by Emily James
Dwayne looked at her as if he was considering slapping her hand but knew it wouldn’t do anything other than make her angry. “He drank, but never beer. Jimmy hated beer. Wouldn’t touch it even if it was free.”
The alcohol next to his body had definitely been a case of beer. That, along with the weird shoe situation, made me think they could be right. “Did you tell the police that?”
Dwayne nodded. “They didn’t seem to believe us.”
No, they probably wouldn’t have. In their eyes, Jimmy was a drunk, and it’d sound crazy to say a drunk wouldn’t drink anything alcoholic presented to them.
When I talked to him, Jimmy had sounded truly regretful for all the things heavy drinking had cost him, too. Granted, I hadn’t known him long, but I couldn’t see him getting fall-down drunk on a drink he didn’t even like.
I sipped my coffee to buy myself time to answer.
I wasn’t going to try to convince the police if that’s what they were after in terms of help. In fact, now that this was a police matter, I needed to be as far away from the situation as possible. “I didn’t know Jimmy well enough to change the investigating officer’s mind.”
“They don’t need to know that,” Carla said. “Just tell ’em you’re a friend of his family or something.”
Lie to the police, in other words. Not happening. “I’ve really got to get going. I have a catering event to bake for.”
Dwayne jumped to his feet from a sitting position faster than anyone should have been able to. “We can trade information for help. We know the best spots for you to park for the night where no one will bother you.”
My hands lost their grip on my mug. I grabbed it again just in time to avoid singeing my lap.
They knew I was living in my truck. That wasn’t good. At all. While it wasn’t technically illegal to sleep in your vehicle in Michigan, it broke a lot of health and safety laws for a food truck.
Dwayne’s offer sounded genuine, like he simply thought he was offering something I’d want—and he was. Right now, I was using my cell phone to check for infrared security cameras. When it was dark out, if I didn’t see a light with my naked eye, but I did see a light when looking at the same spot through my phone’s camera screen, I knew there was a security camera. That didn’t tell me about security patrols and how busy an area was, though. It only made sure I wouldn’t be caught on camera. I could use a more reliable source for safe spots to park for the night.
Besides, if I turned them away without any help, Carla might get angry again and figure out she could use my living situation against me.
Despite that, I couldn’t go to the police. I wouldn’t go to the police. I also didn’t want to lose my catering gigs by leaving town. I was already getting dizzy spells from how little I was eating.
So I had to figure out what I could do to aid them without putting myself into the line of sight of the police.
I did know someone who might be able to look into it and make sure the police were doing their due diligence in investigating it. Assuming she was home from her honeymoon.
I hadn’t planned to call Nicole Fitzhenry-Dawes, the last catering client I’d had in Fair Haven before I’d had to move on. I didn’t want to leave a trail between her and me for Jarrod to follow.
But she did have connections.
I stood up and set my cup on the counter. “I don’t want to lie to the police, but I know someone who might be able to find out if there was alcohol in Jimmy’s bloodstream or if he had any defensive wounds. Would that be good enough?”
Dwayne and Carla exchanged a glance that I couldn’t read.
“That’s fair,” Dwayne said. “If it looks like he drank it himself, we’ll tell you the spots and let it be.”
I cared about the spots a lot less than I cared about avoiding Carla’s retribution, but I decided it was better to let him think we were making a “business” deal.
Now I just had to hope Nicole was home and that she really could help.
Chapter 4
When my call went straight to voicemail, I assumed Nicole was still on her honeymoon. So that I would have a ready excuse for Dwayne and Carla, I left a message anyway with what I needed.
Nicole’s name showed up on my cell phone a day later as I was removing the last batch of cupcakes from the oven for the party I was catering that night.
I turned the oven off and answered the call.
“I’m glad you called,” Nicole said. “Are you okay?”
She was the only person in Michigan who knew the truth about me. I’d refused to tell her where I was going when I’d left Fair Haven, and not only because I wasn’t sure myself. I hadn’t wanted to put her at risk of Jarrod using her to get to me.
Now that she knew what county I was in, I should relocate—as soon as the holidays were over and my catering jobs had padded my bank account enough to make sure my truck had enough gas to leave the county at all.
I filled Nicole in on everything that’d gone on since I moved on from Fair Haven, leaving out keys bits about how I’d been skipping a lot of meals. I ended with the newest development.
“I thought you were playing a joke on me,” Nicole said, “until Mark found there was a homeless man named James Turner hit by a train in Redmond.”
“I wish it was a joke. How was your honeymoon?”
I cringed as soon as the words were out of my mouth. That always seemed like one of those questions where there was nothing but awkward answers. If the person answered too enthusiastically, they opened themselves up for winks and nudges. If they answered too mildly, people would speculate on the state of their new marriage.
Nicole laughed. “That’s a story in itself. Once we deal with your potential crime, I’ll tell you about mine. For now, let’s just say we have a voucher for another cruise in the future.”
