I found the bar door locked, so I quickly ran around to the back of the building to the door that led to his upstairs apartment. That was locked too. Taking out my cell phone, I pressed 1 to speed dial his number, but I hadn’t gotten there in time.
After four rings, it went to voicemail and I heard his deep voice intone that same message about calling back as soon as he could that he’d had for years. I’d missed him, and now he likely sat alone in the interrogation room at the police station as Alex prepared to ask him how that poison had ended up on a glass in his bar.
The bar where our murder victim had drank at before he was found dead late Monday night and where a second victim had likely been poisoned too.
As my emotions spun out of control, I ran down Main Street to the police station, praying the questioning hadn’t gotten too far yet. My father was far too trusting and wouldn’t even consider having a lawyer with him in that meeting. Alex wasn’t the villain, but right now, he was a police officer looking to arrest someone for Marcus Tyne’s death and being trusting could get my father thrown in jail.
I tore down the hallway to Alex’s office and found it empty. My heart sank. He was already in the interrogation room.
Rushing down the hall, I pushed past Stephen, who as usual was glaring at me, and stopped dead at the sight of Derek standing outside the interrogation room watching through the glass as Alex and my father sat at that same table I’d sat at for so many cases. He didn’t have the speaker on, so I couldn’t hear what they were saying.
“I need to be in there, Derek,” I said as he stepped in front of door to block me from going in.
He merely shook his head. “Not this time, Poppy. Let Alex do his job.”
I stared up at him in shock, my emotions swirling inside me. “Why are you being like this? My father has always been wonderful to you. Who closed his bar every Friday when you were the quarterback of the Sunset Ridge Knights to cheer you on from the sidelines? Every week.”
Derek cupped my shoulders and sighed. “I don’t think your father poisoned anyone any more than Alex does, but we need to make sure we dot all the I’s and cross all the T’s on this one. Alex needs to do his job, ask his questions, and when the real murderer is found, there won’t be a chance that they’ll be able to say your father is the one to blame.”
I began to protest, reminding Derek that I should be in that room not only as Alex’s partner but to support my father, but Derek gently held me where I stood. “Trust me, Poppy. I would never hurt you or your father. You’re like family to me.”
Looking in, I saw my father frown and hated how helpless I felt to protect him. “I want to hear what they’re saying then. At least give me that.”
Derek didn’t fight me on that demand and turned on the speaker. My father’s voice came through loud and clear, including the trembling underneath it that told me his first time in the Sunset Ridge police interrogation room terrified him as much as it terrified me to see him in there.
I listened to Alex as he asked what my father had done on Monday. I’d heard him ask that question of suspects so many times before, but now it felt different hearing him say the words to someone I loved.
“Can you give me specifics on what you did Monday? Start with the morning, if you can, Joe,” he said in an even voice.
My father nodded and slowly recounted everything he’d done that day, even as I wished I could stop him.
“I woke up, got ready for my day, and did a quick cleaning of the bar before opening it at eleven. Then I had a few people in during the lunch rush, my regulars who prefer a liquid lunch. The afternoon was slow, so I spent most of it watching TV. At around five, I made myself a frozen pizza in the microwave in the stock room since there weren’t any people in the bar, and by five-thirty, I was back behind the bar getting ready for the Cinco de Mayo party that night. I spent the next hour or so hanging decorations and making sure I had enough tequila stocked behind the bar for the party.”
Alex took notes on what my father said and then looked up at him as he drew a question mark in the left margin. “Did you leave the bar at any time on Monday day or night?”
“You mean the building or just walk out from behind the bar?”
“Either.”
Smiling, my father shook his head. “I didn’t leave the building at all once I opened the bar. Leave behind the bar, though? Yeah. I run a small town bar, Alex. I routinely walk out from behind there and leave it unmanned when I don’t have a bartender working with me. I’ve never had a problem. Then again, I should know from Poppy working with you that this town isn’t as safe as it used to be.”
For a moment, Alex stopped writing in his notebook and I saw his body relax. “I know what you mean, Joe.”
I hated listening to my father say all those things. He’d asked me if I’d be able to help him behind the bar that night for his Cinco de Mayo event and without even giving it a second thought, I’d told him I was too tired. He’d been so understanding and I’d naturally thought he’d get one of his usual bartenders, but now it was so clear to me that if only I hadn’t been so busy with my personal life he wouldn’t be sitting there answering questions like some criminal.
“We’re going to need the names of everyone in the bar that day, Joe.”
My father nodded. “It was a busy night because of the Cinco de Mayo promotion I ran, but I’ll do my best to try to remember everyone who was there.”
“Also, do you remember anything notable about that day? Anything that sticks out in your mind?”
Hesitating, my father finally answered, “No. Nothing. I wish I did.”
“Okay. What can you tell me about how well you knew Marcus Tyne and Gerald Engels?” Alex asked as he sat back in his chair and studied my father.
I’d seen Alex do that exact motion before and knew precisely what he wanted to find out. He was watching to see my father’s reaction to his question and how he answered it to see if he was lying.
