Hometown Detective (Cold Case Detectives Book 6)

by Jennifer Morey

  “She had everything,” he went on. “Money. Career. A smart kid. Nice house. Perfect friends. I just felt like I was acting a role in her life just like everyone else around her. She wasn’t real.”

  “Are you sure her success didn’t threaten you?”

  “Threaten me? Yes, I’m sure it didn’t.”

  She believed him. Nothing threatened a man like him.

  “I was...disillusioned.”

  She believed that, too, but not in the same light as he probably meant. “Disillusioned about yourself, most likely.”

  He didn’t respond at first and she watched him think it over. Then he finally said, “Her success didn’t bother me. It was her icy facade. She had to act emotion. Friendships. Kissing. Making love. All an act to keep her world perfectly in balance.”

  “You’d rather take a roller coaster?”

  “The rockier the better.”

  Because then it would feel real to him.

  “The only time I saw her without her guard was when she was with her daughter, just the two of them. I was envious, and I knew she’d never be that way with me.”

  That almost sounded normal. She wouldn’t have wanted to stay in a relationship with someone who had to act out their love, either. Kendra caught sight of the clay clock next to the front window. It was almost time to open the shop.

  “I heard you talking about your experiences,” Roman said.

  “I thought you might have.”

  “A cheater, a liar and a control freak, huh?”

  “Yes.” She nodded, looking down at her feet. Today, she’d worn a summer dress and sandals. Last night, she’d painted her toenails dark pink to match the pink flowers on her yellow dress.

  “The cheater and the liar are predictable, but the control freak?”

  She raised her head. “What about him?”

  “How did he try to control you?”

  “He expected me to spend evenings and weekends with him.”

  “Isn’t that what couples do?”

  “I spent time with him. I just didn’t want to spend as much as he demanded.”

  “He demanded?”

  Kendra thought back and couldn’t identify any time when her boyfriend had actually demanded they spend more time together. He always made the suggestion and she had to decline.

  “Was he really trying to control you or did he just like you a lot?” Roman asked.

  Her boyfriend had liked her and she remembered feeling like he liked her more than she liked him.

  “Are you going to stay single your whole life?”

  Why was he asking? “No.” But even as she answered, inside she felt conflict, that same sick feeling she always had when she imagined getting married and having kids. “I don’t know. I don’t want to think about it now.”

  “When are you going to think about it? You aren’t in your twenties anymore.”

  She might be too old to have kids already. But she had the gift of good genes. Her mother had looked far younger than her years, too.

  “How old do you think I am?” Kendra asked, fingering the coaster holder on the table between them. A small, slender glass vase with two fresh, red carnations partially blocked her view of him. She moved it aside.

  “I already know you’re forty-one.”

  Of course, he had checked her out before he’d come to Chesterville. “Well, then it’s not fair I don’t know your age.” She slid the vase back.

  He grinned. “Forty-three.”

  His face transformed into rugged gorgeousness. Kendra had to stare, unable to stop absorbing the light in his eyes and lines crinkling in just the right places.

  “Do you ever feel like you’re missing out by not having kids?” he asked. “I’m not asking to drill you. I’ve often wondered the same about me.”

  She felt the flare of commonality that he shared this life circumstance. “You feel you’re missing out?”

  “That’s just it. I don’t know.”

  The sense of camaraderie intensified. How could she feel so connected to him when they were so different? “I don’t, either. I don’t think I ever wanted to have kids. I never had that urge, you know?”

  “Yeah.” He nodded a couple of times.

  “All I do know is I never wanted to be poor or addicted to drugs and alcohol.”

  He chuckled. “You succeeded in far more than that.”

  She’d done all right for herself, but now that they talked about this, she did have some lonely moments.

  “You’ve made a perfect life for yourself. Nothing can touch you.”

  She had the feeling he wasn’t being complimentary. “Anything can happen.”

  “You’re prepared for that?”

  “For what? Total annihilation?” He sure had an apocalyptic view of the world. “I hope to live happy and healthy for as long as possible. Why shoot an arrow through that by preparing for the worst? I’d much rather prepare for the best.”

  “I could live with nothing just as easily as I could live with everything. All I’m saying is people weather life’s curveballs better when they’re prepared for them, rather than living in a dreamworld that will only shatter in the end.”

  He needed a giant dose of positive thinking. “What’s your favorite movie?”

  His brow crinkled a bit. She’d caught him by surprise with that question. He leaned forward, forearms on his knees, fingers entwined. “I don’t really have one. Who doesn’t love Fargo?”

  Boy, she had sunk that dart right into the bull’s-eye. “Dark comedies. Just what I thought. You’re far too cynical, you know that? I prefer happy endings where the dog never dies.”

  He grinned again and she realized he was enjoying this. He sat back against the chair again. “But dogs do die in real life.”

  “Yes, but I don’t have to dwell on that.”

  “No, but you should be able to watch movies that include a dog dying.”

  “That’s like saying it’s okay to desensitize, that it’s okay to watch the news and not feel a thing when a reporter announces a shooter walked into a school and killed a half a dozen.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying. I’ve been solving murders for two decades and I still feel every one of them.”

