by Terry Odell
“Wait,” she said. “How did she die?”
“That’s for the medical examiner to determine, ma’am.”
“My bakery? Is she … still there?”
“No, ma’am. She’s at the morgue.”
Scott appeared at her side, rested his hand on her shoulder again. More than rested. Squeezed. But gently. “Let the police do their job, Ashley.”
Brody put his cap on and strode down the hall. Ashley stood in the open doorway until she heard the elevator ding. She twisted to face Scott.
“What’s with the detective bit?”
Chapter 9
Scott skirted the obvious question on Ashley’s mind. “They always send a detective to follow up on an unattended death.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Ashley said, and he knew she’d seen through his ruse. “He called you a detective. Why would he say that?”
Scott dragged a hand through his hair. Dry now, he noted. “I have to get ready for work.”
Ashley fisted her hands at her hips. “How long can it take to answer a simple question? Why did Officer Brody call you detective? And if you’re working undercover, I promise, your secret’s safe with me.”
He exhaled. “No, I’m exactly what I told you. A civilian working at the Pine Hills Police Department. But … I used to be a detective. I guess Brody knew that.”
He turned, but she reached for him. “Please. Can you tell me what’s going to happen? What I should be doing?” Her brown eyes glistened. “I hate to sound callous or petty, but my business—delays, or the stigma of someone dying in my place—if anything happens—”
Hearing the quaver in her voice, after she’d been so strong with Brody, twisted something inside him. He fought the urge to gather her in his arms. “Let me change. I really do have to get to work, and maybe I can find out more from there. Can we meet for coffee? Or an early lunch? I get a break at eleven.” By then, he should have something more to tell her.
“Okay.” She swiped at her eyes and sniffed. “Should I meet you at the station?”
“That’ll be fine. See you at eleven.”
She nodded, hope and trust clear in her expression.
What the hell. He squeezed her shoulders and brushed his lips to her forehead. “Don’t worry.”
Before she could react—or see his reaction—he high-tailed it to his apartment although his limp and the towel made it more like low-tailing.
At the station, Kovak stopped by Scott’s desk carrying his usual two coffees. Scott wondered if he automatically bought two and gave one to whoever he bumped into first. Scott accepted it, although he didn’t particularly care for all the frou frou enhancements.
Kovak hitched a hip onto Scott’s desk. “You know something we don’t? Or are you some kind of psychic? One minute you’re asking me to do a sneaky background check on Felicity Markham, and the next minute, she’s dead.” He stood and dropped a file folder where he’d been sitting. “Now that she’s deceased, I don’t suppose there’s any harm in sharing what I dug up.”
“Total coincidence, I assure you.” Scott took a polite sip of Kovak’s offering, then set it down next to his mug of sludge. “Any investigative information you’re allowed to share with us humble unsworn?”
“Actually, I was hoping to pick your brain. We don’t get many suspicious deaths here.” He looked thoughtful. “Come to think of it, the last one we got was when Detweiler was out of town, too. Maybe the chief should cancel all his vacation time.”
“You have cause of death?” Scott asked, trying to get the conversation back on track. “Or time?”
“In the queue at the ME’s office. Charlotte Russell—she’s the ME—is good, but she won’t say anything until she’s got the body in the morgue and lab results in.”
Scott smiled. “That’s the truth.”
“Right. You probably worked with her a lot.”
“More than I wanted to—nothing personal. If we worked together it meant someone had died. You were on scene, right? At the bakery?”
“Yeah. No signs of violence, though. Brody was on patrol. Saw a light on, went to check. Saw the body through the window. We’re trying to figure out what Felicity Markham was doing in the bakery at four in the morning.”
“The contractor said his crew was going to work as long as it took to get the job back on schedule. You talked to them?”
Kovak scraped his hand across the blond stubble on his jaw. “Workers, yes. Can’t find the damn contractor. But they all say they left and locked up well before midnight.”
“Gives you an approximate window of midnight until four. Until the ME gets back to you with the COD, all you have is a dead body, right?”
