She started up a washer at the end of the row and turned to help fold the fresh towels. “Anyway, we thought someone had stolen the cloth, so we pulled another one from the closet. Sunday morning, though, when we were cleaning, they found it stuck under the stairs in the corner exit. It had blood all over it, like they’d used it to clean up the floor in there—though polyester would be my last choice for that kind of job. I heard the detective say he thought that was what happened. They said someone, like, cleaned up the original mess because they found traces of blood smeared all over the floor.” She looked a bit sick when she added this.
I didn’t blame her, as I felt a bit sick myself. “That’s awful. I wonder why they didn’t stash the cloth with the body?” It seemed odd that the killer had carried the cloth anywhere when someone might have seen him or her with it. If they had the presence of mind to cover up the crime by hiding the body and cleaning the floor, why would they wander around with the tablecloth?
“Maybe they didn’t want it to be obvious that they’d moved the body. Someone didn’t want her to be found, I think. At least not until after the wedding.” The redhead started stuffing sheets into an open washing machine in the middle of the row.
“I’m sure Analesa would have thrown a fit about her maid of honor disappearing, but the ceremony would have gone on without Valerie if I hadn’t found her.” That was an angle I hadn’t considered. Did the killer want the wedding to happen before the body was found? That would make it who? Analesa herself? Her parents? Tad’s family? So many options, so little apparent motive for the murder. They all seemed like petty complaints to me.
Except no one but the married couples seemed to have alibis, and who trusted the spouse’s word, anyway? “Did any of you see or hear anything else odd?”
“Nope.” The young woman looked around her; the other ladies shook their heads as well. That was it, then.
“All right, thanks. Never a dull moment around here, is there?” I hopped off the counter.
They agreed and I said goodbye, hoping they thought I was just curious and that they wouldn’t make a big deal out of my visit.
Now I had to look more closely at all the people who had a stake in getting the wedding out of the way before the body was found. Who would want to kill Valerie, but hide her until the end of the day? One of the parents? A member of the wedding party? They had already been on my list, with few exceptions, as it was. Instead of leaving me with answers, the discussion only created more questions.
I spent hours that afternoon taping off the windows and fixtures in the kitchen. Singing off-key—the only way I could sing—as I prepared to paint, I took extra care with the natural gas lines that stuck out of the wall, and the lever that kept the gas turned off until it was hooked to my new oven. I had gotten a call from someone who was interested in the grill, which thrilled me no end. The money would come in handy in stocking my kitchen without having to dip into my savings for it.
I moved to the front window, where customers would be able to watch me decorating cakes, building flowers, frosting and check out the fun and flashy projects I imagined in my future. The purple tape—I love it that you can buy painting tape in every color under the sun—contrasted nicely against the yellowed once-white paint. I bobbed my head to the tune coming through my headphones when Detective Tingey came to stand in front of me on the other side of the glass. I paused as he pointed to the door and I nodded. Great. What did he want this time? To arrest me?
As I turned, I bumped one of my razor blades into the crack in the middle of the ordering counter. The blade was pointed down, and it was wedged in there. I tried pulling on it, but decided I’d deal with it when the cabinets came out. I made a mental note to cover it with tape later so I didn’t cut myself on it.
I unlocked the front door and let the detective in. “Miss Crawford, sorry to bother you again. I wondered if you’d thought of anything more that might be helpful from Saturday morning.”
I could have told him about the things I’d picked up from poking around, but there wasn’t anything concrete, so I kept my conjectures to myself and stuck to the facts. “Not really. I’ve been trying to remember more but haven’t come up with much.”
He nodded. “I did have one other thing I’d like you to do. Could you go get fingerprinted?”
I took a step back at his request as my heart began to race. I’d known he was considering me, but the request still took me by surprise. “So you do think I did it?”
“It’s a formality. We found prints on the murder weapon, but they don’t match anything in the database. We’re asking everyone we know who had access to the room to please come forward and be printed so we can eliminate suspects.”
