"Why are you still here?" she asked, rudely.
It was hard but I made the decision to stay polite. She was going to be working with Briggs, and I didn't want to be a source of contention between them. Chinmoor had heard the terse question and popped his face and then the rest of himself out of the truck. He responded for me and was quickly becoming one of my favorite people.
"Detective Fairchild, this is Lacey Pinkerton. Miss Pinkerton occasionally helps out on cases. She has hyper—hyper—" Chinmoor looked to me for assistance, but before I could pronounce the scientific name for my super sense of smell, Fairchild shut him down.
"I don't care if she's hyper. She has no business being here."
"I'm the person who discovered Mr. Sanders unconscious in his truck," I said brusquely as proof of my credentials for 'still being there'. "I was at the lighthouse visiting with Mr. Tate when we smelled gas. A man helped me pull him from the truck so I—"
Fairchild's face turned a splashy shade of red. "You moved the victim? You should never move a victim without professional medical personnel."
"Yes but I believe that general rule does not apply when the person has been overwhelmed by a noxious gas. Someone had turned on the burners in that small truck. We could smell the gas all the way at the lighthouse. If Mr. Tate and I hadn't arrived, there could have been an explosion." As far as I was concerned, I'd given plenty of reason to be thanked and not shooed away like some annoying onlooker, but Detective Fairchild seemed to think differently.
"You should have called for help," she snipped.
"We did." I blinked at her waiting for her to finally show some appreciation for my help. It seemed I would be waiting for an eternity. Chinmoor, who was far bolder than I'd ever seen him, stepped in once again.
"Miss Pinkerton worked very hard to resuscitate Mr. Sanders. It was a valiant effort," he added.
I smiled and nodded his direction.
"Well, Mr. Sanders expired," Fairchild said, almost gleefully so that I could fully grasp my failure. "This is the scene of a tragic accident. Next of kin have been notified. Officer Chinmoor get this truck taped off until the owners come to pick it up."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I tripped and fell over my tongue in my haste to speak. "But what about—there's a—did the coroner already label it an accident?"
"The man died from asphyxiation," Fairchild said plainly, then she turned on her sharp heels to walk away.
"But what about the wound on the back of his head?" I blurted.
She paused but rather than turn back to me she looked at Officer Chinmoor. "You never mentioned that." Apparently, her lack of knowledge was all Chinmoor's fault. He'd come to my rescue so I owed him.
"Officer Chinmoor didn't see it because I'd placed the victim on his back to perform CPR. I'm sure if you talk to the medics and the doctors who took care of him, they can fill you in on the details." Deciding my attempt at politeness had failed, I spoke as plainly as her.
I'd hit a nerve by pointing out something she didn't know. It probably wasn't the smartest move on my part, but I was already fairly certain Detective Fairchild and I were not going to be good friends.
A half-smirk, half-grin broke out on her tight face. "Of course, if he passed out from the gas, then it makes sense that he hit his head. That's why there was a head wound." She lifted her chin just a smidgen to commemorate her small victory. Only her triumph was going to be short-lived. I could have easily just walked away from the entire irritating scene, but if someone killed Rico, then the person needed to be brought to justice.
"Yes, only when I found Mr. Sanders, he was lying face down on the floor. The wound was on the back of his head. If he passed out and fell forward, then he might hit the front of his head but not the back."
She chewed on that little nugget of information . . . literally. Her jaw was clenched, and I could hear her teeth grind. Wouldn't Briggs be pleased when he heard what a terrific first impression I'd made on his new coworker.
Fairchild was done with me, it seemed. She turned to talk to Officer Chinmoor and pretended I was not there. "Officer Chinmoor, what are you waiting for? Tape off this truck and let the owners know that they won't be able to move it until they have clearance from me. I'm going to talk to the coroner before labeling this as an accident." Without even a backward glance or a thank you for the information, Detective Fairchild strutted away on her fancy shoes.
