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

by Christina Freeburn

  Ted frowned. “Anything else?”

  “He had a falling out with Coach Rutherford. He worships the guy, idolizes him. Andrew hates being on the coach’s bad side. I think that’s why he was so hotheaded the other day and went after Jasper. He wanted to earn Rutherford’s respect back.”

  “The reason for this falling out?” Ted asked.

  Daniel shrugged. “I don’t know. I figured it had to do with the team. It’s one of the things Rutherford actually cares about.”

  I sent Ted a text message: “Maybe Coach saw the picture.”

  Ted glanced at his phone, then nodded at me. Daniel headed into the station and Ted walked me to my car.

  He held open my car door. “I’m going to talk to Coach Rutherford. I’d like you to come along in case he denies seeing the picture. He told me on Sunday that he monitors his daughter’s phone on a regular basis, and that’s how he knew about the meet-up.”

  “At the hospital he said Andrew told him.” I slid into the car.

  “That’s what I thought. Coach Rutherford said I misheard him, that it wasn’t what he meant.”

  “The coach is lying to you.”

  “Or having an extreme case of selective memory.” Ted scanned the area.

  “What if Coach Rutherford says I’m lying?” I inserted the key.

  “That’s when I’ll mention I’ll go through all the hard work of getting a warrant to pull the photos. Once a photograph has been posted online, it’s hard for it to completely disappear.”

  “I’d love to help you.” I smiled.

  Ted leaned into my car. “Now let me tell you the conditions.”

  Ted parked the cruiser in the spot reserved for the resource officer, and I pulled into the one beside him marked for visitors.

  “Remember, I ask the questions,” Ted said.

  “Trust me, I got it.” I slammed the car door shut, the window rattling a tad. “I understood it the other umpteen times you said it. I’m not stupid.”

  “I’m not saying you’re stupid.”

  “Okay, then stubborn. Interfering. Annoying.” I rattled off a list of uncomplimentary words as I lead the way to the high school.

  “Well…”

  I about-faced and glared at him.

  Ted pressed the buzzer by the front door. After the second bell, no one could enter the high school without getting buzzed in. I made sure to stand off to the side so the small camera only showed Ted. The office would open the door for him; me, probably not so much. I was sure Principal Hanover told the office staff I was an unwelcome visitor. A few minutes passed and no one buzzed us in, so maybe we were both on the thou-shalt-not-let-in list.

  Ted hit the button again, and this time pressed his badge to the lens of the camera.

  Principal Hanover yanked the door open. “I will not permit either of you to question any of the students.”

  “She’s not here to talk.” Ted took hold of my elbow and escorted me inside. “She’s here as a witness.”

  “A witness?” Principal Hanover’s features scrunched up in confusion.

  “I need to speak to Coach Rutherford.”

  While Principal Hanover allowed us inside, he kept matching Ted’s movements so we didn’t get much farther than a foot into the high school. “He’s teaching right now. I can’t interrupt him or have him leave his class with no supervision.”

  “They’re teenagers. I think they can be left alone for a few minutes,” Ted said.

  I held in a snort. Apparently Ted hadn’t been around teenagers in a while. You had to keep your eye on them. Once a kid had keys to a car and the ability to drive it, they could be gone lickety-split.

  “If there’s a test today, Coach Rutherford’s absence might encourage cheating,” Principal Hanover said.

  “If you monitor them, I’m sure the students will be on their best behavior,” Ted said. “Two people have died. One might not be highly regarded, but the other was a good man with a young daughter. I’ve heard some rumors concerning a parting of ways between Andrew Taylor and Coach Rutherford, and want to clear it up before it gets any further.”

  When Ted said “before it gets any further,” he set his gaze on me for a moment.

  Principal Hanover nodded. “I see. You can wait for him in the teacher’s lounge.”

  Principal Hanover escorted us to the teacher’s lounge and went to get the coach. I took a seat at the end of the table and fixed my gaze on the warning signs in the kitchen. Either the principal didn’t think too highly of his staff, or the State Board of Education was heading off any—and I mean any—type of potential lawsuits. I doubted the staff couldn’t figure out that one must use an oven mitt or a spatula to take items out of the toaster oven.

  The door opened, and an unhappy Coach Rutherford paused in the doorway.

  “I was told a detective needed to speak with me, not the town’s resident busybody.”

  “She’s here for my protection and yours. Neither of us can claim we were threatened by the other.”

  “Like she’s not going to side with you.” Coach Rutherford came inside, the door slamming shut behind him. He walked over to the sink and grabbed a black mug with “EHS Football Champs” written in gold.

  “Trust me, he’s not on my nice list either,” I said.

  “Either of you want a cup?” Rutherford filled his to the brim.

  We declined.

  “Your loss. Wanda makes a great pot of coffee.” He placed the mug on the table and sat down, leaning back in his chair. “What do the police believe my football players are up to now?”

  “I’m here to find out about the argument between you and Andrew Taylor.”

  “He—” I pressed my lips together. Ted’s eyes repeated his constant warning, which I felt was unwarranted.

