"You," he growled. "What are you doing here?" Jeremy lunged for me. His hands grazed my shoulders as I darted away from his grasp.
The frightened tremble in my hands made it harder to open the door, but I managed to wrench it open just in time to smack his head with the edge of it. He was momentarily stunned, then roared with anger as he barreled out of the house after me. I leapt over all three front steps and landed at a run.
In my haze of terror, I became slightly aware of a siren and red flashing light. Suddenly, a car yanked into the yard and the driver's door flew open. I sobbed with relief when Detective Jackson stepped out of the car. He lifted his gun.
"Sunni, what on earth? Get behind me."
I'd never followed his directions so readily.
"On the ground, face down, Stockton," Jackson ordered. "You're under arrest for the murder of Tory Jansen."
Three police cars screeched to a halt in front of the house and a flood of officers flowed out to finish the arrest.
Jackson put his gun away and walked to where I was standing near his car. I had to fight the urge to hug him. I'd never been so glad to see anyone in my life. Only, by the look on his face, he was anything but pleased to see me. The amount of concern in his expression gave me a little hope that I wasn't in for too big of a lecture.
Then he did something I wasn't expecting. Jackson hugged me. My mind went right to thinking about how big and strong his arms were. His aftershave wasn't bad either.
"Bluebird, I ought to haul you into jail." Another unexpected reaction.
I looked up at him. He released me.
"For what?"
"Uh, where do I start the list? Trespassing? Impeding an investigation? Scaring an officer half to death?"
I squinted an eye at him. "Wait. Is that last one really a thing?"
"Maybe not but then I'm not thinking straight because of the half to death thing."
"You were worried about me?" I asked, trying hard not to read too much into it.
Jackson avoided an answer by reminding me that I hadn't answered him. "What are you doing here?"
"Instead of impeding your investigation, I was lending you a hand." I pulled the envelope out from under my shirt, a gesture that definitely had his full attention. "Before I give this to you, just know that I had nothing to do with the mess inside that house. That was all his fault." I motioned over to Jeremy who was now sitting on the bottom step of the porch in handcuffs barking at the officers about wanting to call his lawyer.
I handed the envelope over. "I think he was looking for these. I think Tory was blackmailing Jeremy because she discovered that he was—"
"Running an illegal arms trade from the back of the warehouse," Jackson added before opening the envelope.
"You knew?" I asked.
His brow arched as he gazed down at me with those amber eyes. "Seriously, Bluebird, we don't all just sit around eating donuts all day. I had a tail on the truck that left the warehouse the other night. We've been collecting evidence to bring down the operation all week." He lifted the pictures. "These will help."
"Good. I think there's more."
He crossed his arms. "Oh? What else did you find out while you were supposed to be staying out of the investigation?" he asked wryly.
"Hey, I'm a reporter. Finding stuff out is my thing. Tory has a safe deposit box at the Junction Bank. I think there's a flash drive inside with more evidence."
His smile tilted. "You are quite the sleuth."
"And Tory was making a large cash deposit every Friday night, except the last Friday. You're late," I blurted without meaning to. "Jeremy is Jerkface, and he was late with the payment."
"That's right. You saw Tory's phone when you were chasing invisible squirrels." Jackson released a resigned sigh. "I should be mad but I've got to give you props for perseverance."
Officer Norton approached us. "Jax, we're ready to take him in."
"Yep, book him. I'll be in to question him soon. I just want to comb through the house."
They walked Jeremy past. Even though he was cuffed and held by two officers, I moved discretely behind Jackson's large body. Jeremy was practically foaming at the mouth with anger as he glowered at Detective Jackson.
"You'll regret this, Jackson," he snarled. "I'll have your badge. You've got nothing on me."
Jackson lifted his chin to the officers letting them know to keep walking. They put Jeremy in the car.
"How did you know I was here?" I asked.
