Still Waters

by Debra Webb

  “Has the BPD turned over any of the inventory lists of things found in his home or vehicle?” Sean looked from the list of businesses to Buddy. “It would seem to me they’d find the tools of his trade. Anything he used to get into houses like Amber’s. Disguises, if he used them.”

  “Jess received a list from Lori Wells, the lead detective on the case,” Buddy said to Amber, “but there wasn’t the first tool or electronic gadget one would need for breaking into a house found.”

  Uncertainty nudged Sean. “Then he has to have a secondary go-to place. A storage unit or somewhere he keeps his gear.”

  “Or a somebody,” Buddy countered. “The more Jess and I learn about this guy, the less we feel he was capable of anything worse than stalking.”

  “If we can’t find the motive or the killer, the only way his murder makes sense—” Amber met Sean’s gaze before shifting her attention to Buddy and going on “—is if we were friends or lovers and I killed him.”

  Her words hung in the air as the waitress delivered their drinks. When she’d gone, Amber continued, “The problem is, I hardly knew him. He’s a face I barely recall. A smile of appreciation for a good tip after making a delivery.”

  “Did Detective Wells mention whether or not Adler had a cell phone and if they’d subpoenaed the records?” Sean suspected the BPD was already working on any cell phones and social media Adler used.

  “They have,” Buddy confirmed. “But it’ll take a few days with all the hoops they have to jump through.” He grinned. “I, on the other hand, have my own source. We’ll have his phone records by morning.”

  “I’m impressed, Mr. Corlew,” Amber said. “I guess Gina was right when she said B&C was the best.”

  Buddy gave her a pointed look. “First, no one calls me mister anything. It’s Buddy. And second, just make sure you remember that my methods for being the best are trade secrets.”

  Amber smiled, the confident, relaxed expression she wore whenever she was on camera. Sean was glad to see it.

  “You have my word, Buddy. I’m putting all my trust in you.” She glanced at Sean when she spoke. “The two of you,” she amended.

  Sean would not let her down. He wondered, though, if she knew the last woman he had been assigned to protect and who had trusted him had ended up dead.

  Chapter Six

  Thrasher Floral, Pearson Avenue, 3:10 p.m.

  Amber wasn’t entirely convinced about this route, but she had nothing to lose beyond a little time by taking it.

  “Stick to your story,” Sean reminded her. “Don’t allow your emotions to get involved.”

  Amber’s jaw dropped. He did not just say that to her. “Excuse me?”

  How many years had she been reporting breaking stories? She’d waited for hours in the rain and freezing cold. She had followed leads into the darkest back streets and alleys of the Magic City. She had endured the latest trends in health, fitness and fashion. She never lost her cool or came unglued. Never.

  At least not until today...

  “You’re a pro at digging into a story and finding the details,” he offered. “This isn’t just another story—this is your story. It might not be as easy to do.”

  “I’ve got this.” Not about to debate the subject, she grabbed her bag and reached for the door. She’d barely opened it and gotten out when he moved up beside her.

  “It wasn’t my intention to offend you,” he said as they crossed the sidewalk.

  “You didn’t,” she lied.

  He opened the door and a bell jingled. Inside the smell of flowers overwhelmed all else. As much as she loved receiving flowers, visiting a floral shop was one of her least favorite things to do. It always reminded her of funeral homes and the day she’d had to go with her mother to select flowers for her grandmother. Amber shuddered. She hated this smell.

  Sean leaned closer. “You okay?”

  She flashed him a frustrated smile. “I’m fine.”

  Who knew how annoying having a bodyguard could be? No wonder celebrities were always coming unhinged in public. What kind of life was this? Someone watching every move a person made? Ordering that person around for her own good?

  Then again, she decided as she reached the counter, there was little chance of feeling afraid...or lonely. Sean Douglas paused next to her and sent her a sideways smile. Her heart bumped into a faster rhythm. Why in the world did her bodyguard have to be so damned handsome?

