She stepped out of the car and returned his wave. “Hi, Travis. Or do you prefer Buzz?”
He shrugged. “Whatever.”
“Where are you off to?”
“I’m on a lunch run. I usually volunteer to pick up the food; it’s a good way to get out of the office.”
“Can I give you a ride?” she asked, leaning casually against her grandmother’s Buick.
“I don’t know. I saw you and Jason together last night.” He glanced over his shoulder uncertainly. Was he looking for Jason?
“Jason and I went to high school together, that’s all. How could I be interested in someone who arrested my grandmother?” How, indeed?
Travis turned back to her with a smile. “All right.” With a shrug, he climbed into the passenger side of the Buick and buckled his seatbelt.
“Where to?”
“The taco place,” he said.
“Can I ask you a question, Travis?” she asked. She darted him a glance before turning her attention to the road.
“What?” he asked. His tone was wary.
“How old are you?”
He smiled and relaxed into the chair. He was tall; much taller than Lacy’s five feet and two inches. Even though the seat was pushed back as far as it could go, he still appeared folded in half. “Twenty one. How old are you?”
“Twenty five.”
“You look younger,” he said.
“So do you,” she said. He laughed.
“I knew your sister,” he said.
Her hands gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Hmm.”
“Where is she now?”
“New York,” Lacy said. The words left a bitter, acrid taste on the back of her tongue.
“That suits her,” Travis said. “Riley was a year ahead of me, but she was one of those girls you knew was destined for greater things.”
“Hmm,” Lacy repeated. Blessedly, they arrived at the taco place and placed an order. As they waited for their food to be handed through the window, Lacy screwed up her courage. “Travis, what do they have on my grandmother?”
“Oh, I’m not, I mean, it’s not really…Didn’t Jason tell you?”
“Jason said he’s a peon who doesn’t handle investigations,” she hedged.
“Jason lied. He’s next in line for a promotion. Everyone knows when Brenner retires Jason’s going to be the next detective.”
“Are you going to get out of the jail and go on patrol?” she asked.
He shrugged. “That doesn’t appeal to me so much. I think I’m a lifer in the jail.” He sagged in his chair, staring dejectedly out of the window. It must be hard for a man to realize he wasn’t cut out for a dangerous lifestyle, she thought.
“Doesn’t the jail have a sergeant?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“You could be the jail sergeant. You would be good at it.”
He perked up. “You think so?”
“I do. You’re efficient and compassionate; that’s a rare combination.”
He turned to stare out the side window, a thoughtful expression on his face. “It was the pie.”
“Excuse me?” she said.
“The pie. They found your grandmother’s prints on a banana cream pie, and a witness placed her at the scene.”
Lacy felt like all the air had been sucked from the car. Yesterday morning before she left, her grandmother had been baking a banana cream pie. Since she was always baking something, Lacy assumed it was for a funeral. “Why would the presence of a pie be enough for an arrest?”
Travis turned toward her again. “There were two pie plates and a knife. The woman was stabbed, and there were pieces of banana and whipped cream around the wound. A couple of witnesses saw your grandma deliver the pie and go inside. A few hours later, the woman was found dead.”
“But dropping off a pie is a friendly gesture. Why would anyone drop off a pie, stay to eat, and then kill the person? That doesn’t make any sense.” She faced forward, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel.
“I’m going to tell you something about Detective Brenner,” Travis said. “Something off the record: he’s a lazy jerk. He jumps to the most obvious conclusion and then does as little work as possible to make the evidence fit his foregone conclusion. The situation is bad for your grandma, Lacy. The best advice I can give you is to hire a good lawyer. Maybe that Ed McNeil guy. He’s smarmy, but he gets the job done.”
Lacy’s nose wrinkled in distaste at the dreaded name. “I’ll think about it.” Their order came up. She grabbed the bag and handed it to Travis. They were silent on the short drive back to the jail, but when they pulled into the lot he made no move to get out.
