by Amy Vansant
Did Jamie leave it on Frank’s porch?
And if so, why? Was she trying to point them to someone else?
Anytime something strange happened in Charity, the odds of tracing it to someone in the fingerprint book were pretty good. It didn’t reveal the new identities of the people or provide pictures, but it confirmed they had some tie to Jamie and the Witness Protection Program. Sometimes, that tenuous thread was enough to push Charlotte and Sheriff Frank on the right track.
Hopefully, it would come in handy this time, too.
Charlotte opened the little door in the side table beside her best sitting chair to find the book sitting there, unharmed. Charlotte closed her eyes as her body flooded with relief.
It didn’t burn.
“Not too bad,” said Declan, who’d insisted on accompanying her inside. He stood with hands on hips, studying the hallway damage, looking adorable in his singed running shorts.
“I don’t think anyone is going to attack me in my burned-out home,” she said.
He ignored her. She’d never get him to leave her side now.
Charlotte slipped Frank’s fingerprint sheet between the pages for safekeeping and set the fingerprint book on the table.
She took her first good look at her enforced remodeling. The damage in the living room appeared minimal. The side of the sofa closest to the hall looked like a piece of overdone toast. The walls and ceilings in the hallway, as well as her bedroom door, needed to be replaced. The glass hallway light had shattered and then melted into an odd, drippy shape hanging from the ceiling like an alien stalactite, but she’d always hated that light anyway. The rest of the rooms would need touchups where fire had licked, but Declan and her ancient fire extinguisher had stopped the spread before she had to redo the whole house. When she first saw the wall of flames outside her bedroom, she’d feared she’d lost everything.
“Could have been worse,” said Declan, inspecting the handle of her back door. “We’re going to have to get you a better door and better locks back here, too. Cops said this is how they got in.”
She nodded. “New hall, new doors, and I’m afraid I might smell like a hotdog for the rest of my life if my clothes sit in here. I’d leave all the windows open, but the hurricane...”
“This is bad timing. You could throw your clothes in a bag and take them to my house?”
“Mac gave me strict instructions to avoid the hall. The floor might give way, especially if I’m hauling a giant bag of clothes.”
“Are the bedrooms windows unlocked?”
“Should be.”
“Okay, then that’s what we can do. We’ll pull the nails out from the outside and I’ll hoist you into the bedroom. You can grab everything.”
Charlotte clapped her hands together. “Ooh, good idea. You are useful. Good ideas, saving my life...”
He hung his thumb in his belt and touched the tip of an invisible hat. “That’s what I’m here for, Little Lady.”
She snickered and then frowned. “Ugh. They need to dust those windows for prints. The arson guys didn’t do that part. That’ll be the cops. We probably shouldn’t mess with the windows.”
“You think whoever did this would be dumb enough to leave prints?”
“No, but they’ll still do it. Maybe we’ll get lucky if the culprit was lazy, figuring the sills would be ash by the time the fire had done its thing.”
“Maybe.”
“I’ll get clothes tomorrow. I think I have some things at your house and what I don’t have, I’ll borrow from you. With the hurricane coming, it’s not like I’ll need a fancy ballgown.”
“Good, because you absolutely cannot borrow my fancy ball gown. It’s Givenchy.”
Charlotte giggled. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
She threw her arms around him and he hugged her to him.
“I was so scared I’d lost you,” he whispered.
She squeezed him tight, hiding the act of wiping tears on his shirt. “I wouldn’t leave you like that,” she whispered.
They stayed that way for another minute before he let her go and she stepped back, turning so he wouldn’t see her eyes.
My emotions are all over the place. So embarrassing.
Her gaze fell to the singed sofa. “I think this sofa is shot. Good thing I know the local pawnshop owner.”
He huffed. “You want a discount, too?”
“Sorry. I’m very high maintenance today.”
Charlotte moved into the kitchen to retrieve a box of trash bags she could use to gather things later. “These smell like lavender. Seems my choices for the foreseeable future will be smelling like a campfire or smelling like a room freshener.” She looked down to find she was wearing a souvenir t- shirt from a cruise Darla and Mariska had taken, and a pair of clashing pajama shorts she’d had since high school.
“At least I don’t sleep naked,” she muttered. Motioning to the outfit she looked at Declan. “Do you only stay with me because I’m so fashionable?”
He shook his head. “No. It’s because you never nearly get yourself killed.”
Charlotte moved to close the side table’s cabinet door and noticed a fingerprinting kit Mariska had bought her for her last birthday. Mariska hadn’t realized it was for kids and thought it made a good present for a new detective. She laughed and slid it out.
“Did I ever show you what Mariska bought me?” she asked, holding it up.
“Is that a kids’ kit?”
“Yep. It’s the thought that counts.” She piled it on top of the fingerprint book and hoisted both into her arms.
“If we’re trapped by the storm for a couple of days, I can practice fingerprinting.”
Declan sniffed. “So you’re saying I bought all those puzzles for nothing.”
