Saving Scott (Kobo)

by Terry Odell

  If she’d learned anything from Barry, it was that she couldn’t assume there was anything deeper than sex when it came to men. Maybe something would grow between her and Scott. But now, she had a bakery to open.

  She clicked off the television and added the envelopes Penny had given her to her bakery notes and laptop. Today, she’d sequester herself in the bakery, away from any distractions, and make sure every contingency was covered.

  Despite her determination to focus on the bakery, her brain insisted on returning to Scott, and from there to the second body. Why hadn’t he said anything? Didn’t he trust her? Or did he think she couldn’t handle it?

  Stop. Focus.

  She forced her mind to the bakery to-do list. Confirm with the judges. Verify the schedule for the contestants. Make score sheets.

  Score sheets. She detoured to Thriftway and scoured the office supply department for some colored index cards. She should be able to print those herself. While she was there, she picked up some lightweight poster board. Not exactly matte board, but she could do a quick mount of the artwork Penny had given her. She perused the shelves, finding some removable adhesive to affix the finished products to the walls. The bulletin board she’d ordered hadn’t come in yet. And it wouldn’t be large enough to display all Penny’s contributions. She’d have to work something out. Maybe a “Top Five” every month. She tried to visualize how much of the bulletin board five pictures would fill. Would she have room for community news, or should she get a second one?

  Slow down.

  Too many ideas, not the right time. She inhaled deeply, reminding herself not to get ahead of herself.

  She pulled into the lot, finding a slot near her shop’s back door. Seeing the nearby Happy Cook reminded her of last night’s discussion with Scott. Was Belinda secretly gay? Not that it mattered to Ashley on a personal level—but would it help Scott’s investigation if she could confirm it? She could see herself walking into Belinda’s shop and asking, “Are you gay?” Yeah, right.

  Focus. Bakeoff.

  With her laptop case slung over one shoulder, her purse over the other, envelopes tucked under one arm, key in hand, she didn’t notice the man leaning against the wall beside her door until she almost bumped into him. Or had he moved to intercept her?

  Porky the Reporter. What was he doing here? If it was anything other than a story about her grand opening, she wanted nothing to do with him. She found a polite smile, but didn’t unlock her door or say anything.

  “Let me help you with that,” he said, reaching for the envelopes that threatened to fall to the ground.

  “I can manage,” she said.

  But he’d already rescued them.

  “Howard Vossler, Ms. Eagan. Pine Hills Bee. We spoke before.”

  “I remember,” she said.

  “I have a couple of follow-up questions. Won’t take a minute of your time.” He glanced toward her locked door. “Might be more comfortable inside.”

  Her brain whirled. She wasn’t obligated to answer his questions. But maybe he knew something. If she made him angry, he might give her bakery negative publicity. And if she thought fast enough, she might be able to take control of his interview and turn it into an article about her shop.

  She smiled and unlocked the door. “Come in.” She led him quickly through the back of the house, and motioned him to one of the loveseats. “I hope you don’t mind if I work while you ask your questions. I’m sure you’re aware of tomorrow’s bakeoff. As a matter of fact, I’d love for you to attend.” She thought of previous conversations with Scott. “I’d give you complimentary tickets for samples, but I’m sure you can’t accept gifts. It might look like you were paid to write something complimentary.”

  “Um…Yes. I mean, no. That is, I’ll try to get here, and you’re right. I can’t accept favors.”

  She took the envelopes from him. “Oh, and you might want to mention that Confections by Ashley is a strong supporter of the youth of Pine Hills. Penny Foxworth’s middle school art class did the decorations for my bakeoff. When he didn’t seem to be paying attention, she repeated Penny’s name and spelled it.

  He took the hint and pulled out a notebook much like the ones Detective Kovak and Randy had used, and clicked open a pen. Before he could ask his first official question, she jumped in. “I plan to showcase their work on a regular basis at Confections by Ashley.” Might as well drum the bakery name into his head. Afraid she’d lose her nerve, she laid out the artwork on the counter as she spoke.

