Sins & Needles

by Reagan Davis

  A uniformed officer stands guard over Piper while Eric and I walk through the store, making sure nothing is missing. Everything seems to be where I left it.

  “We checked her backpack and there’s nothing from the store in there. Just a burner phone, a small amount of cash, and the tools she used to break the lock on the back door,” Eric says.

  A burner phone is a phone purchased with cash. It doesn’t have a monthly plan and can’t be traced to an owner.

  “Do we need to check the apartment?” I ask Eric when we re-enter the back room.

  “Oh, I hardly touched anything in the upstairs flat,” Piper interjects, giggling. “I’m not one for nosing through people’s belongings,” says the woman who broke into my store and touched everything.

  “What do you mean you hardly touched anything?” Eric asks.

  Piper shrugs. “I looked around. There were no books, so I left. There was no point in rifling through your drawers and cupboards.” She giggles. “It’s not like you could hide boxes of books in your underwear drawer.” Then she becomes serious again. “Mind you, I relocated your Spathiphyllum wallisii.”

  “You relocated his what?” I ask, wondering what the heck she’s talking about.

  “His peace lily,” she clarifies. “It was on the windowsill. They prefer indirect sunlight, so I moved it to the coffee table. And I watered it.” She looks at Eric with a serious expression on her face. “The soil was dry to the touch. You must keep the soil moist,” she scolds.

  She’s crazy. There’s no other explanation. If she’s not crazy, she deserves an Academy Award.

  While Eric goes upstairs to make sure nothing is missing or damaged in the apartment, Phillip informs me he’s finished giving his statement, and he’s going home. I thank him again for having my back. We’re hugging when Piper’s backpack rings.

  “Brooks!” I say to the uniformed officer who’s guarding Piper. “It must be him.”

  I bet he’s calling to find out why Piper hasn’t contacted him yet.

  “Chief!” the officer yells.

  Eric’s feet thump down the stairs as the uniformed officer unzips the backpack and holds it open toward him. Eric pulls the phone out of the laptop with his gloved hand and raises the index finger of his other hand to his lips in a shhh motion. We all nod in acknowledgement.

  Eric accepts the call and holds the phone to Piper’s ear, but she says nothing. He raises his eyebrows and nods at her, as if willing her to speak. Piper purses her lips and turns away from the phone, refusing to answer the call. He puts the phone near his ear.

  “Brooks Wiley. I know it’s you. This is Eric Sloane from the Harmony Lake Police Department. We know everything.” He pauses, but I don’t think Brooks speaks. “Let’s do this the easy way. Tell me where you are.” Eric pulls the phone away from his ear. “He hung up.”

  The collective sigh in the back room sounds like a deflating balloon.

  Eric instructs the first uniformed officer to accompany Phillip to his van, then check on Dina Langley, and stand guard outside her hotel room. They leave.

  He instructs the second officer to take Piper to the police station and lists various charges to file against her. The officer leads Piper away by the arm.

  The third officer’s instructions are to go to chez Martel and stand guard over the books and the occupants of the house. The officer leaves.

  “The occupants of the house?” I ask with a lump in my throat and my heart pounding in my ears. “Do you think Dad and Zoe are in danger?”

  “No, I’m sure they’re fine. I’m being extra cautious. The books are there, and Brooks wants them. I don’t think he’d be dumb enough to show up there, though,” Eric assures me. “But if it’s all right with you, I’ll stay over tonight.” Despite his reassuring words, Eric is worried enough to break his self-imposed rule about not having sleepovers while my dad is in town.

  He makes a phone call and dispatches officers to King of the Hill to check if Brooks is in his hotel room. He also orders a BOLO for Brooks and his car.

  BOLO is cop speak for Be On The Lookout. Officers will keep an eye out for Brooks and take him into custody if he surfaces.

  “I want to go home,” I say.

