I couldn’t help but giggle. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you, I promise. I’m laughing at Ladies’ Man Sean falling in love with a virgin. He’s gonna need Doc Wilcox, stat!”
Zoe blinked. “Love?” Then she shook her head, wobbling a bit. “Oh, I don’t think he’s in love with me. He hasn’t even kissed me.”
“That’s what makes it all the sweeter.” I grinned.
“Honey, we know that boy better than anyone. He’s got it bad, and you are oh-so-good for him, my darling. Now take my root beer and give me that wine before you fall on your butt. My goodness, but we are all a mess.”
“You don’t need wine, you’re pregnant.” Zoe blinked up at Jo, confused.
“Oh, I need it all right, but I’m not going to drink it, and neither are you. The last thing I need is another light weight falling off my barstool.” She gave me a pointed look as she slid the drink away from Zoe. Zoe shrugged then took a sip of the root beer as Jo continued to talk. “Speaking of needing something, I know someone who needs you more than ever.” Jo gave me another meaningful look.
I groaned, knowing exactly who she meant. “My mother, right?”
“You’re luckier than you know. She really is a great woman. And right now, she must be freaking out. As much as I wanted to smack her for starting crap with Mr. Theodore, I know in my gut she isn’t capable of murder. And being a top notch lawyer, it must kill her being the one accused.”
I sighed long and deep. “I know, you’re right, and it does. Of course she refuses to admit she’s worried, and she would never dream of asking for my help, so the burden is once again left up to me.”
“Families aren’t easy, Sunny. I get that. Trust me, mine is huge and a big pain in the butt half the time, but…family is family, for better or worse.”
“I know, and I’m on it. She might not appreciate it, but I will do my best to clear her name. At the very least it will free her to leave town, which is never a bad thing. I love my parents, but we get along much better long distance.”
“Amen to that, sister.” Jo raised a glass of water.
Zoe raised her soda. “Amen to the sisterhood.”
And I raised my beer. “Amen to the future…whatever it may bring.”
Chapter 7
On Monday morning I pulled into the parking lot of Benedict and Rossetti, the accounting firm that handled Pierce Theodore’s inn, Divine Inspiration. My slightly rusted but well-loved VW bug with the orange, yellow, and pink flowers on the sides sputtered and then died as I cut the engine. She’d seen me through some pretty rough times. Thanks to Big Don of Don’s Auto body, she still had some life left in her.
Unlike Pierce Theodore.
I still couldn’t believe he was dead. I had just done a reading for him a couple of days ago and had given him so much hope. How was he supposed to come into money if he was dead? But then I remembered the reading had shown that his inn would finally be put on the map from something in the past. I had assumed that something had to do with Pierce, but apparently not. I felt more obligated than ever to find out what it did have to do with.
I still wondered if his widow Linda had arranged to have him killed somehow. She had conveniently taken out a large life insurance policy right before he died. She claimed it was because she was worried. That she had received threatening phone calls, and he had been arguing with his accountant, Brice Benedict, a lot as of late. So here I sat, ready to talk to Brice, even though I knew Mitch wouldn’t be happy about it.
I got out of my car and made my way to the front door of the quaint brick building. The air was crisp, and the sun shining bright and clear, as though nothing were wrong whatsoever. A beautiful, picture perfect, fall day. But pictures could be deceiving. I’d learned that the hard way throughout my life and especially since I’d moved to Divinity just nine short months ago. Nothing about this town was picture perfect.
I reached for the doorknob, and it swung open of its own accord. A man I had never seen barged outside with an angry look on his face. I nearly bumped into him, and his face registered surprise and then quickly masked any expression at all. He was tall and distinguished with a full white head of hair and a tailored suit. He looked like the perfect businessman, but it was the piercing in his left ear that made him seem out of place.
He grabbed my arm with a firm grip to steady me and donned a look of concern as he asked, “Are you okay, ma’am?” A whiff of expensive smelling cologne wafted past my nose. He looked like someone who would fit into my parents’ world more so than our charming small town.
