by Rae Davies
I smiled and acted like I didn’t notice.
“Do you live around here?” I asked, wondering just how much milk and cheese you had to sell to own a place near the Deere mansion.
She shook her head. “No, I’m just... Abi...” She indicated the dog. “Has taken a dislike to a tree on our street. She barks at it non–stop every time we go by. So I put her in the car, drive a bit and then we walk. Today we wound up here.”
I noticed she had a camera hanging from her neck.
“You take pictures too?”
I needed someone to take new pictures of the Cuties for their website. Not that Laura would be the right fit, considering I’d first seen her pounding on car windows in their lot.
She shrugged. “It’s a hobby.”
Still pondering the possibility of having her take the Cuties’ photos, it took me a minute to reply, and she beat me to it, asking a question of her own.
“What about you?” She peered into the Jeep at the box I’d just placed there.
“Oh. I...” Remembering Darrell’s warning, I hesitated. He’d said this was just between him and me, but I couldn’t very well display the items he was loaning me without telling people I had his permission. Unless he wanted me to tell people I owned them, but nobody was going to believe the Deeres had sold the painting of Ruby to me. I shook my head, trying to dispel my confusion. It didn’t help.
Abi stepped forward to sniff me. Immediately my guard dropped. I stroked her under the chin and replied, “I’m picking up some things for the downtown association’s window display contest.”
“Really? From whom?”
Abi’s nose nuzzled my leg, reminding me that I’d dropped cheese Danish on my shorts at breakfast.
“The Deeres.” It was out before I realized it. I bit my lip, hoping I hadn’t messed up.
“Really? From the mansion? I’ve never been inside, but it’s gorgeous on the outside.”
The Deere mansion wasn’t visible from the street. Making me think I wasn’t the only one who was guilty of a little snooping. I was liking Laura more and more.
I nodded. “I hadn’t been until yesterday.”
“Really? So you met with one of the family? Was anyone else there?”
Realizing I was getting into dangerous territory, I bent down and stared into Abi’s chocolate brown eyes. “Speaking of gorgeous, how long have you had her?”
“Who? Abi?” Seeing me squatting next to her dog, Laura laughed. “My husband got her. She’s a rescue, and she’s supposed to be his, but he doesn’t take her anywhere.”
We both frowned at that.
I ran my fingers over the top of Abi’s head. “Poor baby.”
“He’s a dick,” Laura announced with zero shame.
Not wanting to say I agreed, but thinking anyone who didn’t want to spend time with a sweet creature like Abi couldn’t be all that great of a catch, I murmured something to the dog and then made myself busy arranging my first box more securely in the back of the Jeep.
Laura stood by, watching me and waiting. Her attention was so intense, it felt awkward to walk away.
“Uh. I went by the kiosk.”
She raised two questioning brows.
I shook my head. “I didn’t really learn anything. I didn’t see any signs of...” I flapped my shirt. “But...”
She seemed accepting of my uncertainty. “But there’s something not right.”
I nodded and, feeling as if I’d let her down, added, “I’m not done. I’m working on something for them, or my employee is.”
Her brows raised again.
I hurried to explain. “Just a website or talk of one. I don’t really plan on helping...” Realizing that getting Betty to do a website for the Cuties was helping them to succeed, when my original goal had been the opposite, I stuttered out something incoherent. Then, feeling myself flush, changed the subject. “There’s one more box. I guess I’ll go get it.”
She didn’t move.
“I’d ask you to come with me, but it isn’t inside. It’s just in the shed, and a shed’s a shed.”
She looked a bit disappointed, but still didn’t budge.
“Okay, then, I guess I’ll just shut—” I reached up to pull the back gate down so I could lock the Jeep and my borrowed treasures inside while I went to get the second box.
Laura stopped me. “Don’t worry about it. Abi and I will wait for you. That way you don’t have to mess with trying to unlock your car with your arms full. I was going to take a few more pictures anyway.” She rose up on her toes and looked to the right, in the direction of the bed and breakfast.
