Right, because I wear them everywhere I go. “I had them on earlier, but I took them off when I finished. I’m sure if you ask him about it, Jeff will remember what happened.”
“Was anyone else in the room when you bumped into the vase? Anyone who would have seen you touching it?”
“You think Jeff won’t remember?” I supposed he had been distracted. Maybe it hadn’t made an impression on him. Doubtful, but possible.
Detective Tingey shrugged. “Either that, or maybe someone else saw you pick it up, and decided your prints might distract the investigator.”
That was a new thought—one that gave me chills. “You think someone tried to pin it on me?” I was nobody. Who would dislike me enough to frame me? Or was I just convenient?
“It’s possible. We’re still processing evidence.” He tapped the end of his pen on the top edge of the notebook. “I’m considering all the options.”
I thought about it and tried to remember who else had been in the room. “I think Analesa and Caroline were in the corner talking. Tad had already walked out; he was sent after Jeff and Valerie, and I don’t remember seeing him in the foyer as I left, but I can’t be sure. For that matter, Valerie might have been headed back and seen it as well.” I searched my mind. “I don’t know if Millie or anyone else was there—I wasn’t paying attention—but I know someone else was going to bring the rest of the family and friends in for dinner.” I shook my head. “I wish I was more help.”
“You did fine.” He crossed his arms on the table. “And now, you said you’ve been poking into the murder. Tell me what you’ve picked up, and maybe we can figure out who attacked you last night.”
I studied his expressionless face and wondered if he was prying for information to pin this on me, or if he believed me. I couldn’t tell. “I’ve talked to nearly everyone in the past few days. All the Plumbers, the Richardsons, Jeff, Millie, Lidia and Dahlia—that little girl is so adorable.”
“Yes, it’s unfortunate she’s an orphan now. Either no one knows who her father is, or they’re not telling. No one can find the birth certificate. Dahlia’s aunt seems more than willing to take custody, though, so that’s good.” He lowered the notebook to the table. “Anyone say anything that stood out to you, seemed off?”
“Not really, but I did learn something interesting last night.” I filled him in about the necklace and how Millie said she’d gotten it. He wrote several things, but didn’t change his expression.
“You also said almost everyone had a grudge against the victim. I’m sure I’ve heard it all, but can you tell me what you know?”
“Let’s see—Valerie stole Millie’s college boyfriend when she said they had been getting serious. Though of course, if he was filchable, it probably wasn’t as serious on his end as on Millie’s. And Valerie owed Millie a big chunk of cash.” I started counting on my fingers. “Analesa had been upset with Valerie for being an attention hog, and because she thought Valerie was focusing too much on her baby brother, Shawn, who couldn’t care less about her.”
“Okay, who else?”
He’d made a couple of notes, as if there were a few tidbits he’d been missing, or maybe something I said sparked his memory, but most of the time he watched me. Was he looking for an indication that I was making this all up? Did he think I was trying to deflect the blame from myself? “I’m sure you know about her professional rivalry with Jeff. According to him, she fabricated evidence for a recent lawsuit between their clients, which had cost him some personal pride, if nothing else. They were going head-to-head again on another issue soon.” I studied him for a moment. “But you knew that already.”
He nodded. “Yes, I did. Jeff’s part, anyway. So the Richardsons, the older generation and Tad’s sister, don’t have a reason? No motives or grudges hiding in their past?”
“Aren’t those enough people to check out?” I looked at him, but he stared me down. “No, I don’t have anything on the Richardsons or the older Plumbers. If there’s anything to learn, I haven’t heard a whisper.”
He flipped his notebook closed. “And you’re going to stop looking for answers right now. Someone has it in for you, Miss Crawford, whether it’s related to your search or something else. You need to let yourself heal and keep yourself safe if someone is after you.” A hard glint entered his eyes.
I felt a chill go down my spine, but I suppose that was what he wanted.
