Framed to Death (A Faith Hunter Scrap This Mystery Book 4)

by Christina Freeburn

  There were two people who held some of the answers: Felicity Sullivan and Fire Chief Ridley. Only Felicity could tell me if she was afraid her husband was guilty—or knew he was. And Charlie had planned on talking to Fire Chief Ridley, so part of the answer must be at the firehouse. Did Charlie ever get there, or had he been killed before—or because of—his questions?

  I decided to visit Chief Ridley first. Felicity wasn’t going anywhere.

  The fire station looked deserted when I pulled up outside the building. The fire department was manned by volunteers and didn’t have someone there twenty-four/seven. Next door, the bowling alley’s parking lot was almost at capacity. Ridley was probably helping his wife out with their business. I turned in the direction of the bowling alley, planning on asking him to let me in.

  What if Chief Ridley had something to do with the fires?

  I let the voice get to me and looked for my own way in. Five feet above my head were windows placed around the station like decorative flowers on a birthday cake. Every twelve feet there was another window. If I parked my car on the side of the building away from the alley, I could stand on the top and look inside; not as good as actually getting into the building, but better than nothing.

  I glanced around the adjoining parking lots of the fire station and bowling alley. Only one other car was in the fire station lot. No time like the present. I parked my car right alongside the brick wall, the passenger side just inches from it. I climbed onto the hood, then stood on top of the car, bracing my hands on the windowsill. Leaning forward, I peeked into the truck bay, barely making out anything at all. I needed a little more height.

  Standing on my toes, I stretched my neck farther, hoping to get a tiny glimpse of what was on the other side of the bay.

  A shotgun racked behind me. “Don’t move!”

  I held onto the ledge for dear life, afraid to even flatten my feet to get better balance.

  “The police are on the way.”

  “Can I sit? I might slip off the car.” I hoped the person holding the weapon was a gentleman—and not the killer.

  “Faith Hunter, is that you?” Fire Chief Norman Ridley peered into my face. “Wait until your grandmothers hear about this.”

  “I’d rather they didn’t.” If he intended to tattle on me, then he wasn’t hiding anything.

  “Too late,” another voice joined in the conversation.

  Ted. How did he always turn up when I was in an unexplainable situation? Or at least one I didn’t want to explain.

  “Get down from there.” Ted held out his arms to help me down.

  “I can manage.”

  I didn’t want his help. It made it too easy for Ted to twirl me to place handcuffs on my wrists. I sat, inching my way down the front windshield and hood.

  “You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you.” Ridley unloaded the shotgun, pocketing the cartridge. “What in the world are you doing?”

  I umm-ed and ahh-ed a non-response.

  “Faith.”

  It had been a while since I heard Ted say my name in that warning tone. I still hated it. “I had an idea and wanted to explore it. I was afraid if I went to you, you’d get in trouble.”

  Ted groaned. “You need to stay out of this.”

  “It’s hard to when a police officer and a reporter are determined to prove you’re guilty of the crime,” I said. “If you or Steve try helping me, your jobs are in jeopardy.”

  “If you wanted a tour, Faith, all you have to do is ask.” Ridley’s deep twang held a whole lot of amusement at my expense.

  “Charlie Powell was coming to talk to you on Monday,” I said. “I wanted to find out what you told him.”

  “That’s not for you to ask.” Ted’s face turned a darker shade of red.

  “I took that day off and spent some time at the casino in Rocky Gap. Me and the missus decided to overnight it there,” Norman said.

  “The whole day?” Ted asked.

  “I know everyone in town thinks my life is just firefighting and bowling, but I use quality time to keep my woman happy.” Ridley waggled his eyebrows up and down.

  That was something Norman could’ve left off the police-and-Faith-need-to-know list.

  “I’d like to take a look around,” Ted said. “Charlie Powell was murdered, and I was told you were likely the last person he saw. He was headed over to talk to you.”

