Cruel Candy

by Mildred Abbott

  “I’m just asking questions to—” I shut my mouth, biting my tongue in the process. I really was thrown off, if I was actually going to answer that question honestly. I had to take a second to remember where I was. Flotsam and Jetsam. Unwanted playdate. Pet shop. “I was asking if there was any way to special order Watson’s preferred dog food. They don’t carry it here.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she glanced over my shoulder toward the door, then sneered at me again and gestured toward Watson. “Watch where you’re going. And I hope your dog’s tags are up to date. I’ll have to check on that the next time we run into each other.” And with that she was gone.

  I stared at her as she stormed off. I don’t think anyone had ever hated me so much. How could anyone hate a near stranger so deeply? Maybe she’d killed Opal. Just for fun.

  Watson and I had barely taken a step away from the pet store when I pictured Officer Green returning to ask if I’d really been checking on special order dog food. With a sense of dread, I turned around and walked back in.

  A hundred dollars of special ordered dog food Watson would doubtless refuse to eat later, we ended by walking a block or so away from the main strip to the Christmas shop and the glassblowers. Likewise, I didn’t truly expect any connection to Barry, but given that the owners had come up in Anna and Carl’s gossipfest, I figured I should at least drop by. Neither owner was in.

  By three in the afternoon, Watson and I had nothing to show for our efforts besides getting to know more of the townspeople and possibly burning off a third of the calories from the burger I’d devoured at lunch. Feeling like a complete failure and that I’d wasted several hours on nothing, I pulled out the number of the contact Leo had given me for Watson’s dog run. To my surprise, he agreed to meet me in less than an hour at my home.

  Leo hadn’t been wrong. I nearly choked when presented with the written estimate for the job. Though, I couldn’t argue that the man was thorough. I suppose there might be a chance he was milking a newbie and her love for her dog, but I didn’t care. I agreed to burying the dog run a foot and a half into the ground, a reinforced roof, complete with an additional overhang that matched the existing roof on the house to provide shelter, and a triple layer of mesh fencing, that was guaranteed to keep out any predator. To top it all, the construction could start in three days. Watson would be safe, and I could sleep through the night. I decided it was priceless.

  Between the hours of unproductive questioning and waving goodbye to thousands and thousands of dollars for Watson, I decided comfort food was in order. Within an hour, I was back from the grocery store, had tomato soup bubbling away in a pot on the stove, and was slathering the bread for grilled cheeses with butter. I’d already stoked the fire and set my Kindle on the arm of the recliner nearby. I needed a night to turn my brain off. No thoughts of men, past or present, no twists and turns of murder or investigations. The only thing that could make it better was having my actual books in the house, and my own overstuffed armchair by the fire. But this would do in a pinch. I’d already decided I was going to reread Anne of Avonlea, a childhood favorite. I had enough mystery for the day. It was time for comfort.

  A knock sounded on the door just as I placed the grilled cheese on the sizzling pan. I glanced at my cell—no missed calls. Chances were it wasn’t Mom or Barry. I didn’t want to see anyone. I was officially peopled out.

  A second knock, barely ten seconds later.

  With a grumble, I removed the grilled cheese and turned off the burner. Someone had driven all the way out to my cabin; they weren’t going away easily. And with my Mini Cooper gathering snow outside, I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t home.

  Watson followed me to the door, growling the whole way.

  I started to look for the peephole, then realized there wasn’t one. That wouldn’t do. One more thing to pay for. I nearly threw open the door, then realized how stupid it would be. Especially with everything going on. And while Watson’s growl sounded vicious, he wasn’t exactly the best guard dog. I paused with my hand on the door handle. “Who’s there?”

  “Sergeant Wexler. I just need a little moment of your time.”

  I recognized his voice instantly. It didn’t pass my attention he used his formal name and his tone didn’t sound overly friendly. So much for not thinking about men that evening. I opened the door, and the breeze ushered in a small gust of snow. I stood aside to make room. “Come in out of the cold.”

  “Thanks.” He stomped his feet on the porch, then stepped in.

