Deadly News

by Jody Holford

  * * * *

  They took Sam’s truck—a newer Chevy Silverado—to Vernon’s house, or just past it.

  “Where are we going?” Molly asked when they passed the street. Tapping her fingers lightly on the armrest of the passenger door, she tried not to think of what driving these roads had led her to just this morning.

  Sam glanced her way. “I was thinking it would be better to park about fifteen minutes away. There are some walking trails not too far from here. I figured we’d park there and then if anyone sees us, we’d just say we were going for a walk. Not to seem lame or anything, but this being my first try at breaking and entering, I didn’t want to roll up right in front of Vernon’s house.”

  Guilt tugged at Molly’s conscience. “I’m sorry. This was a terrible thing to ask of you.”

  Sam glanced at her. “Would you have done it with or without me?”

  “Yes.” No sense lying.

  He sent a quick grin before turning up a gravel road. “Then I’m glad you asked. Tell me something about yourself that has nothing to do with your job.”

  Molly pressed her fingers flat on her lap, holding them still as the truck bumped over the ground. “Um. All right…I’m an army brat. Single child. My parents live in Arizona; my dad is retired now. I can cook but prefer not to, especially now that I’ve tried Come ‘n Get It. I like Hallmark movies and thrillers. I’d rather shop online than in a store. My Jeep is my prized possession and I love candy more than any adult should. How’s that?”

  He chuckled and took another turn. The road led upward and became more wooded. “Pretty good.”

  Molly waited. He pulled over in a treed area and cut the ignition. Out of the truck and around the hood before she had her seat belt off, he opened the door for her and held a hand out so she could get down. Ignore the sparks. Ignore the sparks. She tried, but when he let go of her hand, she felt the loss of warmth.

  Sam grabbed a backpack and slung it over his shoulders. Molly eyed it, wondering if she should have brought something with them. “What’s that?”

  His eyes darted over her head. Putting his hands in his pockets, he mumbled, “Authenticity. If we run into someone and say we’re hiking, we’ll have some gear to make that seem true.”

  The worry and sadness Molly had been carting around off and on all day lifted for a few blessed seconds. She smiled so wide her cheeks ached. “That’s really cute.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Great. Just what I was going for.”

  It might not have been what he was aiming for—guys, for some reason, didn’t warm to the adjectives sweet or cute—but it was exactly what Molly needed.

  They walked side by side down a path named Captain’s Creek Trail. Molly was still battling happy butterflies when she asked, “What about you? Tell me something about you.”

  The air was warm, but not as hot as it had been earlier in the day. The graveled path was wide and easy to stroll along. Wildflowers and trees lined both sides, surrounding them with the best of nature’s scents. If she didn’t think about what they were actually going to do, things would seem quite normal.

  “Not much to tell. Born and raised here. Not at the bed-and-breakfast. We lived north about twenty minutes, basically on the border of Britton Bay and Astoria. When my dad died, about five years ago, he left some money and my mom insisted I take part of it. I went to college. Majored in business. But I hadn’t found my thing yet. I loved tinkering with cars. Something my dad taught me, but I’d never considered doing it full-time. Worked at a few garages and enjoyed it. Starting my own, at twenty-four, seemed pretty cool so I gave it a shot.”

  “I’m sorry about your dad,” Molly said.

  The sky had grayed overhead, the outlines of stars beginning to pop. Sam’s eyes were darker in the moonlight. “Thanks. It’s still hard. But I think of the garage as a way of honoring him. He thought I could do anything.”

  Molly smiled. “I doubt he was wrong.”

  They walked quietly for a few moments, Sam leading them through a trail and past a small stream. Tigger would have loved the walk, but probably would have made their task harder. She’d have to see how he did when he joined her on one of her own walks—if his owner didn’t claim him first.

  “What else? Tell me something else,” she said.

