Cropped to Death

by Christina Freeburn

  “No one is going to copy your page. Everyone would know it’s a copy, and how could they recreate your design without your knowledge in perfecting the technique?”

  The hardness in her expression softened a little, but the scowl firmed again. “I want people to be wowed by my page. They won’t be if they get used to seeing it on the display. They’ll pass right by it.”

  “Then maybe I should just take everyone’s down.” I tried keeping the frustration out of my tone, but even I could hear the clipped end of the syllables. I moved toward Stephanie and Robyn’s entry. “Wouldn’t want to give you an unfair advantage.”

  “Please, Faith.” Darlene rested a hand on my arms. Tears glittered in her eyes. “Can’t you wait until Friday morning? I just feel this is the one page that will help start my design career.”

  My irritation at Darlene crumbled. Everyone had a dream and believed there was that one moment where it could come true. Darlene believed the envelope contained that time for her. What would it hurt to hold onto her layout? Besides my pride, since I’d be doing a favor for a woman who annoyed me. But that wasn’t a reason to deny her request. My grandmothers raised me better.

  “Okay. I’ll hold onto it for you.”

  A child-like smile curved her mouth. “Can you put it somewhere so no one finds it and puts it up?”

  “I’ll keep it in my humongous purse. This way, every night it goes home with me and every morning it comes to Scrap This. You don’t have to worry I’ll forget it.”

  “Thank you so very much.” A smile trembled on her lips.

  Darlene spun on her heel and headed out the door. The humble tone shocked me. I never heard Darlene utter a sincere word. Then again, when had anyone, or I, given one to her?

  I walked behind the counter and put the envelope in my purse. “Anything else happen while I was at lunch?”

  Linda kept her gaze averted and shook her head. She reorganized the entry sheets for the contest.

  My grandmothers always stood up for us when there was a dispute with a customer. In defusing the situation, my actions might have implied Linda did something wrong. “I don’t agree with Darlene’s behavior, but agreeing to hold onto her entry seemed the easiest way to get her to leave without a fuss.”

  “If it’s that top secret, why did she bring it into today?” Linda spoke to the register though I knew the question was for me.

  “Because timing is part of the competition between her and Robyn and Stephanie. If she waited too long after them, then it would look like she needed inspiration from their work.”

  “It’s not like anyone else would know,” Linda said.

  I shrugged. “True. But Darlene would, and in her world, she’s the only person who matters.”

  Linda nodded as she alphabetized.

  THIRTEEN

  Sierra closed that night so I left work early. Pulling onto the main road, I pondered the next step in uncovering who really killed Michael Kane. At the light, I followed Karen’s suggestion and headed for the police station. Better to get information first hand rather than second.

  Switching on my blinker, I turned onto the smaller access road. The historic buildings housing the courthouse, police station and other city buildings remained in the heart of Eden, a two-mile square. As the town blossomed into a city, it expanded by stretching out in all directions and became more of a lopsided rectangle.

  I hoped Detective Roget was off-duty. None of the questions I had about him should be asked to him. I parked in an unreserved space in front of the station, then hurried inside the small foyer and waited my turn. Bobbi-Annie lifted her hand in greeting before feigning interest as Mr. Griffin insisted she take down his complaint.

  Wisps of thin gray hair bounced up and down on Mr. Griffin’s balding head as he gestured wildly. “In the front yard, she’s doing some karate stuff. The front yard! Everyone and God can see her out there doing those kicks and punches.”

  “Exercising is not against the law, Mr. Griffin.” Bobbi-Annie kept a sweetness to her voice. “Now, if she starts waving around weapons, let us know.”

  “It’s indecent, I tell you. No woman, especially a young unmarried woman, should be prancing outside hardly wearing nothing. I know her Daddy and Momma taught her better than that.” He turned long enough to shot me a glare. “That’s what happens when these children leave to get more culture.”

  “And what is hardly wearing nothing?” Bobbi-Annie asked.

