by R. L. Syme
Finally, he gave in and climbed back into the Tank. Would it count as a scandal to Peter Mayhew if all I did was sit in the sheriff’s office and eat a meal with a man who might be accused of murder? Surely even Peter couldn’t spin something like that into an issue. No one would ever get wind of it, except the people at the station, and half of them were in my parish already.
I’d bring a few cookies inside to ensure their stomachs were happy. Something about the way Henry’s demeanor had changed had me on edge, and I wanted to make sure he didn’t do anything to incriminate himself, especially since I was so certain he was innocent of the murder. Whatever he was hiding, it wasn’t that.
It couldn’t be.
Chapter Six
The box of macarons was apparently an acceptable bribe because Irma—the department administrator—allowed us to dine on one of the empty desks in the back of the bullpen. Memories of visiting the precinct in Southeast Raleigh, or of the Durham police department made this bullpen dinner seem like a scene straight out of Mayberry.
My steak was lukewarm, but tasty enough with the creamy gorgonzola sauce. Irma warmed up Henry’s pasta in the microwave and the thick ropes of hand-cut tagliatelle steamed as he put the first bite into his mouth.
Henry had been in a daze ever since we arrived at the station. Malcolm had already taken Scarlet down the back hallway into what was likely an interrogation space.
“Did the sheriff arrest her for Claire’s murder?” Henry said, his accent back in full throttle. He wiped his mouth with one of the napkins.
“I’m not sure. I guess they don’t technically have to arrest you in order to detain you, right?”
I cut the skin of my baked potato and took a starchy bite. The toppings were cold and I found myself wishing I hadn’t put it in my mouth. I pushed the plate away.
“Why would he do that?”
“Do you know Scarlet didn’t kill her?”
Henry didn’t answer right away, and he twirled another bite of pasta onto his plastic fork. “I know I was with her a good part of the day.”
“But not the whole day.”
“No.”
“Look, I have a feeling this is going to come out anyway, so I’m just going to tell you…” I put my fork down and crossed my hands in my lap, affecting my very best comforting minister posture. “The sheriff came by my bakery early this evening, and he showed me some pictures of the crime scene.”
Henry wouldn’t meet my eyes. He twirled his fork around, loading it up with more slippery tagliatelle.
“The box of macarons you purchased,” I said. “Do you know what happened to them?”
He shrugged, giving off the tense look of a little boy in the principal’s office. “I think I threw the rest away when we stopped. Or maybe Scarlet did.” He pursed his lips, finally meeting my eyes. “When you sent us up the road to Rolo, I didn’t realize it at first. I haven’t been back here in probably twenty years, and they moved the highway.”
A tight fist squeezed in my chest, like it was holding my organs hostage, but he didn’t seem to be accusing me of anything.
“By the time we hit the city limits, Scarlet was a mess. We had this stupid meeting at the bank at noon, and we were clearly going to miss it, only she doesn’t really understand the geography around here, so she kept saying, It must be just around this next corner. You know how that road is—I mean, it’s a winding mess, and there aren’t many turnouts.”
“I know.” I nodded, feeling the heavy press of guilt, and lowered my gaze to my half-eaten expensive meal. “I am still so sorry for that.”
“She really did deserve it,” Henry said, and it was obvious a kind of relief washed over him when he said those words out loud. “She always says horrible things like that to people, and neither of you girls are fat, anyway—not that it would make it okay if you were, but she was just…” He let out a long, weary sigh. “She can be truly horrid.”
“Yeah, but I should have just ignored her.”
“It’s not your fault, Vic,” he said, squeezing my hand. He picked up his fork again and tried another twirl of pasta. “Scarlet turned right at that stoplight in Rolo and kept looking for the bank, and by the time I realized what was going on…I was on the phone with my lawyers, and I just wasn’t…it wasn’t my best moment.”
“It wasn’t mine, either.”
