by Terry Odell
“I believe that’s what he told you. I’m not sure I believe him, that’s all. I’m sure Kovak will want to follow up.”
Ashley ripped off a scrap of paper and scribbled Carl’s number on it. She shoved it in Scott’s direction. “Here. Tell Detective Kovak to follow up to his heart’s delight. But I think the last thing I’d want to deal with at a relative’s bedside would be getting the third degree from some cop.”
He raised one hand in submission. “Hey, don’t make me the bad guy here. Cops automatically assume everyone is lying. It comes with the territory, and we have to check out everything. I’m sure Kovak will do everything he can to avoid upsetting your contractor.”
He stepped closer, extended his upraised hand. “Truce?”
His gesture reminded her she’d come across like a bitch. She chalked it up to stress and lack of sleep. “I’m sorry. I’m kind of … close to the edge these days.”
“Understandable. Now, if you don’t mind my asking, you seemed happy about something Carl said to you. Will you share?”
“Yeah. I went off the deep end because I was excited, and you dumped a bucket of ice water on me. The building inspector is coming today, and if he passes everything, I’m ready to go. Carl said I could get the furniture delivered—it’s been in storage for ages—and then—”
He cut her off with a squeeze and a kiss. A short one, because there was a knock at the back door. The building inspector already? Scott stepped away and straightened his shoulders. Cop mode, she thought. Formal and in control.
He took her hand as she crossed through the kitchen and the mud room. She reached for the knob, and he tugged her away.
“Check the peephole,” he said.
“As if someone who’s going to hurt me would knock?” But she complied and saw Detective Kovak standing there. How had he gotten past them?
She opened the door. “Detective?”
“What the—” Scott muttered.
He grinned. “Not happy to see me?”
From inside the bakery, Connor joined them. Ashley looked from Connor to Detective Kovak, then at Scott. “Is someone going to fill me in?”
“Secret passages,” Connor said. “Love these old buildings.”
Detective Kovak stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “Not really a secret passage. When they converted the building into the two stores, they walled off the ground floor, nothing above. Turns out that the upstairs is still connected to Belinda Nesbitt’s shop. She uses her half for storage. There’s a small chamber between the two spaces. Probably a maid or valet’s quarters. She claims she’s never gone beyond her storage room.”
Claims, Ashley thought. Another case of a cop not taking what he was told at face value.
As long as she was being ignored, Ashley continued going through her paperwork. “There you are,” she muttered to the stack of papers, and set the elusive receipt aside.
“I’d better wrap things up,” Connor said. He nodded in her direction and went back toward the storage closet.
Kovak looked at Scott. “I need to ask Belinda Nesbitt more questions. Want to come along?”
“After you tell me what was up there,” Scott said.
Tired of being invisible, Ashley glowered at Scott. “Tell you? What about tell us? After all, it is my shop.” She threw another glower at Detective Kovak. “I might have information to share. Such as hearing from Carl.”
Detective Kovak’s gaze snapped to Scott before fixing on her. He pulled out a notebook and a pen. “When?”
“A few minutes ago.” She reported what he’d told her, and Kovak wrote in his pad. “How did he get in touch with you?”
“He called my cell. Like he always does.”
“From his cell?” Detective Kovak asked.
She nodded. “It was his ringtone and his cell number that showed up, so, yes.”
“Phone company should be able to verify where the call originated,” Scott said.
Ashley thought about that. Right. Cell towers, triangulation, GPS. Let the cops figure out where he really was.
Really was? Was she getting cynical like the cops? “I’m sure you’ll find out he’s in Oklahoma City, like he said.”
“Odds are, you’re right,” Detective Kovak said. “But we have to cross Ts and dot Is in our line of work.”
Which was more or less what Scott had said. Satisfied that the cops weren’t looking to railroad anyone, she accepted his words. “Okay. So what did you find upstairs other than a way to get from my store to Belinda’s? Can I go up there?”
