Murder with a Twist

by Allyson K. Abbott

  “You can’t.”

  “You do have feelings for me, right?”

  His question caught me off guard and he looked vulnerable and pensive as he stared down at me, awaiting my answer. I moved back toward him until I was close enough to again feel the heat radiating off his body.

  “Yes, I do,” I said, looking up into those dark brown eyes. “But I promise you I will never let those feelings color my interpretation of things, regardless of how our personal relationship plays out. I will never tell you what I think you want to hear to make you like me, or what I think you don’t want to hear because I hate you. I will never manufacture reactions that support your theories, or to intentionally lead you astray. If I think you’re full of crap, trust me, I will never hesitate to say so. And that starts right here, right now. If you think I’m incapable of maintaining professional objectivity during anything you ask me to do relative to a crime, simply because you’re there and I feel something for you, you have a grossly overblown opinion of your manly charms.”

  “Ouch,” Duncan said, smiling and jerking his head back as if he’d been slapped. “Point made.”

  “Good. Can we please move on then?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Although there is one more thing we need to settle.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ll cut to the chase. They say that what’s good for the goose is good for the gander. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. And turnabout is fair play.” I realized then that I was babbling because of my nervousness, so I forced myself to stop. “Sheesh. Now that I’ve exhausted my repertoire of clichés, I have to ask . . . do you have feelings for me?”

  In one swift second he closed the remaining gap between us by pulling me toward him. I was glad for his swift response because even that brief second of time felt like an eternity to me. Then his lips descended onto mine, and our bodies came into full frontal contact.

  The next few minutes triggered the most sensational, wondrous manifestations my synesthesia has ever created. Though we were forced to break it off so we could head back out to the bar, our shared moment offered a delightful preview of what was to come.

  It wasn’t until much later that I realized he had never actually answered my question.

  Chapter 18

  Duncan stayed after the bar closed, and while I did the cleanup he stayed on his phone almost constantly, talking to other detectives and officers to get updates. I knew he was eager for someone to dig up some information on this Valeria Barnes woman. But by the time we headed upstairs to my apartment, I also knew that, so far, no one had had any luck in that regard.

  Duncan slept with me, but we were both emotionally and physically drained. After a few passionate kisses, we fell asleep without taking things any further. Duncan awoke at eight, and though his movements awakened me when he got up, I was reluctant to get out of bed. It was Sunday, the one day when I get to sleep in because I don’t open the bar until five in the evening. But Duncan gently nudged me out of bed, saying that he needed to relieve Jimmy and reminding me that I’d agreed to help him out for the day.

  Over coffee he filled me in. There wasn’t any relevant news to report, despite the fact that Jimmy and several other cops had spent all night manning phones for the hotline number that was listed in the Amber Alert for Davey Cooper.

  Since Duncan seemed distracted and eager to get going, we didn’t eat any breakfast. Instead, we took cups of coffee with us and headed down to the police station. A preview of the snow I’d sensed had come during the night, but it was only a smattering of wet slushy stuff that did little for the landscape other than make everything wet, cold, slippery, and messy.

  When we arrived at the police station, we found Jimmy in a conference room with nine other police officers and detectives, all of whom were sitting around a huge table. A half-dozen hardwired phones were on the table and all but one of them were being used. The sixth one rang as we entered the room and the officer who answered it said, “Cooper hotline.”

  The officers who weren’t manning the hotline phones were using cells to make phone calls of their own. Duncan caught Jimmy’s eye and gestured toward the hallway with a sideways nod of his head. Jimmy, who was manning a hotline phone at the moment, gave him a couple of nods in return to let him know he understood. We stepped back out into the hallway to wait, and Duncan left me there to go fetch some more coffee.

  Jimmy came out before Duncan returned and he seemed surprised to see me standing there alone. “Where’s Duncan?” he asked, and I could sense his discomfort with me. It wasn’t an out and out dislike—at least I didn’t think it was—but rather something that felt almost like fear. I wasn’t sure if it stemmed from his doubts about my abilities or his belief in them. Did he think I was a big hoax, or was he afraid I’d find out something about him that he’d rather keep hidden?

