by Kathy Altman
Mo was sure to be equally cranky. He’d been on call last night, which meant he’d caught her call for assistance. For a solid fifteen minutes he’d lectured her on the meaning of “teamwork.” Then he’d bitched for ten more because she hadn’t made coffee.
He’d be even more pissed if he found out about the two visitors she hadn’t copped to.
Kate answered her door in yoga pants and a pea-green tee that claimed “Life is good.” She held a knife coated with peanut butter.
“Charity.” Frowning, Kate eyed Charity’s uniform. “Everything okay?”
“I have some questions about Sarah. Got a few minutes?”
“Of course.” Kate waved her inside. “They didn’t call me in today, and I just about cried with relief. Any more field trips and they might have to put me on Prozac, though I do have to go to the hospital tonight.” She led Charity back to the kitchen and gestured at the sandwich fixings on the island. “We can talk while I finish making Allison’s lunch. Care for some coffee or juice?”
“No, thanks, but what do you mean, you have to go to the hospital?”
“I’ve been working there three or four evenings a week.” Kate flushed. “Things are a little tight, you know?”
Charity nodded and gave the other woman a moment by taking in the light turquoise walls, bright-white, glass-front cabinets, and silver-edged counters. A cardinal-red fruit basket, toaster, mixer, and canister set provided deliberate but happy accents. Charity silently apologized to her own careless kitchen.
“Listen,” she said. “I know Detective Ironmaker talked to you about what Allison said to Drew. Is everything okay?”
“I signed her up for some counseling sessions.” Kate reached for an open jar of grape jelly. “But really, I don’t believe she meant what she said. She’s a teenager. Melodrama is what they do.” She scooped some jelly onto a peanut-butter-smeared slice of bread and pointed at its twin, also slathered with peanut butter. “Keeps the sandwich from getting soggy, did you know that?”
“I’ll keep it in mind.” Charity settled onto a stool, the one farthest away from the cloying smell of the nut butter. “I need to ask how you feel about Sarah’s affair with Drew.”
The knife went still in the middle of a diagonal cut. Kate exhaled, finished cutting, and carefully set the knife aside. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t upset. My best friend was sleeping with my daughter’s boyfriend.” She reached for the plastic wrap, meeting Charity’s gaze head-on. “What bothers me more is that Sarah never told me, even after Drew and Allison broke up. I thought we were closer than that. Anyway you know—you knew—Sarah. She always got what she wanted, and apparently she wanted Drew. Allison says she and Drew never had sex, so of course he’s not going to pass up the chance to hook up with someone like Sarah.”
“That’s very understanding of you.”
“Not understanding. Practical. Allison made it easy by handling it well.”
“Kate. She threatened to hurt herself.”
“Charity. How many teens are you raising?”
A pang twisted deep in her chest. “Point taken.” Charity picked up a kitchenware catalog and started idly thumbing through the pages. “So you had no idea what was going on?”
“I knew Sarah was in a relationship she didn’t want to talk about.” Kate busied herself wrapping Allison’s sandwich. “I assumed she was sleeping with a married man. And I’m not talking about Scott Langford. He was divorced when she took up with him.”
Charity held one of the catalog’s thin pages mid-turn. “You knew Sarah was sleeping with Justine’s ex?”
“I did. I didn’t expect it to last. It never does. Did, I mean. Yes, I found it disturbing that she was sleeping with father and son, but it wasn’t my business.”
Charity ignored a creepy-crawly sensation and shifted on the stool. “When you stopped by my house yesterday morning, you said you were tired because you’d spent the night with someone. I need a name.”
Kate fumbled a handful of carrot chips. “I’d rather not. It’s complicated. Wait. Why do I need to give you an alibi?”
“It’s a standard question. Please don’t take it personally.”
“Kind of hard not to. Anyway, I’d heard you arrested Drew. Are you telling me you don’t think he did it?”
