Death of a Double Dipper (Stormy Day Mystery Book 5)

by Angela Pepper

  He looked straight at me, his big brown eyes extra serious-looking due to the new dark circles underneath them. “Should I turn myself in?”

  Jessica laughed nervously. “That's funny.”

  I slowly withdrew my outstretched hand. Jessica was a gentle soul who always saw the best in people, but I'd learned to pay attention to the smallest signs of guilt or shame. And the fumes coming off Dean Lubbesmeyer were pretty strong.

  Casually, I said, “We could call the police right now to come take a statement.” I paused. “That is, if you think you might have done something wrong. Maybe by accident.”

  Dean pushed his chair back and stood quickly. “Never mind.” He started stacking the stainless steel serving bowls of potato chips on top of each other, crushing the chips carelessly.

  Jessica asked him, “Did you cut a cupcake in half that day?”

  He paused in his stacking of bowls. “A cupcake? Yes, I do believe I did. I was testing the knives when the blond realtor came in and screamed. I was too embarrassed to say I'd been playing with the knives, so I made up something stupid on the spot. I think I told her I was on a diet.” He stared at Jessica, his eyes bulging. “How did you know about that?”

  “Oh, Dean,” Jessica said warmly. “You silly goose. You scared the dickens out of Samantha that day. She actually told us about it. I guess she hasn't met you before, so she didn't know who you were.”

  “No,” he said plaintively. “No, no, no,” he cried. “This is bad, right?”

  “It's not bad,” I said calmly. I was feeling more confident about his innocence by the second. If he'd made Samantha scream that day, it had probably made him feel awful. That could be what he was feeling guilty about now.

  Jessica looked at me and flashed her eyes for me to fix the situation.

  I told Dean, “It's good, see? You have an eyewitness who saw you touching the knives on Saturday. You're actually better off than if you hadn't frightened poor Samantha.”

  He squeezed the bowls in his hands, crushing more potato chips audibly. “So, I don't need to hire Logan to defend me?”

  Jessica let out a loud, high-pitched laugh. “Not unless you killed someone! You didn't stab Michael Sweet to death in a tub, did you?”

  More potato chips crushed under pressure. “Of course not,” he gasped. “No, no, no.”

  “You could talk to Logan if you want,” I said. “Just to be certain.” I used one hand to make a sweeping gesture between myself and Jessica. “Neither of us is qualified to give legal advice.”

  “But you know stuff,” Dean said. “You know about epi-feel-y-alls”

  “Epithelial cells,” I said.

  “Exactly,” he replied, and he sat in his chair again. He set the bowls on the table and covered his face with his hands. “Ugh, what a mess.”

  “Dean, why were you at the open house anyway? You guys already bought a house, and a potato chip factory.”

  He kept his hands over his face. “I was thinking it might be a good starter home for one of the kids when they get done with college. I could rent it out for the time being, as an investment.”

  Jessica said soothingly, “That's a very generous and kind thing to do for your children. Lucky kids.”

  “This is not legal advice, but you probably have nothing to worry about,” I said. “Did you sign the visitor log that day?”

  “I think so,” he said.

  “Then the police already have your name. If they recovered DNA from something and wanted to exclude people, they would have been in contact. I know they reviewed the visitor log.”

  He peered at me from between his fingers. “They did? How do you know?”

  Oops. I wasn't supposed to tell people that Dimples fed information to my father who fed it to me.

  “I'm assuming they did,” I said quickly. “They're good cops. Very thorough. They've got this one under control, I'm sure.”

  Dean slowly lowered his hands. “If you say so.” His eyes weren't as bulging, and his eyelids looked almost sleepy. He yawned. “I think I'll finally be able to sleep tonight. Thanks for letting me get that off my chest. I'm going to tell Eve about it now. I've been keeping it to myself all week, but she always knows when something's up.” He yawned again. “The spouse always knows.”

  “Go home and talk to Eve,” I said.

  He grabbed the bowls and got to his feet again.

  “Hang on just a minute,” I said with a slight growl.