  Behind her, Jasper paused, and drew closer. “Something you need me to check out, Bobbi?”

  She snorted. “You wish, Jasper. I’m sure this is a misunderstanding between Mr. Griffin and Miss England.”

  “Her last name’s Pancake!” Mr. Griffin raised his fists and shook them in righteous indignation. “Ain’t nothing wrong with her family name. That’s what I’m talking about. These kids thinking there’s something wrong with us. Come back from those cities bringing—”

  Officer Jasper walked into the foyer area and draped an arm around the older man. “Mr. Griffin, how about I check out this disturbance. I’ll give you a ride home.”

  Mr. Griffin stepped away from Jasper. “I don’t need any ride. I can still drive. I ain’t feeble, young man.”

  “I wasn’t saying that, Mr. Griffin.”

  Bobbi-Annie and I smothered our laughter. Jasper settled a shut-up look at us.

  “Anyways, she ain’t out there now.” Mr. Griffin marched toward the door. “Every morning at seven, like clockwork, she’s out there in them tight clothes acting like she’s going to kick something to pieces.”

  The two men headed outside with Jasper scribbling down the times the disturbance to the peace took place.

  “Are you going to call and warn Karen?” I asked.

  “Nope.” She grinned. “I’ll let Karen handle Conroy. I have a feeling the only reason Mr. Griffin came in is because his wife found out he’s been watching Karen exercising.”

  I shuddered. No wonder the poor man ran down and filed a police report. A real disturbance would erupt if Karen continued exercising “in barely nothing” in the front yard. Mrs. Griffin, who had a heavy right foot, was protective of her man. She believed all women waited in the wings to snatch her seventy-two-year-old husband away from her.

  “So what brings you here, Faith?”

  Leaning against the counter, I scooted the half-top of my body closer. I wanted a private conversation with Bobbi-Annie. “I wanted to ask about Detective Roget.”

  “I could go get him for you.” She stood.

  I grabbed her arm. “I don’t want to talk to him. I wanted to ask you some questions about him. “

  She eyed me warily, then a grin flashed on her face. She unlocked the door into the dispatch area and waved me in. “This way you don’t have to worry about anyone hearing us. Though I’m surprised.”

  I shut the door behind me and dropped into the chair she rolled toward me. “Surprised?”

  “If I had the interest of Steve Davis, I’d be spending time with that man, not asking about Ted.”

  I let Bobbi-Annie believe I had a romantic interest in Detective Roget. Easier than admitting I suspected the man was setting Marilyn up to take the fall for Michael’s death. “Where did he work before here?”

  “Near Washington, DC. Arlington, I think. Or was it Alexandria? Annandale? Can’t remember. Just somewhere in that area.”

  “I thought he worked in Morgantown and then moved here.”

  She squinted at me. “Nope. He grew up in West Virginia, but then hightailed it of here. Attended school in Virginia, stayed in the Northern Virginia area until about six months ago.”

  “Why did he move here?” I caught the suspicion developing in Bobbi-Annie’s eyes. “You know, I don’t want to be interested in a man on the rebound or with a vicious ex-girlfriend lurking around the corner.”

  “He wanted somewhere a little more quiet and slower paced. Closer to family. From what I know, he’s available with no known baggage to contend
with.”

  Family? His mom worked on a cruise ship. There were no ports anywhere near West Virginia. “I read in Karen’s article someone spotted Marilyn talking to Michael. Is that true?”

  Bobbi-Annie pressed her lips together and crossed her arms. “I don’t partake in police business gossip.”

  At least she had some standard. “I’m only asking because Karen charged into the store today and started asking me about Marilyn…and stuff.”

  The narrowing of her eyes let me know Bobbi-Annie had a good idea what the “and stuff” constituted. I swallowed hard. “She told me I should come here and read the police report, since I didn’t believe what she wrote was true.”

