by Cindy Stark
Hazel widened her eyes in interest. “Tell me more.” If she was going to encourage gossip, she might as well use it in her favor.
Gretta scrunched her features as though that would help her access her memory. “It was at a public function, maybe a year ago. A dinner and silent auction to benefit the library. Mrs. Winthrop attended, which she doesn’t usually because of her ailments. In place of Mr. Winthrop, if I recall. I remember her apologizing for his absence, but she was there in his place.
“It was a lovely event held during the summer under the stars,” she continued. “Everyone dressed so fancy. Mrs. Winthrop seemed to be on top of her game, having a fantastic evening. I do recall that she’d danced with Teddy Cornaby several times, and she always looked flushed when he returned her to the table next to my family’s. It was good to see her so happy.”
“But Mr. Winthrop showed up.”
“That’s right. The evening was almost at an end when Mr. Winthrop arrived. Mrs. Winthrop and Teddy had danced not long before, but this time, instead of bringing her back to her table, they stood at the edge of the dancefloor talking. Mr. Winthrop took exception to someone chatting up his wife in his absence, and the men exchanged several heated words before Mrs. Winthrop stomped off, red-faced and looking mortified. Teddy balled a fist, but someone…I don’t remember who held him back long enough for Mr. Winthrop to get in the last word and chase after his wife.”
Gretta tucked a strand of midnight hair behind her ear. “Most chalked it up to too much drinking, but now that you bring it up again, it does make me wonder exactly how much Teddy cares for her.”
Hazel nodded thoughtfully. “I’m starting to think the same. Chief Parrish said he’d check his alibi.”
Gretta’s expression brightened. “Oh? You’ve already talked it over with the handsome chief?”
Hazel rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t like that. We had a casual conversation while he helped me carry groceries to my car.”
“That’s very gentlemanly. I don’t recall him helping any other ladies in town with their groceries.” She placed a pointer finger on her lips and shifted her gaze toward the ceiling as though trying to remember.
“Stop,” Hazel chided. “There’s nothing between us.” Even though she suspected more and more that Peter might wish for there to be.
Her assistant shrugged. “If you say so.”
She shook off her annoyance and refocused on the murder. “If you saw this heated display between the two men, then most of the town probably did, too. The chief would already know about this, right?”
“Maybe,” Gretta answered. “I don’t know how much he pays attention to gossip. Even if he did hear or see it, he may have forgotten.”
“Maybe you should pay him a visit and tell him,” Hazel suggested.
“Or,” Gretta enunciated with exaggeration. “Maybe you should. You’re the one he wants to see. Not me.”
Hazel sighed. “Just go tell him. You can go now on company time.”
She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “I think you’d better go. That way you can know for sure that he knows because you seem very adamant that happens.”
Her attitude pricked Hazel’s ire. “Aren’t you? A man is dead after all.”
“If I didn’t think you’d take care of it, I would. But I know you’ll do it.”
Hazel stared her down for ten long seconds. “You are the worst.”
“No, I’m not,” she said in her sweetest voice. “I’ll man the store while you do what you can to help the handsome chief solve the crime.”
If she could hex Gretta’s shoelaces and make her trip right then, she would have. “Fine. I’ll do my civic duty and tell the chief.”
She retrieved her purse from the back room and hoofed it the block and a half to the police station.
Margaret greeted her with a warm smile. “Hey, girlfriend. He’s in his office. Go right in.”
Hazel paused. “Shouldn’t you announce me or something? What if he’s busy?”
A conspiratorial smile twinkled in her eyes. “I have a feeling he won’t be too busy to see you.”
Great. Just great. Now, his assistant was in on the matchmaking.
Hazel’s pulse increased with each step she took from the front desk to Peter’s office. The door was closed, so she knocked.
“Come in,” he called.
She sucked in a steadying breath, hoping it would calm her nerves and opened the door.
“Hazel,” he said with a smile. “Come in.”
She entered and purposely left the door open. She wasn’t about to fuel any of the silly rumors floating about town. She sat in front of him at his desk like she had the previous time, and a mass of butterflies rampaged her stomach.
“You brought me more information.” He seemed so certain. And he was right.
“Maybe. Maybe not. Do you remember an auction last year for the library? A night where Mrs. Winthrop attended alone until her husband showed up at the end?”
He leaned back in his seat. A cold chill expanded from him and descended on her senses like a thick fog. “Actually, I was out of town during that time.”
“You missed the town’s big event?” she asked in a teasing tone, trying to bring the light back into his heart.
He gave one swift nod. “It was the anniversary of my wife’s death. I’d traveled to Pennsylvania to return her ashes to her family’s burial plot. They’d asked that she be placed there, and I thought she might like to go home.”
He snorted sadly. “She always wanted to go home. I should have taken her.”
Overwhelming pain shot straight to Hazel’s core. Deep grief expanded, and she recognized his love for the woman he’d married.
But she also sensed his acceptance and willingness to continue on in his life and make space in his heart for future happiness. “I’m so sorry, Peter. I…I didn’t know.”
“No.” He released a long breath. “Of course, you didn’t. And that’s in the past now, where it’s best left.”
