Cropped to Death (Faith Hunter Scrap This Mystery)

by Freeburn, Christina

  Okay, I had been a little rough on Steve lately, but it was important I establish some boundaries as my grandmothers ramped up their match-matching duties.

  Photographs sat on the window sill behind him. There was one of Steve as a young child on the beach with his parents. Another showed an adult Steve with his dad at a golf course, and the one next to it was taken at last year’s Christmas tree lighting. I was in between Hope and Cheryl. Hope had her arm linked through Steve’s and her head leaned toward him.

  The bookshelf held a paddle ball set, a handheld video game, and stacks of law books. In the corner behind his desk were a pillow and a blanket.

  He caught my wandering eye. “I need an unwinding method during the day.”

  “Do you live here?” I sat on the soft cushioned chair.

  “Sometimes it’s necessary. There’s a couch in the lounge.”

  Steve walked around from behind the desk and sat on the edge. Closer to me.

  The scent of his cologne revved up my pulse. There was just something about the man that made me think wicked thoughts. Maybe it was because he was off-limits. Or perhaps the combination of conservative mixed with biker was irresistible. “If you’re ever stuck here, you can give me a call and I’ll bring you some dinner.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  We stared at each for a while. The room felt hotter than it had a moment ago. One of us needed to get to the conversation and it had to be me since I was the one with the topic.

  “I wanted to talk to you about something.” I licked my lips as my mouth had somehow grown dry.

  Steven nodded, never taking his eyes of me.

  I squirmed.

  “Please don’t let this be about the Kane case.”

  I felt a little bad. Steve might have held some hopes I was popping in because I missed him. He had stopped coming by my house unannounced. “I found out something that might be the proof of Marilyn’s innocence.”

  “Stop right there.” Steve held up his hands in a don’t-come-any-further gesture. “I don’t want to hear anymore and I don’t want to know anymore.”

  “I need your help,” I pleaded, barely refraining from pouting.

  “No.”

  No? I didn’t expect that from Steve. “Why not?”

  “It doesn’t look good for a prosecutor to take on a side job of private investigating. And I refuse to help you mess up your life.”

  I sprung from the chair. “Mess up my life by finding the truth?”

  Steve slowly stood. “Mess up your life by being so stubborn you hurt other people. That’s not you, Faith.”

  “I’m helping, not hurting.”

  “Sierra?”

  My shoulders slumped forward. One person.

  “Yourself.” Steve tipped my chin up with his finger. “I won’t take part in that.”

  I jerked back a step and my knees hit the back of the chair. I flopped into the chair and pushed myself right back up. “I’m not.”

  At least I didn’t think so. I didn’t want anyone controlling or managing my life for me. I’d make my own decisions, good and bad. I needed support, not advice. Well-meaning or not.

  “I won’t be used.” Steve walked around the desk and stood behind his office chair, the desk a barrier between us.

  “I’m not…” The remainder of the sentence stuck in my throat. The intensity in Steve’s fathomless brown eyes rendered me silent.

  He leaned forward, never breaking eye contact. “Your grandmothers raved about you and I was intrigued. When I saw you the first time, I knew I wanted to get to know you better. But you were reserved, leery of me and everyone else, except for Cheryl and Hope. I didn’t know why, but I knew you needed space. I respected that. “

  “I appreciated that.”

  For the first few months, he treaded carefully around me, and my grandmothers. It was hard as my grandmothers had depended on him for so long and he was a part of their life. I liked having a hot guy around. He was wonderful to look at and having my grandmothers’ focus on him gave me the breathing room I needed.

  He offered friendship. I accepted it. Even added in some harmless flirting. It was nice knowing a handsome man found me attractive. Steve was safe. He never crossed the line I drew, which was both disappointing and a huge relief.

  “I apologize for overstepping your boundaries,” Steve said. “I never intended for my concern to come across as controlling. Your grandmothers wanted you safe. I wanted you safe, and like most males, figured if physical harm came from your investigating, I could handle that better than you.”

