stomach clenched. The doorknob was kicked in. It was obvious they didn’t have a key. It must have only taken a few tries, because when she looked at the wood of the door it was pretty rotted. The moist air of the shoreline wore down lumber faster than usual.
There was no discernable footprint. Not a one. Did they use a hammer, a mallet, or a boot? She bent lower to have a closer look. Nothing. They were messy in their endeavors, then took the time to wipe that clean? She shifted from side to side to see if – yes, a drip that wasn’t caught. Somebody quite literally sprayed the painted wood and wiped. They missed a small spot that had dripped. They must have planned ahead. This wasn’t a smash and grab. Somebody put time and effort into this. Who carries cleaner on a heist?
She’d need to figure out who else got hit the night before. The business community would have to ask for extra security or for local police to make more rounds late at night. The boardwalk had become a hot target, and nobody could afford the inconvenience of loss that was happening.
Lottie headed next door. She’d sit and talk to Jane while waiting for the police. They said there was a crew out at the boardwalk, and they’d respond to her call once they finished the other. She walked around to the fudge and taffy shop and started to pull on the doors. They were locked. She squinted and peered through the glass.
Lottie’s stomach dropped and twisted. No. No. No. No. Jane’s shop had taken on damage as well, but that wasn’t what caught her attention. There was crime scene tape toward the back, and investigators. The floor had markings… She felt weak. Her knees buckled. Lottie banged at the door. Her voice croaked. “Let me in.”
One of the cops silently shook his head, as if to say they were closed.
“Jane?” Lottie banged harder. She didn’t care who saw her. Normally, she had better control.
One of the cops shook his head again, and yelled louder. “We’re closed.”
Lottie banged harder.
The police officer grew aggravated. He stomped over to the door, and started….
“Where is she? Jane’s my best friend. Where is she?”
The cop sighed and looked down. He unlocked the door and whispered, “She was your best friend.”
“No!” Panic pulsed through her veins. The color drained from Lottie’s face. She looked at the cop one more time and then dropped to her knees, unable to stand.
“I’m sorry. We’re here on the investigation. It happened this morning. Her daughter found her,” he said. “I can’t say anything else.”
Lottie buckled over and curled into the fetal position. Her entire body shook. Tears fell fast and hard as the reality of Jane’s death hit her squarely, like a sucker punch to the heart. Who would do this?
The officer tried to console her, but didn’t know how. “I’m sorry for your loss, but I need to ask you to leave. We’re still investigating.”
Lottie stared up at the man. She squeaked out an ‘okay’ in a small voice, then found her way back to the ice cream stand. When her father arrived, she fell into his arms. “Daddy, Jane is dead.”
Chapter 3
Quinn sat silently. She couldn’t cry anymore. Okay, that wasn’t the truth. She didn’t want to cry anymore. She was numb, and had spent the better part of the day in tears. Her father sat by her side. They didn’t speak. They sat quietly trying to absorb the news. Quinn knew the weekend was busy and told her mother she’d be in earlier then her usual start time at nine o’clock. Her mother stayed late and would go in early on weekends so they always had a full batch of their most popular flavors, fresh and ready to go. Saturdays, the store was usually packed, and Sundays everybody crammed in at the end of the day to grab a stash of goodies before heading home. Weekdays saw sales, but nothing like the weekend.
When she showed up to work, the last thing she expected was to trip over her mother’s body. She hadn’t
T. K. F. Weisskopf Mark L. Van Name