by Jane Hinchey
“I’ve got you.” Sliding my arm around his waist, I knew he was holding back, trying not to lean on me. “Jackson. You can lean on me. I won’t break.”
He snorted. “You have no idea how heavy I am. I’d crush you.” I eyed his six-foot-four frame.
“Yeah okay, you can lean on me a little,” I amended.
He didn’t lean on me at all, but slung an arm around my shoulders to keep me close. It was nice. If only he weren’t bleeding from a severe head wound, it would have been downright romantic.
A triage nurse glanced up when we entered and, recognizing Jackson, hurried forward.
“What’s happened, Detective?” she asked, vetoing the waiting room and guiding us straight into the treatment area.
“A run-in with a blunt object.” Jackson grinned, lifting the blood-soaked gauze to show her.
She made a tsk sound. “Let’s get that cleaned up and take a look. Did you lose consciousness at all?”
“I think so. I don’t remember.”
“He was on the floor of my store all night,” I told the nurse. “They attacked him outside and whoever did it dragged him into my store and left him in the storage room. I didn’t know he was there until he staggered out this morning.”
Seating Jackson on a gurney, she helped him lie back, then shone a light in his eyes, studying his pupils. “That’s a long time to be unconscious,” she said, then, satisfied with the results of her eye exam, she turned to look at me. “We will be awhile. He will need an x-ray, possibly a CT scan to make sure there’s no bleeding on the brain.” She turned his head and examined the wound. “Not severe. Might need a stitch or two. Head wounds bleed like crazy, making them look worse than they are.”
I looked at Jackson’s prone form. His eyes were closed against the glare of the overhead light and his skin still had an unhealthy pallor. I was reasonably sure they’d admit him, even if it was only for observation. Nodding to the nurse, I touched Jackson’s hand, leaning over so my mouth was close to his ear.
“I’m going to visit Sarah since I’m here. I’ll check back in a little while, okay?”
“About that,” he murmured, keeping his voice low, “I don’t believe Sarah attempted suicide. I think she was dosed.”
I reared back. “Dosed? How?”
“Alcohol. Beer. I’m waiting on lab results on the type of beer, but I suspect—”
“Grumpy’s Brewhaus?”
He nodded. “They pumped Sarah’s stomach when she was brought in. After interviewing her family and friends I’m confident she’s not suicidal, but someone wanted it to look that way. I suspect they added the pills to the beer.”
“I’ll see if I can find out who she was drinking with.” I softly pressed my lips to his cheek. “Stay out of trouble.”
He chuckled. “Likewise, Jones.” He gave me a wink, then closed his eyes again. The nurse hustled me out of the way to check his blood pressure and I slowly backed away, losing sight of him when another nurse arrived and whipped the curtain around the treatment bay closed.
Pulling out my phone, I headed toward the elevator. Sarah would be on a ward on the third floor. I pulled up Jenna’s number as I stepped inside.
“Morning, Harper,” she answered on the second ring.
“Morning, Jenna. Hey, quick question, if someone’s phone is stolen, is there a way to find it? Track it?”
“There’s a ‘find my phone’ app that could do it,” she replied, “But the app has to be installed in the first place, and the stolen phone would have to be turned on for it to work. Why?”
I filled her in on what had happened with Jackson and how his phone appeared to be missing.
“Well, that is the most bizarre thing I’ve ever heard.” I could picture her in my mind’s eye, leaning back in her chair and staring up at the ceiling. “So someone knocked him out, then went to the trouble of breaking into your store, dragging him not only inside but all the way to the storeroom, left him there, and locked up behind themselves.”
“And took his phone.”
“And took his phone,” she repeated. “His phone would be police issue, their IT department can easily trace it, but again, it would have to be on for that to work. And if you stole a cop's phone you’d have gotten what you want from it and then would either dump it or turn it off and leave it off.”
“It’s weird, huh?” The elevator arrived at the third floor and I stepped out, heading to the nurse’s station.
“I wonder if it’s related,” she muttered, more to herself than to me.
