come in?”
“Okay.” Mae practically sprinted over the threshold. “I won’t stay but a minute.”
Dom hoped she would only stay a minute—he had lots to do.
He put the jar on the counter and turned to her expectantly. After a long career as an investigator, Dom knew when someone wanted to tell him something, and he could tell Mae Biddeford had something she was dying to get off her chest.
“It’s been quite an exciting morning.” Mae glanced sideways up at Dom, who nodded but didn’t say anything while he waited patiently for her to get to the point.
Mae worried her bottom lip, then glanced at the back door. She leaned toward Dom conspiratorially, and in a low voice asked, “Will you be investigating it?”
Dom smoothed his eyebrow and pretended to think about it. “Do you think I should? Detective Zambuco is already on the case.”
“Pshaw.” Mae waved her hand. “What does he know? He’s from the mainland. We need an islander here to do the case justice.”
Dom was surprised at how proud he felt to be considered an ‘islander’, but he wondered if Mae was just buttering him up. He sensed she had something she wanted to tell him about the case, so he decided to give her the perfect opportunity. “Well, I wouldn’t know where to start. I don’t think Zambuco will share Zoila’s client list with me.”
“I may be able to help.” Mae’s eyes twinkled with excitement.
His bushy brows crept upwards. “Really?”
She nodded. “Yes. Well, I don’t know if this means anything, but I happen to know that Velma and Hazel were seeing Zoila quite regularly. Their appointments were on Tuesdays.”
“And yesterday was a Tuesday,” Dom added. He pressed his lips together, picturing the elderly spinsters, Velma and Hazel, Who ran the Gull View Inn . They were sweet, gentle souls. “You don’t think they had something to do with Zoila’s death, do you?”
“Oh, no. But they might know something. Those two might seem dotty, but they don’t miss a trick. And I know they were there yesterday because they stopped by Tom Landry’s for eggs after and I overheard them talking from my garden.” Mae looked at him sharply. “I wasn’t eavesdropping or anything. I was tending to my raspberry bushes and their voices carried.”
Dom chuckled to himself and turned toward the door. “Well, that certainly is helpful information. I will pay them a visit and see if they can shed any light on things.”
Mae puffed up, satisfied she’d done her duty. “Glad to be of help. I’ll just be on my way, then.”
Dom opened the door and bid her goodbye. As he closed the door his excitement in the case turned to a pang of insecure doubt. What if he had lost his investigating skills? What if he was too old, or couldn't remember the right way to go about it?
It had been years since he'd investigated anything, and if he screwed up and his information sent the wrong person to jail, he'd never forgive himself.
Then again, if he didn't investigate and the wrong person went to jail because he wasn't there to give his input, he'd never forgive himself, either.
It was better that he investigate, Dom decided. He hurried to clean up the plate from his ricotta pie. He had four places to visit and he didn’t have a minute to waste if he wanted to fit them all in today.
Chapter Seven
Even though the police were no longer there, the meditation garden still bore the mark of a violent crime. Yellow crime scene tape surrounded the area where the body had left an unmistakable impression in the sand.
Dom could see evidence that they had taken a cast of the lone footprint. Something about it bothered him. It looked out of place, marring the pattern of the concentric circles that had been traced in the sand.
It was hard to believe a violent murder had happened in such a peaceful place. Dom had never meditated the regular way, much less by the use of a zen garden, but he could see how immersing oneself in