  “He went to grab some more coffee,” I said.

  “That’s surprising,” Jimmy said. “I didn’t think he’d ever drink our cop house stuff again after tasting yours.”

  From the tone of his voice, I wasn’t sure if he meant this as a compliment or not, so I ignored it. “Made any progress on the Cooper case?”

  Jimmy gave me an odd look and said, “Let’s wait for Duncan.”

  Jimmy’s voice triggered the taste of oranges, but it was a fizzy taste, like orange soda. The amount of the fizz varied from one encounter to another, and at the moment it was as if the orange flavor was exploding in my mouth. I wasn’t sure what that meant but guessed it had something to do with the level of tension Jimmy felt, which was reflected in his voice. The big question for me was what was creating the tension, me or the case?

  After a minute or so of Jimmy and me standing in the hallway staring at our shoes, Duncan returned. “Anything new?” he asked.

  “Maybe. We got a possible lead from one of Belinda’s coworkers,” Jimmy said, his voice fizz lessened now. “She said Belinda had a new man in her life, someone she met at the grocery store. Apparently they bonded over a salad bar the store puts up. It’s a popular singles spot.”

  “Really?” I said. “That’s the new meeting place?”

  Jimmy shrugged. “Safer than your typical bar pickup, I imagine. People don’t tend to loosen their morals or their tastes over lettuce the way they do over booze.” I sensed there might have been a slight dig directed toward me in his comment, but I couldn’t be sure. Then, as if he’d suddenly realized what he’d said, he shot me an apologetic look. “Sorry, Mack. Your bar’s a nice enough place, but not all of them are. And it’s kind of a crapshoot when it comes to finding dates in a bar.”

  “No offense taken,” I said, though I could feel the lie in my own voice.

  “Anyway,” Jimmy went on, seeming content with my comment, “it doesn’t sound like things were very serious yet between this guy and Belinda. They only met a week ago and, according to the coworker, all they did was meet once for lunch and go to a movie together. But the movie date happened Friday night, which means this guy is a suspect. Unfortunately, all we know about him at this point is his first name: Edwin.”

  “That shouldn’t be too hard to follow up on,” Duncan said. “We find out where Belinda shopped—I’m assuming it’s a store near her house—and then we canvass the store employees and the neighborhood for anyone named Edwin. Most likely he lives in the same neighborhood or close by if he’s using that grocery store. Edwin isn’t that common of a name, assuming he doesn’t use a nickname like Ed or Eddie, so maybe someone will know him.”

  “That’s assuming Edwin is his real name,” I said. “I’ve seen both men and women give out false names to members of the opposite sex in my bar when they first meet. I imagine the same thing must happen elsewhere.”

  “Maybe, but let’s hope not,” Duncan said. “We can search the neighborhood property tax records for the name Edwin, too.”

  “If we do any neighborhood-based searches, we’ll have to include more than just the victim’s,” Jimm
y said. “We scanned her bank statements and it looks like the store she shopped at the most is one called Corner Foods. It’s in Riverwest but close enough to parts of Brewer’s Hill and Harambee that I imagine it pulls customers from those neighborhoods, too.”

  Duncan said, “Well, we were going to help with the canvassing. That’s why I brought Mack along. But maybe we should start with the store instead.”

  “If Belinda went to a movie with this guy, she had to have found a babysitter,” I said. “Maybe she used a neighbor.”

  “Good point,” Duncan said.

  Jimmy glanced at his watch. “I already have guys knocking on doors around the victim’s neighborhood to see if anyone saw or heard anything.”

  “Did they?”

  Jimmy shook his head, looking grim. “One neighbor saw Belinda out playing in the yard with Davey for a little while during the day, around lunchtime, but it got dark around five-thirty, and no one saw anything after that. You know how it is right after the clocks go back and the first winter darkness sets in. Everybody crawls into their caves for the night and they don’t come out again until morning.”

