“What happened, Mo?”
Sanchez took Laura’s gun off her thumb, dropped it into an evidence bag, turned to Connor, gave him the abbreviated version and told Sam to retrieve the other weapon, which had skittered across the shop floor.
“We’ve been looking for this guy for months, Sarge,” Sanchez continued. “He’s the one been pulling off dash robberies in small shops in little towns all over our part of the state. Got him on CCTV. Doesn’t get much cash, but never been caught. Until he met Laura Keene, that is.”
“You could have been hurt,” Connor pointed out to her, pulling her hands down, mentally checking off one more case that got closed. This one wouldn’t make it to the deck, thankfully. Everybody hated adding to it. His overworked but vigilant and determined team was making headlines throughout the state to retire cards from the deck. He was proud of them.
“I could have been hurt if I hadn’t used my self-defense class techniques and also shot the weapon out of his hand. I was about to wave in the forces when he pulled the gun from his pocket. There wasn’t time for anything else.”
“You need to let us do our job. Why do you have the gun with you anyway? I thought you were putting it in the safe deposit box.”
She looked uncomfortable.
“I thought someone was following me this morning. I traded my old Civic in for a Ford Focus. My old car has been showing up everywhere I go. I decided to bring the gun home with me until I figured out what was going on.”
Connor exchanged a glance with Sanchez.
“I’ll find out who bought her Civic,” Sanchez said. “You sold it to the lot near the highway?”
She nodded.
“We have to run ballistics on your gun because it was fired. Shouldn’t take long once they ID it as your dad’s. After it’s released, you should keep it locked up somewhere safe and let us know if you have any concerns,” Connor added.
She nodded again.
The entire force was well aware of the history of threats against the Rage family and the unsolved murders of Laura’s parents. And they were all aware, as well, that Laura was the last Rage and lived alone.
He took a step closer and lowered his voice.
“I know you can handle yourself. I just want you to let us do our job. You don’t have to be the hero. Okay?” His manner and voice were calming. He knew the shakes would set in soon when the adrenaline deserted her.
She let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Okay.”
“So maybe you better tell me just how much practicing on the range you did in Maryland.”
“A lot.”
“Are you good?”
“Very. Good aim, steady grip.”
He nodded. “I bet. So why don’t you give your statement to Corporal Sanchez and then go relax for the rest of the day. Maybe go see Jenna? She’s back in town. I’ll get Harry to lock up. We won’t leave a mess; don’t worry. You need to get away from here for a while.”
He started to turn away, then twisted his head back to her. “Must have been a tricky shot around the counter for a lefty.”
She frowned.
“I used my right hand. I can shoot with either hand.”
Of course, you can, he thought.
Laura heard commotion behind her as they took the man from the store and tried to load him into the back seat of a cruiser. It sounded to her as if he were fighting them every step of the way or at the very least, ranting about the dangerous shopkeeper who had attacked him.
She grabbed her purse and phone, walked through the back room, poking her head in the kitchenette to make sure the hot water for the French press wasn’t left on, and headed past the heaps of quilts she hadn’t yet placed in the shop, all spread out beneath shining plastic bags from the cleaners. Then it was quieter after the cruiser door shut on the robbery suspect and took off. She kept going but hesitated at the quilt with the redone stitching, wondering at the story behind this quilt and why so much of the stitching had come undone to begin with and why it had needed the rough, inexperienced reworking as if done by someone who had never held a needle and thread. At her ankles, Empress Isabella hissed and scooted away, as if urging Laura to keep going, too. But that only made Laura more curious about the quilt’s history. What was it about that particular quilt that drew the cat’s attention?
As she turned the key in her Focus, she thought that the town sure had changed since she lived here last. She wondered how many of those changes were obvious and how many were hidden, or if nothing had changed at all and the secrets were still here just waiting to be unpeeled, like the layers of an onion. One at a time.
thirteen
Pulling up to the gate in front of Jenna Buckley’s family home filled Laura with memories. There was little traffic or activity on this street. No children on bicycles, no kids playing street hockey in the summertime. The rare snowman was usually built by a nanny; the only snowmen Jenna had made had been in Laura’s yard. And no surprise there as the neighborhood here had multi-acre gated yards surrounded by the lush and very expensive privacy of tall, groomed hedges and pine trees masking the eight-foot granite walls behind them.
She pushed the button, waved to the camera, and pulled into the circular drive after the gate opened, parked along the side by the three-car garage. Looking up at the mansion, she recalled playing here as a child. Jenna had played at her house, as well, and they’d had just as much fun in Laura’s backyard or playing dolls and fashion designers in her bedroom. The two girls had been best friends, the unlikely pair of daughters of a cop and old money from New England. They’d been the original best friends forever.
Laura smiled. Since she’d returned to Minnesota last fall, it had indeed felt as if she’d not only come home but also slipped back into comfortable old friendships. Even with all the bumps over the past couple of months, it had been good to discover she had been missed and her return cherished by so many.