I smiled despite my uneasy feeling. He looked completely respectable, but he didn’t seem genuine somehow. “I’m fine.” I gently pulled my arm from his rather large hand. “Thank you for asking.”
“You’re welcome. And what did you say your name was?” The question itself wasn’t really all that odd, given we had just run into each other. Introductions were usually a part of first meeting someone, but it somehow felt out of place.
“I didn’t.” I frowned in response, my uneasiness increasing. Alarm bells were telling me not to tell him my name, though it wouldn’t be that difficult for him to find out in such a small town. Hopefully he was passing through and wouldn’t stick around for long. Maybe he was a client from out of town. “Well, I’ve gotta run.”
He narrowed his eyes for a second, and I could have sworn a flash of that scary look crossed his face again, but then he pasted on a bright smile, making me wonder if I had imagined it. “I’d better not keep you, then.” He tipped his head and went about his business, heading down the street.
Hurrying into the office, I climbed the stairs until I reached the second floor suite. “Mr. Benedict, I presume.” I held out my hand to the frazzled looking man pacing the room. “You’re the exact person I’ve been looking for.”
He blinked, looking startled, his thinning red combed-over hair was slightly askew and his spectacles were perched on the end of his beak-like nose. He checked his watch. “Do we have an appointment?” He stared at me like he was scared to death.
“Well, no, not exactly.” I looked around the nicely furnished suite, thinking his business must be booming.
His forehead puckered. “I’m sorry. Who are you?” His terrified look remained, and beads of perspiration had started to form on his upper lip.
“My name is Sunny Meadows, and I’m a consultant for the Divinity Police Department.” I held out my hand, but he stood there, growing paler by the second. I lowered my hand, and that seemed to jar him out of his stupor.
He cleared his throat and stood a little straighter. “What on earth could the police possibly want with me?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to give off the impression that you’re a wanted man.” I chose my words with a definite strategy in mind.
“Wanted man? But you can’t prove anything. I mean, I didn’t do anything,” he sputtered, looking on the verge of hyperventilating.
Interesting. “I didn’t say you did anything, Mr. Benedict, and neither did the police.” I had to make sure I chose my words carefully or risk the wrath of Detective Grumpy Pants. He wouldn’t be happy with me if I screwed up his case.
“That’s right, you’re not the police. And since you’re not the police, then what do you want with me?” he rephrased his question, looking less alarmed and more annoyed now. I needed to put him at ease and gain his trust. The last thing I needed was to frustrate him and have him throw me out, which technically he had every right to do, since I really didn’t have any business being there.
“Well, I was talking to Mrs. Theodore, and she happened to mention that you were the accountant in charge of their inn. I know Mr. Theodore would settle for nothing but the best, God rest his soul.”
“I read about what happened in the paper. What a shame. I liked Peirce.” Brice stared off into the distance and sounded surprisingly genuine.
“I’m not sure if you know this, but I happen to own my own business as well.” I interrupte
d his thoughts.
“Sunny’s Sanctuary, right?” His eyes widened warily and they focused on me as recognition dawned. “You’re the fortune-teller lady. There aren’t many people in Divinity who haven’t heard of you,” he said, but his face read, And all the trouble that follows you. “I’m not taking on any new clients, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he quickly added.
“Is that why the man I ran into outside was angry?” I asked, point blank, knowing I was running out of time and not really sure how to get to the bottom of why he and Peirce had been arguing right before he died. I wasn’t officially working with the police on this case, so Brice wasn’t obligated to tell me anything. I was banking on him not knowing that.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he answered a little too quickly. “The man was probably Rossetti’s client, not mine. Now if you’ll excuse me, Miss Meadows, I have to get ready for a meeting.”
I handed him my card. “If you change your mind, I would love to talk to you more. Financial decisions are so important. I would hate to make a bad investment. Things like that can affect a person’s future in a big way, don’t you agree?”
“Yes, yes, of course. I will give your name to Rossetti and have him call you.” Brice ushered me toward the door.
