Little Broken Things Read online

  A young man a few tables away was sitting with his head buried in his hands, sobbing.

  “Who’s he?” I asked.

  “Casper something. Sorry, I don’t recall his last name. He’s Olivia’s fiancé. He showed up here about ten minutes ago.”

  “Before you got here, or after?”

  “After. Said he was supposed to pick Olivia up for dinner. When he arrived at Barb’s house, she wasn’t there so he came here looking for her. I tried to stop him from touching her since it’s a crime scene, but he threw his arms around her anyway.”

  It explained the blood on the front of his shirt.

  His grief seemed genuine, but was it?

  Laura yanked a few napkins out of a dispenser on the table and blotted her tears. “She was my goddaughter, Georgiana,” she said.

  “I know. You’ve talked about her a lot over the years.”

  “I came in tonight to grab a book Barb ordered for me. I found Olivia where she is now. Someone attacked her. Can you believe it?”

  “Was she alive when you got here?” I asked.

  “For the first few minutes after I found her, and then she just … she just stopped breathing. Whoever attacked her was long gone by then.” Aunt Laura blew her nose and stared out the window into the darkness. “What am I going to tell Barb? How do you tell your best friend their daughter’s been murdered?”

  “You don’t have to tell her,” I said. “I can.”

  She shook her head. “I appreciate the offer, honey. I do. I think it’s best if she hears it from me.”

  “I understand. If you change your mind, let me know, okay?”

  “Why did this happen? Who would do such a thing? Who would harm such a sweet, kind girl?”

  The bells hanging from the bookshop door rang out, and Silas Crowe, the county coroner, walked in. He acknowledged me with a head nod and walked over.

  “Hey, Gigi,” he said. “What happened? What do you know so far?”

  “Not much. I just got here.” I turned toward Aunt Laura. “I need to talk to Silas. Are you okay to sit here for a minute?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, Barb’s due anytime. I’ll wait here so I can catch her before she comes in.”

  “What about Olivia’s father? Where’s he?”

  “Chad is in Boston on business. I’ve just called and left him a message, asking him to return my call as soon as he can. Once he hears the news, I’m sure he’ll be on the first flight out.”

  Silas and I walked around the corner. He approached Olivia, squatted down, and assessed the wounds on the side of her head. “What kind of animal does this to someone?”

  “I don’t know. This case is personal, Silas. The victim, Olivia Spencer, she was my aunt’s goddaughter. She’s the one who found Olivia and called it in.”

  “Understood. Who’s the kid bawling his eyes out in the café?”

  “Olivia’s fiancé. He arrived after my Aunt Laura and told her he was supposed to take her to dinner tonight.”

  Silas blinked at me. It was obvious he was thinking the same thing I’d thought about Casper moments ago.

  Silas slid a rubber band off his wrist and twisted his long, blond hair into a bun. “Has the kid been anywhere near the body?” he asked.

  “My aunt said he hugged Olivia. And I’m guessing Casper is in his twenties. He’s not a kid anymore.”

  “When you get to be my age, anyone younger than I am looks like a kid to me.”

  “Aren’t you thirty-four?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “You’re ten years younger than I am. If he’s a kid, I must seem ancient to you.”

  He put a hand on my shoulder and laughed.

  “With your shaggy, violet-colored pixie cut and sassy, vintage style? I don’t think so. You’re more hip than women twenty years younger than you.” He removed a pair of plastic gloves from his forensics kit and slid them on. “Suppose I better get to work.”

  I left him to examine Olivia and rejoined my aunt, who was chatting with Harvey when I returned to the table. A car squealed to a stop beneath the streetlamp outside, and Aunt Laura shot out of her seat, said, “Barb’s here,” and took off toward the front door.

  Barb jerked the car door open and stepped out. Aunt Laura rushed over, hugged her, and bent down, speaking into her ear. Barb listened for a moment, then pulled back, and screamed, “Noooooooo!” before backing against her car, sagging into Aunt Laura’s arms.

