I bit my bottom lip. This might really get me in trouble with them, but I had to get them to investigate Ophelia’s closet. “I couldn’t help but notice the embosser we found in back of the library had a blue thread on it.”

Augusta crossed her arms over her chest. “And?”

“Well, I happen to know that Ophelia Withington has a blue cape that looks like a color match … and Myrna at the coffee shop said she saw Ophelia there that morning.”

Augusta and Striker exchanged a look and I felt a spark of hope. Did they know something about Ophelia already?

“Also, I noticed Ophelia wasn’t at the service today,” I added triumphantly. Surely, her absence was a sign of guilt?

“Willa, that doesn’t really mean anything,” Augusta said.

“Yeah, but shouldn’t you get a search warrant or something and match the fibers of the cape to that on the embosser?”

“We could, but even if they matched it wouldn’t prove anything. That fiber could have been on the embosser before Lavinia was killed,” Augusta said.

“And besides,” Striker added, “we’ve already investigated Ophelia, and she has an alibi.”

“She does?” My brows mashed together and I looked from Augusta to Striker.

“Yep,” Augusta nodded. “An air-tight alibi. She was at the bank making a deposit and their security cameras have her time-stamped picture to prove it. According to the M.E., she was there at the exact time Lavinia died—Ophelia couldn’t have killed her.”

I stared at her incredulously, disappointment weighing my stomach down. I’d wasted a lot of time and energy chasing down the clues that pointed to Ophelia.

So, if Ophelia wasn’t the killer … then who was?

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

“I can’t believe Ophelia has an alibi,” I muttered to myself as I rolled my damp dress into a ball and threw it down on the floor in the tiny bathroom of my shop.

“Mew.” Pandora pushed a paw under the door in agreement.

“I still think she’s up to something.” I slid on my jeans, then slipped the pink sweater over my head. A quick look in the mirror confirmed that the combination of humidity from the weather and static electricity from the sweater had made my hair frizz. I rummaged through the medicine cabinet and found an elastic band that I used to corral my shoulder-length curls into a ponytail.

Leaning closer to the mirror, I plucked out a white hair—darn things had been making an appearance in one spot at my temple and I was doing my best to avoid having a thick white stripe in my red hair.