Cold washed down my back. He said it so casually, as if it was an unimportant request, and not the serious expectation I read in his eyes. “But I already told you I touched that vase.”
“Yes. I wouldn’t worry about it too much. I don’t know why you’d have been wandering around the hotel at that hour.” He leaned against the counter and studied the dining area. “Looks like this place is going to keep you busy.”
“Yes, there’s lots of work to do before I open.” I pressed my lips together as a frisson of fear rushed through me. “I can go have the fingerprinting done.” What difference would it make? I definitely wanted to appear cooperative, and he could always get a court order. I gripped the tape roll in my left hand until the cardboard center left impressions in my fingers. “I’ll be in as soon as I finish taping off this window.”
I had no real choice, unless I wanted to go on the lam in some country that wouldn’t extradite for capital punishment. Besides, he had to have better suspects than me. Hadn’t Jeff suggested that everyone had motive to kill Valerie? Still, I felt a bead of sweat trickle down my back and had to feign indifference to worry.
“I appreciate that.” He tucked his notebook back in his pocket and headed out. Before he closed the door, he reminded me to lock up behind him. After all, there was a killer on the loose.
I gave the lock a vicious twist. Thanks for the reassurance, detective.
Getting fingerprinted wasn’t nearly the ordeal I’d expected. The officer at the precinct was friendly, chatting with me about the weather, asked about any hiking trails I’d been on. He sounded interested in the business when I opened it and asked what kind of daily offerings I would have for purchase. I admit, I had expected something out of a hard-boiled detective show with gruff jailers and hard stares pinning the guilt for everything on my shoulders. I’d seen way too much television, I guess.
I left there grateful that the detour had been quick and that it was over with, then popped by the hardware store to order the paint for my building.
Painting, I decided, was not my strong suit. It only took me twenty minutes before I realized I’d gotten in over my head. Maybe renting a sprayer would have been better after all, I thought as I dipped my roller in the paint yet again. I ended up with drips on the newspaper I’d spread across the floor and a lopsided application to the wall.
I was nearly ready to throw the roller when the bell over the front door rang. I poked my head around the corner to find Shawn standing there in clothes that had seen better days. “Hi. What are you doing here?” I asked.
His dimple popped into existence with his grin. “You said you were painting this afternoon. I thought maybe you could use a hand.”
“You’re on vacation and you’ve come over to help me haul around large appliances and paint? What kind of saint are you?”
“Saint, me? Not hardly.” He walked through to see what I was doing and pressed his lips together, as though trying not to smile. His dimple gave him away, though.
I nudged him with my elbow, not the least amused. “I’ve never done this before. I thought, hey, it looks simple. How hard could it be?”
“It is simple; you just need a little direction.” He took the roller from my hand and put it back in the tray on the floor. “First, you want to
cut in the edges with a brush.” He lifted the three-inch brush I’d purchased and painted in the edges along the ceiling and outlets. “Then you roll over the edges. That way, you don’t leave as many brush strokes on the wall, and it makes it easier later.” He loaded the roller with paint now, coating it evenly and slid it up and down the wall. “It’s better to put on a little extra up front, and roll it smooth, than to be stingy and realize you have to do another coat because you can see through it. Here, you try it.”
I felt like a complete idiot. Was I really too stupid to figure out painting on my own? Still, this was my business and I wanted to do everything I could myself, so I took the roller from him. Shawn set his hand over mine on the handle and helped me maneuver the implement. He stood behind me so his breath feathered against my ear and I felt the heat of his chest on my back. He talked to me as we rolled on the paint. His free hand found its way to rest at my waist.
His lips brushed against my ear. “Like this. How’s that?”
“Better. Thanks for the lesson.” I tried to keep my voice level, calm, but could hear the shakiness in it. I knew he must be gloating at his effect on me, but I was a little too mesmerized to care.
