by Jenna Ryan
“Charlie,” she corrected. At his uncomprehending look, she grinned. “He’s a Charlie-in-the-box. Island of Misfit Toys, Knight.”
“You need kids,” Fitz said, then snapped her mouth closed. “Or not. Uh, Ro, could you… She’ll be right back, Detective.” She nudged Romana toward a cluster of benches, wiggled her fingers at a man seated on the farthest one and didn’t release the breath she’d evidently been holding until Jacob moved away to set his forearms on the makeshift guardrail. “Can’t believe I said that,” she muttered. “Dumb, dumber, dumbest.”
Romana didn’t correct her. Tonight wasn’t about fixing misconceptions, it was about exposing a murderer-and keeping Warren Critch away from the people she loved.
“Talk to James,” she told her cousin. “I’ll distract Patrick.”
Fitz started off, but backpedaled to drill a warning finger into Romana’s arm. “Only distract, okay? No making him think things he shouldn’t.” She fluffed her curls. “You could talk me up a bit, though, if the opportunity arises. I mean, honest to God, Ro, if the guy was a horse, I’d figure he was gelded.”
“Nice image,” Romana murmured. “Thanks, Fitz.”
As she picked her way through the snow, Romana noticed that Jacob was already surrounded by a flock of girls. All wore bright-green jackets, which would make them members of the performing high school band.
“What is it about cops and hormonal teenagers?” Patrick wondered aloud when she came within earshot. He lounged on the bench with his head resting on the back and a cup of something hot in his hand. “It’s like they have radar. Cop in the vicinity. Line forms to the left, girlfriends.”
“Cynic.” Romana dusted snow off the seat beside him. “They probably think he’s a hot guitar player.”
“I spotted the badge on his belt loop from here, Romana. He’s the big D to them. Dangerous, and older to boot.”
The night air had a bite, like Patrick’s tone. Romana turned up the collar of her coat and wished she’d worn heavier clothes.
With a crooked smile, Patrick produced a thermos from the snow beside him. “A red-headed elf told me to come prepared. Hot chocolate?”
She blew on her gloved hands. “Smart elf. I’d love some.”
“Myself, I’m a warm-weather man.”
“How warm?”
“I was born in Houston. This white stuff’s acceptable on Christmas Day, but otherwise I’d pass.”
“Not into winter sports, huh?”
“I’m not into any sports, unless you include channel and web surfing.”
He sounded completely bored. Romana’s female pride would have been stung if she hadn’t known he used the same dull tone with everyone. It might not be kind, but she had to wonder what Fitz saw in him.
Oh, he was handsome enough in a scruffy, mismatched sort of way. He also had height, a good inch over six feet, which was about the same as Jacob, actually. His features were strong and his eyes dark brown, a match for the perpetual tangle of his hair. Romana suspected the stubble he wore was intended to be sexy, but all she wanted to do was find him a razor.
Funny she never felt that way about Jacob…
“Houston Control to Professor Grey.” Patrick waved a steaming cup under her nose. He lowered his hand in disgust. “Oh, God, you’re staring at the cop, aren’t you?”
“Well, I did come with him.”
“You need to watch your step,” he said. “Knight’s not what he appears to be.”
Romana took a cautious sip of her drink. As she’d anticipated, it was heavily laced with rum. “Neither’s your hot cocoa, Patrick. Why the red flag?”
“It’s the same flag Belinda held up a couple of days before she died.” At her questioning glance, he shrugged. “We worked together. We talked.”
“Only talked?”
Patrick’s laugh had an edge. “Okay, right, here we go. I knew when Critch was released the whole question-and-answer thing would erupt again. We were friends, coworkers. She was married. I respected that. She respected my respect… And you can eighty-six the look, Romana. Don’t you have any male friends? By that, I mean the kind of friends whose sole purpose in life isn’t to jump your bones?”
“We were talking about Belinda’s bones, Patrick, not mine.”
“We were talking about Jacob Knight initially. The guy’s trouble in caps. You want it straight, that’s exactly what Belinda said.”
