Not So Merry Murder

by Amabel Daniels

  Whatever rocks your boat. It wouldn’t kill me to let him come with me, and there was no way he was getting into my home. I’d learned early on to pick my fights wisely in life. I groaned as quietly as I could and walked inside. “Fine. Come on.”

  His heavier footfalls sounded just behind me and I wasted no time leading him down the brown-carpeted hallways. Half the lights worked, but the ridiculous fake-neon Christmas tree decoration on my neighbor’s door was so damn bright, it rivaled Clark Griswold’s house.

  As I neared my door, though, I narrowed my eyes.

  It was cracked open, not deadbolted tight like I always left it.

  Knox must have noticed the oddity the same moment I did, because he shot his arm out to block me from entering and stepped between me and the door. His other hand fell back to his waist. He removed his gun, stare zeroed on the opened door, and gestured for me to stand back.

  When I ducked behind him, I spied the splintered wood at where the lock would have held my entrance shut.

  Goddammit. Karma? This is bull. Not only did I have to find a dead body, but my home was broken into as well?

  Knox held his gun up, training it at the darkness inside my apartment as he nudged the door open with his elbow. It eased ajar, far enough that the light from inside guided our way in.

  My small Christmas tree that was on my kitchen counter now lay on the floor, the miniature bulbs still lit but horizontal. Behind it, the stovetop lights beamed more brightness.

  I waited at the door as Knox stepped through my home. It didn’t take long for his large strides to cross through my studio apartment. He went for the bathroom, the only actual “room” with a closeable door where an intruder could be hiding.

  “No one’s here,” he announced after he checked in there. He didn’t put his gun back on his belt as he eyed my space.

  No one was in here now, but someone clearly had been. I didn’t have much, but what I did own was scattered all over the place. Couch cushions—where I slept at night—were strewn on the ground and slashed open. The padding and cotton layered the rug like the fake snow at the North Pole Hut. Cupboard doors in the kitchenette hung open. All my pantry items were dumped onto counters, and plates and glasses lay busted on the cheap linoleum floor. Clothes hung from pulled-out drawers in my dresser, and the rest of my garments clumped in heaps on the chair near my coffee table.

  I sighed, lacking the energy to even react. How many times could a girl get beaten down in one day? Seemed I was testing that theory.

  “Don’t touch anything,” he warned, surveying the mess.

  I half-heartedly nodded. Whatever. I doubted the cops would even care to dust for prints at a break-in at a crappy place like this building. Tears pricked at my eyes and I inhaled long and hard to hold them back.

  “What’s over there?” Knox asked.

  I tracked him as he slowly strode to my side table. The lamp that was usually standing on it, a kitschy porcelain Elvis stand—a treasure Damon had found from some antique shop’s dumpster one day—was broken and on its side. In front of its base, resting on the water-stained tabletop, was something else. Something that certainly wasn’t mine.

  A gun.

  I stood behind Knox, craning around his side and gripping his sleeve for balance. As though it were an animal that could jump alive and fire at us, I stayed away from the weapon. I held on to him, my breaths coming faster as my heart pounded.

  A gun in my home? It made no sense. I knew next to nothing about guns. I’d definitely never handled one.

  Knox pulled out a glove from his duty belt and stretched it on. Then he picked up the weapon and brought it up for closer inspection. After a moment of too much deafening silence, I squeezed my hand wrapped around his hard bicep.

  “What? What is it?” I leaned further around him, stepping to face him more.

  “Is this yours?”

  I shook my head.

  His lips were set in a firm line and he turned his scrutiny to me. “I’ve got to call this in. Please don’t touch anything.”

  “Yeah, I heard you.” I released his arm and squinted at his solemn frown. Something had him on alert if he’d felt the need to repeat what he’d already instructed. “What is it?”

  Obviously, whoever had broken in had left this behind. It certainly wasn’t here when I’d left for work this morning.

  “It’s the same caliber of the gun that was fired at Marlena.”