  Bobbi-Annie gave me soft smile and squeezed my arm in a comforting gesture. “Why don’t you go home, Faith? I know you’re upset about answering Ted’s question but you had to tell him. Ted’s a good guy. He won’t think you’re disloyal or something like that. He’d find it admirable.”

  Heat skittered across my cheeks and I hurried out of there. I prayed this conversation didn’t make its way out of the station. I didn’t want him—or anyone—thinking I wanted to pursue a relationship. Any man who could run an official background check on me was one I’d steer clear of.

  Not that I was searching for a guy.

  My unsuccessful attempt at gathering information not only left me frustrated, but also late in starting dinner and I had invited my grandmothers over. I stopped at the grocery store and bought ready-made fried chicken. Homemade macaroni and cheese wouldn’t take long, and I could throw a salad together in a few minutes.

  Once home, I gathered up the bags of groceries and balanced dinner, my purse, and the keys while I opened up the door. Where was Steve or Hank now? No one ever lurked when a person needed help with the groceries.

  I plopped the bags on the empty countertop, then hurried upstairs to change from the nice blouse I wore to work into a Mountaineers t-shirt. I was a messy cook. The biggest clue to what I made for dinner was my shirt.

  As I was twisting my hair into a messy bun, the phone rang. I let the answering machine take the call.

  Returning to the kitchen, I removed the chicken from the grocery store’s self-service bag and arranged the pieces on a serving platter. At least the main entrée could look pretty. I filled a pot with water and set it on the stove.

  The doorbell sung. Turning the knob on the stove, I set it on high then raced for the front door. My grandmothers arrived early to ensure dinner got made.

  I tugged open the door and shouted an enthusiastic hello. “Hey Gram—”

  The grin froze on my face.

  Detective Roget leaned against the doorframe, looking me up and down. “I hear you have questions for me.”

  Everyone in this town, except for the murderer, had a hard time keeping secrets. I stood in the middle of the threshold. “I don’t have anything to say to you. I went to the police station to verify something Karen England said.”

  “Is that so?” He pulled out a small notebook from the pocket of his jacket. “I bet I’m right to assume this has something to do with a certain case I’ve asked…” He held up his index finger. “Let me correct that, told you, to stay out of.”

  “I am staying out of it. The reporter came to me and made some allegations about Marilyn. I decided I should check into what she said.”

  “And what would those allegations be?”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m sure you know because you helped plant them into her story.”

  “You think well of me don’t you?” His sarcasm came through loud and clear.

  Sizzles popped in the background. I groaned and ran into the kitchen. The water started boiling. Hard. Grabbing a potholder, I removed the lid to calm the hot bubbling liquid. I blew on the roiling water. For some reason I always thought it sped up the cooling process.

  Praying I didn’t burn myself, I dumped in the box of macaroni then took the cheese from the refrigerator.

  “I guess I don’t need to call the fire department.”

  I spun around. Detective Roget, cell phone in hand, stood in the kitchen and glanced around the area. The open floor plan allowed him a look at my living and dining room. The dining room I had converted into a craft area was messy and disorganized.

  “The water just boiled over,” I said.

  “You shouldn’t leave unattended items cooking.”

  Viciously, I grated the mild cheddar cheese into a bowl. “I thought my grandmothers were at the door. Not you. You were the one who asked questions and distracted me.”

  “You were the one who came by the police station and played amateur sleuth.”

  I almost dropped the cheddar. I placed the remainder of the block down then went to refrigerator. I yanked open the door and gazed inside, stalling until I had a good response. Or at least until Roget forgot what he said.

  He let out a long-suffering sigh. “Does it occur to you, Miss Hunter, that I’m quite capable at doing my job? People read way too many books where the damsel in distress solves the case and the day.”

  I slammed the door and turned around to face him full on. “I’m not in distress. And how would I know how capable you are when you arrested the wrong person? You jumped to the first conclusion you could. If what I said can be used against my friend, then why can’t what I’ve learned help her get out of jail?”

