Saving Scott (Kobo)

by Terry Odell

  “I guess I can see why Kovak seems stressed.” She thought for a moment. “Do you think Belinda is a suspect? I mean, she does have access to the upstairs. If this was your case, would you be grilling her?”

  Scott chuckled. “Grilling? That’s a bit strong. But, yeah, Kovak’s got it right. I’d be following up with her, and her employees.” He paused, as if thinking. “Do you know the rest of her staff?”

  Ashley chewed her lip. “Not really. Only to say hello when I went into the store. Hers is a new shop, less than a year old. She’s working to establish herself.” Like me, she thought. “I don’t think she has more than a couple of assistants, and they’re probably part time.”

  Scott pulled out a notebook, much like the one Kovak had used. She wondered if Scott had used that very one when he was a cop. Most likely not. He probably had to turn it in or something. She realized her mind was wandering, and she snapped her attention back to Scott’s words.

  “You know their names?” Scott asked.

  “Wouldn’t Kovak have them?”

  “Probably, but as long as we’re playing detective, why not cover all the bases?”

  Playing. So this was a game to him. She’d play along, because it was very real to her. Ashley gave him the names. “I hope Kovak eliminates me first, because everything is riding on my grand opening bakeoff.” She popped to her feet. “Speaking of which, I assume it’s all right to use my phone to check emails.”

  “Works for me,” Scott said.

  Ashley strode to the counter where she’d left her phone. She hiked herself up onto the stainless steel counter and ran through her messages, immediately deleting anything from a reporter. After reading the rest, for the first time in days, she allowed herself to hope. All twenty of her slots were filled, and she notified the remaining three that they’d be on a wait list. Had things finally turned around?

  Don’t think about it. You’ll jinx it.

  A knock at the front door sent her heart drumming. She slid from her perch. Scott rose from his chair. Finger-combing her hair, she crossed the bakery, Scott close at her heels. On the other side of the glass stood a tall, slender man holding a clipboard. He wore cream-colored coveralls, a baseball cap, and a nonchalant expression.

  “Pine Hills Building Inspector,” he said, handing her his card. “Should take me about half an hour.” With that, he unwrapped a stick of gum, folded it, stuck it in his mouth and started poking a gadget into her electrical outlets.

  Ashley crossed mental fingers that Carl’s electrician had fixed whatever outlets he’d said were the wrong kind. Heck, she double-crossed those mental fingers hoping Carl’s Klutz Brigade had fixed everything. It all looked good to her, but what did she know?

  The inspector moved slowly around the space, humming some tune she didn’t recognize, and snapping his gum. Every now and then he’d nod, or shake his head, and write something on his clipboard. Her mouth grew dry. She followed him, several paces behind, trying to figure out what he was doing while not interfering.

  Scott touched her elbow. “Let him work,” he said quietly.

  The inspector’s half an hour dragged closer to the hour mark, by which time Ashley’s stomach was knotted tighter than her macramé plant holders, and she was afraid she might be sick.

  Finally, he tucked his pen into his pocket. “All done. I’ll file the report.”

  “And?” Ashley asked, the words barely making it past her parched mouth.

  “And you’re good to go.” He tapped his fingers to the brim of his cap. “Have a good evening.”

  Tempted to throw her arms around the inspector, Ashley struggled to compose herself, to appear as though she’d had no doubts the job would pass. “Thanks. Thanks so much. You, too.”

  She closed the door behind him. And threw her arms around Scott. “It’s done. We passed. We should…we should…I don’t know what. We should…celebrate.”

  She realized she’d said we. Surely the other merchants, the ones who’d supported her through the drawn-out construction process, would be more likely candidates for a celebration. But she wanted to share her joy with Scott. Whose arms had wrapped around her and whose hands were caressing her back.

  “Hey, it’s okay,” he murmured.

  Only then did she realize she was crying. Spots danced in front of her eyes. Her knees threatened to give way. Scott’s caresses turned to a supporting arm helping her to the chair.

  She wiped her eyes and sniffed. “Well, now I feel really stupid.” She managed a weak smile. “At least I didn’t pass out.”

