Death by Pumpkin Spice

by Alex Erickson

  “I have.” Robert ran his fingers through his sweaty hair, making it stick up comically. The mask must have come off recently because he looked as if he’d just stepped out of a sauna. A trickle of sweat ran down his forehead, right between his eyes. “And I’ve been watching you.”

  “Robert,” I said in warning. If he was stalking me again, I was so going to kick his butt into next week.

  “It’s not like that.” His smile appeared genuine, but I knew from experience not to buy it. He could very well be smiling because he was thinking about how he was going to annoy me into dating him again. “You’ve been running all over the place, talking to everyone. From what I can tell, you’ve made something of a name for yourself here, solving murders.”

  “Only two,” I said, doing my best to keep my annoyed tone, though I couldn’t help but feel flattered. Were people actually talking about me? And here of all places? I would have thought I was as invisible as the help to most of these people, but I guess some of them were paying attention to something other than their own personal interests.

  “You’ve changed,” Robert said. “You are important in this town. I like that.”

  “Good for you.” I was back to being annoyed with him. He was my ex for a reason and I knew all too well where this conversation was going. “I really have some things to take care of now. Have a nice life.” I started to push past him.

  Robert grabbed my arm, just above the elbow, and held me firm. “We’re not done talking.”

  “Robert.” The warning was much stronger in my voice this time. I had a feeling he was tone-deaf when it came to women telling him they weren’t interested. He didn’t understand the concept. “Let me go.”

  Instead of releasing me, he tightened his grip and walked me backward, past the snack table, and into the hall where we were mostly out of sight.

  “We need to talk,” he said. “I don’t think we should keep going like this. We both know that it isn’t healthy to harbor so much resentment for each other. We mean far too much to each other for a little mistake to come between us.”

  I wrenched my arm out of his grip, but stayed where I was, too angry to just walk away. Even if I tried, I knew he would simply grab me again. “You meant something to me once,” I said. “But it’s over. Can’t you get it through your thick skull? I want nothing to do with you.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  My eyes widened in disbelief. Did he really not get it? I wasn’t sure how I could be any clearer. “Robert,” I said as levelly as I could manage. “You cheated on me. You did it more than once. That was more than a little mistake. I moved to get away from you.” That wasn’t quite true, but it was close enough to the truth, I let it slide.

  “You ran,” he said. “I get that. You needed time to clear your head. I gave you that time.”

  “No, you didn’t. You called me, you invaded Facebook to harass me. And now you’re here. That’s not giving someone time or space.”

  He gave me a patronizing look that made me want to hit him. Keep it cool, Krissy. No need to make a scene. I breathed in and out slowly and forced my fingers to unclench. I hadn’t even realized I’d balled them into fists until that very moment.

  “Give me another chance,” Robert said. “I could move here; you don’t need to come back home.” He looked around as if he was thinking of moving into this very house. “I like it here.”

  “And what about your date?” I asked, snidely. “Will what’s her name be happy that you’re hitting on your ex? I should go find her right now and have a little talk with her about you.”

  Robert laughed as if the thought was ridiculous. “Her name is Tiffany, and she doesn’t need to know about this.” He grinned. “I figure we could get together a few nights and if it doesn’t work out, I can go back to her. I’m sure she’ll wait for me. There are a few things I could show her.”

  “Oh. My. God.” If anything, or anyone, was about to get shown anything, it was Robert meeting my fist. “You’re disgusting.”

  “You don’t mean that.” And I could tell he really thought so. It was plastered all over his face in the form of a smug grin.

  “I do, Robert. I’m through with you.” I took a deep, steadying breath. “You’d better turn around and march your bony butt right out of here or I’m going to break something.” His nose was looking like a likely target.

  He laughed again, as if he thought I was joking. “Come on, Krissy. What do you have to lose? We had a lot of fun once.” He took a step toward me and I took a similar one back. His eyes flashed with annoyance. “Stop being like that.”