Officer Chinmoor had never been one for gossip, but he stepped closer to me and lowered his voice. "Good job, Miss Pinkerton. She was just about to shut this down as an accident. Guess we'll have to allow her that since it's her first week on the job."
I smiled at him. "Very generous of you, Officer Chinmoor. But you're right. She's new and should be given some leeway. And please, call me Lacey."
A blush covered his cheeks. "Right, Lacey. And you can call me Charlie. Uh, that is when I'm not in uniform," he added shyly.
"Charlie? Huh, did I know that? I like it. It fits you and don't worry," I winked. "You're Officer Chinmoor in uniform."
"Do you need a ride somewhere?" he asked. "The squad car is right around the corner."
"No thanks. My car is parked at the station. I could use the walk in the fresh air. It's been quite a night."
I strolled along Pickford Way, taking in big gulps of fresh air. I badly wanted to call Briggs to tell him everything that had happened and how my first encounter with the new detective was thoroughly disappointing. But it was his night off. He'd earned it and I wasn't about to spoil it. Even though I really, really wanted to hear his voice tonight.
Chapter 15
Ryder was just putting something in his backpack as I walked into the office. His face popped up with a tinge of blush.
"You're here early." I put my purse into the cupboard next to his backpack.
"Can't get my head straight on the time yet." We headed out of the office. "I woke up at four in the morning and had a hankering for scrambled eggs, so I made myself breakfast."
"Four in the morning. Actually, I'm so tired from my night, I feel as if I've been up since four too." I pulled the orders out from the order folder while Ryder gave Kingston his morning treat.
"Really?" he asked. "Wild night with ole Marty?"
I pressed my hand to my chest. "I just adore that man, and we had such a nice chat over tea and brownies. By the way, Elsie's chocolate and coconut brownies are so rich, I almost have a chocolate hangover. But neither the brownies nor the wonderful company are the reason why I'm so tired."
Ryder stretched up to look out the window, which cut my story short. Lola was across the street unlocking the door to her shop. I'd lost him. I would have to relay the details of my busy night another time.
"I take it you two haven't spoken yet." I organized the orders according to pick up time.
"No, I didn't bother to call her because I knew she'd just decline the call. She can be so stubborn." There was just enough frustration in his tone to worry me. I wondered if my hardheaded friend realized she just might be ignoring and drama-playing him right out of her life.
I was out of advice to give and decided I'd just start sounding like a repetitious mom if I offered any more of it. The best thing I could do for Ryder was to keep him busy, and we had plenty of orders to fill.
"Why don't you work on Mr. Anderson's anniversary bouquet while I put a few more jasmine plants in pots. The Uptons wanted some for outside the market." I handed him the Anderson order.
"I'll get right to it," he said. "Getting back into a routine is the best way to feel normal and get my life back on track."
"I agree."
The door opened and Briggs walked inside. The only thing finer than seeing Detective James Briggs dressed in a suit and tie, fresh for a new day of work, was seeing him freshly dressed and holding two cups of coffee.
"It's like you read my mind." I hurried around the work island for a quick kiss and to pluck my coffee from his hand. He'd texted me late in the evening
just to make sure I got home all right. I just answered with a yes and good night, sweet dreams. It had been far too late to go into the long story about the death at the town square. I was still processing the whole thing, especially the part about Detective Fairchild. But now that he was bright eyed and rested from his night off, it was time to approach the subject.
"Ryder, good to see you back in town." Briggs walked over to shake his hand. "I can tell you Lacey had a heck of a time trying to replace you. In the end, she just gave up." He looked pointedly at the order in Ryder's hand. "I see she's already got you back in full work mode. When we have time, I'd love to hear about your adventure."
"Absolutely. I've been putting together a slideshow from the trip. My family is waiting for a presentation. Maybe you and Lacey can come too."
"Sounds like a plan."
I'd been enjoying the hot coffee during their brief chat so I was mid sip, lips on cup, when Briggs spun back to me. "Heard you had quite the night."
I swallowed the hot coffee just a little too readily and winced. "I guess it makes sense you heard about the murder. At least, that's how I would classify it. Although, it took some convincing for a certain detective."
