by J. C. Kenney
“I know you like this place, so it’s more conducive to an honest conversation, then.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Why do you think your discovery is connected to Napier’s murder and not something else?”
“I wish I had something concrete to give you, but all I’ve got is a feeling. I knew the woman, Matt. Between the disorienting effect it has, and the gunk that would be left in her lungs, I simply can’t imagine her smoking dope.” I pointed my spoon at him. “For the sake of argument, if she was smoking it, why hide it in a public building? Wouldn’t it have made more sense to keep her stash at home?”
Matt ran his fingers through his hair. “You ask better questions than a couple of people on my team. If you tell anyone I said that, I’ll toss you behind bars and throw away the key.”
I made a motion like I was zipping my lips shut. Then I crossed my heart. I didn’t want to end up in jail, even if Matt’s comment had been made in jest. It couldn’t hurt to be on the safe side. Just in case.
“Seriously, though, I don’t have answers to your questions.” He tapped his pencil on the tabletop. “I’ll make the usual inquiries, but it doesn’t make any sense.”
“Maybe you could have a word with my old friend Willie Hammond?” I chuckled. Willie and I were far from friends. He and Al were brothers. Their last name was about all they had in common, though. Al was gregarious and kind to a fault. Willie was calculated and shady. The fact that Willie was involved with illegal gambling made me think even less of the man.
“Nah, after everything that went down last September, Willie knows I’m keeping my eye on him. Besides, I’ve never heard of him being connected with drugs.” He finished his coffee and poured himself another cup.
“I’ll follow up with the other doctors in town. See if Vicky had been seeing any of them. I don’t know. With all the hippie artists who live around here and love to smoke a joint from time to time, God only knows where she got it.”
“But what if she got it by accident? What if Porter’s been growing weed and some found its way into the library?”
I slapped my hand on the table as an idea bloomed like an orchid in Porter’s greenhouse. I’d always thought Porter’s motive was weak. Sure, he had a crush on Vicky, but she’d never shown any interest in him. No, instead of unrequited love, I had a much more powerful motive.
“I’ll bet you he was dealing to the employees, maybe even to some library patrons. Something happened and Vicky found out. She hid the weed until she could do something about it, probably talk to him, but he killed her to keep his operation under wraps.”
Matt stared at me while he stirred his coffee. The classic-style soda pop clock on the wall ticked, ticked, ticked as the seconds passed. After what seemed like hours, he took a drink.
“It’s possible. I’m not sure how plausible it is, though. We searched his property from top to bottom. If there was a dope-dealing operation going on, we didn’t find any evidence of it.”
He jotted down a few things in his notebook. “Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll have someone take another look at Porter’s file. It’s a long shot, but maybe he owns property somewhere that could be used for what you’re suggesting.”
I almost jumped out of my seat. “Yes. Thank you so much. I appreciate it.”
“Don’t get your hopes up, though. And promise me you’ll stay out of trouble for a change, okay?”
“I’ll try.” I took a drink. “I don’t mean to be a pain. I just want whoever did this caught. ASAP.”
“I know. We all do. That’s why I need you to help me by not withholding information or evidence. My team and I can’t do our jobs when you pull stunts like you did with that package.”
My cheeks got hot at the gentle admonishment. To cover my embarrassment, I brought my coffee cup to my lips and held it there, pretending to take a long drink.
Matt was right. There was no denying it.
The publishing industry had taught me the importance of patience. I believed in it. A book was ready when it was ready, and not a day before. It was a lesson I preached to my authors, especially my new ones, on a regular basis. Rushing through a manuscript or accepting a publishing deal without thinking over the terms of the agreement could lead to disappointment some time down the road.
When it came to my personal life, patience was something for which I had little use. Especially when friends and family were involved.
So, I finished my coffee and reiterated my pledge to behave myself. That didn’t mean I wouldn’t keep snooping, though.
Especially since the snooping I was going to do would be from the safety of my apartment.
After a quick pedal home, I settled in on the couch, with Ursi snuggled next to me and my computer on my lap. I had no doubt Matt would follow up as promised, but I couldn’t deny my confidence in his team was a little shaken. Maybe I was being unfair, but since they missed the weed in Vicky’s office, what else could they have missed?
The thought of Porter growing marijuana in secret someplace intrigued me. It was a longshot, but I wanted to see if there were any property records under a name associated with his old lawn and garden business.
One of the great things about living in the twenty-first century was the ability to search for property records of a potential murderer while scratching my kitty’s ears. How Trixie Belden was able to solve all those cases without the internet was beyond me. I wouldn’t trade life in the twenty-first century for anything.
A visit to the secretary of state’s site confirmed the corporate name of Porter’s old business, PRLG Industries, Inc. Not the most distinctive name, but it gave me something to go on. That was, assuming I was right that the initials stood for Porter Rasmussen Lawn and Garden Industries.
With that information in hand, I paid another cyberspace visit to the county assessor’s office for a property records search. As the minutes went by, my hopes of making a hit faded away. After an hour of searching, using various permutations of Porter’s and the company’s name, I waved the white flag.