  Add doormat to the things to purchase.

  I shut the door and turned to look at him. Watson growled softly a few more seconds and then let it fade away. Words left me for a moment. It was my first time seeing Branson out of uniform. He made quite the picture in the uniform, don’t get me wrong, but Branson in civilian clothes was just as arresting. Flecks of snow glistened in his black hair, and his body seemed impossibly more fit and male under a green flannel shirt, brown leather jacket, tight dark-wash jeans, and snow boots. The stern expression on his handsome face helped cut through my unintentional admiration and helped me find my voice.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “You can explain why you’re harassing the shop owners of downtown, for starters.”

  I flinched. “Harassing?”

  His eyes narrowed. “What would you call it?”

  I started to say that I would call it investigating, then realized that probably would sound even worse. I allowed my gaze to travel over his body once more, this time intentionally, and making sure to take any attraction away. “I’m not sure it’s any business of yours, Branson. It doesn’t seem like you’re here on official business.”

  “I came like this as a courtesy, Fred.” He glowered, the expression suited his thick brows and angled jaw. As did his low rumble. “However, if you need it to be official, I can happily put on the uniform and call you down to the station.” He shrugged. “It’s up to you.”

  Watson growled again, drawing Branson’s attention downward.

  “Your mom is safe, little man. Don’t get your hackles in a bunch.” His gaze flicked to mine, though he still addressed Watson. “She’ll always be safe with me.”

  My heart gave a little flutter, and I felt the truth of his words. If he’d been in his uniform, I could’ve chalked it up to that. I equated the police with safety, with my father. But standing there in his flannel shirt, with his wide shoulders and barrel chest, I couldn’t deny my instincts told me I was indeed safe with Branson Wexler. No matter his mood.

  My stomach rumbled, and I latched on to it. Maybe there hadn’t been a heart flutter after all, just a reminder my dinner was waiting. I considered for half a second, then decided I was tired of overthinking, and motioned back toward the kitchen. “I was just making dinner. Tomato soup and grilled cheese. Want some?”

  Those bright green eyes widened in surprise, and some of his apparent irritation dissipated. “I… uhm….” His gaze flicked to the fire, then back at me, and for the second time that day, I saw a spark of heat in a man’s eyes.

  More as a reaction to myself than Branson, I waved him off and headed back toward the kitchen. “Don’t make a deal out of it. I’m hungry. You interrupted dinner. You can either join in or watch me eat as you accuse me of things I’ve not done.”

  He chuckled as his footsteps trailed after me. “Grilled cheese and tomato soup sounds perfect. Thank you.”

  A mix of thrill and Oh my Lord, Fred, what are you doing? shot through me. “Great. Do you like mayonnaise on your grilled cheese? Or do you not know how to eat it correctly?”

  Another laugh, this one full. “Didn’t know you had such a sick sense of humor.”

  I turned the burner back on and glanced at him. “I wasn’t kidding.”

  He paused as if waiting for a punch line, then gave a slow nod. “Well, all right then. No, thanks for the offer, but I will take my grilled cheese incorrectly, it seems.”

  “Your loss.” I started butterin
g bread for his grilled cheese. Was I flirting? Surely not. “But don’t you dare ask for a bite of mine when you see how much better it looks.” Someone shoot me. I was flirting.

  “Don’t worry. I think I will be fully satisfied.” Branson crossed the kitchen, slid out of his jacket, which he hung on the back of a chair, and leaned an elbow on the counter. “Can I help you in any way?”

  Despite myself, I did an actual double take, then simply shook my head and refocused on unwrapping the cheese, fearing my reaction would convey too much. Such a small thing. A thing I knew should barely be noticed, let alone cause warmth to spread through my body. It was an offer my father would have given my mother, one that Barry gave her now. But it was an offer Garrett had never given me in our eight years of marriage. “Thanks. The glasses are in the cabinet to the right of the sink. If you’ll fill them with ice, that would be great. There are trays in the freezer.”