  Scott grinned. “It’s always worst when it’s over. Adrenaline overload, then it stops and you crash.”

  “You sound like you’ve had experience.”

  “More than I care to remember.” His smile disappeared. “And, I’m afraid that celebration will have to wait. We have to go to the station.”

  Chapter 16

  Wishing he hadn’t been the one to douse Ashley’s spirits, Scott went to the coffeemaker and poured a cup for the road. He shut the machine off, taking his time before facing her.

  She stood in the doorway, apparently not as dejected as he’d expected. “Will you follow me to the station, or do we have to ride together?” she asked. “I promise not to … what do you call it when a suspect runs away?”

  “Rabbit,” Scott said, suppressing a smile.

  “Rabbit. Okay. If I swear I won’t rabbit, may I please drive to the station in my own car? That way nobody has to bring me back here.”

  Scott was tempted to refuse her request, for the simple reason that he wanted to spend those extra few minutes with her sitting beside him. Tempted, but he saw no reason not to trust her. If Kovak really wanted her sequestered, he’d have dragged her to the station, inspector or no inspector. “That will be fine.”

  Ashley gathered her purse, her phone, and crammed the stack of papers back into the envelope. He gave her his best reassuring cop smile. The one that put victims at ease, let them know he was on their side, that he’d make things right.

  “Ready, I guess.” Her voice trembled.

  So much for the smile. He must have lost his touch. Something about Ashley erased years of professional experience.

  You’re a cop, damn it.

  He tried again, forcing himself to meet her gaze. “You’ll be fine.”

  “What should I say?”

  With that, he knew he wasn’t going to leave her alone with Kovak. No matter if he had no reason to think the detective was going to do anything to railroad Ashley. He’d been a cop long enough to know people often said things they shouldn’t when faced with interrogation techniques. The room, designed to make them uncomfortable, the cop moving into their personal space. It’s what he did, and although he liked to think he didn’t use those techniques on the innocent, cops didn’t really know someone was innocent until they found the one who was guilty. The logical, cop side of his brain said she was innocent, but he couldn’t leave her alone. It was either him or a lawyer, and for now, he trusted himself more than a lawyer he didn’t know.

  Scott rested his hand on the small of Ashley’s back as he walked her to her car. “I’m sure this won’t take long.” He smiled. “And then, if you’re still up for it, we can celebrate. I’ll pick up a bottle of champagne.”

  She settled into the driver’s seat and closed the door, but she didn’t start the car. He waited. She buzzed down the window. “I think I’d like that. But I’ve already got a bottle in the fridge, so no need for you to get one. Around eight? That is, assuming Detective Kovak doesn’t lock me up.”

  “No chance of that.” He leaned his head into the open window and brushed his lips across hers.

  Christ, what are you thinking?

  He drew back. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  On the short drive to the station, Scott pushed thoughts of Ashley the neighbor into the far recesses of his mind. Or as far as he could push them.

  You’re either a cop or her friend. Not both. No
t yet.

  Then again, he wasn’t a cop, although he wasn’t sure a cop could ever not be a cop, regardless of his employment status.

  He pulled the not yet to the forefront. She’d be off Kovak’s radar soon enough, and they’d find whoever killed the victim, and—and what? He’d never thought about anything permanent before. Was he thinking about it now?

  Of course not. Just his re-emerging libido.

  You’re going to have to come up with something better than that pretty damn soon.

  Scott parked next to Ashley and opened her door for her. Her fears seemed to be gone, or at least under control, and she gave him a genuine smile. “Southern gentleman or babysitter?”

  “Friend,” he said. “Neighbor.”

  She climbed out of the car. “All right, neighbor-friend. Let’s get this over with.”

  Less than an hour later, after sending a smiling and relieved Ashley off, Scott trudged back to the war room. Kovak stood at the white board and drew a large X through Ashley’s name.

  “I’ve ordered pizza,” Kovak said. “There will be plenty, if you want to stay. You’re way past off the clock.”

