“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Officer Aguirre returned and sat next to me on the bench. “How are you holding up?” He handed me a bottle of water after twisting the cap loose.
“Thank you.” My throat was so dry, I probably couldn’t talk without it. “I’m doing okay.” He was handsome and kind. My heart swelled with gratitude at his concern.
“Good. Now I have a few questions for you.” He leaned in close. “How did you do it?”
Chapter Three
The officer leaned in, as if expecting some kind of reaction to his question. His cologne, not evident until he came so close, wafted past my nose, pleasant and no doubt expensive. Eric used to wear something similar.
But I wasn’t giving him a reaction, at least not the one he sought, mainly because I hadn’t done it. Yeah, Richard Beckham was an eggshell in my omelet, but I was no killer. I got squeamish around strawberry jam—no way in heck I was capable of this.
I was a chef, not a fighter…and certainly not a murderer.
“I didn’t do it. What’s your next question?” I forced myself to steel my nerves, if only for these few minutes, with the needling detective. If he sensed any nervousness, I was sure he would be on me like a goat on a Christmas tree.
“You didn’t do it? You want me to believe you were just on your merry way and happened to stumble upon a dead body?”
An image of Richard’s still form pulsed through my mind, and I winced. “I do. Because it’s the truth.”
He leaned back and scribbled something on his narrow notepad. “How did you know him?”
“He’s visited me a few times. He wanted to buy my house. Wait, how did you know I knew him?”
Officer Aguirre smiled, but with only one side of his mouth. “You said it on the emergency call. That Richard was dead. So either you knew him or you fished through the wallet of a dead man to get his name.”
I shuddered at the though. Ugh, dookie on a donut, that was a horrible thought. “Do you have any other questions?” I pulled my lightweight cardigan tighter against my torso, despite the warm weather. My sweater felt like the only thing between me and that body. To my left, I heard the loud, jarring sound of a zipper and turned just in time to see Richard’s pallid face disappear under a black tarp-like bag on top of a stretcher. I almost gagged.
“You look a little pale, Ms. Cotton. Are you sure you’re okay? I can have one of the paramedics give you a once over.” His concern seemed genuine though it did nothing to soothe me.
“I’m fine. I just…I came to pick up my handcart. The season is starting soon. I was happy and excited to get baking and…yeah, not something I expected to find, not by a long shot. You ever have those days, Officer? Everything is going perfectly and then bam, it’s ruined.”
He reached over and touched my forearm but then jerked his hand back, apparently thinking better of the move. “I have. We all have. Look, try to go about your day. I can have one of the officers bring your handcart out. We don’t want you walking through the crime scene.”
I nodded, and my voice came out softer than I wanted. “Thank you. I just want to get out of here.”
Officer Aguirre stood and it was then I noticed how absolutely tall he was. He was easily two of Daisy stacked on top of each other. He wore a suit, but the tie was knotted haphazardly, like he had come here in a hurry and didn’t have time for such antics. He yelled for someone to get my cart, and in minutes it was in front of me. Despite the rough start, maybe this day was salvageable after all.
“I guess I should get home. I need some coffee.”
I was more talking to myself than anyone else, but Officer Aguirre took it upon himself to answer. “Coffee does sound nice. Try to have a better day, Ms. Cotton.”
I sighed. Ms. Cotton sounded so formal. “It’s Chloe. Please, call me Chloe.”
He smiled but schooled it almost as fast it had taken shape. “You can call me Roger.”
“I hope you find whoever did this, Roger. No matter his character, this is awful.”
I began to walk off, trying to tamper down my nerves and failing.
“Hey, Chloe?”
I turned to see Roger tucking his notepad into his jacket and then putting on a very cop-like pair of sunglasses. “One more thing. Don’t leave town. We might have more questions and…well, just don’t leave town.”
Nerves back in full force.
“I won’t.” I walked off in the direction of the coffee shop. Maybe this day was just broken and I should give up.
“Miss, the line has moved.” I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see a frazzled mom having a worse hair day than me motioning for me to move up. It was almost noon by the time I got to the Perky Percolator after going back to my house and generally getting hold of myself.
“Sorry. A chai latte…extra shot of espresso, please.”
The young woman behind the counter rang me up, and I paid quickly before taking my place in the row of waiting customers. Just the scent of the coffee shop calmed my nerves and stopped me from shaking. After getting my cup, I giggled a little at my name spelled Klo-E and sat near the window to stew. One sip of the steaming hot, cinnamon and cardamom goodness had me moaning and one layer of my worries faded away.
Poop on a potpie, this entire thing was crazy. Maybe my family had been right when they told me not to move here. They warned me against taking my aunt’s house and moving somewhere I didn’t know and didn’t have friends. The first day I’d arrived, Richard had been sitting on my porch, a contract in his hands. He’d hoped to get me to sell before I even unloaded the first box of board games.
He had been wrong.
Maybe it was his tenacity that had gotten him…well, ended him, actually.
Perhaps moving to Pacific Cliffs was a mistake.
“That’s too much thinking before noon, mijita.” The soothing, smooth voice of Ramona burst me from my self-pitying bubble and brought me back in to my bitter reality.