A crooked smile tilted his mouth. "Chinmoor did mention something about some friction between you and Detective Fairchild." Before I could address and put in my two cents regarding the friction, he spoke again. "Chinmoor said you made a valiant effort at saving Mr. Sanders' life." His brown eyes sparkled with admiration.
"Lots of good it did him." The whole incident was still so fresh in my mind, it brought tears to my eyes.
Briggs put down his coffee and hugged me.
Ryder cleared his throat. "Guess I'll go get the roses for the Anderson bouquet."
"Boy, did I need these arms last night," I said quietly and basked in the wonderful smell of his soap and general manliness for a few moments. I lifted my face from his shoulder. "Next time you take a night off, make sure it doesn't coincide with something harrowing."
He kissed me lightly. "I'll make note of that." His arms slowly fell away. "Soo—you've met Detective Fairchild."
I sighed. I wasn't going to go too heavy handed about it all. I didn't want to sound whiny. Before dozing off the night before, I'd convinced myself to give her another chance. "She just wasn't expecting to find me snooping around the taco truck. After all, she doesn't seem to know anything about me—" I tapped my nose. "Or Samantha, your two loyal partners."
He looked rightfully apologetic. "We hadn't spoken about that yet. In my defense, I didn't expect there to be a murder on my night off, a murder that just happened to be attended by my loyal partner. Although, you do tend to migrate right toward murder scenes. How did you happen upon it? I thought you were at Marty's."
"I was but then your other partner"—I twitched my nose—"noticed a gas smell. Marty and I hurried outside to find the source. It led us right to the truck. James, there is no way that was an accident. Detective Fairchild was about to write it off as such, but who turns on all the burners and blows out the pilot light? And then there was the wound on the back of his head," I continued.
Briggs cut me off with a nod. "Coroner thinks the wound marks are consistent with that of a meat mallet."
"A meat mallet? Those little hammer things they use to tenderize a piece of meat? Ouch."
"In the right hand, it could be a pretty good weapon. More than enough to knock someone unconscious," he added.
My ears perked up at the words 'the right hand'. "So it had to be someone extra strong?" I asked.
"According to the preliminary report, the wound was significant. It was a hard blow to the head. And the angle is consistent with someone at least as tall as the victim."
My mind dashed straight to Vince and Cody. Of course, Vince had sent his brother a text while I inspected the truck. But that didn't necessarily put in him in the clear.
Briggs smiled. "I see those gears spinning." His expression softened. "Which is why this will be extra hard to say."
"Oh? What is it? And don't tell me you're not going to get involved with this case."
He was expert at rendering me somewhat defenseless with his brown gaze. "Lacey, this is Detective Fairchild's case. I need to let her handle it. If I stepped in it would make it seem that I didn't trust her. After your run in with her last night—"
I'd moved past his disarming brown gaze. "Our run in? It wasn't a run in. I just happened to be checking out the scene while they took Rico to the hospital. I was the one who told her about the wound on his head. She didn't know anything about it and looked plenty embarrassed when I mentioned it."
"Exactly." He reached for my hand, but I kept it just out of his reach. "Lacey, you need to let this one go. Detective Fairchild will get to the bottom of it."
"I'm not so sure about that, James. She was certainly looking for the easy way out by classifying it as an accident."
Once again, he reached for my hand. I let him take it. (Those darn brown eyes.) "It's been opened as a murder case now. Speaking of murder cases, how is the Hawksworth investigation going? Anything new from Marty?"
I shook my head. "I see what you're trying to do, Detective Briggs. You think you can distract me with another murder case. Believe it or not, I'm smart enough to investigate both at the same time."
There was a gentle amount of frustration in his sigh. He leaned forward. "Stay out of trouble. Both of you." He kissed my nose and turned to leave.
"I always do," I called to him.
"No you don't," he called back before walking out the door.
