"Why don't you take a break?" She winked at me, though I had no idea why. "Something tells me that you might want to have a dance soon."
"Does it?" I asked incredulously. "Pippa, I'm here to serve food, not dance it up!"
She nudged me again and then pointed at the crowd before scooting away. I turned to see what on earth she was pointing at.
My eyes widened and I straightened up immediately. How long had he been standing there?
"Jackson!" I'd seen him in a suit before, his detective suit, but this was different. Usually he wore dark colors but today he was dressed in a rather festive light grey with a salmon colored tie. It suited him.
"I had no idea you were going to be here."
"The groom and I are friends from way back," Jackson explained. "But I don't know too many of the guests, I have to admit, but when I saw the reception was being held here, I just had to tag along."
He did know how to make a girl blush.
"Would you join me for a quick dance?"
I glanced around. Would it be incredibly bad form for a server to join in? But the bride nodded at me and I took that as a sign that I had her permission. However, I was still a little nervous about dancing with Jackson for some reason.
"Hey, you never told me why you ran out of the coffee shop the other day," Jackson said as we gently swayed to a mid-tempo pop song.
I shot him a look. "I just didn't like being accused, that's all."
"I told you, I wasn't accusing you of anything." He was silent for a moment. "Though there were some rumors that you were sneaking around the crime scene shortly afterwards."
I pulled back. "So you are accusing me then?"
"Not of having anything to do with that man's murder."
"What are you accusing me of then?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Trying to solve the case yourself."
I felt my face go red and we began to dance again.
"Am I wrong?"
I shook my head. "No," I admitted softly. "But I have a personal stake in this, Jackson. I was already supposed to be the owner of that shop by now. Then all this happened."
Jackson frowned. "You do realize you're not a detective though, Rachael. Do you have your PI's license?"
"No," I had to admit. "But anyone can be an amateur sleuth, can't they?"
He sighed. "I just don't want you to get into trouble again.
I wondered if it was already too late for that. There was no way I wanted to get into all the paranormal stuff—sorry, alleged paranormal stuff—with Jackson, but so much creepy stuff had happened lately that I was starting to wonder if I really should back off and listen to Pippa.
"You've gone awful quiet."
"Just enjoying a bit of peace," I said quietly.
The DJ started playing a more upbeat song and I took that as my cue to pull away again. "Sorry, I just need to run out for a second. See if we have any cakes left in the back." Really, I needed to go to the bathroom, but he didn't need to know that.
"Okay," Jackson said, looking disappointed.
As soon as I finished in the bathroom and headed back to the counter, Pippa shot me a look. "What are you doing? Go back over to him!"
I turned around. Jackson was dancing a little awkwardly by himself in the middle of the floor. "I don't know." Just as I was contemplating going back over to him, there was a loud crashing sound.
That's when we all heard the screams coming from next door.
* * *
"Move away," Jackson commanded as all the guests spilled from my shop to Gus's, all trying to rubberneck and see what was going on.
I tried to push through the crowd. "What is it?" I asked Jackson.
"You too," he commanded. "Rachael, you need to step back." It seemed like the intimacy between us had faded away already.
I looked past him anyway. I had to see what the heck was going on.
I brought my hands to my mouth and gasped as I saw it: a dead body lying in the center of Gus's Antiques. From the looks of it, a young woman.
Another murder victim.
* * *
"Well, that kind of put a dampener on the whole wedding reception." Pippa sat next to me while I tried to soothe my nerves with a cup of ginger tea. It wasn't working. The guests had all cleared out and I hadn't even collected payment from the bride and groom.
"What a total disaster," I groaned, throwing my head on the table.
"Not to mention a tragedy," Pippa pointed out.
"I know, I know." I looked up. "You can go if you like. Jackson said he only needed me to stick around."
Pippa wasn't above making a joke in that moment. "I bet he did."
"He just wants to ask me a few questions."
On top of everything else, I was incredibly nervous about why he wanted to speak to me. But I told Pippa I was fine and that she ought to go home.
It seemed like I was waiting hours for Jackson to finally come speak to me. "Thanks for waiting. Sorry your event got ruined."
"You ought to tell that to the bride and groom."
He sat down across from me and pulled a notepad out of his breast pocket. "Did you see anything suspicious today before you started work?"
I thought for a second before shaking my head. "I was in a rush. Nothing that I can remember." I paused. "Jackson, how did she die?"
"I told you earlier, we can't give out that information to the public."
I'd been hoping I was more than just 'the public.' "But how can I help you if I don't know any of the details of how she died?"
"And I've told you that already as well: you don't need to help us in that way. You can help by answering my questions."
I leaned forward. "Did she die the same way as the first victim? Do you think we are looking for the same person?"
What I really wanted to ask was, Do you already have an idea of the suspect? Because the first person you should be looking for is Gus.
He glared at me. "Rachael, 'we' are not looking for anyone. The police are looking for a suspect. You'd do better to stay out of it. Now, can you remember anything suspicious happening today?"
I shook my head and stood up. "I really should be getting home, if that's all."
