Huh, my inner voice said.
Apparently my presence was a huge shock to her, because Linnea covered her mouth and stared when I entered Munoz Emporium. “I’m telling,” she said behind the hand. She reached for her red phone as I walked past. A few minutes later, Chuck Munoz found me in the housewares department.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“I’m looking for a kitchen timer,” I said. “Something with a double-A battery. Oh, here we are.”
I took two small timers off the shelf.
“Anything else?” Munoz asked.
“Do you have any small glass bottles?” I held my thumb and forefinger two inches apart. “About this big, maybe an inch around.”
Munoz led me three aisles over to where there were plenty of empty jars of various sizes, including canning jars. It took me two minutes to find the size I needed.
“Anything else?” Munoz said.
“Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“Why would I?”
“Because I remind you that the woman you disliked so much was murdered yesterday.”
“I didn’t—I liked—” Munoz closed his eyes. When he opened them, he said, “I liked Tracie very much. She was a friend of mine. We had our problems because of the mall, but we would have gotten past it.”
“Not if the mall had been a success. Not if you were put out of business.”
“What are you saying?”
“Did you know Mike Randisi?”
“No. I knew of him, but I didn’t actually know him. Why? What are you saying?”
“Rush disappearing, Tracie’s murder—they take care of a lot of problems for you.”
“What are you saying?”
“Stop repeating yourself, Chuck. You sound ridiculous.”
Munoz opened his mouth like he wanted to speak, and then quickly shut it.
“The Imposter disappeared after about 9:00 p.m. Tuesday before last,” I said. “Where were you?”
“You’re not a cop. You don’t get to ask me those questions.”
“Then we’ll have Big Joe Balk ask them.”
“I was here until 10:00 p.m.,” Munoz said.
Wow, that was the second time using the sheriff’s name scared someone, my inner voice told me. Balk must be some badass.
“Are you open until ten?” I said.
“We’re open until nine in the summer. I was doing inventory.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“So we have just your word for it.”
“What are you say—”
Munoz cut off his sentence abruptly. I filled the void.
“After ten?” I said.
“I went home.”
“Witnesses?”
“No.”
“Where were you last Friday night?”
“I worked until nine, and then I went home.”
“Alone.”
“Goddammit.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“You have no business asking me these questions.”
“I’m making it my business to find the Imposter and to catch whoever killed Tracie Blake. It better not be you.”
“It’s not.”
“Then you should be willing to help.”
I had heard Munoz’s long, weary sigh before. He sounded like a man who was firmly lodged between a rock and a hard place. Putting him in that position gave me pleasure.
“What do you want to know?” he said.
“Tell me about your relationship with Tracie.”
“We were—intimate.”
“For how long?”
“A few months.”
“And then?”
“It ended.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. She never told me. We were together and then we weren’t. A while later I learned that she had taken up with someone else.”
“Who?”
“Chief Gustafson.”
“That must have stung.”
“It did.”
“When she started supporting the mall, that must have stung even more.”
“I couldn’t believe she would betray me like that.”
“I could see why you would be angry.”
“Angry? I was a helluva lot more than angry. I could have killed both of them.”
“Did you?”
Munoz took a step backward.
“What am I saying?” he said. “No, I didn’t kill them. Of course not. It was just a figure of speech. I could never—no. I didn’t kill anyone.”
Sure sounded convincing to me.
Spiess Drug Store wasn’t actually a drug store because it no longer filled prescriptions.
“Our pharmacist left,” Terri Spiess said. “He decided he couldn’t make a living here, and he left. Can’t really blame him, but it leaves me in a tough spot. I’ve been trying to hire a pharmacist ever since—no luck. If something doesn’t happen soon…” She shook her head as if she were afraid to imagine the possibility.
Spiess was another of Libbie’s many beauties. Her hair was black, straight, and long, and her complexion was dark, hinting that she had some Native American blood. Her eyes, though, were red, and the wrinkles around them suggested worry.
“Is it as bad as all that?” I said.
“Last year, prescription revenue accounted for sixty-seven percent of our total sales,” she said. “Yeah, it’s that bad.”