  “Good afternoon,” the clerk announced. “How may I help you?” She looked from Amber to Sean and back. “Do you have a special occasion coming up?”

  Summoning her game smile, Amber glanced at her name tag. “Kayla, I’m Amber Roberts, and this is Sean Douglas. We’re here to speak to Mr. Thrasher.”

  Kayla made an aha face. “Sure. He’s in the back working on arrangements. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

  Amber thanked her as she disappeared through the staff-only door behind the counter. She’d researched the shop on the way here. Peter Thrasher was the owner. His mother had opened the shop forty years ago, nearly a decade before he was born. An old lifestyle interview from the Birmingham News during Thrasher’s senior year in high school quoted him as saying flowers were his life. His mother had passed away the year before last. According to the obituary, she was preceded in death by her husband and Peter was her only child. If he had ever been married, Amber had found no announcement. Kyle Adler delivered flowers for only one floral shop, and this was the one.

  The door opened once more and Peter Thrasher appeared. The six-foot-two man matched the few images she’d found in her Google search. His white button-down shirt sported the shop logo over the breast pocket. His brown hair was neatly trimmed and his brown eyes appeared overly large behind the black-rimmed glasses.

  “Ms. Roberts.” He gave her an acknowledging nod. “Welcome to my shop. How can I help you? I’ve just received a beautiful shipment of fall flowers. Gerber daisies, chrysanthemums and classic roses. I’m certain I have just what you’re looking for.”

  “Sounds lovely.” She reached into her purse and removed the photo of Kyle Adler she’d printed from her Google search last night. “I was hoping you could help me with a story I’m doing on Kyle Adler.” She showed him the photo. “He was murdered a few days ago.”

  Thrasher looked from the photo to her. “I heard about his death.” He gave a shrug, the gesture uncertain. “I also saw on the news that the police were talking to you about it.”

  “Did you know him?” Amber forged ahead despite the turmoil of abrupt emotions his words had stirred inside her. Maybe Sean had been right to warn her. This was not the same as chasing a story about someone else.

  Thrasher nodded. “Not really. Not until he started his delivery service anyway. He was a friendly guy. Easygoing, quiet. It’s a real shame, what happened to him.”

  “It really is,” Amber agreed. “I want to do all I can to ensure justice for Mr. Adler.”

  Thrasher glanced at Sean. “Were you and Kyle...involved? I mean, after what I saw on the news last night...” His words trailed off as his gaze settled on Amber once more.

  “I didn’t know him. He delivered flowers from your shop to my home a couple of times. They were lovely, by the way.” She searched Thrasher’s face. “Did he ever mention me?”

  Thrasher’s expression turned defensive. “I see. You think he was some sort of stalker or obsessed fan.”

  “I don’t think that at all,” Amber denied. “I believe whoever killed Kyle is using me to get away with murder. I’m hoping that his friends and colleagues can help me find out who killed him.”

  “Isn’t that what the police are supposed to do?” Thrasher stared at her expectantly.

  Amber couldn’t get a read on the man. Was he being indifferent or accusatory? His tone gave nothing away.


  “Sometimes,” Sean said, his tone undeniably pointed, “the police are too busy with other leads to see the real ones they need to follow. If you counted yourself a friend of Adler’s, we’re hoping you can help us find the truth.”

  “Anything you recall,” Amber cut in, “might prove helpful. Did Kyle have any close friends that we might speak to?”

  Thrasher stared at her for so long without saying a word, Amber was sure he wasn’t going to answer. “Kyle was a loner. He didn’t have any friends that I know of.”

  “How well did you know him?” Sean pressed.

  Thrasher visibly withdrew. His shoulders went back and he eased a few inches from the counter. “I really didn’t know him. He made deliveries for me. He was quiet and reliable. That’s all I know. I have work to do, so if you’ll excuse me.”