Charity’s phone—the phone she’d circled the shed on her hands and knees in the dark looking for, only to have Mo show up and ask dryly why she didn’t just call herself from the landline—blasted the default ringtone. Her pulse bounced as she plucked her cell free of the case attached to her duty belt and with one glance confirmed her suspicion. Grady. She thumbed the Ignore button and tucked her phone away.
“Drew came forward to clear his mother, not to confess,” Charity said, and turned her attention back to a set of ceramic ice cream sundae dishes made to look like waffle cones. “We’re still investigating.”
Kate ripped open a package of chocolate chip cookies. “Can I get back to you? You have to understand, it’s not just me involved.”
“Which means it’s not just yourself you’re establishing an alibi for.”
“My…partner…doesn’t need an alibi any more than I do.”
This was starting to sound an awful lot like the conversation they’d had with Scott Langford. Charity reached out, hovered a hand over the package of cookies, and raised an eyebrow at Kate. Kate made a careless gesture, and Charity helped herself.
“He didn’t want to give us your name, either.” Charity ate half the cookie with one bite.
Kate’s eyes went wide. “You already know who it was?”
“Not because he told us. I guessed.”
“And your guess would be…”
“Scott Langford.”
Kate gasped and backed up until she collided with the fridge. Something small—a magnet?—clattered to the floor. “I’m not Sarah. Like I said before, she got what she wanted, and didn’t care who she hurt to get it. She meant a lot to me, though. I admired her life-is-short outlook. But I cannot believe you just accused me of sleeping with her boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend” seemed a bit of an exaggeration. “I’m sorry if I offended you. Scott’s hiding something, and I thought it might be you.” Charity winced, and slapped the catalog shut. What the hell? She was leaking details like a wide-eyed rookie hoping to impress her commanding officer.
“I get it.” Kate pushed away from the fridge, snatched up her daughter’s polka-dot lunch tote, and yanked the zipper closed. “You think I slept with Scott because Sarah slept with Drew.” She shuddered, then shocked the hell out of Charity by flashing a rueful smile. “At least give me some credit. If I were going to plot vengeance, I’d make sure my evil plan didn’t include sleeping with a man who calls women ‘chicks’ and smells like drugstore cologne.”
The kitchen echoed with the strains of Hawaii Five-0. Charity apologized, and this time took the call.
“Brenda June,” she said. “What’s up?”
“Give me sixty seconds to explain.”
Not Brenda June. Grady.
Chapter Seven
Charity’s hand fell to her side, and her thumb hovered over End.
“Char. Please.”
He said it loudly enough for Kate to hear. Kate’s eyes went wide, and Charity swore under her breath. As soon as she got back to the station, she’d shoot Grady West and pin the crime on her traitorous dispatcher. She slid off the stool and stalked into the dining room.
“This is not a good time,” she whispered furiously.
“Sorry about last night. Pratt made it clear he wasn’t leaving ’til I did.”
“You did the right thing.”
“It didn’t feel right.”
It did when you were kissing me.
“Except for the kissing,” he murmured.
Dear Lord. Charity attempted a casual laugh, but it came out lugging all kinds of awkward. She distracted herself by deciding to hunt down the source of the homey scent that filled the room.
She headed for the grouping of candles on the sideboard.
“At least this time you tried to defend me to Pratt before disappearing,” she said, as briskly as she could manage.
After a handful of heartbeats, Grady sighed. “How much trouble did I get you into?”
“I handled it.” She sniffed at the candles. Nothing.
“Char.”
“Don’t call me that,” she snapped. She felt Kate’s gaze between her shoulder blades and lowered her voice. “You need to let me do my job.”
“That translate to leaving you alone?”
“Stay off my case, Grady.” She moved toward a candy dish on the window sill.
“Good one. Not happening, though.”
At the window she leaned over and took a whiff of the potpourri in the dish. Nope, not that, either. “I can arrest you for obstruction.”
“I look forward to a thorough frisk.”
A liquid heaviness settled between her hips. “I’m hanging up now.”
“No calling it quits over the phone. Let me buy you lunch. An apology, for getting you into trouble with Pratt.”