He scrubbed a quick hand over his jaw and met her gaze once again. “You came to give me some news.”
Hazel quickly repeated Gretta’s story. “Since you weren’t in town, you could ask others to corroborate what she said, though I don’t think she’d have any reason to lie.”
“No, I don’t either. And it certainly adds more suspicion to Teddy Cornaby. I think maybe it’s time I bring him in for formal questioning.”
A shiver raced over her. “I don’t want to believe that nice man could be guilty of such a crime, but I guess many people throughout history have done crazy things for love.”
“Ain’t that the truth?” He tapped his pen as he stared at the yellow pad in front of him, and she sensed the duality fighting inside him. Was he trying to decide if he should also impart more information, or was something else bothering him?
He stopped and met her gaze. “A word of caution. Stay away from Mrs. Jones next time you visit the house.”
“Why?”
“She’ll likely be in a worse mood than before. With Florence’s blessing, I ransacked the kitchen looking for anything that might indicate foul play caused by witchcraft or poison.”
She grew silent and very still. For all she knew, there were still remnants of her special sleeping tea in that pantry. “And?” she managed to say.
“Nothing. But we have one angry cook on our hands. I promised Florence I’d have the priest out later today to bless the house, check for residual black magic and to clear it of negative energy.”
The priest wouldn’t be able to detect the presence of her magic, would he? After all, she hadn’t been careful to conceal or protect herself or her works while she’d been inside. If he was a regular priest, she’d have nothing to fear. But there were those in the world who could sense otherworldly things.
Once again, she wondered if she should pack and run like Rachel or take her chances. “I’m sure that will put Florence’s mind to rest.”
He rais
ed his brows as if to question that topic. “Let’s hope so.”
Hazel ached to run, but a question kept her glued to her seat. “You mentioned poison. Do you have reason to believe the murderer poisoned Mr. Winthrop?”
“Possibly. The autopsy revealed he died by asphyxiation. Since you all watched him take his last breath, that rules out that he might have been smothered. Poison, something that would keep him from taking in air, is my only other option.”
“Or witchcraft,” she added, trying to keep the sarcasm from her voice.
“Yes. Witchcraft.” He exhaled, sounding frustrated. “One more thing while you’re here, Hazel.”
Something in his tone put her on alert. “Of course. What is it?”
His gaze, dark and serious, pinned her. “You failed to mention Mr. Winthrop forced you off the drive, causing you to crash your bike as you approached his house the day he died. Mick Ramsey stated you were very angry at the time.”
She clenched her jaw, withholding the string of nasty words hovering there. “Of course, I was angry. Wouldn’t you be? But I wasn’t angry enough to kill the man.”
She shifted in her chair. “Are you seriously considering me as a suspect?”
“A bright young woman once suggested that I needed to consider everyone until I could rule them out.”
She smirked at his comment. “I don’t believe that would hold up in court as a motive for murder unless I was a psychopath who was bent on revenge for a minor infraction. Which obviously, I’m not. Just in case I need to point that out.”
He grinned then, and despite her ire, her insides warmed as well. “No worries. You’ve been ruled out. I was just curious why you’d hide that from me.”
“I didn’t hide it. I just didn’t think about it after everything that had happened that day.” Curses on Mick for bringing it up again.
He trapped her with a beguiling gaze. “No more secrets, then?”
Her conscience instantly engaged in battle mode. She’d always prided herself on telling the truth, but how could she now? Not when it might endanger her life. She swallowed, but the lie remained on her tongue. “Of course not. I’m an innocent person.”
With only one tiny thing to hide.
“Good.”
She stood, taking that as an excellent time to vacate his office. He followed suit and walked her to his door. “Have you given any thought to which day we should go to dinner?”
She bit her bottom lip, wanting so much to say yes. “I really don’t think it’s a good idea, Chief Parrish.”
“Peter,” he corrected.
“It’s not a good idea, Peter,” she repeated.
“I see. You need more time to decide. That’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.” He placed a hand on the small of her back and guided her toward Margaret’s desk. “Thanks for stopping by, Hazel. Feel free to do so any time.”
Margaret beamed, leaving Hazel unable to concoct a decent reply. Instead, she smiled. “I guess I’ll see you both later.”
“Bye,” Margaret called.
“Later,” Peter said with a promise in his eyes.
Sixteen
Hazel was back on her bicycle the following morning, excited to be out in the fresh air. She’d loaded her deliveries into her basket and had climbed on board. As she pedaled, she found herself humming.
Humming.
She never hummed. Not unless she was happy, and she had no reason to feel particularly happy now. Not living on the edge of disaster as she was.
She wasn’t sure why she took a different route this morning, one that took her past the police station, but she did. Maybe she’d been avoiding thinking about Peter. And maybe she needed to.
She couldn’t keep pretending he didn’t affect her. Maybe, after this case was solved and she had no reason to see him often, things between them would cool.
She’d have to take in the police station’s weekly tea delivery, but she could pop in and out and not stick around. Or perhaps ask Gretta to take theirs and a couple of others, feigning a growing client list that had become hard to manage.
It could happen, she reasoned.
