Fifteen minutes later, I had everything I needed for the night. Tomorrow morning, I’d return home and get ready for work.
Steve opened the front door and reached for my bag. After a slight hesitation, I handed it over and let Steve hold my hand.
The wind whistled in the trees and the branches swayed in the darkness. I peered into the night and tightened my grasp on Steve’s hand as we walked across my grandmothers’ front lawn.
“My porch light is on. Everything looks okay,” Steve said.
I knew he was right, but my senses remained on high alert. My ears picked up every sound of the night, naming them and filtering them into good or evil categories. Were the small sounds just leaves rustling or a person sneaking their way toward us?
We reached Steve’s house and he unlocked the door. Jamming my hands into my front jean pockets, I rocked on my heels waiting for him to hurry. After what felt like minutes, the door sprang open and I rushed inside.
Steve set my bag by the stairs. “If you’re nervous about me staying here, I can go back over to your house.”
“I’m fine.”
He leaned against the banister and pointed upstairs. “Second room on the right. I’m down the hall if you need anything.”
“I don’t need anything. Won’t need anything. I’ll be totally fine.” I plastered a smile on my face and hoped that kept my mouth from moving. Was my nervousness because of the phone call or knowing Steve was a few feet away? I hadn’t been alone with a man—in any sense—since the night before Adam was led away in handcuffs three and a half years ago.
Some look of alarm must have flashed onto my face because Steve frowned, concern filling his dark eyes. He stepped forward and wrapped a comforting arm around my back, tugging me forward for a hug.
The cologne Steve wore, a mix of spice and cedar, blanketed around me. The scent held a hint of the rustic beauty and strength of the mountains. A place filled with love and safety, feelings Steve stirred inside of me. Panic rose up and I twisted away from his touch, grabbed my bag, and raced for the guest room.
I slammed the door and locked it, pressing my body against it as I caught my breath. This was going to be a long night.
FIFTEEN
At the first sign of dawn, I peered out the front door looking for any sign of my neighbors. Everything appeared quiet. Taking in a deep breath, I bolted from the house and raced across the lawns, heading for my own house. If my grandmothers saw or heard a word about this early morning dash, by mid-morning, a wedding ceremony would take place.
I checked the front door, no signs of tampering. Good. Grabbing the paper before my grandmothers’ did, I opened the door and peeked into the foyer and living room, everything right where I left it. Including my mess. Papers and magazines still littered the small couch and the table in my scrapbooking area. Well, one couldn’t expect a rash of rabid housecleaners breaking and entering.
Before I got overconfident, I checked the rest of the house and the backyard. All clear.
Since I was in the kitchen and near the best Christmas present ever, since I never did get my pony, I started the Keurig. As I waited for the magical awakening brew, I snapped open the paper and gawked at the headline.
This was not good. Not good at all.
The front page article written by Karen England mentioned where Marilyn worked and implied Detective Roget believed a coworker conspired to keep the crime quiet. Stated the detective handling the case had stopped by Scrap This more than once to question an employee, a relative of the owners’, about intimidating a witness.
My poor grandmothers. We had enough problems attracting customers in the slow economy. People thinking we employed a murderer and an accomplice might run off the rest.
How did Karen find out about what had been happening at the store? Was the woman hiding out in the parking lot or did she have an inside connection? Like Darlene, who was mad enough to blab. Was Roget giving her information in hopes of tripping up the killer? Or maybe force my hand, if he really believed I was involved?
I stomped up the stairs to my room. I paused on the landing and glanced down the hallway toward my home office. This could ruin my grandmothers’ business. Time to get my own ammunition.
If Roget was feeding information to Karen, so could I. A quick check on the internet could get me more information about the trial that tied Roget to Michael Kane. Since I was hosting the contest crop tonight, I wasn’t scheduled to work until noon. How long could it take to find the information?
An hour later, I finally found an interesting link. Bob Roget, private investigator, Morgantown. Was this the family Ted moved to Eden to be closer to? Maybe his father?
Well, I had thought about hiring a PI, and this man could fit the bill perfectly. I just needed an alias so Detective Roget didn’t find out.
I turned off the computer and hurried through my getting ready for work routine. I skipped making a second cup of coffee and headed to Home Brewed where I could grab some caffeine and let someone know my general plans in case my grandmothers checked up on me.
Their third favorite pastime, as scrapbooking and matching-making tied for first.
I shifted the box of specialty coffees in my arms as I popped open the trunk and waited for the male employee to place the steel cappuccino machine in first. My stop at Home Brewed this morning worked out for Dianne, since her machine broke last night. Now, I had a reason for my trip—besides conducting an investigation.
Slipping into the driver’s seat of my sedan, I took the GPS from the glove compartment and typed in the address for Bob Roget’s office. Not quite in the heart of Morgantown, but a straight shot from Dianne’s “local” supplier. A bonus since my sense of direction, even with an electronic helper, usually resulted in more circles and turns than performed on Dancing with the Stars.
