by Terry Odell
Nothing more than his returning libido, he told himself. Dormant since he’d entered his Dark Place, somehow Ashley had opened a crack, letting the light in.
“I’ll do what I can,” he said. She took his hand again, clearly anxious to get going. Feeling the slightest twinge of guilt, he kept the pace slow. It wasn’t his case to solve. Five more minutes wouldn’t make a difference.
In the parking area, he opened the car door for her, and enjoyed her quick grin. She was silent on the short drive to the Municipal Building, and he left her to her thoughts. Much as he wanted to offer assurance, he’d be spouting meaningless banalities and he knew she’d be able to tell.
At the municipal lot, he found a slot not far from her car.
“You know, I’m capable of finding my car on my own,” she said, rewarding him with another smile.
“I know,” he said. He escorted her to her vehicle, waited for her to get in, and watched as she buckled her seatbelt. He stepped back as she started the car, but he didn’t move toward the station until she’d exited the lot.
His leg hardly troubled him as he entered the station. Less pain, more libido. If not for a dead body, he’d be feeling pretty good right now. Then again, it was Kovak’s dead body, not his.
He figured he’d better catch up on anything that came in while he was at lunch, and headed for his desk. Doranna vacated his seat at his approach. She made a show of rubbing her ear.
“Phones been busy?” he asked.
She rolled her eyes. “Everyone wants to know why there’s crime scene tape on the bakery, and if they should hide behind locked doors for the foreseeable future. Otherwise, just another day in Pine Hills.” She nodded and headed toward the back.
Scott had barely settled in when the phone chirped its internal signal. Still reading the phone log, he fumbled for the receiver. “Whelan.”
“My office.”
Scott’s pulse tripped at the sound of the chief’s voice. “On my way.” The click told him the chief had barely waited for an answer. Telling himself it was stupid to feel like he was being called to the principal’s office, he made his way to Laughlin’s door. Along the way, he ran through possible transgressions. Asking Kovak to run a background check on Felicity Markham? A citizen hadn’t liked the way he’d handled a phone call? He glanced at his watch, making sure he hadn’t taken too much time at lunch. It had been a long time since he’d been held to regular hours, but he’d been at his desk several minutes early.
Laughlin’s outer door stood open. Doranna sat at the secretary’s desk. Her expression gave no indication she knew why the chief had summoned him.
“Go on in,” she said.
The inner door with its frosted glass pane was closed. Despite what Doranna said, Scott knocked.
“Come.” The chief didn’t sound angry, although one word wasn’t enough to make a fair assessment.
Scott realized his hackles were up. He could hear his LT. Don’t be stupid. He took a breath, squared his shoulders and stepped into Laughlin’s office. Kovak sat in one of the two visitor’s chairs. Laughlin motioned him to the other.
“Kovak is trying to convince me your talents might be better utilized somewhere other than the front desk at the moment.”
“Sir?” Scott looked at Kovak, who merely shrugged.
Laughlin continued. “Detweiler’s not due back until tomorrow. Unfortunately, we’ve got a dead body today. County is backed up and overworked, maybe more than we are. I’d like to know if you’d be willing to act as a civilian consultant on this investigation. I’ll run it by the Town Council to see if I can get you appropriate compensation, but I have a feeling they’re not going to release any funds for additional duty.”
Kovak brushed a hand over his buzz cut. “I’ve got half a dozen open cases. Nothing as major as a homicide, but it’s not right to put them on the back burner.”
“Homicide?” Scott said. When had that been confirmed?
“Looks that way.” Kovak opened a file folder. “Mike Connor—he’s our in-house lab tech—processed the scene. He found a mug with some hot chocolate left in it. Stomach contents confirmed Felicity Markham had been drinking hot chocolate. Tests showed high levels of the same drug the ME found.”
“Why are you saying homicide?” Scott asked. He wanted to hear Kovak’s take, although he had his own suspicions.
“If she was going to take her own life, why not swallow the pills? Why go to all the trouble of mixing them into hot chocolate?”
