Murder, Malice and Mischief

by Quinn, Lucy

  “How did you find that out?”

  He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers and looping them around each other. The breath he took was massive, and he needed a few seconds to blow all the air out of his lungs. “Because I met her. Yesterday.”

  Chapter 8

  Nikki had sent me back to break the news to Austin, assuming it wouldn’t affect him. Did it change things that he’d met her? Should I go back in and ask her?

  Austin kept staring at his hands. “I don’t like being lied to, Miss Vee.”

  “Of course you don’t,” I stammered out. “No one does.”

  “I’ve assumed my mom was an only child my whole life.”

  “I’m sure she had a good reason for not talking about her sister.”

  He shook his head, almost violently. “I’ve always wanted more family. Aunt Willa doesn’t have any kids. My mom never had any more kids. My dad’s parents spend most of the year in Arizona, since I was ten. I don’t even have any cousins, y’know.”

  “Do you mind if I ask you how you met Claire?” I ventured, treading out into the deep water without any life raft. But he clearly wanted to unburden himself, and I wasn’t about to stop him.

  “She was sitting on the bench outside the bank.” He swung around in the chair and stood, walking to the other side of his bedroom. “When I went there yesterday at lunch to meet my mom and pick up her car, Claire recognized me and introduced herself.”

  “And what did you talk about?”

  “Not much. She had just talked to my mom, and she was pretty emotional. I guess they don’t get along, which isn’t that surprising since Claire was basically kicked out of the family.”

  According to her, no doubt. I wanted more than anything to go back in the kitchen and start asking Nikki questions. Get the whole story from her point of view.

  “She wanted to see me again today.” Austin was facing the closet, his hands on his hips. “I told her to come by the bakery, because I knew I’d be there with Leo.”

  I swallowed hard, pieces falling into place. That had to be how she’d come by the box of macarons. She’d bought it while I was out dropping off Henry. But that also made Austin one of the last people to have seen her alive, which was starting to unnerve me.

  This was a sticky situation, and I wasn’t quite sure how to proceed. Legally, if someone told me information about harming another person, I was supposed to go to the police, even if they were unburdening their souls. I was pretty sure Austin hadn’t harmed his aunt, especially when he was so eager for more family, but his story brought some interesting developments to light. Things Malcolm needed to know about. The fact that Claire had come to the bakery after school changed the whole timeline of the murder investigation. If that box of cookies was what tied Henry and Scarlet to the case, this put them in the clear. Those weren’t the same macarons.

  But I couldn't think about that quite yet. And I couldn’t leave either. Austin deserved to know the truth. I opened my mouth, hoping the right words would come out.

  “Do you know why Malcolm came to see your mom at the game today?”

  His shoulders tightened. He didn’t turn around right away, so I couldn’t see the look on his face, but his body language changed so fast, it was uncanny.

  “No.”

  “I think your mom may have wanted to be the one to tell you this, but…” I expelled a short breath and Austin turned around, eyes wide.

  “What?”

  “Your aunt passed away today.”

  His face tightened and all his features went dark. He worked his lips almost like he was spreading lip balm on them, but he didn’t speak.

  His reaction soothed any lingering concern that he might have been involved.

  “That’s why Malcolm came to find your mom. She’s the next of kin. He wanted someone in the family to know Claire had passed.” I decided to leave the murder part out. This wasn’t some nameless, faceless person to him anymore.

  Austin’s head began to nod, almost imperceptibly, and his eyes were watering. “I guess that’s the story of my life.” He glanced up at the poster with The Few, The Proud, The Marines emblazoned across it. “My dad died just before I was born, y’know.” His voice was dark, and he wouldn’t meet my eyes. “My grandpa died before I was old enough to really know him. And I guess my aunt died before I had a chance to know her, too.”

  I stood, reaching for him. He was a bit taller than me, but I managed to give him a comforting hug without feeling too terribly small. There was no emotion in the gesture on his part, like he was too stunned to receive the comfort. But he would need it later, when it hit him what he’d lost.

