I couldn’t—wouldn’t—let this man upset my family. Pulling myself together, I straightened my posture and centered a go-to-hell look at the detective. “How do I know that’s really a warrant? It could be a take-out menu.”
Jasper choked back a snicker. Roget thrust the document at me.
With a heavy sigh, I took the offered paper and read it. A legitimate, official warrant. Great, I ran into an officer who used truth, not threats, to intimidate. “Do you mind if I go in my own car?”
Roget lowered his gaze from my head down to my feet and then worked his way back up. From his expression, it appeared he was conducting a character study. I believe he concluded I was lacking something critical.
“I’ve known Faith for a while, I believe we can trust her,” Jasper said.
I crossed my arms and fought the urge to glare at Jasper. Thanks a lot. He “believed” I could be trusted. Why not use knowing?
Jasper pulled the door open. “If she rides with us, someone will have to run her home. And if we find something…”
“Fine.” Roget pointed a finger at me. “I’ll be right behind you. Don’t try anything.”
The three of us went out a side door guarded by a patrol officer. What did the man think I would try and do? And why? Okay, so I was the last one seen talking to Marilyn and I didn’t want to repeat her figurative threat, but that didn’t make me a person to add to the most-likely-to-run-from-the-law list.
Two vans with letters painted on the side pressed the curb. The local newspaper and the radio station arrived. The DJ and his crew started to unload their mobile equipment for their live broadcast. The nearest TV station was an hour away so at least we wouldn’t wind up on the evening news.
At least not yet.
“Ignore any and all reporters on the way to your car.” Roget opened the door of a white sedan parked in front of the side entrance. “Wait there and I’ll drive over.”
Reporter extraordinaire Karen England, aka Karen Pancake, watched me with interest. A glow developed in her eyes and she licked her lips, fingers tightening around a pen.
“Don’t worry. I have no desire to talk to anyone.” I hoped Karen heard and listened. The listening part of any conversation hadn’t been one of Karen’s best skills. From kindergarten through graduation, she spent more time arguing, questioning, and contradicting everything the teachers said. It was a miracle any of us learned anything besides Karen’s opinion on every subject known to mankind. And even a few no one knew existed. It’s a wonder she became a reporter rather than a novelist.
Karen’s heels tapped behind me. If she wanted to be an investigative reporter, she needed quieter shoes.
“Hey, you. Stop. I want to ask you some questions.”
Hey, you? Like that was the way to make friends and influence people. What did they teach her in college? She probably hadn’t kept silent long enough to hear the professors. I hummed a Maroon 5 song and placed my hand over my ear, pretending I was listening to music.
A horn blared behind me and I refrained from reacting. That’s the problem with pretending. It’s hard keeping up when reality changes and a person forgets the perfect act of deception.
“Didn’t I tell you no questions?” Roget barked at Karen.
How long had Roget been in Eden? Karen ignoring orders was as reliable as finding a Bible in a church.
I ignored the argument developing between the reporter and the detective and continued to my car. When I reached my Malibu, I took my time unlocking the door then settling into the seat. Detective Roget pulled up revving the engine of his unmarked sedan.
I checked all the mirrors, thrice, then made my way to Scrap This, maintaining the proper speed the entire way. I could almost hear the anxious detective fuming in the car behind me. Served him right. I drove around the corner and made the first right turn into the lot behind the store. Employee parking spaces were near the garbage bins, not choice spots, but we already had incentive to show up: a paycheck. As my grandmothers said, the best spots go to customers.
A squad car stopped behind my car. Great, Detective Roget assumed I’d flee given the chance. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken the long way. Without uttering a word, I unlocked the backdoor and allowed the men to enter.
Boxes from a recent delivery were stacked in the middle of the storage area. A few of them had toppled over and made a haphazard trail to the twelve foot wide curtain that separated the storage room from the rest of the store. I placed my hand on the partition. Multi-tasking ruled in a small business. We could accept deliveries, open boxes, and man the store at the same time. Privacy, or a lack thereof, occurred with the simple finger motion of hook and tug.