She sat in the car a moment before getting out, noticing her hands were shaking. Then giving herself one giant shake, she put the morning behind her and walked up to the rounded brick three-step entrance to the front door. Before she could push the bell, the front door opened and her friend stood inside, a shy smile on her face. The two embraced, and Jenna led Laura to a cozy sitting room near the rear of the house.
“You have a new car, I see,” Jenna said.
“Yes, I do.”
“Good. Get rid of the bad memories and bring on the new life! Let’s relax in here next to the billiards room, just in case we want to play a game,” Jenna commented, and then added, “I’m glad you called; I was lonely.” Jenna, always what Laura called a “chilly bean,” wore a small furry wrap around her neck and shoulders, even indoors. She did so today draped over a thick, woolen sweater.
A steaming coffee pot with a tray of yummy-looking cake squares tempted them from a side bar, but the two women stood for a few moments, facing each other at arm’s length. Finally, Laura spoke, breaking the uncomfortable silence borne from her friend’s recent heartbreak.
“We missed you at the restaurant.”
“I had other things to do.”
“He didn’t deserve you,” Laura said, keeping the stories from last night’s dinner to herself but feeling her heart tugging for her friend.
Jenna nodded.
“But it’s happened three times to me now. I don’t know why I keep finding men I like who dump me and turn and run.”
“Three times. Jenna, these jerks are not dumping you. They’re figuring out they can’t pull it off.” She laid a hand on her friend’s shoulder.
Jenna looked up at Laura, smiled a little and moved toward the side bar to pour them both coffees.
“Do you still like yours with cream and one sugar?”
“Yes, and I want some of that coffee cake, too.”
“Have a s
eat. I’ll bring it over.”
As they treated themselves to a mid-morning snack, Jenna set down her cup.
“I should have seen the signs.”
Laura sipped at her coffee.
“You couldn’t have. You were too much in love with him. And he was a very good con.”
“Why can’t I find someone?” Jenna said, sighing and sadly shaking her head.
“You will. You just need to stop worrying about it. Live your life. Whatever is meant to happen, will happen, and probably when you least expect it.”
Jenna smiled.
“You sound like your mother.”
“Her and Aunt Rose. All their wise words are coming back to me in drips and drabs. Mostly against my will. They must be branded into my brain, but they do make sense sometimes,” she finished, drawing a smile from Jenna.
“Remember the day in eighth grade we forged our mothers’ signatures on sick notes, took a cab to Duluth, and played miniature golf the whole day?”
Laura nodded, remembering the day well. They’d lied to the folks in Duluth who’d run the miniature golf course, describing a teacher’s work day in Raging Ford. Jenna had beaten the pants off Laura, scoring almost double.
“Do you think they knew we were lying?”
“Oh, yeah,” Laura said. “I’m sure it was all over our faces. We’re probably lucky they didn’t call the cops. I don’t know about you, but I probably would have been grounded for the rest of the year. I’m not sure I’ve gotten any better at lying. Have you?”
Jenna hesitated a brief moment before responding.
“Oh, no. I’m no better at lying. I guess that’s a good thing.”
Laura wondered at the pause, but attributed it to Jenna’s sad heart.
“You know it’s always a good thing when you don’t lie well,” Laura opined. “Think of the man who thankfully just walked out of your life. You wouldn’t have wanted to marry someone who did such a good job of lying. You wouldn’t want that kind of person so close to you.”
Abruptly, Jenna rose and her dark eyes sparkled.
“Think you can still beat me at pool? I’ve been practicing!”
And Jenna’s game had indeed improved, Laura thought, but Laura had grown up playing Connor and Ian and learned many tricky shots. She beat Jenna, although it was a close game, and Jenna demanded a double-or-nothing second game. And so it went. The competition became fierce and Jenna threatened to pull ahead. Her focus seemed to have changed. She sank two balls in a row, then scratched.
Laura was about to share her morning with Jenna, but her friend suddenly burst into tears.
“I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do with my life, Laura. I feel so unhelpful, so purposeless!”
Laura spent the rest of the game assuring her friend she did indeed have a purpose in life, even if it wasn’t readily apparent as yet. It took all of her efforts, but she didn’t feel as if she had helped. Jenna gave her friend a brave smile, but the sadness just wouldn’t leave her eyes.
“Do you think I’ll be able to tell if someone is lying to me again?”
“I don’t know, Jenna. I think we can all be taken in by someone who’s very good at lying. You’re not alone in this. Just know you have good friends who love you very much.”
“I wonder,” Jenna posed near the end of the second game, “if someone could lie to you for years and you didn’t know it…”
“I sure would hate for that to happen to anyone,” Laura responded, but she was getting concerned over her friend’s mental state and the focus on someone close to you lying for years.
Laura drove home after beating her friend during the second game but remained disturbed about her day, the close call at her shop in the morning, and Jenna’s comment about how some people were bad liars and some, good ones. Her parents had never lied to her, but they had told her clearly when there were things they couldn’t tell her.
