by Jody Holford
Molly stood. “We can exchange information, and then I’m heading to the station. If I get an update, I’ll share it with you.”
Ed stood, straightening his shoulders, as if she needed the reminder that she was shorter. Especially in her preferred Converse sneakers.
“Maybe I’ll share mine after you talk the police,” he said.
“Is what you have worth my waiting?”
She felt Alan’s gaze following their verbal volley.
“Candice Harkaw stands to inherit all of Jethro’s money. Jet never changed his will, and since Candy owns part of the business, everything professional and personal is hers. Including the house Amber lives in. The police are taking their time, trying to rule out drivers so they can let them leave, but Amber has a life she needs to get back to as well.”
Molly didn’t react, since she already knew this, but she also wondered what Ed’s angle was here. She stared at him, trying to read his intentions.
Alan pushed away from his desk and came around to join them. “The police have questioned her?”
Molly nodded. “She and Amber were both questioned. I think everyone has been, preliminarily.”
“And now that they’re doing follow-up interviews, things are getting drawn out.”
Molly frowned. “Murder tends to do that. Make things inconvenient for the people impacted by it.”
Ed grinned. “That’s the truth. But with your little one-horse town, the delay is much longer. Candice Harkaw is the most viable suspect, yet your guys are running around chasing innocent women like Amber.”
It took effort to unclench her jaw. “Britton Bay has a half dozen well-trained, experienced deputies, in addition to four reserve officers in surrounding counties, and a sheriff with one of the best reputations on the West Coast.”
“Doesn’t change the numbers. Now, I shared mine. I left my number with Alan. Touch base with me when you’ve talked to the police.”
He tipped an imaginary hat to her and Alan, and left, leaving Molly staring at his back. Her teeth were definitely clenched.
“Sometimes I forget that you came from a big city,” Alan said, patting her arm.
She crossed her arms over her chest, then dropped them. She poked her head around his doorframe to make sure Ed had left.
“What do you mean?”
Alan laughed, and they went into the main area. “You’re so mild and sweet, but when the big boys show up, they don’t stand a chance.”
She turned and looked at him. “Um, did you not see that? Because I’m pretty sure he just got the last word.” She pointed toward the door.
Shaking his head, Alan pulled his phone from his pocket. “Conversation isn’t over, Molly. I have no doubt the last word will be yours.”
His confidence loosened the tension in her shoulders. “Let’s hope you’re right. I need to head to the police station.”
“Now?”
She glanced at her office. “Actually, I think I need to consult Google first. Once I do, I’ll see if I can get an updated statement from Officer Beatty.”
Looking down at his phone, Alan murmured his agreement. “I’m going to meet Vicky for lunch. She had a great time last night. Thank you for including her.”
Any thoughts of the murder or the irritating reporter fled. She smiled at her boss and stepped closer. “It was really fun. I’m glad she came. Hannah, too.”
His smile was a touch dreamy, and she knew he was thinking of his wife. They’d been through a lot in the short time Molly had been in Britton Bay. Alan’s smile was replaced by a grimace.
“Vicky tells me Hannah likes that Greg boy who started at the diner. He seems a bit…mature for her.”
Molly bit her lip and stared at him. “He’s the same age as Hannah. I’m pretty sure they go to school together.”
“Yes, but he’s saving for a car. You know where that will lead.”
Molly laughed, loudly. Alan did not look impressed. “Hannah’s a smart girl, Alan. With a very bright future ahead of her. And for what it’s worth, Greg seems very nice. Plus, he’s Calli and Dean’s nephew. So that’s comforting, right?”
Alan didn’t look convinced. “You weren’t here when Dean and his brother were younger. Those two weren’t exactly little angels.”
Patting his arm, she tried for an empathetic smile. “But now Dean’s been married, happily, to Calli for years. Hannah’s a smart girl, Alan. I don’t think you need to worry about her.”
It was his turn to grin. “Sometimes I can’t help it. She’s really blossomed over the last year. Come into her own. With Jill being here—remembering when she went off to college—it makes me a little sad that Hannah will likely do the same.”
“Just remember, Jill came back.”
He nodded, and with one more smile, she went to her office and did a little social media digging. Edward McLaren was more careful with his profiles than most. His Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter accounts were locked and revealed very little personal information. Fortunately for Molly, Amber was not nearly as cautious.
By the time she was on her way to the station, she’d learned that Amber and Ed had been junior high sweethearts. She’d posted several pictures of herself with “Eddie M” from “back in the day,” as the folder was titled.
Ed’s interest in this case wasn’t professional. It was completely personal. And if he and Amber were still involved or had been at any time during her marriage, it changed things. He’d come to get answers, but instead, he’d left Molly with a very basic question: Did Ed still love Amber enough to kill for her?
Chapter Fifteen
The police station was busier than Molly expected. Even the parking lot was packed. She had to find a spot near the street. The wind had picked up over the last two days, and as she pulled the neck of her jacket tighter, she thought about asking Jill to do some shopping. She needed warmer winter gear, including some gloves and a good scarf.