"I didn't. At least not until I saw your jeep when I came around the corner. We've been tracking Jeremy for two days. We were waiting for him to show up at Tory's house, so we could grab him. Figured he'd be looking for blackmail evidence."
Now I crossed my arms. "So you knew about the blackmail?"
"We seized the contents of Tory's safe deposit box two days ago. Like you said, there was a flash drive and there was even more evidence on it."
My posture deflated. "Here I thought I was cracking the case when all along you knew Jeremy was the killer."
"Not true. I didn't know for sure until Jeremy's staged attack on himself."
"Ah ha." I pointed excitedly at the left side of my head. "He claimed his attacker hit him as he came out of the hedge, but he was hit on the wrong side of his head."
Jackson looked properly impressed. "Maybe I need to add you to our team."
"Maybe. Only I seem to do all right running a parallel investigation."
"About that, Sunni." His tone grew more serious. "You could have been hurt. Stop taking so many chances."
I nodded. "Yeah, yeah, but a timid reporter never gets her story."
"Just as long as this reporter doesn't end up being the story."
I smiled up at him. "Cute play on words. Maybe you need to be on my team."
Chapter 36
I lowered my hands over the keyboard and started typing. "It started out as a fun camping trip slash bridal shower in the mountains. But it soon devolved into a terribly twisted murder plot that would leave one family reeling from a tragedy, break the heart of a bride-to-be and destroy the family legacy of a well-respected local business." As I paused to come up with the next line, Edward startled me by bouncing Newman's tennis ball off the wall behind my head. Newman pounced on the ball before it rolled under the stove.
"I'm working here," I said to Edward without looking up.
"You have a visitor." A knock sounded at the door the moment he finished.
"Who is it?" I asked as I got up from the table.
"It's that cocksure detective."
"Cocksure. Boy, if that isn't the kettle calling the pot black," I muttered as I headed to the front door.
Edward drifted after me. "It's not right or proper, him showing up here unannounced like this."
"Again, wrong century, Mr. Beckett." I waved him away and opened the door.
Jackson had his hair combed back off his clean shaven face. He was wearing a crisp black t-shirt and jeans.
"You look like you're off to a party or something," I noted.
He glanced down at his jeans and black boots. "Do I? No party. I was just off to see some friends."
"Come inside. Just don't look around the entryway. I'm afraid my wallpaper removal has been less than successful."
I waved him in and took a quick look around for lurking ghosts. Edward had vanished. but I was sure he wasn't far.
Jackson made the vast entryway look much smaller. Even though I'd expressly told him not to, he looked around at the walls. "It's definitely a big job."
"Bigger than I thought," I said and smiled up at him.
We gazed at each other without a word for a moment. It was hard to know what he was thinking, but I caught a sparkle in his eyes.
He finally pulled us out of the awkwardly quiet moment. "I came just to let you know that we've officially charged Jeremy with Tory's murder. Unfortunately for him, the hammer we pulled out of the water had the Stockton code number imprinted on the head. It was the mis
sing hammer from the hardware store's order. Only a few people could have taken the hammer from the crate before it shipped."
"Sounds like you have lots of evidence to convict him on numerous crimes."
"Yes, Jeremy Stockton will never sit at the helm of his father's company. I've heard his dad is going to sell the company to help pay for legal fees."
"Nice dad. I'm not so sure I'd be that generous with my kid if he ruined the family company with his greed. And then there's the whole matter of his affair with his fiancée's good friend. Poor Cindy. Poor Brooke. I guess some people aren't just rotten. They are really rotten."
"If Tory had just turned Stockton in rather than resorting to blackmail, she'd probably still be alive. Her greed got her killed." Another awkward moment followed as our gazes locked.
"Well, I've got to write the story. Frankly, I've got so much juicy stuff to mention, I'm not sure where to start. The article practically writes itself."
"I'm sure you'll put your Sunni spin on it." He raked his thick hair back with his fingers. The movement made his bicep curl into a ball of steel. It stretched the fabric of his t-shirt taut. "I'll let you get to work then. I look forward to reading it."