  Ridley shook his head. “I didn’t talk to him.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked. “He was blond. A little over six feet tall. Sturdy build. Had a limp. He was a fraud and fire investigator for the company where Chad Carr bought his insurance.”

  “’Course I’m sure. As I said, I wasn’t here on Monday.”

  “Charlie told me he was coming to talk to you. There was something about the Carr fire that bothered him,” I said, my voice hinting at my frustration.

  “I can handle this, Faith. You should head back to Scrap This,” Ted said.

  “I wish I’d been here. There’s something been nagging me and Daniel about it too. Then there’s…never mind.” Ridley took a keyring from his pocket. “You’re welcome to look around.”

  “You should tell us what’s troubling you. It might be helpful,” I said.

  “He shouldn’t tell you anything.” Ted turned me around by my shoulder and gave my rear a little swat. “You should head off to work.”

  “I’m not a child.”

  I walked through the open bay door.

  “Might as well let her come,” Ridley said. “She’ll just come back later on her own. Best to know what catches her eye.”

  “I suppose you’re right about that,” Ted said. “She’ll cause less turmoil when I’m watching her.”

  I narrowed my eyes, wishing I could shoot laser beams to scorch his backside a little.

  “Can I ask a question, Norman?”

  “Sure, darling.”

  Ted groaned.

  “How did you know I was out here?”

  “Easy peasy. Daniel lives in the apartment complex up on the hill. He can see the station from here. He was out on his balcony and saw a car parking on the side, got curious, and used his bird-watching binoculars to get a look-see. Saw someone trying to get inside and gave me a call. I could get here a lot quicker, and Daniel doesn’t own a gun.”

  Good to know. I might need to take some of those investigating classes Ted’s brother Bob Roget taught. If I was the go-to girl for anyone getting in trouble in Eden, I needed to brush up on my butting-in tactics. A lot of people had an easy time figuring out when I was up to something.

  Ridley walked around a large black truck parked in one of the vehicle slots. He kicked the tire. A clump of dried dirt dropped from the deep ridges of the tire. “Now, why did that boy park this beast in here?”

  The truck looked like the one driven by the person who shot at us yesterday, and possibly the one I saw Saturday night at Piece A Pie. The look Ted fixed on me sent a shiver down my back, and not the good kind. He wanted me silent, and this time I obeyed.

  “Whose truck is it?” Ted knelt down and picked up the wad of dirt. “Do you normally have personal vehicles in the bay?”

  I sidled up to Ted and looked at it. The grass was dark brown, either from being burnt, or from no longer being in the ground.

  “Hell no. Now I need to find out where the response vehicle is,” Norman ranted. “Daniel sees Faith pull up, but can’t see anyone swiping it? What’s the good in paying him to keep an eye on things when he doesn’t notice this?”

  “I’d say whoever owns this truck is driving your missing car.”

  “That’s the last thing I need, my no-good son-in-law trolling around town in my vehicle.”

  Ted forced out a smile. “Come on, Norm, that doesn’t help me out. You say that a
bout each of them.”

  “Andrew. The one I had to suspend off the squad a month ago. I told Debi to stay away from him. Knew he was no good from the day I met him.”

  Why would Andrew drive his own truck when he was going to shoot at the police? It was a good way to get caught, and quickly.

  “Why are you interested in this truck?” Ridley’s eyes widened. “Have anything to do with the man you’re asking about?”

  “A car similar to this one drove by and shot at me and Faith yesterday,” Ted said.

  Ridley worked his jaw back and forth, face reddening as he evil-eyed the truck. “When I got back, one of the gals working in the kitchen said Andrew called in sick on Monday. Drunk would be more the truth. I’m not that much of a danged fool. The last month, he’s either been drinking or boasting. He’s never at the place he should be. My daughter’s calling her momma every night in tears because Andrew ain’t home.”

  “And no one knows where he’s at?” Ted asked.

  “Nope, he’s also not showing up for calls. The last call he came to, he was so drunk Wayne locked him in the fire truck.”