He looked at me gravely. "It's not, actually."
I turned back to him in surprise. "I've already told you I didn't see anything. What else do you want from me?"
"I'm sorry to do this, Rachael. But if you don't want to cooperate here, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to come down to the station to ask a few more questions. Officially."
I just stared at him. "You've got to be kidding me, Jackson. I was here the whole time!"
He stared at me. "Not the whole time."
I rolled my eyes. The bathroom break. Right before the screams. I shook my head. This was just great.
"Fine. You lead the way."
Chapter 8
I felt like I had been in the back of the police car for an eternity. Jackson mentioned something about the storm coming and I stared at the dark clouds above that looked like they were about to engulf the entire town of Belldale with one swallow.
But all I felt was numb. I pressed my cheek against the glass to try to feel something. "Can I roll down a window?" The heat in the car was suffocating.
"It's about to start raining," Jackson replied, sounding slightly curt.
I took it as a no.
Guilty. That's the way I felt. A second body? I glanced down and played with the bracelet on my wrist, spinning it round and round. What if I really was to blame?
What if Pippa was right?
Either way, it seemed like everything I'd worked so hard for was slipping away again. Just when things seemed to be going well, disaster struck again.
What if I really was cursed?
* * *
The seat was plastic and digging into my back. Now I was freezing. Would it have killed them to put on the heat? It was the middle of winter, after all, and we were about to be hit by a storm.
B
ut I supposed cops didn't really care about making their suspects feel comfortable.
"Gus Sampson is the person you should be questioning."
It was a different detective interviewing me this time, a woman in her early thirties with a rail thin frame and curly red hair. "Where is Detective Jackson, by the way?"
She paused from the notes she was jotting down and shot me a look. "He’s busy. You don't need to worry about him."
I wondered if he'd asked this woman—Detective Emma Crawford, apparently—to conduct the interview because he had a conflict of interest concerning me.
"So," Detective Crawford said. I wondered how long she had worked at the station. If her and Jackson were partners. If they ever worked cases together, long nights on stakeouts...
"You were in the bathroom?" She raised a thinly manicured eyebrow. "That's a convenient story."
"Not very convenient seeing as I am in here," I pointed out.
"Can anybody confirm you were using the bathroom?"
I shook my head. I didn't want to say anything else. I wanted to speak to Jackson. Or get a lawyer.
Detective Crawford continued.
"And weren't you also a suspect in the murder of Colleen Batters?"
"Emphasis on suspect. For about a minute. I actually helped to solve that case," I said pointedly.
A look of amusement crossed her face. "Did you? That's nice that you think that."
I felt like I had shrunk to the size of a mushroom. Maybe I wasn't a cop, and maybe I didn't officially have a P.I's license, but I had helped to solve that murder fair and square.
I crossed my arms. "You can ignore what I have to say about Gus Sampson, but if you do, it’s at your own peril." I knew how ridiculous that sounded before I'd even got to the end of the sentence and immediately wished I could reach out for the words and swallow them.
Detective Crawford's amusement only grew wider. "I think we'll be okay."
I nodded, silent again. After everything that happened, I wasn't sure I was doing much good towards the case anyway. I hadn't been able to stop the second girl from dying.
"Did you even come into contact with Bridget Lassiter before?"
"Bridget?" I asked, confused.
Detective Crawford blinked slowly. "That's the name of the woman who was found dead today."
I ran the name through my head, foraging for a connection, but I just ended up shaking my head. "Was she the same age as the other victim?"
Another long blink. "Roughly the same. Don't try to solve this case for us. Detective Whitaker said you had a habit of that."
I raised an eyebrow. So he talked about me to her. Maybe to others.
I leaned forward. "With all due respect,Detective, there are two people dead. Will there be more to come? If you want my opinion, the sole person you should be looking at is Gus Sampson." I told the detective about what I had seen him doing in his store that morning, with the painting and the wires.
She frowned. "You saw him jiggling a painting around? Sounds very suspicious." I could tell she was biting her lip to keep from laughing now. I realized that without context, without explaining to her everything about the painting and the so-called 'curse'—and, most importantly, without explaining that I had broken into his shop the night before—that Gus playing with the wires on the painting added up to exactly zero evidence against him.
I leaned back. Maybe what I'd seen did mean exactly nothing.
But Gus had to have done it. "It's not just the painting thing," I pointed out, worried that I sounded totally stupid now. "He's the only person with access to the store." I saw the look on her face. "Well, apart from the other employees of course," I added quietly. Maybe I really was out of my depth here.
"Don't you think we, as detectives, have already thought of that?"
"Most likely," I mumbled. "Yes."
Detective Crawford stood up and opened the door for me. She had a small smile on her face that seemed genuine. "You're free to go, Rachael."
"I am?" I asked, surprised, as I stood up after her. I buttoned up my coat. "I take it this means I am no longer a person of interest."
She cast me a long steely gaze. "Just make sure you come to us if you see anything else interesting or suspicious. You do run the bakery next door to the crime scene, after all."
