Plotted For Murder

by ACF Bookens

  I swallowed hard. “Okay,” I said quietly. “You found something?”

  “Did Scott mention anything to you about being an athlete?” Tuck’s voice suddenly took on the tone he used for police work, heavier and slower.

  I pictured Scott’s salon as I tried to remember our conversation, and I had a flash. “Yes, he was some sort of back-thing on a football team.”

  “A running back,” Tuck said as he suppressed a smile. “Your knowledge of sports terminology is really quite remarkable, Harvey.”

  “Yes, that’s it. He said he was fast, I think.” I made a mental note to read a few sports books just to brush up on the terms. It’s hard for me to remember things if I can’t connect them to things I already know. I hoped this didn’t mean I was going to have to actually watch a football game.

  “Right. Running backs are the ones who catch the ball, and they have to be quite quick. Usually, they train as runners, some of them were even runners first.” Tuck looked at me while I let that sink in.

  I studied the sheriff’s face and let his words process through my brain. “OOH,” I said.

  “There she is. Right. Yep, Scott was a runner . . . and he trained with Coach Cagle. I guess he didn’t mention that.”

  “No, he most certainly did not . . . and we were talking about Coach Cagle directly. Actually, I remember him saying something about the “guy who was killed.” At the time, it sounded like he just didn’t know the guy, but now—”

  “Now it sounds like he was trying to hide that he did know him.” The worry lines on Tuck’s face had gotten significantly deeper. “Alright, so was anyone else there while you two were talking.”

  “Yes,” I practically shouted. “Cate was. Want me to call her?”

  Tuck pulled his hand down his face. “I was trying so hard to keep you out of this investigation, but yes, I think I need you to call her.”

  I sighed and took out my phone, and within five minutes, Cate was sitting with us at the table. Tuck had prompted me not to tell Cate any details, just that we needed to talk to her about Cagle’s murder, so I let Tuck lead the conversation.

  He walked her through the same questions he’d asked me – how well did she know Scott? What did she know about his time in Minneapolis? Did she know he was a runner?

  That last question was what tipped her off, and she gasped. “He knew Coach Cagle in Minneapolis!” She looked from Tuck to me. “Why didn’t he tell us that? He acted like he didn’t know him at all.”

  Tuck dropped his head back and looked at the ceiling. “So that confirms it. He was lying.”

  Cate looked at me, and I could see the panic in her eyes. The big connection had been laid bare, so I didn’t think there was any harm in sharing what Tuck had told me. “He trained with Cagle . . . as a runner.”

  “What?!” She paused and looked into the middle distance. “Oh, because he’s a running back. He needed speed training.”

  I dropped my head and turned my eyes up at my dear friend. “You knew that running backs got training in, well, running?”

  “You didn’t?” she asked with a laugh.

  “Harvey is not up on sports, apparently,” Tuck said, a tiny smile softening the worry in his face.

  “Well, there’s a difference between “not up on sports” and “oblivious,” but that’s a conversation for another day.” Cate took a deep breath. “What are you going to do now?”

  The sheriff folded his hands on the table. “I’m not sure, but I feel I’m missing something. There’s some tie between the events of last night and Coach Cagle’s murder, but I just can’t get my hands on it.”

  I leaned back and stretched, hoping that a little more blood flow would help me tie those threads together for the sheriff. But I never could get anywhere just thinking. I had to talk things out, so I started to do just that. “Okay, so we know that Cagle and Scott knew each other in Minneapolis, trained together in fact. And we know that Cagle trained Tiffany, too.” I felt like one of those cartoon characters with a light bulb over their heads as I made the connection. “So do Tiffany and Scott know each other then?”

  “Nope, not possible. Remember, they talked on Saturday, before the parade. It sure looked to me like they were meeting for the first time,” Cate said.

  I sighed. She was right. Neither of them had shown even a flicker of recognition. ”Still, it’s worth asking Tiffany, don’t you think? Maybe she had one of those moments where his face looked familiar, but in a new setting, she couldn’t place him. That happens to me all the time. I ran into this guy from Baltimore once on a random street in San Francisco, and even though he was calling my name, it took me a couple of minutes to place him.”