  Eric nods. “We’ll leave through the front door,” he says, sliding the barrel bolt—the only remaining functional lock—into the locked position on the inside of the back door.

  His phone dings, rings, and vibrates non-stop on the short drive home, but he doesn’t check it because he’s driving.

  As soon as he turns off the engine, Eric checks his phone.

  “Brooks isn’t in his hotel room,” he advises me. “His things are still there, including his passport, so he hasn’t gone far.”

  “What about Dina?” I ask.

  “Dina’s fine,” Eric replies. “The last time she spoke to Brooks was yesterday. She told the officer she’ll notify us right away if Brooks contacts her.”

  Brooks’s unknown whereabouts is like finding a spider on the ceiling. The situation is tenable as long as you know where the spider is, but if you look up and the spider isn’t there, you panic, wondering where it went and if it’s closer to you than you’d like.

  Chapter 21

  Monday, April 19th

  “Good morning, Dad!” I summon a chipper voice and a smile, hoping to hide my exhaustion after tossing and turning all night.

  “Good morning, Bean!” He smiles at me over his newspaper and reading glasses.

  “Did you walk to the store this morning to get a paper?” I ask, wondering if the officer parked at the bottom of the driveway stopped him.

  “I tried,” my dad replies, closing the paper and laying it on his lap. “But Eric asked me to stay here. He dispatched the officer who’s guarding the house to get a newspaper for me.”

  “Where is Eric?” I ask, dropping a coffee pod into the coffeemaker.

  “Running,” my dad replies. “He said we’d talk about it when you wake up.”

  I nod and open the back door for Sophie. “Do you want to wait until Zoe wakes up?”

  He shakes his head. “I’ll catch her up later.”

  While Sophie eats breakfast, and I sip my coffee, I tell my dad everything that went down last night and explain why Eric deemed it necessary to post a patrol car outside the house.

  “He’s being extra cautious until Brooks is in police custody,” I say in conclusion.

  “Hang on,” my dad says, then reaches for the notebook and pen on the table next to his armchair. “I want to take notes. I can use some of this in my book.”

  “Well, I’m glad we can help with your research,” I half-joke as I get up to put my empty mug in the dishwasher.

  I pick up my phone for the first time today, and scroll through the myriad of unread messages. Most from friends and neighbours wanting to know what happened last night, and why there’s a patrol car outside the house.

  First, I respond to Connie and April so our nearest and dearest will know we’re OK.

  Next, I text Ryan, Harmony Lake’s resident handyperson, and ask him to stop by Knitorious to fix the broken lock. He replies, saying he’ll meet me at the store later this morning.

  Last but not least, I text Jules Janssen and ask her if she wants to know what Claire said about her gift on Wednesday. Jules Janssen isn’t quick to respond.

  While I’m busy reading and responding to texts, Eric comes home from his run.

  “Was there a Brooks Wiley sighting overnight?” I ask, hoping Brooks is in custody, and we’ll finally get some answers about Claire’s murder.

  Eric shakes his head. “Nothing.” He kisses me good morning, and I scrunch my nose at his post-run muskiness. “Wait for me. I want to drive you to work.” It’s a statement, not a suggestion or a question. He’s in bodyguard mode.

  “OK.” I nod.

  I feel safe going to the store on my own, but I’m too tired to argue.

  He gets in the shower, and Zoe wakes up, so my dad and I update
her on everything that happened while she slept.

  Knitorious isn’t open on Mondays, but I need to finish flattening and recycling the empty boxes from the book signing, and re-shelve the yarn we removed from the store to accommodate my dad’s books. Also, I need to be there when Ryan fixes the back door.

  When we arrive at Knitorious, there is a courier truck in the parking lot. A man wearing a courier company uniform waits by the back door. He’s leaning against a hand truck.

  “The books!” I exclaim, smacking my palm against my forehead. “Claire’s publisher sent him to pick up the signed books. With all the kerfuffle over the past couple of days, I forgot.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Eric offers. “I’ll meet you inside.”

