by Tegan Maher
"Can you send me a pic of it?" I asked, thinking back to the rock Clair, or rather Cloe, had been wearing the morning of the interview.
"Sure thing," he replied. "Do you want me to send it to your cell or your email?"
"My cell, please. The number you just called me at."
A few beeps sounded, and then my text notification went off. I slid my finger down the screen to pull it up. Sure enough, it was a picture of Cloe Cantonelli's ring.
"That's it, Jim. She's wearing one just like it."
"That zips it up, then," he said.
"Can you tell us if there were any injuries or fatalities in any of the robberies?" Sam asked. I gave him the thumbs up. I should have thought to ask that, but didn't.
Again, the sound of fingers on a keyboard clicked through the line. "Nope," he said. "They were all in-and-out jobs. It looks like they knew exactly what they were doing, and didn't burn any daylight getting the money and getting out. They put all the bank customers on the floor, then did what they came to do. Each robbery took less than three minutes."
"Three minutes?" I said, awed that people could even move that fast.
"Yup," he replied. “They weren't greedy, at least for bank robbers. She cleared out the tellers' tills and kept an eye on the customers while he took the manager to the back and forced him to open the safe. Each time, he stayed in the vault for exactly one minute, starting when the manager began opening the safe. He'd stuff as much money as he could into a large department store bag, and when the minute was up, they skedaddled."
"Smart," I said. "Why the department store bag?" I asked. "Why not a duffel?"
Sam spoke up. "Probably so they could blend into the crowd. They did it during a busy period?"
"Yup," Jim replied. "Morning rush hour."
A rueful smile crossed Sam's face. "Smart. They beat the time it takes the law to get there, then leave, shed the coats and masks, and blend in with everybody else. Nothin' to see here, folks. Just an older couple out doin' a little morning shopping."
"That pretty much sums it up," Jim said. "Anyway, I've sent the notification, so you're on a timer. Good luck."
We disconnected and I turned to Sam. "What now? We don't have any evidence against them for the murder."
My email notification sounded on my computer, and when I checked, it was the DNA results. As he'd said, it was inconclusive. That put us back to square one.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
JUST WHEN I THOUGHT the day couldn't get any worse, my inside phone line beeped. I leaned across my desk and answered it.
"Yes Ms. Ellen?"
"Daisy's mama is here to see you," she said in a hushed voice. "She saw your Jeep outside, so she knows you're here."
I ran my hand over my face. "Send her back."
It wasn't more than a minute before the soft squeak of tennis shoes on tile alerted me to her presence. I rose to open the door for her. Like Gertrude has said, she was a handsome woman. Pretty didn't quite work because he features were a bit too strong, but she was most certainly attractive in a working-class sort of way. Fine lines feathered out from her eyes and around her mouth, and wrinkles around her lips revealed a lifetime of either smoking or puckering her lips in consternation. Since she also had laugh lines, I was betting on the former rather than the latter.
"Mrs. Westfield, please come in. I apologize for not coming to see you myself."
Usually, I'd have gone to deliver the news myself, but with the way that day had gone, I'd sent one of my deputies in my stead. It didn't sit well, but I couldn't change it.
She fluttered a hand. "That's okay, Sheriff. I know you were working to solve it, and besides, it doesn't really matter who delivers that sort of news. It's the content, not the bearer that kills you. You couldn't have made it any easier for me."
"I'm truly sorry, though. Daisy was a good egg, and a lot of people are going to miss her."
She met my eyes, and the unshed tears glistening in hers about broke my heart. "Can you tell me what's going on? I've tried to stay out of your way, but I can't stand not knowing who did this."
At that moment, I would have given just about anything to have been able to give her a definite answer. Instead, I just shook my head. "I'm sorry. We're doing our best, but so far, we haven't had any luck. We had a suspect, but the evidence we thought we had didn't match up."