“No problem. Does my help get me another date with you?” I felt his minty breath fan across my cheek.
I smiled despite myself. “Well, I suppose it might.” I turned my head so I looked into his face, inches from my own. “What did you have in mind?”
His lips curved, and the bell rang over the front door as someone entered.
“What do you think you’re doing? Who is that?” The voice from across the room was all too familiar.
I almost dropped the paint roller, but Shawn kept his hand tightly wrapped around mine even as he straightened, shifting his torso a few inches away from mine.
I didn’t have to look at the intruder. I’d know Bronson’s voice anywhere. What was he doing in Silver Springs? It’s not like it was only an afternoon drive from Chicago. I turned to face him. As usual, he was decked out in his suit and carrying his laptop bag. As mad and hurt as I was over what happened, I still sucked in a little breath when I saw how terrific he looked. Then I clenched my jaw—I was not going there again.
Shawn released my hand, but not my waist, nor did he move away.
“Bronson, what are you doing here?” I stared at him.
He approached, his actions indicating he thought he had a right to intrude. “I came to talk some sense into you. What is he doing here?” He gestured to Shawn.
“He came to help me paint. There’s a lot to do before I can open this place for business.” The warmth of Shawn’s hand on my waist grew scalding, but I didn’t shake him off. It felt good having someone behind me, supporting me as I faced down Bronson. And I was amazed he hadn’t stepped forward to interfere. No way would Bronson have let me handle a confrontation without thinking he had to be the big tough man in charge.
“Who’s the suit?” Shawn asked.
“I’m her fiancé, Bronson DeMille the third.” As always, his introduction was self-important. Usually his attitude just made me roll my eyes, even if only on the inside, but right now I found it more than a minor irritation.
Shawn let go and moved away from me, as if I were suddenly contagious. “You’re engaged?”
“No, he’s my ex-fiancé, who became my ex when I caught him cheating on me.” I missed having Shawn’s hand on my hip, but decided it was as well. I turned my attention back to the jerk I once thought I would marry. “What do you want, Bronson?”
Shawn’s defection seemed to give Bronson courage and he walked over, taking my free hand. “Sweetheart, that was all a misunderstanding. You know how much I love you.”
Okay, this was an approach I hadn’t anticipated. But I hadn’t expected to see him at all, so I supposed I shouldn’t have expectations about how he would act. “Really? So I find you sucking face with Karen—made all the worse by the fact that I hate her—and I’m supposed to know that it’s not important, that you still love me? After all, it’s just one of those things that sometimes happens before a guy gets married.” I let the sarcasm ooze and drip.
He took the paint roller and set it in the tray, then moved to take my other hand. I snatched both hands out of his reach and stepped back, closer to Shawn. Bronson looked hurt. “Tess, it was a mistake—a major one—but I promise it won’t happen again. You belong in Chicago, not in this backwater town making cupcakes and brownies for school children.” There was more than a little sneer in his voice.
“Gourmet cupcakes and brownies, and it won’t only be for children. I’m going to enjoy what I do here, having my own space, doing things my way.” Even if I am terrified of the paperwork and taxes and balancing the books. “I already have a few clients and am working out an agreement to do wedding cakes for the new hotel in town.”
“Don’t be silly, Tess. You’re too right-brained. You can’t handle running your own business.” His voice had turned from wheedling to condescending. Jerk.
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Shawn broke in, setting a supportive hand on the small of my back. It was a little gesture Bronson might not have noticed, but I couldn’t help but give my full attention. “She seems to be making a great go of it. Business license, tax ID number, new name, new equipment. It looks to me like she’s plenty capable.”
I flushed from his praise. Such a difference from Bronson, who tended to put me down in business instead of letting me prove myself. Not that I wanted the position he’d given to Karen, but it would have been nice if he’d acted like he thought I was capable of doing it.