  As I walk around the corner to the front door, Eric squints into the morning sun and tells the driver there’s a misunderstanding about the location of the books.

  As soon as I’m inside the store, I call my dad and Zoe to give them a heads up about the courier’s imminent arrival at chez Martel.

  “Don’t worry, Bean!” my dad assures me. “Eric sent a text, and the officer stationed outside is here with us. We’ll be sure the courier picks them up.”

  I can’t wait for those books to leave Harmony Lake. It will be a relief not to worry about anyone breaking into my house to steal them.

  As soon as we end the call, my phone rings.

  “Is everything OK in there?” Eric asks.

  “It’s all good,” I reply. “Don’t worry.”

  “OK. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

  He sounds distracted; he must’ve run into someone or got caught up talking to the courier.

  I drop my cell phone in my purse and toss it onto the counter. Hands on hips, I exhale loudly and survey the store, deciding where to start.

  “Megan, don’t scream.”

  A scream escapes me, but I cover my mouth with both hands and stifle it.

  “How did you get in?” I ask, wide-eyed and mortified.

  “I picked the lock,” he replies in his melodious creole accent.

  He points at the front door. If he can pick this lock, he could’ve picked the lock to the den at Claire’s rental cottage.

  “What are you doing here, Brooks?”

  He’s standing in the doorway between the back room and the store.

  “I want to explain myself,” he says, his hands in front of him as if he’s not a threat.

  “Explain why you killed Claire Rivera?” I ask.

  Brooks shakes his head. “I did not kill Claire.”

  He sounds adamant, but I remind myself he’s a skilled liar.

  “Why should I believe you?” I ask. “You lied about your relationship with Jules. You lied about being in your hotel room when Claire was murdered, and you lied about your relationship with Piper Peters.”

  Where’s Eric? He can’t still be talking to the courier.

  “First,” he raises his index finger. “The only thing I lied about is my relationship with Jules,” he insists. “I lied to protect her privacy. Do you know how hard it is for her to avoid the tabloids?”

  “Do I care?” My voice is thick with sarcasm.

  “I didn’t lie about my alibi,” he continues. “I told your boyfriend I was at the hotel when Claire was murdered. I didn’t say I was in my room.”

  A lie by omission is a lie, nonetheless.

  “You were in Jules’s room?” I presume.

  He nods. “That’s right. Ask her entourage, lots of them saw me.”

  “Jules and her people aren’t cooperating with the police,” I advise him. “Didn’t she tell you? They lawyered up. As far as the police are concerned, you don’t have an alibi.” Brooks curses under his breath, and the muscles in his jaw clench and unclench.

  “I didn’t lie about Piper, either,” he tells me. “She is crazy. Like a fox. I think she killed Claire because it upset her when Claire announced she was ending the Familia series. Those aren’t just books to Piper, they’re real. That's why she broke into your shop to help me get them. She's built her life around them.”

  “So have you. Claire was your biggest client and your biggest source of income,” I point out. “Trying to recruit Mitchell Monroe to fill the empty spot on your client list the day after Claire’s murder doesn’t look good for you.”

  Now would be a great time to show up, Eric!

  “I would have pitched my services to Mitchell whether Claire was dead or alive,” he says, shaking his head and sitting at the harvest table. “It’s all about the money. That’s why I wanted the books. With Claire gone, my income from her will dry up. I panicked and thought I could sell the signed books for a good price to fill in the gap.” He looks at me with pleading eyes. “Think about it, Megan,” he taps his bald head with his finger. “Why would I kill Claire? She was my meal ticket.”

  I shift my weight from one foot to the other, but stay put, planted within arm’s reach of the front door.

  “Because she refused to sell the film rights,” I speculate. “The film rights would earn you millions of dollars. That’s why you approached her family to sell them less than two days after Claire’s murder.”

  I wish Eric would hurry.