As she neared the police station, a police cruiser pulled to a stop in front of the building. The officer stepped out and then helped an angry Teddy from the backseat.
The promised interrogation. Hazel stopped her bike not far from the doors and pretended to rearrange the contents of her basket.
“You’re making a huge mistake,” Teddy said as he wrenched his arm free from the officer.
Hazel didn’t glance up as they passed a hundred feet away and entered the building. The doors closed behind them and stirred the burning curiosity inside her. She’d give anything to be a fly on the wall.
She glanced at her basket. Maybe she couldn’t be a fly, but she could take the sample package of her new Himalayan spiced chai she’d created earlier that week and had intended to give to Mrs. Stoker who loved that sort of thing. She could give it to Margaret instead. If Peter tried it, she knew he’d like it.
Hazel might not hear anything, depending on where Peter conducted his interrogations, but then again, she might learn something.
The prospect of overhearing had her off her bike and walking into the police station. Just as she stepped into the main area, the door to Peter’s office closed.
“Hey,” she said to Margaret with a bright smile.
“Well, hello, Miss Hazel.” Today, Margaret wore all black, from her slick, vinyl pants to the blouse that laced all the way up her neck. She glanced toward Peter’s office and then gave Hazel a sad smile.
“Bad timing today. The chief just went in with someone.”
“I didn’t come to see Chief Parrish,” she said with a smug smile. “I came to see you and bring you this.”
She offered the package of tea. “As one of my best customers, I wanted you to be the first to try my new spiced chai.”
Raised voices came from inside Peter’s office, and they both paused to glance in that direction.
“Look,” Teddy said in a voice loud enough to penetrate the door. “I did not kill that man. Did he deserve to die? One hundred percent yes. But I didn’t kill him.”
“Please have a seat, Mr. Cornaby,” Peter said in a lowered tone, and Hazel realized just how much Margaret could hear of every conversation that took place in Peter’s office. No wonder she thought Peter liked her.
“Mr. Cornaby? Really? Is that what we’ve disintegrated to, Chief Parrish.”
“I have to ask, Teddy. We both know you’ve loved Florence for a long time. She suffered at the hand of her husband, and maybe you’d had enough and decided it was time to claim her for yourself. That gives you motive to kill. Many would understand.”
He snorted. “I didn’t kill him. It wouldn’t have done me any good, anyway. She doesn’t love me like that. I’ve asked her to run away with me numerous times over the years, but she always turned me down. Perhaps you need to find that witch who escaped town, huh? Why did she run if she didn’t do it?”
“Rest assured, Teddy. We’re working all angles of the investigation. All I need from you is someone who can vouch for your whereabouts that morning, and I’ll cross your name right off that list.”
“No, I don’t have anyone who can give me an alibi. I was alone in a hotel room in Boston.” Teddy said, anger lacing each word.
“That’s unfortunate.” Hazel could hear in Peter’s voice that he really felt it was.
“Am I under arrest then?”
“No. Not now. I intend to continue the investigation, but we will be checking records, purchases, etc. over the past year.”
“Do whatever you need to, Chief Parrish. In the meantime, I’ll be contacting my lawyers.”
A long pause ensued, and Hazel switched her attention back to Margaret, knowing the interrogation would soon be at an end. “Uh…I was saying I’d hoped you’d be willing to try my new blend of chai tea and let me know what you think about it. Then maybe if you like it, you could s
pread the word.”
“Of course.” Excitement lit Margaret’s eyes as she took the gift. “I would love to be your official taste tester. You just say the word.”
She lifted the lid from the tin and sniffed. “Smells amazing. If you want to hang around, I could make us both a cup. It would give you a good excuse to see Chief Parrish.”
She cringed as her cursed cheeks heated again. “That’s okay. He’s busy, and I really did come to see you. I have other deliveries to make, so I’ll catch you on Monday for your regular delivery, okay?”
“All right.” The flamboyant lady seemed disappointed. “We’ll see you then.”
Hazel hurried from the building before Teddy, or worse, Peter could discover she’d been in the office and had overheard every word.
She was headed to Florence’s next and at complete odds with herself now. Did she warn her friend of Teddy’s possible involvement? It would break her heart. But if she was in danger…she had to know.
When Hazel arrived, she found discovering the whereabouts of Florence had become a hide and seek game with nearly every visit it seemed. She certainly ventured out of her bedroom more often these days. Who could blame her though?
Hazel had almost given up searching when she found Florence in her husband’s bathroom this time, rifling through his medicine cabinet. Her features were contorted as though she was in pain. “Florence? Are you okay?”
The woman squeaked in surprise and then grimaced. “Lord, but you gave me a fright.” She sighed. “This darned hip is acting up something awful today, and I need more ibuprofen. Albert used to keep a bottle in here, but I don’t see it, and I didn’t think I could make the trek downstairs. I’d like something stronger, but I can’t have another pain pill until later today.”
“Why don’t you go lie down, and I’ll ask Mrs. Jones for some for you? You’re looking a little peaked and should probably get off your feet. I think I’ll grab what’s left of the chamomile tea if you’d like to rest this afternoon. It might be good for you.” Whatever Hazel didn’t use for Florence would be going home with her that afternoon.