  Chapter Four

  Knox brought me to the station after he called for backup at my apartment. He’d spoken to another officer and permitted me to sit on the edge of my coffee table while the cavalry came.

  Fatigue had sapped all stubbornness from me at that point, and confusion battled to take over my thoughts.

  I had no idea why that gun was there.

  I had no clue where it came from.

  And since I couldn’t offer an explanation, I’d sat there, silently, elbows on my knees and face in my hands as three more cops came in and began going through my already trashed home.

  It had been a long day and was turning into an even longer night, but I knew I was limited on options. Knox hadn’t “instructed” me to come to his cruiser with him again, saying I was needed for questioning. His fellow cops didn’t arrest me or bully me into telling them anything either.

  Yet, I went along with him, comforted at the idea he let me sit in the passenger seat again instead of the back. Maybe I hadn’t been upgraded from witness-girl to suspect, after all.

  At the station, I was sent to a simple meeting room to wait for questioning. Knox gave me a choice of water or coffee. Despite the exhaustion clinging to my spine and brain, I went with water. If they asked their questions and got this ordeal over with, that was the sooner I’d be able to…well, leave here, at least. It didn’t seem like I’d be sleeping at home, on my couch, like usual. But I looked forward to the idea of not being stuck at a police station.

  After a long wait, Knox and another cop entered the room to speak with me. They asked me questions about the gun—I knew nothing. Then they asked more repeat questions about Marlena—I gave them the same damn replies as I had at the mall.

  When yawns began to intersperse my answers more and more, the second officer said that he was satisfied with our discussion. He started to exit with a loosely worded implication that I shouldn’t leave town. Like I had anywhere to go or any means to depart. When I’d challenged him, asking if I was a suspect or something more, he shook his head and again told me not to skip town. With my previous experience of Damon breaking the law, I knew having the clear distinction was imperative.

  Knox remained in the room and moved to take the seat next to me instead of across from me. I tried not to read into the action too much. He wasn’t on my side. He was a cop. He slouched his elbow to the table and set his chin in his hand. After a long exhale, he stared at me.

  “There is no way I could have had that gun there.”

  He nodded, leaving his chin in his hand. “You found Marlena at twelve forty. Called 911 at twelve forty-one. Stayed at the mall with our team from then until five eleven. And I personally brought you home. So no, there was no window of time you would’ve put the gun there.”

  Now, I was glad I’d let him drive me home. He could verify my whereabouts. I splayed out a hand as though to say, told you so.

  “But that’s not to say someone else could have taken the gun from when Marlena was shot at twelve fifteen and brought it to your house.”

  I frowned. “They know that’s when she was shot?”

  “Give or take, yes.”

  Twelve fifteen…I’d been leaving Macy’s about then.

  “And the exterior lock to your building was reported broken at ten in the morning, so anyone could have come in before Marlena was shot.”

  I shrugged.

  “It is the weapon used to kill her, though.” He sat up, still reclining back in his seat, and rubbed the stubble on his jawline. The raspy sounds of his movement r
eminded me of my curiosity about what his face would feel like against my cheek. My thigh. My—

  “The ballistics match, now that we have the gun to compare it to.”

  I blinked at him still talking business, scolding myself for daydreaming. Man, was I deliriously tired, or what?

  “Thank you for providing your prints,” he said.

  I tossed my shoulders up again. It didn’t matter. And if them having my prints would help them in some way, then so be it. I didn’t have anything to hide. I’d never touched that gun—any gun.

  “But what’s surprising is that Damon’s are on it.”

  I nodded, steeling my face into something that I hoped wasn’t a full glare. Damon was serving three years for armed burglary. He and his fool of a friend had been attempting to rob Marlena and Garth—of all people. It was a small, small world. So small that Knox couldn’t be suggesting the impossible.

  “Damon has an obvious alibi,” I said between clenched teeth. Coming to my nephew’s defense was automatic.

  “Oh, I know. I haven’t forgotten where Damon is and why.” He rubbed at his shoulder.