  “I had some words with him, but I wouldn’t call it an argument,” Coach Rutherford said.

  “How would Andrew categorize it?” Ted asked.

  I put my elbow on the table and cupped my chin in my hand, pressing my palm against my mouth. In this position, it made it a little harder for me to talk out of turn.

  “I don’t read minds, Detective.” Rutherford blew on his coffee, then took a long draw.

  If I’d done that, I’d have burned my mouth. Either the guy was super tough or wanted to singe his tongue, giving himself a good excuse not to answer any more questions.

  “Care to tell me about this exchange of words?”

  “No,” Rutherford said.

  “We can talk here or at the station.” Ted stood. “Right now, I have reason to believe your argument might hold the key to solving this case. I’m here to see how your version compares to the one I already have.”

  Coach Rutherford pulled his cell from his pocket and placed it on the table; using his index finger he twirled it around. “I need you to promise me you’ll leave my kids out of this.”

  Ted sat back down. “Sorry, Coach. I can’t.”

  “Can the prosecuting attorney? I don’t want this coming back to hurt Whitney.”

  “As I said, two men are dead.”

  “Hell, Detective, my daughter didn’t kill anybody. I just don’t want anyone thinking my daughter showed me.”

  I completely covered my mouth. Question after question begged to be released. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold out, even with a physical barrier.

  “Showed you what?”

  “A picture.” Coach Rutherford brought up the gallery on his phone and shoved it toward Ted.

  The coach was going to show Ted the photo. I was disappointed, and felt ashamed about my reaction. Before the phone reached Ted, I eyeballed the picture. This was a different one. Andrew held a cigarette pack out toward Brandon, who was taking one out. The other kids in the backg
round were wearing t-shirt jerseys with numbers and EHS cheerleader shirts.

  “When I found this picture, I forwarded it from Whitney’s phone to mine.”

  “Why did this cause a rift between you and Andrew?”

  “The time stamp.” Coach Rutherford pushed away his coffee. “It was the night of Brandon’s accident. Brandon swore up and down to me, his mom, and anyone who would listen that he hadn’t taken any illegal narcotics. He didn’t know what made him pass out. There was nothing in his system, so nothing to charge him with. His mom didn’t believe he hadn’t smoked anything, so she kept pushing. Whitney has a habit of leaving her phone lying around, and one of her friends saw the picture and shared it. It was brought to my attention that if you zoom in on the cigarette, you can see it isn’t one from a tobacco company. It’s hand-rolled.”

  “You believe Andrew Taylor tricked Brandon into smoking the synthetic marijuana.” The nerve in Ted’s jaw twitched.

  “Yes.” The coach’s hand whitened around the phone. “The SOB tried to blame it on my daughter. I know Whitney had nothing to do with giving that cigarette to Brandon. She liked Brandon. They dated from freshman year until this summer.”

  “What happened this summer?” I asked.

  Coach Rutherford glared at me. Ted gave me a “shut up” look, but repeated my question.

  “Brandon took a liking to another girl.”

  Hannah was my guess.

  “Why didn’t you bring this to Chief Moore or Assistant Prosecutor Davis?” Ted asked. “Hell, or to anyone who worked in the police station or at the prosecutor’s office?”

  “I was covering my ass too.” The coach cradled his head in his hands. “I knew what my players and the cheerleaders were up to at those bonfires. I knew they were smoking and drinking. No harm, no foul. Either I, Andrew, or any of Eden High’s past football players acted as the kids’ taxi service and took them home. I cut loose when I was a kid, and it didn’t hurt my future, and some of those other guys had the same experience.”

  “Did Jasper act as a designated driver?” I asked before restraint emerged.

  “No. Team loyalty comes third to him. Grandma first. The law second. Then the team.”

  “As it should,” Ted said.

  “I’m starting to see that,” Rutherford said.

  Ted had excused me from the meeting. There was some reason he didn’t want to reveal the picture with Andrew, so I skedaddled out of there. With Ted occupied, it was the perfect time for me to have a chat with Felicity.

  I drove over to the police station and parked in an overflow lot even though there were plenty of spaces out front, so neither Ted nor Mitchell would spot my car. I’d phoned Bobbi-Annie, and she told me Mitchell was out of the building. For now.

  The original theory was that Felicity had confessed because Brandon’s chances of getting a full-ride scholarship ended with his car accident. Felicity had stayed home to raise her son, and just when she started looking for a job to help with expenses, Brandon was paralyzed and needed his mom more than ever. Her son’s condition and the medical bills piling up took a toll on Felicity. Over the last few months, she had lost weight and seemed in pain most of the time.

  But what if Felicity actually confessed because she believed—or worse, knew—her husband Allan was guilty of setting the fires and murdering Chad Carr? Teens liked to share pictures, and there was a good chance Felicity and Allan saw the one of Brandon being handed the cigarette. Allan had been on the volunteer fire squad for a few months and knew something about their procedures; plus it wasn’t too hard for an arsonist to find some tips on the internet.

  I walked into the station. Bobbi-Annie rushed over, herding me toward the back where the visitor area was located.