  “Robert, let me spell it out for you.” I glanced past him, but as far as I could tell, no help was on the way. I had to admit, I was getting a little scared having him so close, and us being so isolated. “You screwed up. I moved on. I don’t want to date you. I don’t even want to see you again. Go back to your latest conquest and stay out of my life!”

  He blinked at me, slowly, as if trying to process what I’d just said. For a moment, I thought he finally got it, that he would walk away and go bother someone else.

  And then he made his move.

  He moved so fast, I didn’t have time to react. He took two quick strides forward and grabbed both of my arms, jerking me toward him. As I opened my mouth to yell at him to leave me alone, he leaned forward and kissed me, tongue immediately darting into my mouth, choking off any words I might have said.

  I reacted instinctively. I didn’t think about what I was doing, or what damage I might cause. My teeth clamped shut just as my knee shot straight up with all of the force I could put behind it. It struck Robert right in the crown jewels and I swear I felt something give.

  He grunted and then made a high-pitched keening sound as my teeth released his tongue. His hands lost all strength as he staggered back and hit the wall. He slid down it with a moan.

  “I warned you,” I said, wiping my mouth. He hadn’t bled, thankfully, but I desperately wanted the taste of him off my lips. “Leave. Me. Alone.”

  “Is everything okay back here?”

  I looked up to find Will entering the hallway. The girl I’d seen Robert with earlier—Tiffany, I assumed—was right behind him.

  “It’s fine now,” I said. “Isn’t that right, Robert?”

  He whimpered as he nodded slowly, as if even the movement of his head hurt. Good. I hoped I broke something down there.

  “What happened, Robbie?” Tiffany said, hand going to her too-thin waist. When he’d said she was pretty, he hadn’t been kidding. From a distance, she’d looked good. Up close, she was a knockout. Her makeup was done in a way to make her look young—like thirteen young—but I could tell she was older. She couldn’t have been any more than five feet, and I was pretty sure that was stretching it. Her fingers, like the rest of her body, looked like tiny twigs.

  Will looked me up and down as Robert tried to choke out something. If it wasn’t for the wall, he would have been flat on the floor, more than likely in the fetal position, clutching at whatever remained of his manhood.

  Since Robert was incapable of answering for himself, I did it for him. “Robbie here thought he could try his luck with me again, while stringing you along.” I grinned at him. “It didn’t work out.”

  Tiffany gave me a look as if she couldn’t fathom his hitting on another girl while she was around. Chances were good it didn’t happen often, if ever.

  “Robbie, is that true?” she asked him, other hand finding her hip.

  He sneered at me as best as he could and shook his head. “Was all her.” I think it was all he could manage through the pain, and thanks to his swollen tongue, came out muffled.

  Tiffany looked from me, to Robert, and then huffed as she spun on her heel and walked away, leaving Robert on the floor to writhe in pain alone.

  “Looks like you’ve lost another one, champ,” I said, stepping past him. A slight pang of guilt swept through me, but I ignored it. He deserved it after everything he’d do
ne. Maybe now he’d get the point.

  Will took my arm as we left the hallway and returned to the ballroom. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked. “I thought I saw you duck into the hall, but I thought you were just talking. When you didn’t come out again right away, I started your way. I met her halfway there, heading in the same direction.” He nodded toward where Tiffany was already flirting with an older man. “Looks like she saw the same thing I did and got worried.”

  “I was okay,” I said. “Robert pushed a little too hard, so I was forced to deal with him.” And I was darn proud of it, too. I’d wanted to cut Robert down to size for a very long time now, and it felt great to finally have done it. Maybe he’d been right when he’d said I’d changed. And from the looks of it, I was thinking it was for the better.

  “I saw that, too,” Will said with a grin. “I hope I never get on your bad side. You have a lot of oomph in that knee lift of yours.”

  I grinned back. “I was motivated.” I happened to see Vicki standing alone with Mason, and nodded toward her. “Let’s go over and talk to them for a minute.” I was anxious to talk to her, especially if we could discuss anything but Robert.

