by Jody Holford
“You were at Alan Benedict’s house? For dinner?”
“Yes.”
She fidgeted with the label on the bottle of water she’d grabbed for herself.
“How’d that go?”
Molly looked up. “Go? It was fine. It was really nice, actually. We had roast chicken and potatoes. What does this have to do with my Jeep?”
“Who knew you’d be there tonight?” Chris asked, ignoring her question and her tone.
Molly glanced at Sam and he gave her an intimate smile. She thought back to their conversation only a few hours ago and her cheeks warmed at the memory.
“Sam. Katherine. Elizabeth. Alan and his wife. Though I’m guessing if they wanted to, anyone in town could have found out. Seems to be the way things work here. Everyone knows everything, except who committed a murder or painted my Jeep.”
Molly groaned and covered her face with her hands. Sam’s hand came to her back, rubbing gently. Huffing out a breath, she looked up at Chris.
“I’m sorry. That wasn’t a nice thing to say.”
Chris smiled and gave Sam a look. “No problem. You’ve blocked every punch so far. Just keep your chin up and we’ll figure this out. I’m thinking we can rule out Sam and his mom. Probably the others too. Unless they weren’t with you the whole time? Did any of them have a chance to sneak off alone and do something like that?”
Molly frowned. She and Vicky had walked for a while. But…no. Why would Alan or Elizabeth do such a thing? Her head swam with questions and Molly felt like she was drowning.
“Why would they do that?”
Chris shrugged. “Why would anyone? Have you made anyone mad?”
Molly thought through the events of her day and stiffened. Sam clearly noticed.
“What?” he asked.
She looked at him and gave a weak, one-sided smile. “I, um…well. I know Cora—not sure of her last name—is not a fan of mine, since I apparently stole Sam from her granddaughter, Shannon.”
Sam snorted with laughter and after a second, Chris joined in. “Cora Lester. She’s been trying to marry Shannon off to Sam since high school.”
“So I hear,” Molly grumbled.
Sam laughed and his hand moved again, rubbing slow circles on her back.
“Probably not Cora, though I’ll ask her whereabouts. Anyone else?”
“Uh…Bella might not be all that happy with me,” Molly admitted.
Sam’s hand stilled again. She heard him sigh, but kept her gaze on Chris.
“Why’s that?”
“I may have gotten a little nosy about her…um…relationship with Callan?”
Chris closed his eyes and rubbed his hand across his face. When he looked at her again, there was a warning in his eyes.
“Didn’t I tell you to let me do my job?”
She was almost sure she heard Sam mutter “Good luck with that.”
“Yes. But that was after I’d already asked her,” Molly said, knowing she sounded defensive.
Heat traveled up her spine—a strange combination of embarrassment and the feel of Sam’s hand on her back.
“I’ll ask around. I’ll question Cora and Bella, though I don’t think it was them. We’ll connect the dots, Molly. You just need to give us a chance.”
Despite wanting to, she didn’t censor her next question. “Is Clay back in town? He could have been the one in my backyard. It could have been him tonight. Unless he’s not in town. But he was the one who told you about the emails, right? He gave you Vernon’s computer?”
Which she absolutely should not ask for at this moment. Officer Beatty stared at her, like he was trying to decide how to proceed. “We’re still following up on all of those things. Please trust us.”
It’d be easier if he’d give her something to hang onto. She wanted to believe they’d solve things. But she needed them to do it before it was too late. Before someone vandalized more than her Jeep.
* * * *
When Chris left, Molly found it hard to meet Sam’s eyes. Would he think she didn’t trust him? You didn’t trust him enough to let it go. She regretted asking Bella about Callan and not just because of Sam, but because she’d hated the way the friendly baker had shut down. She should be trying to make friends, not push people away.
“You doing okay?” Sam asked from where he still sat on the couch. Tigger had nestled into his side. Sam stroked him with one hand, earning the dog’s everlasting affection.
“Other than making people mad at every turn, pretty good.”