I stopped buttoning. "Does this mean that you'd like me to be your eyes and ears out there?"
"We don't need your help with solving the case, if that's what you're getting at, Miss Robinson. And don't try to solve it yourself. Just tell us if you see anything."
I did try to tell you what I saw. But you weren't interested, I thought as she showed me the door. You practically laughed at what I'd seen.
But I knew that what I'd seen—Gus tampering with that painting—meant something. I just didn't know what that was yet.
But I couldn't quell that nagging feeling in my stomach that it was important and that Gus needed to be brought in off the streets before anyone else ended up dead.
But if Detective Crawford wasn't going to listen to me, what more could I do?
I should have been relieved at being set free and taken off the suspect list, but I only felt stupid as I stumbled out of the interview room, like I was a little kid playing at being a detective and a grownup had told me off and told me to stop pretending.
That's why I almost stumbled into the figure heading towards me. He was super familiar, but it took me a moment to place the dark-haired man staggering into the interview room after me.
"Romeo?" I whispered out loud. "What the heck is he doing here?"
I spun around only to see him being led into the room.
Maybe he saw something.
But if he was at the bakery, why? Was he snooping around again? I thought about the night I'd bumped into him out back when I was closing up. He'd claimed he was there to get his paycheck, but he could have been doing anything and just used that as a cover when he was caught.
I shivered at the idea that I'd ever let him work in my bakery as I stared at the closed door of the interview room.
"Can I help you, miss?" a weary-looking uniformed police officer asked, grabbing my attention. "You look a little lost there."
I straightened up. "I'm just looking for Detective Whitaker. To say goodbye to him before I leave." Sort of true. I was thinking that, if one detective wouldn't listen to me, maybe another one would. I'd already slightly tested the waters with Jackson regarding the curse, and I figured that if I explained the entire thing to him, he might be a little more open-minded to listen to the curse as a theory.
Boy, I was starting to sound like Pippa.
"Can't help you, sorry. I think he's busy at the moment." The uniformed officer returned to the magazine he was reading.
Really busy or just 'doesn't want to see me' busy? I wondered.
"Thank you."
"Exit's that way."
Right.
I bumped into him as I was exiting the station.
"Jackson!" He looked a little pleased to see me, I was sure of it, but he looked around uneasily to check if anyone was watching us. "I have to tell you something. Detective Crawford wouldn't listen to me about something I saw."
He looked at me blankly. "She should have listened to you, if you had some kind of witness evidence to put forth."
I didn't want to get her into trouble. "No! It's not like that. I suppose I don't really blame her for not listening. Do you have five minutes?"
I wished Pippa was with me as I unraveled the entire story to him, ending with the way I'd seen Gus jiggling around the 'haunted' painting the following morning. "I'm not going to be arrested for trespassing, am I?"
"Trespassing?" he asked. "No. What you did was breaking and entering."
My face turned white. "I was only trying to help. The door was open when Pippa and I went in, anyway, so it wasn't breaking in." A quick lie to try and save us from getting booked.
Jackson shook his head. "That's besides the point right
now. Obviously, we had Gus Sampson as a suspect."
My ears pricked. "Did you say 'had'? Why the past tense?"
Jackson glanced into the station. Boy, he really did not want anyone to see us together, did he?
Jackson sighed. "I shouldn't really be telling you this, but given everything." He placed his hands in his pockets. "Gus is out of town right now, meeting up with an antique dealer in Pottsville. We have confirmation of his alibi already. He's been out of town all weekend." Jackson stared down at my face draining of more and more color by the second. "Gus wasn't there, Rachael. He couldn't have done it."
My head started spinning.
"Okay," I said unsteadily. "I need to go then. Sorry." I hurried away, pushing my way through the glass doors, but I didn't think the apology was really necessary. I doubted he was very sorry to see me go at that point.
I gulped for air when I finally got outside.
If Gus Sampson hadn't killed those two people, then who? Or what?
Detective Crawford might have said I was free to go, and I doubted I'd be called in for questioning again, but I couldn't help the feeling of guilt that twisted in my stomach.
Was I responsible for those people getting killed?
What if...what if the curse was real? What if my decision to purchase the antiques shop had set in motion a chain of events that had lead to the deaths of two innocent people?
I glanced back at the police station right as thunder cracked overhead. I wanted to run back in there, turn myself in, present my wrists, and say 'Lock me up, I'm a hazard to the community.'
But that would be insane. I backed away.
Perhaps there was somewhere else I really needed to go. A place I had been avoiding.
And dreading.
But I needed answers.
Chapter 9
I wasn't sure I'd ever even BEEN in this area of Belldale before. The town had a population of only about fourteen thousand, but it was divided by a small highway that split the two into two distinct halves and this half was one I was unfamiliar with. There were coffee shops I didn't recognize, and the streets seemed wider with the shops more spread out. It was at least a ten-minute drive from our apartment, but Pippa seemed to know exactly where she was going.
BDM02 - Donuts, Antiques and Murder Page 5