  “The bakeoff contestants will be baking here all day tomorrow. Then, at seven-thirty in the evening, the judging will take place. Our judges are three professionals in the industry. I can’t reveal their names, because we don’t want anyone to try to influence them.” She continued giving him the details, not pausing long enough for him to interrupt. He was nodding and writing, although for all she knew, it was a grocery list. “And please make sure you emphasize that all the proceeds will go to the Women’s Center.”

  She paused, heart pounding. Had she really been that assertive? A warm glow of pride enveloped her. He looked up from his notes.

  “That’s all very well, Miss Eagan. But I came to ask you questions about the murder.”

  She feigned a look of innocence. “Murder? As far as I know, the police haven’t officially released the way Felicity died. It might not be murder after all. I think, as a reporter, you would want to be precise with your words.” She stopped, afraid she might have pushed things too far. She backpedaled. “Would you like some coffee? I was going to brew a pot.”

  “No, none for me, thanks.” He flipped a page in his notebook. “I understand you’ve been questioned by the police, and that there was no love lost between you and Felicity Markham. I have it on good authority that she tried to undermine the construction of your bakery. Which would give you motive to want her dead.”

  Good authority? What did he know? What else had Scott not told her?

  “Since I didn’t know anything about it, that theory is unfounded. And if there was any love lost, it was all on Felicity’s side, not mine.”

  “What about Belinda Nesbitt? The police are investigating her. What would make them do that?”

  “Why don’t you ask them? That’s their job. Mine is to get this bakery open on time.” She made a point of arranging and rearranging the artwork on her counter.

  “One more question, and I’ll be on my way. How can you explain the connection between the two deaths?”

  Connection? Although she managed to control her expression, she couldn’t do anything about the heat rising to her face. She knew Porky the Reporter had noticed. His beady eyes narrowed.

  He was fishing. He had to be. And he wasn’t going to get the tiniest minnow from her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I didn’t know about the second body until I saw it on the news this morning. The police haven’t said a word to me.” Or their ex-detective civilian consultant, either.

  He tucked his notebook into his jacket pocket. “Very well. I’m sure they’ll be saying something to you very soon, Miss Eagan. Have a good day. I can see myself out.”

  Chapter 27

  Scott set forth his working hypothesis to Detweiler and Kovak. “If Belinda Nesbitt is that deep in the closet, she’s a viable suspect if she thought someone was going to out her.”

  Kovak appeared to ponder that for a moment. “Pieces fit. Belinda has access to the mugs, the cocoa, and a way into Ashley’s bakery.”

  Detweiler swung the white board around and added those notes. “If she’s spent her life hiding her sexual orientation, she’s probably an accomplished liar.”

  “So you think Felicity Markham knew Belinda’s secret. She was hard up for cash. Blackmail?” Scott said.

  “Workable.” Detweiler added “blackmail” to the white board.

  “Have we checked Belinda Nesbitt’s financials?” Scott asked.

  Kovak shot him a look. “You think we have cause?”

  S
cott shrugged. “Work it the other way. From the victim’s side. If you can hook anything to Belinda Nesbitt, you might convince a judge to let you look.”

  “On it.” Kovak sat at the computer and began clicking.

  “I’m going to work in the office,” Detweiler said to Scott. “I’ll take our dead guy, and you can keep working the Belinda Nesbitt angle.” He gestured toward the stack of papers, which seemed to have multiplied overnight.

  “I thought I’d cross-reference Belinda Nesbitt and her maybe partner. I’ll need a computer for that,” Scott said.

  Kovak stood, relinquishing the one in the room. “I can work in the office, too.”

  With the room to himself, Scott went to the white board and added Crystal Gosselin’s name. She might be another way in.

  “Another day, another search,” he muttered to himself as he pecked at the keyboard. He figured he might as well start with the official databases.

  He’d barely entered her name into the NCIC database to see if she had a record when Kovak blew into the room. “You’re not going to believe this. Come on.” Kovak spun and rushed away.