Sam’s laugh was quiet. “Not everyone.”
When he pushed to his feet, Tigger lifted his head and whimpered in protest. Sam smiled, but walked over to where Molly stood, leaning against the counter. Sam stopped in front of her.
“Sorry I didn’t take your word for it with Callan and Bella.”
“It’s okay. You haven’t been given a whole lot of reason to trust people in this town so far.”
It was true, but certainly not of him or his mother. “I trust you,” she said. It was true. She did. Regardless of the mistakes she’d made, they’d led her here. Even with everything that had happened—was still happening—she liked where she was; in general and right this moment.
“Do you?” Sam asked.
Staring at his chest, she nodded slowly. “I do.”
She heard the smile in his voice. “Might be more convincing if you were to look at me.”
She was afraid if she did, he’d see how very much she wanted to lean on him. To have him just wrap his arms around her again like he had earlier. She was tired, mad, and just on the edge of tears. It would be far too easy to get lost in him.
“Molly?”
“Hmm?” She put a hand on his chest, let her finger trace along the patterned line of his T-shirt.
His hand closed over hers. His other hand nudged her chin up and her gaze met his. She was close enough to see she wasn’t the only one feeling something.
“I trust you,” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.
Sam’s green eyes crinkled at the sides when he smiled. “I’m glad.”
It was hard to say who moved first, but they met somewhere in the middle, his mouth brushing over hers with a sweet softness that stole her breath. His hand tightened around hers and the other went to her waist. She let her free hand wander up, over his chest, to his shoulders and around his neck. When he changed the angle of the kiss, pressing her back against the countertop, she figured she didn’t really need to breathe all that badly. Not if it meant he’d keep kissing her.
But slowly, in tiny, measurable degrees, he pulled back until they were still in each other’s space, but his lips were no longer touching hers. His nose brushed against hers, his breathing uneven. Her heart galloped in her chest. She closed her eyes and gave herself the extra moment to breathe him in. To appreciate the moment and tuck it away.
“Bring your Jeep into the shop tomorrow. I’ll take care of it,” he said.
She opened her eyes and smiled up into his. He kissed the tip of her nose and then backed up, out of her space, putting his hands in his pockets.
“Thank you for being here tonight,” she said. She hadn’t shown much appreciation for it earlier.
He nodded. “I should go. I’ll see you tomorrow. Stay out of trouble until then?”
She laughed. Tigger came running, as though worried he was missing out on the fun. Sam crouched down to pet him. “See that she does, okay, pal?”
“Very funny,” she said as she walked him to the door.
Sam looked down at her again and reached out, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “Sort of. But I also mean it. Watch yourself, okay?”
When she bit her bottom lip and nodded agreement, he leaned forward and kissed her again, just brushing his lips over hers. She watched him walk to his truck, t
hen locked the door behind her. Leaning against it, she smiled when Tigger flopped down over her feet.
Officer Beatty was right when he’d said she’d taken a few hits. But she wasn’t going to let them knock her down. She’d focus on the good and hopefully, they’d figure out who was behind the murder and the damage to her truck. The memory of Sam’s lips on hers warmed her from inside out. Maybe it was time to focus on something other than solving this puzzle. Sam had certainly given her more pleasant thoughts to dwell on. Maybe if she did that, she really would be able to keep herself out of trouble.
Chapter 19
Thursday marked its presence with rain. The first Molly had experienced since arriving in Britton Bay. The cloudy sky and cool drizzle seemed apt, given the circumstances. With the Bulletin being closed for the day due to Vernon’s funeral, Molly managed to sleep in later than usual. When Tigger had decided enough was enough, he’d barked until she let him outside. Once he came back in, there was no going back to bed. She felt unusually sluggish. Gloomy, like the day.
Once she’d downed a cup of coffee, she puttered around in the carriage house, did some laundry and a bit of cleaning, remembering she didn’t enjoy either task. She thought of wandering the grounds with Tigger, just to get outside, but didn’t relish the idea of coming back in and being stuck with the smell of wet dog.
