Murder, Malice and Mischief

by Quinn, Lucy

  “Vic,” he said, his tone laced with wonder. “How did you get in here?”

  “I only have a few minutes.” I slid into the chair that Malcolm had no-doubt occupied moments before, grabbing Henry’s hands and squeezing them in a comforting gesture.

  “Have you seen Scarlet?”

  The question caught me off-guard, and I shook my head. “Um…no, I’ve just come from Nikki’s house. Do you know Nikki? Claire’s sister?”

  “Not really, no, but I knew her late husband. He played football for Saint Agnes back in the day, before the co-op.” His accent had faded to an almost unnoticeable level. I wondered if his commitment to method acting had extended into the interrogation room. Malcolm would almost certainly have judged him if he’d asked answered his questions with a phony accent.

  “You knew Claire.” It was a statement, not a question. There was no other interpretation of the way he’d reacted to the news of her death.

  His eyes went dark. “This town is small, Vic.”

  “Listen,” I said, squeezing his hands again. “I know you didn’t do this, but Scarlet told Malcolm something that made him suspect you. Do you know what that something was?”

  “Probably that we were at the crime scene.” He glanced up at the ceiling, revealing the undersides of some very bloodshot eyes. “We stopped at the gas station…”

  “Was that where you threw away the box?”

  “That must have been Scarlet. I can’t even remember for sure. If you’d asked me an hour ago, I would have said the box was still in my car. Come to think of it, I don’t know it’s not still in my car.”

  I shook my head. “He said he found Scarlet’s fingerprints on the box at the crime scene. They’ll take yours, as well, so if it is yours, they’re gonna find your prints.”

  “But if it is my box, then of course my prints will be on it. That doesn’t matter.” He pulled his hands out of mine and ran them through his hair again. “It’s not like she was killed by the box.”

  “No.” I pulled my lips to one side. “She couldn’t have been. I’ve seen pictures of the crime scene. It looked like she was stabbed with a pretty awful knife. The wounds were jagged.”

  The clock ticked overhead and I turned to see the time. There wasn’t much left. I wanted to keep my promise to Irma, and I also absolutely did not want Malcolm to find me here. If he did, I’d probably find myself in an interrogation room of my own.

  I pulled my phone out of my pocket and opened the voice recorder I used to take notes for sermons. “Okay, I don’t have any paper, so I’m going to record this. I believe that you’re innocent, Henry, but I don’t think Malcolm does. If I’m going to help you, you’re gonna have to promise to tell the truth.”

  He glanced down at the phone, then met my eyes with a twinge of sadness. “I’m only married on paper, Vic. That’s why I didn’t tell you. My wife and I have been separated for more than a year.”

  “You’re still married.” The clipped edge of my voice surprised me. “But regardless, I feel responsible for you being in this mess, since I’m the one who sent the two of you to Rolo—”

  “Vangie,” he cut in, sliding one of his hands over mine. “This is not your fault.”

  While a part of me warmed at his concern, another part was very aware of the ticking clock. I needed to get out of that room. I pressed the record button and pushed the phone toward him.

  “Walk me through what happened at the gas station.”

  He let out a long breath. “I sort of remembered the place when we circled back to it. I knew I’d been there before.” There was a far-off look in his eyes, and his voice took on a strange, far-away quality. “I only realized why later. When I went to school in Bedford, we used to stop there on our way to games in Saint Agnes. We’d get these licorice ropes that were longer that I was tall, and Cokes and sunflower seeds. We’d spit them out the windows of the bus when our coach wasn’t looking.”

  Henry shook his head. “Scarlet pulled over at the station and I…I got out to ask directions. At the time, I only knew we were somewhere I recognized. I hadn’t been to Rolo since…since high school. So it was…” He paused and gave a tight chuckle. “Not quite a trip down memory lane, but something like that.”

  “Did you leave Scarlet alone in the car?”

  He leaned back in his chair and his eyes refocused over my head again. “Yes, while I went inside to ask for directions. When I realized where I was, I thought about buying a licorice whip for old times’ sake”

  “How long did that take you?”