  I was all too familiar with the myriad of emotions she was experiencing.

  Three years earlier, I’d lost my daughter too.

  I stood there, trying to remain stoic, trying not to let the woman’s loss affect me, even though it did. There were parts of my job I liked. This wasn’t one of them.

  Chapter 3

  I woke the next morning thinking about Olivia and wondering who had murdered her and why. There were no signs of forced entry at the bookshop, and no signs a robbery had occurred. It appeared nothing had been taken—no books, no money …

  not a single thing.

  There was no forced entry.

  Had Olivia known her attacker?

  After canvassing the scene the night before, I’d hung around for a few hours, hoping to speak to Casper after he calmed down. My attempt to have a conversation with him failed. All I managed to get out of him was gibberish—fragments of sentences that made no sense. Instead of pressing him, I decided to back off, giving him the night to process his feelings, and then I’d try again.

  I sliced a generous piece of quiche and popped it into the microwave while I got dressed. The case had me in a melancholy mood, so I went with a pair of simple, black, high-waisted, wide-leg pants and a matching split-sleeve top. Nothing too flashy. A sleek, subtle 1930s vibe.

  I served Luka breakfast and then sat at the table and had mine. My thoughts turned to Giovanni Luciana, a man I’d known in college and with whom I’d reconnected with a year ago. We’d been dating for a while now, and he’d been splitting his time between New York City, where his family lived, and Cambria, California, where I lived. A week ago, we’d taken a drive along the coast to a massive house with sweeping views of the ocean. It was equipped with a helicopter landing pad and reminded me of a miniature version of Hearst Castle, a historical landmark in California built by publishing tycoon William Randolph Hearst in the early 1900s.

  Giovanni showed me through the house, and then, in a surprise twist I hadn’t seen coming, he confessed he’d just bought it. Even more unexpected was his suggestion that we move in together, something I’d considered happening one day, but didn’t expect to happen so soon. After his suggestion, I stood there, not knowing what to say, or how I felt, or if moving in was what I wanted right now. Sensing my discomfort, Giovanni eased the pressure by suggesting I take the time to think about it.

  I had thought about it.

  And so far, it hadn’t made a difference.

  For the last three years, I’d been living in an Airstream. Sure, it was small, but I liked it. It was low maintenance and could be tidied up in no time.

  What more could a woman want?

  A panoramic view of the ocean from the balcony of my bedroom.

  That’s what.

  I dropped Luka off with my brother Paul for a playdate with an adorable Siberian husky he’d just rescued, and then pulled over to talk to his girlfriend Simone, who was driving in as I was driving out. Simone was a bold, black, beautiful forensic anthropologist I’d worked with on my last case. In recent months, she’d started dating my brother, and we’d become good friends.

  Simone put her window down and said, “How’s it going? I heard about the Spencer woman.”

  “It’s going all right,” I said. “I’m just getting started on her case. Headed over to interview the fiancé now.”

  “You wanna grab dinner later? There’s a new Italian restaurant on Main Street. I checked out their menu last night. Looks fantastic.”

  “Giovanni is flying back in from New York today, and
we’re supposed to have dinner tonight. How about we try it out tomorrow?”

  “Sure, let me know what time works for you, and I’ll be there.”

  We said our goodbyes, and I drove to Casper’s parents’ house. The night before, I’d learned he’d been living there off and on since meeting Olivia. His mother answered the door with her fist gripped around a bunch of wadded-up tissues. She was dressed in a puffy pink robe and black slippers, and her long hair was tied into a loose bun. Her face was splotchy and red, and she had dark circles under her eyes. It was obvious she’d had a rough night.

  “I’m Detective Georgiana Germaine,” I said. “I’m here to see Casper.”

  “He hasn’t gotten out of bed yet,” she said. “He may still be sleeping. Come inside, and I’ll go and check. I’m Delores, by the way.”

