Deadly Devotion

by Sandra Orchard

  “Sorry about that,” Tom said. “You wanted to see me?”

  Regaining his composure, Hank glowered. “What were you trying to pull by undermining my authority out there today?”

  Tom held up his hands and backed up a step. “Hey, I heard a scream. I investigated. End of story. Why were you so desperate to keep Miss Adams quiet?”

  “I told you. I thought you might be a drug dealer.”

  “So are you willing to admit there might be something to Kate’s theory?”

  “Kate, is it now?”

  “Come on. What’s really eating you?”

  Hank glanced toward the window overlooking the squad room and lowered his voice. The shadows under his eyes had darkened over the past week or two, and the craters etched in his forehead verged on canyons. “I got a call from the mayor this morning. Seems Miss Adams complained about our handling of the Leacock case. With tourist season around the corner, the mayor doesn’t want rumors of unsolved murders tarnishing the town’s reputation. He told me to handle it.”

  “Great, all we need is a politician telling us how to do our job.”

  Hank shrugged. “Get used to it.”

  “The day I stop doing my job because some suit at town hall tells me to look the other way is the day I hand in my badge for good.”

  “Well, I guess I won’t have to worry about you eyeing my job then.”

  “I’m the least of your problems. Did you notice the padlock on that shed in the woods?”

  “Lot of good it did them with a broken window.”

  “Them?” Tom zeroed his attention on Hank. “You know who’s been using the place?”

  “Sure. Bert and Clarence use it to assemble fireworks for the fair. They’ve been making them for years.”

  “Fireworks?”

  “Yeah, they like to assemble the stuff well away from nosy kids. But not far enough away from nosy women, apparently. What did you think it was used for?”

  The tension that had been building since lunchtime finally loosened its grip. “Something like that.” Tom laughed. “I wasn’t sure.” He turned to leave.

  Hank caught his shoulder. “Not so fast. What you were doing out on Turnbull Road this afternoon?”

  Tom silently counted to five. “Kate’s boss told me she was visiting interns, and I was afraid she’d do exactly what she ended up doing.”

  “And I told you that case was closed.” Hank’s tone lightened as he waved his hand dismissively. “No matter, after today’s adventure, I doubt Miss Adams will give us any more trouble.”

  “Don’t you think there might be something to this drug connection? You must, to have followed her.” Afraid he’d already pushed too hard, Tom stopped short of criticizing Hank’s treatment of Kate.

  “No, I was afraid her snooping would get her into trouble,” Hank said without a moment’s hesitation, or rise in pitch, or blink of the eyes to suggest he’d lied.

  Okay, so maybe concern had prompted Hank to follow Kate into the woods.

  “I’d still like to look into it,” Tom pressed.

  Hank’s fingers turned white where they curled around the files. “The Leacock case is closed.” Hank slapped the stack of papers onto the conference table. “These are real cases—unsolved cases—that need your attention. Don’t let our friendship make you forget who’s in charge. If you cause trouble here, you’ll be blacklisted in every county from Niagara to Nunavut,” he said, his tone as cold and merciless as the ice-crusted territory.

  Tom blinked. He’d known the other guys resented him. But not Hank. They’d been best buddies since grade school. Tom had stood by Hank when he didn’t have another friend in the world.

  Hank grinned and gave Tom’s shoulder a good-natured jab. “You should see your face, man. Glad to see I finally got your attention. Now, get to work.”

  “Yes, boss.” Tom picked up the stack of files and carried them to his desk. Got my attention. Right. The man was on a serious power trip. Tom flipped through the file folders—minor stuff like stolen bicycles and graffiti on the bank’s new brick facade. Hank’s resentment clearly ran deeper than Tom had supposed. For all he knew, Hank had resented him since their youth and this was payback.

  Tom shuffled over to the break room and drained the last of the coffee from the pot. The thick sludge was as black as his future if Hank caught him digging any deeper into the Leacock case. Not that that would stop him. He’d made Kate a promise.

  Even if his terrorist theory was a bust, too many things about this case didn’t add up, and the fact that Kate’s sleuthing infuriated Hank only heightened Tom’s curiosity.

  “What will you do, now?” Julie grabbed her purse and hurried after Kate.

