by Patti Larsen
“How was your date last night?” I could at least try to be a friend and show interest in Daisy’s life. Kudos to me for remembering she even had a date, right?
She wriggled her narrow butt on her stool, pale pink skirt riding up and her cute little matching sweater tugging at the front when she did. “Just a tourist,” she said, rolling her eyes like that meant something. “Free dinner, though.”
I loved her attitude, laughed. “So that’s your suggestion for a love life around here, huh? Date tourists for the cheap grocery bills?”
Daisy tinkled her own laugh, squeezing my hand. “Trust me,” she said, “there’s not much selection otherwise. Except that very cute and super dreamy sheriff of ours.” She sighed and propped her cleft chin in her palm while I choked on my coffee. “So handsome. And that butt in those jeans.”
Yes, I’d thought the same thing. But it was pretty clear Crew Turner and I weren’t ever meant to be anything but head butting antagonists. So I was having a hard time thinking about him like that.
That butt. Those jeans. Liar.
I set down my coffee cup, annoyed my hands shook a little. “Well, you can have him,” I said, surprised at the level of bitterness in my voice, hating I sounded like I imagined Betty and Mary were in their own heads. “And every other man on the planet.”
Daisy’s big eyes flew wider. “I didn’t know you were gay.” She patted my hand. “I shouldn’t assume.”
Oh, for the love of… “I’m not gay,” I said. “Just over men.”
She frowned a little, head tilt making her confusion clear. “But that’s impossible. Isn’t it?”
If only. “Tell my ex that the next time you see him,” I said.
She leaned toward me then, all ears. “You never did fill me in on what happened.”
It was only then I realized I didn’t want to talk about it. Or Crew, or anyone else. And that I really was over men, thank you. No, boys. Because that’s what they acted like. Even my stubborn, avoiding, frustrating father.
Daisy must have realized I wasn’t going to answer, because she let it go with the kind of grace I only wished I had at that moment. “Well, if Crew’s not your type, we’ll find you someone.” She perked. “How about that cute Jared Wilkins?” She hesitated then as if only realizing what she just said while I choked a laugh.
“Is that Pete’s son’s name?” I rolled my eyes. “Just as soon as he gets over the fact his dad died in my back garden, I’m sure we’ll be very happy together. And if he wasn’t five years younger than me.” If not more.
Daisy shrugged. “Didn’t stop Vivian.”
Do tell. “How nice for her.” Bitter, yup.
“Not like Jared gave her much of a shot, though.” Conspiracy was Daisy’s favorite. She grinned, tight and wicked. “Besides, he’s far too nice to go for anyone as horrible as her.”
Nice? Was that true? “Nothing like his dad, then?”
Daisy shook her head, honey hair bouncing. “Not a bit,” she said. “In fact, he’s super kind, volunteers and gives back to the community all the time. Even sponsored the new soup kitchen. Much more his mom Aundrea than anything.” Didn’t sound like the Pete I met briefly and hated instantly. “He’s been at odds with his father for years. In fact,” she gave another chunk of sandwich to Petunia as she spoke, “Jared and Pete had a huge fight the day before he died outside Sammy’s Coffee downtown.”
They had what? I stared at Daisy who straightened from her snack offering as if she hadn’t just dropped another suspect in my lap. Forget the coroner’s accidental death ruling. Pete’s enemies and possible murderer pool was growing by the second.
“Why didn’t you tell Crew that?” It would have possibly deflected the sheriff away from me the morning I found the body. Maybe.
Daisy’s face crumpled. “Oh, Fee,” she said. “I’m sorry. I should have, shouldn’t I? I’ll do that right away.”
No use in getting angry with her, not now. I shook my head and leaned back, forced a smile.
“It’s okay.” I felt like the rest of my life was going to be telling Daisy nothing she did was her fault. “I’ll fill him in.”
Would I. Right after I handed him Simon and Terri’s story. Because I was done being the focus of Crew’s suspect pool, thank you very much.
