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“So what happened this morning?” I asked. Any story surrounding Randall was bound to be amusing, if horrendously so.
“He started a lawn care company two weeks ago, and convinced Orin Kramer to go in on it with him. Orin’s big, burly, and not the brightest bulb in the socket, but he’s a good enough sort, and he does everything he attempts with enthusiasm. I dated him once when we were younger, and that was enough, though. We were dancing and he flipped me, and I landed hard on my butt because I had no clue he was going to attempt a flip.” Daisy snickered.
“Anyway, so Randall and Orin bought a riding lawn mower together for their business, and they got in an argument at the park about who was going to give it the first spin. The city gave them a trial run at Liberty Park—they’re in the market for new landscapers and are taking bids.”
I groaned. The potential for damage was all too real. “What happened?”
“Randall jumped on the mower, and he started it. The mower’s foreign-made, and cheap. That’s how they were able to afford it. So when Randall turned it on, it got stuck in high gear. Orin and he were arguing over who should get the first turn driving it, and somehow, they knocked it out of neutral and the mower began to speed forward.”
“And let me guess, Randall just held on for dear life?” I asked.
“Spot on. Randall wasn’t ready for it, and he’s not a quick wit. By the time he figured out he should turn the mower off, both he and the machine were heading down the middle of Main Street. Randall tried to steer, something went awry, and before he could bail, he and the mower smashed right through the main window of Art’s Hardware & Handy-Man Store. Randall went head first off the mower, and when he tried to roll to the side, he rolled into a shelf. He and the mower took out two rows of products before coming to an ignoble halt in the center of the store.” Daisy was trying to keep a straight face, but her laughter was showing through the cracks.
I snickered. “Oh man, I shouldn’t laugh but…How’s Art? How’s Randall?”
“Both men are fine, though Art is pissed and Randall’s scared. He’s afraid Art’s going to sue him. I told him he might want to offer to pay for the damages before Art calls his lawyer. I’m not sure what happened, because I left Culpepper to handle the rest of the case.”
“Art’s a good guy. If Randall pays for the damages, I’m sure that Art won’t clobber him too hard.”
“We’ll see what happens. The problem with Randall is that he can be a little weasel when he wants to.” With a shrug, she pulled out her tablet. “All right, let me show you what we came up with.” She set the tablet on the table so I could look at it, and brought up her photos section. While I watched, she flipped through pictures of the damaged shop until she came to the first mug shot. Grams leaned over my shoulder.
The woman looked vaguely familiar to me, as well as the second. The third, I recognized from last week. “None of them came in yesterday, as far as I remember. The third—what’s her name?”
“Layla Smith.”
“Layla came in last week and we had a pleasant chant. The other two came in last month, I think. What about the fourth set of prints?”
“We have no record of whoever those prints belong to. Which probably means she’s never been arrested. I checked the FBI central database when I check for prints, and they don’t have any record, either. You sure that none of these three are problematic?”
“The first two came in together a few weeks ago. I remember now, they bought a few crystals and a couple of books. They said they were from out of town, just passing through. I think they were from Aberdeen.” I frowned. “What are their records for?”
“Petty theft, when they were in their early twenties. Their addresses show they’re still living in Aberdeen, but they haven’t been in any real trouble since then. The third one’s a firecracker,” Daisy said.
“She didn’t buy anything, just looked around. I asked her if I could help her and she basically ignored me. I don’t think she was impressed.”
“You’re probably better off. She was arrested two years ago for causing a scene down at Sea-tac Airport. She went full Karen on the cops. She tried to board a plane while she was drunk and spit on the cops when they answered the call. They booked her for public intoxication, resisting arrest, and assault on an officer, given how uncooperative she was.” Daisy rolled her eyes. “Apparently, she lives around here.”
“I guess I lucked out.” I shrugged. “And the fourth set that you picked up?”
“We have no clue. Everything else was either too smudged, or jumbled to get clear prints off of. Oh, we have a fifth set, but those were everywhere in the space, and they were yours. We got them from the file of when…” As she hesitated, I knew exactly where she got them.
When the Butcher had gotten hold of Rian and me, I’d submitted to being fingerprinted because they needed to rule me out as a suspect. It hadn’t taken much to do so, but I wanted to cooperate. I’d been in shock and it never occurred to me to say no. So now my fingerprints were on file, but I had been exonerated from any part of Rian’s death.
“Yeah, mine. I know why you have them. It’s okay.” I sighed, leaning back in my chair as Grams took the scones out of the oven. She transferred them to a plate and set them down on the table. I glanced up at her. “Thanks, Grams.”
“Enjoy,” Grams said. “So, either the vandal was wearing gloves or…”
“It’s likely they were. I have no doubt they intended to do as much damage as possible without leaving any incriminating evidence. We do have another partial set, but no one to match them with.” Daisy pursed her lips as she buttered a scone and drizzled honey on it. “Tell me, what’s your instinct say? Usually, when we’re dealing with witches, instinct plays a big factor in cases like these.”
I fixed a scone for myself, as well. Then, letting the honey soak in, I closed my eyes and tried to pinpoint anything that might tell me what was going on. One lone flicker caught my attention and I explored it.
“You know, I feel like I’ve come in contact with the person, but never met them. I don’t know how that makes any sense, but it’s like…whoever did this knows who I am, and I know who they are, but I don’t know them. I know that sounds contrary but…”
“Yeah, it does, but I think I can follow the thread. Sort of like being exposed to a virus but not catching it. Maybe you’ve met in passing? Like at a party?” Daisy bit into her scone and made a soft ‘mmm’ sound. “Oh, these are good. Morgance, would you consider giving me the recipe?”
“Of course. I’ll write it out and Elphyra can email it to you, if that will work?” Grams was busy putting the stew in the slow cooker. She was chopping celery and carrots, and had raided the spice cabinet.
“That would be great. Well, that’s all I’ve got for you. We’ll continue to send cars by at least once a night. To be honest, I’m worried about you. You don’t live far from the town center—but it feels rural here. There’s a lot of tree cover for someone to hide in. And since we can’t see your house from the street, there’s that added note of privacy which can be both a blessing and a curse.” She stood, finishing off her scone. “Thank you for the eats—they’re good.”