"Thanks. And thanks for filling me in on a few more details." I walked Jackson to the door. He looked back and lingered just a moment longer than necessary on the front stoop before trotting down the steps.
I turned back inside.
Edward leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed. "I don't like him."
"No one asked your opinion." I snapped the door shut and headed back to the kitchen.
More Cozy Mystery
I hope you loved Killer Bridal Party. If you have a chance to leave a short review, I’d really appreciate it. Be sure to join my Secret Sleuths Facebook group and you’ll be the first to know about upcoming books, new covers and sneak peeks!
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While you’re waiting for the next Firefly Junction novel, give my Port Danby series a read!
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Keep reading for a look at the first 5 chapters of Marigolds and Murder ➜
Chapter 1
I stepped back to admire my handiwork. I wasn't exactly Van Gogh, but I had to admit, the tiny flowers I'd painted on the rustic bench were charming. I'd found the old bench at a yard sale and had decided that it would look great under the bay window, still leaving enough room for me to roll out my flower carts and set up my portable 'specials and deals' chalkboard.
Aside from falling in love with the eclectic charm of Port Danby, I'd fallen instantly in love with the small building I'd leased for my shop, Pink's Flowers. Like every shop on Harbor Lane, it was entirely unique with its Cape Cod shingles and deep bay window. While not exactly traditional for the Cape Cod style, I'd had the wood siding painted a blush pink because . . . well . . . it was Pink's Flowers. The thick window trim and the French door for the entry were painted bright white for a perfectly pleasing contrast. The unusual pink color had drawn a few judgmental glances from neighboring shop owners, but once everything was finished, people seemed to approve.
I dipped my paintbrush into the bottle of lavender paint, and as I pulled it out, my phone rang, startling me and triggering a small string of calamities. Pale purple paint dripped down my shin. I stepped sharply to the side to avoid more and kicked the paint bottle. It fell over and splashed across my sandal and foot. I flirted with the idea of not answering my phone, but I knew it was my mom. If I didn't answer, her head would fill with endless terrifying scenarios that might be keeping her daughter from answering the phone.
Standing with my knee lifted and my purple foot high off the ground, I managed to keep my balance as I picked my phone up off the window ledge. "Hey, Mom, can I call you back? I've got a purple foot."
"What? Why? Did you bruise it? Are you having circulation problems? Maybe your shoes are too tight." My mom was highly skilled at dashing off numerous opinions and unnecessary advice without needing to stop for a breath.
"It's purple paint, Mom. My shoes and circulatory system are fine."
"Well, why didn't you tell me? You gave me a fright." I didn't need to see through the phone to know she was placing her hand against her chest for added drama.
"I would have told you if you hadn't jumped right into your list of possible sources and solutions for a purple foot." I decided to give delaying the call another shot. "Let me call you back."
"I'm just calling to see how things are going with the little flower store." She couldn't have said the words with more disappointment if she'd punctuated each one with a sniffle. But I couldn't fault her for that. My poor mom, the eternal optimist and the woman who took huge pleasure in bragging to her book club about her daughter's successes, had suffered the trifecta of motherly letdowns. In the past few years, I'd quit medical school and walked out on a six figure job in the perfume industry. But the last disappointment was the one that really had the poor woman reeling.
I braced my free hand against the window ledge to keep my balance. "The little flower store is fine. I open in two weeks. My right leg is getting tired. Can I call you back?"
"You need better shoes." I opened my mouth to remind her of the painted foot but decided it would be a waste of breath. "Lacey, have you heard from Jacob?"
I made sure to huff in annoyance loud enough that she could hear me. "Why would I hear from him? We aren't together anymore, and mentioning him in every phone call is not going to magically bring him back into my life."