***
Chapter Eighteen
I left Daisy in charge and Petunia behind this time. Refused to look at the pug and her desperate sadness I was abandoning her for the great outdoors. The walk to the sheriff’s office gave me the time I needed to sort out what I was going to say. And he was going to listen, was he ever.
I should have known nothing was ever so easy, not for me. I had only just passed through the front door of the station, all indignation and self-righteousness, when I realized there was more going on than maybe I should have known about. Okay, definitely more. Because my dad stood in the main bullpen with Crew beside him, heads together, while Pamela Shard, the reporter who was also editor and manager of the local paper hovered in their threesome, listening carefully. I didn’t get a chance to ask what was going on, not when the three then disappeared behind Crew’s office door, firmly shut behind them.
I turned to Toby Miller, found her with her head down, resolutely not meeting my eyes, the deputies gone, and only she of my dad’s loyalty club to badger with questions. I think she must have known I wasn’t going away, because she finally looked up with a sigh and shook her head.
“I can’t tell you anything, Fee,” Toby said. “So just go home, please.”
“I’ve known you since I was a little girl, Toby,” I said, laying on the weight of betrayal and hurt as thick as I could. “And you’re going to take that attitude with me, of all people?”
Her mouth worked, her small, lined hands clenching on her desk in front of her. The round logo of the Curtis County Sheriff’s Department over her right breast moved up and down quickly, the fleece vest her uniform for as long as I could remember, all four seasons of the year.
“You know your father will be furious with me.” She had to try that pleading look, those brown eyes reminding me of Petunia. “I can’t, Fee.”
“Just tell me what connection Dad had to Pete Wilkins,” I said. Wheedling, now. And from the look on her face, the way she glanced at the office door, I was wearing her down.
“Fine. That much won’t hurt.” Toby leaned toward me, all eager now. Like she’d been dying to spill. Bless her. “John has been investigating Pete Wilkins for years, the two old enemies from school. John’s never trusted him and Pete proved to be about as honest as your dad expected.” She licked her lips, glancing once more at the silent office. “Fraud, building code violations, you name it, going back decades. All of his projects were under scrutiny, including the ski lodge and golf course.” Olivia wouldn’t be very happy about that. “But it all fell through just recently. Just before your father retired.” Toby leaned away, looking sad. “That’s all I can tell you.”
It was more than I needed. I knew my father, his stubbornness, his relentless pursuit of justice. What would he do if he failed in an investigation? He would go to any lengths to ensure the law was upheld. But murder? Surely he would never go that far. And why, why would he be at my place with Pete? An accident I could see. Maybe the contractor met Dad there that night to talk about the signature and Dad pushed him and…
And.
“Sheriff Turner called your dad in,” Toby said as if unable to help herself, like she hadn’t just told me she couldn’t say more. “The coroner reexamined the evidence and the bruise on Pete’s leg? Happened right before he died. Means he didn’t slip on his own. That his fall had help. And that means manslaughter at the least.”
She covered her mouth with both hands then, shook her head like she’d said too much at last.
“I need to talk to the sheriff.” I looked at the closed door. “I have some information he might be interested in. Suspects.”
Toby lurched to her feet, hands reaching for me as s
he hurried around her desk. I found myself being pushed backward toward the exit, panic on her face.
“Just go, Fee, please.” Why was everyone so insistent I stay out of this? You’d think she’d want me to give over evidence. Instead, she seemed worried. “Let the sheriff take care of things.”
“Do you mean Dad,” I asked, “or Crew?”
Toby hesitated and I knew exactly who she referred to. Because change in guard or not, Dad would always be her sheriff.
So was she protecting him from himself? Seemed likely. And that made me very nervous.
Before Toby could make me leave, the office door opened and Pamela exited, looking angry. Which mean neither of the men gave her the information she was clearly after. I used the distraction, skirting around the office receptionist and hurrying through the swinging door at the low gate that separated the front entry from the bullpen and stormed into the office, slamming the door shut behind me so Toby couldn’t stop me.
