by Terry Odell
***
Ashley stood at the front of the meeting room at the Women’s Center and did a mental roll call. “Where’s Elaine? And Lorna?”
“Elaine’s on a photo shoot,” Maggie said, consulting a spiral notebook.
Ashley recalled Elaine saying something about an event the day before the bakeoff, but didn’t remember much else. “I wanted to thank her for the signs. They’re fantastic.” Her throat still constricted at the thought.
“I thought Lorna was out of here,” Penny said.
“She came by the bakery and helped me set up yesterday, so she’s certainly put in her fair share of work. She said her husband was out of town. She intended to leave before he got back, but she didn’t want to run without a plan,” Ashley said.
“You think he came back early and beat on her again? Maybe we should call the cops.” Penny gave a pointed glance in Sarah’s direction.
“Speaking of cops.” Kathleen fingered her pearls. “Did anyone else get a second visit today? Seems like Felicity’s healthy, organic food wasn’t everything she claimed.”
Murmurs rippled through the room, and heads nodded.
“It’s routine,” Sarah said. “Every time they find another piece of evidence, they have to go back and fill in the blanks.”
Maggie stepped to Ashley’s side. “Let’s get the business part of the meeting done before we do any more blind speculation, shall we?”
Penny pulled three large clasp envelopes from the bulging tote under her chair. “I know Elaine made those wonderful, professional signs.” The way Penny said “professional” said she’d been miffed that her students’ work might not be good enough. “But, my classes did a mixed media assignment today, with ‘Fantasy in Chocolate’ as the theme. I thought they might make good decorations for the big night.” She handed them to Ashley.
Ashley peeked in one of the envelopes and saw a collage of chocolate confections. “I know they’ll be great. Thank you—and your students for me.”
Ashley went down her list. “The judges will be at Sarah’s shop until the last minute.”
“Criteria?” Maggie asked. “You know, like on the cooking shows?”
Ashley’s stomach lurched. “I hadn’t thought of that. Taste, for sure.”
“Appearance,” Kathleen said.
“What about creativity? Don’t they use that one on the cooking shows?” Penny said.
“That’s perfect,” Ashley said. “I suppose we’ll need score sheets. And a scoring system.” She dragged her hands through her hair. Why hadn’t she thought of this before?
“Since you’ve got so many entries, I think each category should be ranked from one to ten,” Maggie said. “Less chance of ties.”
“Ties.” Another flutter in Ashley’s stomach. “Tie breakers. Any suggestions?” She looked imploringly at the group. “We certainly can’t have them baking another entry.”
“Why not let the judges decide? The initial scoring would end up with three finalists, and then the judges taste them again, and they have to agree on a favorite.”
Once they’d hashed out the finer points, Ashley added “create the score sheets” to her to-do list.
“All right, everyone. Let’s wrap this up.” Maggie settled her glasses on her nose and opened her notebook. Point by point, she went over every aspect of the bakeoff and made sure everyone knew her responsibilities.
“I’ve got my three part timers coming in as well,” Ashley said. “Feel free to put them where you need them.”
After Ashley and Maggie declared the meeting a success, Ashley couldn’t bear to listen to the gossip and speculation about Felicity’s death, so she begged off sticking around, claiming—quite honestly—that she still had a lot of prep to do.
As Ashley walked down the hall toward her apartment, she wondered if she should stop at Scott’s and apologize for her earlier huff. After talking to Sarah earlier, Ashley had a better understanding of his position.
Sarah hadn’t been able to give her any details about the investigation other than Randy and Detective Kovak were still trying to get a handle on motive. Ashley had mentioned being questioned, and how Detective Kovak had been in her face.
Sarah told Ashley about being a suspect once, and even though Randy knew she was innocent, he couldn’t treat her any differently than anyone else. “He made sure I knew my rights, but he couldn’t keep the cops from doing their jobs. Everything has to be by the book, and they’re always having to make sure whatever they do will hold up in court. They want to find the bad guys, but they also want to make sure the bad guys don’t walk because of something the cops did or didn’t do.”