A little suspicious that maybe Laura wasn’t out photographing flowers, and hoping Phyllis didn’t decide to peer out a window while her WIL buddy was around, I thanked her for the offer and scooted off to get the second box.
It was heavier than the first, but I was motivated. With it pressed against my gut and chest, I walked as fast as I could back to the Jeep.
Laura and Abi were still there as promised, and my box was still inside. Eager to get back to my shop and share my loot with Betty, I thanked Laura for her help and fired up my rig.
As I drove off, I could see Laura in my rearview mirror, her body pointed toward the bed and breakfast, her camera up to her eye and her hand moving to zoom in on something that I couldn’t see.
Once again, I hoped Phyllis kept her nose out of sight. Or if she was caught, didn’t mention that I’d already discovered her whereabouts.
The police, I’d learned, could be quite snippy about not being informed of little things like a prime suspect hiding out right under their badges.
o0o
Back at my shop, I unloaded both boxes and plopped down on the floor to happily go through the contents. Kiska, ever hopeful for a treat, wandered out of my office and shoved his head into the second, heavier box. He was in up to his shoulders and trying to go deeper when Betty came up behind him and, placing both hands on his collar, tugged him out.
“Unless that’s cast iron in there, I wouldn’t trust it with that dog.” Kiska knocked his head against her thigh, telling her she was free to leave. She squinted down at him. “I’m not even sure about iron. If it was smaller than a T–bone, he’d make a good try at getting that down too.”
I was about to object to her unfair statements, which made my pet sound like some cross between goat and trash compactor, when the back door to my shop opened.
During store hours, I never locked the door that led out into the alley, and customers were free to use it or the front, but almost everyone except Betty, Phyllis and I used the front. Even Rhonda tended to come in the front.
I looked up at Betty. “Phyllis,” I mouthed. Then went back to sorting through my box, or pretending to. I wasn’t sure how I was going to play Phyllis returning, especially since I hadn’t told Betty that I had come across the third piece of our complete set at the B&B.
Except it wasn’t Phyllis who walked in.
It was Klein.
My head dropped back between my shoulders before I realized what I was doing.
The detective’s gaze washed over the three of us and the boxes, seeming to take in every nano–detail that existed, or might exist.
I licked my lips and started formulating a story – about what I wasn’t sure, but there was something about the detective’s regard that told me that I was going to need one and it better be good.
He stopped six or so feet away from us and studied Kiska. “Your dog looks better.”
Kiska, still in Betty’s grip, grinned.
He knew when people were talking about him.
Feeling at a disadvantage sprawled on the floor, I scrambled to my feet. “He is.”
“Did you figure out what he ate?”
I shook my head.
Klein’s head moved up and down ever so slightly, but I could tell it wasn’t because he was agreeing with me. More as if he was taking in what I said and fitting it into some missing spot of a puzzle he was trying to so
lve.
“Is that your Jeep out back?”
I frowned. He knew it was. Not only had he seen me with it, but he could easily have run my plates. Not to mention the “I <3 My Malamute” magnet or the “This Vehicle Stops At All Yard Sales” sticker.
In my experience, the police asking you a rhetorical question was not a good sign. Not that that mattered. I didn’t have a reason not to answer him. “It is.”
“Mind if I look inside?”
Now this I knew I didn’t have to do, and since Phyllis’ laundry was still inside, I wasn’t all that keen on complying. Not that Phyllis was big on monogramming her tops or labeling her underwear as far as I knew. I tapped my finger against my leg. I wasn’t a fan of confrontation, but I could tell by his casual stance he was settling in for the long wait. If I didn’t either comply or muster up the cojones to flat out say no, he’d probably still be standing there when my parents arrived this summer.
But if I said no, he’d get all pushy and ask why and maybe even call in Peter.
The smart thing to do would have been to say no and then, if he insisted, call Avery Gregor, a local attorney who had had the pleasure of representing me the last time the law and I crossed.
