“Thank you.” I hugged her. “Go with Officer Underhill and try to remember exactly where you went off the road.”
“I know where it is,” she said. “Don’t worry.”
Turner and I watched Underhill drive off. I felt like sinking into a chair and not moving an inch until I heard from Underhill, but I’d promised Julia I’d keep her informed, and Underhill was as serious as I’d ever seen him when he’d told me to leave. I looked around and faced Turner. “I’m sorry I said that about your tree, Turner.”
He shrugged. “I know it’s different.”
“That it is.”
“Gilroy hasn’t seen the finished thing yet. He only saw a work in progress.”
“He’ll be impressed.”
“Go home now, Rachel. One of us will call you.”
AT THREE O’CLOCK that morning, I found my way to Juniper Grove Community Hospital—a tiny, twelve-room place—where I met an exhausted but smiling Underhill. “He refused to go to Loveland or Fort Collins,” he said, “though he should have. He really should have. So basically he’s his old, stubborn self.” The relief in his voice was almost palpable. “He was trying to walk back to town on a broken ankle by duct taping branches to it.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and slumped into a chair.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you sick.”
“Where did you find him?”
“He’d made it up the canyon and was on the highway, about a mile from the crash. He told me he hadn’t seen a single car on the way.”
“He crawled up the canyon and walked? How is he?”
Underhill sat beside me, and in a gesture I’d never seen him take with anyone, he put his arm around my shoulders. “He’s fine. He has a concussion—which is the main reason they want to keep him overnight—some cuts, bruised ribs, and the broken ankle. A simple fracture that should heal quickly, though the doctor told him he almost made it into a compound one by climbing up the canyon wall and going for a walk.” He grimaced and shook his head, but I saw a hint of admiration in his expression.
“Does he remember what happened?”
Underhill sat straight, taking his arm from my shoulders. “Oh yeah, his memory is sharp. Trouble is, in the dark and with the other vehicle’s headlights in his rearview, he didn’t see much. He keeps saying he made three rookie mistakes—taking Sonya straight to the foothills instead of the station, not radioing his whereabouts until he was out of range, and believing he wasn’t being followed. I think he’d kick himself if he could. He feels bad about Sonya, and he blames himself.”
“You told him Sonya’s all right?”
“Yeah, but it’s not making him feel any better. But he’s on meds, so I left him to sleep.”
“Didn’t anyone hear the gunshots and call the station?”
“Yeah, a woman did. Turner was going to check it out until he got another call from what he assumed was the same woman.”
“A woman made the second call?”
“That’s what Turner said.”
“Let me guess. The second call said the first call was a false alarm.”
“Firecrackers. That’s what she said she heard. Talk about a rookie mistake. You always check out possible gunfire. I’m thinking that the person who shot at Miss Quinn followed the chief to the foothills to finish the job. I’m going to canvas the scene for evidence before I go home, and Turner’s going to look for rounds and casings at the shooting scene. I don’t know if we’ll find anything useful in this snow, but I might find a large piece of the other car. In the morning, we’ll pull the chief’s SUV up and check for paint evidence.”
“How deep was the canyon he went down?”
“Twenty feet. Not really a canyon. His cruiser probably slid upright a lot of the way. Problem was, he hit rocks at the bottom and the cruiser flipped on its side. The front end and driver’s side took the brunt of it. Sonya was strapped in behind him on the other side, so she was okay. If Gilroy had been forced off a quarter of a mile farther on, it would have been forty feet down.”
Underhill stood and worked his legs, shaking them as though they had fallen asleep in the short time he’d been in the chair. “He wanted me to tell you he’s sorry he missed your party.”
I looked up at him and laughed. The sort of breathy, hysterical laugh that comes from exhaustion and the sudden release of pent-up fear. And then I felt tears welling in my eyes.
“He’ll be fine, Rachel. He’s going home tomorrow. The doctors wouldn’t let him go if they weren’t sure he’d be okay.”