  “Okay…I’m twenty-nine. An Aquarius, if you’re into that sort of thing. I like fishing, but hate hunting. If you tell anyone that, I’ll deny it. We have some pretty avid hunters around here, but it’s just not my thing. I hate cooking and mooch off my mom way more than I should. I live about four minutes from my shop in an apartment. I’ve been outside of Britton Bay to travel, but never wanted to plant roots anywhere but here. Oh, and I love double-stuffed Oreos.”

  Molly’s laugh seemed to echo around them. “A very redeeming quality. I too am a fan.”

  “You have to worry about anyone who isn’t, right?”

  She agreed and this time, when the fluttery warmth of being close to him overtook her senses, she let herself enjoy the sensation instead of trying to fight it.

  He pointed to a trail that led down a little hill. Molly saw the houses in Vernon’s neighborhood from where they stood and spotted his house without any trouble. Her stomach churned, the tension inching its way back through her body while memories slapped at her. The smell of scotch. The sight of his body. Fun time was over.

  “You ready?” Sam asked. He moved closer to her, as if he could sense her discomfort.

  “No. You sure you’re okay with this?” Guilt tugged at her.

  He shrugged. “You have a good reason to want the stuff. It’ll cut through the red tape asking for it would inevitably bring. Hopefully, you’ll find what you’re looking for and then you can give it back to Mrs. Phillips.”

  “Yes. Unless the cops decide they want it.”

  “You could worry about that if and when it happens.”

  “Good point,” she said. She took a deep breath.

  “One thing,” Sam said.

  Molly looked up at him and held her next breath. They were standing so close she could see the trace of stubble on his wide, strong jaw.

  “I get to pick the activity next time we hang out.”

  She exhaled around a laugh. “Deal.”

  There was no one else around when they made it to the street. Unlike the houses closer to the water, these houses were fairly nondescript. Plain boxes with triangle tops, like a child’s drawing in grade school. The yards were well maintained, however, and the streetlights flickered on. Vernon’s car was still in the driveway as it had been that morning and his home was dark. What would happen to it now? Again, she was struck by the realization that everything seemed the same despite the fact that nothing was.

  Sam shifted closer to her as they neared the car. They moved to the side and peeked in the passenger side. Sure enough, a box bursting with photos and news clippings sat in the seat.

  “That’s it,” Molly whispered.

  Sam edged back, removed the pack he was carrying. “I figured. This should only take a second.”

  He pulled a long, flat metal tool out of the bag and handed her the open sack. Looking around once, he stepped closer to the car and slipped the tool into the small space between the window and the doorframe. He jimmied it around until there was an audible pop. Removing the tool, he handed it to her, opened the door, and grabbed the box. He passed that over as well, then leaned back in. He handed her a yellow Post-it note.

  “That was on the seat. Might have fallen out of the box,” he said in a low voice as he locked and shut the door.

  Molly glanced at the note. It had Vernon’s handwriting and only had one word: Macintosh. Him and his Post-its. She frowned and pressed it to the top of the box. Before working to stuff the box of photos into the bag, Sam’s hand came to her shoulder and nudged her forward.

  “Let’s wa
lk while you put that away.”

  He leaned in and held the bag so it was easier to slide everything in. Some of the photos and clippings fell to the bottom of the backpack, but they’d been shoved in the box haphazardly anyway, so she didn’t think it was a big deal. Unless they’re evidence and you’re tampering with them. When they got several hundred feet away, closer to the entrance of the trail leading them back to Sam’s truck, he stopped and his breath whooshed out.

  Molly’s heart hammered faster than Tigger’s tail. “Thank you.”

  Sam nodded. “No problem. We should go.”

  They walked back to the truck quicker than they’d walked to Vernon’s. When they were settled inside and turned around to head back to the B and B, Molly leaned back in the seat.

  “I thought that would be harder,” she said.

  Sam’s laugher made her turn her head to study his profile. “Says the woman who wasn’t jimmying open the door.”

  She bit her lip. “Right. Sorry.”