“Stay here,” Roget said.
I made a wide arc with my arms, showing off the storage room with only boxes and shelves. “What if it takes you hours? There’s nowhere to sit. No restroom. No caffeine. Can I at least wait in the employee break room? It isn’t like this is a secured area.”
Detective Roget yanked opened the maroon curtains lined with gold. The metal rings rubbed against the bar and set off a squeal. “All right. Come with me.”
Roget nodded at each officer in turn and pointed to a certain area of the store. Jasper headed to the cutting tools. Officer Kline headed for the crop area. “Don’t damage any of the merchandise. Miss Hunter, you can wait in the area where the register is.”
“You mean the customer service area.”
Roget glared down at me. “I don’t care what you call it. Just wait over there.”
My dislike for him grew moment by moment. From the corner of my eye, I spotted Kline rummaging in the trash can. My breath hitched. Had I emptied it out last night? Was evidence of Marilyn’s pictorial rampage still in the garbage?
“Detective Roget, do you want all of them?” Jasper asked from the end of the aisle near the cutting tools.
All of what? I peered down the row flanked by white racks holding different colors of cardstock.
“Just those ones.” Roget pointed at the scissor section. He glanced in my direction, raised his eyes in a heaven-help-me plea, then jabbed his finger toward the register. “Now.”
“I’m going.” I trudged in that general direction.
Roget picked up a box and passed it to Officer Jasper. “Take this to the squad car.”
Walking backwards, I watched Jasper head toward the backdoor. He weaved through the paper racks. I cringed as he brushed against several stacks of cardstock. Damaged paper meant having to pull it off the shelf. Customers wouldn’t buy a sheet with even a tiny bent corner.
Roget moved toward the back of the store. Holding my breath, I diverted my direction and took a few steps toward the cutting tools. My stomach did a free fall. The sharp-tip scissors were gone. Each and every one. Even the new purple handled ones I coveted. Friday night we had an abundant supply. I tapped my finger on the cold, empty, metal hooks.
Like picking out the photos and embellishment for a layout, my mind gathered all the facts and arranged them into a cohesive unit. The police obtained a search warrant to find evidence. Detective Roget took the scissors. Michael had been stabbed with a tool used to help scrappers preserve family memories—or cut people from them.
“What were you told?”
I jumped up and turned around. Two actions a person shouldn’t combine. I wobbled and then lost my balance, sending my body toward the racks of paper. A hand snagged my arm and steadied me.
Detective Roget centered his hard gaze on my face and tightened his grip. “If you insist on interfering, I’ll put you in the police car.”
I pried his hand from my arm, and placed my hands on my hips while raising my chin without making the gesture a challenge. “I’m not interfering. I’m taking inventory.”
“Really.” He matched my stance, but his hand placements reminded me he had handcuffs and a firearm. His next official business could be giving me a tour of the jail. “Because I’m leaning toward interfering in a police investigation.”
I wanted to dare him to prove it. Instead, I kept quiet. I knew my actions weren’t as sweet and innocent as I claimed, but I wasn’t interfering. I wanted to protect Marilyn. She wouldn’t kill Michael.
Talk about it, dream about it, maybe even plot it, but not actually commit it.
Detective Roget cleared his throat. I snapped myself back to the physical present. He kept his green eyes locked on me. I returned his gaze. He continued staring. I stared back but revealed my discomfort by a rapid succession of blinking. I hoped he didn’t think I was flirting with him.
He let out an exasperated sigh and repeated the earlier instruction. “Stay out of the way. Do not touch anything.”
“Someone else touched something.” I pointed at the empty hooks. “All the scissors are gone.”
“Are you always so difficult?”
I knew it was a rhetorical question so I went with expounding upon my previous statement. “Being in the process of inventory, those empty hooks caught my attention. I’m guessing you took them for evidence.”
“You’ll receive a full list of all property removed when we file it with the court.”