Scott smiled and nodded. “Agreed. Definitely looks more like homicide than suicide.” Scott faced the chief. “How do you want to work this?”
“First hours are critical. I’ll have your position covered. You go with Kovak. Remember.” Laughlin pointed his pen at Scott. “You’re not a sworn officer. Consultant only. Opinions, work through paper, whatever Kovak needs. When Detweiler gets back, we’ll take another look.”
“Understood.”
Kovak rose and offered his hand. “Welcome to the team.”
Kovak would never know how good hearing those words felt. Scott shook the man’s hand. “Tell me what you want me to do.”
Kovak led him down the hall to the break room. The tables had been pushed back and a large white board was set up against the far wall with the victim’s picture taped near the top, in the center. “We’re setting up in here. Nothing fancy like on those television shows.”
“Fancy doesn’t mean better,” Scott said. “You don’t have to worry about a power failure or losing an Internet connection.”
Kovak stepped to the board and drew a horizontal line about a third of the way from the bottom. “Okay, here’s our timeline.” He drew a vertical line and wrote “Elaine’s studio, 16:30” near the far left. Near the far right, he added two more lines and marked the first 0100 and the next 0400. “Now, all we have to do is fill in everything in between.”
Scott chuckled. “Looks like you’ve got a plan. Don’t see why you need me.”
“I figured you were sick of filing and answering phones. Thought this might be more interesting.” Kovak tossed the marker from hand to hand. “Seriously. It’s always better to have a sounding board. Besides, if we don’t wrap this up fast, Detweiler’s welcome home party is going to be in the middle of a war room.”
***
Ashley drove past the bakery on her way to the parking lot. Her spirits, already buoyed by Scott, lifted higher when she saw a man installing a new door. The claims adjuster at Oregon Trust had promised a rush job, but she hadn’t expected it this fast. She rounded the block, parked her car, and entered through the back of the store, carrying the cleaning supplies she’d picked up earlier.
As she walked through the space, the warm glow she normally got when she contemplated her bakery wasn’t there. Even though the Klutz Brigade had been true to their word about finishing, and even though she couldn’t see any evidence of a dead body, she knew she wouldn’t be comfortable until she’d personally given the floor a thorough disinfectant cleaning. Not only the floor. The entire kitchen.
“Hey there,” the man installing the door called out. “You the owner?”
“I am.”
“I’m about done. Gotcha a new lock.” He reached into a pocket of his blue coveralls and pulled out a ring with several keys. “Hope you don’t mind, but the insurance company wants to see ID before I hand ‘em over.”
“Not at all.” Ashley showed the man her driver’s license, and he handed her the keys.
“Insurance company said you wanted the back door locks rekeyed as well. I didn’t want to do that until I had someone to give the keys to. I’ll get on it soon as I make sure this door’s level.”
While she waited, Ashley wiped down the kitchen, trying to regain that elusive warmth. When the repairman finally left, she filled her bucket with water, squirted in a healthy dose of cleanser and went back to her car to get the mop she’d left there.
She’d shut the car door when Maggie’s greeting filled th
e air. Ashley turned and managed a smile.
“I’m glad I caught you.” Maggie said. “So terrible about Felicity, isn’t it?”
You got that right.
Maggie went on. “I know Felicity had her shortcomings—don’t we all—but she was far too young to die.”
Ashley had a light bulb moment. Maggie’s endless varieties of teas came from Felicity’s shop. She probably knew more about the woman than the cops did. The floor wasn’t going anywhere. “Do you have time for some tea? Maybe we should have a cup—as a tribute to her.”
“Of course. What a wonderful idea.”
Ashley followed Maggie through her shop. Jennifer looked up from a display of picture frames she was dusting. “Terrible about Felicity, wasn’t it? Such a tragedy. And in your bakery. What happened? “
Ashley figured she’d better get some kind of answer rehearsed, as she’d probably be hearing this one a lot. “I really don’t know. The police are investigating.” She might need to work on her delivery, make it sound less flat, because it was a tragedy, and to belittle it because it was creating problems for her bakery’s opening seemed petty.