Jacob was the third horse in the trifecta. He was like the Kentucky Derby of disappointing blows for my mom. He was rich and handsome and from a good family. Unfortunately, that good family forgot to teach him that if you were engaged to one woman, it wasn't good to date another woman. Jacob's family owned Georgio's Perfume, a multimillion dollar fragrance company, and for one year I had been employed as their head perfumer. I had been born with hyperosmia, or in more crude terms, a heightened sense of smell. Sometimes I considered it a gift, and sometimes it was a curse. In the matter of my ex-fiancé, it had been both. Jacob had hired me because I could detect the slightest aroma and even separate that microscopic odor into its basic parts, a skill that made me highly sought after in the perfume industry. But the man had somehow forgotten that skill when he started showing up wearing hints of another woman's perfume on his shirts. And whoever she was, she wasn't even wearing Georgio Perfume.
"I just worry that you were too hasty in your decision to break it off. Jacob was such a nice man."
"He was seeing other women behind my back. How does that make him nice? If you like him so much, give him a call. I'm sure as long as you make sure Dad has new batteries in the remote, frozen entrees in the freezer and plenty of bait in his tackle box, he won't even notice you missing." I hopped toward the door of the shop to go inside and clean my foot.
"Lacey Sue Pinkerton," she said in her best angry mom voice.
"Uh oh, the middle name is coming out. I'm in trouble." I opened the door and hopped clumsily inside. Kingston pulled his sharp black beak out from under his wing. He looked angry about having his nap interrupted.
"You sound funny. Are you exercising, Lacey?"
"Yes, Mom, I'm in the middle of an aerobics class."
"That's enough, miss smarty pants." Apparently we'd moved from middle name use to the good ole smarty pants stand by. I was twenty-eight, but a five minute conversation with my mom and I was back in sixth grade.
"I'm sorry, Mom. I would love to stay on the phone and rehash all the crummy stuff that has befallen me lately, but I need to get back to work."
"Lacey, sweetie, I worry you'll get terribly bored in a small town like Port Dancy."
"Port Danby, and I won't be bored. I'll be running a business."
"Yes, a flower shop. It's quite a change from your life in the big city working with important people."
"It's a big change, Mom. And it's the change I wanted. Besides, I'm looking forward to living in a place where the biggest thing
to happen is the neighborhood stray cat knocking over a trash can. There's something to be said for peace and tranquility." Her last words had gotten to me a bit. The notion of life moving too slowly in Port Danby had crossed my mind more than once. But I was determined to keep myself and my mind occupied.
The paint had dried on my foot, caking into a lavender patch on my skin. I lowered the foot to the ground. "I'll call you later, Mom. Kiss Dad for me."
"All right. Call if you need anything."
I hung up and glanced around at my shop. I couldn't help but smile. It was the first time in my working life that I'd gotten to make all the decisions, and I was pleased with the outcome. Cape Cod exterior aside, I went totally batty trying to decide whether to go modern industrial or Soho chic inside. As is often the case, I couldn't make up my mind, so I went with both and invented my own Soho Industrial Chic. Practicality played a big part too. I left the exposed brick walls in place for the corner that was home to the steel rolling shelves I'd purchased at a factory sell off. They were the perfect place to store vases, glassware and ceramic pots. A long antique potter's table took up more than half of the back wall. The deep porcelain basin sink left behind by Elsie, the baker, when she moved her kitchen next door was the perfect place for transferring plants and arranging bouquets.
For a change of pace, I covered the brick wall on the other half of the shop with smooth plaster and bright white paint. An array of wood crates were nailed, bottom side, to the wall to create geometric cubbies for some of the prettier baubles I had for sale. The center of the store held my prize find, a massive island with a black and white checked tile counter and rows of drawers to keep ribbons, tissue and all the small goodies needed in a flower shop. I'd painted the entire island in black chalkboard paint so I could write labels on the drawers.
Kingston, my pet crow, fluttered his large wings a few times, vibrating the ribbons hanging from spools on the wall. I grabbed a bag of sunflower seeds from the top drawer of the island and tossed a few into the dish on his perch. He busied himself with the treat as I stroked the silky black feathers on his head.
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