If I’d been talking to anyone else, I would have thought they were joking. One thing I’d discovered about Nicole in our short acquaintance, though, was she had an uncanny knack for ending up involved in murder cases, and not only because she was a criminal defense attorney.
The sound of ruffling paper filtered through from her end. It made me think she was looking for the piece of paper where she’d taken some notes for me. “Mark’s helped the medical examiner for your county out a couple of times, so he called in a favor to see the report. There was too much damage to the body for the medical examiner to tell if there were defensive wounds. He did check even though the police wanted to call it an accident. But there were two things that didn’t match up.”
Presumably Nicole meant two things other than the beer and the removed shoes. I hadn’t told her about any of that. Which meant that we were up to four things that didn’t fit with how the police wanted to explain away the situation.
I wasn’t like Nicole. I didn’t think the police cared about everyone and all cases equally. At least, not police outside of Fair Haven. “I bet I can guess the first one. He didn’t have any alcohol in his bloodstream.”
“None. Not even as much as you’d get from drinking mouthwash.”
People did that? Yuck. “What’s the other thing?”
“Some of his wounds were post-mortem. Mark thinks he was already dead when the train hit him.”
I sank down to the floor and leaned back against my cupboards. That also meant someone had beaten him to death prior to laying him on the train tracks.
It was what I’d always been afraid of every time Jarrod beat me. I used to wonder what would happen if one day he went too far and accidentally killed me. How would he have hidden my body?
“So I guess I have good news and bad news,” Nicole said, drawing my attention back to the present. “The good news is that the medical examiner is going to insist the police reopen the case as a murder. The bad news is that James Turner was murdered.”
* * *
I thought I’d never see Dwayne and Carla again after I told them that the police were reopening Jimmy’s case as a murder investigatio
n.
A few days before Christmas, they found me again. I leaned out the front flap of my truck to see if any more potential customers were headed my way, and instead spotted them crossing the street.
Carla walked in a way that made me think she was stomping her feet.
I stayed at the window and kept my door closed. Whatever trouble they were dragging in their wake this time, they were going to have to go somewhere else.
Carla arrived first and examined my chalkboard menu as if she were going to place an order—except I knew if she did, no money would exchange hands for it.
Dwayne caught up before Carla could make her decision.
I propped my arms up on the counter. Maybe they were simply here to give me an update and not to drag me off into another problem.
I’d checked the newspaper every day, but there hadn’t been even a mention of Jimmy’s death. “Any updates on the case?”
Dwayne nodded and rubbed his hands together. The gloves he wore were missing a finger. “Can we come inside where it’s warmer?”
Don’t you dare, Fear said in my head. Don’t you let them in. They’re nothing but trouble.
He was probably right, but Carla gave me a look that said she’d have no trouble popping someone in the nose who wouldn’t take pity on two freezing homeless people. Truth be told, I was still more afraid of her than I was of whatever they might try to drag me in to.
I bit back a sigh and pulled my sign in out of the window. “Drop my flap for me. It’ll keep the heat in for us.”
They did, and then entered without waiting for another invite.
Carla went straight for my fridge and fished out the pumpkin cupcake I’d recently developed to go along with my Christmas catering gigs.
Carla scarfed the cupcake down in two bites. “They don’t care nothing about the death of a homeless man.”
They had to refer to the police. Which put me in a difficult spot. I wanted to argue that I was sure they were doing everything they could—that answer was the most likely to get Carla out of my truck before she ate up my profits.
But I wasn’t sure, and they might realize I was simply trying to placate them.
Instead I opted for another question. “What makes you say that?”
“’Cause it’s true.”
She moved toward the fridge again. I stepped in front of her as if I were reaching for the coffee pot. I hadn’t planned to offer them anything, but Dwayne was still shivering. Hopefully he wasn’t coming down with anything. “Let me rephrase. Why do you think that?”
I gave them both a cup of coffee, and I motioned Dwayne to my folding chair. It didn’t seem right expecting him to sit on the floor.
Dwayne sank into my chair, and I sat in front of the fridge. I felt a little selfish not letting Carla continue to forage, but I had to set boundaries somewhere. If she asked, I’d give her another. I wouldn’t continue to let her take whatever she wanted.
Jarrod had always gotten whatever he wanted, bullying me with his temper tantrums and fists. One thing I’d promised myself when I got this truck was that it’d be mine and that no one would take from me. Generosity wasn’t generosity if it was forced from you.
“We went to the police to find out if they had any leads or anything.” There was a rattle to Dwayne’s voice that hadn’t been there before. “Carla and Jimmy was married, so they have to tell her at least that much, we figured.”
My gaze snapped to Carla before I could stop it. More questions ran through my head than I could put words to. Like what Jimmy saw in her. And whether they’d ended up on the street together or had met afterward.
I was smart enough not to ask any of them. “What did they tell you?”
“He said they couldn’t discuss an active case with us, and that we needed to not come by anymore and take up police time.”
Dwayne drank the last of his coffee in a chugging motion that probably scalded his throat. I refilled the mug for him.
The officer they’d spoken to had been rude, yes. That didn’t mean they weren’t actively investigating Jimmy’s murder.