“Yeah. A dead body in an empty, locked room.”
“Keys?”
“Workers say nobody but the contractor and the owner have them.” Kovak leaned in. “Brody says you were there this morning. You have anything to offer on the bakery lady?”
“The bakery lady’s name is Ashley Eagan. And she’s understandably upset, having a cop show up at her door at five a.m.”
“Yeah, it’s in my notes. I’ve got her on my list for later this morning. Speaking of Brody, did he do okay? He’s green, but has potential. He was first on scene—his second time, although the first time was a real doozy. Guy’s face blown off. Oh, wait. I told you that, didn’t I?”
Kovak did like to bring up that case. Apparently his claim to fame here in Pine Hills. Scott swallowed his impatience. “Yes, you did, and yes, Brody did fine. A little nervous, not altogether organized in his questioning, but he didn’t screw anything up.”
Except maybe he should have pushed a little harder on the photo studio altercation, about Felicity’s finances, but Kovak would probably follow up with Elaine and get it first-hand.
“Good to hear. I know doing CPR on a dead body got to him. That’s why I sent him to interview Eagan.”
“Wait,” Scott said. “You said Brody saw the body through the window. How did he get in?”
“Busted the glass on the door. You’re not saying he shouldn’t have.”
“No, of course not. He saw a woman whose life might have been in danger. No question about exigent circumstances. But you left it open?” Scott didn’t think there were enough officers to station one in front of an exposed storefront. His pulse kicked up as he thought of Ashley having to deal with the setback of repairing a door. Cops didn’t fix stuff unless they were clearly in the wrong, and there was nothing wrong about checking to see if a person was in peril.
“Brody didn’t mention that?” Kovak frowned. “Shit. Guess he was more shook up than I thought. He should have told her to call her insurance company. We taped the door, and folks here are usually law-abiding, but there are always a few bad apples. That’s how we earn our paychecks.”
Thoughts of vandals helping themselves to Ashley’s shiny new equipment rushed through Scott’s brain. “I’ll do it.”
“Okay, thanks,” Kovak said. “Trying to get my ducks lined up so I’ll know which way to go when I hear from the ME. Be nice to have this one wrapped up with a bright red bow when the big guy gets back.” He turned away, headed back for his office, Scott presumed.
“Kovak?”
The detective pivoted. “Yeah?”
“When you interview Miss Eagan, remember she’s baking the desserts for tomorrow. Be nice. You wouldn’t want her to mix up the sugar and salt now, would you?” Or get too heavy-handed with the cayenne.
“Right. Working solo’s been a bitch, but I’m cool.”
Scott didn’t doubt it. The first hours of a case could be critical, and no cop worth his badge didn’t feel the stress. And cop-to-cop conversations were a far cry from cop-to-citizen. But he didn’t regret giving Kovak the reminder.
Scott got Ashley’s voice mail, so he left a message about calling her insurance company. In between dealing with paperwork, calls and drop-ins, Scott leafed through the pages Kovak had left him. Felicity Markham’s finances
were a disaster, but she didn’t have a record. Or if she did, Kovak had left those pages out.
At ten-thirty, Scott called Sadie’s and ordered some sandwiches to go. Then he called Charlotte Russell.
“You pushing me, Whelan?” she said when he asked if she’d done the autopsy on Felicity. “You’ve got no clout anymore.”
But there was a teasing to her tone, so he relaxed his grip on the phone. “Of course not. I missed our visits. Thought I’d bug you—you know, nostalgia, old time’s sake. You have anything at all? TOD?”
She laughed, a warm, deep rumble. “I am going to miss you. Estimated time of death is between one and three a.m.”
“Thanks. I’ll owe you.”
She laughed again. “You have email at the cop shop, Mr. Civilian? It won’t be before late today. Maybe not until tomorrow, but I can let you know what I find.”
“Might be better to use my personal account. Or call with a heads up.” He’d finished giving her his address and cell number when Ashley walked in. Stumbled in was more like it. Tendrils of her hair had escaped the confines of her ponytail, and her brown eyes seemed barely able to focus. She gripped the narrow counter on the other side of the glass as if it was all that was holding her up.