Romana blew on her cocoa, squashed the uneasy prickles in her stomach. “It sounds like you and Belinda had some pretty involved conversations.”
“You do that when the alternative is to let it sink in that you’re slicing up dead organs while extracting bodily fluids.”
“You didn’t have to choose forensic pathology, Patrick.”
“My father was a mortician. My mother was a morgue attendant. What else was I going to do? I’m John Patrick North, only son of Mr. and Mrs. Coffin and Slab.” He laughed without humor, raised his cup in her direction and drained the contents. Sadness replaced the laughter. “We were friends, Belinda and me, and whether you want to hear it or not, I believe Knight killed her.”
Summoning an easy smile, Romana passed him her drink. “Spoken with great conviction. But you haven’t specified why you’re so sure Jacob did it.”
“He argued with Belinda in a restaurant before she died.”
“That’s a matter of record. Did he threaten her?”
“She didn’t say exactly, but I could see by her body language that she was upset. And afraid.”
“Of Jacob?”
“No, of Santa Claus.” He polished off her cocoa, hesitated, then moved a reluctant shoulder. “But come to think of it, Dylan’s name came up a few times.”
“She was frightened of her brother?”
“Step.”
It took Romana a moment to understand. “Step-” she stared in amazement “-brother?”
“You didn’t know?”
“Why would I know?”
“You were a cop. I thought you people knew everything.”
“It wasn’t my case to investigate.”
He eyeballed a glittering pine tree across from them. “No, Stubbs and Canter got that gig. Short, fat guy with salt and pepper hair and no chin-that was Stubbs. Canter was a foot taller, with arms like Popeye and a butt to match.”
“Odd detail to notice,” Romana commented.
“I’m a details kind of guy.”
If his lopsided grin was intended to charm, the attempt fell flat, as he likely would when he tried to stand. Romana didn’t envy Fitz the remainder of her date.
Abandoning pretense, Patrick ditched his cup and drank from the thermos.
Romana waited until he lowered it to remark, “You wanted her to come on to you, didn’t you?”
Patrick stared at the pond where two dozen kids ranging from five to fifteen years of age struggled to glide, twirl and hop in full costume. “What I wanted wasn’t something I shared with Belinda. I told myself I’d wait. I never believed she’d last with Critch. He was possessive and gruff and, from what I’d seen, potentially violent. He had a tendency to freak whenever he caught her talking to another man. I figured when the marriage ended, she’d need a friend, and there I’d be.”
“A friend who’d segue into a lover.”
“We all have our pipe dreams, Romana. Mine died with Belinda six Christmases ago. If Knight didn’t kill her, maybe Warren did. But like I said, I lean toward Knight.”
“Because they argued.”
He hitched an irritable shoulder. “Well, it’s really more because of what she said afterward.”
A light shiver chased itself across Romana’s skin. “Which was…”
He swung the now-empty thermos by its silver neck. “This wasn’t part of our personal conversation. I heard her on the phone in the staff lounge. She sounded halfway to hysterical. She said she’d just had lunch with Jacob Knight.”
“That’s not news, Patrick. Jacob admitted in court…”
/> He halted her with a raised finger. “Not done yet, former Officer Grey. Belinda stated very clearly that she was frightened for her life. She said she wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Jacob Knight really did want her dead.”
“YOU PRETEND TO RIDE THE ostrich, Broderick, you don’t drag it around like a bag of trash. Play the game, young man, or there’ll be no trip to Disney World this spring.”
While Jacob observed the exchange from the guardrail, James Barret straightened from his crouch, snicked his elegant coat cuffs back in place and gave the back of an eight-year-old boy’s head a light tap.
“Go. Cooperate. Act like a godson I can be proud of.” When the boy slumped off, he gave his head a rueful shake. “That one has delinquent written all over him.” Without turning, he raised his voice. “What do you think, Detective Knight? Will you be arresting him in ten years’ time?”
Interesting that Barret would recognize him. Unfazed, Jacob went with the question. “I doubt it.”
“You can’t deny he has an attitude.”
“But no venom. He’s dragging his feet, not using them to kick anyone.”