  “Pizza sounds good. Beats my cooking.” Scott rubbed his neck. “What did you get from Belinda Nesbitt?”

  “Sweet, cooperative, and charming as hell.”

  “But she’s lying.”

  “Yeah, but I can’t figure out about what. For all I know, it’s totally unrelated to the case. You know how some people get when the cops ask them anything.”

  People being questioned immediately went on the defensive, assuming the cops knew their deepest, darkest secrets. Even if they didn’t have any. For all Scott knew, Belinda could be hiding the fact that she had her fingers in the till, or took home some of the items she should be selling.

  “How do she and the victim connect? Shared a boyfriend? Jealousy?”

  Kovak stepped to the white board and wrote Belinda’s name. “She said she didn’t know the names of any of them, but she thought she saw the victim in the company of a variety of”—Kovak made air quotes with his fingers—”sleazy, scruffy, unsavory sorts.”

  “Ah, yes. Sleazy sorts. Know them well. Any details we can actually use? Descriptions?”

  “All bits and pieces. Mix-and-match. She thinks she saw three different guys. Or two. Or four.” Kovak looked at his notes. “Any or all of whom might have the following. Shaved head. Long, greasy hair. Fair skin. Dark skin. Piercings. Tats, although she can’t remember what they were. A dragon, maybe, running down someone’s arm. Or some kind of bug. Maybe a spiderweb on his neck. Sleazy, mean biker dudes was as close as she got.”

  Scott raised his eyebrows. “Hell, my cousin has her eyebrow and her navel pierced. And her tongue. She’s got a dragon tramp stamp, and a rose on her neck. Hardly a sleaze. Nicest, most loving kid you’d ever want to know.”

  Scott might not have been privy to the actual questioning, but Kovak’s instincts had seemed spot on so far. “What about where she saw them? This is a small town, after all.”

  “Not a lot of biker hangouts in Pine Hills. And because we’re a small town, people not wanting to be seen normally go elsewhere. Woodford, Cottonwood. Even Salem isn’t too far to go on a date.”

  “Did you push? If Belinda claims she saw the victim with these ‘sleazy sorts’”—Scott mimicked Kovak’s air quotes—”then she had to have seen them out somewhere.”

  “Maybe at a concert, maybe at a ball game. Maybe at a bar, but she can’t remember which one.” Kovak circled Belinda’s name and drew a big question mark above it.

  “Yeah, I’d keep her on the short list,” Scott said. “What about the contractor?”

  Kovak grabbed a large stack of paper from the table beside the white board. “Phone records confirm he’s been in Oklahoma City.”

  “Did he leave before or after the time of death window?”

  Kovak frowned. “He was on an early morning flight the day the body was discovered. I suppose he could have given her the doctored cocoa and left, but the father-in-law’s heart attack was real, and the plane tickets were bought last-minute. Doesn’t play out for me. I’ve talked to some of his subs. They confirm he wasn’t the sort to cheat on his wife.”

  Brody interrupted with three large pizza boxes.

  “Set them down over there.” Kovak pointed to a table at the far end of the room. “And let everyone know that dinner’s available in return for a little eyestrain.” He flopped the paper down next to the pizzas. “We’ve got phone records to cross reference, and of course, my all time favorite, financials.”

  After Brody left in search of volunteers, Scott grabbed a slice of pizza. Before any volunteer labor arrived, he confronted Kovak.

  “I want to see the pictures you took at Ashley’s place. Not only the ones from today, but the original crime scene photos as well.”

  Footfalls, loud and heavy, thudded toward the room. A voice, loud and decidedly male, followed. “Holy crap, Kovak. I can’t leave you alone for a minute, can I? What the hell’s going on?” Scott swiveled around to see a very tall, hawk-nosed man, half-smiling, half-scowling, stride into the room. Clearly someone on the job.

  Kovak turned. A grin spread across his face, wiping out the fatigue. “Hey, big guy. Welcome home.”