  But he was prepared to deal with them. Isn’t that why he was such a good detective? He had to see how flawed his thinking was, though. Didn’t he? Just because some—probably most—didn’t plan ahead for disaster didn’t mean they were incapable of surviving.

  “Take me to your mother’s apothecary museum.” His warped thinking was a product of his difficulty measuring up to his parents. She was sure of it now. Why not thrust him right into the fray?

  “What? No.”

  She stood up. “I can open late today. Come on. We can walk there from here.” She went to the back to get her purse, finding her keys and returning to the front, where Roman stood. He seemed to be trying to calm his agitation, mouth tight, eyes wider than before.

  Ignoring him, she unlocked the front door and held it open for him. He stood still a moment longer, but then breathed a soft laugh and left the shop. She locked the door and started walking.

  “I know what you’re doing,” he said as they walked.

  “I’ve never been to an apothecary museum.”

  He chuckled. “You’ve never met my mother, either.”

  Chapter 8

  The Chesterville Apothecary Museum was in the oldest part of town. Built in the late 1700s, the redbrick Federal-style architecture had charming accents of the era. Brick-trimmed arcaded windows symmetrically lined the first and second stories. The double front door was particularly eye-catching, with one larger brick arch over two doors, each topped with smaller arched windows and a decorative circle filling the gap above. Ducking from the sudden driving rain, Kendra followed Roma
n inside.

  Shaking her hair and stomping her feet on the commercial-grade rug, the smell of old wood and faint scent of perfumes mingled with damp air. She also heard voices coming from the upper level, a woman giving a few visitors a tour. She spoke with enthusiasm and the vibrancy of a strong, happy woman. Roman’s mother. As she listened, Kendra stole the free moments to take in this fascinating place.

  The apothecary seemed to be set up exactly as it had been when it closed its doors for the last time as a shop. Dark-and light-colored granite mortars and pestles decorated the countertop along the left side. Long ago, herbs would have been ground into pastes and powders that way. White shelves with labeled wooden drawers might still hold herbs.

  Thunder rumbled outside, vibrating the walls.

  Kendra ran her gaze to the back wall, where beautiful delftware jars lined another shelf. An oil painting of an apothecary shop hung on one side of the shelf, patrons assembled before a counter and a man a few steps up on a ladder, leaning toward shelves full of jars. On the other side hung a portrait of George Washington.

  She stepped farther into the shop, vaguely aware of Roman doing the same, although he was far less enchanted than her.

  The wood floors creaked as she stepped but gleamed with recent renovation. White crown molding and trim around doors and floor was thick and delicately carved. The dark slate countertop running the length of the left side of the museum contrasted with white cabinets and shelves. On the right, another counter and shelves stretched—this counter a display case enclosed in glass. It contained open books and some infographics on the history of the museum and its time as an apothecary shop. As she read about the generations of families who ran the shop, lightning flashed and thunder followed almost immediately. She glanced through the window as rain fogged the air, making visibility poor. Roman stood before one of the windows, watching the storm. She took a moment to admire his backside—trim, fit butt in faded jeans and a black spring jacket. Droplets of water still clung to his thick black hair. A sliver of the column of his neck was exposed between the edge of his hair and the collar of his jacket.

  When he began to turn, she averted her head and resumed reading. Another rumble of thunder and she looked up at the wooden drawers filling the shelf behind the display counter, then moved back to inspect the labeled white cabinets beneath the counters, pleasantly surprised to see this apothecary must have also sold more than herbal medicine. Some of the cabinets were marked as surgical and dental instruments, as well as essentials like soap and other toiletries. In the corners near the entrance, farm and garden equipment was displayed and more paintings filled the walls—a couple sitting on a park bench, a bundle of fruit, a portrait of a doctor and a landscape of an herb garden.

  She went to the counter containing the mortars and pestles and read some of the labels on the wooden drawers. Valerian root. Mandrake root. Cannabis tincture.

  “Dragon’s blood?” She read the next one that caught her eye.

  “You’ll have to ask my mother.”

  Only then did she realize Roman had gone to the back of the shop, checking out the guest book on the counter there.

  The voices grew louder, coming down the stairs. The visitors sounded pleased and happily excited to have received such an unusual glimpse into the past.

  A tall, slender woman with dark hair cut short and smart appeared from the doorway to a narrow stairway adjacent to the rear counter. She wore rectangular glasses with flowers on the sides. She wore a cream-colored pantsuit with a flowing kimono and flat shoes. Her jewelry was minimal, a solitaire wedding ring, diamond earrings and a long silver necklace with a leafy pendant. Although likely in her early sixties, she was a strikingly beautiful woman with smooth skin and attractive wrinkles around her stunning blue eyes.

  Three visitors, a smiling older couple and a forty-something woman talked a little longer with Roman’s mother, who caught sight of Roman and brightened. She finished with the visitors, taking payment when they chose some souvenirs while thunder continued to roll through the clouds outside. At last the visitors left, all talking at the same time.

  “Roman.” The woman walked to him with arms outstretched.

  Roman hugged her. “Mother.”

  “You didn’t tell me you were coming.” She leaned back to inspect her tall son. “You look older. That job of yours is ravaging you.”