Instead, she phoned Vanessa Phillips again, leaving yet another message. She couldn’t get the inconsistency of what Chris had told her compared to what Clara had said out of her mind. What had Vernon really seen when he’d interviewed her? Had she been of sound mind? Vernon and Clay had both thought she’d had a few drinks. She really wished she could get her hands on his computer so that she could see the interview. Tapping her fingers restlessly on the counter, she wondered what Officer Beatty would say if she called and asked about it.
The funeral wasn’t until two. She could swing by the station, pick up the computer if Chris agreed. But he wouldn’t. Molly knew that without even asking. Personal effects would go to relatives. Not nosy editors. Relatives. Clay had been at the interview, but she hadn’t had the chance to ask him anything about it. She hadn’t seen him—for certain— since the day he found out about his father’s death.
“You cannot go ask him about the interview, today of all days,” she told herself.
But why not? If she was asking as a way of getting the information to honor his father in the coming week’s newspaper, would it be so wrong? Besides, she could go by and offer condolences. Maybe even ask him if he’d come by to see her the other night. And accidentally smashed all your flowers while he was peering in your window? Grabbing her notebook, she opened it up. She’d forgotten to keep track of dates. If anyone found the notebook, they’d consider the notes the ramblings of a madwoman.
Which, at the moment, didn’t feel far off. She was going a little stir-crazy, the need to move or do something making her blood rush.
Tigger whined and she looked down at him. He was sitting beside her stool, staring up at her. “I know, bud. It’s no fun when it rains. We’ll go out later, though, okay?”
He turned his head at the tone of her voice, making her laugh. “Do you think Officer Beatty or Sheriff Saron ever followed up with Clay about the pen cap?” Molly asked the dog.
As if he were tired of her fixation, Tigger padded off, circling a few times before curling into himself under the coffee table to snooze.
“Right. None of my business. Because I’m staying out of it. But, I can do my job. Which means I need to know about the interview.”
Telling herself she had good intentions, Molly dressed for the funeral in case she didn’t have time to return home. She swung by Morning Muffins to pick up a treat to bring to Clay—an offering of sorts. Disappointed that Bella wasn’t at the counter, she was in and out quickly.
Driving the rental car Sam had arranged for her while he had her Jeep painted felt different. She didn’t like the ride nearly as much, but was grateful she’d have her own vehicle back soon enough. Thanks to a sweet mechanic who’d given her one more enticingly sweet kiss yesterday when she’d dropped the Jeep off.
Clay lived further from Main Street than his father, in a more run-down area than she expected to find in Britton Bay. The homes along Clay’s street may have held charm at some point, but it had faded long ago. At the end of the bedraggled lane, Molly found Clay’s home. It matched the others, but had the added eyesore of a poorly tended, overgrown lawn.
Alongside his older vehicle, was one similar, darker in color and also poorly maintained. Armed with a box of muffins, she noted the large rust marks along the car’s passenger side. She was about to turn toward the house, to walk along the broken concrete path that led to the door, when the dashboard of the car caught her eye.
Or more specifically, the items cluttering the dashboard stopped her short. From the driver’s side to the passenger side, the entire windshield showed a line of little teddy bears. All different colors, but all approximately the same size. Molly had a fleeting thought that it’d be difficult to warm the car with all of them in the way, before realizing why they’d stopped her in her tracks. Her pulse raced even as her breath halted.
One of the little bears had fallen to his side. Molly stepped closer. If there’d been another bear in the spot beside the tipped one, that little guy would have sat up like all the others. Molly’s stomach flipped like an overcooked pancake. Heavy and with a thud. She knew where the missing bear had gone. He’d been tossed near a dumpster behind the Bulletin, where he’d gotten the best of Tigger by coming apart at the seams.