  Scott exited the database and hurried after Kovak. When he got to the detectives’ office, Detweiler had the phone to his ear. He nodded at Scott. “Hang on, Doc. Let me put you on speaker. Scott Whelan’s with us now.”

  “Hi, Charlotte. Things dead enough in the morgue that you have time for us?”

  “Enough with your sick jokes, former Detective Whelan. I’m thinking there will be a good bottle of wine in this for me.”

  “What do you have?” Scott asked. “You didn’t cut already, did you?” He assumed that she’d have contacted Detweiler or Kovak, as the real cops on the case, yet the detectives hadn’t said anything about it.

  “No, but I wanted to eliminate the connection between your bodies. I put a rush on a tox screen.”

  Scott’s brain sped through the logic. “But you didn’t eliminate it.”

  “No, sir. Same drug that we found in your first victim. Adding that to the same kind of cocoa in his stomach, I’d say the odds are very much against a coincidence.”

  Scott threw a wide-eyed glance in the direction of the phone.

  “Any progress on ID?” Detweiler asked.

  “Not yet. I’ve sent the DNA to CODIS with a rush request, but it’ll still be a while. It’s a long shot since we didn’t get hits on his prints. However, I did find something in his pockets.”

  “What?” Kovak asked.

  They’d done a cursory search at the scene, but given the mutilation and the blood-soaked clothes, they hadn’t bothered beyond that. Made more sense to wait until the body got to the morgue, and they could dry out the clothing in the crime lab. Less risk of destroying evidence.

  “A piece of paper. Stuck inside the back pocket of his jeans. We almost missed it. It was bloody, but we managed to get it dried out. The writing is faded, but legible. An address.” She read it off.

  Scott’s heart pounded. Ashley’s bakery. He looked to Detweiler and Kovak who clearly recognized it as well.

  “So, our second victim’s cause of death is the same as the first, and he’s carrying around the address of where we found the first victim.” Detweiler said.

  “Sounds to me like we’re looking at one case.” Kovak drummed his fingers on the desk.

  “Agreed,” Charlotte said.

  “Anything else, Doc?” Detweiler asked.

  “Not yet. But I’ll bump this one to the top of the line. If we’re looking at a serial killer, I’m thinking you want to catch him.”

  Despite the seriousness of the topic, Scott recognized the teasing in Charlotte’s tone. “Well, duh.”

  “Tell me when you’re cutting, and I’ll be there,” Detweiler said.

  “I should be ready by one,” Charlotte said. “And I’m not going to wait.”

  “Understood.” Detweiler hung up the phone.

  Scott debated going along to observe. He knew it would be more important for Detweiler or Kovak, as sworn officers, to be on record as being present when the case went to court. However, he knew Charlotte wouldn’t ban him from the autopsy. But despite his itching to be part of things, that would be pushing the scope of what Chief Laughlin had authorized him to do.

  “You want me to bring Ashley Eagan in again?” Kovak asked.

  “No reason we can’t question her at her place,” Scott said, pointedly using “we.” No way was he going to be left out entirely. The question was, would Ashley let him be there? He was tempted to call her, give her a heads up. Which would be tantamount to tampering with an investigation.

  “Works for me. Maybe she’ll recognize the victim. Not that there’s a whole lot left to go on.” Detweiler said.

  Scott suppressed a shudder as he thought of Ashley looking at the crime scene photos. “Do you think Charlotte has pictures of the victim in a more … sanitized version? Might help with recognition.”

  Detweiler picked up the phone. “I’ll call her back and ask.”

  While Detweiler talked with Charlotte, Scott spoke to Kovak. “Let’s not forget that Belinda Nesbitt had access to Ashley’s bakery. Finding the bakery address on the victim ties him to the location, not necessarily to Ashley. Belinda’s got motive, means, and opportunity.”

  “You’re right. We should show the pictures to Belinda Nesbitt as well,” Kovak said. “I, for one, want to see her reaction.”

