Hidden Peril

by Irene Hannon

  It looked, felt, and smelled like what it appeared to be.

  “I went through the same exercise.” Kristin came to stand beside him, close enough for her faint floral scent to invade his space. “I didn’t notice anything about it that would prompt two murders.”

  “I don’t, either—but I want our people to examine it.”

  “Help yourself. Anything to get to the bottom of this mystery. Let me wrap it up for you.”

  He followed her back to the counter. “I’ll have our people get on this immediately, but in the meantime, I’d like you to keep track of anyone else who buys one of these.”

  “What if they pay cash?” She rolled the candle in bubble wrap and taped the plastic closed.

  “Let’s hope that doesn’t happen until we have a chance to examine this. If someone does pay cash, though, see if you can get a name, and jot down a description. A license plate would be even better. But in all honesty, I have a hunch none of that may matter.”

  “What do you mean?” She put the candle in a small shopping bag, like the one in Elaine Peterson’s bedroom.

  “I’m playing with a theory—but I want to run it by a few people before I get too carried away.”

  She slid the bag toward him across the counter. “Care to share?”

  “Not yet. It’s a bit . . . off the wall.”

  “Now you have me intrigued.”

  “You’ll be among the first to know if the powers that be think it’s worth pursuing.” He picked up the bag.

  Hesitated.

  There was no reason to linger—yet he hadn’t accomplished one of his goals for this visit.

  But he couldn’t ask her outright if she was involved with the Rick guy from the wedding. Or Ryan down the street. He needed a more subtle approach to ferret out that information.

  While the one he had in mind wasn’t perfect, it should give him his answer.

  “I’ll repeat what I said last week. Until we get this sorted out, be more careful than usual.”

  Her complexion lost a few shades of color. “You think I’m in danger?”

  “I don’t know what to think—but caution is never misplaced.” Stay cool, Carter. Maintain a professional manner. Make the next question sound businesslike. “I got the impression you live alone.”

  “Yes.”

  “Any friends or . . . significant other . . . you can rely on in a pinch?”

  “I have some close friends. No significant other.”

  Some of the tension in his shoulders eased.

  The door was open to pursue a social relationship with this woman . . . if he chose to do so at some point.

  The bell jingled, and two women entered the shop, a toddler in tow.

  His cue to exit.

  “If you have any reason for concern, Ms. Dane, call me. Day or night. Don’t take any chances.”

  Her attention zipped from the shoppers back to him. “Would you mind . . . could you call me Kristin? I’m not into formalities.”

  “Sure. And I’m fine with Luke. We may be working this case for a while, and first names are easier. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  Bag in hand, he wove around the displays and pushed through the door—only to discover that dark gray clouds had obliterated the blue sky while he’d been inside.

  Didn’t matter.

  His heart felt sunnier than it had for three long years.

  Thanks to Kristin.

  So the instant this investigation was over, he was going to seriously consider taking his sister’s advice about reentering the dating scene.

  If the lovely owner of WorldCraft was interested.

  Ding-dong.

  Still stirring the vermicelli noodles for her Tuesday night dinner, Kristin checked her watch.

  Who would come calling unannounced at six thirty?

  Unless . . . might Luke be making another unscheduled stop to give her a case update on his way home?

  Pulse revving, she set the wooden spoon on the counter, fluffed her hair in the mirror on the wall of her small foyer, and peeked through the peephole.

  Drat.

  It wasn’t Luke.

  But what in heaven’s name was Colin doing on her porch? Hadn’t he arrived home from his honeymoon less than two hours ago?

  She flipped the lock and pulled the door open.

  Before she could say a word, he barreled in, planted his fists on his hips, and glared at her. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “Hello to you too.” She pushed the door shut. “How was the honeymoon?”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  “I was going to call you tonight. What did you do, go straight from the airport to the office?”

  “No. I called in after we got home. Sarge gave me the new-case highlights—or should I say lowlights? Why didn’t you call me?”

  “You were on your honeymoon.”

  “I could have taken a few minutes to listen to your story. Does Rick know?”

  “Of course. It was all over the news.”

  “Then he should have called me if you wouldn’t.”

  “I made him promise not to.” A sputtering noise sounded from the kitchen, and with a soft exclamation, she dashed toward the back of the condo. “My noodles are overflowing.”

  He followed on her heels, waiting while she removed the pot from the stove and dumped the vermicelli in a colander.

  “Why did you make him promise not to call me?”

  “Come on, Colin.” She faced him. “You were on your honeymoon, and there was nothing you could do from there. Nor did I expect you to. One of your colleagues is handling the case. He seems very competent.”

  “I know. Carter. I already talked to him. My beef isn’t work-related. It’s personal.” He moved closer and grasped her upper arms, twin grooves denting his forehead. “You and I and Rick are friends. More than friends. And we promised to always be there for each other. For crying out loud . . . your shop was the scene of a murder! You found the body! How could you not call me?”

  “I didn’t want to intrude. You deserved a carefree honeymoon.” In hindsight, though, she could see his point. She’d feel the same if the situation was reversed. “But I guess I should have called.”