  At his motion, I cringed. Knox was the cop who’d responded to the call for B&E, and Damon and his friend had both fought back. I remembered that it was Damon’s buddy who’d shot Knox. Yet, Damon had been armed at the time.

  “I’m pretty sure this is just one more of the firearms that he and his friends had previously stolen,” Knox said. “They were tagged in our database.”

  I nodded. That made sense. While I’d always want to defend Damon, I never once was in denial he did stupid things. Doing drugs. Fathering a child and then refusing to pay child support. Dealing drugs. Theft. Driving drunk. For all the criminal bull crap he’d pulled, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least that he’d stolen drugs or firearms and stashed them somewhere. He had always been a handful and I’d tried my best. Stop. It’s not your fault…

  I shook myself out of the past and focused on what Knox was saying. This gun might be an unusual memento of my nephew’s criminal past, but it didn’t belong in my present. “But that doesn’t make sense. Why the gun would be in my home?” Damon had been serving his sentence for months now. That handgun hadn’t been in the limited space of my one-room apartment without my notice all this time.

  “Which leads me to believe it was put there after Marlena was shot.” Knox raised one brow at me.

  “Okay. Why at my place, though?” If someone was framing me… Heck. I had no clue why I’d be targeted. Perhaps Damon had made enemies. I’d never been involved, though.

  Marlena hired me without a second thought about my relation to Damon. Well, not true. Marlena had given me a smug smirk and let me know she was happy “the moron was locked up.” Granted, he’d been breaking into their home…she was the victim there. But Knox stopped any theft from actually occurring.

  Knox opened his mouth to reply but voices from his radio interrupted him. He held up a finger and brought the speaker to his ear, listening to the device he’d reduced the volume on.

  After a moment, he scowled. “I’ll be back. I need to help with this. My supe is wrapping up some paperwork and then we’ll get you home.”

  “Home?” I couldn’t help but scoff. My home was destroyed. I wouldn’t feel safe there, but I had no choice. Besides, where I laid myself to sleep wasn’t his business.

  He was already standing, reacting to whatever summons he’d received. “Do you have somewhere you can stay tonight?” He gestured for me to stand and exit the room with him.

  Not really. “I’ll figure it out,” I said as I got to my feet.

  He nodded, walking with me, but I didn’t miss his frown and him mouthing stubborn-ass woman. “If you want, you can wait here and I’ll drive you…somewhere for the night after I check on this call.”

  He’d brought us to a cluster of cubicles and desks. Cops and non-uniformed officers conducted business throughout the space. Some were on the phone, others stared at computer screens. One was napping with his head on his desk. Knox stood tall, pointing at a ratty loveseat situated next to a half-empty water cooler tank and some desks. I glanced at the workspace nearest the piece of furniture and saw a framed photo of Knox in an Army uniform and a nicely dressed couple who were smiling next to him. Probably his parents.

  “You were in the Army?”

  He saw where I was looking and nodded. “Have a seat here.” He jerked his head to the side toward the collective space of his comrades. “Jackson!”

  “Yeah?” a man hollered from somewhere within the cubicle space.

  “Can you get Jade some food? She’s going to wait here for me.”

  “I am?” It would have been a sassier retort if I didn’t yawn halfway through it.

  Jade? Not Miss Tabbott? He talks about me enough to his coworkers that they’d know my first name?

  I rubbed at my head. Nah. They all know who I am because I was brought in for questioning. Idiot.

  Jackson’s hollered reply came back immediately. “Yeah. I’m about to grab takeout.”

  Knox lowered his head, as though trying to get more to my eye level. “Please?”

  His…concern for me was feeling less like something of an obligatory babysitter duty and more like, well, concern. Knox wanted to know I was safe? Taken care of? Maybe he’d been touched by the spirit of the season, after all. The feeling of being cared for was a rarity, and I relished it.

  “Is she allergic to anything?” Jackson yelled out over the din of the large room.

  Knox quirked his brows at me. I shook my head no.