Barret flashed neon-white teeth and twitched his cuffs again. “I’ll have to trust you there. He’s the son of my wife’s best friend. My wife wanted to be a godparent, and what Shera wants, Shera usually manages to get.”
Had Shera wanted Belinda Critch dead? Jacob set the question aside as Barret extended a well-manicured hand.
“You were questioned during the investigation into Belinda Critch’s death,” he noted. “How did you know her?”
Fitz appeared at Barret’s side and slid her arm through his. “James makes a point of knowing everyone and everything that matters. I thought you two might need an introduction, so I came back. Guess I needn’t have bothered.”
“You needn’t have,” Barret agreed, “but I’m glad you did. Fitz can liven up even the most awkward conversation, Detective.”
Jacob regarded him without emotion. “Are we having an awkward conversation?”
“If you came here tonight to ask me about Belinda Critch, then, yes, we are.”
“You knew her personally?”
“I did.”
Fitz glanced from one to the other. “Uh, listen, guys, this probably isn’t the best place to…”
“How well?”
“That’s a very broad question, Detective.”
Barret’s practiced smile had a snap far more vicious than the wind that slapped at their cheeks. Because he relished a challenge, Jacob let his anticipation rise and his own eyes gleam.
“I’ll rephrase. Did you have an affair with her?”
“Whoa-hi-now that’s a loaded question, Jacob.” He felt his own arm being snagged and squeezed as Romana added through her teeth, “Mayor’s a good friend of his, Knight.” She offered a smile that would have bewitched a corpse. “Hello, Mr. Barret. I’m Fitz’s cousin, Romana Grey. We met a few years ago at a university alumni dinner.”
“Met and danced. I remember the event very well.” He took her free hand, didn’t raise it to his lips as Jacob had expected, but held on and transferred his full attention to her. “You’re even more beautiful than I remembered.”
Fitz craned her neck to peer across the pond. “Where’s Patrick, Ro? You promised to, uh-keep him company for a while.”
“He drank too much hot cocoa and fell asleep. I buttoned his coat and stuck a pair of earmuffs on his head. But you should probably check on him. The wind’s a bit nasty tonight.”
Among other things, Jacob reflected.
Fitz fluttered at Barret. “Guess I’ll go, then.” She gave Romana’s hip a swat in passing. “Call me,” she said in an undertone.
“If I survive.” Romana squared up, refocused. “You know, you two, this really isn’t the place…”
But Barret brushed aside her objection. “It’s as good a place as any. I have no idea why my godson’s riding a wooden ostrich in this pageant and no particular desire to watch him do it.”
She sighed. “Doesn’t anyone but me know about the Island of Misfit Toys?”
Because Barret still hadn’t answered his question and likely wouldn’t head-on, Jacob opted for a roundabout approach. “How did you meet Belinda?”
Barret’s eyes, already cool, iced over. “I could tell you it’s none of your business. Unfortunately, in my experience that response seldom works with the police. It’s a matter of record that we met at a New Year’s Eve party nine years ago.”
Before Jacob could counter, Romana reaffixed her dazzling smile. “I love New Year’s Eve. It’s such an uninhibited night. Was Belinda’s husband at the party?”
Surprisingly, some of the ice in Barret’s eyes melted. “No, he wasn’t. I can’t tell you why. What I can say is that she never mentioned a husband while she was coming on to me. Sorry to sound crass, but that’s what she did for the first part of the night.”
“Where was the party?” Jacob asked.
“Also a matter of record, Detective Knight. It unfolded at Gilhoolie’s Pub, and before you make a snide remark about the earthy nature of the venue, I’ll remind you that I’m a self-made man whose father traveled from Galway to America at the age of fifteen and worked in a Portland, Maine, fish processing plant for much of his life. As a teenager, I worked hard alongside him.”
Romana gave Jacob’s ankle a kick before venturing a pleasant, “How on earth did you go from processing fish in Maine to making furniture in Ohio?”