Ashley slowed at Scott’s door, listening for signs that he was home. No light from under the door. No music, no sounds of someone moving around. She kept walking. Tomorrow she could make amends. Tonight, she wanted to go over her notes one more time and crawl into bed.
She tossed the envelopes Penny had given her onto the entry table and kicked off her shoes. She fished her cell phone out of her purse. She’d turned the ringer off for the committee meeting. Maybe Scott had broken the “real men don’t apologize first” rule and tried to reach her.
Yeah, right.
The display showed one new text from a number she didn’t recognize. Not Scott, then. She opened the message.
Sorry can’t be there 4 yr bakeoff. Can’t tell U where I’ll be, but tell Maggie & all thx. Good luck w/ bakery. L. PS. Pls delete this msg 4 my security.
So, Lorna had found her hideaway. Ashley knew how hard it must have been for Lorna to decide to go it alone, but she was glad she’d be making a new life for herself, even if it was clear she’d be looking over her shoulder for a while.
Ashley texted “good luck” and deleted the thread. She eyed the bottle of Hennessy she hadn’t bothered to put away. Heck, it was almost ten. Reviewing her notes in bed with a nightcap sounded like a better plan.
She’d poured an inch of cognac when she heard what had to be Scott’s door open and close. Was he home? Should she go over?
A quick apology. Get it out of the way. Clean slate for tomorrow. Sleep better with mended fences. Rationalizations streamed through her brain like cognac into the snifter.
What the heck. She poured a second glass—bringing the bottle would be overdoing it—and went next door.
Chapter 25
Scott trudged into his apartment, undressing as he headed toward the bedroom. A knock on the door interrupted his trek. All he wanted was bed, and he was tempted to ignore the knock, but he checked the peephole and discovered Ashley’s face on the other side. He refastened his trousers and opened the door.
She held up two snifters, each containing about an inch of amber-colored liquid. “Nightcap?”
Seeing her face, her smile—some of the tension he hadn’t realized he was carrying eased. He opened the door a little wider. “Isn’t that your special occasion Hennessy?”
She nodded. He motioned her inside. “I just got in. Give me a minute. Make yourself at home.” He hurried to the bedroom to change his clothes, which hadn’t escaped a spattering of crime scene gore. No need for her to see that and start asking questions.
A drink with Ashley might be the perfect way to unwind. He took the time to wash a little more dirt and fatigue away. A shower would have been better, but that might send the wrong message. He wanted to be a friend tonight. God knows, he could use one after looking at that mutilated body.
In the living room, Ashley sat on the couch, her brows furrowed as she stared at his laptop. He’d turned off the oven when Detweiler called, but not his computer. She looked up, an embarrassed expression on her face, when he joined her.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snoop. I was moving your laptop out of the way, and these pictures popped up. I got curious.” She gave him a sheepish smile. “Another one of my faults, along with flying off the handle too soon when I’m being interrogated by cops.”
Scott chose to ignore the last part. Kova
k’s questioning hadn’t come close to the kind of interrogation she’d have been subject to had she been an actual suspect. “Hardly snooping. That’s a Google site. Nothing you couldn’t access on your own.”
“I saw. Those are pictures of Belinda Nesbitt.”
“Yeah. I was trying to get a handle on her. For the case.” He grinned. “I’m not a stalker.” He raised a snifter. “What are we celebrating?”
She turned pink. “Nothing. It’s a peace offering. I acted like a childish idiot today. I know you were doing your job, and that it wasn’t personal.” She tilted her head, a slight frown on her face. “Unless the invitation to come in was because of the booze, not me.”
In response, he set his glass on the coffee table. “I should apologize as well. I sat in on the interview as a cop, which was wrong of me. I’m a civilian. If I were a cop, I’d have been pulled because you’re a friend.”