Detective Tingey dropped me back in front of my bakery two hours after he picked me up. I still hadn’t eaten breakfast. Painkillers and a long, hot soak in the tub to calm my aches and bruises were in order. I was not amused to enter my little courtyard and find Bronson standing at the door to my apartment, apparently willing to wait until I either came home or stepped outside to deal with him. He did look surprised to see me approaching from the parking lot, though, so I had that small grain of enjoyment.
I pulled out my keys. “If you don’t get out of here and leave me alone, I’m going to apply for that restraining order Jack mentioned.”
“I don’t have that long here before I have to go back to work.” He walked over, lifting a hand as if to push the hair back from my face—something he’d started doing as soon as we’d begun dating. I shifted away and he dropped his hand instead. “Come on, Tess, have a heart. I don’t want you to be alone after the attack, and now you’ve got graffiti on your front window—have you seen it?” When I nodded, he continued, “I’m worried about your safety. You know I love you.”
I didn’t know any such thing, but my options at the moment were to let him in or to shut him out, knowing he’d probably still be there when I left again in three hours. “Fine, be my guest. Just stay in the living room, and keep your feet off the furniture.”
“I’ve never put my feet on the furniture,” he protested as he followed me in.
“You keep acting as though this town makes you nervous, like you think it’s going to wear off on you and you’ll lose some of your city polish. I wanted to let you know what’s off limits, in case you’ve forgotten.” I moved to the kitchen, ignoring his continuing arguments.
The doorbell rang and I groaned. It better be Honey, I thought. If it wasn’t, I might strangle whomever was bothering me when I was tired, hungry and in pain. Or maybe I’d recruit them to help me kill Bronson. Then I could be prosecuted for a murder I did commit.
It wasn’t Honey. Instead, Shawn’s voice was the one questioning Bronson’s presence in my home.
I rubbed my face and stepped back in the living room in time to hear Bronson’s response. “She’s my fiancé, and I love her. What else do you expect me to do when she’s been attacked?”
“Attacked?” Shawn’s eyes zeroed in on me. “What happened?”
When Bronson started answering for me and Shawn turned to listen, I decided my presence was unnecessary and returned to the kitchen to do something about breakfast—a few hours late.
“Hey, where are you going?” Bronson asked.
I ground my teeth, but made an effort at pleasantness. “You didn’t seem to need me, as you’ve already decided you know how I am—even though we haven’t discussed it this morning. I thought I’d leave you to the explanations.”
“Sweetheart, I’m sorry. Don’t get like that.” He came up behind me, placing a hand on my back and rubbing it.
I shifted away, wincing as he rubbed over my sore spot. If he was trying to give comfort, he was failing. Irritation, on the other hand . . . “Don’t you ‘sweetheart’ me. We’re not engaged anymore.” He reached toward me, and I winced again as pain lanced through my shoulder when I brushed his hand back. Determined not to give into it, I opened my fridge. “Are either of you hungry?” As long as I was cooking, I might as well feed them. As much as I’d rather not, good manners dictated that I ask. I really wanted to curl up in a ball and block everyone and everything out until I felt better.
“You know me, I can always eat,” Bronson said. “Especially if you’re cooking.”
�
�I thought we were going out for lunch,” Shawn reminded me as he approached.
I sighed. “I’m sorry. I forgot, I’ve had so much going on since I saw you last. Forgive me?” Now I was acting like a jerk.
“Of course.” He brushed a kiss over the bruise on my forehead in a possessive move. “I’m sorry you had such a rough night. Tell me what happened.” He looked into my eyes, studying my face.
The doorbell rang again and made me want to cry. This time it had better be Honey or I might be the one leaving this apartment. How long did it take her to respond to an SOS text anyway? Thankfully, it was Honey, and she’d brought her adorable toddler, Zoey. I’d been told that at two, Zoey wasn’t considered a baby anymore, but it was close enough in my book.
I called Honey back into the kitchen to chat. The testosterone circling around me was stifling. Bronson had made it clear he had no intention of being faithful to me and Shawn would go home in a few days, so why were they both flexing their man muscles?
“What happened to your face?” Honey asked as soon as she saw me.
“I was attacked last night.” I filled her and Shawn in on what happened.