The two of us stood there silent for a good five minutes. It was long enough that Kiska wandered over to sniff Klein, decided the detective was treat–free and continued his wanderings into my office. Betty glanced from me to the detective, shook her head and went back behind the desk where she fired up the computer and began tapping away.
Finally, I crossed my arms over my chest and sighed. “Why do you want to look inside my Jeep?”
He stared at me, and I knew he wasn’t going to answer.
Twisting my lips, I thought some more. Now he had me wanting to look inside my Jeep, but if I went out there, he would most certainly follow. And while he couldn’t poke around inside without my permission, he could look through the door and claim he saw whatever he expected/wanted to see.
I twisted my lips again, this time the other direction. I dug my keys out of my pocket and stomped out the back door to my Jeep. Klein followed. I walked around the vehicle a few times, peering in the windows to see if anything looked amiss.
Then I walked twenty feet away and called Peter.
“Klein is here. He wants to look inside my Jeep.”
I could almost hear Peter gritting his teeth. “Call Gregor.” Then he hung up.
Ten minutes later, Peter and Klein were standing in the parking lot that sat on the other side of the alley. Neither moved much. No waving of arms. No jumping up and down. Not even a nod or a shake of a head to give me a clue as to what direction the conversation was going.
I had called Gregor, and he was on his way.
Another twenty minutes, and he actually arrived.
I saw Peter watch him as he got out of his car and lumbered in my direction. Some tension that I hadn’t realized he was holding escaped from my boyfriend’s shoulders and a few minutes later, Klein and Peter had stopped their conversation to join the attorney and me.
Gregor didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “I understand you would like to look inside my client’s vehicle, Detective...?” He tilted his head in question at Klein.
The Chicago native didn’t bother introducing himself. “I would. Unless there’s some reason she doesn’t want me to look.”
Gregor chuckled. “There is. It’s called right to privacy, along with illegal search.”
“Nothing illegal about probable cause.”
Peter’s head jerked at this. Gregor chuckled again. “If you had probable cause, the Jeep would already be open.”
“No, see, I was being polite, but since Ms. Mathews saw the need to call an attorney, I figure nice alone isn’t going to cut it.”
Klein’s level gaze and steely voice made me want to run inside and hug my malamute, but it didn’t seem to rattle Gregor in the slightest. Peter either. It did get his attention, though. He stiffened again.
Klein turned to me. “Ms. Mathews, I have a search warrant for your Jeep. Could you open it up, please?”
Sure enough, he pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. Before I could reach for it, my attorney already had it in his hand.
I didn’t have to wait for his ruling, though. I could tell by Peter’s expression that the thing was legit. My boyfriend had probably known Klein had one when he left the police department. It’s probably why he came. To make sure there was time for Gregor to arrive before Klein got me to open the Jeep. Peter knew I was going to need him.
Feeling more than a little sick, I nodded my head and unlocked the Jeep.
He started with Phyllis’s laundry which had conveniently tumbled out of its bag, or been helped out of its bag by a certain nosy malamute. Klein dropped each piece on the ground only pausing to give me one questioning glance as he placed a pair of floral print capris on the stack.
Definitely not my style, but Klein didn’t know me well enough to know that. I smiled and tried to look girly.
Peter, however, was a different story. He stiffened and his gaze shifted to me, but only for a second. By the time Klein had moved on to my glove box, all signs of my boyfriend’s potential suspicions were gone.
The glove box turned up nothing more interesting than a dried up bottle of white out and about twenty markers that I guessed were equally as useless.
Undeterred, the detective stood and studied the remaining contents of my vehicle. With a slight shake of his head, he pulled on a pair of latex gloves and dug under the driver’s side seat. Chip bags, soda cups, and hamburger wrappers quickly formed a hill on the ground next to Phyllis’s laundry.