  He patted my back, like it was a football huddle, and I stepped out of the hug. I watched him carefully as he picked up his clothes, throwing them in the hamper in the corner. There was very little clutter in the room—he may have been practicing for the Naval Academy—but he seemed to be on a mission to get rid of whatever was left.

  In the hand life had dealt him, there were some dud cards. He played them with as much resilience as an eighteen-year-old kid could manage. It made me proud of him. Proud and sad.

  “How did she die?” he asked, his back to me, standing near the hamper.

  “I’m not sure I should—”

  “I’ll find out at school tomorrow if you don’t tell me,” he said, using my own argument against me. Smart kid.

  I let out a long breath. “They don’t really know how she died yet, and I haven’t heard all the details. But Malcolm did open a homicide investigation.” Austin hung his head. Part of me wanted to leave, to head straight to the police station to give Malcolm this new information, to help end the investigation, but I still needed to offer some words of comfort to Austin. Bigger than his grief, he was feeling some resentment, and he needed to get that out of his heart before it ate him alive. I put my hand on the door frame and cleared my throat.

  “You need to talk to your mother about this, Aussie.” I used the nickname that Leo had given him, trying for a little levity in the midst of all his heartbreak. “She’s pretty worried about you, and I would be willing to bet she thought she was doing what was best, not telling you about Claire.”

  “She still lied to me.”

  “True. But sometimes, you tell lies to protect people from things that might hurt them, and I think that’s a different kind of lie.”

  He chuffed out a hard laugh. “I thought you were a pastor. Isn’t do not lie in the Bible or something?”

  “Oh, I didn’t say there weren’t consequences to lying, no matter why you do it,” I said, feeling an internal sting of my own. “But here’s the thing. We all do wrong things, all the time, and we can’t stop loving people just because they’ve done something wrong.”

  As the words came out of my mouth, I had a flash of Edward. Anytime lying came up, his face surfaced in my mind. It was like a Pavlovian response, thinking of my old love.

  Love. That wasn’t the right word.

  Austin took a seat at his desk, like he’d decided to forget the whole situation and hunker down with his homework, and I turned around, heading back toward the kitchen. As I approached, I could hear the adults’ voices rising and falling like waves on a beach.

  I couldn’t hear any complete thoughts, and as much as I wanted to know what they were saying, I also didn’t want to be caught lurking or eavesdropping. I made a compromise: I slowed my steps a bit at the end of the hall, trying not to make enough noise to tip them off to my approach too soon.

  “Someone needs to find Derek,” Mike’s voice rang out a little louder. “By not telling Malcolm…”

  Derek? They’d mentioned that name once before. Nikki had said she’d told Malcolm to bring him, Derek, to the morgue. Was he one of the morgue attendants? I had only ever dealt with the funeral home in town, not the hospital morgue.

  “It’s not my job to find Derek,” Nikki hissed out. I turned the corner and could see straight into the back of the kitchen. Mike was
still sitting in the same chair, but his back was hunched and he was leaning forward. Nikki wasn’t beside him anymore, and I couldn’t see Jenna at all.

  “I’m telling you, we have to tell Malcolm he was looking for money.”

  “We’re not throwing Derek under the bus.” Jenna’s voice was resolute, and came from the far side of the kitchen, the one I couldn’t see. I kept walking, but just barely, hoping they wouldn’t realize I was there.

  “They were always looking for money. That’s nothing new.”

  Mike leaned back, sighing, and seemed to catch sight of me from the corner of his eye. His gaze shot back to something in front of him, he gave a brief nod, and Jenna came around the corner.

  “How’s Austin?” she asked, a heavy drop of sadness in her voice.

  “He seems to be taking it well,” I said, walking all the way into the bright kitchen. Nikki was in the corner by the lazy Susan, caught between the two countertops like someone had fenced her in. She looked haggard, and part of me wanted to tell the Van Andels to leave so Nikki could get some rest.

