by Patti Larsen
And think about the big question I’d been pondering. “Why would he suddenly start bilking locals? Surely he had to know that made him vulnerable?” I set the pages aside, no longer wanting to touch the evidence of Ryan’s duplicity or Pete’s acts against his son.
“I don’t know,” Jared said. “It doesn’t make sense. I don’t think Dad was the one getting the signatures, or forging the few he couldn’t wrangle.”
“Ruth again?” It connected.
But Jared seemed hesitant. “Maybe. But my aunt is about as friendly and kind as a crocodile, which means she’d have trouble getting anyone to trust her.”
True enough. “We need to get this evidence to Crew,” I said.
Jared gathered the paperwork, tucked it back into the file and handed it to me, eyes clear and lips in a grim line. “That’s why I was here,” he said. “I came tonight to look for evidence, hoping I wouldn’t find anything. And the very first papers I stumble on targeted me. His own son.” Jared cleared his throat, voice thick. “I went out for air, heard you pull up, watched you come inside.” Yeah, I was so good at sneaking around. Master breaker and enterer, that’s me. “I didn’t know what to do. But in the end, there wasn’t anything else I could do.” Jared’s expression calmed, resignation winning. “I need this over with. For me. For Mom. To get him out of our lives forever.” Jared paused before his face relaxed further, a faint smile there. “Thank you, Fee.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. “I didn’t kill him,” I said.
Jared laughed. “I didn’t think you did. Whatever the reason Dad was at your place that night, snooping around his new acquisition, I can’t imagine you did him in. If anything he really did slip and fall and hit his head and drown. Because karma is a bitch, isn’t she?”
I stood, headed for the door. Wanted to ask him more about Alicia, but figured I’d let him have his privacy about her. I could track her down and grill her personally. As for his mother…
“If you hated him so much,” I said, “why didn’t you two leave him?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Jared sounded bitter, smile gone, eyes locked on the desk, hands in fists on either side of the blotter. “He was blackmailing my mother. And I wouldn’t abandon her to him, Fee. Not for anything.”
Which meant Aundrea made it to the top of my suspect list all over again.
***
Chapter Thirty
I should have gone right to Crew. Or Dad. Instead, about twenty minutes later, I sat in a different kind of hot water, the best kind, with my chin in bubbles and the B&B none the worse for wear for my absence, mind spinning.
The two places I did my best thinking? Running and in the tub. But honestly, I just needed a little pampering right now. I’d escaped a possibly terrible fate thanks to Jared’s kindness and understanding. And thanks to the file sitting on my dresser, hopefully everything with Petunia’s would get sorted out in short order. But I had suspects to consider and wasn’t all that hopeful Crew wouldn’t look at my dad even more carefully considering the new evidence against me generated by that piece of crap I used to live with. Or turn his attention back on me, for that matter, though the only one really at risk of imminent death at this point was Ryan. The creep.
“He’ll pay, Petunia,” I said to the pug who stared at me from the edge of the tub, big eyes bracketed by perked black ears. “After I skin him alive.”
She grunted in agreement.
“Aundrea makes the most sense at this point, unless she has an alibi. Though Jared seemed reluctant to say anything which makes me wonder if he’s protecting her from something.” Son protecting mother like me protecting Dad? Made me feel like Jared and I had a lot more in common than I first thought. “It’s pretty clear she hated her husband and why. At least, in the general sense. If Pete was blackmailing his own wife to keep her…” Just gross.
Petunia whined softly at me before heaving herself up, front paws on the tile surround of the tub. I patted her head briefly, a fluff of suds on her cheek, before rambling on.
“I have to go through that evidence more carefully before I hand it over.” That had been my excuse for keeping it to myself as I drove home. “To make sure there really isn’t anything that can incriminate Dad.”