  His eyes bulged guiltily and he gasped, “What?”

  “Those are my bowls,” I said.

  He let out a high-pitched laugh. “Of course they are.” He set the bowls of crushed chip samples on the table. “Keep the chips.”

  As soon as Dean Lubbesmeyer left, I called my father and gave him a summary of what had just happened.

  “They should have some results back on the knife,” he said. “The lab's always backed up, but this should have been a high priority.” He muffled the speaker and spoke to someone else in the room. When he came back, he said, “Dimples wants to talk to you.”

  “I don't want to talk to him,” I said. “I don't want anything to do with this case.”

  “Then why'd you call?”

  “Dad, tell Dimples it's nothing. I'm just being paranoid.”

  “He's waving his hand for me to give him the phone.”

  “I gotta go,” I said. “Jessica just put dinner on the table.”

  “At eight o'clock?”

  “Love you, Dad.” I ended the call.

  Jessica made a tsk-tsk sound. “Lying to your father?”

  “No,” I said sullenly. “If I take a second helping of that lasagna, it's technically not a lie.”

  She gave me an amused look and pulled the wrapped-up lasagna pan from the refrigerator.

  At eight-twenty, there was a knock at the door.

  “The movie,” I said with a start. “I'm supposed to go see that new horror movie with Logan at nine o'clock.”

  “You forgot?” Jessica gave me a crooked smile as she looked over my lounge outfit. “If you're going on a date wearing pajamas, you should at least make sure the top and bottom match.”

  I ran toward my bedroom. “Can you stall Logan while I get changed?”

  “I'll do my best,” she said, laughing. She yelled at the door, “It's not locked!”

  The door opened and someone in boots came in. “Hello, Ms. Kelly.”

  “Officer Dempsey!”

  I groaned, and not just because someone had shrunk my favorite jeans in the wash and I had to wiggle to get into them. Officer Kyle Dempsey must have left my father's house and come straight to mine right after my phone call.

  When was I going to learn to stay out of investigations that weren't my business?

  Chapter 21

  “Dimples, talk fast,” I told Officer Kyle Dempsey. “I've got a date tonight.”

  His sky-blue eyes fixed on my shirt, which was still the pajama top I'd changed into after dinner, before I'd realized I had plans to see a movie with Logan.

  “Stormy, you don't have to lie to me,” he said, looking straight at my flannel shirt.

  “I'm not dressed yet,” I said.

  “Ah,” he said, as though he didn't believe me. “Either way, I won't be long. I'm going to see that new sci-fi horror movie everyone's talking about.”

  “Hah! That's where I'm going, too.”

  “Great. You can sit beside me and share my extra-large tub of popcorn.”

  “I'm going with Logan.”

  “Oh.” Kyle grinned, the dimples in his smooth, young-looking face deepening. “Then I take back my offer. It's bad enough I have to see Logan with you. He's not getting any of my popcorn.” He turned toward Jessica, who was making a cup of chamomile tea in the kitchen. “How about you, Red? I've got a spare ticket.”

  “Thanks, but I don't do horror movies.” She dunked the tea bag three times. “Real life is plenty scary.”

  “But that's the whole point of horror movies,�
�� Kyle said. “It's controlled fun, like being on a roller coaster.”

  “Not really,” she said, shaking her head. “I love roller coasters, but I hate horror movies.”

  “Only because you haven't been to one with me.” He grinned and waggled his eyebrows at her.

  “Stop hitting on Jessica,” I said. “She's got a boyfriend.”

  He turned back to me. “Mitch the Fireman? How's that going?”

  “You tell me. Isn't he a friend of yours? I know you uniform types all hang out at the Loose Moose.”

  “I see Big Mitch around,” Kyle said. “He's so large and muscular. Girls don't like that, do they?”

  “Some girls like that.”

  “Girls like you?” He leaned casually against the kitchen counter next to where Jessica stood. “Should I be hitting the gym a lot more?”

  “Only if you think it will help you catch more bad guys,” I teased.