Shawn swore low under his breath and Honey covered Zoey’s ears so she wouldn’t hear, but her eyes said if the child hadn’t been there, she would have vented as well. “Are you okay? You should have called me,” she said as she brushed the hair back from my forehead to get a better look at the bruise.
“You should have called me,” Shawn said. “I can’t believe someone wants to hurt you.” He took my hand and gave it a squeeze.
“Bronson was there.” When he gave a superior look, I added with a scowl, “Whether I wanted him to be or not.” I returned my gaze to Shawn and Honey. “It was late and there was nothing either of you could do. I figured I’d fill you in today.”
“Next time, call me.” Honey gave me a hard-eyed stare. “That’s what best friends are for.”
I chuckled. “I hope there isn’t a next time. The last thing I need is to be attacked again.” I took her darling brown-haired girl, ignoring the pain in my shoulder, and changed the subject. “I can’t get over how much this little one looks like you.” I leaned in, nose to nose with Zoey, and crooned. “Yeah, you have your mommy’s eyes. And where did this cute little button nose come from?” I touched the nose in question and she giggled and grabbed my finger. I used my other hand to feather over the tight dark curls on her head. She would probably hate her hair all of her life, but I thought it was adorable.
“According to pictures, the nose came from Great-aunt Martha,” Honey said.
I turned and gave her a questioning look. “Great-aunt Martha?”
“Yes, sorry. Chance’s class has been studying family trees at school and they’ve talked about how heredity works. He thought it was so cool, he’s been analyzing everyone’s features against family photos. He’s decided to turn it into his science project, so he’ll probably hit you up for photos from your family soon.” She pulled a hair elastic from the front pocket of her jeans and used it to pull back her cornrows.
“That sounds like fun. Tell him I’d be happy to help him out.” I opened the fridge and grabbed the milk, shooing the guys back to the kitchen doorway. The room was too small for four of us. “I’m working on a recipe for cheese blintzes. Care for some?”
The guys both agreed with alacrity.
“Are you kidding?” Honey asked. “Have you seen my hips? Do you think I ever say no to good food? Of course I want some! Who could turn down your blintzes?”
I eyed said hips and ignored her comment. She was so not fat, it wasn’t even funny. She was well formed, curvy like a real woman. I didn’t get the whole fascination people had with being so skinny you looked like a twelve-year-old boy, and that had never been a problem for her anyway. “This version is somewhat less fattening than many recipes, but they’re still delicious.”
“Do you ever make anything that isn’t delicious?” She opened cupboards and pulled out flour, salt, sugar and the butter from the fridge. “I’m assuming we start with your famous crepes.”
“We sure do.” I shifted the baby to one hip and retrieved the rest of the ingredients, checking in my personal recipe file to verify that my memory was correct.
“We miss having your recipes around,” Bronson said.
“That’s too bad. I’m sure your new pastry chef will have his or her own recipes to share with you.”
Again, he slid into the voice that had always given me pleasant goose bumps. “It would be easier if you came back to us.”
“Not happening.” He was starting to sound like a broken record, and since he was almost never this persistent about anything, I had to wonder why he had chosen now to start. Could he really feel that bad about what happened? The image of him kissing Karen flashed through my mind again, and I sloughed off the thought of his remorse. “Honey, you said you had a chat with Caroline yesterday?” I passed over the baby and cracked the eggs into my mixer the poured in the milk and oil.
“Yeah. She came into the store to pick up a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and we stopped to talk for a bit. She mentioned the big fight Jeff and Valerie had on Friday. One of the hotel staff told her they were worried they’d have to break it up because they were in each other’s faces about their work.” She dug into the cupboard and pulled out a half-empty box of crackers. “Apparently, Jeff accused Valerie of tampering with evidence, and she denied it. Then he questioned whether her amorous pursuits had extended into the judicial realm. He said he wouldn’t let her ruin any more cases for him.”
My jaw dropped. “Are you serious? He accused her of sleeping with the judge?”