  “Whatever I have to do to prove Hank’s guilty.” Kate stopped on the steps outside the library door and scanned the vicinity for eavesdroppers. “Except, if the chief is involved in a cover-up, who can I trust?”

  Julie cupped Kate’s elbow and steered her toward the crosswalk. “What about Tom?”

  Kate shivered at the memory of his drawn gun. “I don’t know. Tom saw how Hank manhandled me in the woods and practically defended his actions.”

  By unspoken agreement, or maybe habit, Kate and Julie crossed the street and headed for A Cup or Two.

  “You were on private property.”

  Kate stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “Whose side are you on?”

  Julie hiked her purse strap up her shoulder and tugged Kate forward. “Yours, of course. But somebody has to be your voice of reason.”

  Kate huffed. Okay, she’d admit she had a tendency to overreact whenever someone in a uniform got within twenty yards of her. Watching one’s dad get carted off by the police did that to a person. But if she’d learned one thing from the aftermath of losing Dad while he was in police custody, it was that cops protected their own. “The chief clamped a hand over my mouth. A dirty, clammy hand at that. And okay, maybe I was trespassing, but really . . . who needs the reality check? There wasn’t another soul out in those woods, except Quick Draw McGraw.”

  “And lucky for you he was.” The bell over the shop door tinkled as Julie pushed it open.

  Kate closed her eyes and inhaled. “Mmm, smell that coffee.” The delicious aroma of dark roasted coffee instantly calmed her frayed nerves.

  “You’re a nut.” Julie slapped a teacup into Kate’s hand. “You never drink coffee. Yet every time you smell it, you get this giddy ‘my seeds sprouted’ smile.”

  Kate’s gaze skittered over the handful of people seated about the shop. “My seeds sprouted?”

  “Sure. You know . . . Every spring you start trays and trays of seeds in the south window, and when they start sprouting, you get all giddy and walk around the apartment with this silly grin on your face.” Julie paused, a strange expression on her face. She tapped her finger to her chin, her lips widening with each tap into a grin of their own. “Kind of like how you looked last night after your detective paid us a visit.”

  “I did not.” Kate turned her attention to the canisters of herbs lining the side counter, her insides as jittery as the teacup on her saucer.

  “Whatever.” Julie spooned green tea leaves into her cup. “So what are you going to do about the chief?”

  Kate’s heart hiccuped at the too-loud question. She swept her gaze over the chattering customers sitting at the tables. Satisfied that no one seemed interested in her conversation, she whispered, “I plan to keep an eye on him and his dad.”

  “Are you sure it’s not his uniform that makes you suspicious? Let’s face it. From the way you rant about their speed traps, cops are about the only people in this town you would suspect of a crime.”

  “That’s not true. There was Daisy’s intern, and like you said, Edward might have had a motive, if he knew Daisy wrote him into her will.”

  “If that’s a motive, then you’d be the police’s prime suspect.”

  Kate’s spoon clattered to the counter, sending raspberry leaves flying. “I�
�d never kill Daisy for money.”

  The hum of conversation in the shop stopped.

  Kate’s face heated under the glare of eyes.

  “I know you wouldn’t. And you know you wouldn’t,” Julie hissed, brushing the scattered leaves into her hand, then dumping them into the trash. “But the police don’t know that. They would suspect you as quick as Edward.”

  Kate offered the rubberneckers in the room a reassuring smile and focused on adding herbs to her cup while ignoring the sudden flurry of whispers.

  Molly wandered over, looking a little wary. “Are you finding everything okay?”

  “Oh, sure,” Julie said. “We come here all the time.”

  “Hi, Molly.” Kate injected extra cheer into her greeting to put the girl at ease after yesterday’s spilled tea incident. “The university just announced the dates for that homeopathy class I told you about. Do you think you might be interested?”

  Molly’s cheeks colored. “Uh, actually, I’m not sure I’ll be able to—”

  “Don’t worry about the cost,” Kate interjected, anticipating her explanation. “There are funds available to help needy students.”

  Molly’s eyes widened. “I don’t need anybody’s”—her forehead puckered—“charity.”

  “No, I didn’t mean . . .”

