Paul led me out of the room and closed the door behind him, giving Buchannan some privacy. “He’s going to hate every moment of this,” he said, keeping his voice low so Buchannan couldn’t hear.
“Good.” The smile that spread across my face measured a mile. “He deserves it.”
“Only sometimes,” Paul allowed. “He is a good cop, and a good man if you let him. He tends to get a bit overzealous at times, but don’t we all?” He smiled. “But I do enjoy making him miserable every now and again. Keeps up morale.”
A curse came from inside, causing us both to laugh. Our eyes met, and for an instant, it felt like nothing had ever come between us. Those blue eyes of his were like deep pits of clear water sparkling in the afternoon sun. And those dimples . . . I wanted to reach out and trace them with my fingertips so badly, my hands actually moved a fraction of an inch before I caught myself.
We both looked away at the same time. My heart was pounding and my palms were sweaty. I felt like a cheating jerk, though I hadn’t actually done anything. I was at the party with Will, and Paul was here with Shannon. We both had dates, and that meant we shouldn’t be making eyes at each other, no matter how innocent they might be.
Paul cleared his throat and took a step back. “We should get back to the ballroom. I’ll have Buchannan meet us there when he is done and can bring himself to come out.” The smile flickered back to life before slipping away.
I nodded, still cursing myself over my moment of perceived weakness. I suppose it was good that I hadn’t gone crazy and kissed him, let alone reached out to touch him. If I’d given in, I would be no better than that jerk Robert. Maybe it served me right that he was here on a night when I felt pulled between two men. Maybe I should go back to California with him and let him sleep around on me and party like he was eighteen again. It was what I deserved.
Stop it, Krissy. You didn’t do anything. And really, I didn’t plan on doing anything that would hurt my chances with Will.
Paul knocked on the door with the back of his hand. “John, meet us in the ballroom when you are done. We’re going to have a look around.”
His only answer was a string of curses. This time, however, neither Paul nor I could manage a smile.
He led the way back toward the ballroom, walking a good five feet ahead of me, as if he thought the separation would keep anyone from realizing what had happened in the hallway.
But what did happen? Nothing, that’s what. It wasn’t like we’d torn at each other’s clothing or anything. In fact, we’d just looked at each other, something people do all of the time. What made it any different for us? Just because we’d once almost dated, doesn’t mean we couldn’t be friends. We hadn’t touched each other, which was what would have pushed the moment too far.
The little voice in the back of my head refused to relent, no matter how much I rationalized it. I kept wondering if Paul had felt something in that moment, too, if he’d wanted to reach out and touch my cheek. I mean, he would have had to, right? He’d looked as embarrassed as I’d felt, so something had to have passed between us.
We entered the ballroom a moment later. Paul stopped just inside the room and glanced around. Most of the guests looked annoyed, more than likely because they felt trapped in the house, which indeed, they were. Even though they hadn’t stopped enjoying the snacks, or visiting the various rooms, they acted as if they were locked away in a cell at the police station, rather than at a party.
“I should wait here for Buchannan,” Paul said. “Thank you for, uh . . .” He shrugged helplessly. Turns out, my presence while filling in for Buchannan hadn’t been necessary.
“You’re welcome,” I said, not really sure what I’d done, and not caring. It wasn’t often I was thanked for my help. Most of the time, I got told to keep my nose out of the dangerous investigation. And even after I helped solve the cases, I was warned not to do it again.
So, this, I would take.
I wasn’t sure where to go from there. I glanced around the room, hoping to spot Will, but I didn’t see him anywhere. He was probably exploring with Darrin or Carl, or off with his parents. Vicki was with Mason, talking to a couple I didn’t know. Both Jules and Lance were back, picking over the snacks and talking with their heads nearly touching. Both were smiling, as if they were sharing some deep, dark secret about someone or something in the house.
I decided I’d head over and see if they’d include me in on the joke. Lord knows I needed something to lift my spirits just then. Even the thought of seeing Buchannan dressed like an old man wasn’t as appealing as it was only a few minutes ago.
I made it only a step when Igor came running over to where Paul stood. I did a complete three sixty and turned to face them, not wanting to miss whatever he had to say.
“Officer,” he said. He was out of breath as if he’d run this entire way. “I tried to stop him.”
“Stop who?” Paul was all business, alert and ready for action. His back straightened and those blue eyes of his sharpened like razors.
“I don’t know his name.” Igor glanced over his shoulder before turning back to Paul. “He pushed past me when I tried to stop him. He went out the front door.”
Paul and I shared a look. We were both thinking the exact same thing.
Someone was trying to escape.
“Stay here,” Paul commanded, loud enough that most of the people around us heard. He bolted for the door, hand going to his bobby hat to keep it from flying off his head.
I looked at Igor, who looked back, eyes wide and scared, like he just now realized there really was a killer on the loose, and that he might very well have had contact with him.
“Keep everyone inside,” I told him. “If the other policeman comes looking for us, tell him where we’ve gone.” I didn’t like the idea of Buchannan looking for me, but if it was the murderer out there, I’d appreciate the backup.
And then, pointedly ignoring Paul’s orders, I took off after him.