“No luck, girl.”
I held Ursi against my chest as I scratched under her chin. Her purring eased my disappointment. The upside was that I didn’t have to worry about the waters being muddied by another surprise discovery.
At least, that was the hope.
Chapter Eighteen
My displeasure at failing to find evidence Porter owned property under another name where he could be growing pot was eventually replaced by relief.
I’d done all I could. The next steps were up to the Rushing Creek Police, not me.
Which was good since my plans for tonight were focused on the Fearless Foursome.
The Fearless Foursome was a group formed in the aftermath of the murder of Rushing Creek resident Georgie Alonso. The membership consisted of me, my bestie Sloane, Jeanette, and another friend, Lori Cannon.
We were all personally connected to the two murders committed in Rushing Creek in the last couple of years. Sloane’s father, Thornwell, had been knocked unconscious and dumped in the Rushing Creek to drown. Lori’s boyfriend, Georgie, who was also the father of her little girl Brittany, had been suffocated under a pile of landscaping mulch.
At Sloane’s request, I investigated her dad’s murder. My impetus for looking into Georgie’s murder was even more personal. For a while, I was the main suspect.
By virtue of her job, Jeanette worked on both investigations. She became a dear friend in the process.
Even though we all knew each other beforehand, the group had formed quite by accident. I’d noticed Lori having trouble coping in the aftermath of Georgie’s death, so I suggested she talk to Sloane, figuring my bestie might be able to help Lori in a way nobody else in Rushing Creek could.
Jeanette and I had been exercising together and would often unwind after our walks with a cold drink at the pub. One night, we saw Sloane and Lori there
. They invited us to join them, and the conversation turned to the coping mechanisms each of us used in the aftermath of traumatic experiences.
Each of us brought a different perspective to the table. The discussion proved to be more helpful than a cup of coffee first thing in the morning. Over the course of that evening, we laughed, cried, and formed a bond stronger than the one shared by Harry, Hermione, and Ron in the Harry Potter books.
Since then, we’d gotten together once a month for dinner and conversation. Topics of discussion usually centered around everyday things like Jeanette’s dating life and the challenges Lori faced getting her finicky daughter to eat anything other than chicken nuggets and steamed carrots.
We always made sure every member of our group had time to open up about what she was feeling, though. Our get-togethers were safe spaces, where feelings, often raw ones, could be shared in a caring, confidential, and supportive environment.
Tonight was my night to host the Fearless Foursome, so, after checking work e-mails and assuring Brent I was safe and sound, I got the apartment ready. Thanks to Mom, I’d learned the value of neatness, so there wasn’t a lot of hard work involved. At an early age, she’d instilled in me the importance of picking up after myself. To this day, I never started work without making my bed and putting clean clothes away instead of letting them stack up on a chair someplace.
A little bit later, I wiped my hands.
“I think we’re ready. What about you, girl?”
My kitty sniffed at her litter box, looked at me, yawned, and plopped down on the floor to clean her paw.
“Fair enough. I’m sure our guests will appreciate your efforts to clean up for them.” I went to the bedroom to change, whistling a bouncy Jason Mraz tune.
I was filling my ice bucket when there were three rapid knocks on the door, followed by someone calling out my name. This was repeated two more times.
“Coming, Sloane.” My bestie’s use of the same knock that Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory used tickled me to no end. She might have the body of a thirty-one-year-old, but she had the youthful heart and soul of a preteen. That was one of the many reasons I loved her.
“Sloanie Baloney.” I wrapped my arms around her as soon as the door was open. She’d been traveling since Saturday, and I’d missed her wonderfully upbeat disposition during these dark days.
She handed a me a plastic grocery bag containing two-liter soda and called out for Ursi. A second later, my fur baby appeared and wound herself through Sloane’s legs.
“Hey, sista. Tell your mom I’m not going to talk to her whenever she calls me by that dorky nickname.” Sloane took Ursi in her arms and nuzzled with her as Ursi started purring loud enough to rattle the windows.
I let out a loud, drama-filled huff. “And please tell your aunt Sloane I will stop calling her that as soon as she stops calling me the Kickboxing Crusader.”
Sloane looked at me out of the corner of her eye and grinned. The back-and-forth needling was all in fun, a hallmark of a lifetime spent as best friends. After pretending to put her ear close to Ursi’s mouth, she returned the cat to the floor.
“Ursi told me to consider your truce offering and to get back to you later with a counter proposal. In the meantime, we’re to set aside our dispute in the name of having a good time tonight.” She sashayed over to the coffee table and took a couple of chips from a ceramic serving bowl. “She also said to remind you that, while she likes you, she adores me.”
“Ungrateful feline.” I stuck out my tongue at Ursi, who simply strolled away with her tail held high.
I waved for Sloane to join me in the kitchen while I poured her a ginger ale. “How’s training going?”
Her career as a trail runner had reached the point where she was competing as a professional. She wasn’t making much money as a pro athlete, but that wasn’t the point.
