Sprinkled in Malice

by Catherine Bruns

  Exhaustion finally won over, and I dozed off. When I opened my eyes, sunlight was streaming through the blinds of the hospital room. Mike was sitting up in bed, staring blankly ahead at the television, which wasn't even on. He continued looking at the screen, his face tight and drawn.

  Worried, I leaned over the bed to kiss him. "Good morning, sunshine."

  He didn't respond.

  My chest tightened with fear as I watched him. "Are you in a lot of pain?"

  In response, he handed me the cell phone that he'd been holding in his lap. "What's really going on, Sal?"

  The look in his midnight blue eyes was intense and scared me. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Jenkins left me a voice mail asking if I remembered the name of the guy who'd given Trevor a reference." Mike's tone was icy.

  Crap. I'd forgotten to check on that last night for him. "Did he say why?"

  Mike's dark steady gaze observed me thoughtfully. "Yeah, Jenkins said the police wanted to talk to him, to find out what else he knew about Trevor. Why are the police checking into Trevor's past if he was a victim?"

  Good old Brian. He couldn't wait for me to check on the reference? One stinking day? What was really going on? Was he sorry about what he'd confessed the other night and trying to hurt me as result? If so, he'd succeeded.

  "Sweetheart." I cupped his cheek with my palm. "I wanted to wait until you were feeling better before we got into this."

  A muscle ticked in Mike's jaw. "Got into what? Sal, what's Trevor done? Did these guys shoot him intentionally?"

  "It looks that way. The police believe—based on the information you gave Brian and what the cashier told them—that yes, the gunmen knew Trevor. And it gets worse." I exhaled sharply. "Trevor was stealing from you, Mike."

  Mike's eyes resembled cold hard steel. "What are you talking about?"

  The lump in my throat wouldn't dissolve. "Trevor was ordering supplies on your dime and having them shipped to other job sites. Remember how I asked you about that house on Reynolds Way?" When he nodded, I continued. "Josie and I went to check it out. There's a newly constructed house sitting there. Some guy by the name of David Webb sold it to a young couple, and the woman who lives there remembers seeing Trevor working on the house. He must have been doing it on the weekends or at night after he left your—"

  Mike cut me off and looked away. "No. You have to be wrong."

  My heart ached as I watched his expression. It was like being beaten on the inside. "I asked for the work orders to be emailed, and Trevor's name was on them. I don't know how much he took yet, but there's not much money left in your business account."

  He said nothing, so I reached out to put my arms around him. To my surprise and shock, he stiffened at my touch. "Sweetheart, it could have happened to anyone. Please don't—"

  Mike still wouldn't look at me. "Sal, I think I'd like to be alone for a little while, if you don't mind."

  His words stung like a wasp. My husband was a proud man, and I'd known that hearing these words would prove difficult. If he'd yelled, screamed, or thrown something at the wall, it would have made me feel better. Anything would be easier to take than this brooding silence.

  I tried to understand this from Mike's perspective. He'd been taken advantage of his entire life. When we met at sixteen, he'd been terribly insecure and jealous as a result of his upbringing. While we were dating in high school, he'd never hesitate to punch any guy who looked at me the wrong way and then ask questions later. Over the years he'd learned to control his anger, and I was proud of him for that. But it hurt that he was pushing me away. He needed someone to help him through this.

  "Okay." My voice trembled as I backed out of the room, afraid that I might start to cry. "I'll be back about lunchtime, all right?"

  He gave a quick nod and kept staring at the wall. My eyes filled with tears as I shut the door behind me and hurried down the hall. Once I was alone inside my car, I allowed myself a good cry.

  My phone buzzed as I started the engine, and I glanced down at the screen, hoping it was Mike asking me to come back. Instead, Brian's name popped up. Anger coiled in my gut. "Yes?" I asked coldly.

  He hesitated. "Everything okay, Sally?"

  "No, everything is not okay," I huffed. "Why did you leave Mike a voice mail about the reference for Trevor? I told you that I would ask him."

  "There was no time to waste, Sally," Brian explained. "We need to follow up on any leads as soon as possible. Those guys could still be in town."