“I barely knew them at all. They weren’t regulars, but I want to say they’d come in the bar a few times before Monday.”
“And you’re sure they were in the bar on Monday?” Alex asked as he leaned forward toward the table.
“No. To be honest, I’m not, but since Marcus Tyne died from antifreeze poisoning and you told me the tests showed a trace amount of antifreeze was found on a glass in my bar, I’m assuming just like I think you are that he was at McGuire’s sometime that night.”
“But you told me the other day when I asked you about him being there Monday night that you did remember Marcus Tyne being in the bar that night,” Alex said, practically pouncing on my father’s answer. “You said you remembered serving him that particular bourbon and after two drinks you served him coffee because he seemed very tipsy for just having two drinks.”
I wanted to rush into that room and demand he treat my father with more respect. Being interrogated under any circumstances was downright terrifying. Maybe he misspoke the first time or maybe he was just confused because he was sitting in that room being asked questions like a criminal.
“Alex, I don’t remember him being there or not being there. He may have been. If I said he was the other day, then maybe I was right then and I’m wrong now. I don’t know. The same thing applies for Gerald Engels. I don’t remember him being there on Monday night either.”
“What about on Tuesday around noon? He says he was at McGuire’s drinking bourbon at that time.”
My father slowly shook his head. “I don’t remember him being there at that time either, and I’ve asked all my liquid lunch regulars and they don’t recall him being there either.”
“I’m going to need their names too then,” Alex said as he drew another question mark in his notes.
“Okay. I wish I could be more helpful, but I don’t remember seeing them together that night. It was very busy, though, so that shouldn’t surprise anybody.”
I watched as Alex took a long pause before he asked another question. It
was his way to set the pace intentionally slow at times during interrogations so suspects felt compelled to fill the dead space in the conversation and hopefully say something they didn’t realize would be helpful in the case.
Helpful usually meant incriminating, and I hated that Alex had chosen to employ this technique with my father. It felt unnecessarily sneaky.
At least he hadn’t started in with the Gatling gun style questioning. If he did that, I’d have to be held back from charging into that room and demanding he show my father more respect.
Finally, he said, “Okay, Joe. Why do you think the health department found a trace amount of Ethylene glycol on a single glass in your bar?”
My father sighed heavily and hung his head. “I have no idea. I’ve racked my brain for the answer as to why that would show up anywhere in my place. I haven’t changed the antifreeze in my car or Poppy’s since last fall, and neither of us has had any leaks lately.”
“I told you when we began today that they’re over at your apartment now checking for any evidence of Ethylene glycol there. Are they going to find any?” Alex asked with concern in his voice.
Pressing my palms against the window, I fought the urge to slam my hands against it at hearing my father’s home was now being investigated too. The rational part of me knew it was the next logical step in the investigation, but the part of me that was Joe McGuire’s daughter hated the thought that people were rummaging through his belongings looking for proof that he could be a murderer.
“Poppy, he’s just doing his job,” Derek said quietly behind me.
I hung my head and nodded, knowing he was right. “I know. I just hate seeing my father sitting in that room being asked questions in a murder case.”
Derek gently laid his hand on my shoulder. “Nobody thinks he did this. We have to follow all the leads though.”
Suddenly, a horrible thought tore through my brain. Spinning around, I asked him, “But what if the person who did do this isn’t found and for whatever reason they find antifreeze at my father’s house? You can’t do this to him!”
Taking me into his arms, he held me as I fought back the tears at the possibility that my father might actually be charged with Marcus Tyne’s murder and the attempted murder of Gerald Engels. That couldn’t happen. I wouldn’t let it.
“Relax, Poppy. It’s going to be okay. We’re going to find the killer, and then your father will go back to his life of serving small town drunks and police officers who make him stay open too late.”
I looked up and saw him smiling down at me. Leave it to Derek to break the tension by reminding me how he and his friends kept my father’s bar open until four in the morning after the last World Series with the promise that if anyone called the police, Derek would make sure the complaint got lost.
“You are really a criminal in disguise, aren’t you?” I joked.
He slid his hands down my arms and laughed. “Now you know my secret. It’s why the women in this town love me.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my father extend his hand to shake Alex’s. “All joking aside, Derek, what’s going to happen now?”
He looked through the glass and saw Alex and my father stand up from the table. “You’re going to take your father back to your house and do your Betty Crocker thing you’re so good at now. Have lunch with him and try to put this out of your mind for a while.”
A second later, Alex appeared behind us. His frown told me he hadn’t enjoyed what he had to do any more than I’d enjoyed watching it.
“Poppy, I need to speak to the Chief for a moment.”
“I’m going to take my father home. I’ll call you in a little bit.”
He shook his head sadly. “Not yet, Poppy.”
His answer stunned me. Was he actually holding my father at the police station? Did that mean he intended on arresting him? Just the thought made my heart ache.
I knew I had to accept that Alex had a job to do, so I hurried into the interrogation room and threw my arms around my father. He comforted me like he always did, and holding me tightly to him, he made me believe things would be okay.