  “No guessing about it.” He took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. Gentled his voice. “So how are you doing?”

  “Okay.” The word hitched, and she swallowed. It was far easier to maintain her composure while he was yelling at her than when he got all brotherly and solicitous.

  “Right.” Without further conversation, he pulled her into a hug and held her tight.

  She clung to him and closed her eyes, tears leaking out of the corners.

  Thank you, God, for the two guys you sent into my life all those years ago when I desperately needed friends.

  He didn’t pull back until she wriggled out of his grasp and swiped at the moisture on her cheeks.

  “I appreciate you coming by, Colin. More than I can say. But I’m fine. Go home to your new wife. I bet she wasn’t happy about you running out minutes after you walked in the door.”

  “She’s had me all to herself for nine days. And she knows our history. She sent me with her blessing.”

  That sounded like Trish.

  “You picked a good one.”

  “Tell me about it.” A slow smile lifted the corners of his mouth.

  “I assume the honeymoon was . . . memorable?”

  “Very—but too short. I wish she could have extended her spring break by more than two days.”

  “At least you have that trip to Italy to look forward to this summer, after school ends. Two honeymoons is a pretty sweet deal, if you ask me.”

  “Yeah.” His smile broadened.

  “So go spend your last free evening with your wife.” She took his hand and towed him toward the door.

  “You want to join us for dinner?”

  “Are you kidding me? Trish gets high marks for tolerance . . . but let’s not push it. Enjoy your last twelve h
ours together before you go your separate ways tomorrow. Real life will—”

  Ding-dong.

  Kristin halted.

  Another caller?

  “Are you expecting someone?” Colin frowned at the door and tightened his grip on her hand.

  “No. But I wasn’t expecting you, either. Let me see who—”

  “I’ll check.” He nudged her aside and commandeered the peephole. Cocked his head. “Now that’s interesting.”

  “Who is it?”

  He angled back to her. “Carter.”

  “Oh.” A rush of pleasure warmed her cheeks. “Maybe he, uh, has news.”

  “What’s wrong with his phone?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The bell rang again.

  Kristin elbowed Colin aside and turned the knob—but she could feel him hovering behind her shoulder while she pulled open the door.

  “Hi, Luke.”

  “Luke?” Colin’s soft comment close to her ear guaranteed only she could hear his one-word reaction—or the inflection that suggested he had a bunch of questions.

  Kristin ignored him.

  “Hi.” The detective glanced from her to Colin and back again. “I was passing by and thought I’d give you an update on the case. Colin.” He acknowledged the other man with a dip of his head. “But since you have company, I can—”

  “Colin was just leaving.” She moved back, making room for him to pass by. “I’m sure Trish is waiting for him. He can get up to speed on all things law enforcement related tomorrow—after he’s back on duty.” She telegraphed a strong go-home signal to her buddy.

  After a brief hesitation, he took her cue. “Fine. Call me if you need anything. Anytime. Got it?”

  “Got it. Thanks.”

  He gave her one more quick hug, edged past the man on her doorstep, and headed for his car.

  “I should have called before I came.” The bag from WorldCraft dangled from Luke’s fingers.

  “No need. My evenings are typically quiet. I didn’t expect a visit from Colin. Come in.” She motioned toward the foyer.

  He entered, extending the bag as she shut the door. “Your candle—along with a check from the department. There’s a nick out of it where the lab took a sample. It’s too damaged to sell.”

  “You didn’t have to reimburse me. The cost of one candle is a small price to pay for some answers.”

  “We have a budget for this kind of expense. Unfortunately, the investment didn’t pay off. It is what it seems to be—a candle.”

  No big surprise . . . but disappointing nonetheless.

  “So the candles have nothing to do with the murders?”

  “They don’t appear to . . . but I’m still playing with a theory.” He sniffed the spicy aroma wafting through the condo. “Am I interrupting your dinner?”

  “No. It’s cooking. You’re smelling a new batch of spaghetti sauce.”

  And she had plenty of noodles too.

  She caught her lower lip between her teeth.

  Would it be too pushy to ask the man to stay for dinner? After all, he’d only told her about his deceased wife yesterday—and he continued to wear his ring. Wasn’t that a no-trespassing signal?

  On the other hand, what did she have to lose by inviting him? Worse case, he’d decline and she’d eat dinner alone.

  But she’d have a solitary meal anyway if she didn’t ask him to stay.

  Just do it, Kristin. Don’t overthink everything.

  Curling her fingers at her sides, she took the plunge.

  “I’d love to hear your theory, if you have a few minutes. And I have plenty of pasta. Would you like to join me for dinner?”

  8

  It took a moment for Kristin’s invitation to sink in—and for Luke’s lungs to refill.

  The most he’d hoped for with this impromptu stop was a few minutes in her company.

  Instead . . . she’d asked him to share her dinner.

  He could almost hear Becca yelling “go for it” from the sidelines.

