Free A Fatal Visit (A Harbor Cove Cozy Mystery Book 1) by Emily Page Page B

default tone that she’d never bothered to change. “Momma Avery” was the caller. She groaned. “I am so not prepared for whatever this is about.” Nichole sat up and pressed answer. “I hope this—”
     
    “I’ve solved it!” Momma Avery crowed down the phone. “I know how Dustin did it.”
     
    Nichole blinked, hard. “Really?”
     
    Without being asked, Momma Avery launched into a lengthy explanation. “Dustin is an employee at the restaurant. He’d have a key to the mysterious locked door in the men’s room. He chose the quill for the weapon because it wouldn’t be suspicious if his prints were mingled with those of visitors and other staff. After the deed was done, he escaped out of the other door and re-entered through the kitchen. It’s all very simple, really.”
     
    Nichole rubbed her forehead. Her half-asleep brain was struggling to process the barrage of information. “That’s all well and good, but you’re forgetting something.”
     
    The response she received was indignant. “I assure you, dear, I have thought this through.”
     
    “Dustin lacks motive.”
     
    “What?”
     
    Nichole sighed, and her response came out harsh. “He doesn’t have a reason to want to kill Chase. He was there, yes. But, from what we can gather, he barely knew the man, other than from anecdotal information!”
     
    “Oh yes.” Momma Avery went quiet. “Sorry, dear. I’m…I just want to solve this now, you know?”
     
    Nichole softened. “We all do. You make a good point about prints on the murder weapon, though. Get some sleep. We’ll work much better on this if we’re all well rested.”
     
    “Quite right. Goodbye, dear.”
     
    “Goodbye, Momma Avery.” The phone clicked as she hung up.
     
    Nichole flopped back down onto her pillow. “I’m giving up. I’m going to become a professional moss grower and not talk to anyone ever again.”

Chapter Twelve
     
    Chicken boiled in a pot on the stove, filling the kitchen with its aroma. Clue lay under the table at Skyler’s feet. Walking over to the stove, she dipped a wooden spoon into the pot and blew on the liquid that came out on it before tasting.
     
    “Hmm. Not yet.”
     
    It had become a ritual on a Sunday night. Skyler would prepare food and freeze it to eat on the nights she’d been working all day. She sat back down at the table, her open laptop. Ladyfingers , she mused. Her mother was still convinced that it was Dustin who had killed Chase. Apparently she’d woken Nichole up with a phone call (Skyler herself was far too heavy a sleeper to have been woken) explaining how she’d solved it, and how she could link it directly back to Dustin. Skyler, however, was simply not convinced. As Nichole had said, Dustin lacked any kind of motive. Aubrey seemed the far likelier suspect.
     
    “Ladyfingers. What does that mean?” She sighed and tapped at her laptop keys absently. “Am I just being ridiculous, Clue?” You’re talking to the dog again, so probably , a small part of her brain said.
     
    Picking up the printed pictures, she shuffled through them. She came back to the blurred one, and Clue barked.
     
    “What is it, girl? Something in this picture?” You’re not just ridiculous; you’ve actually gone mad. She examined the picture. At the edge of it there was a woman’s hand. “Lady’s finger!” On the finger was a ring, and it looked to be an engagement ring. “And it was Aubrey that pushed past me...” She chewed on the information, and Clue sat up, watching her. A spark hit her brain and her eyes widened. “Did Chase propose? If Aubrey said yes…”
     
    Clue stood up and shuffled toward the back door, and then she started pacing back and forth.
     
    “I’ll let you out in a minute, girl. Calm down.” The dog whined.
     
    Momma Avery looked behind her and then shook her head. She could have sworn she’d heard footsteps. It was late; her book club had run over because everyone had been excited about a new