  Tuck stood up. “Harvey’s right. We need to talk to Tiffany, but it’s not urgent. She’s coming home tomorrow. I’ll talk to her then.”

  Cate and I stood, too, and I felt the lack of sleep and the overwhelm from the past days finally catching up to me. I looked at the clock on the wall – almost six o’clock. Good. Only an hour more to go before I could collapse on my couch with a chunk of cheese, some Ritz crackers, and The Big Flower Fight on Netflix. I needed some giant flower sculptures and no drama for one night.

  As the three of us walked out, I noticed that the shop was mostly empty. The last tourists of the season had headed home, and we were back to the barebones of the neighborhood customers for the next few months. I would miss the extra income, but I was also looking forward to quieter days and more time with the people I loved.

  Just as we were about to say good-bye to Tuck, Elle came in, and she was pulling a cart full of flowers. “I wanted to replace the ones in the box out front if you don’t mind. The image of your blood and that knife against those plants – I just didn’t want everyone to keep seeing that every day.”

  I stepped forward and hugged my friend. “You are too sweet. It’s not necessary for my sake, but if you’d feel better, please replant away.” I turned to Tuck. In the excitement of the past few hours, I’d pretty much lost track of what was happening with the knife, my sore fingers notwithstanding. “Any news on that?”

  “Nope, not yet. Unlike on TV, the crime labs are closed on weekends.” He winked at me. “I’ll let you know what you need to know when I know it.” Then he waved and headed out the front door.

  Elle winked and said, “He gotcha.”

  I laughed and helped her wheel her cart back out to the sidewalk and install the plants before dusk came on. This time she’d brought mums, gorgeous orange ones with red and yellow stripes. She planted them close together, so the finished look was a solid, undulating band of color that looked amazing. I gave her a tight squeeze and giggled as she pulled her wagon down the street. All she needed were some pigtails to finish the picture of a little girl with her wagon.

  A few minutes later, Mart came back.

  “That was a short run,” I snarked.

  The blush on her cheeks told me something was up.

  “I’m here to escort you home,” she said as she swung a teetering pizza box from out behind her back, “with dinner.”

  The smell of melted cheese, fresh bread, and tomato sauce made me weak in the knees, but I got distracted from my hunger by the fact that I didn’t recognize the pizza box. “Where did that come from?”

  Mart blushed again, and I knew the answer. “Symeon is making pizza now?” I asked.

  She smiled. “They just put in a pizza oven.” After a long sigh, “the scent lured me in as I jogged by.”

  “I’m sure it was just the smell of pizza crust that drew you,” I winked at her. “But really, a pizza oven at the French restaurant?” I couldn’t see Max going for this plan.

  “Apparently,” Mart said, “they’re morphing into more of a fusion European bistro vibe. I hear that manicotti is next on the list followed by Belgian fries.”

  I laid my hand over my heart. “You need to stop before I rush right over.”

  “Max is there.” Mart said with a laugh.

  “
Alrighty then, urge to eat fries suppressed.” I scanned the shop. It was empty except for Marcus who was closing out the register. “It’ll just be a minute.” I walked over to Marcus and nodded at the total. It had been a good day, a very good day.

  We tucked the cash into the safe, signed out of the register, and did a last walk-through of the shop. Rocky turned off the lights in the café, and we turned off the neon OPEN sign before setting the alarm and closing up for the night. Rocky and Marcus headed toward his apartment over Daniel’s garage, and Mart and I scooted in the other direction as fast as our tired feet could take us. Cold pizza is good, but nowhere near as good as fresh, hot, wood-fired pizza.

  Once we were home, I grabbed a couple of cheap paper plates and paper towels, and we slid our legs under the coffee table and turned on the finale of The Big Flower Fight. Secretly, I was rooting for Jim and Ralph because I am a sucker for the underdog, but I actually thought Henck and Yan would win.

