by Darci Hannah
“Very good,” I said, trying to look as if I’d never dare breach the yellow police tape plastered across one of the inn’s doors. “Anything else you’d like to note before I lift the black cloth?”
He raised a cinnamon brow, accepting the challenge. “The black cloth, including the fact that you wouldn’t reveal it in front of Mr. Larson, suggests one of two things. It’s either a painting of the kid, or it’s pornographic in nature. I hope to God it isn’t both.”
“Nope, but interesting all the same,” I said, mildly impressed by his reasoning skills. I was also a little thrilled he was speaking to me at all after yesterday. Although he’d already guessed the real reason the painting was covered, I wanted to keep him talking for my own sake. Therefore I asked, “But why not include ‘disturbing in nature’ to the list?”
“For the simple fact that our young Mr. Larson has seen more disturbing things in his short life than you or I put together. Not only is he a gamer,” Jack reasoned, “but he also has unlimited access to the internet and a mom who’s too busy trying to keep a roof over his head to worry about what he’s getting up to. It explains the fact that he was loitering at the inn well past two in the morning with his girlfriend. His mom assumed he was already fast asleep in his own bed.”
I exhaled and shook my head. “Poor Lori. However, I’ll bet nearly every mom in America with a teen and the internet must be going through something similar.” I looked across at Jack, issuing a new challenge. “Okay. You feel that ‘disturbing in nature’ isn’t a reason to want him out of here, stating he’s been desensitized by the internet. Wouldn’t ‘pornographic in nature’ fall under the same category? I mean, obviously Erik’s no angel. Even his best intentions are often thwarted by his devious nature.”
“I totally agree,” he said, clearly enjoying the mysterious nature of the painting. “In general, you’re correct—internet access, a working mother, a wildly devious teenage brain.” He counted them off on his fingers. “However, I happen to know that you’re a responsible adult, one that would never subject a kid to a pornographic painting.” He pointed to the black cloth, his eyes suddenly alight with conviction. “It’s pornographic in nature. It has to be.”
I was still stuck on, “You think I’m a responsible adult?”
The moment the words had been uttered, excitement faded from Jack’s eyes only to be replaced by a wariness that made him look much older than his twenty-eight years. “Look, before you remove that cloth, we need to talk, Whitney.” His brow furrowed with consternation as his gaze suddenly dropped to his hands resting on the table. “I know you were mad at me yesterday. But I was mad too. Really, really angry,” he added, looking up at me with an intenseness in his light brown eyes I’d seldom seen. “When I was called to the inn yesterday morning and found Ms. Lumiere’s body like that, I felt … well, I felt betrayed. The trouble was, in my heart I knew that you couldn’t have killed her. I know you. I’ve known you since we were kids. You’re one of the most responsible adults I know, if a little overzealous at times. But you’d let Silvia get to you. You’d said those things about her in the bakery. How do you think I felt when I saw your scone in her mouth—that she’d been pushed down the stairs at your inn? And the fact that you couldn’t give me an alibi …? That pissed me off.” Emotion accentuated the fine lines of his face and he nervously raked a hand through his thick, cinnamon-colored hair again. “It pissed me off because it made you the prime suspect, and because I knew that if I named you, you were going to hate me for it.”
“Jack,” I said, unaware of the internal conflict he’d suffered. I wanted to tell him that he was wrong, that I wouldn’t hate him. But I couldn’t. He’d hit the nail on the head.
“Of course, I didn’t mean that I wished you were with Tate,” he added, his eyes creasing in distaste as he said it. “That was just petty jealousy. It flares sometimes, you know. What you might not know, and what I’ve never had the nerve to tell you before, is that it’s always been there, even back in high school.”
The revelation shocked me. “But … you were my friend,” I reminded him.
His lips pulled taut in a grim smile. “Friends, frenemies, the girl I had a crush on but could never tell.”
“Truly, Jack,” I uttered, and fell speechless. My hand was over my heart. I feared it might flutter away or stop altogether. I was dumfounded. “You … you liked me in high school?” Truthfully, I thought he merely tolerated me.