“We’ll be in back,” Maggie said, “having a cup of tea in Felicity’s honor. I’ll let you know when it’s ready, and you can join us.”
While Maggie waited for the water to come to precisely the right temperature for whatever tea she’d chosen, she arranged cups on the table. “I actually have the last of the cookies I bought at Felicitea. It would be fitting to have them with the tea.”
“Tell me what you know about Felicity,” Ashley prompted. “Do you know any reason someone might have killed her? Or that she’d commit suicide? And why she’d do it in my shop?”
Maggie checked her water thermometer and removed the kettle from the hot plate. As she poured the steaming liquid into the small blue teapot, she frowned. “It somehow seems wrong to say anything negative about her.” She set a timer. “Two minutes.”
“But knowing how or why she died could help. It might even give meaning to her death.”
Maggie stared at her. “Do you think she was murdered?”
Ashley shrugged. “Scott said she died from an overdose of painkillers.”
Maggie’s brow wrinkled. “I find that hard to believe. If she had a headache, she was reluctant to take as much as an aspirin. She was always touting her organic ingredients, and fresh, local produce in her salads.”
“What about an injury? You know, where a doctor would prescribe painkillers. Maybe her system wasn’t used to them, or she was overly sensitive.”
“But why in your bakery?” Maggie’s timer went off and she poured the tea, setting a cup in front of Ashley. She moved to the doorway and told Jennifer the tea was ready.
“No clue. I thought she might have said something to you. I know she wasn’t happy about me opening up the bakery.”
Jennifer slipped in and picked up her tea from the table. She raised her cup. “To Felicity.”
They sipped in silence. Jennifer took a cookie from the plate Maggie had set out. She chewed thoughtfully. “I wonder if Sleazeball came back. He did have a temper.”
“What?” Ashley almost choked on her tea. “Sleazeball? Who’s Sleazeball?”
Jennifer didn’t seem to notice Maggie’s stern expression. “More like which one? Felicity did have bad luck with men. Remember Biker Dude from Colorado?”
“We’re not here to speak ill of the dead,” Maggie said. “We should be celebrating her life.”
Jennifer reached for another cookie and held it aloft. “She did make excellent lemon sugar cookies.”
“That she did,” Maggie said.
“Would she have killed herself over a man?” Ashley asked.
Jennifer shook her head. “Not her style. She’d find another one. Or two.”
The door chimes tinkled. Jennifer devoured another cookie. “I’d better get out front.”
After Jennifer left, Maggie tutted. “That girl. She’s excellent in the shop, but she does have an overdeveloped penchant for the dramatic.”
Ashley refrained from saying anything about Maggie’s own penchant for knowing what was going on. After all, that’s why Ashley was here. “I agree about focusing on the good at a time like this, but don’t you think we should share what we know about Felicity with the police? It might help them figure out why she died sooner.”
“You’re right, I suppose. But so much of what one hears is rumor, and tends to be exaggerated.”
“But if we give the police a few leads, that wouldn’t really be spreading rumors, would it? They’d check them out and discover the facts.”
Maggie sighed. “Oh, I do wish Sarah was back already. Not that Kovak doesn’t know what he’s doing, but when Sarah was accused of smuggling, she and Randy worked together to solve the crime. Since they’ve been together, she’s learned to think like a detective. Ah, well. They’ll both be back tomorrow, and I’m sure between Randy and Kovak, they’ll have this wrapped up in no time.”
“My new neighbor used to be a detective,” Ashley said. “He works at the station now, but as a civilian. I can tell him about Felicity’s boyfriend troubles. He’d know how to feed the information to the cops, and he said he’d keep me up to speed with whatever he’s allowed to tell me.”
“That sounds like a good idea.” Her eyes twinkled. “And who is this new neighbor? Anyone interesting? Aside from him being a former detective, of course, which is interesting in itself.”