“I’m choosing glass-half-full,” he said, raising the Styrofoam cup of water Irma had given him like it was a wine glass. He touched it to mine. “Because we missed the meeting, I got to spend some time with you.” His smile was dazzling and camera-ready, and it made my insides go a little jumpy. “Besides, we’ll make the bank appointment in the morning. I’ll be back in Malibu this time tomorrow.”
My internal trampoline-fest came to a screeching halt.
Of course he was leaving tomorrow. I’d known that all along. His job was in LA, and my jobs were both here. As much as I’d like to be on my way back to a beach in the morning, too, my life would go on, in land-locked Saint Agnes.
I cleared my throat, trying to clear the silly school-girl stuff that had popped up out of nowhere, and focus on the problem at hand. “So, did you stop somewhere and throw the box out?”
“Box?”
“The box of macarons you got at my bakery.”
Henry gave a little shake of his head, like I’d stumped him on that one. “I can’t remember. I think one of us threw it out when we stopped for directions.”
“Where did you stop?”
“We circled back to the gas station by the baseball field. Right when you come to that stoplight.” He stabbed at the pasta and put a bite in his mouth, guiding the straggling ends in with the utensil.
“Did you see Claire Hobson?”
That name stopped him mid bite. Henry choked a bit and had to down some of his water. “Why do you ask?”
“Because if you didn’t see her, then you can tell the sheriff as much. It’ll help convince him to send you on your way.” I felt a little heat rising in my throat, like the emotion of being cast aside was already catching up with me.
His brows knit together. “Do they even know how she died?”
“Are you sure you want to know?”
“I’m assuming that’s a yes, then.” Henry put his fork down, leaning in with just the tiniest bit of aggression. “All this for a box of macarons? Do they know for sure it’s the same box that I bought this morning?”
“I didn’t sell any other boxes of macarons today, and I made the first batch I’ve ever made this morning. So, they’re pretty sure.”
“But you’ve been giving them out all over town,” Henry said, pointing at the front of the room where Irma had the big white box open on the front of her desk. “How can they know it’s mine?” He stood from the rickety chair. “I’m going to get my car and find the box that I bought, just to prove it to you.”
He was halfway to the door when Malcolm Dean cleared his throat behind us and said, “And just where do you think you’re going?”
Henry didn’t stop right away. “I’m going to get my car.”
“There’s no need for that, Mr. Savage.” Malcolm stepped out from the hallway and into the main room, his arms crossed. “It was your box at the crime scene. Scarlet’s told us everything.”
The immediate freeze of Henry’s body was so similar to his reaction at the restaurant and outside the B&B, it was like muscle memory. Or method acting. I was beginning to fear there was no difference.
“What do you mean, she’s told you everything?” he asked, turning slowly around until he faced the sheriff.
“I mean we have enough to arrest you now, so I’m going to call the DA and then read your rights, and we’re going to book you for murder.”
The words hung in the air, like they were being held there by the three of us collectively not moving. He seemed awfully calm for someone who was about to arrest a dangerous criminal.
“What evidence do you have?” I asked.
&nb
sp; Malcolm glared down at me, as if from on high. “What’s it to you, anyway, Evangeline?”
“I’m his…” I hesitated on the word date. After all, we hadn’t managed to have one—the closest we’d come was our dinner at this empty desk at the police station.
“His…what?” Malcolm asked again, a hard smirk on his face. “I have news for you, missy.” He pointed at Henry. “This one’s married.”
My breath actually stopped moving in my chest. It felt like my blood and the earth and time had all stopped moving at the same time.
He’d told me he wasn’t married to Scarlet, but I guess I’d never thought to ask if he was married to someone else.
I tried to form words, but they wouldn’t come. This red-hot humiliation was not new to me, and I could feel the press of tears in my throat, threatening to choke me.
“Vic, it’s not—”
“Don’t call me that,” I snapped, anger bubbling up suddenly. “You’re not British, and I’m not a vicar.” I held my breath for a long moment to keep the tears away, then rounded on Malcolm. “And why would it matter to me if he’s married?”