  “Like I said, maybe a minute or two. Not long.”

  “Did you end up buying the licorice whip?” I asked, hopeful that there would be a transaction time I could nail down at the convenience store.

  “I didn’t, no.” He folded his hands in front of him, staring at them. “Scarlet had just yelled at me about eating carbs. She would’ve lost it if I bought candy, let me tell you.”

  “And what happened when you got back to the car?”

  He swallowed. “We drove back to Saint Agnes. Scarlet was a pill the whole ride, and I had to turn on the radio to drown out her complaining.”

  “What station?”

  Henry’s face scrunched up, like a little kid doing a math problem. “I can’t remember. Some talk radio thing. NPR, maybe?”

  He seemed so tired, and I hated putting him through these paces when I knew Malcolm would probably continue to interrogate him in a few minutes. I really needed to get out of that room. I had a lot to go on so far, and if I could nail down the timeline of Henry’s unintentional visit to Rolo, I might be able to prove his innocence.

  “Oh, and one more question,” I said, offhandedly. It was the one thing I hadn’t asked him yet. “What was the bank appointment for?”

  The sigh that escaped Henry’s lips was both tired and frustrated. “My mom’s estate. It’s been a bit of a runaround, trying to get everything transferred to my name and getting her loans paid off. I came up here to settle the last of it.”

  I raised a brow. It seemed strange that he’d need to do it in person. I wasn’t sure how much more to push him, though. I wanted him to know I was on his side.

  Still, I couldn’t deny that something felt off about the conversation.

  It could have been the fake accent, even if it was fading. It could have been the fact that I knew he was an actor. Or the fact that he’d lied to me before, even if it was just by omission. Like I’d told Austin, lies always had consequences.

  I reached for his hands again. “You were looking for spiritual guidance from me, Henry. I don’t blame you for not telling me about your wife.”

  His relief was almost palpable. That undercurrent of sadness was back, even as he smiled at me. It was the strangest, most familiar thing about him. Like looking in a mirror.

  “It’s not something I talk about,” he said, his voice low, like he was afraid of being overheard. “Dara was just one mistake in a long line of mistakes that I stupidly thought I could fix by getting married. A word to the wise, Vic, never try to fix a problem by getting married.”

  “I could’ve told you that,” I said, returning the smile. “Maybe don’t get married for any reason, but I’m still holding out hope to be proven wrong on that one.”

  “Ouch,” he said with a wince. “That smacks of bitterness.”

  “Well, if you’d had the kind of luck I’ve had the last several years, you might agree with me on that one.”

  A phone buzzed in the corner of the room and Irma’s voice clicked through. “Your five minutes are up, Vangie,” she hiss-whispered.

  I grabbed the keys and my phone, but Henry grasped my hand as I turned to leave. He placed a kiss on the top, and the press of his lips sent a jolt of warmth through my body.

  “I can’t thank you enough, Vic,” he said, his eyes practically watering. “I don’t have many people in my corner.”

  An uncomfortable feeling swirled in my gut, clutched at my throat. I wanted to pu
ll my hand away, but I couldn’t. He needed the comfort. I was leaving him all alone to be interrogated again.

  By the time I got back out to Irma’s desk, she was pacing and wringing her hands, and when she saw me, she reached for her keys. “Oh, Vangie, I don’t like deceiving the sheriff like that.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry, Irma. But Henry is innocent and Malcolm just won’t see it. When I told him about Claire in the restaurant, he was in genuine shock. The kind you can’t fake.”

  Irma scrunched her lips together, not buying it. She crossed her arms. “And I suppose no one told you he’s a Hollywood actor.”

  “Oh, I know what he is,” I said. In more ways than one. “But he’s innocent until proven guilty. Isn’t that the lynchpin of our justice system?”

  “Well, that other woman is a handful, let me tell you. The one we brought in with your actor boy.” Irma glanced around, like someone might hear us gossiping. “She’s a bossy little thing for being a prisoner.”