  The doorbell tinkled, and Molly used the excuse to hurry back to the cash register.

  Julie nudged Kate’s arm and pointed to the door, or more precisely, to Edward swaggering through it. “Speak of the devil.”

  “What an awful thing to say.”

  “I don’t trust him. He’s too slick. Have you seen the car he drives?”

  Kate doubled the dose of lavender in her tea. She needed all the help she could get to relax. Sniffing coffee wasn’t going to work today. “So he drives a Porsche. What’s the big deal?”

  Edward bypassed the tea counter, seemingly oblivious to their presence, and honed in on Molly behind the cash register at the back of the shop.

  Julie elbowed Kate in the side. “He seems chummy with Molly.”

  “He charms all the girls. It’s probably why donations to the research station are up forty percent since he took over. Do you think I offended Molly by suggesting she needed financial help?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  Kate’s heart fell. “I just wanted to encourage her the way Daisy did for me. I called Beth last night and she said Molly has no one.”

  Julie tilted her head in the girl’s direction. “Could have fooled me.”

  Kate let out a sigh. Given Edward’s playboy reputation, the relationship wouldn’t last. She carried her cup to the back counter and quietly cleared her throat.

  Edward stepped aside. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to monopolize the counter. Oh, Kate, it’s you.” He leaned close and lowered his voice. “Come up with any clues?”

  “One or two.”

  Molly’s giddy smile disappeared as her gaze flicked from Edward to Kate, and the puckered brow made a reappearance.

  Edward grinned, but Kate wasn’t sure what he thought was funny—the idea of her sleuthing, or Molly’s frown at his arm draped over Kate’s shoulder. “Molly, have you met my aunt’s assistant, Kate?”

  Molly’s polite acknowledgment was noticeably cooler than their earlier conversation.

  Kate pretended not to notice as she handed over the money for her brew. “So, Edward, did you find Daisy’s journal?”

  “I found a few, actually. Why don’t you come by her house later and I’ll show you?”

  Kate shot Julie a victorious look. “I can come right now if you like.”

  “Sure.” He picked up his cup of coffee and winked at Molly. “Drink your tea first. Then we’ll go.”

  Julie slapped money on the counter and, without bothering to wait for change, dragged Kate to a corner booth. “You can’t go see Edward alone. You just told me he was a suspect.”

  “He wants to help me.” Kate glanced to where Edward was now leaning over the counter, twirling Molly’s hair around his finger. “If he was a murderer, he wouldn’t hand over Daisy’s journal.”

  “He could be luring you to her house to do away with you.”

  Kate burst into laughter, sloshing tea across the tablecloth. She grabbed a wad of napkins and sopped up the mess. “Invite me over in front of a coffee shop full of witnesses? You’ve been watching too many movies.”

  “Well, if you watched more you might not do something so stupid.”

  “If you’re worried, come with me.” Between the marijuana leaf in Daisy’s notebook and Hank’s suspicious behavior, coupled with his dad’s history, Kate’s suspicions of Edward had vanished, especially since he seemed eager to share the journals he’d found. “Because I’m going. If Daisy learned something that jeopardized Hank’s career, he would’ve had a strong motive to silence her, and her journal probably has that something spelled out in black-and-white. Think about it. Hank had means and opportunity. As the chief of police, Daisy would have trusted him, invited him in for tea. He could have slipped anything into it, then bribed or blackmailed the coroner to declare her death to be from natural causes.”

  “Hello?” Julie glanced over her shoulder at Edward, then leaned across the table and spoke in a hushed voice. “If you really believe that, aren’t you paranoid enough to realize you could be next?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  Edward set his mug on the counter and caught Kate’s attention with a wave.

  Kate lifted a finger to indicate she’d be another minute and added for Julie’s ears only, “Because, unlike Daisy, I don’t trust Hank. If I find anything incriminating, I’ll take it to another police station where the cops don’t answer to him.”

  “Girl, you’re high on this marijuana theory, and I’m just praying you don’t come crashing down.”

  6

  After spending several fruitless hours trying to track down leads under the guise of researching the cold cases Hank had handed him, Tom headed home, hopeful a chat with his dad about Daisy’s will would yield better results. Tom bypassed the living room, stopping in his bedroom to remove his coat and secure his gun and take a moment to pray for wisdom first. If he’d taken the time yesterday, he might not have botched last night’s attempt.