“Related to what?”
“I’ve been doing more digging,” she admitted, “into Blake, and why he was here.”
I snorted. “He was here to defend Gran.”
“Yes, I know, but why would a partner in a law firm come all this way to defend an open and shut case? We all knew that Gran didn’t do it and it would be relatively easy for any lawyer to represent her—it wasn’t a complex case.”
“Yeah, but he’s also friends with my dad. That’s probably why.” It was the reason I’d settled on, since initially I couldn’t work out why a lawyer of Blake’s caliber would come to small town Whitefall Cove for such a case either.
“Now that I know about the Bureau of Occult Research and Defense, and the Tennant family ties to it, it got me thinking…”
“And?”
“Well, with a little help from Remy, we discovered that Blake had other business in Whitefall Cove,” she said.
“Oh? Do you know what?”
“Only that he was investigating someone. I don’t know who yet. Remy can only help me so much. I don’t want her to get in trouble with the Bureau.”
I digested what she’d just told me. “Correct me if I’m wrong,” I began, “but you’re saying that whatever Blake was doing in Whitefall Cove, it could involve Jackson? That’s why he was attacked?”
“Not directly. Look, Harper, I’m just thinking out loud. Jackson is a detective, he records statements and case notes directly into his phone, and if Blake is doing clandestine assignments for the Bureau, then… I don’t know. It could be related, maybe it isn’t.”
Reaching the nurse's station, I put a hand over the phone and asked for Sarah’s room number. Smiling my thanks, I headed down the corridor.
“Blake wouldn’t hurt Jackson though. Would he?” I returned to the call with Jenna.
“I don’t think that’s Blake’s style. And he had plenty of opportunity to confront Jackson while he was in town, so no, I don’t think he’s behind Jackson’s attack per se.”
“But?”
“Maybe they were looking into the same thing?”
“But Jackson is looking into Emily’s murder. Blake was here weeks before that even happened.”
“You’re right. I’m grasping at straws.” She sighed.
“No, you’ve got exceptional instincts.” I froze, a thought solidifying in my brain. “You could be right. What if, as part of Jackson’s investigation, he’s stumbled upon the same person who Blake was here to investigate? And that person is uber paranoid?”
“They’re not a killer though,” Jenna pointed out. “It would have been far easier to kill Jackson, instead they dragged him into your store.”
I gasped. “To frame me?”
“Possibly.”
I’d reached the door to Sarah’s room. “I gotta go. I’m still at the hospital. I’m checking in on Sarah while I wait for them to do x-rays and stuff on Jackson.”
“Call me when you’re done, okay?”
“Will do.” Hanging up, I pushed the door open. Sarah was asleep, her mother, Kristin, was slouched in an armchair in the corner. Hearing the door open, she glanced up, then lifted her finger to her lips to shush me so as not to wake her daughter. She indicated she’d come out, so I backed up and waited in the corridor for her.
“Hi, Kristin, how you holding up?”
She looked exhausted, and I assumed she’d spent the night by her daughter’s side.
; “I’m beat.” She sighed. “Thanks for dropping by,” she continued, “but it’s a little early for visiting hours isn’t it?”
“Oh, I was here anyway.” I shrugged. “I thought I’d swing by and see how she’s doing. Gran says she’s okay?”
Kristin’s shoulders slumped and her eyes filled with tears.
“Oh hey, sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you!” Wrapping an arm around the other woman’s shoulders, I steered her away from Sarah’s room. “Let’s go grab a coffee, hmm?” I’d spied a vending machine a little further along the corridor.
Dragging a worn tissue from her jeans pocket, Kristin wiped her nose and gave me a watery smile. “Sorry,” she sniffed, “I’m an emotional wreck. I just never thought this could happen to my kid, you know? I’m a teacher, I’m trained to look for the signs and I never saw that my own kid was hurting so much she’d try to take her own life.”
“Wait, Kristin.” I peered at her in puzzlement. “Has no one told you?”
“Told me what?”