“There’s nothing to quit. I never said I’d work with you. I have my orders. You’re off limits.”
Grady gave a husky chuckle. “Pratt knows better than to tell you something is off limits. That’s exactly when you decide to go for it.”
“Not this time, West.” She pressed End and turned.
Kate eyed her like a fresh-from-the-jailhouse Hank eyed a six-pack of beer. “He wants to work with you?”
“Not going to happen. What smells so good in here?”
Kate nodded at the light fixture that hovered over the table. “Scented light bulbs. They work best when the light’s on.” Her smile wobbled. “A Christmas gift from Sarah.”
Cinnamon and pine. That explained it. Charity followed Kate back into the kitchen. “Just to be clear, you and your mystery man were together all of Tuesday evening?”
“From eight o’clock on. You and Grady were an item, weren’t you?”
Charity sighed. Kate had arrived in Becker County about the same time as Sarah Huffman, so she wasn’t familiar with this particular pathetic piece of Charity’s history. Charity would just as soon keep it that way. It wasn’t as if she and Kate were close.
“It was a long time ago.”
“Think you might get back together?”
“No,” Charity said a little too firmly, judging by the hurt on Kate’s face. She swallowed her impatience. “In the first place, we’re barely acquaintances anymore, let alone friends. In the second place, his family is involved in a murder investigation. And third, he lives in Seattle. If I ever moved it wouldn’t be to a city—”
“Where it rains nine months of the year?”
“I was going to mention the rampant homelessness and six-dollar coffee, but the rain thing works, too.”
Kate rounded the island and squeezed Charity’s arm. “I’m glad,” she said. “We need you here. You can do better than Grady West, I hope you know. That family is nothing but one big wine barrel of self-absorbed addicts.”
Charity stepped back, gently pulling her arm free. It was all she could do to keep from leaping to Grady’s defense.
Oh, what the hell.
“Not all of them,” she said. “I don’t think you should lump Grady and the kids in with the rest. Or is there something about Drew I should know?”
Kate shrugged. “I never saw any sign of drug use. I wouldn’t have trusted Allison with him if I had.”
“Did you? Trust him?”
A trace of something not quite right crept into Kate’s expression. Doubt? Uneasiness?
Charity gripped her equipment belt. “So you didn’t trust him.”
Kate toyed with the zipper on Allison’s lunch tote. “I just wondered how serious he could be about her, with her being two years younger, and all.”
“What about Peyton? Any evidence of drug use?”
“None that I know of.” Kate sighed. “I suppose I was talking about Justine and her folks before.”
“Yet you’re friends with Justine.”
“No one knows your faults better than your friends.”
“What about Scott? Is he a self-absorbed addict?”
“How would I know? I already told you, he’s not the man I’m screwing.”
“Mom, for God’s sake.” Kate’s daughter, a sixteen-year-old with her mother’s athletic build and strawberry-blond hair, growled in disgust as she stumbled into the room and over to the refrigerator. She was dressed for school, in jeans and a lime-green sweater, but her eyes were heavy-lidded and her movements sluggish as she poured a glass of juice.
Charity could relate. She’d started missing her own bed the moment she rolled out of it.
“Allison, you remember Charity Bishop.”
Allison swallowed a mouthful of juice and nodded. The teen didn’t balk at finding a deputy in her kitchen. Either she had nothing to hide, or she had one hell of a poker face. Or maybe she really was still half-asleep.
Kate busied herself cleaning off the island. “Grab a granola bar, Allison. We have to be on our way or you’ll be late.”
Charity watched with regret as Kate shoved the package of cookies into a cabinet.
Allison ignored her mother. She set her empty glass in the sink and swung toward Charity. “Did you find out who killed Ms. Huffman?”
“We’re working on it.”
“Do you think Drew did it?”
“Do you?”
Allison poked out her chin. “He cheated on me. Who knows what else he’s capable of?”