As she climbed the steps to the station doors, she stepped to the side as a few people she vaguely recognized exited. She held the door, but they didn’t acknowledge her because they were busy chatting.
“I thought there was a reward for giving information,” one of the guys said.
“Me, too,” the girl said, her tone sulky.
“I told you guys it was only if it led to anything. You think they’re just going to hand out twenties at the front desk?” the second guy asked them, scoffing.
They were probably in their very early twenties, if that. Molly wondered if this was just a snapshot of what Priscilla was dealing with every day.
Her pale pink Converses were mostly silent on the linoleum floor. The wide lobby of the station was larger than the outside of the building suggested. Though they were understaffed and probably underfunded, the station had resources. There were holding cells downstairs and several interrogation rooms behind the counter, and as Molly knew from personal experience, there were interview, fingerprinting, and mugshot rooms down a hallway to the left.
An assortment of people sat on the benches that ran along the wall in the waiting area. There were more standing in line at the reception desk. Molly couldn’t believe how many residents had come to give information. How did the police decide what to take and what not to take?
She ducked around the line, waving to a couple of people she recognized. Officer Beatty and Priscilla were both behind the counter.
“I’m not sure how telling me your sister-in-law met Mr. Harkaw twenty years ago helps the investigation, Mrs. Shilling.”
The older lady, whom Molly had seen around but never met, shook her finger at Chris. “She’s a sneaky one. You know she tried to turn my Timmy against me when we were dating.”
Molly rolled her lips inward, trying not to laugh. This woman probably hadn’t dated in fifty years.
“That doesn’t mean she hurt som
eone. But I’ll look into it,” he said.
She smiled at him. “You’re a nice boy, Christopher.”
Molly smiled, and he caught it, sending her a glare that said he was finding it difficult to be a nice anything right now.
She walked away, but before the next person approached him, he looked at Priscilla. “I have to chat with Molly. You okay here?”
Priscilla gave Molly a weary smile. “They’ll just have to be patient. You can do that, right, guys?”
Several people murmured agreement. Some didn’t reply. Molly looked at Pris and mouthed, “You okay?”
“I’m good. Thanks for last night.” Priscilla held her gaze a moment longer than necessary, and Molly knew she was thanking her for more than the ride home.
“Anytime.”
Chris let her through the locked gate, and she followed him across the empty bullpen.
“Wow. You must really hate working the front desk if you’re using me as an escape,” Molly said when they were in his small office.
He closed the door behind them and leaned against his desk. “You have no idea.” He smiled when he said it.
“How are you doing?” He was a cop, someone she needed information from and needed to give information to, but he was also a friend. A very good friend of the man she was in l—whoa. Sam’s friend. He’s Sam’s good friend. Sam. Your boyfriend, whom you like very much.
“I’m all right. Between us—and I mean it—Sheriff Saron is going to run for mayor in the next election. That happens, someone from the outside might replace him, but he’s angling to slip me into that spot.”
Molly leaned forward, pushing her purse, which hung across her shoulder, behind her. “That’s huge. That’s incredible.”
He pointed at her. “That’s off the record.”
She frowned. “However little you think of journalists, I would never betray the confidence of a friend, Chris.” Which had her wondering if what Sarah had shared the night before counted as a confidence.
“I know. Or I wouldn’t have told you. But honestly, with that on my shoulders—this murder, and everything else that still happens and needs to be taken care of—I don’t have time to be working the counter.”
Leaning back, Molly thought out loud. “Hannah might be able to help you. I mean, you don’t have to be in law enforcement to write down information, right?”
Chris rubbed a hand over his slightly shadowed jaw. His hair was a bit messy, like he’d run his hands through it a few times today. “She’d have to sign a nondisclosure agreement. That’s not a bad idea, actually.”
Grinning, she pulled out her phone. “I get them occasionally.”
He rounded his desk and took a seat behind it. “Ask her to come see me. That might work. I didn’t think of hiring someone just for that, but I could, and Hannah is trustworthy. And I wouldn’t have to worry about interviewing people.”
“Exactly.” Molly sent her a text, knowing she’d reply when she was out of class.
“Thanks. But you’re probably here to ask for an official statement, right?”
“I am. You’re very insightful.”
He gave her a wry look, folding his hands on his desk. “It happens occasionally.”
He let her pull out her notebook and pen. She should just use her phone and update her practice, but she liked writing things down. It helped her think and process the information people were sharing.
“So?” she prompted.
He let out a sigh. “We appreciate the community cooperation and support as we continue investigating the death of Jethro Harkaw. At this time, we will only be asking for information that pertains to the hours of nine p.m. to one o’clock a.m. on the Saturday of the festival. While we have not yet pressed charges, we do have several leads, and nineteen of the twenty-two drivers have been cleared to leave town.”
Molly wrote quickly. She’d created her own shorthand over the years. “The drivers who have been asked to stay—are they suspects?”
“The investigation is ongoing.”