  Kendra loved her already. She didn’t hold back. She spoke true.

  Roman didn’t appear to like her bluntness. He moved back and without inflection said, “This is Kendra Scott. I’m looking into her sister’s death. Kaelyn Johnston. You probably heard about that.”

  The woman turned to Kendra as she put together the pieces. “Oh, yes. I know her mother. The poor girl. And her mother.” The woman shook her head in sympathy. “She was devastated over the loss. She and Kaelyn were very close. Kaelyn visited often. I’d see her accompany her mother to community events. Her mother was quite active in town, a good role model for her daughter.”

  “My mother knows everyone,” Roman said.

  The woman sent her son an admonishing look. “You would, too, if you weren’t so antisocial.”

  “I’m not antisocial. I’m just not as social as you and Dad. Few can keep up with you.” Again, he turned to Kendra. “They might as well be voted Chesterville’s Most Popular.”

  The woman laughed and said to Kendra, “I’m Abby Cooper.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Kendra smiled.

  “She’s quite attractive, Roman. Are the two of you...”

  “No, Mother,” Roman interrupted.

  But Abby wouldn’t be deterred. “Are you seeing anyone right now?”

  “No, Mother,” he repeated, his tone warning not to go where he must know she was headed.

  “Are you seeing anyone?” Abby asked Kendra.

  Kendra laughed softly, charmed by the woman. “No. Not at the moment.”

  “She might be a little young for you.”

  “She’s two years younger than me.”

  “Oh my. Well, you have good genes in your family.”

  Kendra didn’t say so do you, but she thought it.

  “You...” Something seemed to dawn on Abby. “I remember hearing about you. You’re Kaelyn’s twin sister, separated at a young age after your parents died.”

  “That’s me. I’m beginning to see why you’re so popular in town.” The woman remembered everyone and everything she heard. She had a genuine interest in people.

  Abby laughed again, her bright and positive spirit shining through. How on Earth could Roman have ended up so different?

  “What brings you by?” Abby wagged her finger in front of Roman. “Shame on you for not calling.”

  “I would have. Kendra wanted to see your museum, so we walked here from her Christmas shop.”

  “Oh, of course. I know who you are now. I’ve heard of your shop and have been meaning to stop in. I haven’t seen you around town, though. How is it that I’ve missed you?”

  “Yes, how did you?” Roman asked, teasing.

  “I’ve been to a few festivals and run the usual errands. I suppose we just haven’t run into each other yet.”

  “Maybe not. And you aren’t active on any committees like Kaelyn’s mother was.”

  “No. I only enjoy what the committees do for the town.”

  Abby still smiled. “I like her,” she said to her son.

  “Kendra was wondering what dragon’s blood is,” Roman said, changing the subject. Apparently his mother played matchmaker.

  “It’s a resin obtained from a variety of plants.” She moved to the counter with the mortars and pestles. “Croton is one, but was also used as a laxative.”

  Kendra saw the drawer labeled Croton.

  “Dracaena is another. One example of a dracaena is a lucky bamboo plant, but it can be used for many ot
her things ranging from antiviral to eczema.” She pointed to another drawer. “Daemonorops produces a red resin called dragon’s blood, but was also used as an anticoagulant. Rotang and Pterocarpus are two others. Pterocarpus produces a reddish wood called Padauk, which is used for skin parasites or fungal infections.”

  “Fascinating.”

  “What’s fascinating is my son came to see me with a lovely woman. You both have to come over for dinner tonight. Your father will never forgive you if he finds out you came to town on business and didn’t stop by to see him.”

  “Dinner it is, then.” Roman did not sound enthused.

  “You know you want to. Stop resisting.” Abby looked at Kendra. “He thinks he followed his father’s footsteps like he had to impress him and feels he hasn’t.” She took a step closer to her son and pinched his cheek. “You’re fine just the way you are.”

  “Mom, I know.” He drew away from her hand.

  “Yes, you think you do. A mother knows her son.” Dropping her hand, she turned to Kendra again. “He was a rebellious kid, always trying to get our attention. I was amazed he graduated from high school with good grades. His college degree was a real bonus.” She looked adoringly at Roman. “Looks like your dad and I did all right.” She laughed breezily.

  Despite what she said, which could be construed as not very flattering, Roman’s mother clearly loved her son. Kendra felt the sting of memory, what little she had left of her own mother. Bandaging a scrape. Reading bedtime stories. Telling her the Barbie doll could be anything she wanted, a doctor or a lawyer or an artist. She had encouraged in creative ways and never talked down to her and Kaelyn. Kendra had never forgotten feeling loved. It was the only time in her life she’d ever felt that way.

  * * *

  Roman told Kendra his parents lived in the same house he’d grown up in, and as he drove up the stately driveway, her breath caught when she saw the beautiful house. Earth-toned, rough-face stone made an eye-catching English manor–style exterior. Two gables and dormers on the second level broke up what had to be several thousand feet of living space. He parked on the circular driveway. She got out and walked with him to the low front porch, covered with two seating areas, one on each side of a mahogany door bordered by a transom window above and two sidelight panels.