“That would be wonderful. Thank you so much. I’m sure he’ll be a big help, like he was for that man I saw outside.” I paused and scratched my head. “Then again, maybe not. The guy did seem rather angry.”
Brice paused at that, as if weighing something of grave importance. “You know, we don’t need to bother Rossetti,” Brice said. “He’s been under a lot of pressure lately. Health issues. Maybe I can squeeze you in after all. I’ll have my secretary call you to set up a time to talk. But I really must get back to work now.”
I blinked, trying to appear innocent, and then donned a pleased expression. “Today must be my lucky day. I’m so glad you changed your mind, Mr. Benedict, and I can’t wait to hear what you have to say. Something tells me you’re the key to solving my problem.”
“One can hope,” he grumbled and waved me off as he the shut the door behind me with a resounding thump.
But I didn’t have to hope. I knew. He was definitely hiding something, and my gut told me that something had to do with Scary Guy. Now if only I could figure out what and how it was connected to Peirce, it just might be the key to setting my mother free.
***
I pulled into my driveway with a sigh of relief. Detective Stone was at the office. I felt pretty good about Mitch not discovering I had been at Benedict and Rossetti’s this morning. It was nice to know I could dodge at least one bullet. I loved Mitch, but my safety was one subject we would never agree on. He still wasn’t a true believer and he wasn’t crazy about me working with the police, no matter how many times I had proven myself to be an asset. But mostly he drove me crazy trying to protect me, especially when I was too close to a case. This time was no exception.
I wasn’t stupid. Yes, I took chances and often found myself in the most bizarre predicaments, but I knew enough not to willingly put myself in danger. At least I now had a lead, which was probably more than he had. Although I couldn’t know for sure because as usual he refused to share any details with me. If we were ever going to work, he needed to start treating me as a partner. In work, in life, in general. I headed inside and heard the vacuum cleaner running. Today was Monday. Granny always cleaned on Mondays.
She shut the vacuum off. “Hi, Sunshine. You slipped out mighty early this fine morning. Detective Stone left shortly after you. Busy little bees, you two.” She looked at me with sharp, knowing, brown eyes. “Not too busy to make time for each other, I hope.”
“We’re trying,” I replied honestly.
“Well, that’s good. Relationships are work, but they are so worth it in the end.” She smiled wistfully, remembering Grandpa Frank I was sure. “I’m going to go apple picking after I finish my chores,” she finally spoke again. “Do you want to come along and help? It’s a beautiful day. I’m thinking homemade apple crisp tonight and a lovely apple pie for this weekend. What do you think about that?”
“You mean you’re not making apple cookies?” I stared at her in mock shock, avoiding answering her about going apple picking. I had way too much to do like solving my mother’s case. Knowing Granny, she would slip up and tell Detective Stone. Something I so did not need to happen right now.
My granny always wore her recycled apron made out of flour sacks, with her wooden spoon at the ready sticking out of her pocket, and the oven was almost constantly on pre-heat. She truly believed there was a cookie for everything. Ever since Grandpa Frank died, she had stored her money in shoe boxes and freezer bags, hoarding it away for a rainy day and reusing everything she could get her hands on.
Poor Morty had taken Grandpa Frank’s place as her companion, being such a good sport about her dressing him up in bowties made out of old draperies. Granny Gert had been lonely before moving in with me. Now she felt needed. She had a purpose. Taking care of Morty and flirting with Captain Walker kept her feeling like a feisty kitten—her words not mine.
“Oh, don’t be silly. You know there will be cookies. What’s a party without cookies?” She started humming as she dusted the knickknacks, her perfectly styled snow white hair not moving an inch. It had turned snow white after having scarlet fever at sixteen, but she’d never dyed it. A firm believer in everything happening for a reason, she said she didn’t want to mess with what the good Lord had given her. A wise choice since it had become the envy of most people she met.
Her words set in, and my grin faded away. “A party? What party?” The words party and Granny Gert did not mix.