  “I’m just teasing. And actually, it would have been a lot harder if he had a newer car. So, what now?”

  She hadn’t thought past getting the stuff. “I guess I go through it and try to figure out if anything in here is a story worth killing for.”

  “Right. And if you find nothing?” Sam slowed down for a stoplight.

  “Hopefully the police will.”

  “Seems crazy to think there’s someone in this town that would actually take a life.”

  It was crazy anyone would take a life anywhere, but she imagined it felt even stranger to Sam, as he’d grown up in this quiet spot. How well do you ever really know anyone?

  “I don’t think it was planned. I don’t know if that makes it better or worse, but it didn’t seem like someone went there with the intention of killing him. He did have a habit of making people squirm.”

  Molly bit her lip, wondering if she should tell Sam about Elizabeth and Alan.

  “That’s the truth. A lot of people steered clear of him for that exact reason.”

  When Sam turned down the street that led to the carriage house, Molly leaped. She needed to start trusting her own judgment again. “I think he was blackmailing Alan and Elizabeth.”

  “What?” He whipped his head to look at her.

  “I found a printout of an email conversation between Vernon and Elizabeth today when I went back to the paper for a bit.”

  Sam let out a low whistle as he pulled his truck up beside her Jeep. He shifted into park but kept the engine on. Turning a bit in his seat, he watched her for a moment.

  “Alan loves his wife. He’s a good man. It would surprise me if he was cheating on her.”

  Molly undid her seat belt and swiveled toward Sam. She didn’t want to put tension between them by throwing around accusations about people he cared for. She hadn’t considered that, but she also felt like his thoughts on the subject carried weight. While a piece of her was relieved to share the opinion with him, she couldn’t ignore the facts.

  “I agree. But when Elizabeth wrote back, she didn’t deny it. She warned him not to say anything.”

  Sam’s frown deepened. “By warned, do you mean threatened?”

  Her pulse slowed as she nodded. “It had the feeling of a threat, but so did his. She could have just been replying in kind.”

  Sam’s hand tightened on the steering wheel. “I don’t know Elizabeth other than to see her. But Vernon had a way of making people uncomfortable, so it’s possible he could have pushed too far. I just really can’t see Alan hurting his family that way.”

  “Yeah.”

  They held each other’s gaze for a moment or two and the tone shifted, creating a different kind of tension in Molly’s body. The stars littered the sky outside and the glow of the moon splashed through the windows of his truck. Sam reached out his hand and took Molly’s. He stared down at their linked fingers for a moment.

  Through unfairly-long lashes, he glanced up at her. “Can I ask a favor?”

  Her heart tripped. “Sure.”

  “Be safe.”

  She laughed. “I can do that. Or at least try.”

  Sam squeezed her hand and then released it.

  Molly grabbed the backpack. “Thanks for tonight.”

  “I’d say anytime, but I really would rather do something different next time.”

  “Me too. I’ll see you around?” She tried to sound at least a little nonchalant.

  “Definitely.”

  She watched him drive away, then went to let Tigger out of the kennel. His level of excitement at being reunited had Molly giggling. She opened the back door for him to run out. The motion lights installed on either side of the door flashed on. Molly leaned on the doorframe, resting her head against it, her mind on Sam. Tigger brought over a small stick and dropped it at her feet.

  “Little late for fetch, bud,” Molly said, crouching to pick up the stick. He and his rapidly thumping tail disagreed, making her laugh.

  That laughter died in her throat when she looked down. Tigger growled at her, nudging the stick with his nose, but Molly’s attention had shattered. The flowers—the beautiful flowers that decorated the grounds of the bed-and-breakfast—including Molly’s area, were trampled. Not just trampled like they’d accidentally been pushed at with a lawn mower.

  Molly narrowed her gaze, pulling her phone out of her pocket to shine a light directly on the spot. Large boot prints left marks and the remains of flattened flowers. She looked to the other side, but those flowers were fine. It was only the ones beneath the window that peered into the living area that had been rumpled. Panic snapped at her, an elastic band whipping against her skin. She took a couple of photos and called Tigger in abruptly.