I bit my lip. Jackson had told me he didn’t think Sarah had tried to kill herself, but maybe that wasn’t common knowledge. Still, I couldn’t keep such a thing from the girl's own mother.
“Look, the police will talk to you about this, but here’s what I’ve heard. They don’t think Sarah tried to kill herself. Hasn’t Sarah talked to you? Told you what happened?”
“She doesn’t remember.” Kristin wiped at her face. “Not a thing. But how do you know?”
“Because Detective Ward told me. Just now. He’s in being treated for an injury and I said I’d pop in to see Sarah while I’m waiting. But look, I’m sure once he’s done in emergency, he’ll come and talk to you himself.”
Buying us both a coffee I handed one to Kristin, then we slowly walked back to Sarah’s room. “They think Sarah’s drink was roofied.”
Kristin paled. “But… they said she took Diazepam. That she stole it from my medicine cabinet.”
“The Diazepam was taken with alcohol. Beer. And I’d assume you’re not the only one in Whitefall Cove who takes Diazepam. Have you checked your prescription to see if any are missing?”
“Beer? Sarah doesn’t drink. She’s seventeen for Pete’s sake!” I remembered sneaking a bottle of vodka from my parent’s stash and getting drunk one night with Monica and Jenna when I was sixteen. Teenagers most certainly did drink, like it or not.
“Do you know what she was doing last night? Did she go out? Did she meet up with friends?”
Another tear slid down her cheek. “She doesn’t tell me anything anymore. It’s so hard being a single mom. I’ve tried to bring her up to be confident and independent and know that she can have anything she wants as long as she puts her mind to it. Yet now she sneaks out, lies.”
“Has she mentioned Jacob Griffin to you at all?”
“His name came up when your Gran first started the lessons for the talent competition. She was angry she hadn’t been paired with him, said she’d only joined up to be with him and that she got stuck with Ethan instead. Is this all to do with him?”
I shrugged. “It’s best you ask Sarah about that.” I wasn’t about to fill her mother in on her seduction attempts on Jacob. “Can you tell me about last night? What happened?”
“I thought she was in her room. I’d told her she wasn’t going out in the evening, not alone, not with Emily’s killer on the loose. If she wanted to go somewhere, I’d drive her and pick her up. She’d stormed off and I could hear her music playing so I figured she was sulking. Then her favorite show came on and I know she loves to watch it, so I knocked on her door to let her know. When she didn’t answer I let myself in. She wasn’t there, she’d snuck out, left her window open to get back in.”
“You didn’t go looking for her?”
“I thought about it. But then I thought I’d watch the soap myself, and then I’d go find her and ground her for sneaking out.” The tears were flowing freely now. “Next thing I know the police are at the door saying they had found her unconscious on the beach from an overdose.”
Sobs wracked through her body, shaking her frame, and I pulled her into my arms, rubbing a soothing hand up and down her back. I couldn’t imagine how awful it must be for her. Once the storm had passed, she eased out of my embrace, eyes red. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. What happened to Sarah was truly awful.”
“Do you think,” she sniffed, “do you think whoever killed Emily did this? Did they try to kill my little girl?”
“I honestly don’t know,” I admitted. But it was a totally different MO. Emily had been strangled. Someone had drugged Sarah in an attempt to make it look like suicide. The two girls knew each other, were best friends, so I had to assume the attack on Sarah was related. But who? Who could get close enough to her to drug her?
Chapter Twelve
When I returned to check on Jackson in emergency, they wouldn’t let me see him, saying he was still having tests and they’d call me. Unable to concentrate and not relishing sitting in the waiting room for hours on end, I decided to drop in on Gran and see how rehearsals were progressing.
I’d pulled up out front and had just locked my car when I saw Daniel Griffin talking to the driver of a small truck.
“Hey!” I shouted, heading toward them, “I want a word with you.”
Daniel finished signing a piece of paper on a clipboard, handed it back to the driver, and turned to face me.