  Will nodded his agreement and we headed over to where Vicki and Mason were laughing.

  “That was absolutely awful,” Mason said. “Did you see how they looked at each other?” He shuddered.

  “I bet they don’t wait until they get home,” Vicki said with a laugh. She saw us approaching. “Mason’s dad is in love. They snap at each other like they still hate one another, and glare at anyone who even thinks about coming near them, and yet, you can see how much they enjoy it. There’s a fire between them, one I hope to never, ever see again.”

  “They probably spend each and every night insulting each other,” Mason added.

  “It’s just pillow talk,” Vicki said with a grin.

  Mason faked a heave and then put his arm around Vicki before growing serious. “How are things coming along with the investigation?” he asked me. “You aren’t going to point your finger at me again, are you?”

  I could tell he was joking, so I stuck my tongue out at him before answering. “I’m not sure how much progress we’re making. The boyfriend is the obvious answer, but I don’t think he did it.”

  “What about that other man?” Vicki asked. “The one who tried to run?”

  “Same thing. He admitted to stealing from Mrs. Yarborough, but swears he had nothing to do with Jessica’s murder. I believe him, as does Paul.”

  “Officer Dalton is running himself into the ground on this,” Mason said with a nod toward the man in question. He was leaning against the doorframe, scanning the ballroom as if he could pick out the culprit by sight alone. “I hope he comes up with some answers soon. I don’t like the idea that there is a killer on the loose, especially since we are trapped in here with him.”

  “Or her,” Vicki added.

  “Or her,” Mason agreed.

  “Has the rain let up yet?” I asked, knowing the answer already. I could hear it pounding the roof of the house over the sound of all the voices.

  “No, and I don’t think it’s going to for a while,” Mason said with a glance toward where Igor stood by the doorway.

  “Beware the flood,” Vicki said, just as the front door flew open and slammed hard against the wall.

  Everyone jumped, including Igor, who just about fell over himself to help whoever had entered. It was pitch-black outside and the wind gusted into the room, bringing with it the smell of rain and mud.

  “Who could that be?” Will asked, craning his neck.

  “I don’t know.” No one in their right mind would be out in such a downpour. I stood on my tiptoes to get a better view.

  I really wish I hadn’t.

  Striding into the ballroom, looking like a dirty drowned rat, was Officer John Buchannan. He shook water off his hat, glared at the room in general, as if the rain was all our fault, and then his eyes landed on me. With a grimace, he started my way.

  Great. It looked like my already-bad night was about to get a whole lot worse.

  16

  “It’s not stopping anytime soon,” Buchannan said. His voice was muffled by a towel as he swept it over his face and hair. “We’re stuck in here until it’s done.”

  We were sitting in the makeshift interrogation room. Paul had intercepted Buchannan on his way to me and they’d headed off to talk, alone presumably. I wasn’t about to let the investigation go on without me, especially now that Buchannan was here. If I wasn’t there to defend myself, I knew he would try to find a way to pin the murder on me. He always had it in for me, and I didn’t know why. I didn’t do anything to him, yet John Buchannan thought I was the devil incarnate.

  Or, if Rita Jablonski was to be believed, he had a deep-rooted love for me. If he did, I had yet to see it.

  “Is anyone else coming?” Paul asked. He hadn’t wanted me to join them, but since I had been helping, he couldn’t bring himself to leave me out. After giving him my best puppy-dog eyes, he’d grudgingly stepped aside to let me in.

  “Not that I know.” Buchannan sighed and threw the towel onto the table, next to the skull. He grimaced at the decorations before going on. “They were still working to get my car out of the way when I decided it best that I come up here to see how I could help.”

  “We were handling it just fine,” I said.

  He snorted and paid me only the briefest of glances before turning his attention back to Paul. “Fill me in. All I know so far is that some girl got herself killed. What was her name again?”