“Thanks, Travis. It was really nice of you to give me that information. I’m going to do my best to clear my grandma, and every little bit helps.”
He smiled sheepishly, blushing faintly at the compliment. She blinked at him in surprise. He was no Jason, but he was cute. How was it possible that she, ordinary Lacy Steele, had made a guy blush?
“Lacy, I know you’re sort of swamped right now, but maybe when this blows over we could go out sometime?”
“Thanks for the offer, Travis, but I just got out of a really serious relationship. I’m not ready to date again. And, to be honest, you’re a little young for me.”
“Four years isn’t so much,” he said.
“It is when I feel like I’m ninety. The last few years haven’t been the best of my life. But I’m always looking for a friend.” She smiled to gentle her rejection.
He smiled in return. “Maybe you’d better tell Jason you’re not interested. He’s staring at us through the patrol room window.”
She fought the urge to turn and look. “What’s he doing here, anyway? He doesn’t usually come in until noon.” She tried to subdue her own blush at the realization that she had Jason’s schedule memorized.
“He’s working overtime.” Travis opened the door and stepped out. “See you Lacy.”
“See you, Travis,” she said. She waited until he closed the door and stepped onto the curb before she allowed herself to look toward the patrol room. She couldn’t see Jason, but she did see the rustling of the mini blinds as they settled back into place.
Chapter 6
Six hours later, Lacy arrived home exhausted and drained. She had spent the afternoon interviewing Barbara Blake’s neighbors as well as her grandmother’s group of friends. Then she called and harassed Detective Brenner’s secretary until she put her through to the detective. He had been surly and hateful, giving her only the sketchiest of details in the case, but it had been enough for Lacy to write the story for the paper and make her three o’clock deadline.
In the end, she had cobbled together enough facts to make a decent story. Len, the newspaper editor, had been duly impressed with her work and offered to call her whenever a story popped up. At any other time, Lacy would have been pleased to have located another source of income, no matter how small. But not now. Now she was frustrated and disappointed. While Lacy had established the rough facts of Barbara Blake’s life and death, she hadn’t found anything that would establish a connection between the deceased woman and her grandmother. She also hadn’t uncovered a motive for the murder or any other suspects.
The remainder of her grandmother’s friends protested her incarceration and repeated the same things that Gladys had told Lacy early that morning. Barbara had been a horrible woman. None of them had seen her since high school, and they were all certain there was no connection between her and Lucinda Craig, Lacy’s grandmother. But, like Gladys, all of them had been cagey and nervous. And their stories were so similar that Lacy had the vague impression that they were rehearsed.
Nothing made sense to Lacy, and there was such a lag in information that there was no possible way to make sense of the few facts she possessed. For tonight she wanted nothing more than to go for a run, take a shower, then crash in her soft warm bed and lose herself in the oblivion of sleep.
Unf
ortunately, that wasn’t to be. As soon as she pulled into her driveway, she noticed a man standing on the front porch. At first her traitorous heart began to thump hard in anticipation. Jason? Had he come to make amends? But, no, it wasn’t Jason. This man was taller and his hair was lighter and longer. Then it hit her. She knew who he was, and she knew why he was here.
He turned to her with a smile as she slammed out of her car and bounded up the steps. He opened his mouth to speak, but she held up a hand to cut him off. “You can tell your boss that I don’t want to hire him. If he were the last lawyer on the planet, I would rot in prison. Don’t call here again. Don’t step foot on my property. In fact, don’t even look at me. I’m going to go inside and if you’re still here in thirty seconds, I am calling the police to have you forcibly removed.” By the time she finished her speech, she was practically panting with anger. It had felt a little too good to unleash her fury on this unsuspecting stranger, but at least she had made her point. Hopefully.
He smiled. She geared up to yell at him again, but this time he was the one who held up his hand to halt her. “I should really wear this when I make calls,” he said. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a clerical collar and secured it over his polo shirt. She stared at it, dumbfounded.
