Written in Blood (Otter Creek Book 3)

by Rebecca Deel

  “You wanted to see me, Rod?” Delia Brandenburg hadn’t changed at all since high school, except maybe to grow more beautiful. She had Barbie doll looks, blonde hair, blue eyes, perfect bow-shaped upper lip. She’d been on the arm of the star quarterback throughout high school.

  “Thanks for taking the time from your children to talk to me.”

  “No problem. The maid’s keeping an eye on them for a few minutes.” She sat on the loveseat in front of the picture window. The waning afternoon sunlight streaming through the window glinted off her hair.

  Rod smiled. “The first thing I want to know is how did such a beautiful woman end up with a number cruncher like Don?”

  Delighted laughter spilled from her lips. “Brains won out over brawn when the football jocks wanted me to do their papers and homework for them in college. I ran into Don one day at the student union and he helped me with a math problem I couldn’t solve.” She grinned. “I figured cultivating a friendship with the brain of our graduating class might pay off in better grades. I never thought it would grow into love, but it did.”

  “Congratulations on such a beautiful family. Don showed me pictures of the twins.”

  Pleasure lit her face. “We tried to have children for a long time before we adopted the boys. We’re so grateful to Senator Drake for helping us with the red tape. I don’t know what I would do without the boys. They are my life.”

  “Is the difficulty having children something you had in common with Sherri?”

  She nodded, the light fading from her expression. “She and Ty had been trying to have a baby for years.”

  “When did you see Sherri last?”

  “Two weeks ago. We met for lunch at the Tea Room.”

  “Did she seem bothered by anything?”

  Delia dropped her gaze, her face flushing.

  “Delia, don’t hold information back. Everything I learn about Sherri and the happenings in her world will help me find out who killed her.”

  “I don’t like this. I feel like I’m gossiping behind people’s backs.”

  “What you tell me stays with me unless it’s relevant to solving the case. I need you to be honest with me, for Sherri’s sake.”

  Her hands clenched in her lap. “Sherri was worried about Ty. She said he’d been acting out of character.”

  “Out of character, how?”

  “New cologne, new style of clothes, being out of touch for hours at a time, skipping a class or two. I told her it sounded like he was going through some kind of mid-life crisis.”

  “What did she think?”

  “She thought he was involved with another woman, again.”

  Rod’s gut clenched. He’d hoped Sherri hadn’t known about Ty’s renewed infidelity before she died. “Did she say what she intended to do?”

  A tear slipped down her cheek. “I think I really messed up, Rod.”

  “You told her to confront him?”

  She nodded. “Ty claimed to love her and they were trying so hard to have a baby. How could he do that to her? How could he betray her like that? And it wasn’t even the first time.”

  “Do you know if she talked to him?”

  “She called me Sunday afternoon. Ty called her Saturday night and she told him she knew about the other woman.”

  “Why didn’t she wait until he returned home?”

  “Ty’s temper is volatile. She told me she felt safer confronting him on the phone, out of arm’s reach.”

  So Ty had lied to him. A cold feeling roiled in the pit of his stomach. Ty had claimed not to notice anything amiss when he talked to Sherri Saturday night. Rod had to consider the possibility his friends had an argument and, in the heat of temper, Ty decided to come home early and take her out of the picture so he could have Candy.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Try this, Meg.” Jean Sanford slid a plate across the table. Bite-size pieces of various scones dotted the surface. “Lemon, blueberry, raspberry, cranberry-orange and vanilla.”

  She watched, eager for Meg’s response to every taste. Each bite melted on Meg’s tongue, leaving her taste buds wanting more. “Wonderful, Jean. Are any of these new flavors only for the Christmas season?”

  “The cranberry-orange isn’t normally on the menu. I love to include cranberries during the holidays. They look so festive.”

  “Why don’t you set a table with a full Christmas tea? Everything looks so good the picture alone is sure to bring you holiday shopper business.”

  Jean jumped up. “Great idea. Why don’t I prepare it for you? On the house, of course.”

