“Marilyn’s children—”
“Are children. Their father was murdered. Their mother accused. Their world was flipped upside down and it’s hard for them to hang on. You shouldn’t take anything they do or say as the truth to your character. You’re not responsible for the predicament Marilyn is in.”
I wiped my eyes. Only Hope would refer to an arrest as a predicament. “I guess I’ll need to be an adult and just accept their glares.”
Grandma Hope squeezed me and stood up, holding out her hand to me. “I don’t think they were shooting daggers at you. That homicide detective was standing behind the last pew. That’s who they are angry with.”
SEVEN
I went back inside the church and settled between my grandmothers, and pretended to listen to the sermon. Though I did a lousy job at it as Grandma Cheryl kept giving me the wait-till-we-get outside look like I was an errant child. Of course to them, I’d always be a child no matter my age. A blessing or a curse depending on the situation.
When the pastor dismissed the congregation, I jumped up, maneuvered around my grandmothers, and headed for the great outdoors. I even beat the ushers offering the have-a-good-week sentiments to the door. I didn’t want to talk to the Bennetts, or Marilyn’s children, in case the evil eye was meant for me. I deserved it as much as the detective.
I came to a sudden stop in the parking lot. I wasn’t the first one out of the church. That distinction fell to Detective Roget who leaned against my car with that half-smile, half-sneer gracing his face. Why did he want to talk to me now? Hadn’t I helped him enough already? There had to be someone else in Eden with information he needed to further his investigation.
I stomped to my car and went around to the passenger door. I unlocked the door with a push of a button on my key ring. “What do you want?”
Opening the door, I tossed my purse into the front seat then gently placed my Bible beside it. The thought of throwing it left me with a vision of lightning bolts streaking from the sky and striking me and the car.
Hmmm… was Roget still leaning against the car?
He followed me with his gaze, his body not moving one inch from its current position. “You made a hasty escape.”
“So did you. Sermon getting to you?” I shut the door and stepped toward the hood of the car. Better for me to peer at him, as I couldn’t see over the car roof very well.
“I asked my question first.”
“No, that was a statement. Didn’t you learn anything in English class?” I finished my question with a superior smile.
“Are you always such a smart aleck?”
I widened my eyes and gasped. “It’s a good thing my grandmothers’ aren’t out here to hear a public servant partaking in such childish name calling. Tsk-tsk.”
He grinned and nodded. “Beg my pardon, young lady. I wasn’t aware your sensibilities were so delicate.”
I rolled my wrist and bestowed onto him a regal smile. “Since forgiveness is divine, and we’re standing in the church’s parking lot, I’ll forgive you.”
Voices drifted from the church as people slowly filled the parking lot. Now everyone would see me talking with the detective and think I was ratting on Marilyn. Or being questioned as an accomplice.
“I have plans for lunch.” I walked the long way around the car. “Can you just get on with your interrogation?”
“Interesting choice of words you use, Miss Hunter.” He watched my every move.
A fluttering motion filled my stomach and worked its way to my limbs. Something in the way his green eyes sparked with a glint of humor unnerved me.
Sighing, I leaned against the car and flipped the keys dangling from the ring out of palm and then back into it. “Seriously, I need to get going. Why are you here?”
“As I said, curious on why you tore out of church.”
“Is that really any of your business?”
His eyebrows rose and he grinned. “Are you kidding me? You’re questioning my need to know basis?”
“Yep.”
“Why are you harassing my granddaughter?” Grandma Cheryl shouted across the parking lot.
I recreated my mean-person-hurt-my-feelings expression from yesteryears and faced my grandmother. Her complexion reddened and she picked up her pace, stalking toward the detective.
This would be good. And served him right.
Roget held up his hands. “Listen, Mrs. Greyfield, I’m not harassing Faith. I just had a few questions for her.”
“On a Sunday? The Lord’s day. I’ve never heard of such disrespect.” With a flip of her wrist, Cheryl snapped open her cell phone. “What’s your name, young man?”
