by J. C. Kenney
And Ronald Spade.
Could it really be that simple? Valerie got involved with Spade, and when things went south, she disappeared? From what I’d learned about the man so far, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. If he managed to escape scrutiny then, it would probably be next to impossible to find evidence to connect him to the crime now.
Besides, when he went to jail, it hadn’t been for a violent crime. He’d had sex with a minor. It was illegal, but both he and the girl had claimed the relationship was consensual. That they were in love, even. Did that make him any more or less of a sexual predator? I didn’t know.
Then again, a sample of his DNA had to be in a law enforcement database because of his conviction. Once the tests on the sample found with Valerie were complete, that question would be answered. Unless no match was found.
Then what?
I wouldn’t think about that. For the time being, I’d go where the trail led me. There was a problem with that, though. My gut was telling me I’d missed something. But I had no idea what that something was.
Chapter Nine
I emerged from the O’Hara & Schmoll law firm battered but not beaten. With a renewed appreciation for professional fundraisers, too. The law firm was the final business on my solicitation list. The office administrator was a sharp woman who peppered me with question after question to make sure the committee knew what it was doing. I addressed each of her concerns in a professional manner and eventually won her over. As we wrapped up, she insisted the grilling she subjected me to was nothing personal. The firm had high standards and wanted to support organizations that met them.
Once I was back outside, I let out a long, stress-releasing breath, grateful that my donation work was complete.
With a stress headache pounding away at the back of my head, I strolled to the Brown County Diner for lunch. Comfort food and a big cup of coffee would go a long way toward kicking the headache to the curb.
The diner’s owner, Angela Miller, was heading out the door as I was coming in.
“Off to your other job?” Despite the nails being driven into the back of my skull, I gave Angela a smile. In addition to owning my favorite breakfast joint, she ran the town of Rushing Creek.
“Such is the glamorous life of a mayor.” She straightened her azure polo shirt that bore the Rushing Creek logo. “Budget meetings with department heads this afternoon. What are you up to?”
I gave her a report on my fundraising activities. “Not that I needed a reminder, but if I had to do that work for a living, I’d starve.”
“And if I had to edit books and take care of a bunch of writers for a living, I’d starve too.” She let out a laugh. “Seriously, though, I heard Connie Briggs asked you to look into her daughter’s . . . unfortunate end.”
“If by ‘unfortunate end’ you mean Valerie’s murder, yes, she asked for my help.”
“And you said yes, I assume?” Her eyebrows narrowed as worry lines crossed her forehead.
I’d known Angela all my life. While in high school, I’d babysat her kids. I’d been a regular customer at the diner since I had money in my pocket, too. In turn, she’d defended me when people in town thought I was a murderer. I knew her. I trusted her.
And could read between the lines to recognize the true meaning behind her words.
She didn’t want me poking around, probably worried I’d pull a Lisbeth Salander, and end up kicking a hornet’s nest and setting things in motion I couldn’t control. I’d made a promise, though. There was no going back now.
“I’m aware of the dynamics at play. I’m not going to turn my back on someone because she’s from the wrong side of the tracks.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.” She guided me away from the door so we could have some privacy. “Look, the situation is delicate. The police can’t afford to have their investigation go sideways. The community’s faith in law enforcement has been shaken. Everyone needs to do their part to restore that faith.”
Angela was a friend. My chest literally began hurting as I absorbed her words. To say no to her request was like stabbing a family member in the back.
Connie hadn’t asked Angela for help, though. The poor woman had asked me.
“I’m sorry if you think I’m letting you down. I made a promise.”
I expected anger. Instead, she laughed again. “I have to say I’m not happy with your decision. If I’m ever in trouble, though, you’ll be at the top of the list of people I call. At least promise me you’ll be careful.”
“Cross my heart.” I drew an X across my chest with my index finger.
• • •
I was munching on an onion ring a little while later while I made notes from my conversation with Ted.
A shadow came across the table where I was seated. “May I join you?”
Police Chief and ex-brother-in-law Matt Roberson stood, waiting for a reply. He had a cup of coffee in each hand. With an expression that was equal parts smile and grimace, he offered one to me.
“Any time. You know that.” Given the disintegration of Matt’s marriage to Rachel, my relationship with him had not been without its challenges. Things improved after I returned from New York, though, thanks in large part to some horrific developments.
Like murder.
He slid one cup across the tabletop toward me.
“Offering me coffee. You must want something.” I took a sip. He’d already added the perfect amount of sweetener. “Wow, you must want it badly.”
“I do.” He poured creamer into his coffee. “I want you to back off the Briggs case. Please don’t make me beg.”
“Is it a coincidence you just happened to find me here? Or did Mayor Angela send you?”
“Does it matter? You’re here. I’m here. I was hoping we could talk.”
“Talk.” I mentally kicked myself for not seeing this coming when I turned down Angela’s request. “Sure, let’s do that. I say we talk about your father’s botched investigation into Valerie’s murder. Actually, from what I can gather, there wasn’t enough of an investigation for him to botch anything.”