“Sarah said that’s what happened to Randy when she was a suspect.” She leaned forward and set her glass next to his, staring at the laptop again. She pointed to the screen, to one of the pictures. “I think I saw her today—Belinda was helping carry packages to her car.”
Scott moved in so he could see what Ashley pointed at. Her scent erased a layer of aches and pains. What the hell. He slipped his arm around her. “Which one?” he asked.
Ashley indicated the image.
“You know her?” Scott asked.
“No. I don’t recall seeing her before today. But I haven’t been socializing a whole lot since I moved here.”
Scott read the caption. Belinda Nesbitt and Crystal Gosselin, with a link to a website. The name rang a bell. He started to rise, and his leg picked that moment to go into shake mode.
“Dammit.” He deferred to Ashley’s presence and didn’t voice the expletives he’d have used had she not been in the room.
“Scott. What?” Alarm filled her tone. Her eyes widened.
He sank to the couch, rubbing his thigh. “It’ll pass. Just a twinge.” The way his leg was doing an imitation of a marching band didn’t add credence to his words. The grimace he knew was on his face probably wasn’t helping, either.
Ashley darted to the kitchen and came back with a glass of water. “Here.”
Lucky for him, his hands weren’t shaking, and he took a few gulps. The tremors stopped. He set the glass down. “See. All better.” He raised his hands and smiled.
Ashley didn’t return it. “Like heck you’re all better. I let it slide last night, but a few minutes ago, you said we were friends. Talk to me, friend.”
“It’s a pain-in-the-neck side effect of my injury. The docs said it wasn’t anything to worry about. It comes, it goes. I manage.”
She sat next to him and rested her hand on his thigh. “I’d like to know whatever you’re willing to tell me.”
Willing to tell her. Hell, it had taken more sessions with the police shrink than he cared to think about before he’d tell him anything. “It wasn’t really an accident. Not the kind you think of when you hear the term. More like a case gone south, and I got hurt. People have survived worse.”
And some hadn’t survived. He saw Rina’s face again. He was alive. She wasn’t.
Her grip on his thigh tightened. He tensed, and she let go, switching to a gentle massage. “I’m so sorry.”
“Not your fault. Part of the job.” Although, technically, he hadn’t even been on duty. Officially, anyway. Cops were always on duty. Serve and protect. He cleared his throat. “Right now, I want to follow up on this Crystal Gosselin person. Would you do me a favor? There’s a file folder on the kitchen counter.”
She jumped up, and in the short while she was gone, he managed to regain most of his composure. He drank half the water, then swigged the cognac.
“I thought you said that was for sipping.” Ashley handed him the folder, a faint smile on her face.
“There’s an exception to every rule.” He smiled back. He leafed through the pages, finding the list he’d made. Crystal Gosselin was one of his names to check out.
He reached for the laptop, then hesitated. Ashley had come on a social call. He’d let her in because he didn’t want to think about work anymore tonight.
“Can I help?” she asked.
Her eager expression was all he needed. “Did Belinda ever tell you why she switched colleges? Or anything about her family life? Her past? What do you know about her social life? Boyfriends?”
“No, she’s very private. At least she doesn’t volunteer information, and I don’t feel comfortable asking personal questions.”
Which is probably why she hadn’t pressed when he’d had his little episode last night. At the time, he’d been grateful, but right now a busybody’s insider information would have been nice.
He brought the laptop onto his lap and scrolled through pictures, her Facebook Page, anything else he could think of.
And then the virtual light bulb clicked on, so bright it exploded. He searched the screen again. “You see anything unusual here?” he asked Ashley.
“Unusual?” She peered at the screen. “Like what?”
He smiled. “Think about it. Here.” He opened another tab and typed Ashley’s name into Google and clicked Images. “This is what I see when I look for you.”
She glared at him.
“Hey, this is the first time I’ve done this. Honest. I can punch in my name if you’d prefer.”
“No, it’s all right.” She looked at several pages of pictures. “I had no idea these were all here for anyone to see.” She pointed to one. “That’s me on my fifteenth birthday. Google didn’t even exist then, I don’t think.”