  Delores led me to the living room and asked me to wait there while she checked on Casper. She wandered off, and I scoped out some framed photos of Casper’s family spread over the fireplace mantle. A minute later, the sound of raised voices could be heard coming from the opposite end of the house. It was loud enough for me to overhear Casper express his displeasure about meeting with me.

  He didn’t want to do it.

  He didn’t have a choice.

  Delores returned to the living room and sighed. “He’ll be out in a minute. I hope you won’t push him too hard. He’s not ready to accept what’s happened yet.”

  I agreed to do my best to go easy on him, and she offered to brew me a cup of coffee. I declined, and she shrugged and said she’d whip up a pot anyway. She rounded the corner into the kitchen, and Casper stumbled into the room dressed in gym shorts and a wrinkled T-shirt. He had a baseball cap on backward, a thin chain around his neck, and it looked like he’d slept about as well as his mother had.

  Casper plopped down on the sofa and blinked at me. “Let’s get this over with, okay?”

  I sat across from him in a velvet chair. “How are you doing this morning?”

  He shrugged. “My fiancée died three weeks before our wedding day. How do you think I’m doing?”

  Not good.

  Point taken.

  “My aunt, whom you were introduced to last night, said you first met Olivia in a coffee shop. You dated for a short time, and then you proposed. Seems like the two of you were still getting to know each other when you popped the question. What made you decide to get married so soon?”

  He shook his head. “You sound just like her mother.”

  “And how would that be?”

  “Overprotective and pessimistic.”

  He was right—I was a bit of both at times.

  “Do you get along with her parents?” I asked.

  “Yeah, they seemed all right.”

  “You still haven’t answered my other question,” I said.

  “About what?”

  “Why you and Olivia decided to get married so soon after meeting each other.”

  “I mean … I dunno.”

  Of course he knew.

  He just didn’t want to say it.

  “You proposed, didn’t you?” I asked. “There must have been a reason.”

  “We were in love. It’s what people in love do, right?”

  Delores walked over, handed Casper a cup of coffee, and sat next to him. Casper stared at the coffee for a minute and then spread his legs and hunched over, staring at the ground. I got the feeling he needed a break from questioning, even though we were just getting started.

  I switched gears and directed my next question to Delores. “What did you think of Olivia and Casper getting married so soon after they met?”

  “Oh, I didn’t mind. I loved Olivia from the first day I met her. She was a kindhearted young woman, and it was easy to see how much she cared for Casper. Whenever she visited our home, she insisted on helping out. She helped make dinner, washed dishes, and even gardened with me on occasion. Her parents did an excellent job raising her.”

  “How did your husband feel about the wedding?”

  “Stan thought they ought to hold off at first. Once he got to know Olivia, it wasn’t long before she’d won him over too.”

  I crossed one leg over the other, leaned back, and considered the direction I wanted to go in next. I still felt like I was in the dark about why Casper and Olivia had decided to get married so fast. Being “in love” was an honorable answer. I just couldn’t shake the feeling there was more to it.

  “How did the marriage proposal come about?” I asked.

  Delores jumped right in with an answer. “Casper proposed, of course, but it was Olivia who pushed for the wedding to take place sooner than later.”

  Casper sat up and frowned at his mother. “Mom! Can you stop?”

  “Why?” Delores said. “All I’ve done is tell the truth.”

  Casper grunted in irritation and looked at me. “I get it. It’s your job to ask questions. Talking about Olivia less than twenty-four hours after she died is a lot right now. You understand that, right?”

  “All I’m trying to do is find the person responsible for Olivia’s death.”

  “Then why are you going on and on about the wedding? What difference does it make? Who cares whether we decided to get married in three months or three years?”