That familiar flame of anger flickered to life in my belly. It reignited, like a phoenix, when the conviction I was doing the right thing was at its strongest.
“Or we could discuss the fact that when Connie Briggs learned a body had been found that might be her long-missing daughter, she didn’t go to the police. She came to me. And when I asked her why she came to me, she said she doesn’t trust the cops.”
Matt’s jaw twitched as he unwrapped a piece of gum. “So that’s it. You think you know all the facts based on what one person told you. That means you get to play judge, jury, and executioner?”
I’d hit a nerve. Good. Matt’s anger told me he took my verbal firebombs personally. That he cared. He cared about Valerie and Connie.
He cared about finding justice for a long-deceased girl and her grieving mother.
But it also meant he’d be running the investigation by the book. In the past, Matt had accepted my hardheadedness when I’d taken on murder investigations. Despite his misgivings, he’d been willing to bend the rules so we could share information. That had helped solve three murders.
Not this time around.
That was okay. I’d figure out who murdered Valerie with or without help from the Rushing Creek Police Department.
“No, Matt. I don’t get to do anything.” I made quotation marks in the air around the word get to drive home my point. “A woman who feels like she’s alone in the world turned to me. I don’t know whether I’m deserving of that trust. What I do know is that I’ll do all I can to prove it was well placed.”
He got to his feet. “Fine. Have it your way. I want Connie Briggs’s trust, too, so at least we’ve got that in common. But be forewarned, if you interfere, even in the smallest way, I’ll toss you behind bars for impeding a criminal investigation. Do we understand each other?”
“I believe we do. I’m sorry, Chief. I hav
e to do this.”
“I’m sorry, too.” The radio on Matt’s hip squawked. He marched out of the restaurant, responding to the call in a harsh tone.
He wasn’t the only one upset with how our conversation had gone. I sat back, closed my eyes, and envisioned a calming tropical beach setting. Despite my efforts to relax, my hands kept trembling.
Thank goodness it was time for my appointment with my counselor.
• • •
There’s a saying that everyone in Hollywood is seeing a therapist. I don’t know if it’s true. What I do know is mental health is not something to be scoffed at. Over the years, I’d experienced my share of stress-induced nightmares, anxiety-ridden calls with editors, and down-in-the-dumps streaks I thought would never end.
Being true to my Midwestern roots, I tried to smile and keep my problems to myself. For the most part, at least. Relief came in the form of homeopathic remedies like essential oils, herbal tea, and a good kickboxing workout. The blues never lasted long and before I knew it, I was back to my usual self.
Of course, Luke and Rachel might have a few choice things to say about the definition of “my usual self.” Ah, life with siblings.
That all changed after I solved the mystery of who killed Rushing Creek’s beloved librarian, Victoria Napier. By that time, I’d been immersed up to my eyeballs in murder three times. Looking death in the eye at such close range had taken a toll. I’d been sucked into a pit of darkness as thick as tar and had been unable to extricate myself.
Mom and Sloane insisted I seek professional help. While I’m often stubborn, I’m not stupid. I took their advice and had been seeing a counselor once a week for a couple of months. Despite my initial reservations about opening myself up to a stranger, the sessions helped. I was sleeping better and not as prone to panic attacks.
Now, though, a new dynamic had entered the picture. I’d chosen to revisit that dark place after vowing never to return. I was going to need help coping with the ramifications of that decision.
Nessie Bogan had a comfortable office on the first floor of a two-story professional building next to the hospital. There was no attention-grabbing sign or anything of the sort. Just a simple nameplate next to the door positioned at eye level—Vanessa Bogan, LMHC.
Like the other times I’d come to see my Licensed Mental Health Counselor, I took a deep breath before entering the reception area. When Nessie called me back to her office, she must have sensed something was up because she cut right to the chase. That my cheeks were burning in shame was probably the giveaway.
“All right, Allie, what have you gotten yourself into?”
“You know how we agreed on the things I can do to make sure I don’t end up in a black hole again? One of them is to be proud of myself for who I am, right?”
She jotted something down on a piece of paper, her face an unreadable mask. There was no judgment, no presumption. Just concentrating on what I was saying. And, no doubt, noting how I was struggling to get to the point.
“Something came up. It’s really important.” I told her about my visit from Connie and all that had ensued since. When I finished the long story and poured out all the feelings I had wrapped up in it, I let out a deep breath.
“I see you’ve given this a lot of thought. That’s good.”
“So, you think I’m doing the right thing?” Despite the fact I took pride in my self-reliance, I found myself wanting Nessie’s approval. But I also knew I had to be doing this for all the right reasons.
“Now, it’s time for the million-dollar question,” Nessie said. “You say you have to do this. Why you? After all you’ve been through, you don’t have anything to prove. Matt Roberson is a good police chief. He’ll do everything he can to solve this case. So, why does it have to be Allie Cobb?”
A couple of answers jumped to mind, but I kept my mouth shut. I needed to take a hard look at myself before answering. After a while, an answer came to me. No, it wasn’t merely an answer. It was the answer.
