Noah nods. “I agree. Once this is over, I’ll ask her to come to the department for questioning. But not today.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t think I can handle much more excitement.”
Fern strides our way with a smile appearing over her round face. “These cookies are calling my name, Lottie. I can’t believe how delicious they are.”
“Thank you,” I say, tempted to snap up another handful myself.
“I shouldn’t eat them,” she says, tucking a handful in a napkin and shoving them into the pocket of her jacket. “I’m trying to lose a little weight. I’ve put on at least forty pounds this year, and I don’t know where it’s come from. But mmm…” She takes another bite out of the cookie in her hand. “They’re so good, I might just write them into my next book. It’s called Death of a Talk Show Host.” She winks my way. “You know what they say. Write what you know. It’s sort of the way I process my feelings. Of course, I’ll change the names of everyone involved, but you might just recognize yourself in it, too.” She takes off as fast as she came, and before I can process my feelings on the matter, Cluck Norris gets his feathers ruffled.
“Buck-buck-buck.” The skittish specter flaps his wings in a manic state. “Killer alert! Killer alert!”
Kit comes this way in jeans and a white T-shirt, dressed exactly the way she was the day of the killing. She grins ear-to-ear at the three of us.
“All right, it’s almost showtime. Noah, Everett, hair and makeup is ready for you. Lottie, your team is running a bit behind, but we’ll get to you in about ten minutes.”
Everett offers me a quick kiss. “See you in a few minutes,” he says as they take off.
“Are you okay?” Kit leans in as if she can see the nerves dancing in my eyes. “You look worried to death.”
“I am.” For many reasons. “Everything is about to change in just a little while. I mean, it’s better to know the answers to these questions, but this isn’t exactly how I envisioned it.” I hug myself and rub my arms with my hands in a weak attempt to get the chill off me.
Kit touches my bare arm. “Oh, you’re freezing. My office is right next to the one Candace used. I’ve got a couple cardigans hanging behind my desk. Feel free to pick one up. No reason you can’t stay warm right up until we roll. I’ll catch up with you soon.” She takes off and my mouth falls opens, as I was about to reject her offer but think better of it.
“The killer’s office?” Cluck Norris purrs. “I don’t have to beg you to follow me, do I?”
“Not one bit,” I say as we zoom in the direction of Candace’s old office, but before we can get there, Woody steps in front of me with a clipboard in hand wearing his signature Western shirt. This one is forest green with orange whipstitching and there’s an orange handkerchief tucked into his lapel just like that red one he had on him the day of the murder—which was suspiciously found next to Candace’s desk. I never did get a chance to ask.
Cluck Norris plants himself right over the man’s head. “Make this quick, Lottie. We can’t let the killer get away.”
“Lottie.” Woody points to the set with the clipboard in his hand and Cluck Norris does a mean wobble. “Are you ready to get the answers to some pressing questions?”
“I sure am.” Although we’re not necessarily talking about the same thing. “Woody, can I ask you something?”
“Anything.” He sheds an affable smile my way.
“Please don’t take offense, but I am curious. That day when I found Candace’s body—I happened to see a red handkerchief on the floor near her desk. It looked like the one you had tucked in your shirt when we met that day. But after I discovered Candace, your handkerchief was missing.”
He takes a deep breath as he looks to the set. “It was mine. But believe me, I had nothing to do with how she ended up the way she did.” He casts a quick glance over his shoulder. “I don’t want to get anyone in unnecessary trouble, but the truth is, I went in there to talk to her that day. I wanted to confront her about seeing Burt. But when I got there, someone else was having a confrontation with her. Things went from push to shove quite literally. I had to break them apart. I couldn’t have the star of the show with a black eye with only a few minutes before we were live on the air again. There was quite the scuffle and my handkerchief fell to the floor in the process. I saw it, but I had to haul someone out of the room. I told Candace to take a minute to cool off and never went back.”
My heart thumps wildly. “You were breaking up a fight? The other person—it was Kit, wasn’t it?”
He takes in another deep breath as he casts a glance around.
“Yes,” he whispers. “But she didn’t kill Candace. I took her out into the hall and told her to go cool off. I saw her head to the staff lounge in the back just as I took off for the stage.”
“But theoretically, she could have gone back to see Candace,” I say it more or less to myself.
“Cock-a-doodle-doo!” Cluck Norris screams so loud even Woody is darting his gaze in every direction.
“I’d better see what’s going on.” He winces. “And I’ve got one humdinger of a headache coming on, too. I’ll see you in a few.”
He takes off and Cluck Norris flies down the narrow hall where the noise from the rest of the studio is dampened and the smell of coffee gives way to cleaning products that contain far too much bleach.
The door to Candace’s office is closed and there’s a bouquet of bright yellow flowers situated right in front of it. My heart aches just to see it. But not more than three feet to the left is a door marked Kit Knickerson, and Cluck Norris floats right on through the wood while I head in the old-fashioned way.
It’s cooler in here, if that were possible. The lights are on to reveal a boxy office, somewhat spacious with a messy desk and a filing cabinet. A small orange couch is crammed just to the right of the door.
True to Kit’s word, a few cardigans hang behind her desk on a coatrack, and I don’t hesitate heading over, but it’s not the sweaters that have my attention, it’s the desk in front of me.
“She’s a slob, Lottie.” Cluck Norris is quick to point out—not that he had to. Kit is evidently a very busy girl. “Mrs. Cottonwood used to call Candace a slob, too. She said there’s no excuse for a messy house. I bet the killer’s mother said that as well.”
“She may have,” I say. “But I’ve learned the hard way that sometimes no matter how hard you pick up after someone, they won’t change their ways. And my entire house is becoming messier by the minute because of it.”
“Really?” he chirps as he flies over to the top of the filing cabinet and fluffs his feathers. “I would have figured Everett would be better than that. He is a judge, after all. Order is his business.”
“I was talking about Carlotta.”
“Makes sense. Did you know she has a nest in the corner of her room?”
“No,” I say as my voice raises a few octaves because many creatures make nests, and I’m pretty sure Cluck here is the only fowl in my home.