“I know. It’s what I do actually.”
The conversation was coming easier now, almost like we were just two friends eating and catching up.
“Yeah? And what’s that?” she asked.
I finished chewing before I answered. “I’m a project coordinator for an urban-planning nonprofit in the city.”
“Sounds fancy.”
I laughed. “It’s not. We’re just a liaison between developers and residents.”
“A liaison?”
“We work with both sides, try to get them to compromise so new development can move forward without negatively impacting the existing residents.”
“Sounds like we could use you here,” she said.
Not going to lie: I’d thought the same thing. But organizations like the Livable Cities Initiative where I worked didn’t usually exist in small towns. There wasn’t enough development to make them necessary, and negotiation with developers was usually left to smaller government bodies,like Blackwell Hollow’s town council, who were supposed to represent the interests of the constituents that elected them.
“It does seem like a hot-button issue, which is why I wondered if Harold’s murder might have something to do with it.” I hurried to continue. “I mean, I know you can’t comment on the investigation or anything, but do you think it’s possible?”
“Anything is possible, especially here.”
“Why especially here?” I asked. “It’s such a cute, unassuming town.”
She took a drink of her iced tea and I was surprised to realize she’d already eaten half her sandwich. I’d been so engrossed in our conversation that I’d hardly touched my food. Then again, this was probably all in a day’s work for Sheriff Crowe.
“You know what they say, don’t judge a book by its cover.”
“You’re the second person to say that to me here,” I said, remembering Beck’s lighthearted words in the bakery. “But I assume murder isn’t an everyday occurrence.”
“I’m just saying, anytime you put a bunch of people together in close proximity, you’re going to have friction. And Blackwell Hollow has a lot of different kinds of people, people who are invested in the town in their own ways, who have their own ideas about what’s best for it, for us.”
“Who would have a motive for killing Harold Pembroke?” I asked. “Although I guess if he was against the development, we should consider the people at Hearthstone.”
“We?” Sheriff Crowe did not look amused.
“I mean, I’m not saying we’d be partners or anything?— ”
“We arenotpartners.”
“Right, like I said, we won’t be partners, but that doesn’t mean I can’t shake some bushes, see what falls out.”
“Shake some bushes?”
“Ask around,” I said. “See what I can find out. I’m good at talking to people. It’s what I do.”
Sheriff Crowe put down her sandwich, her expression stern. “Listen, Miss Hart?— ”
“Avery.”
She sighed. “Listen Avery, this isn’t some murder mystery on TV. A man is dead. I think you need to leave the detective work to me.”
“I’m not going to do any detective work. I’ll just?— ”
“Let me rephrase.” Okay, now she looked a little scary. “Leave the detective work to me. Tell me you get it.”
“I get it. But I’m new here. I need to get to know my neighbors.” I flashed her my friendliest urban-housing-development-liaison smile. “Nothing wrong with that right?”