  Meg waved her hands. “No, no. Thank you, but I couldn’t possibly eat all that.” Not and eat dinner with Rod in a short while.

  Jean hustled back and forth to the large kitchen, carrying out finger sandwiches, clotted cream, tarts, scones and shortbread. After selecting an elegant china teapot with matching cup and saucer, she arranged the food on plates and placed the plates in a three-tier plate holder. “What do you think, Meg?”

  “This will make a beautiful picture.” Meg pulled out her camera and snapped pictures from different angles, shooting close-ups of the food and teapot. “Are all your customers women?”

  Jean laughed. “Most of them, but there are a few men who dare to enter this Victorian domain.”

  Meg stopped photographing. “Really? Who?” She couldn’t imagine any of the men in her family stepping foot in this female-dominated atmosphere. All the boas, ornate furniture and fans, the hats to wear while eating would make them turn on their booted heel and run with a curl of the lips.

  “Well, a couple weeks ago, Ty Drake brought his secretary in for lunch. They ordered a full Christmas tea and shared it.” She turned away, a frown on her face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Well, I don’t suppose it matters now, but I didn’t think his secretary behaved like a secretary.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Jean’s face flushed. “Maybe I shouldn’t be talking about this. Seems wrong, somehow.”

  “Every piece of information is important in a murder investigation. If you want me to, I’ll pass on the information to Detective Kelter.”

  “He won’t mention my name, will he?”

  Meg patted her arm. “I’ll ask him to keep your name under wraps. Now, how did this woman behave?”

  Jean glanced around, checking that none of her waitresses were in sight. “Well, to tell the truth, I think she behaved more like a girlfriend than a secretary. She sat too close, fed him bites of food from her plate, spent a lot of time gazing into his eyes.” She shook her head, disgust plain on her face. “I’m surprised Sherri let him treat this woman to lunch.”

  Unless Jean misjudged the situation, Meg doubted Sherri knew about the lunch. “What did this woman look like?”

  “Oh, she was a looker. Red hair, witchy green eyes, tall, almost as tall as Ty.”

  “People need to call for reservations, don’t they?”

  “They sure do, honey. We have very limited seating.”

  “Do you keep the reservations in a book or something?”

  “Actually, we log reservations into a spreadsheet program on the computer at the front desk.”

  Meg packed the camera and notepad in her bag. “How long do you keep guest logs in your system?”

  “You know, I don’t think we’ve deleted any of them. They’re in files by month and the year.”

  “Would you mind printing out a copy of November and December’s guest reservation lists?”

  “I suppose that would be fine. Do you really think it might help Detective Kelter?”

  “I believe it will.” If Jean wasn’t mistaken about the date, it most likely coincided with the Senator’s last fundraiser in Knoxville, a fundraiser Ty couldn’t attend because of a programming deadline.

  Rod watched Meg from her office doorway for a minute. He grinned at the intense concentration on her face as she typed on the computer keyboard.

  When it app
eared she came to a stopping place, he spoke. “Hungry?”

  Her head jerked up. “Rod.” She looked puzzled and glanced at her watch. She smacked her forehead. “We were supposed to meet a half-hour ago. I’m sorry. I was just going to write another paragraph and I guess I lost track of time.” She maneuvered the mouse through a series of clicks and backed away from her desk.

  “It’s okay, Meg. You didn’t answer my question, though. Are you hungry?”

  “Starving.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Didn’t Jean treat you to a full tea?”

  She eyed him as she grabbed her bag. “You’ve been to Jean’s?”

  “Sure. It’s not a favorite haunt of mine, but Erin and Kayla loved it.”

  “Sherri liked it, too.”

  He helped her into the SUV and climbed behind the wheel. “Did you go to the Tea Room with her?”

  “A few times, but it was more Serena’s style than mine. Sherri didn’t ask me to go with her often.”

  Rod backed into the square. “Where would you like to go for dinner?”

  “The Rodeo.”

