No Good Deed

by Ali Franklin

  The deputy placed one foot in the cradle of their hands and put one hand on each of their shoulders. Nicki and Winter straightened up to lift his head above the window line. They heard the melody again, louder this time.

  “Shit,” said Cudmore. “Shit, shit, shit.” He stepped down. “She’s in there.”

  “And?” asked Winter.

  Cudmore stepped a few feet away and hunched over, hands on his knees. He took slow, deep breaths.

  “Cudmore,” said Winter. The other deputy just shook his head.

  Winter pointed at Nicki. “Call an ambulance.” He ran around the side of the house. “I’ll try the back door.”

  Nicki heard Winter attempting to breach the door as she talked with the 9-1-1 operator. When her call ended, she joined him. They burst through the door together.

  Winter stepped into the kitchen and opened the pantry door. “Clear!” He stepped into the next room. Nicki mirrored his movements in other rooms of the house. It was small and they cleared it quickly. A minute later, Winter called from the master bedroom.

  “She’s here.”

  Nicki walked down the hallway and looked in. Winter was using two fingers to search for a pulse on Emma’s neck, but they could both see it was no use.

  “Stay out in the hall,” he said. “Don’t touch anything.”

  Nicki nodded and slipped into homicide detective mode without missing a beat. After committing the body and its wounds to memory, she methodically took in the rest of the room. She mentally catalogued every detail she could see.

  “I’ll go check on Cudmore,” she said. “You’d better call it in.”

  She retraced her steps to the back door, wanting to keep the scene as clean as possible.

  Cudmore hadn’t recovered, but he tried to rally. “This is a crime scene, ma’am. I’m going to need you to step away from the house.”

  Seeing the green tinge that still clung to his cheeks, she decided to let his lack of charm pass. “Roger that. Winter’s calling it in, and Prieto and Lipinski know where to find me if they want a statement.” She walked around the corner of the house and back toward her car.

  Cudmore stared after her, his mouth open.

  Nicki realized her phone had been buzzing in her pocket for the last few minutes. She pulled it out and looked. It was Ryan. Instead of answering it, she walked the last fifty feet to her car and got in.

  Nicki sat and stared through the windshield for a minute before saying, “She’s dead.”

  “What happened?”

  “Multiple stab wounds.”

  Ryan covered her mouth with her hands. Nicki wrapped her arms around her friend.

  They watched as another cruiser pulled up to the house, lights and sirens on. The car was followed by an ambulance and a plain brown sedan.

  Ryan sat back in her seat and Nicki sighed. “We should stay here until we talk to Jack. He may not want to interview us tonight, but I’d like to make sure before we go.” She leaned back against the headrest and forced her shoulders to relax.

  “I’m so sorry you had to find her like that,” said Ryan.

  “It’s not my first murder scene.”

  “But you knew Emma.”

  Nicki didn’t reply.

  A few minutes later, Jack tapped on the driver’s side window. Nicki lowered the glass.

  “Chief,” said Jack. “Thanks for backing up Winter in there.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry you had to see that. I know you and the victim knew each other.”

  Nicki nodded. She appreciated his attempt to de-personalize the crime by calling Emma “the victim.”

  “It looks pretty bad,” she said.

  “It is.” He glanced back toward the house, then continued. “I think we can wait until tomorrow to take your statements, unless there’s anything you think I should know right now.”

  “I’m sure your crime scene guys will get everything.” Nicki looked at him. “Winter did a good job in there. You should tell him I said so.”

  “I will. Call me if you think of anything. Otherwise, come down to the station sometime after nine in the morning, okay?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  He patted her shoulder, then closed the car door.

  Nicki took three slow breaths. Then she started the car.

  “Do you want me to drive?” asked Ryan.

  “No, I’m okay. I’ll take you home, then I’ll call it an early night.”

  “Sorry about your date.”

  Nicki’s eyes widened for a moment. “Oh, yeah. I guess I’ll reschedule.”

  They were silent during the drive, and Ryan recognized that Nicki needed some time to process what she’d seen. They arrived at Ryan’s house and the dean got out. She leaned back in through the open door.

  “Do you want to have breakfast after you talk to Jack in the morning?”

  “Sure. I’ll call you.” Nicki waved and drove away.

  At home, Nicki moved in a daze. She gave the dogs a few treats. Then she sat in the living room and stared at the TV without turning it on. She began to grieve for Emma, but deep down in her gut, something sparked.

  She walked to her office and grabbed a hand-held recorder. She sat at the desk and turned it on.

  This is Nicki Statton. It’s February second at nine o’clock p.m. The following are notes from the scene of Emma Sullivan’s death. Ryan McCabe and I arrived at seven o’clock. We did not approach the house. When deputies Winter and Cudmore arrived, I spoke with them. The deputies found the front and back doors of the victim’s house locked…

  She continued talking for half an hour, conferring the details from the scene of Emma’s death. When she finished, she made a few sketches of the scene and jotted some notes. Nicki’s brain was working overtime. She didn’t sleep well.