  He had already turned and reached for the door when Amber said, “You seemed disturbed by the idea that I might consider Kyle a stalker or an obsessed fan.” Thrasher hesitated but didn’t turn around. “If you didn’t know him very well, why would that bother you?”

  Thrasher turned back to face her. Whatever he felt or thought, he had wiped his face clean of any reaction. “I don’t like the idea of anyone being made to look bad when he’s not here to defend himself,” he said, his tone barely above freezing. “Have a nice day.”

  Amber mulled over his words as she and Sean exited the shop.

  “Strange guy,” Sean muttered as he opened her car door.

  She turned back to the shop before getting into the car. “A little.”

  When she was settled into the passenger seat and Sean had climbed behind the wheel, he said, “He lied about his relationship with Adler.”

  Amber had sensed that, as well. Thrasher’s defensive reaction had been his only slip. “The question is, does he simply not want to get involved or is he protecting his friend by not revealing some not-so-flattering secret?”

  “You may have missed your true calling.” Sean grinned. “Maybe you’re the one who should be a PI.”

  4:15 p.m.

  “THAT’S IT.” AMBER POINTED to the alterations shop. “Martha Sews.”

  Sean maneuvered into a parking spot. The alterations shop had a great location in one of the city’s oldest neighborhoods that had gone commercial. Martha’s shop was near Mountain Brook among a row of small houses converted to businesses whose front yards served as parking lots. Unlike the other shop owners, Martha had maintained the lovely flowering shrubs that lined the foundation of the house. With rocking chairs on the front porch, the place still looked like a home. Amber doubted the owner, who continued to live in the house as well as to operate her business, knew Kyle Adler any better than she did, but no stone could go unturned.

  Amber sighed. She still found it incredible that the facts she needed to find were to clear her name. How had this happened? Her gaze settled on the driver as he shut off the engine. How had he handled the situation when his life was turned upside down? At some point she wanted to ask him about Lacy James. There had been endless speculation about the relationship between the star and her bodyguard in the media after her death. Sean had never acknowledged or denied they were lovers. Ultimately her death had been ruled an accidental overdose. But not before Sean had been crucified by the media. Unfortunately, being targeted by the media was only the tip of the iceberg where Amber’s troubles were concerned.

  “We going in or what?”

  Amber blinked and turned away from the scrutiny of his blue eyes. “Yes.” She grabbed her bag and reached for the door. As usual he was out of the car and waiting for her as she emerged.

  He closed her door. She said, “Thank you.”

  As they moved toward the shop, rather than dwell on how Thrasher’s slightly odd behavior had rattled her, she tried to remember all she could about Sean. She’d heard about his disappearance from Hollywood. At the time, no one seemed to know where he’d gone. She had vaguely wondered if he’d returned home, but then another local story had come along and she’d forgotten all about the disgraced bodyguard and the deceased pop star. Funny how fate had a way of bringing things and people back around. Maybe she’d have the opportunity to get the real story from him. His side should be told.

  He reached for the door to Martha Sews but hesitated before he opened it. “I don’t give interviews, Amber.”

  Clearly she was wearing her every thought on her face for all to see. It was the only explanation for how everyone seemed to read her mind lately. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Part of my job is to recognize what a person is thinking before they act.”

  She would have disagreed with his conclusion, but he opened the door for her to go inside. It wasn’t as if she could refute his statement. She had been wondering about an interview. She was curious about the man charged with her safety. His credentials should be of concern. Except he worked for Jess Burnett, and that said it all.

  Annoyed now, as much with herself as with him, she struggled to pull off a smile for the lady who emerged from the back of the shop to greet them. “Martha, how are you?”

  “I’m just fine, Amber. How are you this lovely afternoon?” The older lady frowned. “Were you scheduled to pick up your dress today and I forgot?”

  Amber had almost forgotten the dress herself. “No. I think that’s Friday.” How had she let the dress slip her mind? She had a huge fund-raising event on Friday night. Assuming she wasn’t in jail.