Ryder, apparently hearing that Briggs left, came out from hiding. He was carrying two vases filled with red and pink roses. "That seemed like a private conversation, so I took the liberty to organize the cooler."
"Thanks. Sorry about that. It wasn't really all that private. Just our usual back and forth about me investigating murders and staying out of trouble. Sometimes he's like a broken record. And look." I pointed at my face. "Now I'm scowling. I hate scowling. Definitely not my best look."
"Oh, I don't know. I think it works on you." Ryder chuckled. "Besides, join the club. We can scowl together."
Chapter 16
Amazingly, given our dour moods, Ryder and I managed to finish all the orders, all while helping the customers who visited the shop. We even took in our first winter wedding order, which made both of us feel a bit perkier. Unfortunately, there was no sign of Lola. Frankly, it was hard keeping up the pep talks when I wasn't entirely sure if my friend would ever come to her senses.
"You can take your lunch first, boss." Ryder poured some potting soil into the large bin. "My mom made me her famous chocolate chip pancakes before I left for work. And that was after my scrambled eggs. So I'm not that hungry yet."
"If you're sure. I could use a break. I think I'll go home, eat a sandwich and just chill on the couch for awhile. It was a stressful night, and it's been a long work morning."
"Sounds like a good plan. I'm going to pot some more herbs for Corner Market."
I grabbed my purse and keys. "Kingston, want to come home?"
The crow turned around and faced out the window.
"I'll take that rudeness as a no. Be back in an hour or earlier. Just text me if we get busy."
"Will do."
Hot, humid air swirled around me as I headed to the car. I drove along Harbor Lane and caught a glimpse of Kate Yardley setting up a new window display with some cute, brightly colored sweaters and shiny boots to go with them. Her window display was the first real sign that the stubborn, hot summer would soon be behind us. Kate always kept a month or two ahead of the impending weather change, a smart marketing move on her part. Dash had mentioned they'd started seeing each other again, only I had yet to see them together.
The last pink blossoms of the Crape Myrtles were floating to the ground as I turned up Myrtle Place. I reached the section of the street that had the best view of the Hawksworth Manor. It loomed dark and lonely over an otherwise
bright, cheery neighborhood. An idea took hold of me before I reached my street, Loveland Terrace. I'd gathered just about everything I could for the Hawksworth murders, but my intuition told me the biggest clue was still just out of my reach. That same investigator's sixth sense was telling me I needed to revisit the scene of the crime. Not the actual scene, the interior of the house where the family was shot dead, of course. I'd attempted that once and found myself locked inside a very dark entryway. I had no desire to repeat that harrowing adventure. It was worthless anyhow. The dilapidated house had been emptied of its contents years ago. Whatever remained of those contents had been placed in the makeshift museum inside the gardener's shed.
Instead of turning, I drove right past Loveland Terrace and up Maple Hill to the Hawksworth site. My earlier dampened mood had lifted, and the excited anticipation of discovering new clues to an age old mystery swept over me.
With August winding down, most of the summer tourists had gone home. Teenagers usually only drove up to the site at night for some hanky panky, so I had the place to myself. The museum was locked up until Labor Day. Fortunately, in this case, the term locked up meant only the broken lock hanging on the door.
I parked the car in front of the house and took a moment to admire the incredible view. The crystal blue day afforded a view all the way down to the ocean. It was so clear I could see the frothy whitecaps on the waves and the gulls diving down for fish.
I headed across the lot to the gardener's shed. A trio of pigeons had discovered someone's discarded bag of chips right in front of the door. They were busily ripping and tearing at the bag, so fiercely focused, I was able to skirt past them to the door without disrupting their feast.
A few tugs and the useless lock fell open. I reached around the edge of the doorway and flicked on the entirely inadequate lighting. The town earned plenty of money from ticket sales to the shabby museum, but nothing had been done to increase the lighting. At first, I considered that the dim lighting was to add ambience to the back story of the grim murder, but I was more convinced that Mayor Price just didn't want to allocate any funds to it. It was the town's main attraction, but Price didn't seem to deem it important.
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