by J. C. Kenney
“What did you do next?”
“It’s all such a blur. The next thing I remember is being by her when Allie and Brent showed up.” He wrapped his bony fingers around the coffee cup and shivered.
“Okay.” Matt got to his feet and called Jeanette over.
They exchanged a few words in quiet tones.
Jeanette shook her head twice and nodded once, but that was all I could glean from the conversation. After a few more words from Matt, she returned to the break room without as much as a glance in my direction.
Some friend. When I needed reassurance things would be okay, she was all business. I tried to tell myself she was focused on doing her job. She had work to do. That commitment to her work made her a great cop. That it wasn’t personal.
It was a sign something serious was going on, though. Something more serious than a woman having a fatal heart attack or stroke.
Matt returned to the table, crossed his arms, and gave us a long stare that would have made an Old West gunslinger proud.
“Here’s what we’re going to do. Mr. Rasmussen, Brent, I’m going to need you two to come to the station so we can take formal statements.” He signaled to Officer Sandoval. “Gabe, please take Mr. Richardson. I’ll take Mr. Rasmussen.”
“Wait.” I shot to my feet. “What—”
“Allie, you’re free to go. I’ve got your number if I need to reach you.”
“Not so fast.” I dashed around the table and planted myself right in front of Matt, fists on my hips and elbows out wide to create as much of an intimidating figure as possible. Being five one and tipping the scale at one hundred ten pounds wasn’t going to threaten Matt, but I gave myself an A for effort when he took a half step back.
He put one hand up. “Now, Allie—”
“Don’t ‘Now, Allie’ me. Are you arresting Brent?” I willed my knees to stay steady. Now wasn’t the time to show Brent fear by having them knocking.
“No. I’m not.” He turned toward Porter. “I’m not arresting you, either. The sooner we get going, the sooner we’ll finish.”
Porter closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. After a few seconds, he opened them and motioned Gabe to lead the way.
I turned to Brent and opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
“It’s okay, Allie. I get it.” He handed me the truck keys. “I may have been the last person to see Vicky alive. Am I right?” When Matt nodded, he smiled. “I don’t know if I can tell you anything helpful, Chief, but I’m more than happy to tell you everything I can.”
“In that case, shall we?” Matt tipped his Rushing Creek Police Department baseball cap to me and escorted Brent toward the door.
They were almost there when I finally regained my voice.
“Don’t worry, Brent. If someone killed Mrs. Napier, I’ll figure out who did it. They won’t get away with it. I promise.”
The library door swung open and closed again, cutting me off from my beau.
Too angry at the situation, the death of Mrs. Napier plus the questioning of Brent, to waste time on despair, I marched to the break room. The door had been propped open, but a sign was hanging from a yellow, horizontal pole that had been inserted between the left and right sections of the doorframe. The words, spelled out in bold, red lettering, stopped me in my tracks.
Crime Scene—Do Not Enter.
If that wasn’t bad enough, the coroner was bent over Mrs. Napier, conducting an examination. It broke my heart that they hadn’t even covered her with a sheet. I didn’t care that police procedure dictated leaving the body as undisturbed as possible during the initial investigation. It seemed cold, uncaring. Mrs. Napier deserved better.
Then it hit me like a kickboxing shot to the abdomen. The Rushing Creek PD was really treating Mrs. Napier’s death like a murder. Not wanting to screw up the crime scene, I toed the imaginary line the sign created and leaned forward.
Jeanette, sporting blue, plastic gloves, was going through a cabinet by the refrigerator. As she dictated something to an officer who was helping her, she turned in my direction.
I waved, hoping she would take a break from her evidence collection to fill me in.
After a short conversation with her assistant, she removed the gloves and dropped them in a clear, plastic trash bag by the door.
“Hey.” She put a hand on my shoulder. “How are you holding up?”
“Been better.” I pointed at the sign above my head. “Is that really necessary?”
“Afraid so. Cause of death is undetermined, so we need to proceed with caution.” She removed her shoe covers and guided me to a chair at a nearby table. “I know you want answers. Right now, we don’t have any, but we’ll get them. I need you to trust me. Let Matt, me, and the rest of our team do our jobs. Can you do that?”
“I can, but do I have to?” I forced a chuckle. Since I’d returned to Rushing Creek from New York, I’d gotten a reputation as an amateur homicide detective. Though I’d earned it fair and square, it was a reputation I wish I’d never obtained.
Jeanette pursed her lips, so I gave her a friendly tap on the shoulder with my fist. “I’ll be a good girl and stay out of your way. Promise.”
My friend gave me a long, quiet look. The pledge didn’t seem to have convinced her one bit. “I need to get back to work. Go home. Take Ursi and Sammy for a walk. I’m sure Brent will catch up with you in no time.”
If the request had come from any other cop, I would have ignored it and tried to weasel my way into the crime scene. But it didn’t come from any other cop. Jeanette was my friend. She’d earned my trust and now was the time to show it. I owed her that.
“You’re right.” I jangled Brent’s keys in my hand. “I’ll talk to you later. Text me if I can help with anything.”
