His colleague grinned. “Not quite. But you can’t go to a place like the Dominican Republic and not take advantage of all that white sand.”
“I hear you. Maybe I’ll get down there one of these days. I could use a break.”
“It’s hard to go wrong with beaches, biking, and bikinis.”
“I didn’t know you took your bike.”
“I didn’t. I rented one. Let me tell you, you haven’t lived until you’ve pedaled up a mountain on a mule trail in the Caribbean.”
Cole grinned. “No thanks. But as long as you had fun . . .”
“The whole trip was great.” The man’s smile faded a notch. “But it would have been better with Cindy.”
“Yeah.” Cole didn’t know what else to say. Alan and his wife of three years had separated six months ago, surprising everyone in the department. He and Cindy had always seemed like a decent match. But the hours and risks of this business took a toll on marriages, and not all of them survived. Last he’d heard, Cindy had gone back to her hometown of Chicago. “Any chance the two of you might get back together?”
“Maybe. I’m working on it, and we’re still in touch. So what can I do for you?”
Cole gathered up the papers he’d been copying while he responded. “It’s nothing urgent, but once you clean out your in-box and email, I’d like to talk to you about the John Warren case.”
As Cole turned toward him, the other man frowned. “The suicide? About five months ago?”
“Yeah.”
“We closed that one.”
“I know. But his daughter came in while you were gone. When you have a minute, I can fill you in.”
“How about now?” One side of Alan’s mouth hitched up. “I’m not anxious to dig into my in-box anyway.”
“I hear you.” Cole flashed him a sympathetic grin. “Let me make a quick detour to my desk, then we can try and find an empty conference room.”
Five minutes later Cole flipped on the lights in the second room they tried, shut the door, and claimed one of the comfortable chairs. Alan sat beside him.
“So what’s the story?” Alan leaned back, crossed an ankle over his knee, and linked his fingers over his stomach.
“About two weeks ago, Warren’s daughter got a birthday present from her father. There was a message inside. Top left.” He handed the copy of the packing slip to Alan and waited while the man read it. “Notice the order date.”
Alan scanned it. Pursed his lips. “That’s pretty close to the day he committed suicide.”
“Very close. The day before.”
The man frowned. “That’s a little weird.”
“His daughter thought so too. That’s why she brought it in. I reviewed the case notes, and I can’t argue with your conclusions. Every piece of evidence pointed to suicide. The only thing missing was a farewell note.”
Alan steepled his index fingers. “I recall the daughter being very distraught. She did bring up the lack of a note, but I told her not everyone leaves one. It didn’t help. She refused to accept our conclusion.”
“She still isn’t buying it. Her conviction, plus this message”—he tapped the copy of the packing slip—“make me wonder if we should take a second look.”
The other man shrugged. “I’m not opposed to that, assuming we have something to look at. I already talked to everyone she suggested, the autopsy was conclusive, and the CSU didn’t find a thing.”
“I know. I went over all that with her. I suggested she comb through her father’s house and see if she could find anything that might trigger some new ideas.”
Alan’s expression grew skeptical. “That’s a little like looking for a needle in a haystack.”
“True. But it was all I could come up with.”
“Have you heard back from her since?”
“No. She said she’d follow up on my recommendation, but she also said it’s been hard for her to go back to the house.”
“I can understand that. It was just her and her father, and they were very close.” A touch of desolation scored his features, highlighting a gauntness in his face that hadn’t been there prior to his separation. “It’s hard to lose someone you love.”
“Yeah.” It was a shame about him and Cindy. Alan was obviously taking the split hard. “I got that impression from Ms. Warren.”
Alan cleared his throat, pulled the packing slip toward him, and examined it again. “On the surface, this doesn’t make sense. But we know Warren had those pills in his possession. It’s possible he wanted to have them on hand in case things got really bad, then decided they had gotten really bad as he thought about facing all that surgery and chemo and radiation.”