The crowds had dispersed by the time they’d gone back outside and the winds had increased another notch. It wouldn’t be long until the rain came. Mac and his firetruck had left, only to be replaced by a police cruiser as officers arrived to inspect the scene. Frank remained, overseeing everything in his pajamas and pig slippers. Someone had provided him with a piece of rope and he’d used it to fashion Abby a makeshift leash. The Wheaten lay by his side, happily watching the officers mill around the scene.
“Anyone else in there?” asked an officer.
“No.”
He pulled out a notepad. “You’re the owners?”
“I’m the lucky one,” said Charlotte, holding up a hand.
“Great. I need to ask you some things.”
After another twenty minutes of answering questions, the officer snapped shut his notes and let them go.
Frank approached to put a hand on her shoulder.
“Why don’t you two head out? We’ve got things handled here.”
Charlotte nodded. Her burning eyes did feel tight and tired, but the adrenaline pumping through her veins made her worry sleep might still be far away.
Still, it would be nice to sit down.
Declan had her house key from his run, and he handed it to Frank so he could lock up when the police were done. Charlotte took Abby’s rope leash from Frank and led her into Declan’s Jeep.
In her own seat and ready to go, Charlotte yawned.
What a long day.
She glanced at her watch as they headed out of Pineapple Port. “How is it already almost six?”
“Time flies when your house is burning down.”
She pointed to an upcoming left. “Can you turn here?”
“Why?”
“I want to see if Gryph got any drone footage from last night.”
“Little early for knocking on doors, don’t you think?”
“Crime stops for no man. And I’m afraid once I fall asleep, I might not wake up for twenty-four hours.”
Declan pulled to Gryph’s house and Charlotte leaned to place a hand on his leg.
“Wait here. I think you intimidate him. And you can keep Abby company.”
From her napping spot in the backseat,
Abby’s eyes opened at the sound of her name, her eyebrows wiggling like antennae.
He growled. “You’ll be twenty feet away.”
“That’s okay. You can both stare at me from the truck.”
He sighed. “Fine.”
She kissed his cheek and hopped out to knock on Gryph’s door. She had to knock a second time before he appeared to stare down at her through his storm door and puffy, pink eyes.
“What are you doing here?” He looked past her at the Jeep and frowned before his focus dropped to her shorts. “Are those pajamas?”
She nodded, knowing the little frogs printed on them gave her away. “I need to know if the drones picked up anything last night.”
“And that couldn’t wait until…” he looked at his watch and added, “It’s six. I haven’t seen six o’clock since I was a little kid.”
“Sorry. It’s important.”
He sniffed. “Why do I smell hot dogs?”
“Someone tried to burn down my house.”
“That was you? Those sirens woke me up, too. What do you have against me sleeping?”
Gryph huffed and leaned down to pick up Chip. Charlotte heard the cat’s rumbling purr through the screen door. Gryph closed his eyes. Charlotte guessed he was either trying to access his memory or take a quick nap.
“I looked at things. There wasn’t anything weirder than a guy jogging.”
“What was weird about him?”
“He was jogging.”
“I think I know who that was. You didn’t happen to see anyone near my house, did you?”
“Nope. I had to call off the drones early, though. Too windy.”
“Okay. Well, I appreciate it.”
“You’re paying me.”
“Whatever.”
Gryph started to close the door and then jerked it open again.
“Oh, there was some guy having a screaming fight with his girlfriend. She might have had a gun.”
Charlotte’s eyebrows bounced up. “Really. You didn’t lead with that?”
“I assumed domestic. Not relevant.”
“Probably not. Where was it?”
“Right around the corner here.”
“In Pineapple Port?”
Gryph nodded. “House next to the guy who fell off the ladder.”
Charlotte straightened. “Can I see that footage?”
Gryph groaned. “Now?”
She nodded.
“Ugh. Wait here.”
He turned back into the house and returned with his phone and without Chip. Hitting play, he held the screen to the door.
Charlotte strained to see through the screen. “Can I just come in?”
“No.”
“Okay...”
Charlotte shuffled forward to watch the night-vision version of a woman knocking on the door of what she knew to be Jack’s home. She recognized the stone statue of a golfer in mid-swing standing in the front flowerbed.
The woman looked a lot like Corentine Flores, the woman who had found Ted and who had also appeared at the second killing.
Did she and Jack know each other better than anyone knew?
Jack appeared a moment later, talking, animated.
“Is there sound?” she asked.
Gryph shook his head. “Too windy. Messes up the mics.”
Charlotte didn’t have to hear the words to know Jack was angry. Just when she thought he’d slam the door on his visitor, Jack stepped back and the woman walked inside and shut the door. Gryph looked at the screen and fiddled with it.
“I’ll fast forward to where she comes out. It’s maybe ten minutes of nothing.”
He held the phone back up and the woman reappeared. The image wasn’t perfect, but it looked as if she held something dark, vaguely gun-shaped, hanging at her side. She entered her car and drove away.
“Can we see a plate on that car?” she asked.
“I already emailed it to you along with this clip.”
“Great. Thank you.” Charlotte clucked her tongue, remembering she’d left her phone on the bed.