  ***

  Ashley packaged the last batch of cookies and studied the array of desserts she’d prepared for tomorrow’s party. Had she forgotten anything? And would it be a big deal if she left one behind? She’d already fixed far more than she’d planned. And spent far more than the money they’d given her, but she didn’t care. In her business, word of mouth—operative word being mouth—was key, and she was confident she’d recoup her additional investment when people fell in love with her creations and came to the bakery to buy them.

  She shook off the doubts that crept in every time she thought of the reality of opening a business. There were no guarantees. Belinda was still struggling, and Sarah had told her how she’d almost had to shut down. But that had been sabotage, Maggie had said. Nobody was going to sabotage her bakery. But, what if they already had? Doubt nagged at her.

  She shuddered at the thought that someone might have been trying just that. Could someone have planted a dead body in her bakery to ruin any chance of success? At least Detective Kovak hadn’t treated her like she’d killed Felicity for the publicity. He’d been gentle and professional in his questions, and Scott had been there, nodding encouragement as she answered them. Scott would have come to her defense if Kovak had treated her like a criminal. Wouldn’t he?

  Speaking of Scott. She got out two champagne flutes and a plate for the chocolate-dipped strawberries she’d made for their celebration. Her heart fluttered. She checked the time. She had another hour before he was due. And for once, she was totally baked out.

  She needed to work up some kind of acknowledgement page—something she could hand out at the bakeoff thanking the donors for their generosity. Dare she ask Elaine for yet another last-minute print job? Or should she run them off herself?

  Either way, she’d have to create the original. She’d been lax about documenting her donations, so step one was transcribing her scribbled notes into a spreadsheet of each prize and its donor. After saving that, she worked on designing the page itself. She found images of brownies and figured out how to turn them into a border. From there, it was simply a matter of listing the donations.

  How to order them? Value. No, that was gauche. Alphabetically by donor, she decided. By the time she finished, it was eight-fifteen. Had Scott forgotten? Blown her off? Or was he someone who didn’t pay attention to time?

  Or had something else happened with the case? Another body? Another suspect? Or had he been in an accident?

  You’re letting your imagination run wild.

  There was probably a logical explanation. She went about watering her plants, keeping an ear cocked for any sounds from Scott’s apartment.

  “What do you think, Lily?” she asked. “He’s n
ice. Not bad-looking, either. Okay, he’s really good looking. And a damn good kisser. Should I be mad that he’s late and hasn’t called?”

  As usual, Lily said nothing.

  By eight forty-five, Ashley considered calling it a night. Her body was protesting the long, exhausting day. But her brain was in overdrive, and she doubted she’d sleep, no matter how tired her body was.

  She jumped at the knock at her door. “You think that’s him, Violet?” She set the watering can down.

  Even though part of her said to take a few seconds to check her hair, her makeup—maybe brush her teeth?—she rushed across the living room. Scott may have kept her waiting, but to retaliate would be petty.

  But was it Scott? Her last surprise visitor had been a cop bearing bad news. She checked the peephole.

  Not a cop. An ex-cop. Irritation vanished. She felt the grin spreading across her face as she opened the door. So much for letting him see she wasn’t pleased with his lack of consideration.

  “Sorry I’m late,” were the first words out of his mouth. “I tried to call, but kept getting your voicemail.”

  She rushed to her desk, where her long-silent cell phone rested beside her computer. Her totally-turned-off cell phone. Which she’d done at Kovak’s request at the police station and then had forgotten. Keeping her head down to conceal the heat rising to her face, she pressed the on button.

  “Forgot to turn it on after Kovak’s grilling.” She gave him a sheepish grin and waved the phone. Once it booted, she checked the missed calls. Four voice messages and two texts, all from Scott. All that wasted frustration.

  “I brought some pizza,” Scott said. “I know it doesn’t go with champagne, but I didn’t feel right arriving empty-handed.”

  Right. His gentlemanly upbringing. She took the pizza box from him and set it on the table beside the door. She spread her arms. “I can think of something to fill your hands.”

  He flashed a lopsided grin, then stepped forward in an embrace. His hands ran up and down her back. Squeezed her shoulders. Cradled the back of her head. Paused, as if he needed permission to go further.