“That scenario occurred to me too, but Kelly Warren isn’t buying it.” He lifted one shoulder. “You have to admire her persistence.”
“It might be stubbornness.”
Cole didn’t think so. But the facts of the case, not their opinion of Kelly, were all that mattered.
He stood and picked up the sheet of paper. “You want to take one more look at the case file anyway?”
“Sure.” Alan rose too. “And I’ll follow up with her. Sorry you got pulled into this. I can take over from here.”
Cole frowned. Alan was the case detective. It made sense for him to step back in. Yet he didn’t want to let this one go—for reasons that had as much to do with a pair of fabulous green eyes and appealing lips as seeing that justice was done.
“Cole? Is there a problem?”
At Alan’s prompt, he turned toward the door. “No. I’ll put this back in the case file. I’m happy to assist if you need a hand too.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I doubt it will come to that.”
As they parted in the hall and Cole started back to his office, he reread the message on the packing slip. His own review of the file had unearthed no discrepancies. Alan was unlikely to find any, either.
Which meant John Warren’s note would remain an unsolved puzzle.
And unless Kelly found something of interest in her father’s things, the resolution of the case wasn’t going to change, either.
No matter how adamantly she believed the police’s conclusion was wrong.
The following Saturday, true to her word, Kelly pushed through the door of the Perfect Blend on a gust of blustery wind and wedged herself into the crowded coffee shop. Lauren waved at her from a tiny round table against the far wall, and she lifted her hand in response, then wove through the occupied tables toward her friend.
“I love this place!” Lauren rose to give her a hug, then waved her hand to encompass the colorful contemporary canvases that lined the walls. “Great artwork. How come I’ve never heard of it?”
Kelly slipped into her seat. “It’s only been around six months. I started coming here after Dad died. It was too hard to go back to the Starbucks where we used to meet.” She swallowed and summoned up a smile. She was not going to break down today. “Anyway, this place is now part of my regular routine. They have fabulous scones, and their cinnamon rolls are to die for.”
“Perfect. I’m ready for a splurge.” Lauren fished her wallet out of her purse. “My treat today in honor of this rare get-together.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“You’re welcome.”
Warmth stole over Kelly’s cheeks. Her friend was forever telling her to learn to be as gracious a receiver as she was a giver, but she hadn’t quite mastered that yet. “Thank you.”
“Better.” Lauren smiled and stood. “Let me guess. White chocolate mocha.”
“Am I that predictable?”
“Consistent.”
“More like boring. But thanks for putting a better spin on it.” Kelly shrugged her coat off her shoulders. “Good luck fighting the crowd.” She inclined her head toward the order line. “It’s like this every Saturday, and weekdays aren’t much better.”
“Sounds like you’ve become a regular on days other than Saturday too.”
“Y
ep. If I didn’t go to a coffee shop two or three times a week, I’d turn into a hermit. That’s one of the few downsides to working out of your house.” She did another scan of the packed café. “I’m surprised you found a table.”
“I almost didn’t. They were all taken when I got here, but as soon as the guy at this one started to shut down his computer, I staked a claim. I don’t think he appreciated me hovering over his shoulder, but I learned long ago to go after what I want. Just ask Shaun.” Lauren grinned and tapped the table. “Guard it with your life.”
As Lauren maneuvered through the tables toward the line, Kelly settled back in her seat. Her friend was dressed casually today, in jeans, heeled boots, a crisp white shirt, and a leather jacket. Simple but stylish. With her chic shorter hairstyle, perfect makeup, and great figure, she was a head-turner. Even the stocky gray-haired guy behind her in line was giving her the once-over through his bottle-thick glasses.
Kelly set her elbow on the table and propped her chin in her palm. She dressed nicely when she had to, but she’d always preferred comfort over glamour. Give her a pair of well-broken-in jeans, a soft cotton shirt, comfortable flats, and a fleece jacket any day. Was it any wonder Lauren had attracted the attention of a hunky guy like Shaun while she was still single?