  Whimpering at the tone of her voice, he came in slowly, cowering. She shut the door behind them and locked it, her heart stampeding in her chest.

  “It’s okay, bud. I’m not mad at you.”

  Should she call the police? Because of some trampled flowers? She could be overreacting. Maybe it was one of Katherine’s guests wandering around and they just went too far. Over the fence? Maybe they thought it was a common area or wanted to see inside the cute cottage.

  “That makes sense,” she said to Tigger. She shut the blinds on the window next to the back door and went to the kitchen to get some cereal. With milk for her and dry for the pup.

  “That totally makes sense. They were wandering down and saw this adorable little carriage house. It’s like a cottage in the woods. They probably wondered if it was for rent, like the rooms.”

  Her heart started to maintain a normal rhythm. Her breathing evened out and Tigger’s tail sprung back to life as he chowed down on Cheerios. Feeling certain she was overreacting, Molly finished her breakfast-for-dinner. When her eyes fell on the backpack, she closed them. Not now. Tomorrow is soon enough.

  Checking her phone, she saw her mom had phoned. The backpack—everything else—could wait. Molly needed to hear her mom’s voice more than she needed answers right that minute. She just hoped she could keep her own voice from cracking as she told her about everything that had happened.

  When her tears finally did catch up with her, there was a good chance they’d drown her.

  Chapter 9

  The next morning, Alan was already in the office when Molly arrived. She brought Tigger with her, thinking maybe someone knew who he belonged to. The dog had snuggled close enough to be a second skin the night before. When Molly spoke with her parents, the pup read her voice and her tears and stayed near. She didn’t need the added responsibility of a pet, so it was silly to be wishing she could keep him. Silly never stopped you before.

  Molly hung her coat in the back and went to Alan’s office. He was standing at his desk, looking down at it. One hand rested on what she now knew was the email correspondence. The other hand was in the pants pocket of his s
uit. He looked…sad.

  The pup, no better at sitting still than Molly, whined. Alan looked up and gave her a ghost of a smile.

  “Good morning,” he greeted. “Who’s that you have there?”

  “Hi. Actually, I was hoping someone here would know. I found him yesterday by the dumpster. I put a note up in the window so maybe someone will claim him, but he doesn’t have any tags.”

  Alan came around the desk and crouched down. “Hi there. Oh, you’re friendly, aren’t you?”

  Tigger fell over himself trying to prove he was, making Alan laugh. Molly was happy to know he’d found at least one spot of joy today. He stood up and leaned on the desk.

  “Is everyone coming in?” What was the protocol for death of a colleague? Molly had never considered the idea. Other than her grandparents, who had died when she was little, she’d never lost anyone. Not that Vernon was her someone, but death was always somewhat removed in her life. Never on her doorstep.

  “Clay isn’t. I think he’s gone to see Gretta. His mother.”

  He thought? Had he spoken to the young man? The footprints from the night before flashed in her head. Not connected. Not connected. He’s not even in town.

  Alan sighed. “They’re planning a funeral for Thursday. Elizabeth will be in shortly and I told Hannah to stay home.”

  “I’m really sorry,” Molly said. The words did nothing, so why did people feel compelled to say them? Because there is nothing else to say.

  “Me too. Thank you for getting the news online last night. This is exactly why we need you. There was a time I could count on Vernon for such things. But life and…I don’t know, maybe circumstances, hardened him. You didn’t see the best side of him, but Vernon could be a good man. He was rough around the edges and could hold a grudge like no one I know, but he had his moments.”

  “I’m sure he did. A man doesn’t get married three times and father a child without having moments of…happiness and connection. The police spoke to you?”

  “They did. They asked me about you and I mentioned you and Vernon didn’t get along, but it was the same for everyone.” His eyes went to the paper again. He fidgeted with it.