  “No.”

  “Does she like chicken or—”

  “Whatever is fine,” I hollered out.

  Knox almost smiled and pointed at the couch. “I’ll be back as soon as this is cleared up.”

  I didn’t even know what “this” was. Another call? A murder somewhere else? Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. He was offering me a place to chill and I’d take it. I could use the quiet and solitude to think about what to do next. Eat this food Jackson was so kindly offering to grab.

  As long as Knox wasn’t arresting me or holding me against my will, I could accept his charity. He might push with his flirty teasing, but he wasn’t the kind of jerk to lord over anyone and expect something in return from a good deed. I sat on the loveseat and was pleasantly surprised at the softness it offered. Well-used but for a good reason. It was cushier than the butchered couch in my apartment.

  “Go. I’ll be here.”

  He studied me for a breath, quirking one brow, and then left.

  ****

  I woke up from a deep sleep and immediately regretted the dinner Jackson had so kindly shared with me before I’d conked out. It was delicious. When isn’t Italian takeout yummy? But the lingering aftertaste of garlic…

  Dear God. I so need to brush my teeth.

  Only, I wasn’t at home. It wasn’t even that late into the night. I shifted my hip slightly, confused at the strange twist in my posture. I wasn’t waking up on my couch. As consciousness swept away the remains of my nap, sounds filtered in. Phones ringing. People talking. Intercom voices being broadcast.

  Oh. Right. I was still at the police station. Keeping my eyes closed, I tried to gauge how long I’d been here. Knox had needed to leave and—

  “It can’t be her.”

  His voice. He was speaking feet from me, likely at the desk with his framed photo on it. I revisited a hint of surprise that he was in the Army. Then again, how could I have known otherwise? Despite my default—lusty—reaction to him, I knew nothing about what made him the man he was.

  A throaty laugh replied. That had to be Jackson. We hadn’t shared many words earlier, but his timbre was a unique raspy one. “Marlena Ridge’s killer can’t be Jade, or you don’t want it to be Jade?”

  “Both,” Knox said.

  More gravelly laughter. Was Jackson a smoker? How else could he sound so deep? “Man, hasn’t she given you enough of the blue balls yet?” Aft
er clearing his throat, he continued. “Why can’t she be the killer?”

  When Knox didn’t immediately answer, I almost frowned. While I welcomed and appreciated his desire for me to be innocent, I was more focused on his insistence I wasn’t the guilty party. I didn’t kill Marlena. That was a fact. And if he believed in that same truth, maybe this wouldn’t feel so…dangerous.

  “Because she was in Macy’s when Marlena was shot.”

  I wanted to nod at Knox’s answer, but this eavesdropping thing wasn’t something I wanted to forfeit. If they thought I was sleeping, I bet they’d talk shop some more.

  Jackson made an iffy noise. “That’s what surveillance cams say.”

  That’s right. Franklin Mall had cameras all over the place. What, with the constant teenager brawls at curfew time, and shoplifters, and the general unease of public safety, there were cameras recording all over. In stores and throughout the main spaces like where the North Pole Hut was located. Hell, Macy’s might have even had something taping me in the fricking fitting room.

  No, that’s still against the law. I think. I hope?

  “But the time of death isn’t that accurate.”

  I wanted to scowl at Jackson’s rebuttal.

  “It’s close enough,” Knox argued.

  “Hey, hey, hey,” Jackson drawled. “I’m not trying to make your girl a scapegoat here.”

  I’m not his—

  “She’s not my girl,” Knox stated flatly.

  Now, a smile fought to curl my lips. Funny that he seemed annoyed about admitting that point. Just how much was he “intrigued” by me?

  “Yeah. Yeah.” Jackson spoke around chuckles. “But even you know the time of death they gave us is a window of fifteen minutes. Problem is, any one of them working at the photo thing could have been near that shed.”

  But can’t they check with Macy’s cameras for when I entered and left the store? I wasn’t at the North Pole when she was shot!