by Terry Odell
“Can we go inside?” Officer Brody said again.
“Don’t say anything, Ashley,” Scott said.
Officer Brody frowned at Scott. “Are you a lawyer, Mr. Whelan?”
Lawyer? Ashley’s heart thumped. What could have happened? Why were they talking about lawyers? This was moving much too fast. “Please. Tell me what’s going on. Is it an emergency? Should we be going to my bakery?”
“No, not an emergency,” Officer Brody said. “I have a few questions.” He turned his gaze to Scott, clearly irritated at her neighbor’s presence.
“I’m not a lawyer,” Scott said. “But with your permission, I’d like to listen in. If it’s all right with Miss Eagan, of course.
“Yes, it’s all right.” Ashley backed into her apartment. “And I’m going to make some coffee, if that’s all right, too.”
Officer Brody nodded. Inside, with better lighting, Ashley took a closer look at him. He took off his hat revealing a boyish face that went with his carroty red hair. He might be a little older than he looked, but he was still young. And on edge. Pale beneath his freckles. Decidedly uncomfortable. New to the job? From the glances he kept shooting at Scott, she figured the officer wasn’t quite sure what to make of him. That was all right. Neither was she.
“We can talk in the kitchen.” Without waiting for a response, she stepped to the counter. Taking a calming breath, she scooped beans into the hopper of her coffeemaker, adjusted the paper filter, filled the reservoir with water, and set the carafe in place. The whining growl as the machine went through the grinding phase gave her another moment to collect her thoughts. Which was stupid, because her thoughts were worst-case disasters, and she certainly didn’t want a collection of them.
The grinding stopped, and the water entered the chamber. The aroma of coffee wafted through her kitchen like expensive perfume. After getting three mugs from the cabinet, she retrieved a plastic container of chocolate fudge cookies she’d baked for the police station and arranged a few on a plate. Coffee and chocolate. A perfect combination. Get rid of the cop standing at attention on the other side of her island, and it would be a picture of heaven. But right now, it was more like the road to hell.
Meanwhile, Scott and Officer Brody still had that alpha dog thing going. Men. Why was it always about them? She was the one with the problem, or there wouldn’t be a cop in her kitchen. If it was trivial, he’d have done whatever it was cops did by now. Instead, he stood there, clearly uncomfortable. Trying to be patient.
She turned and attempted a smile for the officer. “I guess you haven’t met Scott yet. He works at the police station, you know.”
Scott seemed to relax, but not all the stiffness in his posture disappeared. “I just started. I’m on mornings, so our paths haven’t crossed.”
Brody looked at Scott more closely. Recognition, then a wide grin spread across his face. “Whelan. Scott Whelan. Right. From County. I’d forgotten they said you were joining our department.” He extended his hand. “Greg Brody. Welcome. Pleased to meet you.”
Scott’s rigid posture returned. He gave the briefest of handshakes. “That’s right. And I’m strictly a civilian now.” His eyes narrowed, his lips flattened, completely rejecting Officer Brody’s friendliness.
Officer Brody looked like he’d been slapped. Scott seemed hard. Almost angry. Certainly not the southern gentleman she’d spent part of a day with.
“Have some cookies,” she said, pushing the plate across the counter between the two posturing men. Alpha dogs. Sheesh.
Scott continued to glare at Officer Brody, who averted his gaze. Neither touched her offerings.
“The coffee will be ready soon.” She took a cookie, in case it was one of those ladies first things. She took a bite, but the usual pleasure from tasting one of her creations was gone, and she might as well be eating something from a generic, store-bought box. She set the rest of the cookie on a napkin. “Officer Brody, why don’t you ask your questions?”
He slid his gaze to Scott, then pulled out a notebook and pen. He squared his shoulders and his demeanor turned formal. “Miss Eagan, where were you this afternoon, let’s say from four o’clock until now?”