“I need to know now, for inventory purposes. Or I have to assume they were stolen.” I tilted my head and widened my eyes. “Who should I call at the police department to report this robbery?”
“You don’t really think those scissors were stolen.”
I opened my eyes wider to give him my best innocent-damsel look. “Of course I do Detective Roget. Whatever else could have happened to them?” I fluttered my lashes.
“Officer Jasper, write out an inventory list for Miss Hunter then escort her to the customer service area.” Roget pointed to the L-shaped counter in the middle of the store jutting out from the wall.
“Come on, Faith.” Jasper placed a hand under my elbow. He leaned toward me and lowered his voice. “If I were you, I’d stop pushing the detective’s buttons. You’re gonna wind up in trouble.”
“I’m not pushing buttons.”
“You’re either pushing buttons or being stupid,” Jasper whispered through gritted teeth. “Knock it off or your grandmothers will be bailing you out of jail. Not to mention Steve seeing this on the blotter.”
I decided to keep my opinions to myself. Not that I cared if Steve found out. Of course, I really didn’t want my grandmothers storming the police station. Grandma Cheryl would tell off the detective and Grandma Hope would swear upon the family name she raised me better.
But I should share Marilyn’s cropping habits with law enforcement. “Marilyn doesn’t use sharp-tip scissors. She uses a personal trimmer—”
Cold bands wrapped around my heart.
Marilyn, with her knees pressed against her chin, was squished into the small corner of the register area where we stored our personal items. Tears spilled down her cheeks.
Jasper groaned and shook his head. “I’m going to ask to be removed from this case.” He took in a deep breath, and with regret etched onto his face, made an announcement. “Detective Roget, we just found Mrs. Kane.”
I hurried into the enclosure and threw a quick glance over my shoulder. Jasper roved his gaze away from us. The detective talked into a cell phone, his burning gaze resting on me. Great, the man probably thought I took the scenic route so Marilyn had enough time for an escape.
“This isn’t going to look good,” I whispered.
Marilyn scrambled to her feet and pulled wads of paper from her pocket and then thrust them at me. “I didn’t have a choice.”
The sharp corners of the heavyweight paper poked into the skin of my palms and fingers, a contrast to the smooth texture of the surface. Bile rose in my throat. These weren’t slips of paper but remnants from a photograph. Evidence of Marilyn’s cropping carnage.
“Hide them.” Marilyn whispered between her clenched teeth.
Wide-eyed, I stared at Marilyn. I opened my hands and confirmed my suspicion. Slivers drifted to the floor. Michael’s head—minus his body—lay on top of my shoe. The rest of the cropped images slipped from my hands. Roget stepped into the space and looked down. Scattered across the floor were the photo remains of Michael.
“Jasper, collect it and then tag the evidence.” Roget removed his handcuffs from his belt.
Was Marilyn going to jail? Was I? Were we?
Marilyn glared at me. Blame clear in her eyes. If I had only thrown out the trash last night when I closed up, the police wouldn’t have this evidence against her.
FIVE
Whispers floated around me as I followed Jasper into the police station. Bobbi-Annie, the receptionist and our local town tattler, picked up the phone receiver and punched in a number.
I hoped she wasn’t doing me the favor of calling my grandmothers to inform them of my whereabouts.
Jasper opened up the door to a small room with no windows. “You can wait in here, Faith.”
I rubbed my hands up and down my arms. “Why? What’s going to happen?”
“I don’t know. It all depends on Detective Roget.”
The words sounded ominous. I stepped inside and fought back the tears. Hurrying over to a metal chair, I sat down and tried thinking about something pleasant to stop from crying. I hated showing weakness. Unfortunately, the only thought creeping into my mind was I wished Marilyn hadn’t handed me the cut-up photos.
And that I had thrown out the garbage last night.
The door opened and Marilyn walked inside. Tear tracks stained her face.
Roget narrowed his gaze at me. “Why is she in here? I want them separated.”
“Clay Webber is in the other room. Drunk and disorderly,” Jasper said.