Petunia clearly didn’t think much of my plan. Or, had her own ideas about what to do next. Because she chose that moment to lurch forward with a mighty effort and landed in my lap. Water and bubbles flew everywhere while I squealed in shocked protest, the pug grinning at me in her doggy way before swiping my wet face with her tongue.
“Fine,” I snarled. “I’ll take the file to Crew. Happy?”
From her huffing delight, she was.
Of course, I wasn’t going to go beating on his door at one in the morning. Instead, I tucked into bed, mind still whirling, the pug attempting three times to join me before she sadly curled up on the floor with an accusatory stare that was hard to ignore.
Dawn came without a wink of sleep. By the time I finally decided I wasn’t going to manage any rest in my present state of mind, dressed and made it upstairs, I had poured myself coffee set to perk the night before only to stop in shock and stare around the silent kitchen.
Two seconds before Mary and Betty, their grumpy expressions matching, walked through the swinging door.
I don’t know who was more surprised, me or them. The fact I’d finally—finally!—beat them to the punch should have given me a sense of accomplishment. Instead, I sighed and leaned a hip against the counter, saluting them with my mug.
“Morning, ladies,” I said. “Busy day ahead.”
Mary muttered agreement, not a hint of her normally sullen state in evidence. She actually looked impressed. Betty scuttled to the stove to begin breakfast while I headed for the foyer to check my schedule. Maybe this was a good sign? Though if I had to not sleep to be the first one at the helm of Petunia’s I was going to have a very unhappy life.
I set my mug next to the ledger and turned on the computer on the sidebar, checking my bookings while Petunia wandered from the kitchen to sit on my sandaled feet. Mary had given her breakfast, from the way the pug licked her chops, and when she stared up at me with that accusing expression I finally growled at her.
“Can I please sort out my day first before I possibly incriminate myself in Pete Wilkins’s murder and embezzling money from Ryan’s law firm? Thank you.”
Petunia grunted at me before farting her opinion of that particular procrastination.
The front door opened, saving me from further discussion with the pug who woofed a short greeting when Peggy entered. Cookie wiggled in her arms, a sweet little orange bow her adornment for the day, while the old lady balanced a shoe box in one arm and the happy little dog in the other.
I hurried to her, divested her of the package with a soft pat for Cookie while my neighbor beamed her delight.
“I promised you Iris’s things,” she said. “And I know you’re busy, so we’ll do tea another time. But I wanted you to have these.” She smiled down at the box with moisture rimming her faded eyes. “Iris would have loved that.”
“Thank you so much, Peggy,” I said, carrying the box to the sidebar and opening it. The box itself was old, maybe from the seventies from the faded print and the dust on the lid. I picked through a few photos, one of Peggy herself and Grandmother Iris, the two seated on a sofa with a big old clock behind them. I teared up at the sight, my grandmother looking far older than I’d ever remembered her.
“Dear Iris,” Peggy said, wiping at one cheek while Cookie wriggled and licked her fingers. “I miss her so.” She met my eyes. “Any luck finding out who killed that terrible man who tried to take Petunia’s from you?”
She was such a dear. “Not yet,” I said, wrinkling my nose. No need for her to think I was putting myself in trouble. “Crew is taking care of everything.”
Peggy’s face lit up and she patted my cheek. “That’s wonderful to hear, dear,” she said. “I just know it will all get sorted ou
t and you’ll be back to normal in no time.”
I hugged her on impulse, feeling her slim body shake against me with a palsy tremor, thin bones so fragile while her sweet little dog snuggled against my arm. “I really appreciate the delivery,” I said. “I promise I’ll make time for tea.” It was the least I could do.
Peggy left, waving and blinking through a smile while I turned back to the box. So many bits and pieces, including a twin to the butterfly hair pin I had found in her things from the nursing home, the first now safely tucked in my jewelry box downstairs. Some papers, faded ticket stubs and evidence of Grandmother Iris’s friendship with Peggy.
