Page 13 of Little Merry Murder

“Claire was such a nice person,” Holly said. “If she had any enemies, I’d be surprised. When we heard she was murdered, we thought it was a robbery gone wrong, because any other reason just doesn’t make sense.”

The break room door opened, and Ann walked back in. She took a seat, then looked in my direction. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to rush out the way I did.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Are you all right?”

She paused for a time. “Before Claire died, we had a … well, it wasn’t an argument, more of a heated verbal exchange. We weren’t yelling or anything. Still, I didn’t feel good about it, and I planned on apologizing. I … I never got the chance.”

“What was the argument about?”

“One of my students. He was in Claire’s office, and she said something to him about her mother dying. He went home and told his parents, and his mother called me, giving me an earful about how angry she was about their conversation.”

“Why was she upset?”

“She didn’t think it was an appropriate topic of conversation to have with her son. I thought the mother was overreacting, but I told his parents I’d speak to Claire. When I did, she didn’t take it well. She put it back on me, acting like I should have stood up for her with the parents. She thought they were overreacting and being insensitive about it all.”

“How did the conversation between the two of you end?”

“She got emotional and took off. I thought about it all weekend. I decided I’d clear everything up when I arrived at school on Monday, but then I found out she died.”

Her head dropped, and she stared at her lap.

“I appreciate you telling me about what happened between the two of you.” I turned toward the quiet ones, Bruce and Teresa. “Do either of you have anything to add?”

“I just started here a couple of months ago,” Bruce said. “I didn’t know her as well as the others.”

“We talked from time to time,” Teresa said. “I guess I’d say I considered her a friend. But like the others, I have no idea who murdered her or why.”

CHAPTER 9

A quick search of the local floral shops, and I found the one with a woman named Leah as the owner—Floral and Fern Botanicals. The bells hanging from the door’s handle made a jingling sound as I stepped inside the flower shop, and a woman turned, offering me a small wave and a smile. Her ash-blond hair was in braids, and she was wearing an oversized green sweater, brown slacks, and matching, knee-length boots.

“Hi, welcome in,” she said. “Can I help you?”

“Are you Leah?” I asked.

“I am.”

“Were you friends with Claire Cooperson?”

She frowned then nodded. “Why do you ask?”

“My name is Georgiana Germaine, and I’ve been hired to investigate Claire’s murder.”

Leah set the flower bouquet she’d been working on to the side and cleared her throat, reaching for a cell phone sitting on the counter. She grabbed it and walked over to me.

“I was wondering when you’d stop by,” she said. “Owen’s mother came in this morning. She’s convinced her son is innocent. Don’t blame her, I suppose. Any mother would think the same.”

“Do you think Owen’s innocent?”

I realized then that her eyes were brimming with tears. One escaped and ran down her face.

She flicked it away.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “I’ve always had a decent relationship with Owen. I would never have thought him capable of committing murder, but I don’t believe the police would have arrested him otherwise. Do you?”

“You’re right. They have good reason to consider him their primary suspect. I’ve been toying with other ideas, though … like the possibility that her murder had been staged in such a way to make it look like Owen is to blame when he isn’t.”

“Are you saying you think someone else murdered her and set him up to take the fall?”

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