An hour and three cell phone calls later, I pulled up to an historical building. The facade was clean and the outside had flowers lining the sidewalk. A quaint area that made me wish I had time to browse the neighborhood before heading home.
“Glad you found the place.” An attractive red-headed man, who looked a lot like Ted, ambled down the sidewalk toward me. “Sorry you had so much trouble. Those GPS units can be useless sometimes.”
“I appreciate you still seeing me, considering I’m really late for our appointment.”
I wanted to ask him if he was Detective Roget’s brother, but it was hard being incognito if I gave away I knew Detective Roget—and in a legal sense.
“How about we head up? I have soft drinks and snacks upstairs if you’d like something.”
“That’ll be nice.”
His green eyes twinkled and he leaned in closer. “Just don’t tell the dentist who has the downstairs office. He thinks I ought to serve my clients vegetables and whole grain snack options.”
My shoes squished against the plush of the gray carpet. The walk down the long dim hallway made me feel as if I was in an upscale country club. My toes itched to feel the softness of the carpet.
Bob Roget stopped at the end of the hallway and opened the door. “After you.”
An ornately carved chair faced an antique desk. Photographs in maple frames filled in the shelves of the bookcase. One of them had a picture of a beautiful woman between Detective Roget and this Roget. A photograph on the corner of the desk showed Bob and another handsome gentleman enjoying a beer on a fishing charter boat. “Please have a seat.”
“Thank you, Mr. Roget.”
“It’s Bob. I’m not called Mr. Roget unless some officer of the court is addressing me.”
Feeling out of place amid the expensive setting, I carefully walked over and sat on the edge of the seat’s cushion. My fingers glided over the smooth wood of the armrests.
“Okay, Miss Shirley Hardy, how about we get started.” His eyebrows rose and he pressed back a smile when he said “my” name.
“Well, I have a friend who’s in trouble.”
“And this friend’s name i
s…”
“I’d rather not say until I’m sure you’ll take their case.”
Bob settled back in his chair, placed his feet on the desk, and propped a notepad on his legs. “Go on.”
“My friend has been accused of something she didn’t do, and no one, but me it seems, believes she is innocent.”
“Are you’re sure everyone else is wrong?”
“Yes!” The word came out more forceful than I intended.
“Noted.” Bob scribbled something on the paper.
“There’s no one to help her but me. But I need help.”
“Help as in a private investigator, and not help as in telling the police what you know?” Bob moved his gaze from the paper to me. “Assuming the people not believing her are the police?”
I squirmed. “Yes.”
“Sometimes people do things in the heat of anger they wouldn’t normally do. That’s why the prisons are full.” Bob’s tone was soft, almost apologetic.
“I know she didn’t do it.”
“Sadly, Miss Hardy, there are only two ways to know for certain if she is innocent. You saw who committed the crime or else you were with your friend when the crime took place. Unless the police think the two of you are in cahoots, then neither of those count.”
Why did his mini-lecture sound so much like what Detective Roget said, only nicer?
“They shouldn’t think…” I trailed off, not wanting to give myself away. Murders didn’t happen often in these parts, especially ones at a community art show.
“But they could if your help is seen as interfering. Makes the police wonder what you’re motivation would be.”
I fisted my hands. “To help a friend, obviously.”
“Most people wouldn’t risk jail time for a friend.”
I almost revealed an arm from my skeleton but slapped my lips shut in time.
“Well, Miss Hardy, I do think it’s best for a professional investigator to look into this matter. But I don’t take cases someone brings on behalf of someone else. How do I know your friend wants me nosing around?”
“They would.”
His eyebrows rose.
“She asked me to help—”
“And you don’t have time. Don’t want to help. Aren’t very good at it…” Bob paused and leaned forward, “or are annoying some officer of the law and thought it best not to do it yourself anymore?”
Was I that obvious or the man that good? “The truth is a little of number one, some of number three is mixed in there, and a large amount of number four.”
Bob smiled but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I appreciate your almost honesty.”
I drew in a breath.
“I also don’t take cases that put me up against my younger brother.”
“Your brother?” I whispered.
He nodded and pointed at the picture as he sat up. “Ted Roget, Eden’s one and only homicide detective. Conflict of interest. It’s one of the reasons Ted steered clear of working in Morgantown.”
“Close, but not too close.”
“He has his cases. I have mine. No family ties to be used against either of us.” A hardness took away the kindness residing in Bob’s green eyes.
Now he and Ted looked exactly alike.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any harm. I just—”
Bob held up his hand and cut me off. “Most people don’t. But it doesn’t change the harm done.”
SIXTEEN
Relief flooded through me as I crested the hill and started across the small bridge, the final separation between me and Eden. Soon, I’d arrive at work and my disastrous mission would be over. I could spend time doing something I was actually good at. My foot wanted to punch the gas pedal when I left Morgantown, but any time I’d gain by speeding would evaporate if I got pulled over. Not to mention the unneeded hit to my bank account.
At least I wasn’t like Adam. I wasn’t setting out to destroy people. But my helping was more likely to get Marilyn in deeper trouble. And now Detective Roget would view my visit to his brother as tampering.