“I have information,” I said, a little breathless as the two men stared at me like I’d taken them both by surprise. Good, maybe they’d listen then. “Do you want it or not?”
Dad met Crew’s gaze and the two shrugged.
“Wow,” I snapped. “With that kind of enthusiasm a girl could really start to feel like she’s wanted.”
“Just tell us what you know,” Crew said like it caused him great pain to speak.
Would have served them both right if I’d turned around and marched out of there. But Petunia’s was on the line, let alone murder being back on the table. I relented, telling them about Simon and Terri before sharing Daisy’s recollection of the fight between Jared and Pete. They listened, at least, both frowning by the end of it. But neither mentioned the father/son issue, instead focusing on the flower shop.
“We already know there are other victims,” Dad said like I was wasting his time.
“News to me,” Crew said, scowling at Dad. “That doesn’t mean I’m reopening the case, John.”
The two faced off like I wasn’t there and again the boy hormone levels rose to a disgusting height.
“The man is dead,” Crew said at last. “Let it go. And trust me to handle it.” He met my eyes, his unreadable. “Now, if you’ll escort your daughter out of my office, I have work to do.”
Dad mumbled something that sounded a lot like a curse word before he turned his back on Crew, caught my arm in his hand, and began to drag me away.
“Both of you are to make yourselves available for questioning when I need to talk to you.” Crew called after us as I staggered after Dad, just tugging free of him as the new sheriff slammed his own door behind me. I scowled up at my father who glared back before turning and stomping out, still muttering to himself.
Leaving me to toss my hands and stare after him in frustration even as the smiling face of Pamela Shard invaded my personal space. Her crisp, blue suit and white shell made her feel professional enough to be a bit intimidating. Or would have if I wasn’t my father’s daughter. Not that the fact was going to stop her from trying.
“Fiona Fleming,” she said, dark, shark eyes cold, bobbed off brown hair tucked neatly behind her ears in no-nonsense sleek lines. “I have some questions for you.”
***
Chapter Nineteen
Like I was going to talk willingly to a reporter. I pushed past her, ignored her huff of indignation, rushing after my dad. Because he and I really had to talk.
I caught him halfway home, forced to run after him. But I must have shocked him because when I grabbed his arm and turned him around he stopped and stared down at me like he didn’t know who I was for a second. So lost in thought, I guess, he gave me the upper hand for probably the first time in my whole life.
“Where were you the night Pete died?” I hissed that question at him, knowing we were out in the open, that anyone could overhear but wanting to take advantage of the situation.
Dad started like I’d slapped him before shutting down. “Fishing with the guys,” he said.
At night. In the dark. Right.
“Mom doesn’t know where you went.” I hit him with that accusation.
Dad turned and started walking again. “Your mother doesn’t care where I go,” he grumbled, “because she trusts me.” He threw that at me. “Unlike my daughter. But I go fishing at the cabin with the guys overnight a lot, Fee. You’d know that if you were here.”
He did not just punish me with the fact I moved away after high school. Did not.
“Do you really think I killed someone?” Dad turned on me then, adding blow to hurt. “Really, Fee? You think I’m capable?”
“I do,” I said. “Under the right circumstances.” And I did. Because I knew Dad would do anything for Mom. Anything.
“But these circumstances?” At least he didn’t argue.
I hesitated because no, I didn’t believe it. Not on purpose. But an accident, manslaughter? In the heat of the moment, anything could happen.
We stared at each other a long moment while I struggled to say anything, while he sagged and absorbed my silence. How fun, hurting each other so deeply on a public street in probably the nosiest town in America. Dad turned at last and headed for home, head down, feet dragging a little while I stood watching him go with my heart in my shoes.
Bad daughter.