The rain was still coming down pretty hard, making it hard to see as I stepped outside. I squinted into the downpour and, at first, didn’t see anyone. Then, I caught a glimpse of Paul, dressed in that silly old police uniform. He was heading toward the parking lot, shoulders hunched against the rain.
I took a step forward, wincing as the icy cold rain slammed into me like it was intent on driving me into the ground. I pulled my hat down over my ears, for the first time thankful I had it, and started for Paul. I’d only taken a couple of steps when I saw movement out of the corner of my eye.
This man wasn’t near the cars where Paul was investigating. In fact, he was moving away from them, heading toward the side of the property where the trees would give him cover.
And Paul didn’t see him.
“Paul!” I shouted, waving my arms above my head. “Over there!”
He didn’t so much as glance my way. The rain hitting the hoods of the cars was probably as loud as a drum. Even if I’d been standing next to him, he would have had a hard time hearing me.
The shape stumbled and fell in the mud before he pushed back to his feet. He staggered forward a few more steps and then vanished into the deluge.
I had a split second to make up my mind. I could run over to Paul and tell him what I saw so he could give chase.
But that would take too much time. The man was already out of sight. By the time I reached Paul, told him which way to go, our suspect would be gone.
There was really only one option.
With one last futile glance toward where Paul was leaning down to peer between the cars, I hiked up my pants and started running.
17
My foot sank a good three inches into the soft, rain-drenched soil as I attempted to run toward where I’d last seen the retreating figure. For someone with so much money, Margaret Yarborough did a pretty poor job of taking care of her property. I knew it was raining, but there were muddy holes filled with water in the yard, as if she had a big dog that had decided to go on a buried bo
ne hunt. It was making progress difficult, to say the least.
A curse broke through the downpour and I altered my course toward it. I was closer than I thought because after only a few soggy steps, I saw my target rising from the ground where he’d apparently fallen. The man was fat, and while I couldn’t see his face, I was pretty sure I recognized the shape of his body from the party. If I wasn’t mistaken, he’d been wearing a monocle and doing a lot of complaining.
“Hey!” I shouted. “Stop!”
The man glanced back once and then started slogging through the muck again. He wasn’t wearing a monocle now, but that one glimpse of his rain-slicked face was enough to assure me it was the same man.
It was like running through a swamp as I gave chase. I was making better progress than the fatter man, thanks to our weight difference. He seemed to sink down to mid-calf with every step.
Still, it felt like I’d run three miles, even though we were only a dozen yards from the house or so. I sucked in a deep breath, nearly choked on a mouthful of rain, and then rushed forward with everything I had. There was no way I was going to get outrun by a man twice my size!
The property had started to slope gently downward, toward the smattering of pine trees that lined the property. The man was making for them, huffing and puffing with every step. I had a feeling that if he made it to the safety of the trees, I would lose him for good.
“Halt!” I shouted, putting as much command into my voice as I could.
“Leave me alone!” the man shouted back, pausing in his escape long enough to look back at me. “I just want to go home.”
Right, I thought. And I’m the queen of England. I had no doubt he would make a quick stop at home, long enough to pack his things so he could flee the country. Why else would he be running away, in the rain, after a murder, if he wasn’t the one who had committed it?
“Careful, Krissy. He might have a weapon.” It was Paul’s voice in my head, yet I ignored it like I would ignore my own. If the big man pulled a gun on me, I’d just have to hope the rain would foul up his aim enough that I could get inside his reach and disarm him. Never mind the fact I’d never learned how to go hand to hand. I was hoping my adversary was just as ignorant as I was.
My quarry gave an exasperated sigh and turned to face me. “You really shouldn’t have followed me out here. I have nothing you want.” He reached into his inside coat pocket.
My mind flared a bright scarlet. Holy crap! He really did have a gun! I was only a handful of slippery strides away, so if I let him pull the weapon, he’d have to be blind to miss me. I sucked in a deep breath, and not wanting to give him the chance to shoot me, I threw myself at him, just as his hand came from inside his coat, holding a large, cylindrical object.
I roared in defiance. It might not be a gun, but he could bludgeon me with it all the same. He opened his mouth as I barreled into him, using my arm to knock the item from his hand. We both went down into the mud, me on top, and him on his back. He grunted in pain as we hit the ground. I grabbed for his wrists, but he slapped my hands away.
“What are you doing?” he shouted. His face was splotchy red, as if he was having a hard time breathing. I doubted a man his size could sleep on his back comfortably. “Get off of me!”
“You’re not going to hurt anyone else,” I said. “I’m putting you under citizen’s arrest until Officer Dalton gets here.” I wasn’t sure that was an actual thing, but it sounded official enough in the heat of the moment.
“Arrest?” the man sputtered. Water pounded into his face, causing him to have to squint at me. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Tell that to the cops,” I said, feeling more and more empowered by the second. This was the first time I’d taken down a suspect on my own, without breaking something in the process. “Stand up slowly and don’t try anything, or else I’ll have to knock you down again.”
“You’ll have to get off of me first.”
