Deadly Devotion

by Sandra Orchard

  The color drained from Dad’s face, leaving him as chalky as the outline of a murder victim. “Daisy? How? When?”

  “I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t know you two were friends or I would’ve told you sooner. She died two weeks ago.” Tom suppressed a fleeting urge to add, If you went out once in a while you’d hear these things. He’d learned his lesson.

  Dad’s lips pressed into a tight line. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then slowly let it release. “Daisy had this Pollyanna idea that her unconditional love would soften Crump’s attitude toward God.”

  “Her death was self-inflicted—a poisoning.”

  Dad lifted his head. His composed cop mask was firmly fitted in place, his emotions compartmentalized to deal with later . . . or not. “You don’t sound convinced.”

  “Daisy’s co-worker thinks she was murdered.”

  “And you think Crump did it for her money.” Dad rose and paced the room. “He’s never killed before.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “I had a buddy check his record, but I suppose that only proves he’s never been caught.”

  “Why did Daisy come to you about her will?”

  Dad opened the curtains and beams of sunlight chased the shadows from the room. “She wanted to know what I thought about the idea of including Crump. I told her it was her money, but that if I were her, I wouldn’t tell him—just in case. I guess she didn’t listen. Unless . . .”

  “Unless what?”

  “Unless she told the person who stood to inherit the bulk of her estate before Crump came into the picture.”

  Tom’s chest tightened. Kate Adams. At least, according to Mrs. Crantz. Daisy’s lawyer had refused to divulge any information without a court order.

  “You look like you don’t believe it. The top two motives for murder are always passion and money. Didn’t they teach you that in the FBI?”

  Tom chose to ignore the criticism in Dad’s tone. He’d never approved of Tom “renouncing” his country to work in the States, simply because a quirk of circumstances had led to him being born south of the border instead of in Canada. But this time, Tom suspected Dad’s rant was a displacement of his own frustration over his role in this unhappy drama.

  “I only just learned about the will. There was no paperwork in Daisy’s house naming a lawyer or mentioning the existence of a will, and Edward claimed not to know about such things.”

  “Well, he wouldn’t. Would he? But now that you know, find out who didn’t want Daisy to change her will.”

  Kate. But despite all his people are rarely what they seem tirades, Tom couldn’t picture Kate spiking her best friend’s tea. Crump, on the other hand, sounded exactly like the kind of slime who would stoop to such a plan. “Getting answers won’t be that easy. The case is closed. And Daisy’s lawyer isn’t talking.”

  “Well, in my day, I investigated a case or two behind the captain’s back.” Dad picked up a photo of Mom from the end table. His finger trembled as he touched the image, his lips curving into a smile. The kind of smile that hinted at a special memory they alone had shared. He set the photo down and turned that smile to Tom. “Yup, more than a case or two, and my defiance usually landed me in a heap of trouble. But I don’t answer to the department anymore.” He rubbed his palms together. “Tell me what I can do.”

  Kate coasted into Daisy’s driveway behind Edward’s late-model, mint-condition Porsche Boxster and tried to forget Julie’s intimation that someone with such expensive taste in cars might need all the money he could get his hands on. Kate shook the ridiculous thought from her head. He’d had the car before he’d ever wheeled into Port Aster.

  The curtain in the neighbor’s front window shifted, and Kate made a mental note to have a chat with the woman. She could stop in after she collected Daisy’s journal. Kate climbed out of her car and followed Edward to the front door.

  The pansies along the pathway were perkier today. Edward must have watered the flower bed. More evidence of his innocence. Someone who took time to water flowers wouldn’t stoop to murder to make a few bucks.

  A sudden wave of melancholy swamped Kate as she stepped into the house. Never again would Daisy bustle out of the kitchen with a tray of tea and biscuits. Kate’s gaze skittered over the room in search of a safe place to land, a place that wouldn’t fracture her tenuous hold on her emotions.

  “So,” Edward asked as he shut the door, “what clues have you uncovered about my aunt’s death?”