I crossed my arms over my chest and let out a humph. The gloves were unnecessary. All of the items were perfectly clean. If they hadn’t been, they wouldn’t have been in my Jeep at all. Kiska would have eaten them.
When the pile on the ground brushed up against the bottom of my rig, Klein walked around to the passenger’s side and repeated his efforts.
Gregor muttered into my ear. “What’s he going to find?”
Besides more trash and possibly the almost new tube of mascara I was pretty sure rolled out of my drugstore bag last week when I hit a particularly gruesome pot hole, I had no idea.
Finally, Klein stood again. I turned to glance at Peter to see if he had any idea what it was Klein could be looking for and immediately heard my attorney mutter again. “What’s that?”
I swiveled back, just in time to see Klein pull out a pill bottle and hold it up to the light. After reading the label, he pinned me with those watery gray eyes. “Still sure you don’t know where Mrs. Cox is, Ms. Mathews? Or do you want to admit to stealing this prescription?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A half an hour later, I was sitting in a plain gray box of an interview room. Recently renovated, but still gratingly institutional. I stared at the mirror, which I suspected was two–way,, and tried to look calm.
The door opened. Gregor and Klein walked in. Leaning to the side, I was able to catch a glimpse of Peter and George standing in the hall. Peter, busy arguing with someone out of my range of view, didn’t see me, but George did. He gave me a thumbs up.
Reassured that my support team was still there, supporting, I settled back upright into my seat and smoothed my face back to calm.
Klein placed the pill bottle on the table so I could read the label. Phyllis’s name was indeed on it, along with a brand name that I recognized from many TV ads that featured a well–rested woman strolling on a beach.
Phyllis, it seemed, had insomnia.
I sighed.
He tapped the lid. “Have you seen this before?”
Phyllis and I weren’t in the habit of having sleepovers. “No,” I replied.
“But I found it in your car.”
I made a face. This wasn’t something he had to tell me. I’d been there. I had to assume that it had come out of the bag along with her laundry, but since I couldn’t exactly admit that
I was hauling around Phyllis’s laundry because that would lead to other questions like when I had procured said laundry, I pressed my lips together and tried not to look pained.
Seeing my expression, Gregor cleared his throat. Unfortunately, Klein had caught the look too. He smiled.
I pulled in a breath to re–find my calm. “I didn’t put it there.”
“Did Mrs. Cox?”
Phyllis had never been inside my Jeep. The thought of her sitting in one of its dog–hair covered seats was, in fact, laugh–out–loud funny.
I started to shake my head. My attorney stopped me by leaning forward, placing his elbows on the table and crowding me out so that I had no choice but to sink back against my chair.
“Ms. Cox is my client’s business partner. It is highly likely she could have left her medication in my client’s vehicle at some point in the past.”
Klein picked up the bottle and shook it. There was no telltale rattle. “Medication or bottle? Was there medication in here when you last saw it, Ms. Mathews?”
Again Gregor cut me off. “My client has already said that she hasn’t seen the bottle before. If you have no more questions...” He hoisted his considerable girth up and shoved the chair back with his legs as he stood. It screeched as it slid across the concrete.
We’d almost made it to the door when Klein called out. “The bottle was empty, and your dog was poisoned. I called the vet. This drug could have done that. If I were you, Ms. Mathews, I’d be wanting to have a very serious conversation with my business partner about now. That is, of course, if you really don’t know how the bottle got into your Jeep.”
My gut twisted, but I kept moving, out the door, through the building and out into the parking lot. It wasn’t until I was standing under the late afternoon sun that I let myself breathe.
And then it wasn’t with relief.
Klein had been asking about drugs like this all along. Is that how the Cutie was killed? Had Phyllis killed her? Worse, had she framed me by putting the bottle in her laundry, knowing I would have it in my Jeep? And worse yet, had she somehow poisoned my dog?
o0o
The next morning I woke up feeling more than a little alone. Peter had stopped by the night before, but not stayed long. I hadn’t been much in the mood to talk... or anything else.