“Thing is, though,” Dwayne said, “he didn’t know what case we was talking about until we told him it was the guy who got hit by a train.”
“And then he got Jimmy’s name wrong,” Carla added. “Twice. Even after I corrected him.”
I cringed. There was no explaining that away. “He was the officer assigned to the case?”
Dwayne and Carla nodded in unison like they’d practiced it.
“They’re never gonna find who killed him,” Carla said. “’Cause the death of a homeless man don’t matter.”
My throat suddenly felt blocked. Swallowing didn’t help.
Jarrod’s words echoed in my mind about how no one would believe me if I reported him. No one would take my word over his. Because he was an important man, and I was nothing.
I didn’t matter.
I’d stayed long past when I should have left and paid a cost much too high—all because I’d believed him.
Dwayne sipped his coffee more slowly this time. “We were thinking that maybe you’d be willing to help us find whoever killed him. You have connections and stuff.”
He had to mean Nicole. I wasn’t going to pull Nicole into this. She couldn’t be anywhere near me.
Carla reached around me and grabbed the handle to my fridge. She pulled the door open, forcing me to move aside. She closed the door, another cupcake in her hand. “Besides, you can talk to people we can’t. They don’t know you’re one of us.”
She met my gaze and shoved the whole cupcake into her mouth.
I couldn’t help but feel her words were a threat. They don’t know you’re one of us, but we could tell them. No one will want to buy cupcakes from a woman living in her truck. The health department will shut you down, and then you won’t think you’re too good to help us.
I wouldn’t put it past her to do it. What she didn’t know was that I could pack up after this week and vanish to another town where she’d have no way to carry out her threat.
But I couldn’t escape myself.
When I’d been in Fair Haven, I’d helped Nicole solve a different murder. I hadn’t wanted to. I’d wanted to stay as far away from the police as possible. But she’d reminded me that even though I hadn’t been able to bring Jarrod to justice for what he did to me, I might have other chances to protect other people from bad cops.
I held out my hand to Dwayne for a handshake, my small way of letting Carla know I was doing this because I felt it was the right thing to do and not because she’d threatened me. “I’ll do my best to help you figure out who murdered Jimmy.”
Chapter 5
The first question we needed to answer was one of motive.
Hopefully it was a motive that would point specifically to someone. The unfortunate truth about life on the streets was that the homeless were vulnerable. Jimmy could have been killed by another homeless person who thought he’d taken their spot or their jacket or looked at them the wrong way—especially if the murderer was high at the time.
If that were the situation, our chances of figuring out who was responsible were slimmer than the chances of me running around in a bathing suit during a Michigan winter.
“Did anyone have a problem with Jimmy?” I didn’t explicitly state anyone in the homeless community. Carla probably wouldn’t have reacted well if I did.
Dwayne looked perkier with every cup of coffee I poured into him. “Not one of us. Jimmy was careful not to take anyone’s spot, and everyone liked him ’cause he shared what he found.”
“He didn’t always share.” Carla’s voice turned grumpy again. “Sometimes he kept it for himself.”
Dwayne scowled at her. “Sometimes you keep stuff for yourself, too.”
I got the impression that Jimmy and Carla’s marriage hadn’t been a happy one. It made me wonder who Dwayne was. He didn’t look enough like either of them to be their son, and I didn’t see enough affection between
him and Carla for him to be her lover. In fact, they barely seemed to like each other. The only thing that brought them together appeared to be Jimmy.
And they both believed that he’d been murdered and also that no one had a motive to murder him. That wouldn’t make his killer easy to find.
One valuable thing I’d taken away from being married to an FBI agent was that sometimes you had to ask potential suspects the same thing in different ways before you got the truth.
“What about arguments? Did Jimmy recently disagree with anyone?”
Dwayne glanced at Carla. For a second, I thought he was going to tell me that she was the one Jimmy fought with the most.
That was probably me projecting my dislike for Carla onto him.
He brought his coffee mug to his lips and then pulled it away, squinting inside as if caught off guard that the coffee was gone. “He had a loud argument with the manager of the mission where we usually stay. She doesn’t usually argue with no one. He was so angry he refused to go back.”
“He was selfish.” Carla eyed my fridge but didn’t make a move for it again. “We had to walk an extra half hour, and the other place doesn’t have as good of food.”
The argument must have been something serious for Jimmy to walk that far every day in the winter. They couldn’t just change locations, either. Jimmy had his dumpster routes and begging spots. Moving into another territory could have stepped on toes and gotten him killed. That he’d rather walk than risk that supported Dwayne’s assessment of him as smart.
Whatever he’d argued with the manager about must have been serious. Maybe even serious enough to get him killed.
* * *
We decided the best way to find out what might be happening behind the scenes at the mission was for me to volunteer. I wasn’t selling enough cupcakes while sitting on the streets to cover what I was spending in fuel to stay warm. By volunteering at the shelter during the day, I’d actually come out ahead. I might even get a free meal out of it.