  Martha nodded as she glanced at Sean. “It’s always nice to see one of my favorite customers. What can I do for you and your friend today?”

  “Actually...” Amber stalled. She surveyed the retail side of the shop. Martha sold all sorts of vintage items as well as one-of-a-kind scarves and handmade jewelry. If Amber recalled correctly, most of the items were on consignment. The extra income tided her over when the alternations were slow. Amber doubted that happened very often anymore. “My friend—” she wrapped her arm around Sean’s “—needs a vintage bow tie for a fund-raiser we’re attending.”

  “I see.” Martha beamed. “Does your friend have a name?”

  Amber put her hand to her chest, feigning embarrassment but also because her heart was suddenly and foolishly pounding after touching him. “Of course. Martha Guynes, meet Sean Douglas.”

  Sean extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Guynes.”

  Martha blushed. “Call me Martha. Everyone does.”

  “Martha,” he said with such charm that even Amber melted a little more.

  “Let me show you what I have, Sean.” Martha directed them to the far left side of the small shop, where ties and handkerchiefs stocked a vintage display case. She moved behind the case and slid open a door. “Do you see one you like?”

  While Sean perused the bow ties, Amber said, “I was telling him you’d been in business more than a quarter of a century. Everyone who’s anyone brings their alternation needs to you.”

  Martha gave a nod. “It seems like only yesterday that I was praying for some sort of answer from the good Lord. My husband had come home from a mission in the Middle East with undiagnosed PTSD. He drank all the time and was either deeply depressed and couldn’t get out of bed or was on a rampage breaking things around the house.” She sighed. “It was a hard time for me and our son.”

  Amber reached across the counter and touched her hand. “So many husbands and fathers returned with wounds no one but the immediate family could see.”

  Martha drew in a deep breath. “I was worried sick about just surviving. Since his troubles were undiagnosed, there was no money coming in. I had to find a way to make ends meet. I remembered back to the days before his illness when I would have coffee and play cards with the ladies from church. It never failed that when the holidays came around and folks needed costumes or clothes altered, Ruby Jean would say, ‘Don’t fre
t, girls. Martha sews.’ I suddenly realized my old friend was right, and I opened this shop in my own living room. Here we are better than twenty-five years later.”

  “What an inspiring story,” Amber said.

  Martha shrugged. “We do what we have to do.”

  “I’ll take that one,” Douglas said, selecting a classic black bow tie that required hand tying.

  “One of my favorites,” Martha said. “It takes a man who knows what he’s doing to get the bow just right.”

  “My father refused to wear a tie that came with a clip,” Sean said. “I learned the art of hand tying at an early age.”

  “A sign of character and breeding,” Martha said with a smile.

  While Sean paid for his tie, Amber considered all the framed photos hanging around the room. Customers, including Amber, modeling Martha’s work. Everyone she knew used Martha for her alterations. The lady was a household name.

  “I was sorry to hear you’re having some trouble,” Martha said to Amber as she passed Sean a paper bag emblazoned with her sewing machine logo. “I swear, some reporters will make up anything for headlines. Anybody with one eye and half sense would know you wouldn’t hurt a fly.” She shook her head. “A disgrace, that’s what it is.”

  Amber drummed up what she hoped was a passable smile. “Thank you. I’m sure the police will get to the bottom of what really happened.”

  Martha came around the counter and patted Amber on the arm. “You’ll be in my prayers, hon.”

  “I appreciate that.” Amber showed Martha the photo of Adler. “I know he made deliveries for you. Did you know him well?”

  Martha considered the question before answering. “He was reliable. Pleasant. He went out of his way to be helpful.” She shrugged. “I can’t imagine who would want to hurt him. He was such a shy fellow.”

  “Did he have a girlfriend?” He may have been a very nice man, but her panties and her grandmother’s teacups had wound up in his house somehow. Amber kept that part to herself.