  “When was that?”

  “The night Brandon Sullivan nearly died in the wreck. Wayne told me Andrew stumbled up to the scene on foot, tried yanking Wyatt away so he could do CPR on the boy. Andrew kept saying he needed to save Brandon. The next day, I wrote it up, and then suspended him from coming to the station or on any calls until he got himself straightened out.”

  “How did he get in here?” I asked.

  “I keep an extra set of keys at the bowling alley. I bet he went in there and got them when no one was looking.”

  “Can I get a copy of the discipline report and any records of the calls? I want to check something,” Ted said.

  Ridley went over to a small office. “I’ll give you the discipline report with no warrant, Detective, but I want to know why you want the other records.”

  I couldn’t help it and butted in. “Maybe it’s not the kids creating the bonfires but Andrew. The fires we’ve been having around town coincide with bonfire nights.”

  “Faith—” Ted issued another name warning.

  “In that case…” Ridley opened the door and strode inside the office. “Damn it!”

  Ted rushed in, blocking me from entering.

  I squatted and peered between Ted’s side and the door jam. The place was trashed. The computer was broken and empty file folders were strewn about. Burnt embers filled a metal trashcan.

  All the evidence was gone.

  Ted walked into the room, frowning as he took everything in. “I’m going to have Jasper come out and help me process all of this. We might be able to get some fingerprints and find out who did this.”

  “It’s your time to waste.” Ridley stalked out of the room. “I know the answer already.”

  “I’m not quite sure about that. It’s too—” Ted began.

  “I know what you’re thinking, Detective.” Ridley grabbed a wrench from a toolbox, lifted up the hood of the truck, then removed something from the engine. “Thing is, Andrew isn’t a smart one. The only brilliant thing he’s ever done in his life was marry one of my girls, and the only brain-dead thing my middle girl went and done was marry him.”

  “Just because he’s not the brightest color in the crayon box doesn’t make him guilty of arson or murder,” Ted said.

  “I got more than that. Talk to Coach Rutherford too. There was a damn good reason the man threatened him away from the games and the bonfires.” Ridley typed out a text, his movements almost violent. “Rutherford passed on some messages Andrew sent his daughter.”

  “What did the messages say?”

  “Asking Whitney to meet up with him, that he needed to talk with her. The coach wasn’t happy about them, but there was nothing written to make it a police matter. Coach thought I could put the fear of God into my son-in-law.”

  “And did you?” Ted asked.

  “He stopped going to the bonfires.”

  No, he didn’t. I’d show Ted the Instagram pictures later. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

  “Because he’s family. I take care of my family’s business.”

  “Is that what you just did?” I pointed at his cell phone.

  “Yep. Told that SOB if he got near my girl again, I’d kill him.”

  “You shouldn’t say that,” I said. “If something does happen to him, Detective Roget will have to come to arrest you.”

  “As he should. ’Cause I guarantee if anything happens to that lowlife, I did it.”

  TWENTY

  Ridley drove out of the bay, parking the long fire truck so it blocked the bay doors. Even if Andrew figured out a way to fix his truck, there was no way to drive it out.

  “I need to run over to the alley and let my wife know what’s going on.” Ridley hopped out of the engine and slammed the door. “If Andrew comes in, I’ll have him stalled and send word to you.”

  “I appreciate it.” Ted halted Ridley with a hand placed on the man’s shoulder. “I also need you not to mention this to your son-in-law or go looking for him.”

  “He can’t be left to run around this town if he killed a man.”

  “We don’t know that he had anything to do with Charlie Powell’s murder,” Ted said.

  “Then why would he be shooting at you?” Ridley asked.

  “If you’re right, that’s an even greater reason to leave this to me,” Ted said. “Your daughters will be brokenhearted if anything happens to you. If Andrew is guilty—”

  “I can guarantee it,” Ridley said.

  “If he’s guilty, your daughter will need you even more.”

