Screaming, I hunched over, scrubbing at my eyes as tears coursed down my face. The bag containing the potpourri dropped to the floor. Someone leaned down; I shoved at the figure. I couldn’t let the girls have the drug.
“Leave it,” Whitney said.
“Open up or I’ll break down this door,” Jasper’s concerned voice reached me.
The girls ran past me. The culprits were making a break for the back exit. I headed after them, only managing to run into two tables and trip over the legs of a rolling chair. Everything was a big blur through the tears streaming down my face.
“Stop them. The back door.”
Dropping to my knees, I scrambled my hands around on the floor, searching for the illegal substance. My hands and arms itched to scrub at my eyes. I stopped myself from catering to the instinct, knowing that would make it worse. Stopping my hunt, I leaned back, taking in a deep breath. The best choice was waiting for Jasper as I might damage the evidence. Hopefully this would put the police on the path of shutting the drug dealer down.
“What happened?” Jasper’s voice carried from the rear of the store.
I gestured at the herbs littered on the floor. “The teens had Janie. I’m kind of hoping it was just buying for personal use, not selling.”
“I know about that. I mean, what’s wrong with you?” Jasper wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “I heard you scream.”
“Pepper sprayed.” Either the teens got away, or he thought it more prudent to check on me.
“Let’s get you to the sink.” His other arm went under my knees.
I swatted at Jasper. “I can walk. I don’t need help.”
With the world still blurry, my independence was short-lived as I smacked into the edge of the counter.
Jasper wrapped his arms around my waist and hoisted me up. Now, instead of being carried across-the-threshold style, Jasper hauled me toward the back like a tantrum-throwing toddler or a humongous bag of fertilizer.
I curled my legs up to make sure we didn’t become tangled and end up on the floor in a heap.
He deposited me near the sink in the manicure section, turning on the faucet and splashing handfuls of cold water onto my face. “What have you gotten yourself into this time?”
Coughing, I moved back. “You’re going to drown me. I got it from here.”
“You need to get it out of your eyes as quick as you can,” Jasper said.
“Trust me, I want it out more than you do.” I cupped my hands under the water, working on getting out the chemicals.
“Do you know who sprayed you?” Jasper asked.
“Whitney.”
“Last name?”
“I don’t know yet, but I will after I call Charlotte. She asked me to check up on Hannah and her friends.” I snagged the cordless phone.
“I think you should hold off on calling anyone, especially Charlotte Hanson.”
My finger paused over the seven. Bits of dried leaves and flowers coated the floor of Polished, and the room held a slight smell of cloves.
Jasper removed his cell from the clip on his belt, the movement revealing his holster. He showed me a picture on Hannah’s Instagram account. “Clive Murphy called and reported that a group of teens high on something accidentally set Lake Breckinridge’s flower shop on fire. The fire department and some squad cars are heading there. The parents in Eden want a showdown with whoever is selling this designer drug to their kids. Right now, the only tangible link to where it’s coming from is a picture Hannah posted.”
The photo showed the bag of potpourri on the manicure station. Poor Charlotte. She was having enough trouble finding acceptance in the community. This wouldn’t help her.
“And one just popped up with you holding a bag of potpourri.”
Whitney wasn’t trying to blind me with her camera. She was implicating me, and Hannah helped her. Why would Hannah do that to me? “I didn’t sell the drug to the girls.”
Jasper collected the evidence. “I know that. We’ve been monitoring social media sites for the last few months, knowing sooner or later someone would get careless and post something. This is the most substantial lead we’ve gotten.”
“The girls had a couple of bags of it.”
Jasper tucked the re-bagged potpourri under his arm. Opening an app on his phone, he started taking notes. “I need the names.”
“Whitney, Kirstin, and Hannah. Hannah didn’t bring it into the store either,” I added. “That explains why Whitney was so mad. She knows Hannah took a picture.”
A disconcerting thought trickled into my mind. I shoved at it, but it settled into my brain, making itself quite comfortable. Had Charlotte suspected one of the girls was bringing the drugs? Was that the real reason, not visiting teenage boys, she wanted me to come over?
“Were you here the whole time?” Jasper swiped his index finger across the phone screen. He flipped it toward me. “This picture shows a bag of Janie on one of the small tables, but no one is in the picture. I don’t know which teen brought it in.”
“Manicurist station,” I said.
Jasper heaved out a sigh. “Fine, manicurist station, though now isn’t the time to be worried about those particulars.”
“I think the particulars concerning this are important.”
“Whether it’s a called a small table or a manicurist station, no. The second picture of you handing a bag of Janie to a teen is what should concern you.”
“I didn’t hand anything to anyone.”
“That’s not what this shows.” Jasper showed me another photo.
It had been taken right before I was pepper sprayed. In it, I was holding the bag of Janie and a hand was reaching for it. Someone could interpret the picture to mean I was giving it to someone. I doubted Whitney would admit she was trying to take the confiscated drug away from me.
“I took it from the girls, and Whitney was trying to get it back.”
“I know that, you know that, but what will other people believe?” Jasper said. “I’ll need you to come to the station first thing in the morning to make a statement.”