“It’s been a day, Ramona.”
She sat in the seat across from me, the chair making a teeth-gritting sound as it dragged across the floors. “Nothing a cookie can’t fix.” She pulled a piece of brown parchment from behind her back. The crisp scent of lemon along with the deep decadence of cream cheese hit my nose and seemed to filter through my cells. Her lemon-cream-cheese cookies were famous around these parts, and I always tried to get a dozen when I could. I even had a tribute hand pie for them that I sold on the July 4th weekend.
“I think that cookie could bring peace to the Middle East, Ramona.” I reached for the warm goodness as she laughed and leaned over the table.
“What’s got you thinking so hard, Chloe? I hate to see you stressed. The tourist season hasn’t even begun.”
If the tourist season was what had me stressed, I would welcome it with open arms.
This kind of stress, the one that came with tripping over a dead body and being accused of murder? That kind of stress could go to…well, where the sun didn’t shine.
Then again, I didn’t want to worry Ramona.
“Just one of those days, Ramona. Thanks for the cookie.”
“I don’t believe that for a second. Spill it, mijita.”
Ramona and my grandmother had been friends for as long as they both could remember. After my grandmother died, Ramona simply stepped into her place in my life, naturally and with no transition pains. She was a trusted friend and a gift in my life.
“Richard is dead. I was going to get my hand cart this morning from the warehouse and he was there. Dead. Cold. Pale. I just…” Another shudder ripped through my body.
“The guy who has been badgering you about the house?” I nodded. “Oh, my. That was a bad morning. Who did it?”
I sighed and gave her that look. She guessed before the words even left my mouth. “No, it can’t be you. Never you. I’ve watched you take a spider outside, cooing at it like a baby instead of smashing it with a shoe.. They can’t really think it’s you.”
I fin
ished the cookie and crumpled the parchment paper. “They told me not to leave town, like I’m some kind of criminal. The detective even asked me how I did it.”
Taking my hands in hers, she made sure our gazes were connected. “You know the truth. They will find whoever did this. Trust in the truth. Now, any new flavors for the pies?”
She wasn’t the smoothest at changing subjects. That was about the only thing unlike my grandmother that she did. “Not yet. I’m planning on baking this afternoon.”
“Good girl. Bring me some if you get a chance. And don’t worry about the other thing. Everything will turn out fine. The universe has a plan.”
She kissed my temple before going back to making coffee and every other sugar bomb this coffee shop offered. I sipped on my chai latte until nothing was left and sighed. There was one sure cure for my anxiety.
I needed to bake, but first, I needed to get my handcart out of storage.
Chapter Four
Feeling a little better after my chat with Ramona, I headed back to the warehouse to try to find out when I could get my cart out. Things had quieted down in my absence, and the multiple black-and-white police cars, fire trucks, and other official vehicles, as well as the reporter for the local TV station had disappeared.
I never anticipated how many responders would appear to handle a murder in our little town. They must have come in from quite a distance, which I supposed made sense since it was probably the biggest crime in years.
Yellow caution tape still draped the entrance, and a single uniformed police officer stood to the side, obviously ensuring the security of the crime scene. He put his hand on his gun when I approached. I slowed my steps then shrugged and continued toward him, reasonably confident he wouldn’t shoot me for asking a question.
“Hello? I wondered if it would be possible to get something from my unit? I won’t be a minute. In and out.”
The tall skinny young officer eyed me suspiciously. “My orders are nobody goes inside until the detective in charge releases the scene.”
“Are you sure? They took the body away a couple of hours ago, and looks like everyone else has cleared away. I won’t take very long.” I flashed him my most winning smile. I’m not much of a flirt usually, but I really needed the cart. I’d need to find another place to garage it at night until they allowed free entrance and exit, but that shouldn’t be a big problem. While hauling it up the hill to my home wouldn’t work, one of my friends who lived in the main part of town would be able to help me temporarily.
“I’ll have to ask you to move along, ma’am.” He at least let go of the gun. “Have a nice day.”
“Officer, what harm would it be for me to get my cart?”
A burst of chatter emerged from the radio on his shirt, and he lifted a hand and tilted his head to listen. After a moment he told whoever was on the other end that he was having no trouble here, everything was fine, and then he lifted his head again toward me. “Still here?”
“Yeah.” Although I had begun to think I was wasting my time. “I am. Which should tell you how much I need to get inside. Can you maybe ask whoever that was on the radio? I promise I won’t wheel the cart over the part of the floor where the body lay.”
When a speculative gleam came into his eyes, I knew I’d screwed up somehow.
“Hey, how do you know where the body was found? Have you been in there?”
“I…uh…” Crud.
“You wouldn’t by any chance be the person of interest who ‘found’ the body, would you?” He tsked. “Just like in the detective stories, they always come back to the scene of the crime.”
“The scene of the…I don’t want to look at the scene of the crime. I just want my handcart.”
“I think you’d better go down to headquarters and talk to Detective Aguirre. Maybe I should call for a ride.” He reached for the radio, but before he could press the button for the mic, another spate of chatter sounded. “Hang on. Officer Randy here.”
