Homecoming

by Lacey Baker

“It’s okay. It’s just a few questions,” Carl said when they were at the front door.

  “Am I under arrest?” she asked, the words sounding absolutely crazy to her own ears. The closest she’d ever come to breaking the law was when she was fourteen. She’d wanted to give her mother flowers for Mother’s Day but had already spent her allowance—following behind Savannah—on nail polish and lip gloss when they went into Easton on a class trip. She’d snuck into Ms. Vera’s backyard and picked most of her prized roses right off the bush. The cuts from all the thorns had given her away when Ms. Vera showed up on her porch to accuse her. But even then she’d only been punished for a weekend, because her father said she’d meant well.

  If she were under arrest for something … no, Nikki didn’t even want to think about that possibility.

  Once inside, standing right in her mother’s foyer—which smelled like daisies and freesias because Odell Brockington loved flowers and paid a visit to Drew Sidney’s Blossoms at least once a week—the older officer finally introduced himself. Nikki figured it clicked that they were standing in the house of the fire chief, who was just coming down the stairs with his astute and socialite wife behind him.

  “What’s going on here?” Ralph Brockington asked in his gruff voice. “Carl, Jonah, is something wrong?”

  They were at the bottom of the steps when the old cop started, “Good evening, Chief Brockington, I’m Officer Dorchester from the Easton Police Department.”

  And that’s why his uniform was different, Nikki noted. And so different she wondered why she hadn’t noticed it immediately. The two officers from the first car wore dark gray uniforms, while Carl and Jonah wore black. Their cars might have been a little different, too, but all she’d needed to notice about them were the flashing lights on top.

  “Officer,” Ralph said, shaking the hand that was extended.

  Odell had come to stand right beside her daughter, placing her right hand on Nikki’s shoulder. “Is there a problem, Officers?”

  “We’re here to ask your daughter a few questions, sir,” Carl said, a tinge of nervousness in his voice.

  “Nikki? Questions about what?” Ralph asked.

  “About the murder of Randall Davis.”

  Chapter 12

  “Randall’s been murdered?” Nikki heard herself asking as she backed up, using the wall to catch her and stop her from falling to the floor.

  “Here, let’s go into the living room and have a seat,” Odell Brockington said. She was a woman of small build, a genteel manner, and the fury of a fire-breathing dragon if crossed.

  “That’s a good idea. Officers, this way.” Ralph, who was used to going out of his way to make sure his wife wasn’t crossed or irritated too often, extended an arm to show the officers into the living room.

  “Why don’t you start by telling us what the hell is going on?” Ralph said when they were all seated.

  Nikki clasped her hands together as she sat on the couch she’d seen a million times. Her mother loved to decorate and redecorate, as her father always said. So this was the new contemporary look she’d adopted, with soft-fabric furniture reupholstered because while Ralph tried his best to accommodate his wife, he wasn’t about to bankrupt them so their house could look like some type of museum. Anyway, right about now Nikki was enjoying the comfort of the couch and the arm of her mother’s that had circled her shoulders.

  “When? Where? What happened to him?” she finally managed.

  “His body was found in Easton, about two hours ago,” Officer Dorchester said, looking straight at Nikki. “And before you say another word, you should know that your cell phone number was the last number he called before he was killed.”

  Nikki gasped.

  “Looks like cause of death will be a gunshot wound to the head. Kind of looks like a professional hit,” Jonah put in, only to get a warning glare from Dorchester.

  “Since you were probably the last person to talk to him before he was killed, that makes you the first person we want to talk to,” Dorchester finished.

  Nikki was already shaking her head. “Not without my attorney.” She knew how this must look, the angry ex-girlfriend kills the low-life, lying scum of an ex-boyfriend. He calls her to reconcile and she’s had enough so she shoots him in the head. Yes, she had an active imagination. That and the shows that were on TV these days had her mind whirling. “I want my attorney right now,” she said louder.

  “Your attorney,” Odell whispered in her ear. “You don’t have an attorney, honey.”