  Kate stopped at the end table a few feet into the front room and fiddled with the petals of an African violet. “I’d rather not say just yet.” If her roommate thought her theories were far-fetched, she’d rather not know what Edward thought of them until she had the proof to back one up.

  “Oh?” The deadbolt clicked. From the shadowy entranceway, Edward’s eyes speared her. “Why’s that?”

  Kate edged around the table, putting it between them, even as she reasoned that he’d locked the door out of habit, nothing more. “I wouldn’t want to falsely accuse someone.”

  Edward took a step toward her, and she scrabbled for some tidbit of information that would appease him. “I . . . I think I’ve figured out which student Daisy confronted about the plagiarism. Does the name Gordon Laslo sound familiar?”

  Edward’s gaze lifted to the ceiling and his lips moved as though he was repeating the name to himself. “Gord, yes, I think that might have been the guy.”

  “Good. Well . . .” Kate sidled toward the window as Edward rounded the sofa. “Uh, I still haven’t tracked Gord down, but that shouldn’t be too difficult.” If the nosy neighbor was still watching the house, she might—

  Kate’s leg bumped a wicker plant holder. The schefflera plant teetered.

  “Grab it.” Edward lunged, hand outstretched, but Kate caught the plant a second before it would’ve smacked the floor.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m so jittery.”

  Edward took the plant from her with a sympathetic smile. “No apology needed. Daisy’s death has us both upset.” He placed the plant back in its stand and studied her for a long, uncomfortable moment. “I’ll get those journals for you now,” he finally said before disappearing down the hall.

  “Yes, thank you.” Kate pressed her hand to her chest and willed her heart to slow.

  Within moments Edward reappeared with a stack of floral-covered books.

  “That’s them!” Kate clutched the books to her heart. “Thank you, Edward. This means so much to me.” A wealth of wisdom graced these pages.

  A twinge of guilt pinched her stomach. Daisy might not like anyone reading her most private thoughts. But how else would Kate learn what danger Daisy had gotten into and who might have wanted her silenced?

  “I’m not sure if you’ll find anything in them,” Edward said. “But I’m glad to help. I found something else downstairs I think Daisy would want you to have.”

  “Oh?”

  “Wait here. I’ll go get it.” Before Kate could argue, Edward trotted down the basement stairs.

  Her trepidation forgotten, Kate walked over to the fireplace and smiled at the photo on the mantel of her and Daisy celebrating graduation. Daisy had filled the void left by Mom’s passing. With Daisy gone, Kate truly felt like an orphan.

  Her legs grew warm. Why would Edward light the fire on such a beautiful day?

  Kate opened the fire screen. A few half-burned pages lay among the smoldering embers. The handwritten pages were lined like the pages of a notebook.

  A swirl of smoke reached into Kate’s throat and cut off her airway. She snatched a scrap of paper from the edge of the firebox—the same floral paper that covered Daisy’s journal.

  Edward.

  Kate slapped the fire screen closed and whirled toward the door. In her hurry, she knocked over the poker stand. The brass implements clattered onto the brick hearth.

  “What happened?” Edward shouted up the stairs. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, yes.
I’m fine. I . . . I just remembered I have a meeting and I’m late.”

  Footfalls bounded up the stairs. “Wait!”

  Kate fumbled with the deadbolt. She just bet he wanted her to wait. Clutching the journals under her arm, she used both hands to twist the latch. Come on. Open. She glanced over her shoulder as Edward hit the main floor at a run.

  His gaze skittered over the toppled fire poker and skewered into her.

  With Julie’s you-could-be-next warning blasting in her ears, Kate wrenched on the door with one last heave.

  7

  “I think Kate’s in danger,” the woman on the other end of the phone blurted before Tom had a chance to say hello.

  Pressing the phone to his ear, he strode to the bedroom to grab his car keys and gun. “Danger, how? Where is she?”

  “She followed Edward to Daisy’s place.”

  The news coupled with the warble in Julie’s voice breached the barrier between his job and his emotions—the barrier he prided himself on, the barrier he needed to maintain if he wanted to be an effective cop. He fumbled with the lock on his gun locker.