I didn’t even know how he could understand what was being said through all the static, but he nodded, casting a glance my way when the chatter ended.
“Ten four. I’ll stay here until the relief officer arrives. The suspect is hanging around. Should I keep her here?”
More chatter.
“Okay, not a suspect, but the person who was alone with the body when it was found. Person of interest.” He sure liked that phrase. “Should I cuff her, sit her on the curb?”
More static.
“Okay, if you’re positive. Randy out.” He lifted his face and gave me a not -so-nice smile. “If I were you, I’d get out of here before I do decide to cuff you. It seems to me that when the person who was on site at the time of the murder is just lingering and trying to get back in there, there is a reason.”
“Yeah, my cart. The reason I was there to start with. I have a business to run.” And this guy was getting on my last nerve.
“And you think your business, whatever it is, is more important than the brutal murder of a citizen of this town?” His lips tightened. “I am starting to think it’s true, that maybe you know more about what happened than you’re willing to admit.”
Everything in me said to leave, except that stubborn core that Eric always said would get me in over my head one day. Seemed that day was today. I took a couple of steps back in case he was going to handcuff me anyway, no matter what his boss said. “I don’t know anything that I didn’t tell the detective earlier. He never said I was a person of interest or anything.”
“He didn’t tell you to stay close?” Randy arched the other brow. “I’m surprised. He has a reputation for being thorough.” He leaned in and spoke into my ear. “And for always getting his man, or woman in this case.”
I reared back. “What are you implying? I’ve never hurt anyone in my life. I think I’m going to leave now before I say something I shouldn’t.” Without waiting for him to speak, or to handcuff me, I turned on a heel and stalked back to the sidewalk and then down the block.
I had a few more words for that detective, and they weren’t please and thank you
Chapter Five
The police department was the last place I wanted to go, but Cop-boy Randy not only seemed immune to my charms, he was one of those by-the-book cops who showed no signs of bending. And he even had the nerve to imply I knew too much about the crime scene. Of course, that was my fault for revealing my knowledge of the crime scene.
In all logic, anyone would consider me for the perp. Perp—I learned that term on Cops or maybe Killer Moms. Sometimes those TV shows really had me thinking. So many of the murders on the series I guilty-pleasure binged took place in small towns. I’d even joked to myself that it was a miracle none took place in Pacific Cliffs. I guess it had only been a matter of time.
Richard may not be the greatest guy on earth. In fact, he had been a pushy jerk, but that didn’t seem like enough of a reason to kill him in cold blood. Why did people say that, anyway? Blood wasn’t cold when it spilled from a victim. At least it seemed utterly illogical that it would be, fresh from the victim who was being killed at that moment.
The police station lay just a few blocks down the beach from the warehouse, so I decided to try to convince Detective Aguirre to let me retrieve my cart. All he could say was no, right? And why would he? My cart wasn’t anywhere near where Richard met his maker. It could be trundled out with little trouble and never even go near the chalk outline.
Did they do chalk outlines? I tried to remember if I’d ever seen one on a reality show, but I didn’t think I had. A shame, really. The outline of a person held a certain something. Said they’d been there, reminding all passersby of the tragedy that occurred in that spot.
The day was unusually warm fro so early in the season, and I tipped my face back to enjoy the sunlight. Beachside communities in our area were rarely what residents of many other parts of the country considered cold, but until summer settled in, the air held a damp chill, usually some fog as well until
at least noon and often all day. But our lovely warm days lasted into fall, so it seemed a fair exchange. Once school opened and most of the tourists disappeared, locals took over the beach for their season of relaxation and enjoyment.
Last year, I’d been one of them. This year, if Detective Aguirre had his way, I’d be overlooking the ocean from a cozy cell in the county jail. But I was just being silly. He couldn’t really think me a murderer, could he?
The storefronts between the storage units and the police station were typical beach-town businesses geared to the tourist trade, at least in season. Some also specialized in items needed by the locals, although they only came out from behind the counters between October and May. For example at Beach-Wear, designer bathing suits and coverups as well as T-shirts and other gear emblazoned with the town’s name filled the large plate-glass windows now, but later in the year some of the racks would be laden with the generic jeans and long-sleeved tees and things we all wore in the winter. The window of course would still feature high-end items. We did get some visitors year-round, after all.
Window shopping at the Seaside Deco store, the Flip-Flop, and the others distracted me a little, but all too soon I stood at the entrance to our police department. Compared to the big city, it wasn’t a large place, but for a town with only a few thousand residents, including outliers on the ranches inland and the other more rural folks, we had decent resources. Not that the paper wasn’t always filled with stories about the wish list for more up-to-date tech and vehicles and things, but most people didn’t want to up taxes for such things. Also the chief was nearly eighty and didn’t see the need.
I was reaching for the door handle when someone shoved the door open and nearly knocked me down.
“Hey!” I braced myself on one of the pair of showy columns someone had thought were perfect for the building as a woman wearing a tight blue sundress and high-heeled sandals raced by. “What’s your rush?”
A Pie in the Hand (Pacific Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 1) Page 2