  My temper flared. "Thanks to you, I had to come out and tell Mike about Trevor stealing from him—from us. He's ill and needs his rest, Brian. I wanted to wait a day or so before springing it all on him. How could you do this to me?"

  Silence followed, and I knew very well how. This was Brian's way of getting back at me—his attempt at revenge for ruining his relationship with Ally. I had never led Brian on or tried in any way to make him care for me. Why would I, when there was only one man I'd truly ever loved?

  Brian sidestepped my question. "I called to tell you that Trevor's obituary is in the paper this morning. Like I said before, the service is private, but I'm trying to find out when it's going to be held. There was no time listed in the paper. If you're planning to see Tina today, maybe she'll give you details."

  "Thanks for the tip." The words and sarcasm freely rolled off my tongue together.

  "Sally, wait!" he said. "Don't hang up yet. I really am sorry. Please call me after you've seen Tina and let me know how it goes. What else have you got planned?"

  Even though I was still furious with him, and despite what I'd told Josie, I needed Brian's help to find these guys. "I met a news reporter yesterday—Jerry Maroon from Channel 11. He wants to interview Mike about the shooting. He's allowed to speak to the media, right?"

  "We can't stop him," Brian replied. "But why would you want to subject yourself to such an ordeal? It might hurt business in your bakery, and I'm guessing you can't afford that right now. Plus, every nut in the state will be calling you, claiming to have a lead."

  He had valid points. "I don't care about that. I want the gunmen to see it so that we can set a trap for them—you know, by letting them think Trevor told us some important details about them."

  A stunned silence met my ears. "Sally, you tried something like this once before, and it backfired. If I recall, it almost got you killed. This is way too dangerous."

  "If Mike agrees, you can't stop us."

  Brian swore on the other end of the phone. "Sally, please think about this first. We can't provide around-the-clock protection for you and Mike. He's not even in any condition to protect you right now."

  "We'll take care of each other." My tone was defensive. "Thanks for your help, but I need to run."

  "Sally, listen to me! Don't—"

  I clicked off before he could finish. Maybe I'd been too hard on him, but he'd put me in an awkward position with my husband. I was beyond tired and depressed, and let my head rest on the steering wheel for a minute. If only we could go back forty-eight hours in time. Life had been so perfect then.

  A man in a white van pulled up to the curb and proceeded to fill the newspaper vending machine. After he drove away, I got out of the car, the icy wind whipping my hair around and leaving me gasping for breath. Would spring ever get here?

  I inserted coins for the paper and then hurried back to my car. I thumbed my way over to the obituary section and shuddered inwardly when my eyes connected with Trevor's face, smiling back at me. It was the same picture that had been in the paper the day before—his driver's license photo. I read the short paragraph that followed with interest.

  Trevor Zachary Parks of Tully, New York, age 38, died suddenly on March 23, 2019. Born in Roanoke, Virginia, he was the son of the late Steven and Emily Parks. He is survived by his brother, Curtis Parks of Virginia, a sister, Morgan Parks of Colwestern, his fiancée, Tina Landon of Tully, and his former wife, Erica Parks of Colwestern. Services are private a
nd to be held at the convenience of the family. Those wishing to remember Trevor and assist with the cost of the funeral can contribute to a GoFundMe account that has been set up in his name.

  The link to the fund was included. Disgusted, I crumpled the paper into a ball and threw it into the back seat. As I drove out of the lot, I mulled over the few interesting tidbits of information I'd learned from the paper. Trevor's siblings, who I presumed were in town for his service, might know something about his dishonest hobby. It was interesting that Tina was listed as his fiancée, when Mike had told me Trevor had no intention of ever getting married again. The mention of the GoFundMe account made me physically ill. I had no issues with people who used the funds to raise money for worthy and honest causes, but according to my calculation, Trevor had taken more than enough money from my husband to cover his own funeral expenses.