I didn't see any reason to fill her in on the Smiths, or rather the Cantonellis, since I didn't have anything solid on them. After all, being a holier-than-thou jerk wasn't a crime no matter how much I thought it should be. And I couldn't hardly tell her a vampire back from the dead was spotted at the scene, either. As far as Marcus's mom went, that was a kettle of fish I wasn't ready to reveal, either.
"Nothing?" she asked, anguish in her eyes.
Frustration washed over me as I shook my head. "Nothing I can act on. We're following up on a couple leads, but what little I have is circumstantial at best. And weak."
She hung her head. "I know you're doing your best. You've always been fair." She turned to Sam. "And so have you. I just wish there was more."
"So do I, ma'am. But I promise to keep you in the loop. The minute we have something conclusive, you'll be the first to know."
"That's all I can ask, then," she said, pushing up from the chair.
She seemed to have aged five years since she'd come in, and the weight of my responsibilities felt like an anvil on my shoulders.
Once she'd left, I glanced at Sam. "Do you feel as useless as I do right now?"
The pinched look on his face was all the answer I needed, but he nodded anyway. "There has to be something we're missing," he said, then sighed. "But until we figure out what it is, let's go arrest us some bank robbers."
I nodded. It wasn't a solution to Daisy's murder, but at least we'd be able to wrap something up.
Since we were making an arrest, we jumped in one of our three cruisers and headed to the B&B. When we got there, the only vehicle in the lot was Kitty's, and I huffed out a frustrated breath. She saw us coming before we could turn around and leave, though, and flagged us down. I figured we might as well talk to her to see if she knew where they'd gone.
Sam pulled the cruiser into the parking space closest to the porch and we climbed out.
"Hey, you two!" Kitty said. "C'mon in. I just pulled a fresh batch of cinnamon rolls out of the oven. I'll make a pot of coffee."
Both sounded devine, and my stomach rumbled. Sam raised a brow.
"What?" I asked. "It's been a long time since breakfast."
"Only a few hours," he replied, "and unless I miss my guess, you ate enough for three people then."
"I'm a growing girl," I said with a grin and a shrug.
"Yeah, if you were a human, you'd be growing, all right. Out either side."
"Good thing I'm not a human then," I replied. "Werewolves need their calories."
"Flavored coffee, or regular?" she asked, pulling out a little drawer to reveal rows of different flavored pods. "I have blueberry and hazelnut."
"Plain coffee," Sam said as we took a seat at the small kitchen table. "Blueberries and nuts go in desserts, not coffee."
"Blueberry for me, please." It was my favorite regular coffee on the planet, until you got into lattes, of course.
She popped a pod in and put a fresh cup under it, then hit start. Within just a couple minutes, she had three cups of coffee ready to go. She set them in front of us, the slid a plate of still-warm cinnamon rolls in front of us. I plucked one off the plate and bit into it, groaning as the soft bread melted into the creamy icing in my mouth.
Kitty grinned. "I do love a girl who can appreciate a good dessert."
"Always," I said after washing down the bite with a swig of coffee.
"Now," she said, settling into a chair. "I know you didn't just come to eat. What brings you here?"
"We're looking for the Smiths," Sam said.
She glanced at the clock on the wall. "They should be back any time. The
y said around three, and it's two forty-five now." She narrowed her eyes. "Do you think they had something to do with Daisy's death?"
Sam shook his head. "Not that we can prove. We need to see them about another matter."
"Ah," she said, understanding dawning. "You can't tell me. That's okay—I respect that. They're not dangerous though, are they?"
I figured we could give her that much. "Not that we know of."
Tires crunching on gravel caught my attention, and I popped the last bite of roll into my mouth, then licked the icing off my fingers. Kitty smiled.
We gave the Cantonellis time to get to the porch before we rose to greet them.
"Robert and Cloe Cantonelli," Sam said, "you're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent ..."
Despite great protests from both of them, Sam finished mirandizing them while we cuffed them.
"Cantonelli?" Kitty asked, narrowing her eyes. "They signed in under the name Smith. Are you telling me they lied?"