  “The only reason I approached Claire’s family is because Dina convinced me it was a good idea,” he says, sounding desperate. “She told me Claire’s family wanted to sell the rights. She told me they were huge Jules Janssen fans, and she even suggested that if Jules was part of the sales pitch, it would help to convince them.”

  That doesn’t sound like Dina. It doesn’t vibe with what Dina told me, and her story has been way more consistent than Brooks’s story.

  “Why should I believe you?” I ask.

  “Because it’s the truth.” He smacks the tabletop with his open palm, and I take a step backward, toward the door. Brooks takes a deep breath and blows it out. “I might be shady, but I’m not a killer.”

  “Why did you tell Jules where Claire and Dina were staying in Harmony Lake? You know they wanted their location to remain private.”

  He shrugs. “Because she asked me. And I love Jules. I’d do anything for her.”

  Would he commit murder for her?

  “Brooks,” I say, trying to sound as composed as possible, “you need to tell your story to the police…”

  “No way.” He stands up, shaking his head. “They won’t believe me. They’re looking for evidence to charge me, not clear me.” He backs away from the harvest table, toward the back room. “I’ve been here too long.” He glances behind him, then looks back at me. “I have to go.” He turns, and moments later, the back door slams shut.

  I lunge toward the counter and grab my phone from my purse. I run toward the back door. Maybe I can tell which direction Brooks went. I throw open the door and run into the parking lot.

  He’s gone. There’s no sign of him. The parking lot is empty except for Phillip’s delivery van and Eric’s car.

  Where’s Eric? Did he run after Brooks? Should I call 9-1-1? I turn my head in every direction, searching for a sign of either man.

  “Megan?” His voice is distant. It’s coming from inside the store. “Babe?” I turn toward the back door. Eric appears in the doorway. “What are you doing? Are you OK?” He’s next to me now, turning his head. Scanning the parking lot. Searching with me, but he doesn’t know what we’re searching for.

  “Brooks was here. I don’t know where he went.” I look up at him. “He’s gone. I tried to keep him here as long as I could. I’m sorry.”

  “Are you OK?” He grips my shoulders and looks me up and down. “Did he touch you?”

  I shake my head. “I’m fine. He stayed away from me.”

  Eric turns me around and guides me inside. I sink into the sofa in the cozy sitting area, and he hands me a coffee. Maple pecan latte. He went to get me a coffee.

  “Thank you.” I force a small smile.

  “This is my fault, babe. I’m so sorry.” He looks like he might cr
y.

  “It’s not your fault. Brooks’s actions are Brooks’s fault and no one else.” I shake my head. “You did nothing wrong. Anyway, no one was hurt.”

  “I should’ve come inside ahead of you and cleared the store… rookie mistake,” he says, shaking his head. “The courier could’ve waited.” He sounds angry. His thumbs move at lightning speed across the keyboard on his phone. “Everyone is looking for Brooks. When I get hold of him…” His voice trails off at the end of his sentence.

  “He had no intention of hurting me,” I assure him. “Why would he? I haven’t done anything to him.”

  Eric sits next to me and pulls me into him. I rest my head on his chest and take a deep breath. He smells like a forest after it rains and the sun comes out. It’s my favourite smell. He kisses the top of my head. He tells me he loves me and apologizes again. His guilt is palpable. His chin rests on the top of my head.

  “We’re getting a security system for the store,” he says, like it’s a done deal.

  “We are?” I ask.

  I don’t think we need a security system at Knitorious, but now isn’t the time to argue, so I swallow the urge to disagree with him.

  I feel him nod. “We’ll get the same system as the house.” He squeezes me. “Two intruders are too many.” He shakes his head. “This won’t happen again. When I think about what could’ve happened…” He swallows hard. His hand clenches into a fist, then relaxes. “You’re here fending off a dangerous fugitive while I was standing in line buying coffee...” His voice hitches on the last word of his incomplete sentence, and he squeezes me again.