  Dad must’ve bought a new air freshener when he was out because the house smelled of freshly baked apple pie. Unfortunately, the uplifting aroma hadn’t altered the status quo. As usual, Dad sat in his recliner, TV blaring.

  Tom glanced at the family photos lining the shelves and prayed again for patience.

  When had the skin on Dad’s neck begun to hang like ripples on the shore? If he kept on like this, he’d be following Mom to an early grave. How had his sister not seen the signs? “Dad, can we talk?”

  Dad pushed up his sleeves and waved Tom off. The veins bulging from Dad’s thin arms cast a bluish tinge to his skin that betrayed a frailty he’d rather die from than acknowledge. “If you’re going to lecture me about how I should live, save your breath. You’ve never loved a woman. You can’t possibly understand what it feels like to lose the best part of yourself, let alone know what I should do about it.”

  Unwilling to reveal how deep Dad’s words cut, Tom moved to the window. “This isn’t about Mom. It’s about a case.”

  Dad sat up. The recliner’s footrest clomped closed with a thud. “Well, why didn’t you say so?”

  Pleased by the sudden enthusiasm in Dad’s voice, Tom took a seat across from him. “You remember Daisy Leacock?”

  “Sure. Five foot four, medium build, early sixties, curly white hair, always smiling, what about her?”

  Tom closed his eyes. The police report–like description didn’t surprise him. After all, Dad had been a cop for over thirty years. It was the fact he didn’t seem to realize she was dead that made Tom cringe. Whether Dad agreed or not, he had cut himself off from the world. Only this wasn’t the way Tom wanted to point that out.

  Tom shifted in his seat, uncertain how to continue.
His palm crunched stray potato chips. Stalling for time in the vain hope that another option would miraculously present itself, Tom knocked the chips off the couch. When no lightning bolt speared through the ceiling, Tom took a deep breath and leaned toward his dad. “Do you remember the last time you spoke with Daisy?”

  Dad’s eyes sparked. “I may have lost my wife. I haven’t lost my memory. She came here about a month ago on a personal matter.”

  “About her will?”

  “That’s none of your business.” The scowl on his face matched the one he wore whenever Tom broached the subject of Mom, and Tom’s patience careened out the window.

  “Dad, if you’re withholding key evidence in a murder investigation, it is my business.”

  “Crump’s dead?”

  “Crump? Who’s Crump?”

  Dad looked at him as if he were a few bullets short of a magazine. “Daisy’s nephew.”

  Tom shook his head. His dad’s memory obviously wasn’t as good as he thought. “No, Dad, Edward Smythe is Daisy’s nephew.”

  “No, son,” Dad shot back in the same patronizing tone Tom had used. “Smythe was an alias.”

  Tom winced at how disrespectful he’d sounded. A microsecond later Dad’s words sunk in, and Tom’s apology balled in his throat. “Wait a minute. You’re telling me Smythe is a fraud?”

  “Yup. A two-bit con artist who preyed on little old ladies by pretending to be a long-lost nephew. Didn’t Daisy tell you? The silly woman, she was determined to keep his secret.” Dad scrubbed his palm over his whiskers. “This’ll break her heart.”

  Tom swallowed hard, unable to force out the words Dad needed to hear.

  “I tried to warn her that his past would catch up to him,” Dad continued, “but once Daisy gets an idea into her head, it’s next to impossible to change her mind. She thought that if she put ‘Jim Crump’ in her will, instead of ‘Edward,’ then after her death he’d realize she’d known the truth all along and had loved and accepted him as her own anyway. How’d he die?”

  Tom felt sick. He averted his eyes and found himself staring at Dad’s outstanding service plaque for thirty-five years on the force. Dad had loved being a cop. The enthusiasm in his voice at the prospect of discussing a case with Tom had proclaimed the fact loud and clear. A fact Tom had overlooked in all these months of trying to reconnect. If only the breakthrough weren’t the result of yet another death. “Dad,” Tom said, the word scraping his throat raw. “Crump didn’t die. Daisy did.”