  “I know you meant well.” I twisted my fingers in the hem of my shirt. Steve and I never had a conversation like this. We hinted around about our feelings and joked with each other. I wasn’t sure how I felt about laying it all out like this. Or at least Steve doing it. My contribution so far was clichéd one-liners.

  “I want you to need me, Faith, because you need me. I want you to want me, Faith, because you want me.”

  “I don’t think you understand me,” I croaked out. “I want you in my life. Need you.”

  With each word I said, Steve walked closer. “I don’t think you understand me.”

  Steve wrapped an arm around my back and pulled me closer. His mouth settled over mine. Shocked, I remained still except for my trembling knees, threatening not to hold up my weight. Not a real problem as one of Steve’s arms tightened around me while the other hand trailed up my back and cupped the back of my head.

  My hands inched their way from his chest, to his shoulders, then clasped around his neck, increasing the pressure of his mouth on mine. Reality was so much better than fantasy. Steve’s lips left mine and disappointed swelled in me. The feeling left when his fingers tangled into my hair and he dropped a feather-light kiss onto my cheek.

  “Steve…” I breathed his name.

  He cradled my head to his chest. “When you come to the place where you’re ready to trust again, Faith, let me know.”

  I nodded and moved back a few inches.

  “I’ll tell Cheryl and Hope that I’ll come to your aid, as they put it, if you request it.” A flash of humor broke into the seriousness of his expression. “You know where I work and where I live. Knock. Yell. Send your cat over to caterwaul at my window. Whenever you’re ready, I intend to be there. But I can’t promise I’ll wait forever.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  On shaky legs, I walked back to Scrap This. Was Steve stepping out of my life unless I specifically asked for his attention? That’s not what I wanted. I liked him stopping by on occasion. I liked knowing I brightened his day. It was nice being wanted by somebody, even if I had no intention of the friendship progressing into a relationship.

  But was that fair to Steve?

  I tugged the door open and stepped inside. I saw Sierra and three shoppers, but no Linda. “Did Linda go home?”

  Sierra finished ringing up a customer. “Yes. That’s what you told her to do.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be back in the office. I need to check on inventory.”

  “Just make your private phone calls out here.” Sierra walked from behind the counter. “I’ll go clean up the break room before I head home. It got messy last night since we were short staffed. Linda will be back for the afternoon shift. Poor lady is probably just sitting around the corner waiting to return. Happy prying.”

  I ignored Sierra and pulled up the store’s inventory on the front computer. We usually didn’t check from the main computer, didn’t want any confusion if one document was updated and another wasn’t, but Sierra wasn’t cooperating. My heart plummeted. One pair of scissors was missing.

  The phone rang. It stopped just as I reached for it. Sierra picked up in the break room. Maybe there was a small chance she’d forgive me soon. Then I’d start the process all over with Linda. If I was wrong. If I was right…

  How would I approach Linda this afternoon? Hopefully with more finesse than I handled the situation with my other “suspects.”

>   By late afternoon, I started worrying about Linda. She was usually ten to twenty minutes late, but not two hours. Had Sierra’s hint that Linda was next on my suspect list make her skip town? Or knowing the real truth was coming out, she went—I shuddered and stopped my mind from completing the thought. Maybe I should call the police station and have someone check up on her.

  I picked up the phone and called Sierra at home. “Did Linda call and say she couldn’t work this afternoon?”

  “Yes. And I don’t blame her for not coming back,” Sierra’s tense voice attacked me through the phone line. “She’s not as stupid as she looks. She figured you out.”

  “I’m not this evil person you’ve made me out to be.”

  “Come on, you’ve been hiding her layout from her. What kind of person does that?”

  “What?” I had put her layout in my purse. Was that what slipped out? There went half my evidence.

  The boys were screaming in the background and Sierra sighed. “There is a battle being re-enacted in the bathroom, something about sinking a ship. I need to stop it before my house floods.”