“It won’t last six months. Besides, you have commitments in Chicago. The Goulds are threatening to sue the hotel, me and you if you don’t take care of their wedding cake and pastries. They say the biggest reason they booked with us was because of your talent. And the Tanners are right behind them.”
I should have called him back. Or answered one of his calls. If he’d known I planned to come back and handle the Goulds’ wedding, he might not have shown up here. Still, I didn’t say anything yet, just gave him a steady look. I was rewarded when sweat beaded on his upper lip. This was all too easy, and surprisingly entertaining. I’d forgotten I had such a mean streak. I usually manage to keep it in check.
“Why don’t you get rid of him,” he gave Shawn a nasty look, “and we can work this out.”
“Actually, Shawn is here to help me paint, and I need to get the kitchen done today. How about if he stays and I’ll meet you tonight to discuss specific clients.”
Shawn said, “Are you sure you want to meet with him?” while Bronson’s response was, “You’re picking him? And who is he, anyway?”
I counted to ten. Seriously, men drove me crazy sometimes. I turned back to Shawn. “I do need to work things out for the Goulds’ cake, at least. I realized that a couple of days ago. Even though I’m mad at him, I do still care about the clients. I have to go back to Chicago and clean out my condo, anyway. When I left Chicago I hadn’t intended to stay here permanently.”
Bronson let out a relieved breath even as Shawn’s brows winged up. “I knew you’d come to your senses,” Bronson said. “But why didn’t you answer one of my calls so we could work this out over the phone?”
I turned back to my ex. “I enjoyed letting you sweat for a change. And I’m not coming back to work for you—I’m coming back for a little while to do those two cakes and clear out my condo while details finalize here. So I really need to finish painting today.” I gave him a pointed look.
“All right. We’ll discuss it over dinner. Is there somewhere decent to eat around here?”
It only took me a moment to decide where I wanted to go. “Paul’s Burger Shack on Center Street and Gilla Lane. Six o’clock.”
“When I said somewhere decent, I meant somewhere nice.” He looked down his nose at me, as if disgusted. Had I never noticed what a snob he was? Had I become that bad while we dated?
“If you want to talk to me
, you’ll buy me a burger. I’ve been too busy to eat there since I made it back home, and they have great food. Take it or leave it.”
“This is not your home,” Bronson insisted. “Chicago is your home.” He tried claiming my hand again, but I picked up the paint roller from the counter and held it between us and he backed off.
I slid my empty hand into my back pocket where he couldn’t reach it. “Since I’ve moved here permanently, I say this is home. Now if you’ll let me get back to work?”
He scowled at me, at Shawn and turned on his heel. “Six sharp,” he called over his shoulder before heading out the door.
I waited for the door to close and the ringing bell to go silent before turning back to Shawn, who grinned at me. “What?” I asked.
“You’re feisty! I had no idea. I mean, I have a couple of vague memories from when we were little, but you seem so buttoned down and cool now.”
“Well, you know some things never change. I’m just harder to rile than I used to be.” I leaned over and picked up the paintbrush he’d set down and handed it back to him. “You’re tall—do the high spots.”
He went to work with enthusiasm. A moment passed before he started talking again. “He cheated on you?”
“Yep.” No good, lousy jerk.
He slid me a sideways glance that held more than a hint of appreciation. “Is he crazy? Why would any man cheat on a gorgeous, feisty woman like you?”
I blushed and averted my eyes as I started laying down the paint. “You flatter me.”
“Not at all. And I think I’d be afraid to cross you.” He tugged on a lock of my hair and I turned to face him.
“No need. I didn’t hurt him, or Karen. I even left the engagement ring, though on second thought, it would have bought me an awesome cookie roller. Maybe I’ll ask for it back so I can hawk it.” I wouldn’t do any such thing, unfortunately. Beyond being unethical, it would give Bronson hope, and I was going to have a hard enough time getting rid of him as it was. Apparently.
Brownies & Betrayal (Sweet Bites Mysteries, Book 1) Page 8