  I stifled a laugh. I’d only met Scarlet twice, but it didn’t surprise me that she was everyone’s headache. Yet Henry had asked about her; he, at least, was concerned about her.

  My instinct was to trust Henry over Scarlet, and I was rarely wrong about people. It was why my sister, who had always been enamored of my natural ability to read people, had convinced me to give the Matchbaker concept a try. In truth, I was much happier putting it to use by doing things like this. Helping people.

  “Did either of them ask for a lawyer?”

  “The woman did,” Irma said, and something inside me clenched at the fact that Henry would answer questions without someone in there to look after his legal interests.

  “Someone local?”

  “No, there’s someone headed up here from LA as we speak. They’re trying to keep it all hush-hush on account of him being so famous. Offered me money to keep my mouth shut, even.” She turned her head, like she’d heard something, and a second later, the sheriff’s door opened.

  Derek Hobson walked out into the open room, eyes red, cheeks swollen. Before Malcolm could appear, I ducked around the desk and sat in a chair. If I’d thought it would help, I would’ve crossed my legs and folded my hands in my lap, but Malcolm knew me well enough to recognize that as an act.

  We’d had enough conflict in the last two days over that corner of our property. I hadn’t been the kindest Christian person to him, and I knew it. Part of that was because he was such a stickler for the rules, no matter what the circumstances—an attitude I hated.

  Malcolm followed Derek to the door in silence. Then he leveled me a withering look and let out the most frustrated sigh I’d ever heard from him. “Evangeline. What are you still doing here?”

  “I was just talking to Irma,” I said, as innocently as could be, not addressing what I’d been doing before that. “But I’m happy to leave if you’d like me to.”

  “Yes, I would.” Malcolm looked around, his muscles taut like fishing line with a catch at one end. “I need to send Irma home, and I can’t do that if you’re out here bothering her.”

  “Oh, she wasn’t a bother, Sheriff,” Irma said, her voice trying for bubbly, but I could tell she still felt guilty.

  “I don’t like you being here this late at night,” Malcolm said, softening just a touch and looking at his receptionist. “If we hadn’t had all this noise, I would have sent you home hours ago.”

  “There was work to be done, and I wasn’t about to leave you to handle it by yourself.”

  “Well, at least let me walk you out to your car.”

  “Oh, nonsense.” Irma buzzed around her desk, gathering her things. She shouldered her purse and handed the white box to Malcolm. “Here. You haven’t eaten all day, at least have one of these cookies.”

  He took the familiar item from her hands and turned it over. “Where did you get this?”

  “I brought it by this afternoon,” I said, standing up defiantly. “I drop them off at some of the businesses around town occasionally, to get peoples’ thoughts on new flavors I’ve been trying out.”

  Malcolm narrowed his eyes on me, all the lines on his face going tight. “I told you I found one of these at the scene of a homicide—” he hefted up the box, “—and you decided to deliver them all over town? What? Are you trying to throw suspicion off your married boyfriend?” The last words were ground out so hard, it sounded like truck tires on a rocky road.

  “First of all, stop calling him my boyfriend, and second of all, the box you found must be in evidence. It’s not like I snuck back there and switched it out or something. I was just bringing cookies to friends.”

  He pressed the box toward me and put a hand on my back, guiding me to the door. “Well, don’t do that anymore, at least not until this is all settled. I’m still not convinced you had nothing to do with this, Evangeline, so you’d better watch yourself.”

  My undignified grunt of annoyance matched Irma’s, and my friend called out on her way out the back door, “Reverend Vale wouldn’t hurt a fly, Sheriff. I promise you that.”

  A muscle tightened in Malcolm’s jaw as he pushed me out the door, but he didn’t say another word. I stood in the empty lobby, stunned into silence. He’d been frustrated with me plenty in the past, but he’d never physically removed me from his space before. Not even when I was at my most belligerent.

  Did he really think I had something to do with all this?

  That was not good. Not good at all.