I nodded.
"Well then," she said, looking at them like she'd smelled something bad. "Don't think for a minute you're getting a refund. My policy strictly states that if you practice any sort of deceptive action during the application or registration process, I reserve the right to ask you to leave, regardless of how much you've already paid." She gave a brisk nod. "And I'm asking you to leave."
"Oh, for heaven's sake," Cloe snapped, "Being arrested is almost worth getting out of this godforsaken hole in the wall." She turned to me. "I'll deal with whatever you think you have on us when my lawyer gets ahold of you, but for now, get me out of here."
To my great surprise, Kitty reached out and gave her a solid pinch right on the fatty part of her arm, and Cloe yelped.
"Sheriff, she just assaulted me!"
"If I assaulted you, you'd know it," Kitty said with a smirk. "Alls I did was give you a taste of what my kids gave me when I caught them fibbin'. Be lucky it's all you got."
For just a brief second, Kitty's eyes flashed silver, and I gave a little smile. Cloe didn't know just how lucky she really was. Rule number 1 - don't poke the bear.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
AFTER WE BOOKED THE Cantonellis in, I went to my office to start filing the paperwork. Since I already knew they were temporary guests, I started the transfer paperwork, too. This was one case that did need to have everything done properly.
I gave Alex a call to let him know I was gonna be a while, and he offered to bring me something to eat. Since I wasn't sure I'd even have time, I told him I'd give him a call when I was finished and we could just go somewhere.
While I worked, my mind churned. I wanted this woman to be guilty, but there just wasn't any evidence to support it. The irritating part was that there wasn't any evidence to clear her, either.
Just as Jim had predicted, two guys in suits showed up within an hour. It was all I could do to be civil, because they strode in like they owned the place, then treated me like I was some hick cop who'd never made an arrest before.
"Look," I finally said when the one in charge rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time, "you wouldn't be here if it weren't for me. I understand it wasn't exactly on purpose, but I don't think you're in much of a position to talk down to me. I arrested them and handed them over in a nice, neat package, bow and all. I'm sure it's beneath you to actually say thank you, but I've earned a little bit of respect."
They both had the good grace to look away, then Agent Phillips, the one in charge, apologized.
"I'm sorry," he said. "It's just that we ended up with a little egg on our faces when they turned up here. He actually came up on our radar a few months ago because his wife had gone out and made some large purchases that sent out an alert. Rather than print him ourselves, we used the ones he'd submitted as part of his bank's required documentation."
"Oh," I said, seeing how they'd be a little bitter.
"Do you mind if we ask how you made the connection between the prints and his actual identity?"
I chewed my lip, wondering how I was going to explain it without outing Sean's connection. Fortunately, I didn't have to. The man himself showed up right at that moment, as he was prone to do. I raised a brow, wondering how on earth he'd known.
"Hello, Sheriff," he said, giving me a broad smile. "Alexander told me you were expecting guests that may have some questions."
I breathed a sigh of relief and made a mental note to find an appropriate way to thank Alex for saving my bacon.
"Hello, Mr. Castle," I said, following his lead with the formality. "I do indeed. These gentlemen are from the FBI. They were just asking how I made the connection between the prints and the Cantonellis, since Mr. Cantonelli had submitted false prints with his employer."
He held out his hand to the agent in charge. "Gentleman, it's a pleasure."
I recognized the glazed, slightly out of focus expressions on the FBI agents. Sean was working his hoodoo.
"How she made the connection really isn't relevant. The important part is that you got your man. Or your couple, to be precise. You should be grateful."
Both agents shook their heads after a few more seconds, as if to clear them, then turned to me.
"Thank you again, Sheriff Sloane," said Agent Phillips. "You did an excellent job, and we're grateful."
I smiled and accepted his handshake.
"We'll be on our way," he continued as he signed the last of the transfer paperwork. "You have yourself a great day."
Sam glanced at me and gave a brief nod. "I'll go with them to get the prisoners and see them out."