Jeanette gave me a hug, and I made my way out of the building. Every step was a challenge, like a slog through wet cement. The Rushing Creek Library had been a source of joy and adventure all my life. It had served as a portal to far flung parts of the globe and beyond, millions, even billions of miles away from small-town Indiana. In high school, it even provided me with a place to make money, as I spent untold hours providing tutoring and editing services to fellow students.
Now it was home to a crime scene. The victim was the library’s patron saint, Vicky Napier. As I turned the key and the truck’s massive engine rumbled to life, I shook my head in a vain attempt to make the madness go away.
Vicky had given her life to Rushing Creek. She’d spent her entire career at the library. I’d never heard an unkind word said about her.
And yet, someone had murdered her.
Why?
I pounded on the steering wheel as I piloted Brent’s behemoth south on Washington Boulevard, known to locals simply as the Boulevard. Instead of getting any answers, all I got from my burst of anger was a stinging palm and a raised eyebrow look of alarm from Maybelle Schuman, Rushing Creek’s chief gossip. I shuddered to think what awful rumors she’d manufacture about Vicky.
I parked the truck in a spot a block away from my building that had angle parking so I didn’t have to parallel park. Since I didn’t own a car, when it came to parking, I’d rather walk a few blocks than deal with the stress of maneuvering Brent’s massive machine between two other valuable machines.
As I climbed the stairs to my second-floor apartment, my bike came into view. I smiled. A bike wasn’t complicated. I could change the tires and do most of the maintenance myself. As small as Rushing Creek was, I could get from one end of town to the other on my two-wheeler in fifteen minutes. Between the basket on the front and the saddle bags that hung over the rear tire, it could handle virtually all errands, from groceries to simple hardware items.
As I ran my hand over the black, vinyl seat, a bit of the tension building up inside me dropped away. Life had gotten complicated and, right now, I needed as many unc
omplicated things as possible.
Once inside the apartment, I scooped up Ursi, let Sammy out of his crate, and dropped onto the couch for a snuggle with the fur babies. My kitty started purring while the golden retriever settled his head on my leg and closed his eyes. After a few minutes of pet therapy, I gave each of them a treat.
“Okay, guys. Enough self-pity. Life goes on and so must I.” I grabbed the Brent-approved resumes and took them to my office.
In New York, I’d have gotten a hundred or more resumes for a literary agent intern position. All of them would have met my requirements of a bachelor’s degree in either English or creative writing and one to three years of writing experience.
Rushing Creek wasn’t New York, by any means. In many cases, that difference was a good thing. I was happy in my little, southern Indiana town. Life was good here, the present circumstances being an exception. As I studied the resumes, disappointment filled me. None of the candidates had the necessary college degrees, and I had to stretch so far I could reach from one end of my office to the other to find the relevant experience.
That was okay. Three candidates were from the Rushing Creek area, which was something I wanted. My hometown had given me much since I’d returned from New York. The least I could do was repay it by giving someone local an opportunity to work in my field.
When I was finished putting the interviews on my calendar, I attacked my inbox. I’d been able to keep up with the most critical e-mails while out of town, but that still left a few hundred I needed to get through.
I’d just e-mailed an editor about a thriller manuscript I’d submitted a few weeks back when a rattling at the front door got me out of my seat as fast as a hobbit who’d been called for second breakfast.
“Hey, you.” I hit Brent at a full sprint, knocking the air from his lungs when I reached him. With him trapped against the door, I hugged him as tight as I could.
I didn’t let go until Sammy wedged his way between us and Ursi was pawing at my leg, with her claws out. Despite my desire to hold on to Brent forever, I gave in to the fur babies and led him to the couch. Once he was seated, I got him a glass of cold water and some pain reliever. I knew all too well how taxing a police interview could be, both physically and mentally.
He took my offerings without comment and downed the pills and water in one long pull. “Thanks. That was an…experience. Don’t want to go through that again.”
“Matt can’t possibly think you had anything to do with this, does he? You and Vicky were friends, for God’s sake.” I wrapped my arms around myself as a chill came over me.
“I don’t think so, but he’s trying to cover all his bases. He said I had a motive. That with her gone, I could take her place.”
I barked out a laugh. “That’s absurd. I assume you told him about your recommendation.”
“I did.” When he looked at the empty glass, I got him a refill. “He said unless some corroborating evidence surfaces, all he can do is take my word for it. And he’s not ready to do that. At least not yet.”
“We’ll see about that. Let me get my notebook and we can start a suspect list.” I turned toward my office. Before I’d gone two steps, Brent grabbed me by the wrist.
“No, Allie. Please. You promised your private eye days were over.” He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. They were red-rimmed. “I can’t handle the thought of you putting your life in danger again.”
And there it was. The elephant in the room. Yes, I’d investigated two murders recently committed in Rushing Creek. And yes, I’d managed to catch the killer both times. But, yes, I’d also ended up in the hospital both times. And I’d promised Brent my sleuthing days were over.
I couldn’t stand idly by and leave the investigation to the Rushing Creek Police, though. Vicky meant too much to me. I had to do something. Allie the Investigator was going to have to make her return.