  “Yes, I do. Call Preston Cantrell. He’s staying at The Silver Spoon.”

  For a few seconds nobody in the room moved. Then Carl stood, reaching into his pocket for his cell phone. “I’ll make that call.”

  * * *

  Quinn was perfectly silent in the car as they drove the short distance to the Brockington house. He’d been sitting in the parlor with Preston and Parker, the three of them having drinks and sharing memories of their pasts when Natalie had come in telling Preston there was a call for him. The fact that Natalie was still there after seven in the evening had been shock number one, but only a mild one. The moment Preston disconnected the call he’d taken right there in the parlor shock number two had taken hold.

  Both Quinn and Parker had said they were going with him the moment Preston told them about Nikki. They hadn’t told any of their sisters, for one reason because they didn’t know where they were. Raine had announced earlier that afternoon that they were going out for dinner just as soon as Michelle could break away. And Quinn had been ducking Michelle since their morning conversation. So it was just the Cantrell men piling into Preston’s SUV and heading over to see what they could do to keep Nikki out of jail.

  Quinn still couldn’t fathom why the words jail and Nikki would even be mentioned in the same sentence. Anybody could look at her and see she had innocence practically stamped across her forehead. Well, not anybody. If Quinn had seen that last night maybe he would have kept his hands … and his lips off her. At any rate, he wasn’t happy about the fact that there were policemen attempting to question her about a crime as heinous as murder.

  “I’m the attorney here so I’ll do all the talking,” Preston said when they’d gotten out of the car.

  They traveled up the walkway single-file with Preston in front, turning to look over his shoulder as he spoke to them. Quinn, who was in the middle, added, “I don’t know when you became her attorney, but I guess I’ll go along with it.”

  Parker picked up the rear in his usual fashion. “Well, I’m a cop, so I can ask questions just like they are.”

  Preston was already shaking his head as he made it to the front door and lifted his hand to knock. He wore slacks and a button-up shirt, which he’d quickly changed into before they left. Appearance, to Preston, was everything. Quinn wore the jeans and T-shirt he’d put on earlier this morning, while Parker followed his lead in worn jeans, boots—because he’d been riding his bike earlier—and a black T-shirt. They were a formidable threesome at any rate. And the moment Odell Brockington opened the door for them, Quinn could see in her eyes that she’d acknowledged that fact.

  “Well. Well. Well. All of the Cantrell boys on my doorstep. I would have never imagined.” She gave each of them a smile and warm hug as they passed the threshold.

  Quinn looked around more because he wanted to see Nikki than he wanted to pay attention the decor of the house. They moved through the foyer, which was longer and narrower than the one at The Silver Spoon and completely carpeted. Odell took a left at the first doorway and they were in the living room, where it appeared everyone had assembled. Nikki sat on the couch, her slight build giving her a vulnerable, almost childlike appearance. Only the moment she looked up to meet his gaze, heat soared through Quinn. Heat and an undeniable urge to protect. He went to her instantly, taking a seat to her left. She turned to him, giving him a look that asked what he was doing there. Instead of answering Quinn took her hand in his—which seemed a little we
ird even to him. Still, he looked up and gave Preston a nod. Both his brothers had stopped in the doorway, while Odell Brockington had gone to the right to stand with her husband. The officers stood to Quinn’s left looking stern and unyielding. One in particular was giving Quinn a not-too-happy look.

  “I’m Preston Cantrell, Ms. Brockington’s attorney. I understand you have some questions for her in reference to a murder that occurred,” he began.

  “Officer Dorchester,” the older officer introduced himself and took a step to stand in front of Preston. “My partner and I are down here from Easton. Our guys found a body in a motel off I-33 a couple of hours ago. Her number was the last dialed from his cell phone.”

  Preston nodded. “Okay. What else?”

  “What else?” Dorchester asked. “What else do we need?”

  “That depends,” Preston told him. “If you’re accusing her of murder you need a hell of a lot more evidence than her number in his cell phone.”