“If not, why would he matter to you at all?” Malcolm raised his brow.
“I’m a pastor. It’s my job to stand up for those who can’t stand up for themselves.” I said the words slowly, in case he had a hard time processing them. “Not only that, but it’s a free country, and if I want to be here, I can be here.”
“Well, you can’t be in the interrogation room, and you can’t be here when I book him, so you might as well just scurry along home.” Malcolm gestured for Henry to come to him. “It’ll go easier on you if you cooperate, son.”
He said the word son like he was some ancient, Old West marshal with a shot-up silver star and a six-shooter. But he wasn’t. He was barely any older than me or Henry, and he was an elected official. I wanted to rub all that in his stupid face, but I couldn’t find the words. I was still too stunned by the news that Henry was married.
I should have trusted my gut. Something had told me he was married from the moment he’d walked into my bakery—partly because I was so attracted to him, and my lot in life was to be attracted to unavailable men, and partly because of the way he carried himself. His flirting had also seemed too casual, the dabbling of a man who wasn’t single but remembered how much he’d enjoyed it.
One of these days, I would learn my lesson.
Henry offered his hands, Malcolm pointed toward the hallway he’d just come through, and they disappeared into the back.
Would Scarlet be on her way out, or would he charge her? I still didn’t know what kind of evidence they had on either of them.
But I couldn’t help remembering the look that had crossed Henry’s face upon leaning of Claire’s death. It hadn’t been a look of guilt. He’d been shocked by the news, but more than that, he’d seemed profoundly sad.
He was certainly guilty of stringing me along, but he wasn’t guilty of murder. And if Henry hadn’t killed Claire, the sheriff had the wrong man in custody.
That meant the guilty party was getting away.
Chapter Seven
I stood in the back parking lot of the high school, leaning against the front fender of the Tank, debating my better angels about heading in there to look for Nikki Krantz in the stands of the gym. Outside in the dark, it genuinely felt like I was arguing with heaven.
There’s a difference between country night and city night. In any city, anywhere in the world, the sky never gets really, truly black. Between streetlights and houselights and such, there’s always a dull glow somewhere. But country night is deep black. So black, sometimes, you can’t even see two feet in front of you on the ground.
But you can see the stars. There are layers of stars and galaxies you never even knew existed until you get to the country. Every night in Saint Agnes was clear and crisp and dark as outer space. It was unnerving for some, but it had surprised me how much I loved it. It felt closer to heaven.
The amount of cars in the lot indicated the game hadn’t ended, but what if I walked in right at the end, drawing stares from everyone? Really, I shouldn’t be interfering. Still, I found myself pushing off the Tank and heading inside. I gave my money to the girl at the ticket booth, and she stamped my hand with a cat’s head logo in an awful shade of orange. Ah, that was the mascot.
The front lobby of the gym wasn’t crowded. A few people milled around the open windows of the concessions stand, swimming in the smell of fresh popcorn. The squeak of sneakers and low hum of crowd noise were further clues the game was still in progress.
Anticipation rose in my throat as I made my way through the nearest doors. The bleachers rose up beside me, hands and arms hanging over or snaking through them, like they were all praying at the sanctuary of sports. Having grown up in North Carolina, I’d worshipped regularly at this altar.
A whistle blew and the crowd gave a collective groan.
I scanned the crowd and saw a few familiar faces, but there was no sign of Nikki Krantz. The better angels should have won out on this one. It had been wrong of me to come here, wrong of me to poke around a victim’s family like I was some kind of cop.
Suddenly, a crush of girls in uniforms came racing down to my side of the court. The crowd’s attention followed. I took in more of the audience. No one seemed to register me, which was good. A basket swished, and the crowd jumped to their feet. I took that as my exit cue.