“Well, seeing as how it’s fall harvest and apple season and the leaves are simply lovely, I thought a party was in order. Besides, your mother could use a little pick-me-up.”
“B-But she won’t go anywhere near Morty,” I stuttered, desperate to stop my granny’s idea of a fall harvest party.
Every time Granny planned a party a fiasco happened, and I was left cleaning up the mess. I already had a big enough mess to get my mother out of. I certainly didn’t need any Granny trouble. Not to mention Jo was still in need of help, and now Zoe was having guy trouble, and my relationship was pretty much at a stale mate. I couldn’t imagine what could possibly happen next.
“Oh, don’t you worry about a thing, dearie. I’ll take care of everything. In fact, I already thought of your mother and Morty not being overly fond of each other. So I organized a committee, and we’re throwing the party in Mini-Central Park.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” I muttered, but she had already turned the vacuum back on, humming and singing as she twittered about.
The doorbell rang, and I headed in that direction, knowing Granny would never hear it. Morty appeared out of nowhere wearing a red, orange, and yellow leaf-patterned bowtie. He hissed, and I couldn’t blame him.
“Sorry, buddy. I have about as much control over Granny as you do.” I took a step toward the door.
Morty hissed louder.
“Honestly, Morty, what is the matter with you? Mayer Cromwell is here for his reading. Now step aside and be a good boy.”
He refused to step aside or be good, so I walked around him.
Shaking my head, I shot him a frown and then took a deep breath and formed my lips into a welcoming smile. I opened the door and started to say hello, but the word died on my tongue. Mayor Cromwell was not at the door.
Scary Guy was.
Chapter 8
Later that day I stopped by the Divinity Police Station to bring Mitch his lunch. Granny Gert was right. Relationships couldn’t be taken for granted, so if I ever wanted to move beyond our stale mate, I needed to take the initiative. Cutting the engine to my bug, I picked up a basket filled with a steaming bowl of homemade chili, still hot-from-the-oven rolls, and a big slice of apple pie. Granny always says the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, but
I was no fool.
I had Granny do the cooking.
I walked down the long hallway, nodding hello to the dispatcher as I passed her, and I made a pit stop by Captain Walker’s office to drop off some apple cookies, much to his delight. He mumbled a thank you around a mouthful of sugar, his eyes rolling back in his head. He sure did love Granny’s cookies, and if I had to guess, I would wager he enjoyed flirting with her just as much.
Pausing at the door to Mitch’s office, I took a moment to study him since he didn’t see me right away. He ran a hand through his shaggy black hair and rubbed his temple, his shoulders looking tense and his profile tired. He picked up a picture of me—the only personal touch he’d added to the space since I’d known him—and his brows pinched together, making him look troubled. His desk was cluttered with files and crumpled up pieces of paper as if he’d been working all morning but not having much luck. I was about to change that if he would let me without locking me up and throwing away the key.
I tapped my knuckles twice and he looked up as he set down his picture, his face transforming into a pleased expression. “You are the best thing I’ve seen all morning, and whatever that is, it smells amazing.”
I smiled tenderly as I walked into the room, set the basket down on the desk, slipped my arms around him, and sat on his lap. “You work too hard.” I kissed his cheek. He smelled of soap and after shave and Granny Gert’s sugar cookies.
He took a moment to wrap his arms around me, bury his face in the crook of my neck and inhale my scent, sending chills up and down my spine. I threaded my fingers through his hair and massaged his scalp. He allowed it for a moment and I could feel him start to relax, but then he pulled back.
“You don’t know how much I needed that right now, but if I don’t work harder, I’m afraid your mother’s case will look even worse than it already does. I need to find another lead and soon.”
“Funny you should say that.” I stood up from his lap and pulled out the food to distract him. I placed it on the desk in front of him, including real silverware and an embroidered linen napkin at Granny’s insistence, and then stood back. Only after he started to dig in, did I add, “I ran into Brice Benedict this morning.”
Kari Lee Townsend - Sunny Meadows 04 - Perish in the Palm Page 6