  Jessica interjected, “You two are so weird.” She tossed her used tea bag in the compost bucket under the sink. “I'm going to read a book in my room. Feel free to continue discussing my love life without me.”

  After she left, Kyle asked, “Am I in trouble?”

  “No more than usual,” I said. Loudly, for the benefit of my roommate down the hall, I added, “I'm glad we're done talking about other people's romantic lives now, so we can get down to discussing homicides, as usual, Officer Dempsey.”

  “Maybe I'm here on a social call.” He sniffed the air over the sink. “Is that tea a legal substance?”

  “Just chamomile,” I said. “The last time Jessica took drugs was during the Great Smoothie Incident.”

  “How about you?”

  “High on life.” I took a seat at the table and kicked out a chair for Kyle. He took off his leather jacket and hung it on a hook by the door, revealing a very form-fitting, pale violet T-shirt with a deep V-neck.

  “Nice shirt,” I said. “Do they make it in men's sizes?”

  He took a seat and quirked a light-brown eyebrow at me. “Is this your sibling rivalry coming out? Are you feeling snappy because I've been spending so much time with Finn?”

  “No,” I lied.

  He gazed at me steadily, his sky-blue eyes only darkened slightly by being indoors. “Let's get to it. We don't have long until your boyfriend gets here.”

  “What?” I pulled together the upper front of my pajama top as I blushed. Too late, I realized he was referring to the movie start time.

  He grinned knowingly. “Why were you asking your dad about knives and DNA?”

  I quickly explained to him all about the concerns my neighbor Dean Lubbesmeyer had about skin cells containing his DNA being found on the knife.

  “It's a moot point,” Kyle said when I was done. “You didn't see the murder weapon in the bathroom, did you?”

  I pulled up a mental image I wished I didn't have. “No. There wasn't anything sharper than a pair of nail clippers in that washroom. Did the killer take the murder weapon away?”

  “We found the knife that matched the wounds. The assailant gave it a good cleaning, with bleach, and tossed it into the washing machine with the clothes for good measure.” He leaned forward, resting his forearm casually on my kitchen table. “But you can't tell your neighbor about that. It's one of the details we're keeping out of the news.”

  I promised to keep the murder-weapon detail to myself.

  We talked for a few more minutes about the case. There'd been some people calling in tips, but nothing concrete.

  Finally, I said, “I hope you make an arrest soon. That'll put everyone at ease.”

  “What we need is physical evidence. Something connecting Colt Canuso to the crime scene.”

  “Colt?” It was the first time Kyle had mentioned a suspect by name, and I didn't like it. “No. He didn't do it.”

  Kyle made a too-casual, forced shrug. “Then find me someone else. Work your magic. Get me a name.”

  I sighed. “I'm not on the clock. Even just talking about this case with you is costing me money, Dimples. This is time I could be spending thinking about something that actually is my business.”

  I would have given him more heck, but my phone alerted me to an incoming message. It was Logan.

  Logan: Have to run out for one more stupid waste of time meeting. Can't make the movie tonight. Sorry. Love ya.

  I glanced up at Kyle. “Love ya,” I said, mystified.

  “Don't tease.”

  “No, it's just—never mind.” I sent Logan back a quick text response and put my phone away. “Do you still have that extra ticket?”

  “Only if you change your shirt. That flannel thing looks something a grampa wears to mow the lawn.”

  I snorted. “You're one to talk. How about we trade? You give me that V-neck and I'll find you something more appropriate, like a burlap sack.”

  “Okay.” Kyle got up from his chair and pulled off the pale purple shirt in one smooth motion. His body was smooth and rippled in all the right ways over his stomach, like buttercream frosting.

  I squeaked. And I stared at his bare abs just a little too long before I wheeled around and ran to my bedroom, calling back for him, “Kyle, put your shirt back on! I was just kidding!”

  I quickly pulled on a dark- gray, scoop-necked shirt and ran to the bathroom to check my hair. It was flipping up at the back in a way that looked intentional. Good enough.