"Thanks, Sam." He didn't dislike Sean, but he didn't trust him. He did trust me, though.
Sean was leaning against my doorframe, and stepped aside to let them pass.
Giving a sigh of relief, I shook my head. "As always, your timing was perfect. I'm glad Alex thought to call you, because everything happened so fast that it never occurred to me that they might question the leaps in logic."
He laughed. "No worries. Believe me, this wasn't even a blip compared to some sticky situations I've had to manage."
His face turned serious. "No new leads on who killed that poor young girl?"
I shook my head. "Nothing. It just doesn't make sense. There were only a couple people there that morning, and all of them check out. We do have Noelle Flynn, a witch from Keyhole Lake, and her crew, but to be honest, her sterling reputation precedes her, and her boyfriend is the sheriff down there. He's built a solid reputation as a good cop who's cleaned up the town. And my gut tells me they're innocent."
"What about the mother of the boy she was dating? I heard she's quite a piece of work."
"She is," I said. "And she's at the top of my list. She didn't have an alibi, and she's within walking distance of here if she cut through the woods."
"And what does your gut say about her?"
I lifted a shoulder. "I'm not sure. She has a lot of slimy stuff in her head. Lots of hate and self-righteousness. It was hard to pick one negative emotion from the rest of them."
"Do you think she could have done it?"
After thinking about it for a second, I nodded. "I do. But thinking it and proving it are two different things."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
SEAN TOOK HIS LEAVE, and I called Alex. I was starving and frustrated, and just wanted to take a mental break for an hour or two. We agreed to meet at Sully's.
My phone rang, and I pulled it out of my pocket. Colleen's number popped up on the display.
"Hey, Colleen. What's up?"
She heaved a sigh. "What's up is that I messed up."
I frowned. That was so unlike her that I could barely fathom it, but it happened. "Okay, I'm sure it isn't anything that can't be fixed."
"No, it isn't, but I missed a major piece of evidence."
I thanked my lucky stars; better late than never. "Please tell me it's something useful."
"Oh, it may be useful, all right. Do any of the guests at Kitty's have long dark hair?"<
br />
I did a mental inventory. The only one with dark hair was Hunter, and his was short. There was one person we'd talked to who did have dark hair, though—Gwen Harvey.
"No, none of the guests do, but Marcus Harvey's mother does."
"Who's Marcus Harvey?" she asked.
"He was dating Daisy. And his mama did not approve. At all. We talked to her yesterday, and she's a real peach. I'll contact the judge now to get a warrant for a hair sample."
I put in the call, but it went to voice mail. Since it was beautiful out, he was no doubt on the back nine at the country club. I left a message and debated going out there to talk to him myself. Remembering how cranky he got when somebody interrupted his golf game, I opted to wait. He was good about calling me back as soon as he got a message, and it wasn't like Gwenn was going anywhere.
Just as I signed off on the last piece of paperwork from the transfer, Ms. Ellen buzzed me. I picked up.
"There's a platinum blonde up here asking to see you. She said she's an old friend of yours but won't give me her name. Big floppy hat, Hollywood sunglasses, and blazin' red lipstick. She looks familiar, but I can't for the life of me place her."
I scrubbed a hand over my face. Rhea.
"Send her back," I said. I was going to have to deal with her sooner or later, so I might as well get it out of the way.
"Hey," she said, twisting her neck around the door as she took a couple tentative steps into my office. "I hope it's okay that I came here."
I shrugged, the desire to punch her waging a war against a near-overwhelming urge to pull her into my arms and hug her—an act I'd never thought I'd be able to do again.
I'd loved her dearly and had mourned her like I'd lost a sister. I still thought about her all the time; whenever I drove by the ice cream parlor or the movies and saw a group of kids kicking it up and having a good time. Anytime somebody walked by me wearing sweet pea body spray. Heck, I still couldn't watch the Harry Potter marathons without crying at least once, because we'd seen every single movie together at their midnight premiers.