  “You’ve got to find her. Edward claimed he found Daisy’s journal, but I don’t trust him, and Kate’s not answering her cell phone.”

  The lock released and Tom snatched out his gun. “Okay, I’m on my way. Let me know if you hear from her.” He pocketed his phone, strapped on his shoulder holster, and headed for the door.

  Dad had taken over Tom’s spot in front of the laptop at the dining room table and was typing in search parameters from the reams of notes they’d compiled on Jim Crump, aka Edward Smythe.

  “I’ve got to go. Jim’s got Kate.”

  Dad’s sharp inhalation bumped up his fears that Jim had raised the stakes on his little con game. Dad caught the door as Tom rushed out. “Be careful.”

  “I will. Find me something I can stick to this guy.”

  “I’m on it.”

  Tom sped out of the driveway, wheels squealing.

  Dark clouds bruised the sky. Houses passed in a blur, but not fast enough to spare him from imagining horrible possibilities. No, he refused to let his thoughts go there. If Edward killed Daisy, he couldn’t have known his real name was in her will, because the inclusion guaranteed he’d be the prime suspect in the event of a suspicious death.

  Except . . . if he found out that Leacock knew about his cons, he had to be worried that it was only a matter of time before Kate stumbled onto the truth with her relentless digging.

  In his mind, she’d have to be silenced.

  Not tonight, though. Not when her roommate knew of his invitation to meet at Daisy’s house. Too big a risk.

  Tom mentally scrolled through a contingency plan in the event he was wrong, and this call went south. He veered his car onto Leacock’s street and slowed to a crawl.

  Edward’s Boxster sat in the driveway, but not Kate’s VW Bug. Relief flooded Tom’s chest, swamped promptly by alarm. Edward might’ve taken Kate for a drive in her car to make her death look like a traffic accident.

  Tom parked on the street, blocking the end of the driveway, and reached for the radio to request a BOLO—Be On Look Out—for Kate’s yellow VW.

  Edward appeared at the garage door, lugging a body bag–sized duffle.

  Tom forced down a rise of bile as his finger hovered over the call button.

  Edward heaved the bag over the lip of his trunk.

  Hand itching to grab his gun, Tom stepped out of his car as casually as his racing heart permitted. “Planning a trip?”

  Edward’s arms jerked at the sound of Tom’s voice, but he immediately resumed what he was doing. “No, this stuff is for Kate,” he said, seemingly unfazed by Tom’s arrival. Edward’s smudged polo shirt told another story.

  “Are you all right?” Tom asked, his hands poised at his side, ready to draw his gun if necessary.

  “Sure, why wouldn’t I be?”

  Tom motioned to his chest. “You have blood on your shirt.”

  Without so much as glancing toward his shirt, Edward reached into his pocket.

  Tom went for his gun.

  Edward pulled a paper towel from his pocket and pressed it against his palm. “I cut my hand on a broken mirror in the basement.”

  Tom let his gun settle back into its holster and cautiously made his way toward Edward’s car. “Let me give you a hand with that bag.” Tom helped Edward stuff the bag into the trunk, all the while feeling along its sides. Whatever was in the bag, it wasn’t a body.

  “What’re you doing here?”

  “Looking for Kate. Do you know where she is? Her roommate told me I’d find her here.”

  “You just missed her. Said she was late for a meeting.”

  “At the research station?”

  Perspiration beaded Edward’s upper lip. Whether from nerves or exertion, Tom couldn’t be sure.

  “Don’t know.” Edward wheezed as he struggled to wedge the duffle deeper into his miniscule trunk. “She ran out of here like a bat out of you-know-where.”

  Tom schooled his reaction. He knew better than to ask questions that might prompt the man to demand his lawyer, but neither was he ready to take Jim—aka Edward—at his word. The man’s act was slicker than his car.

  “Why?” Edward gave the bag one last shove. “Has Kate convinced you to reopen the case?”