Barret’s eyes glinted. “My father, bless his whiskey-soaked soul, met a man very similar to him in a bar. His name was Ben Brown. Ben had an idea, and my dad had every dollar he’d saved since arriving on these shores. I was nineteen at the time and more than ready to leave the smell of fish behind. We formed a three-way partnership. My father passed on three years into the deal, leaving Ben and me to build on the framework of our infant business venture. We built well. Our partnership held fast until Ben died six years ago.”
“The same year Belinda Critch died. And under somewhat questionable circumstances.” Jacob’s prod was deliberate. It earned him another kick from Romana and a cool arch of Barret’s left eyebrow.
“Did I mention, Detective, that I wasn’t the only man Belinda came on to that cold New Year’s Eve?”
“You haven’t mentioned much at all-about that night or any other.” Jacob ignored Romana’s hissed, “Mayor’s your boss, Knight,” and countered Barret’s visual dagger with a level one of his own. “I’ve read the police report on Belinda’s death. Details are sketchy in several areas. Yours is one of them.”
“Possibly because I was never a viable suspect. I cooperated with your department in as much as I was required to. However-” Barret revved up the false smile again and gave his right cuff another vicious snick “-if it’s details you want, I can give you one I neglected to pass on to any of the officers I encountered.”
“Not going to be good,” Romana predicted from Jacob’s side.
“Is this detail connected to Belinda’s death?”
“Your call, Knight. I’m sure you know that off-duty police officers frequently stop by Gilhoolie’s for an after-shift drink. The pub’s divided into two sections-public front, private back. On that particular New Year’s Eve, about seventy of us were partying it up in a back room that was as tight for space as the sardine cans my father and I used to stuff. It was approaching midnight, and I needed air to counteract Gilhoolie’s special blend of whiskey. I stepped into the front of the pub and immediately spotted a group of off-duty officers. I also spotted Belinda. She was wrapped around a guy with curly brown hair who had cop written all over him. Now the guy might have been wearing a wedding ring, but I’ll tell you this for nothing. From my vantage point, he wasn’t using it to fend her off.”
Although Jacob maintained his neutral expression, he sensed where this was heading. Still, he shrugged. “Spit it out, Barret. I don’t shock as easily as you might think.”
“Cop’s name was M
ichael O’Keefe,” Barret obliged. “Married for ten years, I discovered later. One kid. Impeccable record on the force. Apparently, not quite so impeccable on his own time.” His eyes glittered, steely-blue. “I saw your partner slip the publican a C-note, Knight, then watched him fumble his way toward the upstairs rooms in the company of one very drunk, very married Belinda Critch.”
Chapter Five
“He’s lying.” Romana tried to sound adamant but knew she fell short. “Even if he was having problems at home, O’Keefe wouldn’t have had sex with a married woman.” She slanted Jacob a mistrustful look. “Unless you introduced him to Belinda Critch before that New Year’s Eve party, so she wasn’t a complete stranger to him.”
“Which would make it okay for him to have had sex with her?”
“No.” She breathed out. “No, it would just make them not strangers.” Frustrated, she pressed on her temples. “I’m trying really hard to untangle this mess of knots we’ve tied, Knight.”
And coming to a lively restaurant-his idea, not hers-in even livelier Mount Adams probably wasn’t the best place to do that. The chili at Bitte might be the best in the city, and the owners, a pair of second-generation German brothers, might be famous for bursting into song, but Romana had had two bombshells dropped on her that night-one involving Jacob, the other his former partner-and neither one was sitting well.
As she struggled with her thoughts, she moved her gaze around the room.
Holiday oompah music underscored laughing patrons at more than three dozen tables. Being German, the brother/owners had Christmas trees stuffed into every nook and cranny. The one precariously angled over their booth tended to grab Romana’s hair every time she moved.
She swirled the lager she hadn’t really wanted and, beginning with the less complicated prospect, backtracked through the newest knots.
“What was the state of O’Keefe’s marriage nine years ago?”
Jacob gave a small laugh. “Come on, Romana, guys don’t talk personal on the clock.”
“In my experience, they don’t talk personal off the clock, either. But even a guy can get a sense of another guy’s life. Was he snappish, moody, tense, depressed? Or the opposite- upbeat, relaxed, eager to leave when his shift ended?”