  We had just gotten to the final minutes of the competition when Mart’s phone buzzed against the table. She glanced down, and then grabbed the remote to pause it. “It’s Tiffany,” she said.

  I leaned back and waited as Mart replied before asking, “She okay?”

  “Yeah. She’s just wondering if I can pick her up from the hospital tomorrow. Feels like she needs a little moral support.”

  “Of course she does. You told her you’d be there? Can you be there?” I asked. I didn’t think Mart had a consulting job for tomorrow, but sometimes she booked things last minute.

  “Yep. I told her I’d be there at ten.” Mart stretched. “I wish you could come. I think she could use a couple of shoulders just now.”

  She reached for the remote, but I grabbed it before she did. “One second.”

  I dialed Marcus’ number, feeling a little guilt for interrupting his evening with Rocky but also thinking he deserved a phone call, not just another text to ask if he could cover for me. Within a minute, he had readily agreed to open – with me taking his closing shift – and said to tell Tiffany and Mart hello. “I’m in,” I said as I handed Mart the remote, and we watched the floral victors be crowned.

  13

  The next morning, Mart and I walked into Tiffany’s room with the most ridiculous pair of leggings we could find at the dollar store – neon yellow and green stripes and a matching neon yellow shirt. We figured she might not have anything to wear home, given that her clothes were probably in evidence, not to mention ruined. Plus, garish attire always lifts the mood when worn in jest.

  As soon as we walked in, Tiffany started laughing because, of course, we couldn’t let her be the only one in a ridiculous outfit. I had pulled a pair of parachute pants out of the back of my closet, and Mart had on pegged jeans and three pairs of socks in alternating colors. We were the worst of eighties fashion, including Mart’s high pony that was tied up with a scrunchy. I felt absurd, but Tiffany’s laugh was worth it.

  She donned her leggings and T-shirt and thanked Mart profusely for the extra scrunchy we’d brought along. By the time she was discharged, the entire staff had been by to see us, and I could see the plans for an eighties day forming in the charge nurse’s eyes. She looked like a woman who might be willing to rip the collar off a sweatshirt if her outfit required it.

  We were just packing up the last of Tiffany’s things when I heard the door to her room close. I turned around, expecting to see the on-call doctor or a nurse there, but instead, it was Scott . . . and this time, his tattoos didn’t look charming. He looked downright menacing.

  Instinctively, I stepped between him and Tiffany, and Mart slid over to put her arm around Tiffany’s shoulders, where they stood on the other side of the bed. I hoped she was also reaching for the phone by the bed, but I couldn’t spare the glance to find out. Scott was moving toward us quickly.

  Without thinking, I put my arm out in front of me and pressed it against the huge man’s chest. He basically just plowed me backwards like one of those weight things I’ve seen used in the training montages of movies with football elements. I stopped when the hospital bed bent my knees and made sit down, and my sudden drop in height must have startled Scott because he stopped too.

  “What do you want?” Mart hissed from behind me.

  “I want her to know what she did to me,” Scott’s voice was almost a growl.

  I turned to look at Tiffany, and her eyes were as big as latte mugs. She clearly was as lost as I was.

  “What I did to you? I just met you the other morning before the parade,” Tiffany’s voice was shaking. “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Scott took another step forward and loomed over me. “Liar!”

  Mart pulled Tiffany closer and said, “Scott, you need to leave. If you have something to discuss with Tiffany, you need to address that to her attorney.”

  * * *

  “Or take it up with Sheriff Tucker,” I added. “Right now, you’re threatening us, and you need to stop.” I pushed my way to my feet and slid out from under Scott’s hulking body.

  Scott looked over at me and stepped back. “You need to watch yourself?” He jabbed a finger across the bed toward Tiffany.

  “Go,” I said, pushing Scott toward the door as best I could. He backed up a little, and at that moment, the door swung open. The charge nurse took one look at the situation and said, “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave, or I will have to call security.”

  Scott stared at Tiffany for one last second and then spun toward the door, slamming into the nurse as he went.