Chapter 8
Scott hitched the damp towel tighter around his hips. If he had any brains, he’d go home and change, but he couldn’t see Brody waiting for him to get back. At first, Scott had pegged Brody for a rookie, not sure how to approach Ashley. But rookie or not, Brody seemed even more nervous than he should for a routine questioning, and Scott wondered if his own presence had anything to do with it. From the sidelong glances Brody kept sending him, maybe it did.
Was Brody’s discomfort nothing more than having someone sitting in on an interview? Or more about having an ex-cop sitting in? Or was it because Brody considered him more than an ex-cop?
Lose the ego trip, asshole.
Over a beer last evening, Kovak seemed to have accepted Scott as a fellow cop, taking him down from that ridiculous pedestal. Why should Scott assume Brody had him up on one as well? The guy was green. Any cop with more experience would have him on edge.
No matter. Ashley—or any citizen, Scott tried to tell himself—deserved an impartial set of eyes and ears during questioning. Even if those eyes and ears were half-dressed and fresh out of the Jacuzzi.
“Please, sit,” Ashley said. She motioned to the stools at her counter, and making the first move, she sat. She flashed him a brief semblance of a smile, as if acknowledging that he wouldn’t sit unless she did. And another flash of what? Understanding? Sympathy? A look that said “I know you’re probably hurting.”
Scott felt more comfortable with his lower half hidden beneath the counter, even though he did have trunks on under the towel. And although the Jacuzzi had eased the stiffness, sitting was easier than standing. Easier to concentrate on Brody’s questions if he wasn’t distracted by pain. And after hearing Brody’s opening question, Scott definitely wanted to give the man his undivided attention. Thankful the stools were padded in vinyl, Scott settled his damp bottom into the one next to her, leaving the third for Brody in case he wanted a seat. As expected, however, Brody remained standing.
Brody repeated his question, and Scott waited for Ashley to respond.
He and Ashley had parted ways right around the time in question, so he didn’t know where she’d gone. She seemed to think for a minute. A little hesitation was good. Nobody actually remembered a minute-by-minute account of their day. People who gave them had usually rehearsed them, knowing they might be needed. And offered alibis before anyone asked. Too much hesitation wasn’t good, either, and Scott found himself holding his breath waiting for Ashley’s answer.
“I was at the bakery until about four, I think.” She gestured toward Scott. “Scott was with me then.”
Brody looked to Scott.
Scott nodded. “We were there. Along with half a dozen construction workers. And a delivery from UPS, if you’re looking for verification. I’m sure their records will confirm that she signed for a delivery, and at what time.”
Brody didn’t say anything, but nodded and wrote something down. “And when you left. Were you still together?”
Ashley shook her head, and Scott got a whiff of some floral-scent. Her shampoo, no doubt. Maybe he shouldn’t have picked this seat, where he kept wanting to touch her, to reassure her that everything was all right. The fact that his leg brushed against hers didn’t help, but he couldn’t bend it enough to avoid the contact. Then again, she hadn’t moved away.
“No, I went to Thriftway for supplies.” Ashley gave Brody a quick grin. “For you, actually. I mean the entire station, not you specifically. I’m supposed to be providing desserts for a party tomorrow.” She pointed at the cookies. “Those are some of them. I was here baking and working on organizing my bakeoff. I went to bed around midnight, and then—” She paused, looked at Scott, color rising to her face, before returning her gaze to Brody. “And then you knocked on the door and woke me up.”
/> “Nobody can corroborate your story?” Brody said.
Scott bit back a retort.
Ashley bristled. “Story? I’m telling you what I did. It’s not a story. I was alone. I was working on the computer, though. And I made a few phone calls.”
“Cell or land line?” Brody asked.
“My regular phone.” She pointed to the one on her kitchen desk. “Will that give you a way to … corroborate my … my nonfiction accounting of my whereabouts, officer?”
The perfect touch of indignity, Scott thought. Exactly the way an innocent person would react. Although he doubted Brody’s instincts were honed enough to detect the subtle nuances during the interrogation of an accomplished liar, there was nothing here to indicate Ashley was telling anything but the truth. And Brody hadn’t mastered the art of the expressionless face yet, either. Scott would put good money that Brody accepted her story. He suppressed a smile. Her nonfiction accounting.