  “You’re in the mood for Tex-Mex food? Should I be worried?’

  Meg laughed. “No. It’s across the street from Flint’s. I thought we might stop there after dinner.”

  “Doing some detecting on my dime, Cahill?”

  “You have to talk to Lucy anyway. And maybe she’ll give you a list of people who buy that pine-cleaner cologne.”

  Rod grinned. “Pine-cleaner cologne?”

  “That’s what it smells like to me now.” Her hand clenched. “I pitched all the pine-scented cleaners at home into the trash about three o’clock this morning.”

  His amusement faded. “Couldn’t sleep?”

  “Pine-scented nightmares.” She shivered. “I doubt I’ll ever have another live Christmas tree in my home.”

  He reached over and took her hand in his. “Good thing you can buy an artificial tree, then.”

  “That’s the easy part to fix. I just wish I could wipe out the memory that goes along with the smell.”

  He squeezed her hand. “The sense of smell is the strongest memory trigger for people. It may take a long time.”

  “I hope my family understands when I refuse to go into the living room on Christmas day.”

  At The Rodeo, Rod chose a table in the corner, away from the bar and most of the diners in the restaurant. After they placed their orders, Meg pulled a sheaf of papers from her bag.

  “What this?”

  “Reservations list for November and December at the Tea Room.” She flipped a couple of pages and pointed to a highlighted name.

  Ty Drake had been to the Tea Room a couple of weeks ago? The date of the reservation struck him as odd, but he couldn’t put a finger on why. “How did you get this?”

  “Miss Jean provided them. Did you see the name?”

  Rod’s lips twitched. “Sure, but you must know something I don’t. What is it?”

  “Did you notice the date? Sherri was in Knoxville at a fundraiser for the Senator during that time.”

  “So who did he take to lunch?”

  “I think it was Candy. Jean’s description of Ty’s ‘secretary’ fit Lucy’s description of the woman who was in the store buying cologne with him.”

  He smiled. “Guess it’s a good thing I’d planned to talk to Lucy and Candy, isn’t it?”

  “Guess it is.” She grinned.

  Partway through the meal, Rod said, “I see you writing at all hours of the day and night. How can you do that?”

  Meg laid down her fork. “What do you mean?”

  “Aren’t writers supposed to be sensitive, half-soused, in pajamas all day, writing at odd hours when the muse strikes?”

  She laughed, her laughter so infectious he found himself grinning at her.

  “Well, is it true or not?”

  “Not.” She wrinkled her nose. “Well, at least in my case it’s not true. Deadlines don’t wait for the muse to visit. If my writing muse is absent, I go out and find her. If she won’t come home willingly, I drag her to work by the hair and make her get busy.”

  Rod chuckled. “You sound serious.”

  “I am. People who wait for the muse to strike to start writing don’t write much. Newspapers don’t wait for the muse. I have deadlines to meet every day. If I don’t meet them, the paper goes to press with a lot of white space and very little news.”

  “Does Ruth have your work habits?”

  Meg nodded. “That’s why she’s a New York Times bestselling author. Think about it this way. You go to work every day whether you’re inspired or not. You investigate burglaries and murders and sometimes rescue dogs and cats.”

  Rod nodded. He had the scars to prove he’d climbed trees to bring down a few AWOL felines.

  “I go to work every day, too. I interview people and take pictures, then I sit and write. It’s my job. I’m good with words and I’ve discovered there’s no appreciable difference between words written when my muse is hot or when she’s cold. When she’s cold, I struggle harder and longer to type the words, but the production is still there. It has to be there. But I have to show up with a pad and pen or a computer. The writing won’t happen unless I sit down and tell the story.”

  “And you like what you do?”

  “I love my job. I love to keep Otter Creek informed about what’s happening. It draws people closer together, creates a sense of community. I help provide safety and security for my town. If there’s a burglary spree, I help people be on the lookout for unusual activity. If there’s a murder, people need to know there’s a killer among them.”

