“I think they took one look at my badge and decided they weren’t talking.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t your personality? I’m just throwing that out there.”
He worked his jaw. “They don’t want to talk to a lawman, and I don’t know why.”
I shrugged. “It could be anything, or you could be imagining it. How should I know? Go back and try again without your badge.”
He was swinging his head in disagreement before I finished speaking. “That won’t work. They’ve already seen me and decided they aren’t talking.”
I huffed. “Fine. Don’t. Why are you here?”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
Why wouldn’t he answer me? The proverbial lightbulb flickered on, and I slapped my desk. “You need my help! You came here to ask for my help and then chickened out.”
Jake flinched. “I don’t need your help.”
I leaned back in my chair and smiled. “Oh. Okay then. It was nice seeing you. Thanks for stopping in.”
He glowered. “I could use some advice. That’s all. Just advice.”
“Can you say that again?” I lifted my phone in his direction.
“Are you recording this?” A little pulse beat in his temple.
“Not yet. That’s why I need you to say that one more time. Please. Go ahead when you’re ready.” I wiggled the phone between us.
Jake growled and sprang to his feet, mumbling about women being impossible and other ridiculously misogynistic things.
“Okay.”
He froze. “What’s okay? You’ll help?”
“Yes. I’ll help.” I set the phone aside and folded my hands on the desk, very businesslike. “Did you talk to the business partner?”
Jake dropped back onto his seat. “Yes. I compelled Mr. Flick to talk. He said the company is fine and he and John Francis got along well. He didn’t know him long, obviously, but they were well-suited for a seasonal business. He said a woman was a more likely suspect.”
“What woman? Melanie?”
Jake shook his head. “He didn’t name anyone, but he called John a hussy.”
“He was a flirt.” Melanie’s face came to mind, sopping with tears and locked in the back of a squad car. “I saw Melanie last night. She’s a little cuckoo, but I don’t think she’s a killer.”
Jake scoffed. “She burned your booth down. I’d say that stands as evidence of impulse control. She might regret it now, but she still did it.”
“She was slippery too. Dan said he’d been keeping an eye on her all day, but she still annihilated my booth.”
Jake chuckled. “Nothing like allowing first-degree arson on your watch.”
“That’s what I thought.” I scooted to the edge of my seat. “Last time we talked, you were certain this was a mob thing. Now you’re looking at Faire employees and John’s business partner. What changed?”
“Poison.”
I nodded, immediately on board with his line of thought. I’d had it too. “Poison isn’t a normal mob MO. I read about it last night. Also, Melanie might have issues with her temper, but poison takes time to plan. She’d have to decide what to use and how to administer it. She didn’t look like someone who’d expected him to die when she was pounding on his body bag.”
“I agree.” Jake balanced on the edge of his seat, matching my body language. An obvious attempt to connect with and manipulate me. I’d read about that after we met. Whatever his intentions, I wasn’t going to be managed, and he should know better.
I shook it off and engaged in the puzzle. “I researched poisons while I was at my folks’ house. There are plenty of slow-acting things John could have ingested earlier in the day. The killer could have been miles away by the time he died. It’s like I told Nate. This is probably unrelated to the mob thing.”
“The possible time delay is another reason I’m still convinced this has everything to do with his testimony in the Bennie the Bean trial. One of Bennie’s guys could get in and out before anyone knew the deed was done. I’m willing to concede Bennie might have used someone outside the family, especially with all the publicity on the case. He wouldn’t want a known associate to be seen within a hundred miles of John Francis.”
“I accept that premise.”
Jake lifted his cheek in a lazy half-smile. “Good. Now what?”
“Now we try to disprove it.”
“You mean prove it.”
“No.”
“That’s not how criminal investigation works, Coffee.”
“Well, it’s how science works, and it’s how I work.” I ignored the pet name. He’d called me Coffee once or twice the last time he blew through my life. I didn’t hate it.
“So you’re helping?”
“I’m helping. Jeez.”
He leaned back in the chair, stretching long legs out and digging in one pocket. “Here.” He set a thumb drive on my desk.
“What is it?” I turned it over in my fingertips. The US Marshal emblem was painted on the back.
“It’s a thumb drive. You know. For your bowl.” He waved a big hand over the glass dish on my desk. My family competed with one another, buying me silly novelty drives I never used. It had started in college and stuck. “It’s official. You can’t get that without credentials.”
My heart softened and my bottom lip poked out. “Aww. Thank you.”
He pulled his hand back and put his grouch face on. “Don’t thank me. It was bribery in case you didn’t say yes.”
I wrinkled my nose. “You didn’t think I’d help you?”
“You said you told Nate your theory. Should I assume you told him everything I told you?”
I pulled my guilty lips to one side. “In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have done that, and I might owe you an apology.” My tummy knotted with regret. “You don’t have to worry about Nate repeating anything I’ve told him. He can be trusted. You know that from the summer. He won’t cause you any trouble.”
Wow. Apologies were hard.
He lifted his brows in wait. “Am I getting the apology now or in a birthday card next spring?
“Funny.”