Roget pulled out a leather case and opened it. “Detective Roget. I’m with the homicide department. If you’re planning on calling the Chief, I believe he’s at church right now.”
“I’ll talk to him later.” Cheryl poised a finger above the touch screen. “Right now, I’m calling your mother.”
Roget gaped at her. “You have got to be kidding.”
“I’m serious, young man. Now what’s her last name? I’m not familiar with any Roget’s in these parts.”
“I don’t think he’s from around here, Grandma.” I linked my arm through hers and steered her toward her car.
Roget crossed his arms, his mouth twitching. “Actually, she’s on a cruise. I doubt you can reach her.”
Cheryl shook her high-tech cell at him. “Don’t you underestimate me, young man.”
“I see where she gets it,” Roget muttered. Before I could respond, Hope glided into the scene and stood beside her best friend.
“Cheryl, he’s only doing his job.” Hope linked her arm through Cheryl’s. “I promised the pastor and his lovely new wife a home-cooked lunch at our house.”
“He doesn’t have to do his job in the church’s parking lot.”
Cheryl refused to budge and Roget had the good sense to back away from her.
“I’ll wait around, keep an eye on things,” Steve said and joined our little entourage.
I pushed down the moan bubbling in my throat and out my mouth. Fury churned in my gut at Roget. This was his fault.
“Well, if Steve’s going to be here.” Cheryl touched his arm and her mannerisms went from fierce defender to sweet old woman. “You’ll make sure this detective doesn’t harass Faith anymore?”
Steve met Cheryl’s imploring gaze and nodded. “I promise.”
She patted his cheek and allowed Hope to lead her away to their car. Great. Now I was stuck with Steve managing my conversation with the detective. Or was it the detective’s conversation with me? Either way, I didn’t want Steve involved in my business. Unless he persuaded Roget of Marilyn’s innocence.
Steve crossed his arms in a protective, proprietary gesture that ticked me off.
“I really want to go home.” I shot a glare at Roget then at Steve. “So ask whatever you want so I can leave.”
“Not with Davis listening in.”
“Get on with it, Roget.” Steve placed his hands at his waist and stared at Roget, the defender stance coming through loud and aggravating.
“Aren’t you two on the same side of the law?” Maybe I should leave, let the two of them fight it out. “If this is supposed to be discreet, you both sure are getting the attention of the church members. Mrs. Newsome is going to add this to her blog.”
Steve and Roget turned. Mrs. Newsome was scribbling in her palm-sized notepad, a look of glee splashed on her face. Nothing like gossip material to get Mrs. Newsome fired up. By tomorrow, I’d either be dating Steve or Roget—or both—or a suspect in a murder investigation. It was nice knowing that at least on the web, I had an interesting life.
“Fine. I’ll go wait over by my car,” Steve said. He walked away grumbling under his breath.
Roget looked me square in the eyes. “How do you know I’m not from around here?”
“The fact you don’t know the standard operating procedures. The biggest threat in sma
ll town-life is the I’m-calling-your-mother card.”
“So that’s why one of the interview questions was where my mother lived and was her phone number easy to find.”
“What did you say?”
“It depended on the season and the routes of the cruise ships.”
“Your mother lives on a cruise ship?”
“You could say that.” Roget smiled, an uncomfortable looking gesture. “Since my parents’ divorce, she is either vacationing or performing.”
“Your mom is a performer on cruises?” She sounded like a fun lady. I bet her son took after his father.
“A singer.” Roget crossed his arms and morphed back into by-the-book detective. “I’m here to ask you questions not talk about my mother.”
“That’s a shame. She sounds like an intriguing woman.”
That comment brought out an unrestrained smile from him. “She is.”
An engine revved. A smirk grew on Roget’s face. “Your knight in shining armor?”
I waved in a dismissive manner toward Steve. “Like I need one.”
The smirk morphed into a small smile. “I have to agree. You do a pretty good job of standing up for yourself.” Roget saluted and then pivoted on his heel, leaving me speechless and confused.