  Rod nodded. He noted the same passion in Meg that he felt for his job. He helped balance the scales, satisfied the need for justice when he closed a case. The victims depended on him to hear their voice, their story and bring balance to the system. They depended on him to make a last stand for them.

  He nodded at her empty plate. “Would you like dessert?”

  She shook her head. “Later, maybe. Let’s get to Flint’s before they close.”

  “Tell me about Sherwood.” Rod jotted down a few notes as Lucy described the men’s cologne. “Do you keep several bottles on hand or special order?”

  “We order two bottles a month. We have four customers who regularly buy a bottle every other month.” She shrugged. “It works out where we sell two a month.”

  “What are the names of the four customers?”

  Lucy gave him the list, one of which was Sherri Drake. She probably bought the pricey cologne for the senator since Ty didn’t wear that scent. The other three men Rod had never heard mentioned in connection to the murder. He’d check them out, but suspected they wouldn’t offer any new information to his case.

  The counter girl smiled at Meg. “How did your boyfriend like the cologne we selected?”

  Boyfriend? Cologne? Rod searched Meg’s fiery expression.

  “I haven’t given it to him yet. I’ll let you know later.”

  “Please, do.” Lucy glanced over Meg’s shoulder, her eyes widening. “You know that woman I told you about? The one with Ty Drake?”

  “Yes?”

  Lucy nodded toward the front of the store. “She’s standing at the jewelry counter.”

  Rod pressed his card into the girl’s hand. “Thanks, Lucy. If you think of anything else that might help, call me.”

  After she nodded, he strode toward the jewelry counter. Rod spotted the tall, red head immediately. Meg was right. The woman was hard to miss. Candy Wilson leaned over the counter, talking to the clerk.

  “No, that’s too small. I’d like to see the half-carat one.”

  Her drawl reminded Rod of southern belles. He peered at the contents of the glass case. This southern belle had marriage on her mind. He wondered grimly if Ty had talked to Candy about marriage or if she was hoping to be the new Mrs. Ty Drake?

  “Candy Wilson?”

  Witchy green eyes studied his face. “Do I know you fr
om somewhere? You look familiar.”

  “No, ma’am.” He showed her his badge. “I’m Detective Rod Kelter, Otter Creek Police. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  She paled, her hand drifting to her throat. “Now?”

  “Yes, ma’am. We can go to the coffee shop next door or to the station. Your choice.”

  Candy retrieved her purse from the counter. “Coffee shop is fine.”

  Rod motioned for her to precede him and fell into step beside Meg. After asking their preference in the coffee shop, he ordered black coffee for himself, hot chocolate for Meg and a cappuccino for Candy and sat beside Meg.

  “Who’s your friend? Another cop?”

  “This is Megan Cahill, my date.” He smiled. “We were just in the right place at the right time to find you.”

  “What do you want, Detective?” The hand holding Candy’s cappuccino cup trembled.

  “Tell me about Ty Drake.”

  “I work with him at Otter Creek Community College.”

  “Are you his associate, assistant, secretary, boss, what?”

  A flush surged over Candy’s face. “His secretary.”

  “And what about off the job?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Sure you do, Candy. What kind of relationship do you have with Drake outside the office?”

  “We’re friends.”

  “Friends.” Rod sipped his coffee. “And when I start asking your co-workers, family and friends about your relationship with Ty Drake, will they agree with you?”

  “Okay, okay.” She pushed aside her coffee cup. “So we’re involved in a relationship. He’s an adult.”

  “You’re having an affair with a guy whose wife was just murdered a few days ago.”

  Candy sighed. “Look, I’m sorry about Sherri, but I didn’t have anything to do with her death.”

  Rod pulled out his notepad. “How long have you and Ty been seeing each other?”

  “Six months.”

  Beside him, Meg stiffened. He pressed his leg against hers in silent warning. “Was it serious or just a fling, Candy?”

  “He loves me.”

  Meg set her hot chocolate on the table with a thud. “Ty was married. Didn’t that bother you?”