Jake rolled his head over both shoulders and sighed dramatically. “At least tell me the classified identity of my witness isn’t typed out forever in an email or text message somewhere?” A vein in his neck throbbed.
“Of course not. I went to Nate’s place on my way home.”
Jake’s steady expression faltered momentarily. “I see.”
“No, you don’t.” Why did everyone assume there was something physical between Nate and me? Repeatedly? “We’re friends. He wanted to help.”
Jake made a face.
“Why do you care either way?”
“I don’t.”
“Good.”
“Fine.”
I pulled in a deep breath. “Can I ask you something?”
He rolled tentative eyes in my direction but didn’t agree.
“Why didn’t you contact me after you left?”
“I told you. You had everything you needed, and my case on you was closed.”
I pursed my lips and nodded.
“What? What’s that face?”
I waved him off. “No. It’s nothing. I misread people. No big deal.”
“Can I ask you something now?” He didn’t wait for my permission. “Why on God’s green earth are you at work dressed like Little Bo Peep? I mean, I know you love costumes, but this is a little over the top, isn’t it? Don’t tell me it’s for Pioneer Days. Not another soul on this staff is dressed like that.”
I patted my bonnet. “Bernie has a coonskin cap.”
Jake shook his head. “You’re not normal.”
“Thank you.” I moved to the office
door. “I’ll meet you at the Faire after work and go with you to talk with the vendors. They’ll see you mean well and open up.”
He moved to meet me at the threshold. “You think so?”
“Yeah, but come in costume.” For clarity, I added, “Not as Harry Potter.” As far as I knew Harry was his only costume and better suited to Comic Con than Ye Ole Madrigal Craft Faire. “Wear something that shows you get it and you aren’t judging.”
His eyes bulged. “I’m not dressing up. I’m a Deputy US Marshal. They have to answer my questions. It’s a murder investigation.”
I crossed my arms. “Excuse me. You asked for my help because they wouldn’t talk. What are you going to do? Arrest the whole place for obstruction of justice? Just wear a costume. Jeez.”
Jake opened his mouth, probably to complain some more but didn’t. “I’ll wear my hat.”
Footfalls thundered down the hall. Mark, the head of security, swung through the open doorway, nearly crashing into Jake. He pressed a slimy hand to Jake’s chest to stop himself.
“Sorry,” Mark panted. “Thank goodness you’re here.”
Jake examined the greasy stain on his gray cotton shirt. “What the hell?”
Mark doubled over at the waist, gasping for air. “Detective Archer. I could use your assistance. There’s a problem at Sweet Retreat. The Lindseys and Kubickas are in an all-out butter battle and civilians are being hit. I need your badge. They won’t respect my authority.”
Blobs of melted butter dripped from Mark’s sleeves, pant legs and nose.
I giggled and grabbed my clubhouse ID and jacket. This, I had to see. I patted Mark’s back. “Detective Archer is a US Deputy Marshal now.”
Mark sputtered and spun, grabbing my hand and towing me toward the clubhouse door. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” I pushed the front door open so Mark wouldn’t leave a butter print for maintenance to clean off.
Jake tipped his chin back and spoke to the ceiling as he passed. “I hate this place.”
Chapter Nine
“Ow.” I pressed a finger to the large red knot on my elbow. My workday had ended thirty minutes ago, and I still ached from the afternoon butter battle.
The brouhaha was certain to make Bernie’s morning blog. I dumped ice into a towel and rested my elbow on top. The worst was over by the time Jake, Mark and I arrived, but the aftermath was gruesome. Residents caught in the crossfire were doused with handfuls of the melted civil war horse and raging with indignation. By the looks of both shops and the sidewalk outside, it had been the over-fifty equivalent to a cafeteria food fight.
While the Kubickas chased the Lindseys across the street with fistfuls of what was left of their civil war horse, I tended to the injured. Two eye washes, a twisted ankle and lots of bumps and bruises from spills at the hand of one hundred pounds of melted butter. Luckily, Horseshoe Falls had enough retired medical personnel to settle nerves and help bandage scrapes.
I pulled the sleeve of my ice-blue Queen Guinevere dress over the bruise and rested my arm back on the towel. If I hadn’t tripped over Bernie on the sidewalk, I’d have made it out safe and clean. As it was, I’d spent my lunch hour deep-conditioning my hair and disinfecting butter-basted scrapes.
I tugged black knee-high socks up both legs and brushed my freshly dried hair, thankful I hadn’t seen Jake after my fall. Mark sang his praises all afternoon. Apparently, Jake was fast on his feet and his scary lawman voice had settled the fight before anyone ended up in the lake.
My phone vibrated on the counter. Jake’s number glowed on the screen. “Hello?”
“Hey, I’m downstairs. Can you buzz me up?”
Panic shot through me. My condo was ridiculously expensive, the building was brand new, sterile looking and everything about it screamed money. I’d bought it on a whim after a near-death experience, mostly for the twenty-foot walls and twenty-four-hour guard stationed outside the private community, but Jake would only see the cost. He had issues with money—and I wasn’t in the mood for defending mine. “I thought we were meeting at the Faire.”