I didn’t get to finish going through the contents, my moment of sad reminiscence about my grandmother cut short as once again the front door opened. But this visitor wasn’t welcome, not by a long shot.
Vivian didn’t seem to care I scowled at her intrusion, her pristine jogging suit in pale blue velvet screaming girl of privilege, step aside, peasant. Her joggers looked like she hadn’t had them on her feet ever and the pert ponytail she sported looked so teased and contrived if she ever sweated in it she’d be a disaster in about two seconds.
She came right to me, leaning over the small podium I used as a front desk, bright eyes sharp and full of delight. Which could only mean bad things for me.
“I know your secret,” she hissed. “And I have no compunction about turning you in.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” What exactly did she think she had on me? Did Jared tell her about Ryan’s embezzling? No, I couldn’t bring myself to believe that.
Vivian tossed that ponytail like it was a weapon, holding up her cell phone so I could see the picture she took of me in the side street at The Orange talking to Pitch as I connected the dots. “Stay away from Crew Turner,” she snarled, “or I’m telling him you’re a druggie who buys prescription drugs from teenaged boys in dark alleys.”
***
Chapter Thirty One
I laughed in her face. For quite a while, pretty sure the longer I went at it the more likely it was her head would explode. Which kept me laughing long past the time it was actually funny. If her statement/threat/accusation was ever funny. When I finally sobered, I leaned in too, grinning in her red cheeked face.
“Now that we have that out of the way,” I said, “what do you want, Vivian?”
“I saw you.” She jabbed her index finger with the sharpened point of her manicure into my chest then at the phone screen. “With that kid who deals outside The Orange. Yesterday.”
“Really,” I said. Pulled a huge ah-ha out of my ass and presented it to her for her observation. “And how, exactly, would you know someone like Pitch sells drugs outside a place like that if you weren’t a customer yourself?” Because logic, people.
She obviously hadn’t thought her little blackmail scheme through, much worse at it than Pete Wilkins. Vivian stammered a moment before huffing in my face and leaving without another word. Looking slightly less sure of herself and markedly more anxious about trying to threaten me.
So, she dabbled in the prescription drug trade, did she? User, more than likely. I imagined Crew would be delighted to know that. Speaking of whom, I had a delivery to make and wasn’t sure if he was going to toss me in a jail cell or say thank you. Or both.
Time to find out.
Twenty minutes later, Daisy firmly ensconced in the foyer directing traffic, I slipped out the front door, the previously pouting pug on her leash now panting happily as she followed me, for once my pace keeping time with hers, to the sheriff’s office. So what if I lingered when Petunia decided to sniff a mailbox or two? Were we in a hurry? Well, considering the file folder in my giant bag was burning a hole through the worn leather—or I imagined it was—I really should have been. Didn’t speed my lethargic steps up the stairs to the front entry, or do much to raise my spirits when I spotted Crew talking to Robert and the blonde female deputy on the far side of the gate separating the front from the bullpen.
Did he just roll his eyes at me? Okay then, fine. I whipped out the folder and brandished it with enthusiasm, catching his attention. About thirty seconds later, I stood with Petunia sitting on my feet while Crew Turner thumped the folder on his desk and told me in no uncertain terms what he thought of my continuing participation in his investigation.
“What part of mind your own damned business don’t you understand, Fee?” Crew’s pulsing forehead vein was back. He really did need to get that checked.
“You’re welcome,” I shot back, Petunia farting for good measure. Crew scowled down at the dog before shaking his head, running one hand through his hair in clear exasperation.
“What is it about the Fleming family that makes me want to shake the lot of you for being so stubborn?” He ground his teeth together. “No, just two of you.”
Before he could speak further and probably kick my ass out of his office, I told him everything in a rush of information he absorbed by sinking, with his face paling and his eyes growing huge, into his chair while I told him not only about Pitch and Simon and the gambling at The Orange but my suspicions about Ruth and Pete and the drug trade.