That didn’t remove my need to find out the truth, though, as sad as that was. And now that Crew was on the warpath for a suspect again, I had to try to sort this out. Okay, no. I didn’t. I could go home to the B&B, do as they all were telling me, mind my own business. But Petunia’s was at risk, my freedom challenged. And no one was willing to tell me what was going on, not really. So taking matters into my own hands? Yeah, I could do that.
Was doing that. Dad should have known he didn’t raise the kind of daughter who did what she was told. Not with his DNA hardwired into me. I stomped home to Petunia’s, sorting out my game plan. I couldn’t do much about the fight between Pete and Jared. But there was too much of a coincidence between Grandmother Iris’s situation and that of Ranjeet Jacob for me to ignore.
They’d both been old, ill and in care. That pointed to the nursing home, didn’t it? I’d been meaning to stop in and pick up the box of odds and ends my grandmother left behind. The perfect excuse to check the place out and see if there was a connection to Pete Wilkins. A long shot, okay. But I had to do something or lose my mind.
My car chugged its reluctance as I drove to my destination, but I refused to stop or turn around or go home and be a good girl. Not like going to the home was against the law or anything. Nor was looking into my own best interest.
I pulled into a spot out front of the low, long building, noting the tasteful landscaping and the fact the pale yellow building was probably overdue for a paint job. The tall sign at the gate said Reading Nursing Care, the logo likely designed in the eighties from the tacky colors and clipart appearance. I slipped out of the driver’s seat, clutching my bag to my chest, wondering what I thought I was going to accomplish, really. After all, I couldn’t barge in and demand to know if Pete Wilkins had been pressuring old people to sign away their property, could I? I snorted at my own ridiculousness and sighed as I swung the straps over my shoulders, the weight cutting in with a familiarity that brought me back to reality. Seriously, what was I thinking? Yes, I would retrieve Grandmother Iris’s things, but I was no detective. Robert had that much right.
I was so focused on beating myself up over even considering I might find answers that I almost bumped into someone exiting the building. I looked up at the last second, the sight of scuffed sneakers skimming up over torn jeans and to the lean, five o’clock shadowed face of a young man who winked at me on the way by. He stank of weed in a cloud that followed him closely and looked a little too skinny for his own good, as if smoking up replaced groceries.
I glanced at him over my shoulder, caught him leering at my ass, and flipped him the bird. He waved jaunty cheer before mounting the motorcycle I’d parked next
to and drove off without a helmet. Idiot kid.
Well, I wasn’t his mother or anything. And I had my own problems. I jerked on the door, the whoosh of air conditioning and disinfectant making me gag, and entered the building.
The lobby hummed softly with the dull strains of music piped through speakers in the ceiling, rewritten classics made boringly tedious for mass consumption. My shoes squeaked on the old tiles polished to their best shine despite their age, and looked around, feeling a little lost in the dim gray of the industrial feeling space.
An office sign lured me toward it, but not before a perky voice called my name.
“Fiona!” I turned to find Peggy perched on a sofa long in need of new upholstery, Cookie in her lap with her cute, pink bow bobbing from her topknot. A clock ticked its ancient time over their heads, a doddering old man next to her, his thin, slumped body draped in a dressing gown two sizes too big for him, plaid slippers on his narrow feet. She wiped absently at the drool running down the man’s chin with a crumpled tissue, Cookie wagging her tail at the sight of me.
“Hi, Peggy.” I joined them, smiling down at the old man who looked through me with his watery eyes. He didn’t move or speak, just sat there with his loose mouth hanging open while my heart ached for him. How much of him survived in there? Or was his mind off in a better place already?
“What brings you down here today?” Peggy’s perky question just made things worse. She didn’t even seem to notice her companion wasn’t aware of her or the world around him.
“Just picking up my grandmother’s things.” I glanced at the office door. “Through there?”
She nodded enthusiastically, her faintly blue-tinted roller set dull in the florescent lights. One hand reached out and straighten the cane perched against her knee before it could fall over before returning to pat the old man’s hand. I almost asked about it, had never seen her walk with one before, but she was already pointing to the door across the foyer.