Jack let out a pained sort of huff. “Yes. Of course. But I could never tell you. Didn’t have the nerve. Besides, I was a skinny, geeky, know-it-all kid. Tate was a—”
“Muscly football player,” I finished for him, my heart still racing double-time. I had no idea what to say. The revelation was startling, and painful, and oddly uplifting. “It’s all genetics, Jack,” I blurted. “Tate blossomed young, and he was an upperclassman. I had no idea …?”
“Well, that was the plan. There’s only so much embarrassment a geeky kid can take. Same’s true with a geeky man who works as a cop in a small tourist town. When you came back here, I knew there was little reason to be hopeful. Tate lives here too, so what’s the point. Right?”
“But … we were broken up,” I argued, feeling him slipping though my fingers; fearing that the shadow of Tate was too much for him to live under.
Jack gave a little laugh. “Right. But how many times has that happened before? You two were always breaking up over something. I know what he did. We all do. And, in Tate’s defense, women do tend to throw themselves at him. I never looked at it as a bad problem to have until you came home. He still has a thing for you, and I understand. But after Jeb’s murderer was apprehended this spring, you came to the station and kissed me.”
“It wasn’t a mistake,” I assured him, not really knowing what else I could say.
He nodded as if he believed me. “I really thought I had a chance.” The raw expression in his eyes as he spoke belied the ironic grin. “Then Tate called, and you went running after him like always. And I kicked myself, because even I knew that it was just a matter of time before you would forgive him.”
“But … but—”
Jack held up his hand to stop me. “Please, just hear me out.”
Captivated by his emotional confession, I nodded.
“It was too painful to see you after that. But you kept persisting. For my own self-preservation I knew that with Tate, you, and me in the same small town it was never going to end well for me. I was of half a mind to move back to Milwaukee but you softened me up, like you always do, and gave me hope again.” His lips twisted in recollection. “You even asked me to the Renaissance fair. That was pretty cool.”
I wanted to tell him that I too had been nervous. That he was the man keeping me up at night, not Tate. “Jack,” I said, “listen.” But he wouldn’t.
“No,” he said sternly, cutting me off again. “I’m not done yet. There was something about the murder of Silvia Lumiere that made me snap. As petty as this sounds, I was actually angry with you for letting it happen—for allowing yourself to be caught up in another senseless murder. I said some things I didn’t really mean. And you surprised me again by fighting back. You don’t take things sitting down, Whitney, and this picture here is proof of that.” His eyes settled on the black cloth once again. “Unfortunately,” he said, and slowly looked at me, “I’ve always found it easier to avoid you, or tease you, rather than admit how I really feel about you. Which brings me to yesterday. When I found out that you had gone off with Tate in search of suspects you shouldn’t even have known about, all those old, insecure feelings I had suppressed came flooding back with force. Seeing you two having lunch confirmed that I’d been firmly thrust aside—shoved back to the friend zone again. It was only after I left that I realized you had asked me to the fair, not Tate.”
“That’s … that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!” I cried, feeling anger
nipping at my nerves. “You have no idea what I’ve been going through either. You and Tate are now friends and I’m in the middle, getting in between you both. Do you think it’s easy being back here, knowing what a mess I’m making of everything? Tate’s the reason I avoided coming home in the first place, but … but you’re a big part of the reason I decided to stay. I thought you knew that?”
His face darkened. “How the hell would I know that?” he cried. “You never bothered to tell me!”
“Do you honestly think I started running because I like it?” I yelled back at him. “I did it just so I’d have a few sweaty minutes with you!” He looked astonished, as if the thought had truly never occurred to him. Humph, some detective, I thought. I rounded on him again. “But you’re too bloody fast for me … and then work got really busy. But I tried, Jack, which is more than I can say for you.”