My head pounded. He’d dig into my past. What would happen once he learned I’d been charged as an accomplice in a murder before? The fear centered itself in my chest and squeezed. What had I walked myself into?
My cell phone trilled from the cup holder. I snagged it and flipped it open. “Hello.”
“You just can’t stop.” A choking voice rasped.
I slammed on the brakes. The phone tumbled from my hand and fell near the pedals. As I reached for it, I heard a squeal and my car bumped forward. My forehead struck the steering wheel. A sharp pain swallowed me. Tears and bright lights blurred my vision. Gritting my teeth and hissing, I shoved the gearshift into park and sat up.
Dizziness engulfed me and the pain in my temple increased. I rested my head back against the seat and waited for the world to stop swirling. A fist pounded on the driver side window. I scooted away from the sound.
“What do you think you’re doing?” The large man slapped his hand onto the pane. “This ain’t a parking lot.”
Fumbling with the seatbelt, I unlocked it and stretched, ignoring the rising nausea as I scrambled on the floor for my phone. I grabbed it.
“You’re going to call the cops! We’ll see about that.”
I focused my attention on the wavering numbers on my phone. When they stopped twirling, I punched in Sierra’s cell number. There was no way I’d call my grandmothers and tell them I was in a minor car accident. They’d skip the first word and focus on the last two.
The phone rang. And rang. My insides churned and my hand shook. Please let her have it on.
“Hello,” Sierra said, a twinge of annoyance in her voice.
“It’s Faith.”
“When are you getting back? I just got a message I need to see the vice-principal. Something about Henry and a prank.”
“Sierra, I’ve been—”
“If I put this off, the man will upgrade the prank to a misdemeanor.”
The fist slammed against my window again. I winced at the loud beat and choked back a cry. Please God don’t let the window shatter.
“Faith, what’s going on?”
My voice trembled. “I got in a car accident. The other guy is mad at me. He’s hitting the window.”
Sierra drew in a sharp breath. “Where are you?”
Between sniffles, I rattled off the location.
“Did you call the police?”
A wail erupted from down the street. A small audience gathered on both sides of the street. “I think he did.”
“That’s good. Sit tight in your car. Keep the door locked. Don’t make eye contact. Are you hurt?”
“Not really.”
The closer the sirens got, the slower my heart beat. I’d get a ticket for the quick stop, but in exchange I’d get protection from the enraged man. The high-pitched wail bounced around in my head and red lights swirled into my car.
“The police are here,” I said.
“Good. Help will arrive soon.”
“Thanks.”
I closed the phone and lifted my gaze to the rearview mirror. I groaned.
An unmarked white sedan pulled up behind the other car. Stepping from the vehicle was a tall, reddish-haired man. Not many male redheads in Eden. Of all the police officers, why did it have to be Detective Roget?
“Sir, I need you to step away from the vehicle,” Roget said.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
“This lady stopped in the middle of the street.”
Something thumped against the driver side tire. I cringed and wiped tears from my cheeks. How did those get there?
A hardness entered Roget’s tone. “Sir, I’m advising you not to kick that car again.”
“She did stop in the middle of the street.” A woman’s voice joined into the conversation. “There isn’t even a light there.”
I clutched the phone against my chest. More tears trickled down my face.
Somet
hing tapped on the window. “Ma’am, can you roll down the window?” Roget said in a comforting tone I’d never heard him use.
I swiped at the wetness.
The car jiggled as Roget tried opening the door. “Ma’am, I need you to roll down the window or unlock the door.”
Tears continued to seep from behind my closed eyelids.
“Are you hurt?” Concern rumbled in his voice. “Can you move?”
Keeping my head dipped so he couldn’t see my face, I nodded and unlocked the door. He pulled it open and offered his hand. I ignored the help and clambered from the vehicle on my own stumbling power. Squaring my shoulders, I raised my head and looked at Roget.
A scowl developed on his face. “Care to explain what’s going on?”
Apparently an unknown woman deserved his compassion, but not I. “I stopped. Someone ran into me.”
An angry blond man surged forward, fists clenched at his side. “This isn’t a parking space.”
Words buzzed around me, but all I could focus on was the rage the man directed at me. Nausea rolled my stomach and sweat crept down my back. On shaking legs, I stepped backwards and found my retreat blocked by my sedan. The sun-heated metal seeped through my cotton shirt and did little to ward off the chill taking control of my body.
Roget stepped into the small pocket between the angry man and me. “You need to settle down, sir, or I’ll have you hauled off to jail.”
Stopping in the middle of the road wasn’t the brightest choice, but certainly not arrest-worthy. My body swayed and I reached for the car door. I needed to sit down.
Roget slipped an arm around my back and the other wrapped around my shoulders, cradling me to his body. “I’m calling an ambulance.”
“No,” I whispered. Taking in a deep breath, I tried again. “No. I’m fine. I just need that guy to stop yelling. It’s just a little headache. “
“I’m not so sure about that.” Roget adjusted his hold so that he took on most of my weight and his back separated me from the irate driver.
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