  “Not officially, no. Unofficially, there are a few loose ends I’d like to see tied up.”

  Edward slammed the trunk closed and fingered his keys with a little too much interest.

  Oh yes, this man knew exactly what some of those loose ends might be.

  When Edward spoke again, the bravado in his voice sounded forced. “Glad to hear it. Because my aunt was too smart to drink the wrong tea.”

  Nope, Edward wasn’t as cool as he’d like Tom to believe. Of course, now wasn’t the time for Tom to tip his hand. Not with one suspicious death, and Kate, still unaccounted for. One mention of Edward’s true identity and he’d be lawyered up before nightfall.

  Mrs. C tootled her fingers from her vantage point on the other side of the picket fence. From the look of the pile of weeds in her bucket, she’d been on patrol for a while, which boded well for Kate’s safety. Julie’s overactive imagination had gotten them both a little too keyed up.

  Tom’s cell phone rang. That was probably her now. “Excuse me, I need to take this.” Confident Edward wouldn’t try to leave while Tom’s car blocked the drive, he put some distance between them before answering.

  “Edward killed Daisy,” the panicked voice on the other end of the phone shrilled.

  “Kate?” Tom pinned his gaze on Crump, who’d gone back into the garage and started rummaging through a box along the wall. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know. Listen to me.”

  Her rattled response had Tom on the verge of ripping into Crump, demanding to know what he’d done to her.

  “Edward burned Daisy’s journal. It must’ve had something incriminating. You have to arrest him.”

  Tom could just imagine the incriminating details Daisy might have written about Crump in her diary, but without the evidence he had no grounds for an arrest. “Where are you?”

  “I can’t believe we trusted him.” Tires squealed and Kate’s next words sounded breathless. “Daisy loved him like her own son.”

  Tom’s chest tightened at the sound of Kate careening through traffic. “Where are you?” he all but shouted, digging his keys from his pocket as he jogged toward the car.

  “I got out of there as fast as I could. I was so scared. What if he finds out I know?”

  “Know what?”

  “Aren’t you listening? He killed Daisy.”

  Edward’s gaze snapped to Tom’s.

  Tom covered the mouthpiece. “Sorry, I’ve got to go.” He climbed into his car and closed the door. “Tell me where you are.”

  “On Chestnut, coming up to Oakland Avenue.”

  “Okay, go on home. I’ll mee
t you there, and you can show me what you’ve found.”

  “But I think someone’s following me. They’ll find out where I live.”

  “Someone who?” If she was right and Edward killed Daisy, the tail was likely a product of her overactive imagination.

  Or Edward had alerted a fellow conspirator.

  “I don’t know. Someone!” she screamed, bypassing panic and taking the one-way straight to hysteria.

  “Okay,” he said calmly. “Here’s what I want you to do. Turn left, then right, and tell me if the car follows.” He pulled onto the street and headed toward Oakland.

  For a moment the phone remained silent, then Kate’s thin voice crackled over the airwaves. “Yes. The car’s still behind me.”

  Tom turned the corner in time to see a red LeSabre slow behind Kate’s car. The driver glanced Tom’s way, then sped past. Not her imagination. “Kate, I’m coming toward you. Pull over.”

  Tom drove past, did a U-turn, and parked behind her car. He let his head drop back against the seat and took a moment to steady his breathing.

  After a quick call to her roommate to let her know Kate was safe, he approached Kate’s car. “Was the LeSabre the vehicle you saw following you?” he asked through her open window.

  “Yes.” White-fingered, Kate clamped the steering wheel as if she were mere seconds away from careening over a cliff.

  Alarmed by how her fear dug into all his raw places, Tom dropped his gaze to the pavement. He cleared his throat. “The license plate was distinctive—T42. I won’t have any trouble tracking down the owner.”

  “Tea for two?” Surprise and a hint of relief replaced the wild look in Kate’s eyes. “That’s Beth’s car.”

  “Who’s Beth?”

  “My supervisor’s wife. She owns A Cup or Two.”

  “Shoulder-length hair? Dark? Straight?”