Anger flooded his handsome face, and I’m sorry to think I enjoyed the way he was glaring at me. “What the hell?” he shouted. The goats on the roof heard him and began to scream. Jack ignored them, knowing they’d stop in a minute. “Why do you think I stopped by your bakery every morning? You know I’m health conscious. Did you really think I like eating so much sugar and fat? I ate your … your frickin’ delicious cherry baked goods because I wanted to see you! Then, because I did, I had to run even more!”
His anger was approaching adorable levels. We were virtually arguing on the same side of the fence, only he was too torqued up to see it. If I was ever going to wow him with my sleuthing skills, and show him the painting I’d discovered, I was going to need to talk him down a bit.
“And I’m glad you do,” I said in a much softer tone. It was then that I reached a hand across the table to his. The moment I touched him the tension drained from his face. “It’s truly the highlight of my day. It took me weeks just to get up the nerve to ask you out on a group date to the Renaissance fair. Granted, it’s not the most romantic place, but I thought it would be fun. And if there’s one thing you and I have, Jack, it’s fun. You might also be interested to know that Tate sailed off last night on the Lusty Dutchman. The fact that I’m here in your kitchen, standing over a cloth-covered painting and not in the Lusty Dutchman should, if you were a really good detective, tell you everything you need to know. However, I should also probably tell you that Mrs. Cushman is very worried. It’s not like Tate, but I think he’ll be back. He’s not used to rejection, just as I’m not used to rejecting him. It’s new territory for all of us. But I think, if we’re careful, we can all move forward from here. That is, if you want to move forward.” I held my breath, waiting for him to reply.
“I would. More than anything.”
I squeezed his hand. “Good. Now, let me show you what I found.”
“Jesus,” Jack uttered, trying to process both my confession and the naked painting confronting him. “That’s not right.” He shook his head as if to clear the larger-than-life image. “Do I know him?” he asked. “Why do I get the feeling that I do?”
“Because that’s Lance Van Guilder, Tay’s boyfriend.”
He looked confused. “The knight? But why would Silvia Lumiere have this?”
“For the obvious reason that he was at one time her assistant too, only she’d been able to manipulate him into posing for this.”
“What? I thought he was a jouster?”
“That’s what he does now. But Tay mentioned that he’s also quite a talented metal artist.”
“Right,” Jack said, nodding. “But when did he work for her? And does Tay know?”
“No. I don’t think she does. And as far as when Lance might have worked for Silvia, it would have had to have been at least five years ago.” I looked at Jack. “You know that Giff’s been helping me, right?” He nodded. “Well,” I continued, “he’s really good at digging. Along with the fact that Silvia had been married, he also found out that she was named in a sexual harassment lawsuit. It was brought on by a young male apprentice who used to work for her. His name was stricken from the record once the case was thrown out of court. Did you know about this?” I asked.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve been too busy going through statements from hotel guests and people who knew her, working with the folks at Crime Scene Evidence, and handling petty tourist issues to do much digging.”
“Well, it was bound to come up once you did,” I soothed. “However, Giff’s done it for you. Anyhow, this man—this apprentice—claimed that Silvia was always coming on to him and treating him like dirt. She’d even made him pose in the nude for a painting, promising him money if he did. The lawsuit was eventually thrown out of court and Silvia skated free, her reputation untarnished, primarily because the existence of the painting could never be proven until now.”
“Jesus,” Jack swore again. “Where did you find it?”
“I’ll tell you in a minute. First I want to tell you what I know about Lance.” I proceeded to bring Jack up to speed, telling him how that beautiful suit of armor we’d seen Lance wearing had gotten repossessed when the check he’d used to pay for it, drawing on funds from an old client who’d paid him a substantial amount, had bounced. I told Jack about Lance’s humiliation, and how he’d been losing in the jousting ring ever since. I then told him how Lance had come for dinner at the inn last night with Tay. “However,” I said, “aside from this painting and everything I’ve just told you, the most damaging piece of evidence against him is that Grandma Jenn actually witnessed him coming to the inn one evening to confront Silvia. I honestly didn’t think he knew Silvia. And I had never seen him at the inn before last night. But you see, that connects him to the inn and to Silvia. I’m also pretty sure he owns a black cape. He is, after all, the Black Knight.”