While Clay wasn’t a violent man, he made inappropriate offers to every woman in town. He held the town status of “whipping post” after getting punched at least once by every husband, son, and brother in Eden. Of course that hadn’t stopped his comments.
Except for Hilda Pancake, Karen’s grandmother. He steered clear after she broke his arm and nearly his skull with a baseball bat. No charges were brought because Clay swore he was too drunk to remember who hit him. More like too ashamed to admit an old woman gave him a beat down.
Leaving the door open, Roget nodded and motioned for Jasper to step closer for a private talk. Marilyn dropped into the chair beside me and shot me a glare that could’ve melted a glacier. At Christmas time, I’d probably be moved from the handmade card list to the picked-up-at-the-after-Christmas-sale card list.
I inched away. “Do you know what’s going on?”
Marilyn slashed her arms through the air. “Are you that dense, Faith? You really can’t figure out what’s happening? They brought us here because we’re suspects.”
“But I didn’t do anything.” The words shook from my throat.
“Oh, and I did.”
Heat blazed across my cheeks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
Marilyn covered her face, hunched over, and sobbed. I froze in my seat at her reaction. From livid to despair in two seconds. Things were going to get much worse for us.
Now I wanted my grandmas.
Jasper stepped into the room and handed me a box of tissues. “Listen, Roget is using the break room to talk to two prosecutors right now, so you both have to stay in here. He wants no talking between you two. Got it?”
I nodded while Marilyn continued sobbing.
“I’ll be standing right outside.” Jasper took one step outside the small room. “The door will remain open. I mean no talking. Not one word to pass between you ladies. To make it easier, don’t even look at each other.”
Did Jasper really expect me to just sit here and ignore the fact my friend wept? I squirmed and crossed my arms. I wanted to reach out and hug Marilyn but was afraid that would make the situation worse for us.
Marilyn raised her head and I handed her some tissues. Anguish and anger sparkled in her eyes. She scrubbed her cheeks. “They’re going to arrest me for Michael’s murder.”
Her matter-o
f-fact tone slugged me in the gut. “No they won’t,” I whispered.
“I’m the wife,” she said. “I was there. They have those photos.”
“There’s always the girlfriend.”
Marilyn shook her head. “It’ll be me.”
“Everyone knows you wouldn’t kill someone.”
A throat cleared and I shifted in my seat. Jasper gave me a narrowed-eyed look and placed his finger on his lips.
“Trust me, Detective Roget believes I did it,” Marilyn whispered, the words sounding even more threatening. “He’ll have me arrested and shoved into a cell by tonight.”
“If he does—” I stopped talking as I didn’t really know what we could do if Roget arrested her. Besides find her a good defense attorney.
“Good. Then you’ll do it.”
The triumphant tone in the words regained my attention and the confident smile gracing her face worried me. The last time someone had that I-have-the-perfect-idea smile on their face, I accepted a marriage proposal from a knight in shining armor and later discovered he was a con artist in tinfoil.
“What do you need me to do? I’m in this as deep as you.” Hesitation shook my voice. I hoped that gave Marilyn enough of a clue I was asking about—not committing—to her plan.
“I told Roget you had no idea I was at the store.”
“Thank you. Because I didn’t know.”
“Jasper said he saw me hand you the photographs. They should let you out of here.”
“Uh huh…”
“I’ll need you to prove I didn’t kill Michael.”
I leaned closer and lowered my voice. “I can’t do that. I don’t know how.”
She shrugged. “You’re an expert. Figure it out.”
“An expert? Wouldn’t that qualification go to the police who are investigating the case?”
“Faith, Detective Roget has already solved this case. He didn’t bring the prosecutors in here because he thinks I’m innocent. He’s going to arrest me for the murder of my husband.” Her voice grew lower and grief etched itself onto her face.
“It’s not right.”
“And that’s why you’re going to help me. I thought about it all the way here in the police car.” She crossed her arms and glared again. “Besides, you owe me.”
Cropped to Death Page 3