  Trevor and Tina lived in Tully, a small industrial type of town that bordered Colwestern. Their home was on the right-hand side of an older duplex. I'd never met Tina, but Mike had stopped there one time on a Sunday to let Trevor borrow some tools while I'd waited in the truck. Trevor hadn't talked much about Tina to Mike—or at least I didn't think so. When he'd come to our house for dinner last month and the subject of marriage came up, he'd murmured that once was more than enough. It made me wonder what had happened with his ex, Erica. She was next on my list to visit.

  A rusted station wagon was parked next to the curb in front of the duplex. There was no driveway or garage. I climbed the creaky steps of the porch, the aging boards groaning under my weight. The mail slot on the right bore the name Parks/Landon on it, written with a black Magic Marker.

  As I knocked on the door, I surveyed my surroundings, noting that the duplex was sorely in need of repairs. The vinyl siding was peeling, and the shingles of the asphalt roof were worn and tattered. I found it ironic that a construction worker like Trevor was living in such poor conditions, especially when he could afford to make repairs, thanks to what he'd stolen from us.

  The door opened a crack, and a slim blonde woman peeked out from the other side. Her eyes were red rimmed, as if she'd been crying. "Yes?"

  "Hi. Are you Tina Landon?"

  A frown spread across her thin, angular face. "Who wants to know?"

  I extended a hand. "I'm Sally Donovan. Mike's wife. He was Trevor's—"

  "Oh!" Recognition dawned on Tina's face. She shut the door, undid the chain, and opened it. "Sorry, I don't think we've ever met."

  "We haven't. I'm so sorry about Trevor." My voice sounded hollow with the lie.

  She blinked back tears and nodded. "Thank you. Would you like to come in for a minute? I have to leave soon. Trevor's service starts in an hour."

  Ah. She'd just given me the information I was looking for. "Thank you." I stepped into the small entranceway and glanced around at the interior of the home. The main room to the left doubled as both a living and dining room, with a gray couch, matching armchair, and a walnut dining table and four chairs that were stuffed into a corner. A staircase to my right most likely led to the bedroom and bathroom. Directly in front of me was a small kitchen, where I could see a sink piled high with dirty dishes.

  Tina was about my height and slim as a pencil, with a brittle air about her that warned she might shatter into pieces at any moment. She was dressed in black slacks and a matching sweater. A brown wool coat was draped over a chair in the entranceway. The entire place was dark and depressing. "Don't you have anyone staying with you at this—difficult time?"

  She shook her head. "My family isn't local."

  "How are you getting to the service?"

  "I have a friend who's picking me up. She should be here soon." Tina glanced at the plastic, round clock that hung on the wall. "How is your husband doing?"

  "He's much better today, thank you." I bit into my lower lip and took the plunge. "I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about Trevor."

  Her eyes narrowed. "What kind of questions? Did he owe your husband money?" Before I could reply, she went on. "I know he gave Trevor an advance on his pay a few times. Sorry, but I don't have anything to give you."

  It was interesting how money was her first thought. Maybe this wasn't the best time to bring up the fact that her boyfriend had been embezzling from Mike, but I needed to get to the bottom of this. "As a matter of fact, he did owe Mike money. Trevor was stealing from his business. Did you know anything about it?"

  Her face grew pale. "Oh, gosh, no. He never talked much about his work. I don't know anything, honest."

  She didn't seem surprised by my remark, so I continued. "You weren't in on it with him?"

  Like a faucet, tears streamed out of her eyes. "How can you ask me such a thing, today of all days? My fiancé just died. At least your husband is still alive."

  The anger within me died temporarily at her words. She was right, of course. I couldn't be positive if Tina was guilty, but this certainly was not the best time to be asking her such a thing. "I'm sorry. That was tactless of me. I know your life has changed drastically in the last 48 hours, but so has mine. At first, I even thought it was my husband who had been killed instead of Trevor. Believe me, I understand how you feel."

  "No, you don't." Tina's mascara ran down her face in streaks. "Maybe Trevor and I rushed into this too soon. I guess I didn't know him as well as I thought I did. But I can't believe he'd steal." She hiccupped back a sob. "He warned me that he didn't want to get married again. It was too soon. They only divorced a few months ago. Erica did a real number on him."