“Right.” I looked away as tears spilled onto my cheeks. “Where’s Sonya?” I asked, wiping my face.
“Turner picked her up a little while ago. He’s taking her to his parents’ house in Windsor. She’ll be safe there. His dad’s a cop. I didn’t even know that.”
“Good, good.”
“You should go home.”
“No, I want to stay.”
“He’s sleeping anyway, and—”
“I going to stay,” I said. “But you go home. You’ve had a longer day than I have.”
“After I check out the scene. You never know what you might find.”
“But then go home. You look awful.”
“Thanks.” He grinned.
“What room is he in?”
“Room 4, straight ahead.”
“Thank you, Underhill.” I gave him a huge hug, wrapping my arms around his neck and probably embarrassing him. But at that moment, I didn’t care about police decorum or propriety. “Thank you for finding him.”
After Underhill left, the hospital went quiet, the only sound being a night nurse at reception across the lobby. All I heard was the soft, distant click of her computer keyboard. Oh God, I might have lost him. I shut myself away in a restroom and let myself cry as I tried to still my quivering hands. I didn’t want to be all blubbery if Gilroy woke up and saw me in his room. That was the last thing he needed. No. I would smile and tell him how proud I was of him and how grateful Sonya was that he had saved her life. And later, maybe I’d tell him that if he ever got another broken ankle and dragged himself up a canyon wall, I’d let him have it. If I had lost him . . . I rubbed the tears from my eyes, dried my dripping nose with toilet paper, and headed for Gilroy’s room.
CHAPTER 14
Julia poured herself a cup of coffee, shuffled over to my kitchen table, and sat with a heavy sigh. “Rachel, I don’t know where you’ve found the energy to make a pie. I could curl up into a ball and stay that way until spring.”
“I got a couple hours’ sleep after I left the hospital,” I said, scooping pumpkin from a can into one of my large ceramic bowls. “That’s all I needed. I’m bursting with energy for some reason. And anyway, I want to take him a homemade pie this afternoon. He loves pumpkin.” I grinned as I shook spices into the pie mixture.
“I called Holly at the bakery so she wouldn’t worry.”
“Thanks.” I tossed the empty can into the trash and turned to Julia, leaning on the counter. “It’s Christmas Eve already, and—”
“And he’s all right,” she said. “He’s better than all right. He’ll be one hundred percent back as soon as he gets his cast off.”
“Yes, he will. And I’m so grateful I couldn’t possibly sleep. I feel too . . . cheerful.”
“You made headway in solving two murders. That’s something to cheer about.”
“Oh no, my investigation is a disaster,” I said with a laugh. “All I’ve done is eliminate Sonya from my list of suspects.”
“You kept her safe.”
“Gilroy, Underhill, and Turner did that.”
My oven timer beeped, letting me know my pie crust was done. Using an oven mitt, I took it out and set it near the sink to cool a little.
“So whoever killed Micah and Farley used coral from Sonya’s aquarium to do it.” Julia shook her head. “I don’t understand how you do that. Coral? Isn’t coral hard?”
“This is soft, living coral. They probably grou
nd it up or mashed it.”
“Were they trying to frame her?”
“Maybe. Or maybe they knew the deadly effects of palytoxin and seized an opportunity. How many of our suspects have been in Sonya’s apartment?”
“That’s a puzzle. I couldn’t make a guess.”
“I’ll tell you another puzzle. I still don’t know who made threatening phone calls to Sonya and stuck a knife in her apartment door. And I don’t know if the threats are connected to the murders. See what I mean? Zero progress.”
“What are your instincts telling you?”
“They’re telling me the threats are connected to the murders because I don’t believe in coincidences. And they’re telling me that all of our suspects have been inside Sonya’s apartment at one time or another. Possibly without Sonya knowing it. It wouldn’t be hard. She’s so trusting, I’ll bet she leaves her door unlocked.”
Under Julia’s careful watch, I mixed the pumpkin into the other ingredients, poured it all into the pie crust, and slid the pie in the oven.
“He’ll love it,” she said. “It already smells good.”