  “Jessica Fairweather.” Paul then related everything we knew about the case to Buchannan. Admittedly, it wasn’t much, especially since none of the facts seemed to directly tie to the dead girl as far as we could tell. No one could confirm or deny whether or not she’d slept with Howard Yarborough, let alone whether she was more than an acquaintance to him, or his wife, Margaret.

  As Paul talked, I listened, hoping he’d let something slip that I hadn’t already known. I couldn’t be the only one sticking my nose where it didn’t belong, yet the longer he spoke, the more certain I became that I already knew all of the facts, at least all of the ones immediately evident.

  We had to be missing something. I couldn’t see Quentin as the killer. I suppose if Jessica had slept with Mr. Yarborough and had come looking for money, Margaret could have gotten angry enough to kill her. But I just couldn’t see the older woman strangling the much younger, much fitter, Jessica. If it was the other way around, then maybe.

  And what about my theory that her death was an accident? I didn’t have any facts that pointed to that being the case, but I didn’t have any that said otherwise, either. Could she have been in the wrong place at the wrong time? I hated the idea that she’d died for nothing, so it was best I abandon that line of thought until I was certain it could be nothing else.

  So where did that leave us? With a mystery killer? Were we both wrong about the boyfriend? As much as I wanted to pin everything on Jessica’s less-than-monogamous love life, I couldn’t make myself believe it. It was almost too obvious, like she was chosen because of her reputation, just to throw us off.

  To throw us off of what?

  I noticed then that the room had fallen silent and both John and Paul were looking at me.

  “What?” I asked.

  Before either could say anything, there was a knock at the door. Paul shared a quick look with Buchannan before getting up and crossing the room. He opened the door to find Margaret Yarborough standing with a pile of folded clothes in her arms.

  “I thought the officer might want to change out of his wet clothes,” she said with a nod to Buchannan. “I didn’t know his size, but he looks pretty close to what Howard was before he died.”

  Buchannan made a face like he didn’t like the idea of wearing a dead man’s clothes. I didn’t blame him; I wouldn’t like it, either.

  The expression vanished as he stood and smiled. “Thank y
ou,” he said, as friendly as could be. He was still dripping mud and water. It was pooling at his feet and on the chair he’d been sitting on. The towel on the table was so filthy, I thought it might be wise for Mrs. Yarborough to save her cleaning lady the trouble and throw the thing out instead of trying to wash it.

  But despite the mess he was making, Margaret gave Buchannan a smile and a wink before handing the clothes to Paul. Her gaze passed over me, and I thought I saw the smile grow a tad bit strained, before she turned and closed the door.

  Paul set the bundle onto the table, well away from where Buchannan had dripped. A pair of running shoes sat atop a pair of silk boxers. I looked away, unable to keep from snickering. Wearing a dead man’s clothing was bad enough; putting on his underwear was just the icing on the cake.

  Buchannan grimaced and nudged the pile. “I’ll be fine without,” he said. “I need a little time to dry out.”

  “Change, John.” Paul was grinning as he said it. “We can’t have you running around looking like a drowned cat. This is a prestigious party.”

  Buchannan’s grimace turned into a scowl as he set aside the underwear and shoes so he could pick up the shirt. It was a tan button-up shirt, the kind you might see someone’s grandpa wear while sitting on the porch, reflecting on the good old days.

  “It’s too big,” he said. He eyed the rest of the outfit—a pair of tan slacks, the silk boxers, white kneesocks, and the running shoes—and shook his head. “I’m not wearing this.”

  “Just wear the shirt and pants, John. Leave the rest. I don’t care if you go commando, just as long as you look more presentable than you do now.”

  I snickered, which earned me a glare from Buchannan and a brief smile from Paul, who was desperately trying to keep a straight face.

  “We’ll leave you to it.” Paul held out an arm for me.

  I took it, savoring the moment. Buchannan looked ready to spit rocks, and I was enjoying every last second of it. He’d tormented me so much in the past, I felt pretty darn good that the shoe was on the other foot now. I really wanted to rub it in, to make fun of him until his head exploded, but decided I was better than that. No need to stoop to his level.