The line inched forward, and after Lauren paid the bill, she picked up two plates. The one she slid in front of Kelly a few moments later contained a cinnamon roll.
“I didn’t order this.”
“No, but you were lusting after it.” Lauren deposited a plate with a blueberry scone in her own place as she took her seat. “Are you sure it’s safe, though? I’ve witnessed one of your peanut allergy attacks, and it’s not an experience I want to repeat.”
Kelly leaned close to the roll and inhaled the cinnamon aroma. Bliss. “Absolutely. I had a long talk with the owner the first time I came here. He assured me they don’t use any peanut products.”
“Lauren!”
At the summons from the barista, her friend started to rise. But Kelly laid a hand on her arm. “At least let me pick up the drinks. What did you order for yourself?”
“A caramel hot chocolate.”
Kelly grinned as she stood. “We are being decadent today, aren’t we?”
“I can make up for the calories next week.” Lauren flashed an unrepentant grin. “I’m celebrating our girls’ morning out.”
Smiling, Kelly wove through the tables, glad Lauren had insisted on this get-together. A couple of hours with her best friend was exactly what she needed to lift her spirits after the so-far fruitless search of her father’s house.
As she joined the group clustered around the drink stand, she worked her way to the front. Four drinks were awaiting pickup, and she tried to decipher the hieroglyphics the counter clerks has scribbled on the sides of the cups. The hot chocolate was fairly easy to single out. She had less success identifying her own beverage.
Just as she was about to ask one of the baristas for help, the stooped, gray-haired guy with glasses who had been behind Lauren in line joined her at the pickup station, drink in hand, looking as confused as she felt.
“Did you order a mocha?”
At his querulous question, she turned to him. “Yes.”
He gave her a sheepish grin, his mustache twitching. “I think this is yours.” He hefted the cup in his hand. “I must have picked up the wrong drink. It’s hard to figure out which is which. Would you like this one, or should I ask them to make you a new one?”
“I don’t have a germ phobia.” She smiled at him and reached for the cup. “This one is fine.”
He tugged his bulky coat around him and rubbed his gloved hands together as he leaned closer to peer at the remaining cups on the stand. “There it is. An Americano.” He picked up the cup. “Sorry for the confusion, miss. Have a nice day.”
She watched him as he limped away, his gait suggesting an injury or a gimpy leg. It was cold out, but that guy was really ready for winter. Sometimes people got chilled more easily as they aged, though. She’d seen it happen with her father.
After weaving back through the crowd, she set the drinks on the table and retook her seat.
“Who was your admirer?” Lauren shot her a teasing glance as she dug into her scone.
“You were the one he was admiring. I was watching him while he waited in line behind you.” Kelly used the edge of her fork to cut off a generous bite of her roll. “He might be old, but those skinny jeans of yours were making him feel young again.” Kelly grinned as she slid the fork into her mouth and closed her eyes. “Ah. Nirvana!”
“This is a great scone too.” Lauren took a sip of her hot chocolate through the whipped cream.
Kelly grinned. “Your mustache is almost as impressive as your admirer’s was.”
“Very funny.” Lauren picked up her napkin and wiped off the white film above her upper lip. “I never did get the hang of drinking through whipped cream–but I hate those plastic lids. So fill me in on all your news. Any exciting commissions recently?”
“I’ve got a contract for a dozen more greeting cards. Flower-themed. And the Department of Conservation wants me to do four seasonal covers for the magazine next year. Up-close nature scenes.”
“That’s cool. I assume you’ll be hitting the hiking trails to get ideas and take photos, as usual?”
“Yep.” Kelly smiled and sipped her mocha.
“You could look at photos in books, you know.”
“And miss out on the chance to commune with nature? Hiking’s half the fun of those kinds of jobs.” She speared another bite of her cinnamon roll.
“For you, maybe. For me, it would be hardship duty. Give me a courtroom any day.”