Detective Kovak frowned. “I’d rather you didn’t until we’re finished.”
Her heart sank. Then again, nobody had rushed out for yellow tape. “Is it another crime scene?”
“It’s evidence, but doesn’t seem to be a crime scene. Connor has more to do up there, but if you’ll restrict your activities to this floor, there shouldn’t be any problems.”
“So I can arrange to have my furniture delivered?” She picked up the receipt, already mentally dialing the storage company. “And the building inspector is due.”
“Any reason for him to need to go upstairs?”
Ashley shook her head. “No, the plans were for down here only. “ Her brain kicked into gear. Detective Kovak had avoided answering half of her question. “So what did you find up there?”
The detective exchanged another look with Scott. “I think we should talk about it at the station.”
The station? Ashley’s stomach flipped. “But I have to be here. The building inspector—” She gave a pleading glance at Scott. “I’ll answer all your questions. But please—I don’t want to delay the inspection.” If there was nobody to let the inspector in, no telling how long before he’d reschedule. She’d dealt with that once already.
“Why don’t we deal with Ms. Nesbitt first?” Scott suggested.
“That would be great,” Ashley said. “I’m sure by the time you’re finished, the inspector will have come and gone.” And passed everything, she dared to hope.
“I’ll be happy to wait here with Ms. Eagan, if you think there might be a problem leaving her alone,” Scott said.
What could she do? The place was practically barren. Aside from her office with a small built-in desk and a chair, she had no furnishings. The cops had already gone over everything after they’d found Felicity, and the tech had undoubtedly documented every square inch of what was upstairs. Or was there something up there they didn’t want her to see? Something that implicated her? Did they think she’d go up and make sure she could explain anything they might ask her about? She’d had no clue that the space upstairs even existed until Willie had called.
“She’s the one who told us about the trap door,” Scott said. “If she was hiding something up there, she had no reason to let us know about it.”
Ashley’s heart rate headed for normal with Scott’s supportive comment. “He’s right. After all, Detective Kovak, you’d already released the bakery to me, so you’d never have come back.”
The detective’s mouth curved up in a half-smile. “An excellent argument.” The smile didn’t disappear, but his gaze hardened. “However, you have to understand that if evidence led us back to you or your bakery, we would examine it again. It’s not quite the same as not being able to re-try someone for the same crime.”
“I understand. Please. I just want my bakery to open on time.”
Detective Kovak eyed Scott with some sort of cop-to-cop conspiratorial expression. “Bring her to the station as soon as the inspector leaves. Oh, and we’ll need her prints.” He turned to leave, but before he opened the door, the tech’s voice called out.
“Got something.”
Chapter 15
How many times had Scott heard those words—or uttered them himself? And how often had they turned into that one puzzle piece that connected the rest? Adrenaline surged through his system. He cut his gaze to Ashley, who’d gone pale and now leaned against the counter as if it were the only
reason she was still standing.
Kovak hadn’t seemed to notice. He called to Connor that he was on his way and strode off.
Was there something she knew about up there? He still couldn’t buy her as having anything to do with a homicide. Then again, he’d been wrong before. His cop radar was good, but not infallible. Without thinking, he rubbed his leg.
Scott crossed to Ashley and put his arm around her. She trembled beneath his touch.
“Hey. You all right?” He lifted her chin so she met his gaze. “You need a glass of water?”
She shook her head. “I want it to be over. I want my shop back. I want my life back. My plain, everyday, ordinary life. Get up, go to work, bake, and maybe make some people happy. Instead, this dream of mine is turning into a nightmare.”
Not hardly. You don’t know nightmares.
Scott wished he could go upstairs with Connor and Kovak. See what was going on. He knew the ladder was out of the question, but maybe he could backtrack through the shop next door. Instead, he drew Ashley close. Stroked her hair. “It’ll be over soon.”
“I’ve never been up there. You believe me, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. And Kovak probably believes you, too. It’s a matter of eliminating suspects until you’re left with the one who did it.”