  It mattered because life was full of connections, one leading to the next like destinations on a road map. I’d spent more time than the average person thinking about the impact such events had on our lives. They were all around us, influencing our minds, altering our decisions. Often times, we weren’t even aware it was happening. Most of society was prone to ignoring our gut instincts, tossing out the road map to our lives and running into the middle of the road when we should have been walking.

  In my opinion the how of the way a decision came about often led to the why.

  It was the invisible catalyst igniting a thought and putting it into action.

  Which one had ignited Olivia’s?

  The attack on Olivia had been swift. It took place within a small timeframe. Twenty minutes after Casper’s last text to Olivia, Aunt Laura had entered the bookshop and found Olivia clinging to life.

  “Sometimes the smallest details lead me in the direction I need to go in,” I said. “I don’t believe Olivia’s death was random. The bookshop wasn’t robbed. Olivia wasn’t raped. One of Barb’s other employees is doing an inventory, but right now, there’s no sign anything was taken. It means the attack wasn’t random.”

  Delores blotted her eyes with the tissue and said, “My goodness, it doesn’t make any sense.”

  “You’re right. It doesn’t. There’s no rational explanation for what happened last night. Without one, I start to consider other possible motives. If Olivia’s death was premeditated—and I do believe it was—I have to ask myself … who wanted her dead, and why?” I shifted my gaze to Casper. “So, you tell me. What motive did someone have to kill your fiancée?”

  Chapter 4

  Casper looked like a time bomb set to go off. He bent down, buried his head between his legs, and struggled to get out a tear-filled, “I don’t know who killed Olivia or why she’s dead, okay? If I did, I’d tell you.”

  I wanted to believe him.

  He crossed his arms and let out a heavy sigh. “I’ve been thinking—maybe I didn’t know her like I thought I did.”

  Now we were getting somewhere.

  “What makes you think you didn’t know her?” I asked.

  “We never had a fight, not one single argument the entire time we dated. It’s weird, right? I thought it was dope at first. She was a lot easier to be with than other girls I’ve dated. Now I kinda wonder if she agreed with everything I said because she was trying to please me, like she was worried I’d leave her or something if she didn’t. I have no idea what bugged her or what made her mad. She never talked about that stuff. She always seemed happy, but who’s happy twenty-four/seven? No one.”

  Olivia may have had a private side, a side she wasn’t willing to share.r />
  “The two of you weren’t together long,” I said. “Maybe you never fought because you were still in the honeymoon phase of the relationship. In my opinion, it can take a good two years before couples let their full guard down in front of each other.”

  “Yeah, well, what you see is what you get with me. I don’t pretend to be someone I’m not.”

  “Who said anything about pretending?” I asked. “I’m talking about the fact that most couples are on their best behavior at first.”

  He shook his head. “I dunno. She seemed like the perfect girl for me. I’ve never met anyone like her. She was easygoing and had a go-with-the-flow kind of attitude. She made me look at my own life and want to be better—not just for myself, but for her too.”

  “What were your plans after you got married?”

  “We wanted to move overseas. It was Olivia’s idea.”

  “Where?”

  “We planned to start in Canada and then go from there.”

  Delores flattened a hand against her chest. “I knew you both planned to travel together, but I didn’t know you wanted to live in another country. When were you going to tell me?”

  Casper rolled his eyes. “We didn’t tell anyone, Mom.”

  “Why not?”

  “We knew everyone would react the same way you just did.”

  “Why another country?” I asked.

  “Olivia liked the idea of living somewhere we’d never been before. She always talked about it, about how she couldn’t wait to get out of here and see the world. She said it would be like starting all over again.”

  Starting over again.

  She wanted a fresh start.

  Why?

  Why was it important to hit the reset button?

  “Did Olivia ever talk about how she felt about her life here, in Cambria?” I asked.

  He ran a hand through his short, brown crew cut. “Not much. I assumed she liked it all right.”

  That was the problem with assumptions—all too often they were wrong.

  “Who could tell me more about Olivia’s life?” I asked.