  “Because this isn’t Monopoly. There isn’t some kind of get out of jail card up for bartering.”

  “I’m not bartering. I want you to see the truth. Sometimes the truth isn’t just what you hear. It’s about what you don’t.” I stirred the pasta.

  “Now I get you.” The low tone rumbled from Detective Roget. He rested a hand on my shoulder, kneading the muscle with gentle fingers. “Listen, Faith, you’re not to blame for your friend getting arrested. My case is based on a lot more evidence. Evidence you don’t know about.”

  The relaxing touch lulled the anger I had at him. But I couldn’t allow it to continue. Stepping away, I tilted my head and looked at his face. His rugged features softened and compassion lurked in his green eyes.

  “I can’t mention specifics. But I will let you know Marilyn was seen talking to Michael before—”

  “He was murdered. I read that. How do you know that person isn’t lying? Maybe Annette Holland made it up so you wouldn’t suspect her. Why wouldn’t a murderer lie?”

  “The person I talked with is very reliable. Even you’d agree. You have to realize I’m not the bad guy here.” He walked to the front door and paused with his hand on the knob. “And for the record, I’m available.”

  For the two hundredth time during dinner, my grandmothers exchanged the who’s-going-to-talk-to-her look.

  I placed my fork onto my plate. “What do you want to ask me?”

  Hope linked her hands together and rested them on the table. “I noticed the detective stopped by. What did he want?”

  “To ask a quick question.”

  The evasiveness increased their concern. I read the we-should-tell-Steve message floating between them. I smiled, hoping it eased their worries. “It was a quick, harmless question. All resolved. No problems.”

  “Are you sure?” Cheryl stood and cleared the table.

  “Yes.” I pushed my plate away.

  “He probably just wanted to know why you visited him,” Hope said.

  I gaped at her. “I didn’t go visit him.”

  “I heard you stopped by the police station.”

  “Not to see him. I needed to ask some questions.”

  Cheryl shook her head and sighed, the sound a weight on my heart. “Faith, didn’t you promise us that you’d stay out of this?”

  “I can’t believe Bobbi-Annie told you. That can’t be proper procedure.”

  “Bobbie didn’t say anything to us,” Hope said soothingly. “Her momma was in the back dropping off dinner for the officers and heard you.”

  The chair scraped against the tile floor as I scooted backwards. I picked
up my dishes. “With everyone knowing everyone else’s business in this town, I’m surprised the real murderer is still running around.”

  I dropped my plate, glass and silverware into the sink. It was a good thing I preferred colorful plastic dinnerware than china. I turned the faucet full blast.

  “You know,” Cheryl’s voice carried over the running water. “That is a good point.”

  I turned the water off.

  “Cheryl, don’t encourage her.”

  “Think about it, Hope. Not much goes on in this town that someone doesn’t hear and see. Kids around here know if they’re going to cut school or pull some kind of shenanigan, they best head a county over because their mommas are going to hear it from somebody.”

  “So you think this person isn’t a local?” I asked.

  Cheryl shook her head. “The locals watch outsiders even more than they do their own.”

  “Then how come no one saw anything?” I asked.

  “Maybe they did.” Sadness filled Hope’s voice. “And we just can’t face it.”

  I clutched the sponge, dishwater dribbled onto the floor. “You think Marilyn killed Michael.”

  “Honey, I don’t know what to think. But the police don’t go around arresting people because they can,” Hope said.

  Heaviness settled into my heart as my past flickered in my mind. I turned from Hope and went back to doing the dishes. “This time they are.”

  Hope stood beside me and wrapped an arm around me. “If the article in the paper is correct, why didn’t Marilyn tell you she argued with Michael that day?”

  “Because it didn’t matter. She didn’t do it.”

  “I don’t think Marilyn should’ve asked you for help. Her lawyer should hire a private investigator.” Anger, an unusual emotion for Hope, shook her voice.