She wrote it down, bending her neck so he didn’t see her roll her eyes. When she looked back up, he had on his game face. His “I’m in full-on-cop, you-can’t-break-me mode.”
“Are Herman Besbrewer and Brad Templeton among the drivers who are staying?”
Chris leaned back in his chair, crossed one foot over his knee. “Now come on, Molly. I can’t do your work for you. That should be easy information to find out.”
“Funny. Okay. How about Ed McLaren? Thoughts on him?”
His smile slipped, and he leaned forward again. “Who the hell is that?”
Molly laughed, and he pointed at her, his eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare throw my words back at me.”
“Fine. But you deserve it. Ed McLaren is the reporter who covered Amber offering her reward.”
“Oh. That guy.” A frown pushed his expression from irritated to mad.
“Yeah. Interesting fact? He and Amber go way back. Like further than Sam Hunt’s Cadillac seats.”
Chris surprised her by laughing. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and he looked younger. Happier. The same age as Sam, he was good-looking, with brown hair and dark eyes. He was what she’d call rugged. She had no trouble imagining him camping without a million-dollar RV. She liked seeing him smile. He’d done so more since getting together with Sarah, and again, she wondered if he and Sarah had spoken. If she’d told him.
“We really are rubbing off on you, aren’t we? Did you even know any country lyrics before you came into town?”
“A handful of them, but nothing like I do now.”
His smile didn’t fade, but he returned to the topic. “Okay. So they know each other.”
She nodded. “I did some digging. They grew up together. I spoke to a couple of their mutual Facebook friends through messaging, and according to them, he never got over her. Loves her to this day. Which makes the fact that he showed up here less surprising.”
“It’s a big story. He’s a reporter. Why was it surprising at all?”
“It’s not a huge story in comparison to what he sees daily. We’re hardly downtown Seattle when it comes to news. He’s here for Amber.”
“Is he staying at the bed-and-breakfast?”
“I’m not sure. But I’ll know in a few hours when I go home.”
He wrote down Ed’s name. “I don’t see motive. You like to play detective. You must have thought of that.”
Argh. How can he be funny one minute and so annoying the next? “I don’t like playing detective. I’m a reporter.”
“Editor.”
“You’re annoying.”
He stood. “You just insulted an officer of the law.”
She rose from her chair, tucked her notepad away. “You’ve surely had worse.”
When he opened his door, he put a hand on her shoulder. “Seriously, Molly. Keep your head up when you’re asking questions. Whoever did this is still here. I can feel it.”
She nodded. “The crowbar? There were no prints?”
Chris’s lips tugged down. “How do you know that?”
Oh. Don’t get Priscilla in trouble! “I just wondered. You confirmed it.”
She should have stopped pressing her luck, but she couldn’t help herself. “With Candice getting everything, she had as much motive as Amber, who gets nothing. Do you think one of them is more suspicious than the other?”
“Bye, Molly.”
“Chris.”
“If you don’t stop bugging me, I’m going to make Sarah take back the present she insisted I buy you for your birthday.”
That brought her up short. She turned so they were facing each other. “What? You bought me a present? Hey, how’d you know it was my birthday?”
He leaned in, crowding her space. “Maybe I should get a nameplate that says ‘d
etective’ so you’d remember. Also, I’m friends with your boyfriend. You’re friends with my girlfriend. These things have a way of coming out. Thirty, huh? That’s a big one.” He was baiting her.
“Twenty-nine.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Sure. Sure. Twenty-nine. For the next fifty years, I bet.”
She walked away before she got in trouble for assaulting an officer. His laughter followed her. The crowd had cleared some by the time she reached the counter. Priscilla was talking with a uniformed Officer Wills.
“I just came from there. I had to drop something else off. I’m headed back now,” he said. He saw Molly approach.
“Hi, Molly. How are you?” He closed the file in his hand.
“Good. You?”
He looked over her head and then back at her. “Can’t complain. I need to talk to Detective Beatty.”
When he walked away, the words sank in, and Molly turned to Pris. “Detective?”
She gave a weak smile. Molly saw the dark shadows under her eyes and was glad she’d steered clear of the wine. “Yeah. He’s not making a big deal about it, but he passed his exam. Things are changing around here.”
The wistful way she said it made Molly want to hug her friend. “You doing okay? I mean, other than how you feel physically?”
Priscilla laughed and turned, leaning against the counter like she wanted it to hold her up. She was dressed impeccably—a runway model come to life. Her inky black hair was pulled back from her face. The dark shadows made her seem a bit paler, but her skin was beautiful. Her makeup was always magazine-ready. Knowing one of Pris’s secrets reminded Molly that regardless of what people saw on the outside, it was impossible to really know their story unless they let you in.
“I look that bad?” Priscilla laughed.
Molly’s mouth opened. Closed. “No. Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
Priscilla waved a hand at her. “I’m joking. I’m okay. Thanks for letting me unload on you last night. I didn’t say too much, did I?
Not in Molly’s opinion. “No. You didn’t. Even inebriated, you’re professional. But were you serious about finding a new job?”