  “You got it.” And without hesitation, Branson began to fill the glasses. “Cute kitchen. I like the retro style. However….” He chuckled softly. “I know I’ve only met you a couple of times, but I consider myself a very good reader of people. Not in a million years would I have pegged you the type for choosing tie-dye curtains with—” His eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward slightly. “—flamingos?”

  Giving in to the ease I felt with him, I offered a smile. “You’d be right. Those were a welcome-home present from Mom and Barry. At the time, I planned on replacing them as soon as possible, but they’re already growing on me.”

  “Ah, glad my skills aren’t fading away. You keeping them because of your family also matches my impression of you.”

  I couldn’t tell whether it was flirtation or not, but I opted to take it as a compliment.

  Dinner was ready within a matter of minutes, and we settled in at the small sea-foam green wooden table in the center of the kitchen.

  Branson let out a long satisfied groan at his first bite of grilled cheese, which he dipped into the tomato soup. “Boy, does this ever hit the spot. It’s been a long day, and I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

  I held my sandwich midair as I responded. “It’d be better with mayo.” Then I took a bite. He was right. It did hit the spot. We ate in silence for a few minutes, some of the ease that had existed while I cooked evaporating. “If I recall, you came here to say not nice things about me. Might as well get that over with.”

  He sighed, like he’d rather skip the whole thing, but then his expression hardened slightly. “I had reports that you’ve been going around downtown asking questions to all the shop owners. What’s that about?”

  He’d had reports? Officer Green flashed through my mind. Yeah, I was willing to bet I knew exactly where those reports had come from. I took another bite of the sandwich, more to give myself a few moments to consider how to best respond. I hadn’t done anything illegal. “I’m a shop owner myself now. Don’t you think it’s a good idea to get to know my fellow business owners?”

  He rolled his eyes, though his expression spoke more amusement than irritation. “How about this, Fred. Don’t treat me like I’m an idiot, and I’ll give you the same courtesy.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. Nor could I help feeling even more comfortable with him. “Fine. We were just going around, simply asking questions, putting out feelers. Opal was killed in my shop. Right in the heart of downtown Estes Park, surrounded by businesses and people she’d worked with for years and years. It only makes sense that someone, somewhere, might know something.”

  Branson started to speak, then paused to chew and swallow. “We?”

  I gestured toward Watson with my sandwich. “Yes. We.”

  Watson’s ears perked up as Branson looked over at him, probably hoping he was about to get some of the grilled cheese. Branson chuckled again. “Of course. We.” He refocused on me, his tone growing a little more serious again. “If it’s so innocuous, why did I get a call from Myrtle Bantam squawking about being interrogated about endangered species of owls?”

  The fidgety owner of Wings of the Rockies flashed through my mind, and I gave an unladylike snort. “You totally did that on purpose.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The corner of Branson’s lips twitched, giving him away.

  “Squawking? The owner of the bird store was squawking?”

  He shrugged, all innocence. “You met her. Wouldn’t you say it’s an apt description?”

  I would actually, not that I was going to give him the satisfaction. “I’d say it was low-hanging fruit, and you can do better.”

  He leaned closer to me across the table, his eyes twinkling. “Her last name is Bantam. Did you know that’s a type of chicken? I mean, come on. Talk about low-hanging fruit.”

  I hadn’t known that, and I laughed again. “That’s pretty wonderful. It’s a good thing I’m not a police officer. I’d probably abuse my power and check to see if she’d altered her name.”

  He leaned closer still. “Oh, I have. And the delicious part? She hasn’t changed her name. She truly might be part chicken.” He let his gaze linger a few seconds longer, causing my traitorous heart to beat a little faster, and then he leaned back once more. “So back to my question. Why, if you’re doing nothing more than meeting your competition, is Myrtle Bantam calling to squawk at me again?” He took a spoonful of soup.