“Whitney,” Jack said, trying to be stern. “You know that you’re not supposed to be sticking your nose into police business, but I’m genuinely impressed.”
“Really, Jack, the moment you named me suspect number one, I had no choice.”
There was no arguing with this, and he knew it. “You do know what this means, don’t you?”
I nodded. “Tay’s going to freak. I only wish there was some way we could let her down gently.”
Jack shook his head. “Silvia Lumiere,” he breathed, staring at the incriminating painting. “What a mess you’ve made of my town.”
Thirty
W ith a new understanding between us, and a nude painting as well, Jack and I drove the one block down Main Street to Cheery Pickers in search of Lance Van Guilder.
It wasn’t going to be an easy visit. How was I to tell my best friend that the man she was obsessed with had just landed himself on the top of the police suspect list? Jack had swiftly informed me that Giff and I had made more progress than the entire police force had. I was about to give myself a high five but could see how his competitive nature chafed against the thought of two amateur sleuths having such success. No point flaming that fiery sharp tongue of his. Jack had paid me a compliment while schooling all sardonic comments he might have had. It was a remarkable show of restraint, and in its own small way had meant the world to me.
“So tell me, where did you find that painting?” he asked, parking his police-issue SUV in the crowded lot on the side of Cheery Pickers. “It wasn’t in her room. Did McClellan have it?”
“No. But Peter did have keys to Silvia’s white trailer.”
He grimaced. “The trailer! I’d almost forgotten about that. It wasn’t part of the crime scene. Anyhow, we didn’t have keys to get in there, and Peter wasn’t around.”
I smiled at him. “Well, last night after dinner Giff was so convinced that Peter murdered Silvia he wanted to search his room.”
“What for? The man had an alibi?” Jack looked confused. That’s when I remembered that no one had bothered to fill him in on what Hannah and Peter had actually been doing before they went back to her place for the night. I r
eached over to the keys and turned off the ignition. I then handed them to Jack.
“Okay. Don’t be mad, but Hannah and Peter held a little voodoo ceremony on the beach the night of Silvia’s murder.”
“What?” His bright amber eyes held mine. “And why am I just hearing about this now?”
I gave him a placating pat on the hand. “Better now than never, right?”
The scowl on his face was proof it wasn’t. I quickly filled him in.
“So, you see?” I said once I had finished. “Giff thought Peter’s story was highly suspicious. Then, when we learned Erik had been in the elevator and had seen a black-caped figure, Giff thought that if we could find the black cape in Peter’s room, it would prove that Peter had been back to the inn after he and Hannah were supposedly asleep. Giff thought that Hannah might not even have known. The two of them have been, um, self-medicating due to Silvia and her soul-sucking nature. Anyhow,” I said, breezing right along, “Peter was in his room when we went there. He was supposed to be with Hannah.”
Jack looked confused. “Why wasn’t he with her?”
Excessive pot smoking was the real reason, but to Jack I just said, “They had a falling out. However, as cold as this sounds, I’m glad they did. Otherwise we would have never gotten into that trailer.”
Jack stroked is chin thoughtfully as he listened to what I had told him. “I’m going to need to get into that trailer as well. I take it McClellan still has the keys?” I nodded. “Good. But first, this.” Jack looked out the front windshield at the brightly painted sign that read Cheery Pickers. “Listen Whit, I need you to talk with Tay. Divert her. Let me handle Van Guilder.”
Tay’s shop was abuzz with customers. The essence of calming, scented candles wafted above the underlying scent of complimentary coffee and a variety of perfumes that might have been applied a tad too heavily. Celtic-inspired instrumental music trickled softly from the ceiling speakers, accentuating the experience of browsing through the popular, eclectic shop. As I entered I cringed slightly, realizing that many of the faces browsing the goods were familiar.