  Detweiler hung up. “Charlotte’s emailing me some pictures.” He addressed Scott. “Do you know if Ashley is working today?”

  “She should be. She’s trying to get everything ready for her bakeoff tomorrow. And I assume Belinda Nesbitt will be working as well. She’s higher on my list than Ashley.”

  Detweiler’s computer dinged. “That’ll be Charlotte’s email.” He tapped a few keys and seconds later, the printer spat out several pages. Detweiler glanced at them, then put them in an envelope. “Let’s go. I’d like to talk to them both before I have to leave for the autopsy.”

  Scott didn’t hesitate. Didn’t give them a chance to tell him to stay here and run searches or dig through paper. “Ready when you are.” He waited in the doorway.

  If Detweiler had any objections, he didn’t voice them.

  “Who first?” Kovak asked as they drove to the building that housed both establishments. Scott kept his mouth shut, trying to maintain the illusion that he was an objective observer.

  “Let’s start with Belinda Nesbitt,” Detweiler said. “Show her the pictures.”

  Kovak opened the door to The Happy Cook, holding it while Scott and Detweiler entered the shop. Scott looked at Belinda, her ruffled apron, curly brown hair and upturned nose giving her a “girl next door” look. Nothing about her said gay, but Scott knew better than to make assumptions based on appearance.

  Belinda chatted with a customer—the lone one in the shop—as she rang up her purchases.

  “Thanks, and come again,” Belinda said. The customer nodded to the men as she left.

  Detweiler strode forward. “Hello, Miss Nesbitt. We have a few more questions.”

  “Three of you?” she said, stepping out from behind the counter. “Must be serious. I thought we’d already covered everything. What else can I tell you?”

  Smooth, Scott thought. Not volunteering anything.

  “You may have heard that another body was discovered last night,” Detweiler said.

  No surprise, but no guilty reaction, either. Simple curiosity.

  “I did. On the news this morning. What does that have to do with me?” A flash of concern swept across her face. “Or are you here to tell me I might be in danger?”

  “No, nothing like that, although due diligence is always wise. Right now, we’re trying to identify him,” Detweiler said. “Do you mind looking at a few pictures?”

  “If you think it’ll help.” She shoved her glasses up her nose. “Are they … gross? The news said he’d been eaten by dogs.”

  “Not really eaten,” Kovak s
aid. “But there was some damage, yes.”

  She wiped her hands on her apron. “All right. Show me.” She took the pictures, gingerly at first, as if they might be contaminated.

  Scott watched her reaction. A little of the expected aversion, but nothing that indicated she recognized the victim.

  “No, I’m sorry. I can’t place him. I’m sure I don’t know him personally.”

  “A customer, maybe?” Kovak said.

  Belinda gave a snorting laugh. “I don’t get too many men in here. This guy doesn’t look like the gourmet kitchen sort.” She extended the photos.

  Detweiler put them in the envelope. “Thanks, and sorry to put you through this.”

  “One last question,” Scott said. “How well do you know Crystal Gosselin?”

  Now that got a reaction. Even someone at the kindergarten level of reading body language could tell Belinda was caught off guard. And that she definitely knew Crystal Gosselin. Very well. She looked away, clearly regrouping.

  “I … um … the name’s familiar. I think she’s shopped here before.” A pause. “Why do you ask.”

  “Just something we’re following up on,” Scott said. “Thanks for your time.”

  The men regrouped outside the shop. “That went well,” Kovak said. “Maybe one of us should go interview Ms. Gosselin.”

  “I’m sure the surprise factor will be long gone,” Detweiler said. He peeked through the window. “Belinda Nesbitt is already on the phone. Anyone think it’s not Ms. Gosselin she’s calling?” He paused a half second. “Didn’t think so. Let’s deal with Ashley Eagan first.”

  Torn between the worlds of cop and civilian, neighbor and lover, Scott followed them next door.

  Ashley responded to their knock, avoiding eye contact with Scott as she let them in. As he had with Belinda, Detweiler explained why he was asking Ashley to look at the photos.