  Chapter 10

  The Tank took up its customary space and a half at the courthouse, where the parking always seemed to be narrower than I remembered. I threw the box on the passenger seat and looked out the window into the dark lot. A motorcycle was parked beside my vehicle, its back wheel against the curb.

  Derek Hobson sat on the low, long bike, his head hanging over the handlebars. No helmet. I walked around the back of the Tank and he looked up when I came into his line of sight. His eyes were redder than they had been inside the sheriff’s office, and the pungent tang of marijuana caught my nostrils. In one hand, he held a smoking joint.

  But those red-rimmed eyes weren’t from drugs.

  I held out my hand and introduced myself. “Vangie Vale. I was just inside. I’m so sorry to hear about your wife.”

  He shifted the joint to his left hand and shook mine, giving me what could only be described as the side eye. I didn’t have my collar on, so it couldn’t be the pastor thing. Besides, years of urban ministry had kept me from developing the pastoral air possessed by my Seminary colleagues. Maybe he was worried I’d head back to the sheriff’s office and tell Malcolm about the joint.

  “Derek Hobson. Nice to meet you, Vangie Vale.” His voice was raspy and deep, like a radio DJ. He set the joint on top of his bike’s headlight and pulled his fingers through his long hair. The movement was slow, almost sensual. He gathered the mass and pulled it back with a black band.

  The Brock-O-Hurn-moment was ruined when he picked up the joint and put it in his mouth. The smoke stung my nose and I backed away, trying not to wave my hand in front of my face.

  “I know your sister-in-law,” I ventured, unsure of my footing.

  “Nikki?” He scoffed and smoke puffed out in front of him. “I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t get along?”

  “I barely know her.”

  “You’re not from around here, then?”

  “Used to be,” he said, taking another long drag. Waiting for him to smoke was putting a serious damper on the back-and-forth flow of our conversation. “I went to high school here for a while, but when Claire—”

  That name stopped him fast, made his eyes round, made him go silent.

  I was so accustomed to offering comfort when I saw people suffering that I took a step toward him, intending to pat him on the back, hug him, something. This man was clearly suffering. I wanted to let him know there was another human in the world who cared about what he was going through, but before I could come any closer, he shook his head
and took another long drag. It was enough to stop me in my tracks.

  “I really am sorry for your loss.”

  “Yeah, well, she was asking for it,” he snapped.

  I couldn’t form a response. I hadn’t seen that sentiment coming at all. Maybe his mellow demeanor was artificially induced, and he was hiding some kind of pent-up anger. Still, he didn’t seem like a man who was glad his wife was dead.

  “I tried to tell her to stay away from Saint Agnes. Tried to fix things for her.” Derek looked off into the back of the parking lot and his eyes seemed to lose focus for a second. “She wanted to move here, a couple of months ago, but I kept holding out. Coming back here makes her…made her…edgy. I wanted to stay on the road. She was better off on the road.” He shook his head. “But she wanted to be home.”

  “Home is…” I stopped myself from quoting any clichés. It didn’t sound like Claire’s heart had been in Saint Agnes anyway. “I can understand wanting to be home.”

  “Funny thing is, I don’t know that this was home for her. When she started fighting with her mom, she went to Minnesota to live with her aunt. Then I got myself emancipated and moved there to be with her. We’ve been together mostly ever since.” A long, heavy pause, and his gaze dropped. “Had been together.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t get to know her.” I lifted my shoulders against the cool air. “I’m sure she was a lovely woman.”

  Derek chuffed out a laugh and left the joint on the headlight again. “She was unstable, and she could be seriously unhinged. But…she was tough.”

  Even though I’d assumed Nikki and her mother might have had good reason for cutting Claire out of their lives, I’d started to imagine Claire as a victim, a sad woman. The way Derek talked about her added some dimension to who she’d been.

  Derek cleared his throat and picked up the joint from off the front of his bike. Licking two fingers, he snubbed out the end. He knocked off the still smoldering part, stuffed the rest into a bag he produced from his pocket, and then tucked it out of sight. I could still smell the fumes.