She worried about the good liars, how long they could keep something like that up. Maybe even for years? Jenna’s posed question was jarring. She also wondered if she would ever be able to tell when a good liar was lying to her, especially someone very close to her. And if anyone close to her now was actually lying through their teeth.
That evening, Laura returned to the box of her father’s papers, began reading his handwritten notes in earnest, beginning with the first page. She checked items she found in his notes against her white board jottings, added lines and arrows. No further insight arose.
As she fell asleep, Jenna’s words haunted her. If someone was that good at lying, and you trusted them, how would you ever know?
fourteen
Laura was still shaky from the previous day’s events, but according to her mother and aunt, getting back into the daily routines was the best medicine for anything, so she opened the store as usual on Wednesday after receiving permission to remove the police crime tape. When she saw Eric Williams at the door, she started to question that wisdom.
If a morning’s first event could portend a horrible day, a visit from Eric Williams in Laura’s shop was definitely the omen that should, especially after yesterday. And looking back on it all later in the afternoon, she knew she should have expected things to go downhill, but she was uncertain if there was anything she could have done differently
She had two other customers at the time, thankfully, and for a change, Williams, once a promising wide receiver on the Raging Ford High School football team now turned insurance salesman, waited for them to leave before barging up to the counter with his pitch.
“Laura, you bought one measly policy from me and now it’s time for you to look seriously at a business policy to cover you in case something disastrous happens. You’ll have a whopping array of expenses that are normally covered by your sales that could stop at any time. Then you’ll be up a tree!”
“Hello, Eric. It’s you again.”
He grinned.
“I’ve been patient.”
She held out her hand for the brochure he pulled from his pocket, thinking that he wasn’t so much patient or even persistent, but more of the unstoppable pest she’d known as a young teenager. He had aged some, unlike his contemporaries, and she noted a receding hairline at 27, yet he remained in good physical shape.
“How long has this building we’re standing in been here? A hundred years or so?”
“You never know what could happen in an old building, Laura. Old wiring, old plumbing, heavy snowfall on the flat roof. Old wood frames. Crumbling bricks, crumbling mortar. Car running out of control into your store front. Termites. Robbery. Fire. You have only three more days to look it over.”
“I thought the policies already went up on January 1,” she responded, wondering if he had heard about the attempted robbery the day before. She almost immediately remembered she was back in a small town and of course he had heard. Maybe that was the reason for the visit? Taking advantage? That would be like him.
“This one had an extension. You have three more days. I heard what happened yesterday. You know I always have your best interests at heart.”
“I’ll take a look.”
She turned away to straighten things in the store and noticed that his eager grin had disappeared and he was glancing around her shop, at the corners, doors, windows. Then he turned and left, but he looked around the perimeter of her shop front, including a parting look at the door lock, before he disappeared down the block.
Now what? she thought and wondered if he was going to plan a robbery here, as well.
She figured the whole town knew about the attempted robbery and shooting yesterday, but she worried less about that and more about what those “best interests” might be as they related to Eric Williams, remembering how he had hounded her for a date years ago, ignoring Connor Fitzpatrick’s multiple warnings to stay away from her. She knew there was somethin
g more to his semi-friendship with Connor than either man let on, something that had happened during the eleven years she had lived in Maryland, but she hadn’t been successful in prying that loose from Connor yet. She didn’t even try with Williams. The sooner he was out of her store, the better.
Near lunch, Laura turned the Closed sign outward and locked the front door of the shop. With no more jangling bells or interruptions while she grabbed a bite to eat and rearranged the quilts around the fireplace artwork, she was free to refold the quilts for a better display. What she didn’t count on was the cat.
Isabella stood at attention near Laura’s feet, her back arched and tail straight up, as Laura began pulling the plastic sheeting from the first quilt, rearranged it on its hanger for a more dramatic effect, and replaced the plastic cover. The cat watched closely as Laura moved among the quilts and followed her into the back room to look at the other quilts not yet on display.
When Laura decided to pull out the teal-shaded log cabin quilt with the redone stitching to examine it further, the cat began hissing and pawing at Laura. It even jumped to the top of the plastic bag, pawing at it, arching its back, nudging Laura’s hands with its nose as if trying to prevent her from removing the cover from the quilt.
She shooed the cat away and continued examining it up close, then put it back into its plastic cover and decided that, as pretty as it was, it had to be repaired before it went out for sale. She returned to the shop arrangement by the fire and stood back to check her work and scratched her left arm. Then she scratched her right arm and hand. She went into the kitchenette to wash her hands and arms, thinking there was likely some residue from the dry cleaning.
But when she reopened the shop after lunch and by the time her second favorite customers, her friend Kelly’s aunt and uncle, came in to look at the quilts, she was feeling dizzy and her stomach had begun to hurt. Their typical rudeness and criticism of the goods in her shop fell on deaf ears, and when they left, she closed the shop and went upstairs to soak in a hot tub and afterwards take a nap, her head aching beyond belief and her belly sharply cramping, doubling her over in pain.
Priced to Kill Page 6