  “Do we know for sure what Belinda’s time of death was?” I asked.

  Jimmy shot me an annoyed look, as if it perturbed him that I would even ask such a question. And he didn’t answer it, Duncan did.

  “The ME said it was around seven last night.” He turned back to Jimmy. “Do you know who Belinda Cooper used as a babysitter?”

  “I don’t, but one of the other guys might. I’ll check into it and let you know.”

  With that, Duncan turned back to me. “Need some groceries for the bar?”

  “I can always use some fresh veggies,” I said with a shrug.

  “Then let’s go shopping.”

  The Corner Foods store clearly got its name from its location. It had an entrance on one street and an exit on another, spanning the corner where the two streets met. Parking was a little dicey as the lot behind the store was small, but due to the early hour, we were able to find a spot on the street not too far from the entrance.

  Though the store wasn’t huge, I was impressed with the variety of stuff it had to offer. Shoppers wouldn’t find a lot of choices when it came to brand-name products, but the produce section boasted plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables and there was a meat counter at the back of the store manned by a butcher who would provide personalized cuts of meat for the asking. It was a cozy neighborhood store, a place to get items that ranged from daily basics like milk and eggs, to more obscure and less-used items like shoe polish and hair dye. The staff was friendly and helpful and while Duncan went to talk with the cashiers, I scoped out the salad bar where Belinda had supposedly met her new man.

  The salad bar wasn’t set up yet because of the hour, so I wandered into the nearby produce section and started scouting out the fruits and vegetables. I was standing on one side of a middle-of-the-aisle display of berries when a male voice across from me said, “Hi there.” I looked up and saw a thirty-something blond man watching me from the other side of the display. He was relatively attractive, of average height, with blue eyes and a slightly chunky build. His voice tasted like a sweet red apple.

  “Hello,” I said in return, smiling.

  “Are you new here?” he asked. “A face as pretty as yours, with that red hair, it’s memorable. I come here a lot and I’m sure I haven’t seen you before.”

  “No, I’ve never been here before,” I answered with a smile. “But I have heard a good pick-up line or two in my time. Yours is a little old.”

  He flashed me a beguiling, bashful smile that revealed a deep dimple in each cheek. “Yeah, I’m not much of an expert when it comes to this dating stuff. In fact, I’m a full-fledged dork. Ten years of marriage to my college sweetheart didn’t give me much experience. And now that I’m on my own, I’m at a bit of a loss, I’m afraid.”

  “Divorced?”

  “No, she was killed last year in a car accident. Pregnant with our first child at the time.”

  “Geez, I’m so sorry.”

  “Sometimes crap happens,” he said. “It hasn’t been easy. How about you? I don’t see a ring on your hand. Are you single?”

  “I am,” I said, reaching over the berry display and extending my hand. “My name is Mack. Mack Dalton.”

  “It’s a true pleasure to meet you, Mack Dalton,” he said, taking my hand in his. He gave it a quick shake and I noticed that the flavor of his voice had turned tart. “I’m Edwin Winters.”

  I yanked my hand back so fast that I knocked one of the containers of blueberries clean off the display and onto the floor. The plastic container popped open and the berries rolled every which way. As I stepped back, I squished several of them with my foot and their smell wafted up to me, making me hear harp music. The smell of blueberries always sounds like harp music to me, but these were very juicy and ripe and, if the music was any indication, also sweet.

  “Geez,” Edwin said, looking at me as if I were a creature he’d never seen before, “what the heck was that?”

  I didn’t answer him right away, but I didn’t want to scare him off, either. So I flashed him an apologetic smile and shrugged my shoulders. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I can explain.”

  Edwin stared at me, and then made a little shrugging gesture as if to say, Then go on, explain.

  I didn’t, mainly because I wasn’t sure where to begin. Then I heard Duncan call out my name. He was standing twenty or thirty feet away, amidst a group of cashiers. “Is everything okay over there?” he asked.