  I’d been through murder investigations before, when I was working in Raleigh. Working with at-risk populations often put me in contact with the police, and being a pastor, I was often grandfathered in by the families. They trusted me—often, more than they trusted the police. These investigations were long, exhausting ordeals, and they weren’t easy on the victims’ families.

  “Thank you for doing that,” Nikki said with a tired smile. “I just couldn’t handle the questions right now. Not with all this.”

  “He’s a good kid,” I said. “I think he’ll be fine.”

  The room went quiet, like everyone present was collectively mourning for all the things that had happened to Austin. I hoped that the promise of Annapolis would help. Maybe he could meet a nice girl, get married, and have ten kids. Finally get the big family he wanted. There was always hope.

  I said my goodbyes to Nikki and the Van Andels, trying not to overstep by telling Nikki how to handle her grief. It wasn’t easy to cut siblings out of your life, and whatever had made her disown Claire must have been a pretty big deal. If there had been some wrongdoing on Claire’s part, and she’d died before Nikki could hear the apology she’d always wanted, that opportunity was gone now. That would need as much grieving as the loss of life.

  I drove The Tank right over to the police station, passing dark businesses and a couple of lively bars on my way. The Madison Steak House was still open, but it wouldn’t be for long. Not on a Tuesday night. Soon, only the bars would be open. And the jail.

  The sheriff’s Bronco was still parked along one side of the building. The station was attached to the county courthouse—a big, white building in the middle of town, surrounded by green on all sides. It had a very official feel to it.

  Armed with news that would surely exonerate Henry, I pushed my way through the glass doors and into the little waiting room. Irma looked up from her desk, eyes tired, and buzzed me inside.

  “Reverend Vale,” she said, stifling half a yawn. Only the Lutherans called me Reverend, which was a dead giveaway. A Catholic had called me Father Vale once on accident. I’ve learned to take these things in stride. No one quite knows what to do with a female preacher in Montana.

  “Is Malcolm still here? I saw his car.”

  “He is. He’s back with your British man,” she sighed, flipping her gaze up toward the ceiling. “I’ve seen a lot of things in my day, honey, but that man is positively beautiful to look at. I just can’t believe he did this.”

  “I don’t think he did.” I pointed to the back of the big, open office, indicating the hallway Malcolm had taken Henry down. “Can you buzz him for me? Or go get him?”

  “Oh, the sheriff doesn’t like to be bothered when he’s in interrogation.”

  “Not even with some new information?”

  Irma’s eyes bugged out, and her mouth formed a small O. She sat there like that for what felt like a full minute, just staring at me. Finally, she said, “I’m sorry, honey, I don’t know what to do. We’ve never had anyone walk in with information in the middle of an interrogation before. Usually, they just tell Malcolm what he needs to know during questioning.”

  I could imagine. If Malcolm Dean chained me to a table and fired questions at me, I’d probably confess to killing JFK—even though it happened more than twenty years before I was born.

  “Is there a way to get in touch with him in there?”

  She picked up the phone gingerly, like it might bite her. “He really doesn’t like to be disturbed.”

  “Trust me, he’s going to want to know this.”

  With a hesitant sigh, Irma pressed a couple of buttons. Malcolm answered, and I could practically hear his shout reverberating from the back of the office.

  He really didn’t like to be disturbed.

  After Irma explained the situation, the sheriff came bursting out of the door. He barreled toward me, coming through the aisle like a bull seeing red.

  “What could you possibly have to say that couldn’t wait, Evangeline?”

  I was momentarily speechless. I couldn’t quite form the words with him heaving angry breaths and hulking over me. Even pastors get intimidated.

  But I cleared my throat and met his blazing eyes. “She got the cookie box herself. She came to the bakery after I left this afternoon.” A long sigh followed the words, and I couldn’t believe I’d gotten them all out in one breath. I was still a little thrown off by the memory of Malcolm charging toward me from the back of the station.