  “Detective Roget’s right,” I said. “Being married to a man accused of murder, especially a guilty one, tears you up. It’s even harder when you’re alone. People turn on you. Even ones who promised to have your back.”

  “No one here will do that.” Ridley tapped his chest. “I’ll always be there for my little girl. So will her momma and her sisters. The town loves her.”

  “Everyone sure seemed loving to Dawn on Sunday.” Bitterness crept into my tone. “Sometimes people are more willing to believe the bad about a person and hate them than look for the good and love them. She’ll need you. Trust me.”

  Ridley and I entered into a showdown of the eyes. After a few minutes, Norman let out a grunt and raised his hands.

  “Okay,” Ridley said, punctuating the word with a nod. “If I see him, I’ll call. I won’t tell him nothing, or wring his drunk neck. I’ll leave the justice to the legal system.”

  “I appreciate that,” Ted said.

  “Hopefully the town does too. Don’t want anyone questioning my reputation because I didn’t handle this the old-fashioned way.” Ridley stomped off toward the bowling alley.

  Ted took hold of my arm and hauled me to my car. “You need to stay out of this. I swear, next time I will arrest you for obstruction of justice.”

  “I’m not obstructing justice. I’m helping justice. Or at least trying to keep myself out of jail.” I brought up Instagram on my phone and searched for the picture of Andrew talking to Whitney. Where did it go?

  “Your attempts to find the murderer are likely to put you in jail rather than keep you out of it.” Ted paused in the middle of the rant. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m trying to find a photo I saw the other day. It was the night of the Made With Love fire. Whitney was talking to Andrew Taylor.”

  Ted leaned into me, looking over my shoulder at the small screen. My body felt like it was about to combust. “Where’s the picture?”

  “I don’t know. It was on Kirstin’s account the other day. She took a selfie and in the background were Whitney and Andrew Taylor. She tagged a few friends on the picture. I wonder
if one of them made her delete it. I have a copy on my computer.”

  “Need any help?” Daniel strolled up to us. “Chief called and asked me to help the police search our office. He said reports were destroyed.”

  Ted nodded. “Jasper and Officer Glover are coming to process the scene. They can manage just fine.”

  “I did the majority of the paperwork since all the other guys hated doing it. I can tell the officers what’s missing.”

  “Who else worked on the reports?” Ted asked.

  “Andrew Taylor. He’d been ditching his duties before Chief Ridley kicked him out. I should’ve known he was up to something when I saw him hanging around the station the other day.”

  “When was this?” Ted opened the door of his cruiser and snatched up his leather notebook.

  “Monday. He went into the bowling alley drunk and yelled at the staff. One of the cooks knows I live nearby and called me. I saw Andrew banging on the bay door, wrestled him into my car, and took him home.”

  “Was this out of the ordinary for him?”

  “Getting drunk, no. Yelling, screaming, and picking fights with everyone was new. He was usually a calm, though boisterous, drunk. It’s why everyone at the bowling alley let Norm handle it instead of calling the police.”

  “Andrew wasn’t very gentlemanly when I left the police station Friday morning,” I said.

  Had Andrew been trying to set Allan up Friday night? Who better to shift the blame to than the man selling the fire insurance policies? It was a coincidence that Allan sold them all, but then again, the community knew about the Sullivans’ financial struggles, and residents wanting to help them out made sense.

  “What’s your guess on his personality change?” Ted asked.

  Daniel grimaced and looked at the ground.

  “Say it,” Ted said.

  “I don’t know if I should, Detective. It feels wrong.”

  “I need to know. Two men are dead,” Ted said.

  “Well, the last month has been rough for Andrew. Chief Ridley caught him hosting a party for the teens. From the dressing down I heard, Andrew had some of the synthetic marijuana and gave it to the kids. Chief also wasn’t happy because Coach Rutherford gave him hell over Andrew’s behavior. He expected the fire chief to keep Andrew in line.”