  Edwin shot me a look of disgust. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend in here? Why did you lead me on like that?” His voice raised several notches in conjunction with his anger, turning the apple taste even tarter and attracting everyone’s attention.

  When Duncan heard the ruckus, he left the circle of cashiers and hurried over toward me, giving Edwin the stink-eye. “What’s going on over here?”

  I nodded my head toward the other side of the display and said, “Edwin here was just introducing himself to me.”

  “Edwin?” Duncan repeated. “Your name is Edwin?”

  “It is,” Edwin said irritably. “What of it?” He folded his arms over his chest, adopting a defensive stature. His voice now was a mix of tart apple with just a hint of rot.

  “Do you know a woman by the name of Belinda Cooper?” Duncan asked.

  “Is that what this is about?” Edwin said with an air of disbelief. “What are you, some family member of hers, like a brother or something?”

  “Or something,” Duncan said. He pulled out his badge and flashed it.

  “Oh, crap,” Edwin said. “Look, just because I lead some of these ladies along so I can have a little fun, that doesn’t make me a criminal . . . unless serial dating is a crime.” He punctuated that with an awkward little laugh, looking from Duncan to me and then back to Duncan again. When he saw that we weren’t laughing with him, his own smile disappeared and he said, “What the hell, dude.”

  “When was the last time you saw Belinda Cooper?” Duncan asked.

  “Friday night,” Edwin said. “We went to the movies together and saw the seven o’clock showing of that new chick flick that’s out. After that, I took her home. I wanted to stay over, but she wouldn’t let me. Said she couldn’t do that with her kid in the house. To be honest, I had no plans for seeing her again. She moved way too slow for me.”

  “She didn’t want to put out, eh?” Duncan said. His expression had relaxed and his voice had taken on a friendly, jovial tone.

  Edwin fell for it. “Frigid as can be,” he said with a little laugh. A second later, he looked as if he wanted to suck that laugh—and his words—back in, but he realized it was too late.

  “Is that why you killed her?” I asked him.

  He shot me a bemused look and took an involuntary step back. “What? Killed her? Belinda’s dead?”

  “Don’t you watch TV?” Duncan asked him. “It’s been a
ll over the news.”

  “I use my TV for gaming. I don’t have cable and there isn’t anything on the regular stations worth watching.” His voice was still tart and I realized it had changed to that taste when he’d told me his name. That’s when I knew he’d been lying to me, though I wasn’t sure if it was only now and when he’d given me his name, or the whole time. But I had an idea.

  “All that stuff you said about your wife and her death, none of that was true, was it?” I asked him.

  At least he had the decency to look embarrassed and ashamed of his behavior.

  “No,” he admitted, his voice still tart. “But I learned long ago that it works to get chicks. If you tell them you’re divorced, they’re always wary, worried about the ex-wife coming back into your life, or wondering why she dumped you. And if you tell them you’ve never been married, they start wondering why, figuring there must be something seriously wrong with you. But a grieving widower, that’s irresistible to women.”

  I shot him a look of disgust, though my feelings were directed at myself as much as they were at him. I’d fallen for his stupid shtick and it ticked me off.

  “So far, you’re one of the last people to see Belinda Cooper alive,” Duncan said. “I think you’re lying to us. I think you did stay with her Friday night and when she didn’t put out for you then or the next morning, you got real mad. I mean, hell, you wasted all that time and money on her, and for what?”

  “I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re implying,” Edwin said, backing up several more steps.

  “Prove it,” Duncan said. “Where were you yesterday evening between the hours of six and eight?”

  Judging from the scared expression on Edwin’s face, I guessed that he wasn’t anywhere that was going to provide him with a solid alibi. I guessed right.

  “I was home, alone, like I am most of the time,” he grumbled. “It was Saturday and I didn’t have to work, so I slept in and then kicked back to play some video games. I live alone so I didn’t even bother to get dressed.”