Unable to swallow, Molly told herself to calm down. This was absolutely nothing. At all. What would you say to the police? Oh, there was this bear that Tigger was playing with and I think it belongs to whoever is parked in Clay’s driveway. There you go. Murder solved. Ridiculous. She didn’t understand how or why it was connected, but it was a piece of the whole. Whoever drove this car had been at the newspaper office. She was sure of it. To see Vernon? To see Clay? It could be nothing. A girlfriend? Then why does your stomach feel like you’ve been punched? Chris had said to trust her gut. Nope. He said he trusted his own gut.
“Molly?”
She spun around at the sound of Clay’s voice. He was walking toward her. Wearing a collared shirt and a pair of dress pants, he was as well dressed as she’d ever seen him. As he got closer, she noted the dark circles under his eyes. His hair was a mess and a mild scent of beer wafted over her, but he’d lost some of the cocky attitude she’d come to expect. Butterflies battled it out in her stomach.
Without even the hint of a sneer, he looked down at her and asked, “What are you doing here?”
Right. She had a purpose. She thrust the muffins toward him. “I… uh, wanted to see how you’re doing. I haven’t seen you since…well, since and I know today is going to be a hard day. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
The smile he gave her was so genuine that guilt immediately set in.
“Thanks, Molly. That’s really nice. I’m okay. I’ll be glad when all this sh—stuff is over. Tired of company. Tired of answering questions about how I’m doing. I’m tired of talking to insurance companies and cops. Really tired of talking to cops.”
Molly’s skin prickled. At least the cops were questioning him. She hooked her thumb over her shoulder at the car. “Who’s visiting you?”
He frowned. “My mom. She and my dad divorced when I was like three, but she’s been crying like a maniac since I told her.”
“Oh? Had she seen your father recently?”
He shrugged and looked back at the house. Molly’s eyes scanned down and it was then she noticed the red scraping on his knuckles. Like he’d hit something? Returning his vacant gaze to Molly, he replied without feeling. “Doubt it. They hated each other. Which makes it even weirder that she’s his beneficiary in his will. Dealing with that has been almost as much
of a nightmare as having her sleeping in my room while I bunk on the couch.”
Insurance. Molly felt like she might throw up. “I’m sorry. That sounds difficult.” And possibly lucrative for Vernon’s ex? But he didn’t have anything. His house wasn’t anything special, nor was his car. Didn’t mean he was broke, though.
She’d apologized more in the last couple weeks than she had in her entire life. She couldn’t make sense of the thoughts ricocheting through her brain—they were firing too fast.
“It’s not my favorite. Anyway, I should get back in. Are you coming to the funeral?”
She could only nod. He held up the pastry box. “Thanks for these. I’ll see you later.”
Watching him walk away, thoughts still bouncing, Molly went back to her car once he’d gone in. Vernon’s ex-wife had been at the Bulletin. Either Clay didn’t know his mom had seen his dad or he was lying. Again. Molly might not have a badge, but she knew, deep down in her gut, that the same teddy bear she’d found Tigger arguing with was the one missing from that dashboard.
But she had absolutely no idea what to do with that information.
* * * *
Molly barely spoke on the ride to the funeral. Sam held her hand in his as he drove his truck and hummed along to the radio. She hadn’t told him anything yet. Mostly because she really did like him and wanted to appear somewhat sane in his presence. But she couldn’t push away her thoughts. Somehow everything was connected. Why couldn’t she see how?
“You okay?” Sam asked as he parked the truck.
She looked over at him. His freshly-shaven face was so handsome it made her heart sigh. He wore a dark suit with the same ease as he did jeans or coveralls. He was a really good man. So don’t screw it up with your theories.
“I’m good. It’s just…sad.”
He nodded. “It is. This whole process is sad, but I think it does provide families some closure. So let’s hope it gives them that.”
He stared out the windshield as he spoke and Molly’s heart pinched. She was wrapped up in all of her nagging questions and had totally missed that this might be hard on Sam—being at a funeral. It was a small town and likely, his father was buried in the same place.