What had the detective wanted?
EIGHT
Monday arrived too early. I slapped the button and shut off the alarm. Why had I told my grandmothers I’d open this morning? That’s right, our regular Monday morning opener, Marilyn, was unavailable for the foreseeable future.
Hope and Cheryl had a meeting at the bank. Sierra had to wait until her boys were in school before she came in. And Linda didn’t have her own key yet and got flustered when she dealt with veteran scrapbookers. Those customers became irate when they dealt with unknowledgeable staff.
I tried shutting up the questions that plagued me during the night. Why had Detective Roget hovered around my car on Sunday? To arrest me? Ask questions? Intimidation?
I crossed off arresting me as an accomplice since he walked away. It had to do with Marilyn’s arrest, but what else could he want to ask me about it? I told him everything I knew. Then again, maybe he doubted that since he had to force me to tell him in the first place. First, I avoided repeating what Marilyn said, then badgered him about the scissors disappearing.
Which reminded me, those spaces were still empty. I needed time to rearrange our inventory before customers arrived and questioned the empty shelf space.
After a quick shower, I yanked on a pair of gray jeans and a rose colored t-shirt. I grabbed a lightweight blazer then rushed down the stairs. I snagged a granola bar from the kitchen cabinet. Making coffee would wait until I arrived at the store.
Stepping onto my front porch, I kicked the newspaper behind a bush. Whatever Karen England had to say about Marilyn, I didn’t want to read. For a town named after God’s pure garden, the people liked operating on innuendos and rumors. Then again, believing the lies of the serpent was what got Eve into trouble, along with the rest of mankind.
The only problem was nowadays serpents looked a lot like friends, family, and others we loved. Had loved.
Like Michael and whoever killed him. Charming snakes that fooled you into believing they were harmless and struck at the first opportunity. Michael broke his wedding vows and flaunted it in front of his wife, then someone who knew of the affair used it to get away with murder. I wouldn’t stand by and let someone railroad Marilyn. Been there and someone done it to me.
I needed a plan of action. One, preferably, that didn’t get me in trouble. I hadn’t the skills for a part-time sleuthing career, but I could learn. My job needed undivided attention, and that might hamper the investigation, but I did work for my grandmothers.
If they thought I was hanging out with Steve to hang out with Steve, they’d be thrilled and help me find the time. I just couldn’t let them know there was an ulterior motive. Guilt wiggled around inside of me. I was treading on dangerous ground. I hated being used, and now I was venturing into that area.
But I was planning on helping Marilyn. Making sure she wasn’t charged with murder, not forcing another person into paying consequences for my actions.
When I arrived at the store, Sierra’s car was in the parking lot. If she was here, Hank was still out of work. Since we had holes in the schedule because of Marilyn’s absence, I’d see if Sierra was interested in picking up those hours.
Scrap This would be stormed today as our customers stopped by to get the gritty details of Marilyn’s arrest. Nothing like tantalizing gossip to get a small town out and about.
But there was one easy problem I could solve, the empty scissor slots. Customers gloated about buying the last item but did not like staring at blank spaces. That meant they missed out and turned a happy customer into a voice of dissent.
What excuse could I use to explain the missing scissors? Recall? Contest? Donation? Or maybe I’d just direct all the women to Detective Roget. I’m sure the man didn’t want me lying.
I placed the key into the back lock and turned. Nothing. Great. I jiggled the key until both it and the lock cooperated with each other. I turned the willing knob and walked inside. I left the door unlocked so my grandmothers didn’t have the same trouble.
I maneuvered through the maze of boxes, parted the curtain, and headed for the cutting tools. Rulers were arranged on the hooks usually holding the scissors. I spotted Sierra behind the cash register flipping through a magazine.
Smiling, I headed toward her. “Thanks.”
Sierra slapped the magazine onto the counter. “For what, doing my job? I knew Marilyn usually opened on Mondays and after reading today’s article about Marilyn’s arrest, I figured you might not be up to coming in.”