Ah well. I can check my mail online at Declan’s.
By the time she’d refocused on Gryph, he was closing his door.
“Maybe next time check your email before you wake me up at the crack of dawn,” he muttered as Charlotte found herself staring at a wood panel.
I guess I deserve that.
She headed back to the car.
“I have to make one more stop,” she said, getting in.
Declan stared at her until she took his arm in hers and gave it a squeeze.
“Have I told you lately how much I love you?”
He shook his head. “You owe me about a thousand back rubs at this point.”
“Fair enough. If it makes you feel better, there’s a tiny chance there might be a guy shot at the next stop.”
“Oh, sure. In that case, how can I say no?”
She directed him to Jack’s house as she explained what she’d seen in Gryph’s phone. She hopped out again after he parked, hearing his door open behind her.
“Hold it there, Jack Rabbit.”
She turned to find Declan following her to the front door.
“You’re not going in there by yourself.”
“Fine. I guess since there are guns involved this time.”
“Thank you.”
Charlotte knocked and Jack answered almost immediately, a cup of coffee in his hand, not bleeding from a bullet wound. She realized she hadn’t come up with a story as to why she was knocking on his door.
“What do you want?” he asked. He eyed Declan and then tilted to the side as if looking for someone else. Only after that did his attention drop to her pajama shorts.
She started talking before he could ask about them. “Um...I’m helping the Sheriff with, uh, follow-up interviews.” She motioned next door. “About Ted’s death.”
He scowled. “I’m pretty busy.”
“It will only take a second.”
He took a measured sip from his mug. “Fine.”
“Can we come in?”
“No.”
Charlotte frowned. She’d have to make a mental note that dressing like a crazy person didn’t make it easy to gain entry to people’s homes.
“Did you know the housekeeper who found Ted?”
Jack swallowed. “No.”
“Had you seen her before?”
“No.”
“And you said you saw her find the body?”
“Yes. She was pushing him.”
“Pushing him?”
“Shaking him. Trying to wake him up.”
“Oh.” Charlotte paused, thinking. “Is there any chance she was rolling him across the grass?”
“What?”
“Moving him. Like from the back yard. Maybe you happened to see her on the last push?”
Jack scowled. “That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard.”
“So I’ll take that as a no. So, you saw her shaking him and then what?”
“I asked if he was okay and she burst into tears, pointing and screaming, hysterical.”
“And you went to get help?”
“Right. I called the sheriff.”
Charlotte fell silent, waiting to see if Jack would grow uncomfortable. If it had been Corentine at his door with a gun, she found it odd he hadn’t mentioned it.
“Is that it?” he asked.
That didn’t work. Time for confrontation.
“Who came to see you a few hours ago?”
Instead of responding with his trademark unpleasantness, Jack paled and looked away.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes you do.”
“I think we’re done here.”
He moved to close the door. Charlotte stuck out her foot to block it, forgetting she was only wearing flimsy flip flops. She yelped as the door pinched her foot and Declan whipped out an arm to stop the door from closing any farther.
“No,” was a
ll he said.
Jack let go of the door, his cheeks flush. “I don’t know who you two think you are.”
“She had a gun. It was Corentine, wasn’t it?”
“Who?”
“The housekeeper. She came here and threatened you. Why?”
Jack’s expression tightened. “Tell you what. You come back here with a warrant or you can talk to my attorney.”
“Why would you want to protect her?” asked Charlotte as he started closing the door again. She leaned back against Declan to let him know she didn’t want him to stop him.
The door slammed shut.
“He seems nice,” said Declan.
“He’s a jerk. Granted, we’re knocking on his door at the crack of dawn after a woman pointed a gun at him. That might make me cranky, too.”
“He’s hiding something.”
“I got that feeling, too. It had to be Corentine. I just can’t imagine why he would cover for her.”
“Maybe they’re working together and had a spat.”
Charlotte considered this as they returned to the Jeep. “Maybe. They were both at both scenes.”
Is there anything about Corentine I’ve missed?
She’d seemed genuinely upset during their investigation of Ted’s death. Charlotte pictured Corentine Flores that morning, waiting to be interviewed, her hand wrapped around the downspout...
“She touched it,” she said out loud.
“What?” asked Declan, sliding into his seat.
Charlotte leaned down and pulled the fingerprinting kit from beneath the fingerprint book.
“Two seconds.”
“You’re going to play with your toys now?”
“No. I have to dust for prints.”
“So you are going to play with your toys now.”
Charlotte laughed. “Okay. Maybe. But it’s a very handy toy right now. I remember the housekeeper resting her hand on the downspout. I want to see if I can grab a print.”
Declan leaned forward to rest his head on the steering wheel. “How many more stops before I get to sleep?”
She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “This is the last one. I promise.”
Charlotte jumped out of the car again to jog to Ted’s house with her kit. After unwrapping the box and selecting a vial of black powder, she sped through the instructions before tossing the booklet aside, mumbling to herself.
“I’ve seen enough TV shows to do this right.”