  We had definitely elected the right Sheriff. He was a terror.

  “What?” he said, narrowing his gaze on me. “What are you talking about?”

  “You came to the bakery earlier, asking me about whether we’d served her or not. It turns out she was there this afternoon, so it couldn’t have been Henry’s box you found at the crime scene.”

  Malcolm shook his head. “You’re not talking sense, Evangeline. Just. Stop.”

  “No, I talked to Austin Krantz, and he said his aunt came to the bakery this afternoon while I was gone.”

  “That’s not possible.” Malcolm put his hands on his hips. “She was already dead this afternoon.”

  The words hit me like a fist. I moved my lips wordlessly, thinking back over my conversation with Austin. He’d said that his aunt had come to the bakery, hadn’t he?

  “Plus, Scarlet was already in the system, and we found her fingerprints all over the box that was on Claire’s body. I have no doubt your boyfriend’s prints will be on there as well. As soon as we process him, we’ll know.”

  I stared up at him, trying to come up with some witty retort. Henry wasn’t my boyfriend…but that hardly seemed the thing to argue at the moment. Austin had definitely said he planned to meet his aunt at my bakery.

  The way he talked, I thought she’d been there when I was out. Was he lying to me?

  Behind me, there was a knock on the glass door, and a buzz sounded in my ears. I turned to get out of the way and backed up to the chairs in front of Irma’s tall, Formica-topped intake desk.

  “Can I help you?” the old receptionist said in a voice that told me she was tired and wanted to go home for the day. I didn’t blame her. I would do just about anything to curl up in my bed and forget this day had ever happened.

  “Yes, I got a call from the sheriff’s office. I was told to come down here.” The man’s voice was rough and edgy, and he looked like a biker. Leather coat, worn jeans, thick-soled boots, and tangled blond hair that hung across his face like a curtain. “I’m Derek Hobson,” he said, moving the hair back behind his shoulders. “I think you have my wife.”

  Chapter 9

  Malcolm led Claire’s husband into the back of the office, giving me a dark look that I’d seen before—mostly when he was trying to get me off his property. It said, Go home, Evangeline, and I was prepared to ignore it.

  I needed to talk to Henry.

  On the back corner of Ir
ma’s desk, I spotted the white Matchbakery box, unhinged and half-open. With a casual nod, I said, “How were the cookies, Irma?”

  “Oh, honey, they were just a delight.” She swiveled her desk chair to pick up the box and set it on the higher counter in front of me. “I didn’t care much for the green one—it tasted like dirt to me—but the rest were just a treat.”

  “If I promise to bring another box tomorrow, do you think I could have just a quick word with Henry, while Malcolm is in with Mr. Hobson?”

  Her little eyes rounded, and she looked from one hallway to the other, her mouth forming a little o. I could tell she wasn’t convinced, so I tried another tactic.

  “Henry is innocent, Irma, I know he is. I think Malcolm is barking up the wrong tree. I want to ask him a question, but I can’t do that unless I can get five minutes—just five, I promise—with Henry.”

  The gray-haired receptionist glanced back at the door through which Malcolm had disappeared. It was big and framed in dark wood, and his name was spelled across the front in gold letters. The frosted door was angled just right that he wouldn’t be able to see us if we went around the sides of the desks and back toward the interrogation rooms.

  “Well, I’m going to run to the restroom, and if you happen to make your way back there, he’s in room two.” She laid a finger on the side of her generous nose and winked at me, setting her keys on the desk with one sticking out, cleared away from the rest.

  I took the keyring and slipped around the sides of the deputies’ desks, hurrying toward the little hallway that led back to the interrogation rooms and, presumably, the holding cells. I hadn’t been back in this area before, but Irma’s directions had been pretty straight forward. There was a line of three rooms, so I picked the middle one and used the key. It worked.

  Henry sat at a small gray table, his head bowed over, his hands sunk into his fair hair. He glanced up when he heard the door close, and his eyes were red-rimmed and tired.