“Harper. What can I do for you? I don’t have much time. Kinda busy here today. The deliveries are arriving for the fundraiser.” He nodded toward the truck. The driver had opened the rear doors and lifted down a trolley. Boxes of wine were stacked in the back.
“Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” I gestured toward the wine and he cocked a brow.
“Wine?”
“Not wine exactly. Beer. Do you know how irresponsible it is to supply minors with alcohol? Let alone illegal?”
He folded his arms across his chest and looked down his nose at me. “Not you too. I’ve already told that reporter friend of yours and I’ll tell you too. I do not supply minors with alcohol.”
I snorted. “Yeah, sure. That’s not what your nephew says.”
“Jacob?” His arms dropped, and he looked genuinely surprised.
“Do you have any other nephews?”
He dragged in a breath, then blew it out slowly before running a hand around the back of his neck, muttering beneath his breath, “That kid will be the death of me.” Straightening, he said to me, “Look, I don’t know what Jacob’s told you, but I suspect it wasn’t the truth.”
“So he’s lying?”
“Most likely. What’s this all about?”
“Jacob told me you were the one who supplied him with beer. The night Emily died, he and his mates were drinking.”
A flush of color darkened his cheeks and his eyes narrowed. “I assure you, I did no such thing.”
“Can you explain then, why you did in fact buy a six-pack of Grumpy’s Brewhaus beer from Brewed Awakening? Especially since you don’t drink beer.”
“Been doing your research, I see,” he grumbled, glancing at the delivery guy who trundled past us with three boxes of wine on his trolley.
“Avoiding the question?”
He leaned in close, so close I could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. “Not that it is any of your business…” His breath blew hot on my face and a shiver danced up my spine. I held my ground, refusing to be intimidated by him, despite him towering over me. “But I purchased that beer for a private dinner in my home. One of my guests—a potential donor to my campaign—is partial to it. As a matter of fact, I’ve got six cases in the back of this truck.” He waved a hand at the truck beside us. “Shall we check it’s all present and accounted for and I haven’t siphoned any of it off for my wayward nephew?”
“Probably unnecessary,” I demurred. His story sounded plausible. We were leading into an election, it only made sense he’d be
doing a lot of entertaining and schmoozing.
“Why would Jacob tell me you bought it for him?” I wondered out loud.
“Because he’s a teenager.” Daniel huffed, taking a step back, giving me room to breathe. “And all they think about is getting laid and making stupid decisions. Girls. Cars. Beer.” He ticked off on his fingers. “I should know, I was a teenager once.” He cocked his head. “Are you sure it was Jacob who had the beer in the first place? It could have been Ethan or Ryan, they’re as thick as thieves.”
“I found it in Jacob’s backpack.”
“Pretty damning then.” Daniel shook his head. “Look, I have an idea. We can go to my place and see if the six-pack is still there. I left it in the bar fridge. If it’s still there, well, obviously that isn’t where the beer Jacob had in his possession came from. But if it’s missing? Then I need to have a stern word with my nephew.”
Seeing my hesitation, he touched my shoulder and gave me a smile and I could see why he was in politics. He was charismatic and full of charm—when he wanted to be. “My house is one block over. Literally a two-minute walk. I’ll have you back in no time, I swear.”
I considered him for another second or two, then shrugged. “Okay then.” What did I have to lose? Nothing. If the beer was still in Daniel’s bar fridge, then Jacob was clearly lying. And if it wasn’t, then I had to decide who was telling the lie. Daniel, about his nephew stealing it, or Jacob, about his uncle supplying it.
True to his word, the walk to his house took mere minutes. Only it wasn’t a house, but an apartment, but prime location and beautifully appointed.
“Nice place,” I said, waiting while he unlocked the padlock on the front gate. I followed him down the path to the front door.
“Yep, not too shabby.” He agreed, unlocking the front door and ushering me ahead of him. The inside of his apartment was tastefully decorated in art deco style. “This is just a stopgap. I’ve got my eye on the mayor's house.”
“Ahh.” I nodded. The mayor’s house came with the job and was located in beautifully manicured gardens along the esplanade.