  Before I said goodbye, Sierra hung up the phone.

  Perfect. I’d lost a friend and my evidence. I didn’t know how to repair the friendship, but maybe there was another person who might have some evidence for me. Annette. I needed to hurry because her office closed at six.

  “Allan, Taylor and Gilder,” a bored voice answered.

  “I’d like to speak to Miss Holland, please.”

  The voice tightened. “This is her.”

  “Annette, this is Faith Hunter.”

  “I don’t want to talk to you.”

  “I’m sorry,” I blurted out. “I hurt you. I know you loved Michael.”

  “I still do,” she whispered. “Even though he’s gone, I can’t just stop loving him.”

  My heart commiserated with her. “I hate to bring you any more to pain, as you’re still grieving.”

  The line was silent for a full thirty seconds. “Thank you,” Annette said, tears evident in her voice.

  “For what?” I asked, surprised at the trace of gratitude in her voice.

  “For knowing Michael’s death hurts me.” She sniffed. “What would you like to ask?”

  “If this isn’t a good time…” I trailed off, now feeling bad for bringing up this painful topic while she was at work.

  “What do you need?”

  “Did Michael say he was scared of Marilyn? Did he name her specifically?”

  “No.”

  “Could it have been someone else?”

  “I guess.” She hesitated. “But I don’t know any other woman who was mad at him. Besides his wife. And her mother. And, well, actually his mother.”

  Interesting to know, but I doubted either of the mothers killed him. “You said a woman came up to you at the show, said something happened to Michael.”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you describe her?”

  “Late fifties, gray hair, average height, a little overweight.”

  It sounded like Linda. “Can I bring a picture by and show you? Tomorrow morning. It would be a huge help.”

  “Actually, I’d rather you not stop by here. My boss isn’t happy with the firm getting this type of exposure.”

  “Would you mind stopping by the store then?”

  She paused so long I thought she might have hung up. “Fine. But I can’t be there until seven-thirty.”

  “Thank you, Annette. This means a lot. I’ll see you at seven-thirty tonight.”

  She mumbled a goodbye and hung up.

  Steve didn’t want to know about the case anymore. Detective Roget didn’t either. Someone needed this information so Marilyn could go home to her family.

  Bob Roget! Okay, the PI said he wouldn’t take the case, but I’m sure he could give me advice on handing off the information.

  There was more than one woman in her fifties with gray hair in Eden. But how many would know Annette was Michael’s girlfriend? Who was I kidding? Any of them who lived in Eden, worked in Eden, or listened while they spent even five minutes in Eden.

  I quickly called Bob, but it went straight to voicemail. Did I want to leave a message? While I contemplated my decision, Bob’s strong, friendly voice gave me an emergency contact number. Before I dialed, I looked up the number, making sure Bob’s emergency number wasn’t the non-emergency number for the Morgantown police department. Clear.

  I punched in the number.

  “Bob Roget.”

  “Hi Bob, this is Faith. We met the other day.”

  “Yes, how could I forget my younger brother’s nemesis.”

  “I’m not actually his nemesis.”

  “Annoyance. Pain in the tush.”

  “I’ll go along with that.”

  A deep rumble echoed across the connection. “What can I do for you, Faith?”

  “I’m calling for some professional advice.”

  “While I enjoy needling my brother now and then, this might be taking it too far.”

  “Please. I don’t have anyone else to bounce my ideas off of. Everyone has already said no.”

  “I hate saying no to a beautiful damsel, but I’m not sure this is a good idea. My brother is the detective on this case.”

  “Ted firmly believes I’m the annoying lady crying wolf and that I might be using this to show my interest in him.”

  “Really?” Bob sounded interested in my plight now.

  “Steve believes I’m being stubborn—”

  “Whoever Steve is, he has a point.”