“I’m so sorry, Dad. If I had just worked that night when you asked me to, none of this would be happening. You’d be over at McGuire’s now, where you belong. If I wasn’t so selfish…”
He leaned back away from me and shook his head. “None of that. Everything’s going to okay, Poppy. You weren’t selfish. You’re allowed to have a life other than helping me at the bar, so don’t beat yourself up.”
“I just want this to be all over, Dad. I want us to go back to our lives, me helping Alex on cases that don’t involve my father and you running McGuire’s and looking forward to the next time the Orioles are on TV.”
He pulled me close and gently pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “Don’t worry, honey. I know I’m innocent, so just give Alex a chance to do what he does best.”
I looked up at him and defiantly corrected him. “Oh, I’ll be working on this case, so it won’t be just Alex. Don’t worry about that.”
My father’s expression grew dark. “Are you sure he’s going to let you, Poppy? Won’t there be a conflict of interest if you’re working on this case after what just happened?”
“I don’t care. There’s too much at risk. I’m going to be working this case just like any other we’ve had.”
Behind me, the door opened and Alex walked in. “Joe, you’re free to go, but we need you to stay in town.”
The serious tone in his voice struck me as odd, even as we stood there in that room where he’d asked my father questions in a murder investigation. Did he have to be all-business with him?
“Trust me, I’m not going anywhere. Sunset Ridge is my home, so if you need to find me, you know where to look,” my father said with far more understanding than I would have.
I glanced over at Alex and saw the concern in his dark eyes. He had a job to do, and at that moment, the job involved looking at my father as a suspect. I understood it. It’s just that I hadn’t gotten to where I needed to be to accept that fact.
My father took my hand, and we silently walked past Alex out of the interrogation room. He thought I was angry with him. I read it in his face. I wasn’t. I just wasn’t able talk to him without being upset about the whole situation, and I doesn’t want to fight with him, so I remained silent.
He probably liked that since I usually talked too much anyway.
Chapter Fourteen
My father sat quietly on the couch in my living room saying nothing as I scurried back and forth from the kitchen getting him a glass of water and a sandwich. I had a sense he didn’t know what to say now that he’d promised me everything would be okay.
I set the plate down on the coffee table in front of him and sat down in the nearby chair. “It’s ham and cheese, Dad. I make a mean sandwich, just so you know.”
He glanced at the plate and shrugged. “Thanks, honey.”
After a few moments of waiting for him to pick up the sandwich, I said, “Would you like me to make you something hot? I can do that, if you want. Just tell me what you’d like and I’ll make it for you.”
With a heavy sigh, he shook his head. “I don’t need anything, Poppy. I’m not really hungry, to be honest. I feel like I want to just go home and shut out the world for today, if that’s okay.”
My heart ached seeing him so defeated. His shoulders sagged and his back hunched like I’d never seen before. I wanted to take him in my arms and hug him tightly to me until the real murderer was found.
“I know, Dad. I figured you’d want to stay here for a while, though. You know, until the police leave your place.”
His frown deepened at my mention of them searching his home for evidence. “I’m sure they’re gone by now. My home isn’t very big.”
Nothing I could say seemed to help, but I wanted to do something to take his mind off the events of the day so far, so I asked, “Did I tell you that Howard mentioned to me that he would like me
to write an article on the antiquing craze in our area?”
“Oh yeah?” he said absentmindedly, clearly not interested in my upcoming assignment.
Not that I couldn’t understand why. The oh-so-scintillating world of antiquing paled in comparison to being accused of killing one man and attempting to kill another.
But I continued to talk, hoping that something I said would take his mind off his troubles.
“Yeah, I’m thinking it might even be something that would allow me to do research in the field. I mean, it’s not Woodward and Bernstein with Watergate, but it’s something more than my usual pieces about how lovely the grass looks for the spring tea at the current mayor’s house or how tasty the pancakes are at the breakfast social the First Presbyterian holds each February.”
My father gave a tiny smile at my reference to the event that was the height of the post-holiday social season in town. “Don’t knock those pancakes, Poppy. Do you know their secret ingredient is vinegar? It’s what makes them extra fluffy.”
I instinctively made a face at the thought that for all these years I’d been eating vinegar pancakes. That sounded downright disgusting. “Really? I never tasted it in them. How do they do it?”
“Not sure, but that’s what I’ve been told by none other than the Widow Dunn, and if anyone in town would know the secret ingredient in the Presbyterian pancakes, it would be her.”
No point disagreeing with that. The Widow Dunn surely knew some of the town’s most guarded secrets.
Suddenly, my father stood from the couch and turned toward the front door. “I think I’m going to go, honey. I want to go home and relax. You understand, don’t you?”
I stood to stop him but couldn’t. I knew how it felt to just want to crawl under the covers and forget the world until tomorrow. Wrapping my arms around him, I leaned my head on his shoulder. “I do, Dad. I’m sorry I couldn’t take your mind off all of this.”
Happy Hour Page 13