And why did he care that she’d kept her cool? He looked at her more closely. Clearly dragged out of bed, her hair hanging in unruly tangles. No makeup, but her brown eyes were bright, and as she chewed on the unfinished cookie she’d set aside earlier, her tongue peeked out to capture any stray crumbs. He allowed himself about a nanosecond to think about her tongue and those nice full lips before she could distract him more than the aches in his shoulder and leg.
“Thank you, Miss Eagan,” Brody said. “A couple more questions, and you can get on with your day.”
Scott didn’t miss the relief on Ashley’s face. He caught himself before he patted her thigh.
Brody flipped to another page in his notebook. “Do you know Elaine Rathburn?”
Ashley’s eyes widened. “I’ve done business with her recently, but I wouldn’t say I know her. Why?”
“What about Felicity Markham?”
Scott flashed to the altercation at Elaine’s studio. And what he’d asked Kovak to research for him, which had nothing to do with Ashley’s bakery. His cop radar pinged. “I think you owe Miss Eagan an explanation, Officer Brody. Why you’re asking about these people. Unless, of course, you’re canvassing the entire town looking for information about them.”
Brody reddened slightly. A hazard of being a redhead, as Scott knew all too well. And Brody was a true redhead, much more so than Scott’s own sandy hue. Couple that with looking about twelve added challenges to being taken seriously. But, Scott couldn’t help but note the kid was doing fine.
Brody stiffened. “Please answer the question, Miss Eagan.”
Ashley grabbed another cookie. “I’d say I know Felicity Markham about as well as I know Elaine Rathburn. Although I haven’t done business with Felicity.”
Scott knew where this was going, but he wasn’t going to jump in and mention what he’d seen at Elaine’s studio. Let the cop do his job. To cover the fact that he almost burst into laughter thinking about how he was doing exactly what he hated witnesses to do, Scott reached for a cookie. Different being on the other side. He bit into it. The rich chocolate hit him like a blanket of mellow. “Damn, these are good. Brody, do yourself a favor and have one.”
Brody reacted almost as if he were following orders. But when Brody sampled one, Scott caught the pleasure in the young cop’s expression.
“They are good, ma’am,” Brody said. “Excellent.”
Didn’t take an experienced cop to recognize the pride in Ashley’s eyes.
“The coffee’s ready.” She filled three mugs. “There’s a hint of coffee in the cookies, and they should taste even better with a cup. How do you take yours, Officer?”
“A little milk if you have it,” Brody said. He glanced at Scott, as if wanting reassurance that it was okay to take a coffee break in the middle of questioning someone.
Well, Scott wasn’t a cop, and he didn’t question people anymore, and he sure as hell enjoyed Ashley’s creations. But on the job, yes, he’d occasionally accepted food offerings if it seemed to help put someone at ease. Instead of saying anything, he helped himself to another cookie and sipped his coffee.
Ashley set a small pitcher of milk and a spoon on the counter next to Brody’s mug. Exhaling audibly, he poured some into his coffee and stirred, clearly organizing his thoughts for his next step. Scott waited, torn between wanting to help a green cop and wanting to make sure Ashley wasn’t subjected to any unnecessary stress.
Brody took a sip of the coffee, then set the mug down and picked up his pen and notebook again. “When’s the last time you saw either Elaine Rathburn or Felicity Markham?”
***
Ashley set her coffee on the counter before adding her usual milk and sugar so Officer Brody couldn’t see her hands trembling. That question sounded way too much like a cop show. The part where they were zeroing in on the murderer.
Why are you jumping to murder? He didn’t say that. Why can’t it be an insurance issue? One of the Klutz Brigade broke something else and Carl’s insurance is maxed out.
But something told her this was more serious than he’d implied when he’d shown up at her door. If it wasn’t serious, he wouldn’t have arrived in person, right? At five in the morning, right? Oh, this was feeling very, very wrong.
Keep your cool. Don’t act guilty.
And why would she be acting guilty? She hadn’t done anything. She sucked in a breath.