  Chapter 13

  Ryan left for Java Joe’s at nine o’clock Sunday morning. She knew Nicki wouldn’t finish her interview at the sheriff’s station for at least half an hour, but Ryan was too wound up to sit at home. And though she tried to pace herself, she was on her third cup of coffee—decaf, this time—by the time Nicki arrived.

  The chief walked in and nodded to Ryan, holding up a finger in a “just a minute” gesture. She stepped to the counter and returned a minute later with a full mug. She plopped into the chair next to Ryan and blew across the top of the hot beverage. Ryan waited as long as she could.

  “Well?”

  Nicki let out a long breath. “I forgot how long those interviews can be.”

  “What did you talk about? Did they tell you anything?”

  “They just asked me how I came to be at the scene. They also wanted my impressions about the interior of the house.”

  “Do they have any suspects?” asked Ryan.

  “They didn’t mention anyone in particular. They asked where I was at the time they think it happened. They’ll likely ask you as well, since you’re my alibi and it was your voicemail message that sent us there.

  “Did they find anything else at the scene?”

  Nicki shook her head. “No, but they reminded me about something important: we had to break into the house to get to Emma. That means all the doors and windows were locked.”

  “So?”

  “So they didn’t break in. Emma probably let her killer into the house.”

  Ryan frowned. “She knew him—or her.”

  “Looks that way.”

  They sat for a moment, just drinking their coffee, each woman lost in her own thoughts.

  “It was a good interview,” said Nicki. “I told them about my impressions of the scene. I think I gave Jack and Gus some things to think about.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “They didn’t take many notes during the first part of our conversation. But when I described the scene at the house, they were writing the whole time.”

  The chief toyed with her cup. “I saw them looking at each other a few times. I remember doing that with my old partner, Kevin, when I wa
s in L.A. We’d try not to let on that the witness was giving us great information, but sometimes we couldn’t help ourselves.”

  “So you think you helped the investigation?”

  “Yeah.” Nicki took a deep breath. “Ryan, coming onto that murder scene yesterday was…”

  “Terrible?”

  “Exhilarating.”

  “What!?!”

  Nicki leaned forward. “It was just like I was back in LA. My instincts kicked in like that—” She snapped her fingers. “I was deep in the scene, trying to get into the assailant’s head.”

  Ryan stared.

  “I was so amped up I couldn’t sleep last night. I just wanted to drive down to the station and volunteer to help.”

  “Nicki, you’re not a detective anymore.”

  “Maybe I should be. Maybe that’s the work I’m supposed to be doing.”

  Ryan leaned back in her chair. She concentrated on staying calm, masking the turmoil she felt inside. “Nicki, you moved out here because you made a promise to your dad after your mom died.”

  Nicki looked down into her drink. “But I felt so alive yesterday.”

  “Your body was producing adrenaline because you found someone murdered. That doesn’t mean you’re meant to do it every day.”

  Nicki looked down into the coffee. “When I was a detective, I was able to help a lot of people.”

  “I know you did, and I know you have a huge sense of responsibility for everyone around you.”

  Nicki nodded.

  “But there are a lot of ways you can help people,” continued Ryan. “Think of all the people you help on campus every day. You’ve gotten your staff to host fundraisers and work with Big Brothers and Big Sisters. Your work is spreading out to reach other people.”

  The chief smiled. “It’s been great seeing more people get involved in the program. But I still wonder if I could be doing more…”

  “What about your promise to your dad?” pressed Ryan.

  Nicki sighed. “I know. When Mom died he worried he’d lose me too. But it’s been years since we lost Mom. He’s less emotional about it now.”

  Ryan didn’t have an answer or an argument. If Nicki wanted to go back to her old career, who was Ryan to stop her? But she desperately did want to stop her.

  Her thoughts were interrupted when Jack walked into the coffee shop. He gave them a wave and signaled that he’d stop by their table when he got his coffee. Nicki and Ryan didn’t say anything until he joined them at the table.

  “Good morning, Ryan. Why am I not surprised to see you here with the chief?”

  “I’m just getting some coffee,” Ryan said, her eyes wide in mock innocence.

  Jack laughed and turned to Nicki. “I’m glad we had a chance to talk with you this morning. You had some good insights about yesterday’s scene.”

  “I hope it helped,” said Nicki. “Are you making any progress?”

  “We may be. Based on everything we’ve found and heard, Gus has a theory about the profile of the assailant.”

  Ryan raised her eyebrows. “Gus is a profiler?”

  “No,” said Jack, “but he does have a lot of training. He’s a brainiac. Went to a fancy prep school outside his home town and an Ivy League college. I think he originally wanted to go into the FBI. He’s putting together an interesting batch of data points.”

  “Do his data points include any ideas about the motive?” asked Ryan.

  Jack and Nicki looked at each other for a second, then Jack answered. “I can’t tell you that, Ryan.”

  Ryan saw the look that flashed between the other two. She wasn’t going to be kept in the dark. She decided she’d keep asking questions until one of them answered.

  “Who was Emma seeing?” she asked.

  Jack shook his head but didn’t answer.

  “Was she having trouble at the restaurant?”

  “Ryan, I can’t tell you anything.”

  “What if her murder is related to Veronica’s murder?”