The heat from the windows warmed my back but I felt chilled. What exactly did the newspaper say that got Sierra fired up? I took a deep breath and hoped it settled the churning sea in my stomach. “I couldn’t tell you what happened.”
Sierra’s lips trembled as tears pooled in her eyes. “Marilyn is my friend, too. Why didn’t you say something when I called you yesterday? I feel like such an idiot. You still don’t trust me.”
Still don’t trust me. The words twisted around in my conscience even as I tried ignoring the truth. I did trust my friends, just because I kept my past private didn’t mean I didn’t fully believe in my friends and family. Or did it?
I dragged a stool closer and sat down. “It’s not that I don’t trust you.”
The look in Sierra’s eyes spoke of her doubt.
I sighed. “Sierra, the detective warned me if I interfered in the case, I’d be in huge trouble. And I took that to mean not telling anyone anything. I didn’t even tell my grandmothers. Maybe if I thought about it, I’d have realized that saying Marilyn was arrested wouldn’t get me in trouble. It’s not like no one was going to find out.” I tried to keep emotions locked up, but the confession at the end trembled my voice.
Sierra’s eyes softened and she rested a hand on my arm. “What’s wrong, Faith?”
“It was my fault Marilyn was arrested.”
“That’s nonsense. You had to tell the detective what Marilyn said.”
I heaved out a breath. “Marilyn blames me. She says I owe it to her to find the real murderer.”
Sierra’s mouth fell open. “She asked you?”
The bell above the door chimed. Sierra handed me a manila envelope. “Jasper dropped that off a little bit ago.”
I opened up the envelope. The inventory list of scissors. I dropped it into my purse, or as my Grandma Cheryl called it, my “getaway bag.” The newspaper lying on the countertop grabbed my attention. I read the headline: Spousal Revenge. Cheater Dies.
I couldn’t grasp if the headline meant the suspect was right or wrong for offing the cheating spouse. Not that Marilyn killed her husband. Though it sounded like the public held some sympathy for Marilyn—if she did commit the crime.
I started reading the
article, but the photograph accompanying piqued my interest. The home-wrecker sobbed over Michael’s blanket-draped body. Interesting. How close to Michael had the girlfriend been when Michael died?
I needed the pregnant mistress’ name. Referring to her as home-wrecker wouldn’t get me very far in questioning people. I started my investigation by reading the article.
Apparently the reporter, Karen England, didn’t have the whole scoop. She identified the crying woman solely as Annette Holland, a co-worker of the victim. Self-proclaimed reporter extraordinaire contributed the hysterical crying to pregnancy hormones, not to the fact that the recently deceased was the father of the child. A twinge of pain gathered in my chest. The baby would never have a chance to know his or her father.
If Michael was the father.
Maybe Marilyn wasn’t the only person Michael fed that line to. I’m sure a pregnant woman wouldn’t be thrilled for the daddy-to-be to deny paternity.
When lunchtime arrived, I visited the office of Allan, Taylor & Gilder. The modern chrome and glass structure was out of place in our rural town. The building could be seen from every point in Eden, making it a landmark from which driving directions branched from.
The Allegheny Mountains rose in the background, dwarfing the modern building and commanding attention for its beauty. Spring was still a few weeks away, but the barren trees cascading down the rolls and dips in the mountain started showing some green.
I pulled into the parking lot and slid off my sneakers and replaced them with classic tan two-inch pumps. I hated driving in heels but the grown-up shoes added a snazzy touch and gave me a more professional appearance.
I gripped the steel handle and pulled open the glass door. A rush of cold air hit me. I headed toward the security station. The sound of my heels grew louder on the gray tile floor. I gave the guard my most winning smile. The man responded with a bored, annoyed look. This was going well. I composed my expression into a more hardened, no-nonsense professional look.
Cropped to Death (Faith Hunter Scrap This Mystery) Page 5