“Please tell me this is some sort of ambulance-chasing lawyer trick to try and make me feel like a heel.”
“No, sorry. It’s a pastor’s trick to try and make you feel like a heel.” His smile widened and he held out his hand to her. “I’m the new pastor at your grandmother’s church. I heard about her, uh, predicament, and came to offer my assistance.”
Lacy put her hand in his while he pumped it a few times. “I don’t even know where to begin. Is it a sin to yell at a preacher?”
“Depends on what you yell,” he said. “I don’t think you crossed any lines of eternal damnation, though. It sounds like you’ve had a bad day.”
She shook her head. “Oh, no. Don’t be nice to me now. Please, please, please be an obnoxious jerk so I can feel somewhat vindicated for yelling at you.” She paused and bit her lip. “I don’t suppose you ran over a puppy on your way over here, or did anything else heinous enough to deserve what I just vented on you.”
He shook his head, his expression somber. “I rescued a kitten from a burning building and bought out a lemonade stand to send an underprivileged child to camp.”
“Now you’re just being cruel,” she said.
He grinned at her and she realized he was still holding her hand. “Let me make it up to you; let’s go grab something to eat.”
She stared up at him, realizing he was very tall and lanky. His hair was brown and slightly shaggy as if he were a couple of weeks overdue for a trim. His eyes were brown and kind. All in all he resembled a puppy--playful and sweet.
Mistaking her inspection for reticence, he hurried on, “Think of it this way: I’m a pastor, and you need to talk. Plus, I’m new in town and hungry. You’d be doing me a favor.”
“Okay,” she agreed, wondering if she was crazy for agreeing to have dinner with a total stranger. Still, he had the kind of warm brown eyes that drew people in and made him seem trustworthy. “Where do you want to go? I’ll meet you there.” At least she wouldn’t make the mistake of riding in a car with him.
“You choose. I’ve only been in town three days.”
“The diner. Have you seen it? It’s right off the highway on the edge of town.”
He nodded. “I passed it on my way in, but I’ll follow you in case I get lost.” He stood aside, waiting for her to pass by him.
She did, and then threw him one more searching look over her shoulder. Why was she doing this? It was unlike her to make up to someone so easily, especially someone who had just been witness to an embarrassing meltdown. Was she really so lonely?
He smiled at her, and she had her answer. Yes, she was lonely, and tired, and stressed; she just wanted to spend the evening somewhere other than her grandmother’s lonely kitchen doing something other than eating leftovers and feeling sorry for herself.
The drive to the restaurant was blessedly short, not allowing her the opportunity to change her mind. Although she’d had enough time to become nervous. What would she talk to this man about? How did she look after a day spent chasing down dead ends?
A quick look in the mirror told her the result of her day wasn’t good. The outside humidity had caused her hair to frizz around her face, and what few traces of makeup she’d applied than morning had already melted off. She parked in the first available spot and ran a brush through her hair a few times, touched up her eye makeup, and blotted her sweaty face with some translucent powder. It wasn’t great, but it was a vast improvement so that by the time she met the guy at the door, she felt somewhat presentable.
“I just realized I don’t know your name,” she blurted.
Before he could answer, a hostess greeted them and led them to a conspicuous table in the center of the crowded restaurant. Lacy wanted to crawl under the table when she felt every eye turning to look at them. She knew many of the people who were looking at her, if not by name then by reputation. To make matters worse, many of them attended her grandmother’s church. What would they say when they learned the mystery man she was dining with was their new pastor?
She licked her lips and gave a nervous glance toward the door. The last thing she wanted was to become the center of gossip. Was it too late to make a break for it?
“Tosh.”
She turned to stare at the preacher, looking up to do so. “Excuse me?”
“You asked me my name. It’s Tosh.” He indicated her chair with a wave of his hand, and waited until she sat before taking his own chair.