“That’s because you’re more theatrical than I am.” She washed the cinnamon roll down with a long swallow of her mocha and lifted the cup. “The perfect drink for a cold day. Thanks again.”
“You’re welcome again. Any luck at your father’s house?”
“No.” She continued to sip her mocha. “I’ve been through his office and the kitchen drawers and cabinets. Now I’m starting on the closets. But I don’t know what I might find that would produce a lead for the police to follow. Alan Carlson, the original detective on the case, called to say he reviewed everything again but didn’t come up with any new insights, either. The detective I talked to while he was gone called too, and encouraged me to keep looking, but I think he was just being nice.” She dug a tissue out of her pocket and swiped at her nose.
“Hey.” Lauren reached over and touched her arm. “Don’t get discouraged, okay? If there’s anything to be found, you’ll find it.”
“And if there isn’t?” Kelly’s throat tightened, and she sniffed. “You knew my dad, Lauren. Do you honestly think he’d have considered suicide?”
Lauren caught her lower lip between her teeth and sighed. “It is hard to believe. But being in law, I understand the power of evidence. And the evidence in your dad’s case, along with the lack of suspects or motives, puts the police in a difficult position.”
A wave of nausea suddenly swept over Kelly, and her lips began to tingle. She’d assumed her sudden runny nose and the tightness in her throat were due to the emotional roller coaster she’d been on since her father’s death, but all at once she suspected it was more than that.
“Kelly?” Lauren touched her arm again, her tone uncertain.
Fumbling for the shoulder purse she’d hung on the back of her chair, Kelly rose. “I need to get to the ladies’ room.”
She tried to take a deep breath.
Couldn’t.
Please, God, no! Not an allergy attack!
As she stumbled toward the ladies’ room, she groped through her purse for her auto-injector of epinephrine. Her fingers closed over it, and she pulled it out. Lost her grip. Watched in dismay as it hit the tile floor.
Before she could stoop to retrieve it, Lauren was beside her. She bent and swept it up, then propelled Kelly into the ladies’ r
oom.
“Tell me what to do.” Her friend’s voice was tight. Edged with panic.
Kelly was wheezing now. Fighting for air. She grabbed the edge of the counter as a wave of dizziness swept over her.
“Take it . . . out of the . . . carrying case. Grab it . . . around the middle . . . with the black tip . . . down. Pull off the gray . . . safety release.”
After Lauren did as she was instructed, Kelly took the injector. Holding it perpendicular to her outer thigh, she swung her arm away from her body and then back against her leg. She maintained the pressure as she counted to ten. After she pulled it back, she checked to make sure the needle had fired while she massaged her thigh.
“Are you going to be okay?” Lauren hovered beside her, her face pasty.
She checked the viewing window. It was red. “I should be.”
But she wasn’t.
As the seconds ticked by, her wheezing grew worse. And the waves of dizziness were striking with more force instead of receding.
Something was very wrong.
The room started to fade, and she gripped the edge of the sink, gasping for breath.
The last thing she remembered was a sensation of tumbling into a dark, deep hole.
4
Cole stepped out of the ER treatment room at St. Luke’s Hospital, checked his watch, and expelled a frustrated breath. Interviewing an injured witness in an armed robbery had not been on his agenda for Saturday. And now half the morning was shot. For no reason, as it turned out. The vagueness of the witness’s description rendered it almost meaningless.
So much for his plans to join Jake for a round of one-on-one basketball.
As he started toward the exit, the wide ambulance doors swung open, and he moved aside to allow the paramedic crew to enter. Reaching for his cell phone, he cast a quick look at the stretcher as they wheeled it past. Maybe he could reschedule Jake to this afternoon, if his brother and Liz didn’t have . . .
He froze as he caught a glimpse of russet-colored hair against the white sheet.
The same color hair as Kelly Warren’s.
Lethal Legacy: A Novel (Guardians of Justice) Page 4