Before Ashley got bogged down in discussing Scott with Maggie—and Ashley was positive Maggie would ferret out the attraction Ashley herself wasn’t sure about—the phone rang. While Maggie took the call, Ashley finished her cookie. Jennifer hadn’t exaggerated. Ashley rolled the bite over her tongue, trying to recreate the recipe in her mind. She could see dipping one end of the cookie into white chocolate. She’d name them after Felicity. Her kind of tribute.
Maggie rushed to the office door and called to Jennifer. “Take care of things, please. I have to get to the Women’s Center right now. Lorna’s having a crisis.”
Chapter 11
“What about Ashley Eagan?” Kovak wrote her name on the white board. “She’s got keys, so there’s opportunity. She claims she was home in bed, but she lives alone. Nobody to corroborate her story.” Kovak narrowed his eyes at Scott.
Scott ignored the obvious innuendo. “What did she say when you talked to her?”
Kovak scraped his fingers along his jaw. “Haven’t managed to see her yet. What I have is what Brody reported.”
“Can’t buy her as the killer.” Scott tried to present a neutral front. Naturally, since the body had been discovered in Ashley’s bakery, she’d have to be questioned, and he tried to tell himself that it was simply good detective work. That he’d do the same if he were investigating. And that’s what Kovak was doing.
Kovak seemed to be a good cop, a good detective. Scott accepted his role as sounding board, offering suggestions when Kovak asked. Any traces of Kovak’s hero worship had vanished, and Scott found himself settling into familiar territory.
Scott’s stomach protested at another sip of cold, stale coffee. He welcomed it. “I’ve known her a couple of days. But her livelihood depends on the success of the bakery. My gut says she’s telling the truth. There have been construction foul ups, and I’ve seen the way they’ve shaken her. It makes no sense for her to do anything to interfere with her business.”
Kovak wrote “Keys” on the board and drew a line to Ashley’s name.
So much for a neutral front. “If we’re brainstorming, I’m going to play Devil’s Advocate no matter who you’re talking about.”
Kovak smiled. “That’s usually my role when the big guy and I hash things out. Protest away.”
“If it’s keys, why not the contractor? For all we know, he could have had dupes made, or loaned them to any of his crew.”
“Got it. Kovak wrote in his notebook. “I’ll be checking with the local locksmiths and har
dware stores—anyone who makes keys.”
Scott nodded. Kovak wrote “Drugs” on the board. “Who had access to painkillers?”
Suppressing a smile, Scott reflexively patted his pocket. He did, for one. “One of the workers broke an arm, according to Ashley. He might have left his pills lying around.”
“Did he come back to work after his arm was broken?” Kovak wrote another note, then wrote Carl’s name on the board. “This guy’s disappearing act makes my skin itch. I’ve got extra patrols keeping an eye on his house.”
“What about his neighbors? Family? Anyone who might know his usual haunts?”
“On my list.” Kovak wrote Elaine’s name on the board and tapped it with the marker. “I’ll be talking to her, too. Brody says you were in the studio with Miss Eagan, that there was some sort of outburst.”
Scott relayed what he’d observed. “I’d say the harsh words were triggered by the victim running into Ashley and seeing a perceived business conflict. I don’t think that was her reason for coming to the studio.”
“You don’t know what that reason was?”
Scott shook his head. “When you talk to Elaine Rathburn, you’ll have to ask her. She intimated that the victim owed her money.”
Kovak’s eyebrows lifted. He wrote a large dollar sign next to Elaine’s name. “Guess I’ll have to check the victim’s financials more closely. Her personal life, her business. More red tape and paperwork.”
“I believe the chief said you could foist some of those tasks on me.”
Kovak grinned. “Consider them foisted.” He checked his notes, and his expression sobered. “Seriously. How do you know where to start?”
“I always start with the victim. Understand her life, and you can find reasons for her death.”
“Now that sounds deep. Philosophical, even.”