  “I didn’t say I was meeting my competition.” Genuine irritation sliced through me, though not at Branson. So it wasn’t Officer Green after all. At least not only Officer Green. “And I don’t know why she’s calling to complain. If anyone was harassed, it was me. She… squawked… on and on for nearly forty minutes about owls. Believe me, if you’ve ever wondered about all the interesting things that can be found in owl pellets, I can fill you in. And if you’re not sure, an owl pellet is the mess of leftovers the owl vomits up when they’re done eating. And again, I’ll remind you, it was forty minutes. Forty! About owl vomit. Would you like to take my formal complaint now, or should I come down to the station?”

  Branson leaned back in his chair and howled with laughter. When he finally looked back at me, he had to wipe away the tears from his eyes. “Welcome to town, Winifred Page.”

  I glowered at him and mentally promised myself I would never direct business toward Myrtle Bantam if I could keep from it.

  “After her call”—though there was still humor in his tone, his expression grew serious once more—“I checked in with a few other shops. It sounds like you’ve been busy. I don’t think there was one you haven’t gone in.”

  For all the good it did me. “Like I said, I’m getting to know my neighbors. You still haven’t listed anything harassment-like.”

  This time, when Branson’s expression shifted, it grew darker. “I also got a rather vexing call from one of the rangers in the national park. He was quite adamant he had proof, after a visit from you, that I’d been lax in taking his unfounded claims seriously.” He leveled his stare on me. “You’re a smart woman, Fred. I’m fairly certain you realize the national park isn’t one of the shops downtown.”

  Leo had called Branson? Though baseless, something about Myrtle Bantam made it easy to picture her calling to complain; that wasn’t true about Leo. “Don’t ask me to believe Leo said I was harassing him. I simply had a suspicion I needed some help verifying.”

  “No, he made no such claims.” Branson’s eyes narrowed, and though I thought it was at the mention of Leo’s name, I couldn’t be sure. “But while we’re at it, that’s one of the other things I wanted to talk to you about. It seems you took evidence from your shop with you the other day. I’d be willing to chalk it up as not realizing the importance of what you had with that feather. Do you make a habit of taking things from crime scenes? I would think the daughter of a policeman would know better.”

  I stiffened, his words feeling like a slap. “That was a low blow, Sergeant Wexler.” My temper spiked. “And no, I don’t. I stuffed the feather in my pocket before I found Opal’s body.
I didn’t even think about it again until last night when I felt it in my pocket. And as far as what I’m doing? You’ve accused my stepfather of murder. And as the daughter of a policeman, I understand why, I understand the steps, and won’t hold those against you. However, I also am aware that sometimes low-hanging fruit is the easiest thing to grasp at, and that overworked and under-budgeted police stations might see an easy way to close a case.” My volume rose, I tried to reel it back in, but to no avail. “And furthermore, judging by what Leo told me, it sounds like I have reason to be concerned. Sid had a federally threatened owl in his deep freezer. Maybe Opal’s murder had nothing to do with edibles at all, or with her attempting to blackmail Barry, and doubtless other people. Perhaps it has everything to do with her poacher boyfriend.”

  Branson’s expression shifted several times over my tirade, but his eyes widened in surprise at the last revelation. “Opal was dating Sid?”

  “Yes.”

  He shuddered. “Now that was a visual I never wanted to have in my head.”

  My irritation didn’t allow me to find humor in it. “See, right there. Just by asking questions, I uncovered something you had no idea about.”

  Branson sighed and offered a small smile, and for the first time, sounded condescending. “A detail which doesn’t help your stepfather at all. Sid died months ago. A heart attack, not murder. Opal was killed in the kitchen where she was making edibles. In a building where she was growing a forest of marijuana plants in the basement. A building owned by your stepfather, who we know Opal attempted to blackmail. I can guarantee you Opal wasn’t killed because of a feather.”

  “You can’t really believe Barry would kill someone.” My fingernails dug into the soft flesh of my palms.

  “No, I don’t.” Branson’s tone didn’t soften. “But despite being good at my job, I’ve been wrong before. And because I’m good at my job, your stepfather is still on the suspect list. The very short suspect list.”

  “Exactly. Good at your job or not, you’re making mistakes and not looking in the right direction.” I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin. “Someone has to do the legwork. And if I can’t trust the police department to do it, then I will.”