  "Do you know her?" I asked.

  Tina's nostrils flared. "I've only seen her a couple of times, but the woman hates my guts. Trevor and I were in Sam's Sammywich Shop one night when she came in with Trevor's brother. I think they're dating. Pure spite, if you ask me. Both of them."

  Interesting. "Trevor and his brother didn't get along?" He was another one I'd have to find a way to speak to.

  "Curtis has always been jealous of Trevor. They almost got into a fistfight that night. Sam told them to get the hell out or he'd call the cops."

  "How long have you and Trevor been together?" I asked.

  "Only a couple of months," she said. "He and Erica were already divorced when we met. I don't know much about the rest of his family. Trevor was close with his sister Morgan, but not Curtis. Guess they've never gotten along. Their father died a few years ago in a car accident, and their mother had a sudden heart attack shortly afterward. But that Erica—" She sucked in a sharp breath. "She wanted every last cent she could get out of Trevor. He was paying her alimony too. It's a good thing they never had kids, or she would have drained him dry for them as well. Maybe that would explain why he lifted a few bucks from your husband."

  I pursed my lips in annoyance. "It wasn't just a few bucks. He took thousands of dollars that didn't belong to him."

  Tina's eyes widened at my words, and then she stared down at her hands. "Look, I'm sorry, but I can't help you. I don't even know how I'm going to pay next month's rent. If you'll excuse me, I have to fix my makeup before Jenna gets here."

  "Could I come back to speak with you at another time?" I asked.

  The look that Tina gave me clearly said no—she didn't care to see my face again—but she nodded. "Yeah, I guess that would be all right. But I've told you everything that I know. You should talk to Erica."

  "Is she going to the service as well?" I asked curiously.

  She shrugged. "Who knows with that woman? She was a gold digger. Anything to make Trevor's life miserable." A lone tear rolled down her left cheek. "Despite what you say he might have done, I know the facts. Trevor was a good man. He loved me, and we were going to be married."

  I drew my eyebrows together. "Trevor told Mike and me that he didn't plan on getting married again."

  Tina stuck her chin out in defiance. "Maybe not. But I happen to be pregnant with his child, so he didn't have much choice."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  "Next time, will you pl
ease come and get me before you go off snooping on your own?" Josie made a sharp turn into Starbucks's parking lot. "We're partners—not only at the bakery but in our crime-stopping business. Understand?"

  I suppressed a giggle and reached into the bucket on my lap to select a drumstick. "So we not only have a bakery, we have a crime-stopping business too?"

  After my visit with Tina, I had gone back to the bakery. I'd needed to sit for a while and digest the information she'd given me. I'd then called Mike and talked to him briefly. He'd said that if things continued to progress well, the doctor would let him go home tomorrow. Grandma Rosa was there, and Mike told me I didn't have to hurry back. He said that he was tired, but I knew in fact that he was angry and felt like he could no longer trust anyone. The thought of him in so much physical and mental pain made my heart ache.

  I wouldn't be able to rest until I'd discovered who had shot my husband and helped Trevor rip him off. I had high hopes of getting our money back but knew that might be impossible.

  Josie ignored my question. "We're lucky we still have a bakery. Your sister was back at it again this morning, except that she only ate a half dozen fudgy delights this time. Maybe she's decided to go on a diet."

  I exhaled sharply. "Okay, let it go. She's under enough stress with the baby coming and our mother and Mrs. Gavelli grilling her about wedding dates." Gianna had seemed a little better today and insisted that Josie accompany me to Trevor's service. She'd assured us that she would be fine until we returned.

  Hunger had finally caught up with me, so Josie had stopped at Chuck's Country Fried Chicken. We'd gone to the drive-thru window and ordered a bucket of extra crispy plus two small containers of mashed potatoes. The Starbucks lot where we were now parked was directly across the street from the funeral home. I longed to go inside the building, but the service was private after all. I still wasn't sure how I planned to connect with anyone—maybe waylay them on their way out?

  "I think the whole David Webb thing could be a dead end," Josie said as she selected a chicken wing.