.

  “What can I answer for you two young ladies today?”

  “How well did you know Michael?” Sophie asked. “We’re trying to find a link between him and a lady named Gloria Romano, who lives in Willow Bay.”

  “I’m afraid I didn’t know him all that well,” Chuck replied. “I only moved to Portland rec
ently, a couple of months ago.”

  “Oh,” I said, my shoulders slumping slightly. I had really hoped Chuck would have been a childhood friend or something, someone who would have known all of Michael’s deepest secrets.

  “I know he worked as an accountant here in town,” Chuck continued. “He was retired, though.”

  “That’s right,” Sophie nodded. “How did the two of you meet?”

  “We were both playing a round of golf at Rose City. Ran into each other in the clubhouse after, sparked up a conversation and went from there. We met a couple of times after that for golf and had a coffee here the other day. Just to chat.”

  “Did Michael mention anyone who had something against him, by any chance?” I asked. “Anyone who might have wanted to hurt him?”

  Chuck thought about it for a minute, then shook his head. “No, I can’t say he did. He mentioned that he has a brother who lives in California, but that was it.”

  “What about the name Gloria Romano?” Sophie asked, and Chuck’s eyebrows rose slightly.

  “No, that doesn’t ring a bell either.”

  Great. We were getting precisely nowhere with this.

  “Alright,” I said. “Thanks for your time.”

  “Not a problem, ladies,” Chuck replied. “Always nice to have a bit of a chat. I hope you find the answers you’re looking for.”

  Sophie and I left the café and made our way into the cold air, which reflected my mood perfectly.

  “So where do we go from here?” Sophie asked.

  Wasn’t that the million-dollar question?

  Chapter 11

  It turned out the answer was: back home. Sophie and I walked back to the car, but about ten blocks away from where we were parked, Sophie suddenly grabbed me by the arm.

  “Hold on,” she hissed, pulling me into a doorway. “Isn’t that Jason?”

  I turned to look in the direction Sophie had indicated. Sure enough, my boyfriend was rushing past on the other side of the street, his face buried in his phone.