  “Felicity has been refusing to see any visitors, so don’t get your hopes up on talking to her.”

  “Can you get a message to her that I want to talk to her about catering?”

  “Catering?”

  “If she doesn’t come, I’ll get my answer, and if she does, I will too.”

  “Okay.” Bobbi-Annie ushered me into a small room with two round tables and four folding chairs. “Sit wherever you’d like. I’ll need your purse and your cell phone. I’ll hold them up front for you.”

  I handed them over to Bobbi-Annie and waited. And waited some more.

  I checked the time on the wall clock, feeling instant guilt that I had essentially taken the entire day off from work. My grandmothers would easily forgive me, as yesterday had been rough, but I had to find a better balance between working at the store and proving to Officer Mitchell beyond any doubt that I was innocent.

  Just as I was about to call it a day, an officer escorted Felicity into the small room. She shuffled over and dropped into a seat across from me. She had dark circles under her eyes and her hair looked lackluster. The officer remained by the door.

  “I’m guilty,” Felicity said. “It’s as simple as that.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Tears glittered in her eyes. She leaned forward, her stomach pressing into the table. “Let me have this. Please.”

  “Your son needs you.”

  “He needs his dad.”

  “If you think Allan has something—”

  Felicity cut me off. “My husband is innocent. I don’t care what the police think. It was nothing more than a coincidence that Allan sold those policies to the businesses right before they burned.”

  “I thought Allan sold car and house insurance.”

  “After Brandon’s accident, we needed some extra income, and my arthritis doesn’t allow me to work much. About two months ago, Allan participated in a family event at the nursing home. It was an afternoon question and answer session for the families of the residents. They had a representative from the hospital, fire department, an estate planner, and they asked Allan to give a talk about insurance policies.”

  Lucy Cooper. “Did the Carrs ask about business insurance?”

  “When Allan got home, he said that Chad had asked about getting a policy for his business. He wasn’t thrilled about the company he was with and wanted to use someone local. I told Allan I thought it was a great idea. Now I wished I hadn’t.”

  “Why did you agree to see me?” I asked. “Bobbi-Annie said you’ve refused all other visitors.”

  “I was curious because you said catering. What do you know about it?” A flash of pain entered into her eyes.

  My heart pounded. Was the anguish because of the pain of her arthritis, or that we were close to discovering her husband’s crime? “What do you know?”

  “You’re the second person who has come to talk to me about catering.”

  I scooted to the edge of my chair. “Who was the first?”

  “Assistant Prosecutor Davis.”

  When I finally arrived at work, my grandmothers assigned me the job of scrapbooking for Mrs. Barlow. She was struggling in putting together Lake’s album and had come to my grandmothers for help. The three of them brainstormed a “perfect solution.” I would arrange the photos and embellishments in different patterns, Mrs. Barlow would offer her own suggestions for changes, then I would adhere everything to the page for her.

  Somehow they decided that this complied with Lake’s instructions for Mrs. Barlow completing the album herself, and I was back to being her scrapping minion. She sat beside me for three hours, instructing me on photo, ribbon, and sticker placement. I tried convincing her that fabric die cuts added a more elegant look, but she would have none of it. With my grandmas giggling in the background, I placed owls, dogs, and football stickers in the exact spots Mrs. Barlow dictated.

  Now in the cover of night, I was standing on my front porch, discreetly watching Steve. What did the prosecutor’s office know about Vulcan Catering? I’d go over and ask, but I had enough
sleuthing experience to know the car parked at the end of the block was Officer Mitchell observing me.

  I stretched my body and took another look over at Steve’s house. Fortunately, the light from the full moon allowed me to keep my porch light off. I wasn’t sure I wanted Steve knowing I was spying. He made another trip from his townhouse to a truck. He was really leaving.

  My phone trilled. I tugged it from my back pocket, almost dropping it in my haste to silence it. Ted’s picture flashed on my screen. Why was it that the man always knew when I was up to something?

  Oh, that’s right—Officer Mitchell.

  “What?”

  “I wanted to warn you that Andrew Taylor hasn’t been found yet. Stay inside your house with your doors locked.”

  “You think he’s after me?”

  “He knows you’ve been asking questions. If you hear any noises, give me or even Steve a call. He can get to you quicker.”

  “Not for much longer. He’s in the process of moving out. Like right now.”

  “Call me if anything weird is going on. Don’t check it out yourself.”

  “I won’t.”

  Andrew sure hadn’t covered his tracks well. My mind kept playing Norman Ridley’s words over and over again: Andrew wasn’t very bright. Coach Rutherford had a lot of people keeping an eye on the parties, so why hadn’t one of them said anything to him about Andrew hanging around his daughter that night?

  The car finally left the spot down the street. Steve walked out of his house carrying two more boxes. My heart clenched. This was it. He was really leaving. I started for my house when my cell rang again. It was the nursing home.

  “This is Nancy. We haven’t seen Dawn since Lucy died.” Nancy’s voice dipped. “I’m worried about her. I understand her not wanting to come around, but she hasn’t answered any of our calls either, and arrangements still need to be made for her mother.”