“I thought we could ride together.”
Jeez. Presume much? Arrive unannounced. Put me on the spot. “How will I get home?”
“I’ll bring you,” he huffed. “Are you going to buzz me up or not?”
I deliberated. “I’ll meet you in the lobby.”
“Buzz me up.”
I pulled the phone away from my ear and glared at it. “Rude.”
Silence.
I pressed the phone back in place. Nothing. “Jake?”
“Buzz me up.”
I disconnected and buzzed him up.
“Shoot.” I made a wild crisscross through the living room, loading discarded socks and unfolded laundry into my arms. I threw them onto my bed and pulled the door shut.
Jake knocked.
I shook a fist at the ceiling and ran for the kitchen. “Just a minute,” I called, sliding on socked feet through the apartment. I swept a half dozen dirty dishes off the counter and jammed them into a full load of clean ones inside the dishwasher.
“Mia?” He knocked again. “Everything okay in there?”
“Yes. Hang on. I’m coming.” I dragged out each response as I kicked wayward shoes out of sight and gave myself a couple mental blows for being an enormous slob.
It was Jake’s fault. The place was fine until he demanded to come in.
“Mia?”
I yanked the door open and worked to slow my rapid breath and pounding heart. That was more exercise than I’d had in weeks. “Yes?”
He peered over my shoulder in full marshal mode. “Are you going to invite me in?”
I moved out of his way and let him pass then pressed my forehead to the door behind him.
“Nice place.”
I spun and made a beeline for the living room, searching for any errant bras or pantyhose. “Thanks.”
“Penthouse.”
“It seemed safest up here. The hardest apartment to get to and all that.”
He strolled around the living room at a snail’s pace, stopping for a look through floor-to-ceiling windows. “Do you like it?”
I slouched against the kitchen island. “Not really.”
“No?” He scanned the vaulted ceiling and leaned around the corner, taking a long look down the Italian marble-floored hallway to my oversized bedroom and master bath. “Seems cozy.”
I laughed.
He smiled. “It’s safe, so I like it.”
I rolled my eyes. “Right. It’s lavish and obnoxious. Can I get you something? Water? Coffee? Hot cider?”
“You have hot cider?”
“No.” I had plenty of nervous energy, however, and that made me stupid. “You’re my first guest, besides the family and Nate, I mean. They helped me move. Them and the movers.” Stop talking! Change the subject. Talk about him. I pressed the ice pack to my elbow and winced. “Do you think John could’ve had a nemesis at the Faire?” Maybe he was part of another dueling vendors set, like the Lindseys and Kubickas.
“I’ll ask around tonight. It’s a stretch, but I’m not counting anything out until after the interviews.”
The ice wasn’t helping. I shook it into the sink and turned to Jake. “Time to get our interrogation on.”
He didn’t look impressed by my enthusiasm.
That was his standard response, but something else was off. I focused on the costume, absorbing details and realizing I’d missed the obvious when he walked in. “What are you wearing?”
“You told me to come in costume. I’m a woodsman.”
I circled him, taking in the green hood, brown boots and gloves. “You’re Link from LEGEND OF ZELDA.”
“So. I found it in Dan’s closet from a high s
chool Halloween party. I left the pointy hat at home. What’s the difference?”
I dialed Nate.
“Who are you calling?” Jake lifted his palms into the air. As if I exasperated him.
I covered the phone with one palm. “Nate. You need help.”
“Do not.”
“Hey, are you coming to the Faire tonight?” I asked Nate.
“Yeah,” Nate answered. His voice echoed through the receiver. “I’ve got a coffee date with Kenna from Surly Wench.”
Jake gave me a look, clearly overhearing.
I turned my back on him. “Can you bring your brown cloak and meet me in an hour?”
“No problem. See ya.” Nate disconnected.
I turned to Jake. “You’re going to wear Nate’s cloak and be the Sheriff of Nottingham. Take off that quiver.”
He huffed but got the job done. He raised his arms wide like an airplane. “Better?”
“Better.” I stuffed my feet into black boots and grabbed my keys and leather satchel. “Let’s go.” The Craft Faire ran until seven most nights, nine on the weekends. Working full time at Horseshoe Falls meant I felt perpetually guilty for not spending enough time on the family business. Everyone else was retired and waiting for me whenever I arrived. Bree’s day job involved human behavior studies, so even when she was at the Faire, she was working. I couldn’t win, and I was always in a hurry.
“Nate can bring me home. You don’t have to.” The elevator was smaller and slower than I remembered.
“What about his date?”
“It’s just coffee, not a hookup.”
Jake’s reflection watched me in the shiny metal walls. “No need to get defensive.”
“I’m not defensive. You’re nosy.”
“Kind of my job.”
The doors parted, and I jumped out. Jake’s mammoth truck was parked across two spaces five feet from the door. Dual wheels and giant side mirrors reached for the cars on either side.
I pushed the power unlock on my Mini Cooper. “You know, on second thought, we can take Stella. Save the ozone. Park in one space.”
“Nah.” He marched to the blue beast and opened his passenger door.
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