It was like a current of electricity was coursing through every cell of my body. The current wasn’t harming me, though. It was energizing me. I sat up in my chair and cleared my throat.
“I’m going to find out who murdered Valerie Briggs for two reasons. First, because Connie asked for my help. Second, because this is something I can do. I have a skill that I can use to help others.”
Nessie clapped as she got to her feet.
“Then go get ’em, girl.”
Chapter Ten
My visit with Nessie left me more confident than ever that agreeing to help Connie was the right choice. I walked out of her office with a burst of positive energy that had me practically floating home.
I took advantage of the good vibes to clean the apartment, whistling show tunes the whole time. When I finished my chores, I took Ursi for a walk, then ended the day editing a client’s cozy mystery manuscript. It was a strong story that didn’t need many corrections, which proved to be the icing on the cake of a productive day. I fell asleep scratching Ursi’s back as she snuggled beside me.
The next morning, after a phone call with another client to brainstorm ideas for a new book series, I got an email that made my day. An editor wanted to sign one of my clients, Abby Fraser, for her debut novel. It was an offer from a midsize publishing house that was known, among other good things, for their fabulous covers.
As excited as if I’d just won a lottery scratch-off game, I did the happy dance I did whenever a client got a book offer.
Ursi, who’d been lounging on her perch by the window, opened one eye and let out a little meh to let me know my antics were disturbing her.
“Whatever, girl. Gotta let the good times roll. Which gives me an idea.” I grabbed my bike helmet and headed out the door. It was time for a celebratory hot chocolate.
I cannot say with one hundred percent certainty that Creekside Chocolates has the best chocolate in the world. What I can say is that it serves the greatest hot chocolate delicacies my taste buds have ever experienced.
The first time I met Diane, she made me a drink that changed my life. The concoction consisted of hot chocolate topped with fresh whipped cream. Peppermint pieces were sprinkled on top of the whipped cream.
It was Heaven in a cup.
Between the breakthrough with Nessie and the good news for Abby, I told myself I’d earned one. Plus, it was always good to see Diane.
An electronic ding dong sounded when I entered Creekside Chocolates. The unfamiliar sound brought me to an abrupt halt. The sleigh bells that had been screwed to the top corner of the door were missing. In their place a small white plastic strip had been affixed to the door.
I gave Diane a high five, then asked about the bells as I perched myself on a stool by the cash register.
“Someone stole them.” She threw a dustrag into a trash can with enough force to punch a hole in the floor. “Lord help the little bugger that did it. My uncle gave me those bells.”
“Did you file a police report?”
In a lot of places, merchants grumble about things like petty theft, replace what was taken or repair what was broken, and move on. Not in Rushing Creek.
A few years ago, there had been a spike in shoplifting. As a family-friendly tourist town, the local economy couldn’t afford to have its reputation tarnished. With that in mind, the merchants got together with the police and reached an agreement that all crimes, no matter how small, would be reported and investigated in good faith.
It sent an important message. You could set your cares aside when you were in Rushing Creek. If you caused trouble, though, the town wouldn’t let you ruin everyone else’s fun.
“Officer Sandoval responded to it. He thinks it was an isolated incident. Probably a prank one of the high school kids pulled off. He recommended I get a video camera.”
“Not a bad idea. Renee’s got one at the bookstore. She says shoplifting dropped seventy-five percent after she installed it.”
“I know. It’s
more aggravating than anything.” She snapped her fingers and leaned toward me. “Maybe I could hire a private investigator to track down the thief. Someone who looks young enough to get away with going undercover at the high school.”
“If you can get Veronica Mars to come all this way from Neptune, more power to you.”
“I was thinking someone more local and less fictional.” She went to make my hot chocolate. It was great being such a regular I didn’t need to place an order.
“If you’re thinking of me, don’t bother. My plate’s full.”
“It’s true, then.” She placed the drink in front of me. “You’re really going to try to find that poor girl’s killer.”
I took a sip. The chocolate was warm and smooth as silk. Once again, a little slice of Heaven on Earth.
“What can I say? I’m a glutton for punishment. Seriously, though, I want to help, and I think I can.”
Diane raised an eyebrow but refrained from saying more. Instead, she crossed her arms.
“What? You don’t think I can do it?”
“It’s not that.” She swept the shop with her gaze. We were alone. “The question is, should you be doing this. From what I hear, Chief Roberson is taking this whole thing personally. Do you want to take the chance of getting crossways with him? I know I wouldn’t want the cops charging me with messing with one of their investigations.”
“Sorry, but if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were in cahoots with him.” I told her about the conversation I’d had with Matt.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I don’t want you calling me in the middle of the night asking to bail you out.”
“I won’t. Promise.”
The ding dong tone went off. A couple wearing matching yellow T-shirts and baggy shorts entered the store. I sipped my drink while she attended to the customers. Diane was smart, insightful, and trustworthy. I could depend on her being straight with me. As I replayed the conversation in my head, I nodded.