I joined her at the table, propping my feet on a chair seat, leaning back and taking it easy for the first time since getting out of bed. “There’s another thing my instincts are telling me. Whoever killed Micah and Farley also ran Gilroy off the road.”
“Otherwise it’s way too much of a coincidence.”
“Exactly. But Sonya was the target, not Gilroy. So which of our suspects killed Micah and Farley and also wanted Sonya dead?”
“Is Sonya a target for the same reason Micah and Farley were?”
I plunked my feet on the floor and sat straight. “No. Sonya was targeted because the killer thinks she knows something. Think about it, Julia. She’s so trusting she could have been killed ages ago—and more easily than the two Santas. She could have been killed by the same person who stuck a knife in her door, or killed along with Micah at the wreath-making party. Instead, someone tried to shoot her outside her apartment. That suggests an impulsive attack by a frightened killer.”
“Did they find the bullets or whatever they’re called?”
“The rounds, yes, but not the casings. Too much snow. The rounds were in the side of the building. Turner’s taking care of the cases this morning. After Underhill left the hospital, he went to the crash scene to look for evidence there. The poor guy must have been outside for hours.”
“Poor man.”
“He’s a good man. Better than I gave him credit for.” Suddenly I was very fond of Underhill. It wasn’t that I didn’t like him before. I did. But I’d always thought he was too much of a stickler for silly rules and too eager to talk about police matters with civilians, especially when in the presence of donuts and scones.
Then there was Turner. His willingness to talk to me last night and to bend the rules had resulted in a major breakthrough in the case. Although I hadn’t entirely scratched Ellen and Oliver from my list of suspects, because of what Turner uncovered in his database search, my focus was no longer on them. The killer had either tried to frame Sonya or acted in such a manner that she would inevitably be implicated, and neither Ellen nor Oliver would do that to her. As we all now knew, Oliver was her real father, and Ellen was her real aunt. Sonya had family in Juniper Grove.
“When does Underhill pick Chief Gilroy up?”
I glanced at my watch. “About an hour from now. At noon. I wish I could have picked him up, but well, you know men. I mustn’t see him all hunched over and using crutches—at least not on the first day.”
Julia made a face. “Was he awful looking?”
“He wasn’t as bad as I expected. He had black eyes and a bad cut on his left temple. Though I’m sure he has bruises everywhere. He hit the steering wheel and somehow avoided breaking his ribs.”
“Are you going to pamper him?”
“He would never let me,” I replied with a grin.
“Men,” Julia huffed.
“What I am going to do,” I said, with far more confidence than I felt, “is solve these murders so they’re off his plate before he goes back to work.”
“And how do you propose to do that?”
Luckily for me, the doorbell rang and I didn’t have to conjure up an answer for Julia. I had no idea how I was going to solve the murders.
I opened my front door and found Ellen on my steps. A rather contrite and miserable-looking Ellen, at that.
“You have every right to shut the door in my face, but please let me talk to you,” she said.
“Come on in, Ellen. Julia’s here.” I led her back to my kitchen and gestured for her to take a seat at the table. Truth was, now that I knew Ellen’s secret, though perhaps it was only a secret to Julia and outsiders like me, I was no longer angry with her. I understood why she was protective, even overly protective, of Sonya. Even if her protectiveness had made solving the murders more challenging.
“I’ll get right to the point,” she said, shaking her arms out of her coat sleeves. “Thank you for taking such good care of Sonya. The police said she went to your house last night.”
“It was more complicated than that,” I said, taking a chair. “And Gilroy is the one you should thank. He risked his life to get her to safety.”
“I know, I know. Officer Underhill told me everything. Except where Sonya is right now.” She held up a hand, deflecting any objection I might have. “Which I understand. She’s safer if no one in Juniper Grove knows where she is.”
“Is Underhill at work?”
“He came to my house an hour ago.” Ellen paused. “He looks like he’s been through a threshing machine.”
“He’s someone you should thank too,” I said. “And Officer Turner.”