  “Call security,” I said as I jogged around the bed to grab Tiffany. I pulled my phone out of my pocket as Mart and I sandwiched Tiffany’s shaking body between us. “Tuck,” I said, “we need you at the hospital. Now.”

  Security was at the room within a minute, and the charge nurse told him what she’d seen and asked us to explain what had happened before she came in. He made notes, and then when Tuck arrived a few minutes later, out of breath and looking very worried, the guard repeated what we’d told him. By then, Tiffany was calmer as she sat up in a chair in the corner of the room.

  Tuck knelt beside her and asked how she was. “Okay, I guess. But I don’t know what he’s talking about. Really, I don’t.”

  “I know. But this might help.” He pulled a computer-printed photo from his breast pocket and handed it to her. “Do you recognize this man?”

  A gasp burst from her lips when she saw the photo. “Yes, he was one of Cagle’s cronies. Another woman accused him of rape, and he and Coach Cagle became buddies, claiming that both that woman and I had filed false statements.”

  I peered over Tiffany’s shoulder and studied the picture. Something about the guy looked familiar. “Wait, that’s Scott.”

  Tiffany’s head spun toward me. “What?! No it’s not.”

  “Yes, it is. Look at his face, his eyes and nose. He’s thinner here, and he doesn’t have tattoos, but that’s him.” I pointed toward the face in the photo.

  Tiffany leaned closer and studied the man. “Holy crap, you’re right.” All the color drained from her face. “He followed me here, didn’t he?”

  Tuck stood up. “It appears that way, but I can’t figure out why.”

  “I know why,” Tiffany said as she pulled her knees up to her chest. “It’s because I testified against him.”

  “What? Did he attack you?” Tuck asked, taking his notebook out of his pocket.

  “No, but I was there when he threatened that other woman. We had joined a support group and gotten to know each other that way, sort of the opposite of what Scott and Cagle did. We connected over our trauma,” she said quietly.

  “And they connected over their rage,” Tuck said.

  “Right. Anyway, Scott, although he went by another name then. Gavin, I think, came into a meeting and promised to make her pay.” Tiffany shuddered. “The other women were too scared to testify, but I couldn’t let him get away with that.”

  “That was brav
e,” I said.

  Tiffany shrugged. “I almost lost my nerve because Cagle was in the courtroom, right behind this guy. That’s how I realized they knew each other. But I made it through the testimony, and then I moved, right away.”

  “They must have stayed in touch, then, and Scott/Gavin moved here after Cagle did,” Tuck said.

  My mind was racing, but I could feel pieces starting to click into place. “So Scott wrote the threatening message and planted the bomb at the winery then?”

  “It sure seems that way. Clearly, he still carries a lot of that rage around, and now he’s directing it at RAINN.” Tuck sighed. “And at you. I’m sorry I let the security detail go this morning. I’ll make sure there’s a patrol car at your house when you get home.”

  Tiffany stood up. “Thank you.” She shrugged on her sweatshirt. “It’s time to go. I can’t let these people scare me anymore.” She straightened her shoulders and walked out the door, leaving Mart and me to follow as her very willing entourage.

  The ride to Tiffany’s house was quiet, and I supposed my friends were thinking much of what I was – how had we missed that about Scott? He’d seemed so nice, so self-aware. But then, I had been charmed by his skills, and I wondered how many other women had been, too. I couldn’t help but wonder what his wife knew. Did his children know their father threatened women? The idea made me so sad.

  The patrol car was already parked outside of Tiffany’s waterside bungalow when we arrived, and I recognized one of the deputies from the winery bombing. He gave a small wave as the three of us went up the walk to her house.

  Inside, Tiffany’s home was cute and charming with its beach theme. Her furniture was a cream-color that would never withstand our animals but here was pristine without feeling fussy. A deep blue throw was draped over the corner of a comfy-looking club chair, and the fireplace was filled with an array of candles in different sizes. “Clearly, you like lighthouses?” I said with a smile as I pointed at the shelves on either side of the fireplace that were filled with dozens and dozens of lighthouses.