  “A prosecutor in Eden, another reason he turned me down. And I can’t ask my grandmothers’ for help—”

  “Okay, enough. I certainly don’t want sweet, older women becoming involved in a murder. My mother would kill me. She raised a gentleman.”

  I should have a talk with her about Ted.

  “Give me the details,” Bob said.

  After taking in a deep breath, and uttering a prayer of thanks, I launched into my newest theory. I heard a tapping over the phone. Was Bob sending out Morse code over the wires or pounding out an email for Ted to arrest me?

  “You at home right now?” Bob asked.

  “No. I have to close the store first.” And wait for Annette.

  “Why don’t you see if one of the other employees can come in? Keep you company as I sort this out.”

  Now Bob sounded worried. “My grandmothers had today off and I don’t want to call them. I’ll be done in about an hour. And Sierra is—”

  The backdoor rattled.

  Very forgiving. “Looks like Sierra decided to come in since Linda never showed.”

  “Good. I’ll give you a call back. I want to check on some of this information.”

  “Thanks.” I disconnected the call.

  I rang out the register and started work on reconciling the receipts. “I’m doing the receipts, Sierra. Can you return the merchandise to its proper place? I appreciate you—”

  The curtain jerked opened. “I’m not Sierra.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  Linda stalked toward me, her right hand behind her back, lips pressed together and brows drawn low over her eyes.

  I forced out a friendly, non-suspicious smile. “Hey! I’m glad to see you. You did a great job hanging up the layouts.”

  Linda whipped her hand from behind her back. She pointed a pistol at me. “Put your hands on the counter.”

  I gaped at her.

  “Don’t act surprised.” She tightened her finger on the trigger. “Hands on the counter. Now.”

  I complied. I had finally figured out the culprit, but felt no satisfaction in being right.

  “It’s good no one remembered Marilyn’s key.” Linda shook the gun at me. “Her mother had no problem giving it to me. It was nice someone trusted me. You never did.”

  “That wasn’t a lack of trust, Linda. It was a lack of cash. We couldn’t afford to get another key made.” I inched my hand toward my cell phone
.

  “Hands on the counter and keep them still.” She stomped a few steps closer.

  I pressed my hands back onto the countertop. Linda destroyed all the layouts. She must have been afraid one of the photos from the art show would prove she killed Michael. The Hooligans searching for their mom must have scared Linda. Made her realize there could be proof of her whereabouts, or lack thereof.

  “Come out from behind there.” She waggled the gun at me. “And keep your hands up.”

  I raised my hands and walked around the counter. “Why did you kill Michael?”

  “Don’t play dumb, Faith. You know exactly why. Does it really matter anyway?”

  She had a point. Dead was dead. And murdering someone for any reason, unless it was self-defense, meant prison. Of course, killing two people upped the number of years on a person’s prison term.

  I tried talking sense into her. “We can’t let Marilyn go to prison for something she didn’t do. Think of her children.”

  “You should have stayed out of this.”

  “And I would have, but you blamed Marilyn.” Not to mention the small guilt of ratting out a friend.

  “I didn’t!” Tears plopped from Linda’s chin to the floor. “I sent Annette Holland over to Michael. I figured the police would blame her, find her next to him. What kind of man flaunts his girlfriend to his wife?”

  I remained silent.

  “I knew what kind of man. The kind of man who said lies about my husband. Lies that stole my son from me. He moved away because he couldn’t handle the gossip about his father’s death.”

  I started to feel bad for her, actually wanted to hug her, but kept my hands in the air.

  She raised the gun and aimed at my head. “Why did you steal my layout?”

  I noticed Linda knew as much about guns as she did scrapbooking techniques. Not much. The safety was on. “I’m sorry Michael hurt you and said those horrible things about your husband. He was wrong.”

  “I can’t go to jail.” She sobbed. “Just give me the layout Darlene made. That’s all I want.”

  She thought I still had one piece of evidence proving her guilt. “I don’t have it. The police do.”

  “You’re lying.”