“So that’s why he wants my prints?”
Scott pressed his forehead to hers. “It’s routine. Technically, they should have taken them already, so they could eliminate your prints from other ones they found at the bakery when they were processing the scene. They’ve been busy, though.” He didn’t think Kovak would have made such a basic mistake, but it was easy to be overwhelmed at the beginning of a case. And homicide investigations weren’t the norm for him.
“And he’s checking up on Carl to eliminate him? Not because he thinks Carl killed Felicity?”
“That’s how it works. Besides, poison doesn’t sound like Carl’s style.” He stroked Ashley’s jaw and smiled. “He’d probably use a hammer. Or bury her under the floor. Or leave her in the bottom of a Dumpster.”
She tilted her head to meet his gaze. “You’re teasing me.”
“No, trying to cheer you up. Is it working?”
Her smile, tentative though it was, was enough to cheer him up. Parts of him more up than others.
“Thanks.” She pulled away, but slid her hands down his arms and grasped his hands. “I need to call the storage company. The sooner they move my things in, the sooner I can feel like this is my space. Not to mention I’ve already paid way too much for storage, no thanks to Carl and his Klutz Brigade.”
Furniture would be nice, Scott thought as he tried to ease some of the pressure on his leg. Sitting on the floor was tempting, although he wasn’t sure about the getting up part.
While Ashley made her call, Scott walked slowly around the room. Moving hurt less than standing still. She came back, wheeling a small desk chair in front of her.
“Sit,” she said.
He didn’t argue.
Kovak and Connor came back carrying several evidence bags.
“You going to tell us what you found, or are you playing the need to know card?” Scott asked. He almost regretted the sarcasm in his tone when he noticed the exhaustion in Kovak’s face. Almost. Being a cop meant being on the job all day, all night, every day, every night. You dealt with the stress or you washed out.
Sound familiar?
Kovak dragged a hand through his hair. “The place has obviously been used. I suspect it was a love nest, although it could have been a very neat squatter. We’ll need to analyze the prints.” He looked at Ashley. “I’d like to get yours now, rather than do it at the station. For elimination purposes.”
“Fine,” Ashley said, her chin lifted. She thrust out her hands. “Print me.”
Connor set his kit on the counter and made short work of rolling Ashley’s prints onto a ten card.
“Guess your benefactor didn’t want to spring for a portable live scanner,” Scott said.
Kovak chuckled. “Maybe they’ll feature them on more episodes of those crime scene shows, and Santa will bring us one for Christmas. Meanwhile, we do things the old-fashioned way.”
Connor handed Ashley a cleanser-saturated paper towel. “We’re done.”
Scott couldn’t miss the relief on Ashley’s face. Definitely not the expression of someone worried that her prints would come back with a hit from AFIS.
The down side of being a cop. You couldn’t trust anyone.
Scott’s heart pounded. He fought the onset of an anxiety attack. Filing paperwork and manning phones suddenly held a new appeal.
Which is why you took the desk job, idiot. What makes you think you’ve got the chops to be in the field anymore?
“Time to hit the road,” Kovak said. “Whelan, see you later. Miss Eagan. Thanks for your cooperation.”
Ashley walked Kovak and Connor to the door and locked it behind them. Scott rubbed his leg. The pain pill had kicked in. His leg didn’t hurt so much, but he’d lost some critical brain cell function, replaced with the overwhelming urge to take a nap.
“So,” Ashley said, returning to his side and sitting cross-legged at his feet. “Are you my babysitter?” Her tone was only half-teasing.
“I wouldn’t put it like that. Kovak’s the investigator. I’m a civilian working for the department. I do what he tells me. Right now, it’s staying with you.” Scott rubbed the heels of his hands against his closed eyes, trying to erase some of the drug-induced fatigue. “I don’t suppose you have any coffee?”
Ashley jumped to her feet. “Of course. I’ll brew some. I usually have a pot for the workers, but since there weren’t any here today—I should have thought of that.”