What mattered was she was living out her dream. I’d known her all my life, and the one thing Sloane wanted was to be a runner. As a little girl, she ran for fun. As she got older, running became an escape from the dysfunction in her home. Now she was running because she was good at it.
One of the best, in fact.
The previous November, she’d competed in the national trail running championship, finishing second in her class and fourth overall among female competitors. That performance had put her in the mix to be selected to represent the U.S. at the world championships.
“It’s good. I’ve got a couple of high school kids that want to start training with me. It’s fun to be spreading the gospel of trail running.”
The report filled my heart with joy. My bestie was happy doing what she loved. These were exciting times, indeed
A bit later, Lori arrived with a plate of homemade cookies and a bottle of Moscato.
“Brittany’s spending the night with her grandmother, so Mama’s ready for a glass of wine.” She handed me her things, kicked off her four-inch heels, and plopped down in a chair in the living room. “Or two.”
“Kiddo having trouble sleeping again?” Sloane took a seat next to Lori.
One of the things we often talked about during these get-togethers was our collective battle against insomnia. Lori had it the worst since Brittany often had nightmares due to missing her dad.
“She was doing really good.” Lori accepted a glass of wine from me and took a drink. “No problems for three weeks. Then a boy at school started making fun of her for having a father who’d been murdered. Now we’re back to square one.”
“That stinks,” Sloane and I said in unison. And it did. Big time.
Brittany had suffered enough trauma by losing her father. She was only six, for crying out loud. The last thing she needed was to be traumatized all over again by unthinking and cruel children.
“While I’m mad at the boy, I’m really angry at his parents. The things he said to Brittany were clearly learned.” She took another drink. “I don’t understand why there’s so much hate in the world.”
A knock on the door signaled Jeanette’s arrival. I went to get it.
“I have connections at the police department. I could have one of my friends in blue pay this kid’s parents a visit.” Sloane put her arm around Lori as our young friend laughed. That was my bestie at her finest, bringing a little sunshine to the world.
I opened the door and was met with the glorious aroma of Italian cooking.
“Dinner has arrived.” Jeanette motored into the kitchen and put her mouthwatering contribution on the counter. “Two pizzas, a couple orders of breadsticks, and an extra-large bowl of Marinara’s salad. Let the festivities commence.”
While I hung up Jeanette’s jacket, my friends attacked the feast. The group had reached an agreement that the host was responsible for snacks, one person took care of dessert, the third brought drinks, and the fourth member of our merry band provided dinner.
We all loved Marinara’s, so when Jeanette had asked if it would be okay if she did that instead of cooking something, the response was a resounding yes.
“Great call, Jeanette. I vote we have Marinara’s every time from now on. I’ll try to talk Freddie into making us a couple of her deep-dish pies,” Sloane said through a mouthful of breadstick.
“I thought they only made deep dish on the weekends?” I folded my slice of pizza long ways, à la New York style. My decade in the City had turned me into a devoted fan of thin pizza. And one who thought fans of Chicago-style, deep-dish pizza were Philistines.
“That’s because it’s your turn for dinner next month.” Lori ignored my question while she drizzled French dressing on her salad. “No weaseling out. Besides, I hear you make an amazing chili. You could do that.”
“Who said I make an amazing chili?”
Lori grinned. “Your husband. He brags about you every time he comes into the bank. It’s always Sloane did this amazing thing and Sloane did th
at amazing thing. I think he kinda likes you.”
Sloane’s cheeks turned beet red. She and my brother Luke had only been married for six months, so she was still getting used to being talked about by her husband.
“I heard he gives you foot massages after your long runs.” Jeanette winked at me as Sloane’s eyes got wide. The teasing was in full swing.
“All I know is that brother of mine better be doing those things.” I leaned toward Sloane. “And a whole lot more, if you know what I mean.”
We three who were dishing it out burst into laughter when Sloane put her hands over her ears and closed her eyes. She didn’t open them until we quieted down.
“You three are monsters. But you’re right. I am pretty amazing.”
We broke into another round of laughter as Sloane got up and gave each of us fist bumps. I was in the company of good friends and dining on good food. Life couldn’t get better.
It was an evening full of positivity as good things were happening to all of us. My agency was growing. Matt had approved Jeanette’s request to attend an advanced evidence technician certificate course. Lori was in line for a promotion at the bank. The arc of Sloane’s trail running career was continuing upward.
Even with all the good news, our meetings had a purpose, so I asked if anyone had something they wanted to get off their chest.
Lori cleared her throat. “I, um, heard the police found weed in Vicky’s office. Is that really true?”
I clamped my mouth shut and looked at Jeanette. Since the contraband was in police custody, this was Jeanette’s call. My work investigating the murder was over.
“News sure travels fast.” Jeanette rubbed her eyes. “It’s true. That’s why I was late getting here. At this point, we’re investigating all possible connections between the murder and the marijuana. Beyond that, I can’t comment.”
“Good old Mrs. Napier? A pothead? No way.” Sloane removed the band holding her ponytail in place. She hadn’t used the library as much as I had when we were growing up, but she shared my affection for the woman.