“I’ve never heard that name before.”
He smiled as he picked up a menu. “Apparently labor was pretty awful when I was born. My mom was so relieved to have medicine that she promised to name me after the anesthesiologist. Unfortunately for me, she was a woman named Natasha.”
Lacy’s eyebrows rose. “Your name is Natasha?”
He shook his head. “My mother is the type of person who sticks to her word, no matter what. She regretted her pain-induced vow, but she didn’t feel right about going back on it, even though the doctor in question probably couldn’t have cared less. Instead she changed the name slightly. Instead of Natasha, it’s just Tosh.”
“What’s your last name?” she asked.
“Underwood.”
“That’s almost as bad as my name,” she said sympathetically.
“What’s your name?”
“Lacy Steele.”
“What’s wrong with that? It’s pretty; it suits you.”
“I’ve always hated it. It’s an homage to my grandmother, I guess. Her name is Lucinda, though only her closest friends call her Lucy.”
He put down his menu and put on what she guessed was his official pastor’s face. Somehow he managed to look concerned and wise at the same time, which was a feat because he was very young.
“I heard she was arrested yesterday for murder.”
“She didn’t do it,” Lacy said defensively. “She’s the sweetest person in the world. And besides that, there’s no motive and very little evidence.”
His expression slid into a perplexed frown. “No offense, but that’s an odd thing to say. What would you know about motives and evidence? Are you in law enforcement?”
“No. I’m a writer. I spent the day tracking down leads.”
He leaned in and rested his face in his hand. “Did you find anything?”
She shook her head just as the waitress arrived, delaying any further conversation. Lacy ordered and watched while Tosh made easy, polite conversation with the waitress. She had never been one of those people for whom social interaction came easily, and she was amazed by his gift of gab.
“You’re staring at me,” he said when the waitress walked away.
“Do they teach you how to talk to people at pastor school?”
“No.
They tried to teach me how not to talk to people. I have the unfortunate habit of blurting out the first thing that pops into my head without running it through a filter first--not good for the politicking required of pastors today.”
“Politicking?” she echoed.
“Being a pastor is a little like being elected to public office. You have to make your board and your parishioners happy while still fulfilling your calling to preach. It takes a finesse that I’m afraid I haven’t developed yet.”
“You seem good at it to me.”
“That’s because you’ve only seen me in happy situations. I have no tolerance for hypocrisy or meanness within the church. I’m afraid I’m a little too good at speaking my mind.”
“Is that why you’re here in my grandmother’s tiny church instead of somewhere bigger?”
“That’s one of the reasons,” he said. “Another is because I’m young and this is my first senior pastorate. Also, I wanted to come here. I grew up in Chicago. I’ve always wanted to live in a small city.”
“Are you crazy? Small cities are the worst.” Realizing how loudly she blurted that last sentence, she leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Everyone knows everyone else’s business and there’s nothing to do. We don’t even have any decent restaurants.” She said the last statement just as the waitress arrived with their food. It wasn’t her imagination that her plate landed in front of her with a slight thump.
When the waitress walked away, she realized Tosh was trying not to laugh.
“This is really not my day,” she told him.
“If you hate it here so much, why don’t you get out?”
“I did for a while. Turns out the big city wasn’t so great, either. Maybe there’s nowhere for me.” She knew how pathetic she sounded, but she couldn’t help it. Right now she was at the end of her emotional tether.
“What happened?” Tosh asked.
She picked up her fork and cut her chicken, not sure if she wanted to answer.
“Sorry, I’m also intensely nosy,” Tosh explained. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want.”
Suddenly she found that she did want to tell him, though she had no idea why. She was generally a private person. “I went to New York right out of college. I had a job. It paid well, but not well enough to afford Manhattan. I had a few roommates and we found a slum uptown. Everything was going great. To date, it was the best time of my life.”
Morning Cup of Murder Page 5