  This time, Jack and Nicki’s glance lasted a little longer. Jack raised an eyebrow and Nicki tilted her head, both seeming to consider the question. But they said nothing.

  Jack took a sip of his coffee and set it on the table. “Ryan, there’s no reason to think the two murders are related. There’s no evidence to link them together.”

  He looked at his watch, then said, “I need to get back. We’ve got more people to interview. Thanks for the stimulating conversation, ladies. I’ll see you next weekend at the FLH, if not before.” He left.

  Ryan looked at Nicki. The chief was staring into the distance, rubbing a finger up and down the side of her coffee cup. Ryan looked closer. Nicki’s green eyes always turned a shade darker when she was deep in thought. It was fascinating.

  Suddenly, Ryan realized those eyes were staring at her.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I think you may be right.”

  “You mean about the murders being linked?” Ryan gaped.

  “It’s worth looking into. Did you see how fast Jack got out of here after you brought it up?”

  Ryan bit her lip. “If they are linked, what’s the connection?”

  “That’s the question. What did they have in common?”

  “They both did charity work, though Veronica was on more committees than Emma was.”

  “They both have sons about the same age, don’t they?” asked Nicki.

  “Yes, but they didn’t grow up together. Veronica and Chase’s son is older, and he went to college in New England. Emma’s kids go to Haverwood.”

  The women stared into their drinks while they tried to think of other connections. Ryan looked up.

  “I just keep coming back to the FLH committee.”

  “Why? Is it such a prestigious gig that someone would kill to be in charge of it?”

  “Hardly,” said Ryan. “Oscar had to promise me an extra week’s vacation before I agreed to fill the college’s committee slot this year.”

  “Nice. Where will you go during this extra week of vacation?”

  “I was kind of hoping I’d have a traveling companion by the time I had to decide.”

  Nicki flashed her crooked grin. “Traveling companion?”

  Ryan felt her cheeks get hot and looked down at her lap. “Nicki, what if it is something about the committee?”

  “Most murders are committed for love, jealousy, or money. What do committee members get from being on the committee?”

  “The satisfaction of helping our community. Nobody gets anything.” Ryan paused. “Except the nonprofit organizations, of course.”

  Nicki perked up. “How much money does the FLH raise?”

  “A couple hundred thousand dollars.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah,” said Ryan. “But we divide it between all the organizations. No single group gets a ton of money.”

  “Who handles the funds?”

  “We all handle the money for our own events. For the chili cookoff, I collected the entry fees online. We sold most of the tickets online, too. We’ll sell a few at the event, but most of the funds for the event are already sitting in the committee’s bank account. The committee chair does the financial reporting.”

  “Are there checks and balances?”

  “Sure. The committee chairs note how many tickets they sell and what they spend on materials. At the end, we go over each line item and make sure the funds are in the account. But it’s hard for me to believe this is about money.”

  “People have killed for a lot less than a couple hundred thousand dollars.”

  Ryan put her head in her hands.

  Ryan and Nicki said goodbye and left the coffee shop a few minutes later. Ryan walked down Main Street. She did her best thinking while on the move, and Main Street would serve this purpose as well as anywhere else.

  She walked past the specialty butcher’s shop, a flower shop, and a little hardware store on the quaint street. She was happy to see that some of the pl
ants in front of the stores had begun to perk up for the spring. She hoped there wouldn’t be another freeze to stunt their growth before the warm weather set in for good. She thought about the plants in her own yard and remembered that she needed to replace some of the bricks that formed the border between her flower garden and the grass in the front yard. Maybe she could do that this afternoon

  The thought made her perk up. Working in the yard always helped clear her mind. A trip to the home-improvement store might be just what she needed to help her make the connection between Veronica and Emma

  Half an hour later, Ryan wheeled her cart into the outdoor section of the store. A man in jeans and a brown polo shirt knelt over a pile of white bricks. She stopped behind him.

  “Excuse me, sir, could you help me find the right kind of brick for my garden?”

  The man didn’t move.

  “Sir?”

  The man turned his head, then straightened up. It was Chase Arrington. His polo shirt sported the logo of an upscale sportswear company, not the home-improvement chain.

  “Oh my gosh, Chase, I’m so sorry,” said Ryan. “Your shirt is the same color as the store employees’ uniforms.”

  Chase laughed and looked around. “You’re right, and no harm done.” He looked at her cart, which now held a few items for around Ryan’s house. “You’re looking for some brick? Maybe I can help.”

  “Oh, no. There’s no need to do that. I’ll find someone who works here.”

  “I’d be glad to help. What are you using the bricks for?”

  Ryan explained her project and Chase looked at the options with her. Ryan made her selection and they loaded the bricks into her cart.

  “Ryan,” he said. “I saw you leaving the sheriff’s station the other day, just before I talked with Prieto and Lipinski. I hope they didn’t give you a hard time.”

  Ryan winced as a knot formed in her stomach. She didn’t want to talk about Veronica’s death with her widower.

  “No,” she said. “I can’t prove I was at home all night, but…”

  Chase noticed her discomfort and raised both hands, palms toward her. “You don’t have to tell me. I was just hoping the detectives aren’t giving anyone a hard time.”