“But I wasn’t rude to them or Chief Gilroy. I was rude to you. More than once.”
“It’s fine. I understand.”
“The thing is, Rachel, I don’t think you do. You see, I’m Sonya’s aunt. Her real father is Oliver Morris, my brother.”
What a pickle. Should I feign surprise? I wondered. But I couldn’t bring myself to do something so . . . dishonest. “I found that out last night.”
A scowl crossed her face. “You couldn’t have heard that from Sonya. She doesn’t know. Please tell me she doesn’t know.”
“She doesn’t know,” I said, leaving it at that and hoping Ellen would too. “But why wouldn’t you tell her? She thinks she’s alone in the world. It would make such a difference in her life if she knew you were family.”
Ellen raked her fingers through her salt-and-pepper hair. She had considered telling Sonya before, I could tell, but felt herself caught between a rock and a hard place. “We would have to tell her that the people she called her parents—the people Oliver, Micah, and I called her parents—weren’t. We would have to admit we had lied about her family her whole life.”
“There’s truth in what you told her,” Julia said. “Her adoptive parents were her parents. I’m sure they loved her like parents. Both her adoptive father and Oliver are her fathers.”
“I suppose.”
“It’s none of my business, I know,” I said, “but I don’t think it would be fair to let her think she’s without family when she has family right here in Juniper Grove. She needs to know. Sonya seems like a pretty understanding and forgiving person. I think it’s worth the risk.”
“I know Oliver would like to be a real father to her,” Ellen said. “He’s always hated pretending around her, and after Micah died, he wanted so much to tell her he was her father and I was her aunt.”
“Then stop wasting time and do it,” Julia said in her best schoolmarm voice.
My oven timer dinged, and I rose to check my pie, sticking it square in the middle with a toothpick to check for doneness. The toothpick came out clean. Perfect.
“That smells like a slice of Christmas heaven,” Ellen said as I set the pie on a rack. “I can’t get enough pies and pastry this time of year. I think I keep Holly’s Sw
eets in business all by myself.”
I took off my oven mitts but left the oven door open, savoring the extra warmth. “Want half a Holly’s Sweets cream puff?”
“I adore her cream puffs! Michael says I eat way too many, but I don’t care.”
Julia rolled her eyes. “Oh, Lord, there are two of you.”
“We can’t let good cream puffs go to waste. Julia?”
“After last night?” She patted her stomach.
“You know what?” Ellen said, lifting her wrist for a look at her watch. “Let me take a rain check on that cream puff. The wreath makers are about to gather at my house again. We need to put twenty wreaths together for different Christmas Eve services.”
“The same group?” I asked, my thoughts racing, formulating a plan.
“Same bunch, except for Sonya,” Ellen said. For a moment she stopped fighting with her coat. “Do you want to come?”
I needed an ally for my plan, but did I dare trust her? I thought I could, but a speck of doubt niggled at me. How could she invite these women into her house again when one of them might be a killer? There was one way to know for sure. “Sure, I’ll come. But first, you should know that Sonya told me about the syringe she gave you the day Micah died.”
Ellen stared numbly at me. Then she nodded. “I thought she might. She opens up to you.”
“Why did you hide it?”
“I thought . . . I don’t know. Sonya wouldn’t hurt anyone, but I’d seen syringes exactly like that in her apartment. I didn’t want the police to find anything that could involve her, so I threw it away.”
“And you told Oliver about the syringe, which is why he picked up a syringe at Farley’s murder scene.”
“You know about that?” Ellen moaned and hid her face in her hands. “Yes. I know it was wrong.” She looked at me, pleading. “The police don’t need to know about the syringes. Please. Leave Sonya out of this.”
“The police already know. Gilroy was talking to Sonya about them at her apartment. It was afterward, outside her building, that someone shot at her.”
“I’m so, so sorry.”
“Ellen, Gilroy doesn’t think Sonya is the murderer.”
Juniper Grove Cozy Mystery Box Set 2 Page 10