  As the seconds ticked by, Kristin gave him an uncertain smile. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. I’m sure you’re busy, and—”

  “No.” He blurted out the denial before he could second-guess himself—or she could retract the invitation. “I was, uh, heading home, with a stop along the way for some fast food. Spaghetti sounds much better. I only get homemade meals these days at my sister’s.”

  Too much information, Carter. Stop babbling.

  He closed his mouth.

  The tension in her features eased. “Come on out to the kitchen while I cook some more noodles.” She led him to the back of the condo, where a spacious bay window offered a view of wooded common ground.

  “I like your place.”

  “Thanks.” She set the shopping bag on a small island and continued toward the stove. “I rented an apartment after I opened WorldCraft until I saved enough for a decent down payment. I bought this condo eight months ago. Now tell me your theory.”

  “Why don’t you put me to work while I do that? I’m not much of a cook, but I set a mean table and excel at cleanup.”

  “I’ll take you up on the table setting. You’ll find plates, cutlery, glasses, and napkins in those cabinets and drawers.” She waved a hand to her right and stirred the spicy-smelling sauce. “We can talk about cleanup later.”

  He had no trouble locating all the items she’d ticked off. “As I told you yesterday, my theory is a little off the wall.”

  “My life has been off the wall for the past week. I think I can handle anything you throw at me.”

  “Okay. Try this on for size. What if someone isn’t after the candles themselves, but what’s in them?”

  She frowned at him as he began setting the small table in the bay window. “I thought you said your people confirmed they were just candles?”

  “The candle I took with me is just a candle. I even had the ME x-ray it. Nothing inside. But maybe only a few of the candles in each shipment contain some sort of contraband.”

  “Like what?”

  “I haven’t a clue.”

  “It would have to be awfully small.” She slid some vermicelli noodles in the boiling water.

  “True.”

  “And the candles are from a monastery. There’s no way Brother Michael—or any of the monks—would be involved in anything illegal.”

  “I’m not suggesting they are . . . but others may have access to the candles. Do you know how the production process works?”

  “It’s a small-scale operation.” She pulled a bag of salad greens from the fridge. “Brother Michael said the monks do most of the work, with help from a few volunteers.”

  “So other people are involved.”

  “Yes . . . but I’m certain the abbot vets anyone who works in the monastery.”

  “In a place like Syria, that can’t be easy to do.”

  “Are you suggesting there might be a . . . plant?”

  “I’m not ruling it out.” He filled some glasses with ice and water at her fridge.

  “Can I be honest?” She sent him an apologetic glance. “It feels like a stretch.”

  The same assessment Cole and Sarge had offered.

  “I can’t argue with that. But I worked a smuggling case once in Richmond with a similar setup. What you discovered about the sales pattern also fits with the notion of someone—or more likely a couple of someones, since no single customer bought four or five candles—coming to retrieve certain candles as soon as they arrive here.”

  “But they all look alike.”

  “Have you examined each one closely?”

  “No.”

  “It’s possible the ones to be retrieved are marked somehow. And if Elaine Peterson bought two of those candles before the intended customer got to your shop, it would connect the two murders. That person needed sales information from your clerk, and the candles from Elaine.”

  Kristin transferred noodles from a colander to a plate and slid them in
to the microwave. “That’s an intriguing notion. Very cloak-and-daggerish. But how could we ever prove it?”

  “With the next shipment.”

  “That won’t be for months. I typically order twenty-five candles every quarter. Ordering sooner would be out of pattern and might make whoever is involved in the scheme suspicious—assuming there is a scheme.”

  “Unless you have a legitimate reason to need candles sooner.”

  “Such as?”

  “An unusually large purchase that’s depleted your stock?”

  Kristin caught her lower lip between her teeth, shook the greens into a bowl, and pulled two bottles of dressing from the door of the refrigerator. “That could work—but the candles still won’t arrive for weeks. What happens in the meantime?”

  “I keep my ear to the ground and continue to troll for leads. The colleague who’s working the Peterson case and I will stay in close touch throughout. If there’s another link beyond WorldCraft, we’ll find it.”

  Kristin drained the second batch of noodles, dished up the sauce, and carried their plates to the table. “Have a seat while I get the salad.”

  He moved to the bay window but stood by his chair until she joined him.

  “Impressive manners.” She sat and slid the bowl of greens toward him.

  “My mom gets credit for that.” He took his seat and helped himself to some salad.

  “Give her my compliments.”

  “I wish I could. She passed away a few months after my wife died.”

  “Oh, wow.” Her eyes softened, and her almost tangible sympathy seeped into his soul. “That had to be incredibly hard. I’m so sorry.”

  “Thanks.” His voice hoarsened, and he fumbled for his water glass.

  To his relief, she let the subject drop.

  “Do you mind if I say a blessing?”

  “Not at all. That’s how I was raised.” Even if he wasn’t always as diligent about prayer as he should be.

  She kept it short and simple, then dived into her meal.

  For a couple of minutes they both focused on their food, but once the edge was off his hunger, Luke broached the subject that had piqued his curiosity at the wedding reception. She hadn’t answered his silent query that night, but she might be more forthcoming now that they were sharing a cozy meal in her condo.