Charity exchanged glances with Kate. “I understood he ended things with you before he started a relationship with Sarah.”
“You can cheat with your thoughts, though, right? Peyton said he had all kinds of thoughts about Sarah while he was with me. Only he was too chickenshit to tell me.”
“Language,” Kate scolded. “And we don’t need to drag Drew’s sister into this. Now go get your backpack.”
“What kinds of thoughts?” Charity asked, and pretended not to hear Kate’s exasperated exhale.
“He was obsessed with her. Couldn’t wait to do her. Peyton tried to talk him out of breaking up with me because she knew how sad I’d be, but that woman had him totally wrapped. That’s when Peyton and I—” Allison stopped, looked down, and fiddled with the hem of her shirt.
“That’s when you what?” No response. “How did Peyton know how Drew felt about Sarah?”
“She heard him on the phone.”
Kate snatched up her keys and rattled them for effect. “You know how bad it looks when a teacher’s kid is late to school?”
“As bad as that outfit you’re wearing?”
But Charity could hear the affection in Allison’s voice and damn, there went that pang again.
“Worse.” Kate gave her daughter a push and slung her purse over her shoulder. “Charity, I’m sorry, but you’ll have to excuse us. She gets another tardy and we’ll both end up in the principal’s office.”
“Just one more question. What can you tell me about Sarah’s employer?”
“Not much more than what everyone already knows. Keith Tarrant’s a rich property developer with more muscles than ethics.”
“Was Sarah involved with him?”
“She was when she first started working there. I don’t think it lasted long.”
“Do you know why not?”
Kate threw up her hands. “You’d have to ask Sarah,” she said, and immediately paled.
They stood frozen in an awkward silence until Allison came back down the stairs, dragging her backpack, letting it thump from one step to the next. Kate headed for the door.
Charity followed. “Did Sarah ever mention any problems at work?”
Kate shut and locked the front door behind them. “The usual. Bad economy. Unreasonable clients. Long hours. Can’t you ask Keith Tarrant these questions?”
Charity followed the
m down the steps and over to Kate’s Jeep. “He’s next on my list.”
Kate aimed a speculative glance over her shoulder. “If he asks you out, you should say yes. It’ll do you good to blow off some steam.”
“Keith Tarrant?” Where the hell had that come from? “If he asks me out, I doubt I’ll be able to keep from laughing. Besides, I don’t have time to blow off steam.”
“Maybe it’s better that way. Because you’re right. Sarah is important. And so is that election we need you to win. Favoritism won’t do you any, well, favors.” Kate climbed into the Jeep, shut the door, and lowered her window. “Anyway, there’s always the good ol’ vibrator. You have one, right?”
“Mom.” Allison put a hand to her face and slunk down into her seat. Kate arched an eyebrow at Charity and backed toward the road.
Disturbed, Charity watched them go. Did Kate really think she’d let anything get in the way of finding justice for Sarah? She headed down the driveway, thought of last night’s kiss, and winced.
Before crossing the road to her SUV, she hesitated, and stared at an azalea with blooms as deep purple as the jelly Kate had smeared on her daughter’s sandwich. While watching the bees hover then drop, hover then drop, in a slow-motion, buzzing bounce, she pondered the sentence Allison had stopped herself from finishing. That’s when Peyton and I…
She needed to talk to Peyton. And wouldn’t that take finesse—the teen would clam right up if she thought Charity wanted her to deliver up her brother or her best friend. Grady could help. The teen might confide something to a doting uncle she’d never admit to a parent.
But what if Peyton’s involvement was more direct? How could Charity ask Grady to help win his nephew’s freedom if the price was his niece’s?
* * *
Grady stared down at the dispatcher’s phone. Not this time, West. Charity had sounded like she meant it. Like she was breaking up with him all over again.
Dammit, he’d screwed up. He shouldn’t have left her last night. That look Pratt had given him, like he’d single-handedly ruined his protégée’s life… Grady had left because he hadn’t wanted to make things worse. And yeah, Charity had asked him outright to go.