He did his best imitation of leaping to his feet and hurried to reach her side.
***
Ashley tried to enjoy the sunshine as she and Scott sat at a picnic bench in Pioneer Park. Not far away, moms pushed toddlers in the swings, or helped them up and down the slide. Giggles, squeals, and birdsong filled the air.
Under Scott’s stern eye, she’d eaten half the turkey sandwich he’d given her, but it felt more like an entire frozen Thanksgiving turkey sat in the pit of her stomach. She managed a weak smile. “I’m stuffed. I guess I sampled too much of my baking. I hope the people at the station will like them.”
Scott finished his sandwich, took a deep swig of his root beer, and wiped his mouth. “I’m sure they’ll be fantastic. How are you feeling now?”
“I’m all right. Sorry about almost collapsing before.” Her face warmed, and it wasn’t all from the sun. Seeing the concern in his eyes made her drop her gaze, afraid he’d notice the attraction in hers. “I guess I kind of hit the wall,” she mumbled.
“You talk to your insurance company?”
Good. Back to business. No point in thinking about whether he saw anything in her. She had enough to deal with without adding a man to the mix. “Yes, they sent someone out with a temporary fix, and put a rush order on a new pane for the door. At least Officer Brody didn’t knock the entire door off. But there was crime scene tape across the door, and people were stopping, and looking at me as if I’d killed Felicity. I had three bakeoff cancellations, and—” her voice hit that quaver pitch again, and she stopped. Her head throbbed. She yanked the elastic from her ponytail and shook her head to relieve the pressure.
Scott maneuvered himself around the picnic table and sat next to her, draping an arm across her shoulder. He stroked her hair with his other hand. No hesitation, no awkwardness. Simply recognizing the need for comfort and offering it. She leaned into his chest, accepting it. They sat in silence for several moments. She felt his heartbeat, the rise and fall of his chest, and inhaled his scent. This morning, he’d smelled like Jacuzzi chemicals. Now, he simply smelled clean and fresh.
“You all right now?” His lips were close to her ear, and his breath warmed her cheek.
“Yeah. Sorry. Again.”
And then the sounds of the night played through her head. She pushed away. “I’m fine. Really. You don’t need to fuss over me. I mean, I know you have someone else.”
“What?” Confusion filled his face.
Her cheeks flamed. She twirled her soda can in her hands. “Um … your bedroom and mine. They share a wall. Sound travels. I … kind of heard you … you know…”
“Ashley, I don’t know what you heard, but it wasn’t … what I think you’re saying. I was alone last night. And for a lot of nights before that.” He reddened. “I … sometimes I have … nightmares. Normally, I wake up. I guess this time I didn’t.”
She laid a forefinger on his shoulder. The one she’d caught him rubbing a few times. “About your accident?” Someday, when—if—things ever settled down, she’d ask him what happened.
He nodded, then his solemn expression turned into a grin. “I think I like your interpretation better.”
The suggestive gleam in his eye brought even more heat to her face. Or was he trying to distract her from her current misery? Ever since she’d caught Barry cheating, she distrusted her ability to read men.
“Don’t be a pessimist,” Scott said, his tone shifting. “I’m sure things will work out for you. For every person spooked by a dead body, there are at least three who will come to your store to check it out. And they’ll buy. Your grand opening will draw crowds.”
“You’re not saying that to make me feel better?” Then again, that would be enough. Right now, all she wanted was to feel better, even if it was for no longer than Scott’s lunch break.
“Voice of experience,” he said.
His detective expertise was more important than whether or not he lied about having a girlfriend. “So, tell me, experienced detective. What happens next?”
“One perk of your shop being virtually empty, is that the crime scene techs should be finished quickly. You should have your bakery back soon—my guess is by tomorrow.”
Gathering courage from the way she felt in his arms, she asked the question she hadn’t been able to face. The one she dismissed, telling herself she was jumping to conclusions. “Do you think someone killed Felicity?”