  “She’s got motive seeing as she used to date the guy,” Dorchester’s counterpart put in.

  “It’s not a crime to date someone,” Preston added with finality.

  “I want to know where she was and what their last conversation was about. That’s all for now,” Dorchester told him.

  Preston looked to Nikki then back to Dorchester. “What’s the time of death?”

  Dorchester’s lips thinned as he frowned. “I want to know where she was all day. From the time he made that call up to now.”

  Preston shook his head. “No. Give us a time of death and she’ll provide an alibi for that time. Either that or go back up to Easton and come back with a warrant to arrest her.”

  “You really should be more cooperative,” Dorchester’s sidekick said to Preston, placing his hands on his belt, the right hand landing closer to his gun than Quinn liked.

  That’s when Parker stepped up. “Allow me to introduce myself, Officers. I’m Detective Parker Cantrell from the Baltimore City Police Department.”

  Dorchester barely looked Parker’s way. “No jurisdiction here,” he claimed.

  Parker chuckled. “You may be right. But harassment by a police officer is the same all over the state. Now, I figure you’re not the investigating officers on this case. They would still be in Easton doing a canvass of the neighborhood where the body was found and notifying the next of kin. That means you’re either here on your own pulling a rogue interrogation that you hope’ll make you look good when you ride back to Easton, or you’re not the brightest two officers on the force.” Parker shrugged. “I’m wavering back and forth on which one.”

  “Look, I don’t have time for this circus,” Dorchester snapped, looking from Parker to Preston. “Look-alikes showing up when I’m trying to question a suspect is not what I’m used to. Now, if you please, Ms. Brockington, where were you from seven thirty this morning until we just saw you walking up the street?”

  Preston was about to object, but Nikki held up a hand to stop him. “I’ll answer him. I left my house to walk to work at seven fifteen. I arrived at The Silver Spoon around seven forty and didn’t leave again until six thirty. I walked back home and that’s when you saw me.”

  Her hand shook slightly as she spoke, so Quinn gripped it a little tighter, to let her know it was okay. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  “What did you talk about when he called you?”

  She kept her back straight, her eyes focused on the cop. “We didn’t talk. He said hello, called me immature, and I hung up. That’s it.”

  “The call lasted about forty-two seconds,” Carl added.

  Dorchester gave him a scathing look. “Let me handle this, Deputy,” he told Carl, who frowned right back at him.

  “Okay, she’s given you an alibi. That’s all you get,” Preston told him. He reached into his back pocket for his wallet and pulled out a card. “Call me if you have any more questions. Do not contact my client directly,” he added with a tone of warning while passing Dorchester the card.

  With a snatch the officer took the card and looked back at Nikki. “Witnesses who saw you at work?”

  This time Quinn answered. “I’m staying at The Silver Spoon. Came down into the kitchen a little after eight this morning and she was already there.”

  Dorchester gave Quinn a skeptical look. “And who are you? The new boyfriend?”

  Nikki immediately pulled her hand from Quinn’s and shook her head. If he was going to say yes she’d certainly blown a hole in that comment with her quick reaction. But Quinn wasn’t going to say yes. “My name’s Quinn Cantrell. I’m one of the owners of The Silver Spoon. Ms. Brockington works for me.”

  Again, the look Dorchester was giving them said he didn’t buy it. But Quinn knew he didn’t have any other choice.

  “Who saw her leave and who knows if she stayed there all day? Easton’s only about an hour and a half away. She could have left, done the murder, and come back before being noticed.”

  “I made a lot of calls today, from my office. Check the phone records, you’ll see I was right there all day. And I worked in the restaurant during lunchtime so I’m sure some of the patrons there will remember seeing me. Marabelle Stanley and Louisa Kirk were there and so was Inez King, meeting with some man I didn’t recognize. They’ll all say I was there,” Nikki told him.

  “Now I’ll show you gentleman to the door,” Preston told them.

  “We’re not finished,” Dorchester’s sidekick protested.