Honey shrugged. “Who knows if the story is accurate? It’s possible the staff member misunderstood or filled in the blanks. Or Caroline might have heard the bits the staff remembered and figured out the rest. According to Analesa, her mother-in-law has never been a big fan of Valerie’s.”
I added flour, salt and baking soda to the bowl, and the mixer whipped them in. “I can vouch for that. Caroline came into the reception room on Saturday morning looking for Valerie, wondering what happened to her. She made a comment about what a better choice Millie would have been as maid of honor.” I used a rubber spatula to scrape the sides of my bowl, and mixed the crepe batter a moment longer before setting it aside.
“I’ve heard her mention it several times—and that was while I was still in Nogales, so she definitely wasn’t keeping it a secret,” Shawn said, standing beside Bronson at the kitchen door.
I pulled out the cream cheese, cottage cheese, sour cream, and put them in a second mixing bowl. “I wonder if Caroline or the staff member at the hotel bothered to share this info with Detective Tingey.” Not that he wasn’t aware there was an issue between Valerie and Jeff, but the argument might provide some extra clues.
“I could put a bug in his ear,” Shawn suggested. “I’ve known Tingey for years. It would be no problem. I gotta tell you, though—Jeff doesn’t seem like the type to kill a competitor. He’s pretty straight and narrow when it comes to his job. Tad says he doesn’t play dirty, even if he does dig for loopholes.”
“Well, maybe it’s time we found out a little more about Jeff, asked a few more people who’ve worked with or against him and see if you’re right.” I tested the pan on the stove to see if it was hot enough, added a swirl of butter to the bottom. When it bubbled, I poured a thin layer of crepe batter into it.
“No way,” Bronson said, stepping into the kitchen again. “The officer last night told you to leave the investigation to the police.”
I sent him a poisonous look that didn’t make him back off at all. “Yes, and this morning not only did I wake up to a threatening message on my window, but Detective Tingey took me in for questioning. He has my fingerprints on the murder weapon, Bronson. I could go to prison for something I didn’t do, and I’m not going to back down.”
“After what happened to you last night, Tingey thinks you’re involved?” Sha
wn looked incredulous.
I shrugged, though I agreed the suspicion was ridiculous. “He talked like he believed me, but he brought me in for questioning, so what does that tell you?”
“I think Bronson’s right,” Shawn said. He reached out, grabbing a small lock of my hair and tugging lightly. “Your safety is important.”
“So says the gun-toting lawman.” I didn’t bother to keep the sarcasm out of my voice, but neither did I pull away as I had when Bronson had tried to touch my hair.
“Yeah, I am that, and I know how dangerous this can get.” His finger brushed my jaw. “I don’t want you to get hurt. You should stay out of it.”
I lifted a brow. “You don’t have useful information about the suspects that might help? No changes or relationship stuff?”
He sighed and released my hair, then leaned back against the cupboards. “Fine. I asked questions yesterday, naturally. I am a cop. It seems you’ve learned everything relevant that I’ve found out on my own. There’s nothing much to add unless you think it’s important that Ana was whining because Tad wants to arrange visits with Dahlia to give Lidia a break. Ana doesn’t want to be a mom yet, and though she and Valerie were best friends, she doesn’t want to take responsibility for someone else’s kid—not even part time.”
“I can’t blame her,” I said. Everyone gave me curious looks.
I was going to continue, but Bronson piped up first. “I thought you wanted kids. We talked about it, about you scaling back so we could start a family. Was that a lie?”
“No, it wasn’t a lie, but we talked about waiting a year or two to have some time alone, then starting with a baby, not with someone else’s half-grown, traumatized little girl.” I held up my hands when they all continued to stare at me. “I’m not saying I wouldn’t take in a close friend’s kid if I was the best choice—I’m saying there is another option here. Lidia seems to love Dahlia, and she’s family, so it’s not like Dahlia’s going to end up in foster care or something.” When that comment seemed to calm their scandalized feelings, I turned back to the pan. “I admit, I was surprised at how close Dahlia and Tad are. They’re very comfortable with each other.”
Brownies & Betrayal (Sweet Bites Mysteries, Book 1) Page 12