“Hey, it’s no big deal.” But it would give her something to do, and he could use the caffeine hit.
While Ashley busied herself in the kitchen, Scott closed his eyes, running the case through the fog in his head. Until he—make that Kovak—could pinpoint a motive or two, all they had was a whodunit. And those were the kinds of cases that usually remained unsolved.
The aroma of fresh coffee wafted from the kitchen. Ashley returned. “It’ll be ready soon. I don’t have anything to go with it, though. Until the inspector shows up, I’m not cleared to do any actual cooking here.”
“Not a problem.”
She tilted her head, eyeing him. Scott saw the concern in her eyes, and he wasn’t sure if it was for herself or for him.
She tugged at her hair. “I could go home for something to eat. And my laptop. At least I could be doing something productive.”
“What about the building inspector?”
“Even if he showed up right after I left, I’d be back before he finished. You could wait here and let him in.”
Scott shook his head. “Sorry. For whatever reason, Kovak wants me with you.”
“So you are my babysitter. But why? Why are you stuck here watching over me? Does Kovak really think I’m going to mess up his investigation if I’m left unattended?”
“I think he’s trying to keep control of more loose threads than he’s comfortable with.” As soon as Scott uttered the words, he regretted them. Must be the meds. Kovak was a good detective. A little out of his league, perhaps, but he hadn’t done anything stupid.
Ashley turned those chocolate-brown eyes to his. “So, tell me, Mr. Detective. If this were your case, what would you be doing?”
***
Ashley watched as Scott’s expression shut her out. His eyes grew cold, his brow furrowed. This wasn’t what she’d come to think of as his cop mode. This was total withdrawal. She stepped away. “Um … I’ll go get the coffee. It should be ready.” And if it wasn’t, she could wait. Whatever she’d said, she’d clearly upset Scott.
She retreated into her tiny office space off the kitchen, where she had her desk and the coffeemaker she’d set up for the crew. She’d found the workers arrived earlier if they didn’t stop for coffee before getting here.
She took one of the Styrofoam cups from the stack—not eco-friendly, she knew, but she wasn’t going to deal with collecting and washing mugs until she was operational. The crew hadn’t seemed to grasp the concept of reusing the cups. They simply left them lying around wherever they finished, and she imagined they’d do the same with ceramic ones.
She tapped her foot as the machine gave its final gurgles. Once it finished its last sputters, she poured the aromatic brew into the cup and brought it to Scott. He opened his eyes at her approach and accepted the cup. Did his fingers spend a few seconds more than they needed to when he did? Maybe he’d gotten over his brooding.
“Not joining me?” he asked.
“Too wired.” If ever there was a time for one of Maggie’s soothing brews, it was now. So what if Scott was upset. She needed to know what was going on, and she’d risk triggering his mood. She lowered herself to the floor beside his chair and leaned against the wall, folding her hands behind her head. “So, Mr. Babysitter. Tell me that story.”
This time, he didn’t seem upset. His posture did that cop switch thing. Back straighter, shoulders set. Expression unreadable. When he spoke, it was as if he was reading a report.
“The first forty-eight hours of a case are critical. And crazy. There’s a victim, and we have to look for motive, means, and opportunity to figure out who might have wanted her dead, and how and when they might have killed her. We’ll look at immediate family first. Then expand outward. Since, at the outset, there are so many possibilities, it’s vital to make sure nobody slips through the cracks.
“Right now, Connor will be handling evidence analysis. It’s not like on television—he can’t do it all himself, but he’ll make sure the right experts look at the right pieces. Kovak will be trying not to go crazy while they wait for results.”
“Waiting sucks,” Ashley said, checking the time yet again. When was that inspector going to show up?
“Kovak will be busy, though, trying to locate people. Figure out who might be a suspect, and who can give him those pieces of information that tie things together. At the beginning every person leads to more people, and it can seem overwhelming.”