“Let me get this straight,” Crew said ever so softly when I ground to a halt at last, stopping short of admitting I’d broken into Jared’s property last night, instead leaving the sheriff with the impression the young Wilkins and I were helping each other. The less he knew the better, and it wasn’t like Jared was going to press charges. “You’ve been stumbling around Reading, interfering with ongoing investigations—shut it for one second, missy, and listen—and you expect me to thank you for bringing this to me?”
Did he just call me missy?
“That’s right,” I said. Loudly and with conviction. “You’re freaking welcome for doing your stupid ass job for you, Crew Turner. Because I haven’t seen one bit of police work come out of this office since this whole mess started.”
“That’s right,” Crew said, voice low and dangerous as I realized I’d crossed a big line with him. “You haven’t. Because I don’t advertise what I’m doing, who I’m talking to or what I suspect, Fee. That’s not my job. My job is to catch bad guys as quickly and quietly as possible. Unlike you,” he thudded one fist down on his desk, making Petunia fart again, “who rolls through town like a wrecking ball ruining my chance at uncovering what’s really going on!” He stood abruptly, lunging for me, grasping my upper arm and lifting me from the chair, swinging me around, shoving me toward the closed door he just opened in time to keep me from running right into it. “If I catch you snooping around, I’m arresting you.”
“For what?” I pulled on Petunia’s leash to make sure he didn’t cut her in half when he shoved me the rest of the way out of his office and grasped the door with that same hand.
“I’ll think of something!” Slam.
Okay then. Be a dick. See if I cared.
Petunia hummed and grunted and snorted at me all the way back to the B&B but I ignored her, my lower lip gnawed raw by the time we made it home. Was Crew right? Was I getting in the way? But I’d uncovered so much that he didn’t even seem to know about. Was that why he was so angry? Had to be. I was ahead of him and his little boy ego couldn’t handle it.
That is, or I was actually making things worse for him and myself and my dad all rolled into one.
Daisy took one look at me and held her tongue for once, so I must have appeared premiumly pissed off and primed for an explosion. I took ten minutes down in my apartment to punch my pillow after screaming into it until I saw stars before gulping down a hot cup of coffee and heading back to work.
But no matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, I just spun down into deeper anger and frustration. Finally, about 2PM, Daisy jerked me aside when I hung up the phone on a cancellation so hard the plastic casing cracked.
“Get out,” she said in the sweetest tone of voice ever. “Now. Before you hurt someone. Like me.”
I shook my head, slumping. “I’m sorr
y, Daisy,” I said. “I’m just…”
“I know.” She shook me a little, faint smile full of compassion. “You’re dealing with a lot. Listen, I don’t have anything going on tonight. Why don’t you get out, go shopping, take a break from all this.” Her perky suggestion made me want to hide in my room and watch TV until I was a zombie but I nodded finally and grabbed my purse.
Daisy scooped up Petunia and waved her front paw at me as I disappeared back out into the mean streets of Reading with every intention of doing exactly what Daisy told me to do. But there was only so many touristy crap shops I could visit, so many expensive boutiques I could raise my eyebrows at. Until I finally relented and headed for the one place perhaps I should have avoided after the few days I’d had.
Turned out Dad wasn’t home anyway. A quick cup of coffee with Mom gave me that much.
“Gone to the pub,” she said with an I don’t care air. “You two really need to try to schedule visits instead of popping in on each other like you do.”
“Dad’s been to the B&B?” I had no idea.
“A few times,” Mom shrugged. “So have I. You know, for a business woman trying to run a very busy place like Petunia’s, you’re not home much.”
She didn’t use that tone of disappointment, but it was close, so close. Close enough I winced and admitted to myself she was right.
Didn’t stop me from hurrying off to The Harp and Thorn to try to catch Dad when I was done with Mom, only to have mostly drunk but clearly able to serve Patrick shake his head at me. No John Fleming in days.