TWO
A loud pounding on my front door woke me from a sound sleep. I shook my head, trying to clear the fuzziness and the remnants of a nice, tantalizing dream. I had thought I’d be plagued with nightmares of what was to come after my adventure with the teens and the synthetic marijuana. Instead of dreams of being arrested by the police, I had one involving a detective, the ocean, sand, and candlelight. The loud knocking continued. I glanced at the window. The world outside was still dark. Something must be wrong with my grandmothers. I sprung from the bed, nearly face-planting on the carpet as my legs tangled in the comforter.
I half-ran, half-jumped down the stairs. I yanked the door open, stumbling backwards when I was greeted by a fierce-faced Officer Mitchell, a guy I’d attended high school with, and a contrite Officer Glover. With cheeks blazing, I crossed my arms over my chest. I was wearing a Scrap This t-shirt made out of a thin fabric and yoga shorts, not the most appropriate attire for this visit, though I wasn’t up on the proper ensemble for a before-dawn visit from the police.
“May we come in, Faith?” Officer Glover asked.
Before I could answer, Officer Mitchell pushed his way inside my home while removing handcuffs from his utility belt. “You’re wanted for questioning.”
“What?” I focused on Glover, who appeared as taken aback as I was at Mitchell’s proclamation.
“The Chief said there are a few things to clear up.” Glover put a restraining hand on Mitchell’s arm. “No need for the cuffs.”
“You might be okay taking a forced leave of absence, but I’m not. I have a wife and three kids to support.” Mitchell turned me around, tugging my hands behind my back. “Chief Moore also said by the book, so that’s what I�
�m doing.”
“We don’t have a reason to arrest her.” Glover removed me from Mitchell’s custody.
Once again, I crossed my arms across my front, stepping away from the officer who I’d somehow managed to rankle.
“I’m keeping my cool,” Mitchell said. “You’re the one who’s losing it by playing favorites. I don’t want to end up like Jasper.”
I faced Glover. “What is he talking about? What happened to Jasper?”
“Complaints were made about the police not taking your involvement in the drug distribution seriously.”
“I had nothing to do with it,” I said. “Unfortunately, a favor turned into a wrong place, wrong time scenario.”
“A bit of a habit for you,” Mitchell said.
Two state police vehicles pulled into my driveway. Anxiety built up in me. I tried to talk myself down from the growing panic. I had done nothing wrong. There were no drugs, or even organza bags, in either my home or Scrap This. I’d also call Hannah and her mom. They’d explain what transpired at Polished. This would be over soon.
“Can I make a call? A friend of mine can clear all of this up for me.” I was proud of the calmness in my voice.
Glover handed me a jacket hung near my front door. “It’s better to just let this play out. It’ll be easier for everyone.”
The trip to Scrap This had been a disaster. From my vantage point in the backseat of the patrol car, I watched the red lights bouncing off the windows of the businesses we passed on the way to the police station. Some were empty, others filled with displays showing love for Eden High School football. The one my grandmothers had started was now in pieces on the floor. The police had to make sure there was nothing hidden in the lightning bolt piñata. Our new boxes of pattern paper were ripped into, damaging the top sheets. I blinked away threatening tears. No way would I crumble in front of Mitchell, giving the hateful cop what he wanted.
Mitchell had made me watch the search team, consisting of Eden’s reigning veteran of the police force, a state police officer, and a newly hired assistant prosecuting attorney, dismantle the store. They searched the restrooms, the break room (including opening sealed boxes of snacks bought for next week’s crop/baby shower hosted by our most frequent shopper), and the lock box in my grandmother’s office. No one believed that it only contained our money bag, even with the proof in front of them. The disgust for me never left their faces.
I drew in a deep breath, pulling back the tears trying to escape.
Mitchell parked in front of the station and sounded the sirens a few times. Let’s wake the neighbors and let them know the drug-selling Faith Hunter has been caught.
Karen England, reporter extraordinaire, stood at the top of the steps of the police station under the outside lights. I had an audience for my humiliation. This day was getting better and better.
“Looks like someone was able to make a phone call, even though I wasn’t allowed,” I said.
Mitchell pivoted, glaring at me through the mesh wire separating us. “How about showing some remorse instead of a snotty attitude? A woman lost her business today, and a couple of kids are very sick. But if you cared about other people, you wouldn’t have a side job selling drugs to kids.”
“I didn’t sell drugs to anyone.”
“Save it for a cop who’ll believe you.” He exited the cruiser, yanking me out of the backseat a few moments later.
I briefly—very briefly—thought of complaining about the rough treatment, then decided keeping quiet was my best defense. I trudged up the stairs, following Mitchell’s pace. Now that we were at the station, or maybe more precisely because Karen was out here, Mitchell wasn’t as eager to haul me to jail.
Karen flipped open a notebook. “Care if I ask a couple of questions?”
“Yes,” I said.
“No.” Mitchell stopped, jarring me to a halt.
“Are your grandmothers aware of what’s happening?” Karen asked.
“No. And they better not find out.”
“How do you think it’s possible that they won’t find out?” Karen asked.