Chapter Four
I was drinking coffee the next morning while I processed author royalty payments the agency had received covering the first quarter of the year. While my ever-growing client list thrilled me, it also meant I had to maintain a much more disciplined schedule. Thus, I’d started getting up at seven sharp during the work week. That way I had a few hours where I could work without distraction.
A knock on the front door brought my calculations to a halt. A quick check at the bottom corner of the computer screen indicated it was a little after eight. Way too early for a surprise visit from Sloane. My bestie usually texted before stopping by, and besides, she never got up before nine unless it was a race day. It was one of the perks of her life as a professional trail runner.
Given the events of the last twenty-four hours, I held my breath as I approached the door. Brent and I had spent the previous evening talking with my mom, my brother, and my sister, so I was certain it wasn’t any of them. After taking a moment to build up my courage, I opened it.
Matt greeted me with a tip of his Rushing Creek Police Department baseball cap. “I’ve got news. Mind if I come in?”
Unable to speak due to the million potential reasons for his visit running through my mind at once, I waved him in. Ursi padded up to him and rubbed her head against his pants leg. I chose to take that as a good sign.
“Is Brent here? The news is for him, too.” He bent down to scratch Ursi behind the ears.
“Yeah. I’ll get him.” I motioned toward the kitchen. “Help yourself to some coffee.”
Brent was in the bedroom. Still fast asleep, he had one arm draped over a snoring Sammy. The rest of him was covered from head to toe by the comforter. Unable to doze off, he’d tossed and turned until I gave him some cold medicine to knock him out. Given all he’d been through, I hated waking him up, but I didn’t want to leave Matt waiting. Maybe he had good news.
A girl could always hope.
“Time to get up, sleepyheads.” I shook Brent’s shoulder with one hand while I scratched Sammy behind the ears. The dog snorted and burrowed under the covers while Brent opened his eyes and rewarded me with a smile.
He yawned and stretched his long arms. “Hi. To what do I owe this pleasant wake up?”
“We’ve got a visitor. Matt Roberson. Says he has news.” I tossed his robe at him. “Get dressed.”
Five minutes later, the three of us were seated around my kitchen table, coffee cups in hand, while the fur babies gobbled up their breakfasts in the corner of the kitchen.
“So, this news of yours. What is it?” I sipped my coffee, keeping my hands tightly wrapped around the cup so they wouldn’t tremble.
“I’ll dispense with the pleasantries.” Matt opened his notebook. “We got the preliminary autopsy result on Vicky Napier. The report indicates foul play, likely poisoning.”
The world swam before my eyes and a buzzing filled my ears. I had to grab the table to keep my balance.
“Allie!” Brent grabbed my wrist. His complexion had taken on an ashen tone and his grip was shaky. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I shook my head to clear out the fuzziness from the shock of Matt’s statement. “No. I mean why would anyone want to kill her? She—”
“She meant a lot to you.” Matt took a long drink of his coffee. There were dark circles under his eyes and a day’s worth of stubble on his chin. If he’d gotten any sleep, it hadn’t been much. “She meant a lot to this town.”
“Is there any more you can tell us?” Steam rose from the ceramic carafe as Brent filled Matt’s coffee cup. “I hope you know we want to help in any way we can.”
“I do have some good news for you, Brent. The coroner marked the time of death at about eight thirty, almost a half hour before you arrived at the library.”
“That means he’s in the clear, right?” I sat upright in my chair as the welcome news brought clarity back to my brain. With my senses returned to full alert, I gave Brent’s hand a gentle squeeze.
Brent’s jaw unclenched, and some color returned to his face.
“Not completely, I’m afraid. We still have more work to do. As of now, Brent, you’re still the last person to see her alive.” Matt studied his notebook for a moment. “I’ve got Officer Sandoval canvassing Mrs. Napier’s street, checking to see if anyone saw her between the time you parted ways with her and the time of death.”
I slouched back into my chair and mumbled a curse word under my breath.
“What am I supposed to do now?” Brent got up and paced from the dining table to the front door and back again.
“You’re free to go about your business. Don’t leave town without checking with me first, though.” When Brent nodded, Matt got to his feet. “I need to get back to the station. I’ll be in touch.”
Despite his protest that it wasn’t necessary, I offered to walk Matt to my building’s entrance. When we were in the hall, I pulled the door closed behind me.
“You don’t seriously think Brent had anything to do with this, do you?” I blocked the stairwell. Matt wasn’t going to escape without answering a few of my questions.
“Do I think he murdered Vicky? No. Do I know he didn’t do it? Same answer.” He put his hands up to head off my response. “I’m sorry, Allie, but he had motive and opportunity.”
“They were colleagues. He was spending his vacation helping her out, for God’s sake. What possible motive would he have?”
“With her gone, he’s a prime candidate for her position. No more traveling the state doing his genealogy installation projects. And no more long-distance relationship with you.”
“How dare you?” Anger welled up as I struggled to refrain from slapping Matt across the face. “You should be ashamed of yourself for making an accusation like that.”
“I’m sorry.” He leaned against the wall and let out a long sigh, the kind filled with weariness and frustration. “I know you care about Brent, but I have to be guided by facts, not emotions. Until I get more facts that clear him, I have to consider him a suspect.”