“Any time your name is mentioned in conjunction with a picture, it’s here. Of course, it will bring up anyone named Ashley Eagan, so they’re not all pictures of you. Facebook is a gold mine because people are always posting photos and tagging them. Look again, and tell me what you think. What’s different about your pictures and Belinda’s?”
He waited, wondering if his hunch was correct. It might explain why Belinda was ill at ease when they’d questioned her, and why she was sending them as far away from herself as she could. And there was even a chance it might provide a motive.
“Remember when we looked at the second floor above your bakery?” he asked. “It’s not always what you see—”
“But what you don’t see.” She clicked back and forth between the two pages, frowning, staring, chewing her lip.
***
Ashley stared at the pictures. People. Some were mislabeled, some were groups, some were old. Aside from the fact that one page was hers and the other was Belinda’s, she was at a loss to pinpoint what Scott must have noticed.
“Wait,” he said, taking the laptop. He typed “Crystal Gosselin” into the search box, and brought up a page of images of her. “Now what do you think?”
“Crystal’s obviously into changing her looks. Purple, spiky hair here. Long, blonde curls in this one. When I saw here today, she had very short hair, almost black. Lots of different make up styles. Goth to nothing at all. But that’s not terribly unusual. People do stuff like that all the time.”
“Look at it from another angle. Don’t look at Crystal.” He switched screens. “Don’t look at Belinda.” He switched to her page. “Don’t look at you.”
“Scott, I’m not a detective. And it’s probably a good thing. I give up.”
“Not so fast.” He pointed to a picture of her with Barry. “Who’s the guy?”
“My ex fiancé. I told you about him.”
Scott pointed at a few more. “Okay, so you were a couple, and your pictures ended up on the Internet.”
She twisted the laptop and switched screens. “No guys. Is that what you meant?”
Scott twisted her around to face him and kissed her. Quick, chaste, but it sent a thrill through her all the same. Or was it a thrill because she’d apparently given him the right answer? “You think Crystal and Belinda are a … couple?”
&nbs
p; Scott exhaled a deep sigh and rubbed his thigh. “It’s a guess. Maybe not the two of them. But the fact there are so few men in these pictures raises a red flag. Concealing her orientation fits with her background. Strict, religious upbringing. Small town. My money says she’s deep in the closet, that her parents wouldn’t understand. Or forgive. I think Belinda left her local, small-town college for the larger one, farther away, where her sexual orientation wouldn’t be as unusual, where she’d be less conspicuous, and where word was less likely to get back to her family.”
“Makes sense,” Ashley said. “But what does her being gay—and there’s really no proof that she is—have to do with Felicity’s death?”
“Maybe nothing. But we’ll check it out. If Felicity knew Belinda’s secret, Belinda might have wanted to make sure she didn’t tell anyone.”
Draining her cognac and seeing Scott’s empty glass, Ashley wished she’d brought the bottle over. As an excuse to stay longer, not because she wanted to get drunk on booze. She felt another kind of intoxication whenever Scott was near. And near he was, sitting beside her, thigh to thigh, his arm wrapped around her again.
His hand kneaded her shoulder, and she felt heat rise to her cheeks. Did he think she’d come over for sex? That was the trouble with trying to have a male friend. They were still men. A foreign species to her.
“I’d better get going,” she said. “I don’t want to keep you up. I know you have an early day tomorrow, and I have a million things to do, too.”
“I understand,” he said. His voice was rough, gravelly. Barely audible. “But I’d like it very much if you’d stay.”
His eyes were pleading, not lustful. As if he needed her. Her, not her body. Did it have something to do with what he’d told her? About what had happened to him? Although he’d tried to be flippant about it, she’d heard the pain behind his words. She sighed. “All right.”
He didn’t move other than to hold her tighter. But to her, it was as if he’d said, “Thank you.”
She supposed that was something else about men. They could never admit to being vulnerable. A lesson she intended to teach him. But slowly. She knew that much.