“Felicity and Elaine? Yesterday afternoon. Between four-thirty and five, I think. I was at Elaine’s studio ordering some discount coupons for my bakery. And then Felicity came in, and got all huffy. She left, and I finished with Elaine, and then we went to my bakery.”
“We?” Brody said, fixing his gaze on Scott.
Of course. Scott had shown up wearing a towel. Did Officer Brody think they had something going on? And speaking of goings on, what about whoever had been with him last night? Was she waiting in Scott’s apartment?
Ashley gave Scott a pleading look. Was there a problem mentioning him? He gave her a nod and a quick smile.
Feeling more assured, she went on. “Scott was with me. We’d had coffee at Sadie’s, and then went to Elaine’s.”
“That sounds about right, and I’ll agree to the time frame,” Scott said.
Officer Brody wrote something down. “Would either of you care to elaborate on ‘huffy’?
Scott nodded toward her. Her stomach twisted. Why didn’t he explain it? He was the one who’d worked around cops. He must know the right things to say. All Ashley could see was herself being hauled off to jail for saying the wrong thing. In her robe, no makeup, and in need of a shower.
She reached for the coffee, then decided her brain was already in overdrive, helped in no small part by the chocolate and sugar in the cookies. She wiped her palms over her face, trying to slow things down. After another deep breath, she went on.
“I don’t know exactly why Felicity came into Elaine’s. But she must have heard me discussing coupons for free cookies, and she kind of … exploded. She accused me of trying to put her out of business. I tried to explain that we weren’t in competition, but she didn’t want to hear anything. She told Elaine she’d take her business elsewhere and stormed out.
“Oh, and I ran into her briefly at Thriftway. Kind of literally. My cart bumped into hers, and she turned around and went the other way.”
“About what time?” Officer Brody asked, his pen poised above his notebook.
“Around six, I guess. I finished shopping and came straight home.”
She waited, wondering if Scott was going to bring up what Elaine had said. That Felicity’s credit had stretched until it snapped. But that was none of her business, and for all she knew, Elaine might have made it up. If Officer Brody wanted more, let him ask.
“Anything to add, Detective Whelan?”
Detective? Ashley swiveled to face Scott, whose expression had changed to one she wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley. Or a brightly lit one.
“It’s. Mister. Whelan.” He spat the words out. “I’m a civilian. No diffe
rent from Miss Eagan.”
Officer Brody lifted his palms in apology. “Sorry. Slip of the tongue.”
Okay, what was that all about? Was it really a slip of Officer Brody’s tongue? Was he used to working with detectives and used the title reflexively? Or was Scott working undercover on something and Officer Brody had blown it? Ashley let it slide—for now.
Scott sipped his coffee and chewed on another cookie. When he finished, his composure had returned. “Nothing to add. That’s exactly how it played out.” He set down his mug. “And now, if you don’t mind, we’ve been patient and answered your questions. I think it’s time you told us why you’re here.”
This time it was Officer Brody who took a moment with coffee and cookie. When he finished, he put his notebook away. “I’m afraid Felicity Markham is dead.”
“What?” Ashley’s mouth dropped open. Even though she’d almost expected Officer Brody to say something like that, the shock hit her like a physical blow. She gripped the counter. “Where? When? How?”
“I think the more significant questions is what Miss Eagan has to do with any of this,” Scott said. “I saw Felicity Markham yesterday, yet you didn’t come to my apartment.”
Officer Brody’s gaze alternated between her and Scott. “That’s because Ms. Markham’s body was discovered inside Miss Eagan’s bakery.”
The cookies and coffee sitting in Ashley’s stomach threatened to make the return trip. Her ears rang. The kitchen tilted. She fought the nausea.
Scott’s hand rested on her shoulder. “You all right? Take a few deep breaths.”
She swallowed. Did as he asked. The room righted itself. “I’m all right. I guess. I mean, someone’s dead, so I’m not really all right, but—”
“That’s okay, Miss Eagan.” Officer Brody’s voice, calm and soothing, registered from a distance. “I’ve got what I need. The detectives will take over from here.”