I was halfway through the lobby when I heard someone yell out, “Miss Vee,” from behind me. I turned to find Leo Van Andel running across the lobby.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his face bright with a youthful glow.
“I came looking for…” I stopped. Telling Leo that I was looking for his best friend’s mother should have been innocuous enough, but this situation was a powder keg. I was here to ask questions about her dead sister. Not a nonchalant social visit. “What are you doing here?”
I felt like an idiot as soon as the words were out of my mouth.
“My sister’s on the team,” he said, pointing back at the gym. “They’re pretty much slaughtering Manhattan right now.”
“Of course.”
“Austin was just here, too, but I think they’re gone.”
Score. An in. I hadn’t had to awkwardly introduce the subject myself.
I ticked my head to one side. “How is Austin, anyway?” I asked, trying to make it seem innocuous. I probably tried too hard, but Leo was usually a saint about letting me be awkward and dumb when I needed to be.
“Good. You just saw him like two hours ago.”
“Yeah, I just wondered. He seemed…I don’t know…like maybe not himself today. I just figured… y’know…I should check in on him.”
Lord’s Barnacles. I was probably blushing up a red streak, I was so nervous. This shouldn’t have been so rocket-science-y. I asked questions for a living.
“Nah. He was fine. His mom seemed a little edgy when she took him home, though.”
“Really?” I pressed a little harder. “Did you talk to her before they left?”
“No. She ran into the sheriff and they probably had a fight or something.”
“A fight?” It bent my mind a little to imagine straight-faced Malcolm Dean having a fight with any woman.
“Yeah. They haven’t been on speaking terms for awhile, I guess.”
“Why not?”
“Well, probably, since the breakup. I mean, you don’t want to cozy up to your ex, right?” He said the words in an off-handed, Royal-You kind of way, but they bit into me. The memory of my ex—which I’d been working to repress for almost a year—surfaced in my mind. My throat burned with an answer.
No, I didn’t want to cozy up to my ex, either.
Wait just a cotton-pickin’ minute…
Ex.
“Malcolm and Nikki are exes?” I gave my head a tiny shake. “Like… she’s his ex-wife?”
I’d heard it said the sheriff had an ex-wife somewhere,
but I’d figured she was long-gone. I tried to imagine graceful, long-necked Nikki Krantz with the dark-haired Viking of a sheriff we had in Saint Agnes. A romance novel cover formed in my mind like someone had chiseled it out of a rock. Slow and deliberate.
“Not his ex-wife. I mean Nikki dated him for a while last year, between our junior and senior year. Austin spent a lot of time at my house while they were together. I don’t think he likes Malcolm very much.” Leo stuffed his hands in his pockets. “You gonna stay for the rest of the game?”
I weighed my options. Nikki had talked to the sheriff and then gone home. If I followed her there, I would have to be honest about why I wanted to talk to her. I’d never been to her house before, and there would be no way to pretend I was doing anything other than snooping around. On the other hand, if I stayed at the game, I might end up being able to pass myself off as an interested basketball fan. I would never have to let on that I’d come to see Nikki in the first place.
I went to sit with Leo and his parents for the remainder of the game. Jenna and Mike were probably ten years older than me. Jenna had always been polite, though I hadn’t really met Mike before. It had the strange feeling of being introduced to your boyfriend’s parents, and I was hyper aware of the weirdness as I sat there, watching them cheer on their daughter.
There was no way in the world that Jenna Van Andel wasn’t judging me right now. I’d felt it as soon as Leo had brought me over. The vibe was so painfully awkward, I half expected Leo not to show up at work anymore. He had always felt like my little brother, so I couldn’t understand why they felt so uncomfortable. Were they imagining Fatal Attraction scenarios? Did they think I’d followed him here?
I should’ve just gone home.
The game didn’t last much longer. The girls had been, in fact, slaughtering the other team. By the time the final buzzer rang, the losing score was about half the winning score. Jenna and Mike rose, trying to say an awkward goodbye to me.