  “Oh yes you are,” Parker told him, touching an arm to his elbow and extending his arm as if to tell him to take this way out.

  The guy didn’t like Parker touching him, and when he pulled away again his hand went to his side and his gun.

  “You’ve got an itchy trigger finger there, Officer,” Parker grinned, but it wasn’t a funny look. It was lethal and laced with a silent threat that had the officer’s hand moving just slightly in the opposite direction. “Better get that checked out. Once you get back to Easton, that is.”

  “This way, gentlemen,” Ralph Brockington said, moving past them and into the foyer.

  Quinn could hear him saying something about calling commanding officers to report the disrespect to his home and his daughter.

  “Why are you here?” Nikki asked Quinn the moment the police were gone.

  “Preston told me what was going on. I wasn’t going to let you go through that alone,” he replied.

  “I wasn’t alone,” she argued, standing. “My parents are here.”

  Quinn nodded and stood with her. “And now so am I.” She was shaken up so he wasn’t going to let her jabs get to him. He’d come here to support her and he was going to do that whether or not she liked it.

  “You’ve certainly grown up, Quinton,” Odell interrupted. “What are you doing with yourself now?”

  “I’m an oncologist in Seattle,” he told her.

  Her lips formed a perfect O. “Really? Hmmm, I guess that was your calling.”

  “I enjoy it,” he said for lack of anything better to say.

  Nikki’s mother was a little taller than Nikki, her complexion much darker. It was obvious Nikki was a mixture of her mother’s African-American heritage and her father’s Caucasian. Odell’s hair was neatly pinned up in fat curls that would probably fall to her shoulders when loose, and her eyes were assessing, knowledgeable. Quinn felt mildly uncomfortable.

  “We were very sorry to hear about Janet’s passing,” Odell continued, her smile never wavering, her eyes never slipping past him.

  “Thank you.”

  With a nod Odell continued, “How are you and the family getting along?”

  “We’re getting along just fine, ma’am,” he answered, but he really wanted a moment alone with Nikki. Despite how serious this situation was, his desire to touch her was stronger than ever.

  By that time Preston and Parker had come back into the living room with Nikki’s father right behind them.

  Ralph Brockington was a broad man, ta
ll and almost fierce looking with his bushy black-and-gray beard and his slightly receding hairline. His eyes were dark and at this very moment angry as he set them firmly on Quinn and Nikki.

  “I want somebody to tell me what’s going on here,” he said, hooking and running his thumbs up and down the plaid suspenders he wore.

  Mr. Brockington still had a good build, Quinn suspected because he remained pretty active even as the chief of firemen. Sweetland wasn’t that big so they wouldn’t have as many firemen as a department in a major city would have. Which meant that, even as chief, he was probably fighting right alongside his men.

  “I don’t know what’s going on, Dad,” Nikki spoke up. “I went to work this morning and came home to police at my door.”

  “But this guy, he called you this morning?” Ralph asked.

  With a sigh Nikki folded her arms over her chest and moved toward the window. She touched the sheer curtains with a hand that Quinn saw still shook and looked outside, as if to assure herself the cops had gone.

  “It happened just like I said. He called, I told him not to call me anymore, and he accused me of being immature. End of conversation,” she said quietly.

  “How frequently did you receive these types of calls from this man?” Preston asked.

  “We dated for about six months, two years ago. It was over the first week in December and he didn’t start calling again until this year, around Valentine’s Day I think. It was just off and on leaving messages that I never returned. In the last week he’s called a lot more.”

  While she talked Quinn thought back to his conversation with Michelle this morning. He figured Nikki was talking about the guy who’d lied and betrayed her. In that moment Quinn experienced an emotion he never had before—jealousy. The way Nikki was looking at that window, the breathy soft whisper of her voice as she spoke gave the distinct impression that she’d still been in love with this man.

  “Randall Davis was a liar and a con,” Odell stated without a stitch of remorse. “He waltzed into this town looking for an innocent to have his way with. And he told all kinds of lies to get what he wanted.”