  I popped my head into Jessica's room. She was sitting on her bed cross-legged with Jeffrey on her lap. He kept reaching up and batting the pages as she turned them.

  I asked, “Are you sure you don't want to come to the movie? It's more sci-fi than horror. Not too scary.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Did I hear something about Officer Dempsey having his shirt off?” She put the paperback down and waved her hand. “Never mind. I don't even want to know.”

  “Will you come see the movie?”

  She pointed to the dark gray cat on her lap. “Can't disturb His Royal Fluffiness, sorry. And I don't watch horror movies.”

  I fidgeted by the doorway for a minute. I wanted to tell her how Logan had signed off his text message with a casual Love ya.

  It was not the first time Logan and I had used the word “love.” He'd made a few heartfelt speeches about loving me, but it was usually within the larger context of loving his new life in Misty Falls, as though I was part of the New Life package he'd ordered. So, he'd said something to the effect of “I love you” a few times, but it hadn't yet made it into our daily greetings. Until tonight.

  Was my bearded lawyer boyfriend Logan Sanderson signing off his text message with Love ya because he was genuinely missing me, or because he was overcompensating for something?

  I wanted to get Jessica's take on the situation, but that would mean opening up a whole big discussion, and Dimples was waiting to take me to the movies.

  Chapter 22

  It was a good thing Kyle had pre-purchased two movie tickets, as the show was a hit and every seat was sold out.

  The crowd in line for the nine o'clock show was mostly teens and younger folks who were more concerned with each other. We had to line up outside the small theater, as the seven o'clock showing hadn't let out yet. The theater, like many in small towns, had only one screen. Most movies showed for one week only, which I didn't mind, because it made for more of a big event when everyone in town had to go at the same time.

  Once we joined the line for ticket holders, I scanned the line. There were a few familiar faces in the crowd, but thanks to the youthful audience the film had drawn, I had the rare experience of feeling anonymous.

  I shared my thoughts with Kyle, who said, “That's why I wear things like this V-neck shirt when I'm off duty.” He looked at a group of kids off to the side and pointed at them with his chin. “For example, if I was wearing a dark button-up shirt with a collar right now, that smart-mouthed dipwad over there with the skateboard would recognize me as that jerk cop who busted him for underage drinking last wee
k.”

  We watched the kids for a few minutes.

  I confessed, “I don't know if I'm getting old or what, but I don't like the way that dipwad is talking to the girl with the half-shaved head. She looks like a shy kid who's lost in the world, and I don't like how she's looking at him like he's her new role model.”

  “That dipwad never had a chance,” Kyle said. “But you never know. He could turn himself around, the way my brother Julian did.”

  “Julian Dempsey,” I said, and the name conjured up old feelings. I used to look at Kyle's older brother the way the head-shaved girl was looking at the dipwad with the skateboard. Julian had gone through a pyromaniac phase, but he'd straightened his life out eventually. The last I'd heard—from baby brother Kyle—Julian was a pyrotechnics expert working in the film industry.

  Kyle frowned at me. “Did you have a crush on my brother?”

  “Me?” I laughed. “Gross. No way.”

  “Mm hmm.”

  The doors of the lobby cracked open, and the crowd from the early show began pouring out. A minute later, our line started shifting forward quickly.

  I went ahead to find two seats while Kyle stayed behind to get the snacks.

  The movie was as good as the reviews promised, and Kyle Dempsey shared not just his tub of popcorn with me but also his large bag of almond M&Ms.

  After the film, Kyle had to visit the restroom, thanks to his extra-large tub of iced tea.

  I stood alone in the lobby while the teenage staff walked around cleaning up.

  There was a large cardboard cut-out display advertising a package combo deal for “date night.” The couple pictured was shown sharing a large root beer with two straws.

  The boy in the picture looked so much like Colt Canuso that I almost couldn't believe my eyes.

  I took out my phone, snapped a picture of the cutout, and sent Colt a friend request through his social media account, along with the picture, captioned, “Can you believe this?”

  Kyle came out of the men's room, apologized for taking so long, and we walked outside to his car.