“Because I’ll be released in a few minutes and back in bed before the sun rises,” I said.
“You’re rather confident that the police won’t detain you for distributing Janie to teens.” Karen tapped a pen against her lips. “Why is that?”
“Because I didn’t do it. I was taking the substance away from the girls, not giving it to them.”
Mitchell grunted out a laugh. “She’s been saying that all night.”
I glared at Karen. “Ask Hannah.” Since the photo was on Hannah’s Instagram account, I figured there was no harm giving out her name. It was already out there.
“I have,” Karen said. “Matter of fact, the chief has already spoken to them also.”
The doors of the station opened and an officer leaned out. “You need to get her inside. Now.”
My insides felt cold as Mitchell marched me inside. Hannah knew. Charlotte knew. They decided to let the police believe I was selling the drugs to the girls.
“Chief wants her in his office.”
“If I was Chief, I’d have a witness in there,” Mitchell said.
As we passed the main foyer, a woman charged toward me, screeching indistinguishable sounds. After a moment, the woman gathered her wits and set her words loose on me.
“Jasper protected you. He should be fired. You should be strung up.”
I drew away, pressing my shoulder into Mitchell. He moseyed to the side, allowing the woman to barrage me with continuous insults.
“My son almost died. Because of you. Why isn’t she handcuffed?”
“She’s not under arrest, Mrs. Sullivan,” Mitchell said in a soft tone. “Only brought in for questioning.”
Felicity Sullivan was my attacker. Brandon’s car accident almost killed him, leaving him paralyzed from the waist down, and stole his college dreams. The teen had been on so many scouting lists, Clive Murphy had set up a how-many-scholarship-offers pool at his pawn shop for the football player. Brandon had been on track to become the biggest story this football season.
“After what she did to my boy? That’s all? She’s in here for questioning?”
“Her house and Scrap This are being searched. If there’s any evidence found, she’ll have a nice long stay in prison. I’ll make sure of it.” Mitchell herded me to the chief’s office.
I was thankful Mitchell was dragging me to the station rather than helping with the search. If he wasn’t I’d worry he was planting evidence. For some reason he really wanted me to be the guilty party.
Mitchell shoved me into a seat in the chief’s office.
Chief Moore pointed at the door. “You can leave now, Officer.”
Mitchell looked around the office. “I don’t see anyone else in here. Might be better for you if I stayed.”
“I need your report in the next hour. The prosecuting attorney will be here then to take a look at it and see how we’ll proceed.”
I felt lightheaded. Had someone planted something in my house or store? The only person who’d have a clue that now was the perfect time to set me up was Charlotte. The dizziness intensified. “It was a favor. For Charlotte.”
“You can leave the door open. Are you feeling all right, Faith?” Chief Moore came around to the front of the desk and sat on the edge.
“I don’t understand what’s going on.” My voice was barely above a whisper.
“I’m sorry about all of this. With those pictures of Janie—and you—on the internet, I had no choice but to investigate your involvement.”
“My only involvement,” I stressed the word, “was agreeing to do a favor for Charlotte. She asked me to check up on the teens in Polished. I used a key to the back door, which Charlotte gave my grandmother
s, to enter the store. Like Charlotte told me to. When I walked in, Hannah was being slammed into the wall by her friend Whitney. When Kirstin saw me, she started hiding something. I went to find out what, and it was Janie. I didn’t bring it in there.”
“Unfortunately, Whitney and Kirstin have a matching story, and it’s different than yours. And Hannah says she was in the laundry room running a load of towels when you came in. She doesn’t know if you brought in the drugs or not.”
Fortunately, my heartbreak turned into anger. “Hannah’s lying because she’s afraid of Whitney. The pictures are on Hannah’s account. How could she have been in the laundry room?”
“Whitney said she picked up Hannah’s phone from the table and used it because her battery was dead. I have two against one. It doesn’t look good for you.”
I drew in a sharp breath. “You believe those high schoolers. Over me?”
“I can’t have bias for a person on a criminal matter,” Chief Moore said. “Taking what a friend says on face value can result in an officer being encouraged to take a leave of absence.”
“Jasper’s in trouble because he didn’t haul me in? I was pepper sprayed. Isn’t that proof I walked into a crime being committed?”
“Not if two other witnesses state it was a defensive tactic because a drug pusher wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
There was a light rap on the doorframe. “I have some coffee for Miss Hunter.”
“I don’t want it.” I pulled the ends of my jacket tighter around my body. While I rationally understood the predicament Chief Moore was in, I still couldn’t believe he’d accept the statements of three teenagers as truth over mine.
The night dispatcher eased into the room. “There wasn’t a fresh pot, so an officer went to the trouble of having this made for you.”
If it was Mitchell, I didn’t want it.
“Here, no sense letting it go to waste.” The night dispatcher jiggled the black thermal mug. The smell of marshmallow with a hint of cinnamon wafted to me: S’more flavor. Only three people knew it was my new favorite: my grandmothers and Ted.
Framed to Death (A Faith Hunter Scrap This Mystery Book 4) Page 2