“I don’t know. But contrary to what mystery books and television shows lead you to believe, only about five percent of deaths are homicides.”
She pulled away and looked him in the eyes. “Really?”
He grinned and pulled her against him again. “Really. Trust the experienced detective on that one.”
“Good, because … well … I had this thought. That I might be a suspect.”
“You? Why?”
“Felicity’s display at Elaine’s. People might think I was mad at her, and wanted to stop her for good. After seeing her at Thriftway, I know she didn’t like me. Or, remember, I told you how I’d had all these snafus with the construction? They found Felicity in the bakery, and if she could get in, then maybe she was the one behind at least some of the accidents. And then, what if I’d found out, and decided to kill her?”
“Interesting.” He gave her hair one last stroke, then pushed her away and cupped her face. “But I think any experienced detective would be able to find enough holes in that scenario to dismiss it. At least the part where you killed her. Criminals tend to be stupid—that’s how we catch them—but I doubt anyone would ever think you were stupid enough to kill someone and leave her body in your own bakery.”
His fingers were warm on her cheeks. She was tempted to move them to her lips.
Sheesh. She had a dead body in her bakery, her dreams were shattering around her, and she was thinking of—? Of what? Flirtation? Seduction? She had to find a different book to read.
She jiggled her head a fraction, and Scott released her. It was as if a safety net she didn’t know was there had disappeared. “So if I’m a suspect, then you think someone’s framing me?”
“First, I don’t think you’re a viable suspect. And we experienced detectives know better than to jump to conclusions before we have facts. The big one we’re missing now is the cause of death, so there’s no reason to suspect homicide yet, much less you as the killer.”
He stood, gathering their trash. “And, I’ve never once, in all my detecting days, had a picnic lunch with a killer. Or asked one to walk through a park on a sunny day.” He extended his hand.
She took it. Dovetailed her fingers through it. Warm. Strong. “So, what’s your theory about Felicity?” she asked as they strolled along the path toward the parking lot. The long wa
y around.
“No theories,” Scott said. “Not enough facts. She’s dead. She was found inside your locked bakery. According to Kovak—he’s one of the official detectives on the case—only you and Carl have keys. Is that true?”
“Yes.” She considered it. “But what if Carl had duplicates made? If he did, then anyone might have a key, right?”
He stopped and spun her to face him. “You have the makings of a detective, you know that?” His eyes twinkled, their hazel shade turning almost green.
“You already thought of that, didn’t you?”
He shrugged. Rubbed his shoulder. “Well, I am the experienced detective. You’re the rookie.”
His cell phone rang. “Scott Whelan.” He turned, and Ashley stepped away while he took the call. She tried to ignore the way his polo hugged his broad shoulders, the way the sunlight turned his hair to gold.
His shoulders stiffened. He put the phone away. When he faced her, his expression sent fingers of ice down her spine.
Chapter 10
Scott slipped his phone into its clip on his belt. Not much point in sugar-coating the news. “That was the medical examiner. Preliminary results say Felicity Markham died of a drug overdose. Painkillers. Whether she took them herself or someone helped her along isn’t clear yet.”
“So maybe it was suicide? What are the odds on that one?”
“About ten percent.”
“A little better than homicide, I guess. If that’s the case, then she gets into my bakery to kill herself? Why?”
“I have no idea. Maybe her financial problems were too much for her. The cops will investigate.”
“Can you find out what’s going on? I know you’re not a cop here, but will they tell you stuff?”
Ashley’s wide brown eyes affected him with a punch to the gut. He recognized the pleading in her tone. He’d heard it countless times on the job. Family, friends, all wanting to know how a loved one died, wanting justice done. Standing for the dead was his job. More than a job. His reason for existing. At least it had been until Rina. Now, he wasn’t sure who he was anymore. But even though Felicity Markham was neither a friend nor relative of Ashley’s, his new neighbor had burrowed deeper inside him than any of those other justice-seekers.