I scrambled off the man and stepped back, just in case he made a lunge for me. He rolled over onto his stomach and pushed himself to his feet, grunting and cursing all the way. He gave me an annoyed look before scouring the ground for the item he’d pulled out of his coat.
“Leave it,” I warned him, tensing. If he made a grab for it, I wouldn’t hesitate. I refused to let anyone get the jump on me ever again.
The man ignored me. He took two steps to the left and I prepared to tackle him again. He looked down at something between his feet for a long moment before spinning to face me.
“You broke it!” he shouted in obvious rage. “Do you realize how expensive that bottle was?”
“Bottle?” My face crinkled up in confusion. “What bottle?”
“The bottle of wine you broke, you nincompoop!” His voice rose in pitch. “It’s ruined.” He sounded ready to cry.
I looked past him to the spot behind him, and sure enough, shattered glass lay around a quickly thinning pool of deep crimson.
My first instinct was to apologize, but I squashed it immediately. He’d pulled the bottle out of his coat after fleeing the scene of a crime. How was I to know he wasn’t planning on hitting me with it? If he didn’t want the thing broken, he shouldn’t have run in the first place.
“Let’s go,” I told him, sounding far less sure of myself than I had a moment ago.
The man huffed and began trudging his way back to the house. After one last quick look at the shattered bottle of wine, I followed after him.
Igor was standing at the door when we returned. He looked anxious until he spotted us. His face brightened, and he looked so relieved, I thought he might faint, before he stepped aside, and said, “This way, madam. He’s waiting for you.”
I put a hand on the fat man’s elbow and led him after Igor, who was leading the way. I was dripping wet, covered in mud, yet as we passed through the ballroom, I felt like a hero. People stood at the doorway, watching, muttering to each other as they pointed at us. I straightened my back and raised my chin, happy I’d finally done something right and was going to be recognized for it.
“In here,” Igor said, motioning toward the bathroom I’d found Quentin in earlier that night.
“Thank you,” I told him. “Inside.” That to my prisoner.
He muttered something under his breath, but entered. I followed after, a grin splitting my face.
Paul was standing at the sink, a towel draped over his shoulder. He was drenched, but still in the same old-style police uniform I’d last seen him in. His scowl turned to concern when he saw us enter.
“Are you all right?” he asked, looking right past the big man, to me.
“Peachy,” I said, and I meant it. I might be dirty and out of breath, but I’d caught my man. “I found our killer.”
“Killer?” the fat man said, sounding surprised. “I didn’t kill anyone.” He turned to Paul and jabbed a finger at me. “You should be arresting her!”
Paul looked back and forth between us before shaking his head. “Not here.” He grabbed two towels off a stack on the counter, tossing one to each of us. “Follow me.”
We headed down the hall, Paul in the lead, me bringing up the rear, and into the makeshift interrogation room. I glanced back once and winced at the trail of mud and water in our wake, but figured Margaret could afford to have it cleaned. As soon as we were all inside, Paul closed the door and turned to face our latest suspect.
“Tell me why you ran, Mr. . . .”
“Berry. Bertrand Berry.” The fat man looked down at himself and grimaced. “These clothes are ruined.” He held the towel in one hand, not using it.
“I think you have a little more to worry about than how much your dry cleaning will cost you,” Paul said, motioning toward the chairs.
Bertrand heaved a sigh but didn’t sit. “I didn’t do anything,” he said. “Well, nothing that anyone else here wouldn’t do.” He leveled a finger at me. The ring there was coated in mud. “She destroyed a very expensive bottle of wine.”
Pa
ul glanced at me.
“He pulled it out of his coat,” I said. “I thought it might be a weapon.”
Bertrand snorted. “I never would have hit you with it, you moron. I was going to show it to you so you would leave me alone.”
“Maybe you should have told me that first!”
“Maybe you should have paid more attention to what was going on, rather than assault me.” He turned to Paul. “I want to press charges!”
“You! You’re the one who was running away and threatening me!”
“I never threatened you.”
“You did!”
Paul raised both of his hands, and his voice. “Both of you, stop. Tell me what happened, like reasonable adults.”
Before either of us could speak, there was a knock at the door. Paul jammed his fingers into his eyes and rubbed as he called out a weary, “What?”
“Mrs. Yarborough wishes to speak to you,” Buchannan said from the other side of the door. “It has something to do with the man you’re currently talking to.”
Paul continued to rub at his eyes a moment longer before sighing, and said, “Okay, fine. Bring her in.”
The door opened and Margaret strode in, looking aghast. I wasn’t sure if it was because of our suspect, or if it had to do with all of the mud and water we’d tracked in. I held up my towel, as if proving that I wasn’t doing it on purpose and was in the process of trying to sop up most of the mess.
She didn’t look impressed. “My heavens,” she said. “What happened?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Paul said. He nodded once to Buchannan, who stepped back out of the room and closed the door.
“He was trying to flee the premises,” I said, trying to sound official. “I stopped him before he could escape.”
“As I told you before, I was trying to get home.” Bertrand said it like he was talking to a stubborn child. “And this woman knocked me over and shattered my bottle of Pétrus.”
Death by Pumpkin Spice Page 15
