Scraps of Evidence: Quilts of Love Series

by Barbara Cameron

  He rose when fellow officers stopped to introduce themselves on their way out of the room. Maybe it was a stereotype, but he had expected the officers in a tourist city would look more laid-back.

  The shift supervisor walked over. “Take a few hours to show Logan around, give him a feel for the city.”

  “Yes sir.”

  They walked out, and Tess stopped at the unmarked car. “Want to flip for who drives?”

  “Why? I have no problem with you driving. Partner.”

  Her head snapped up, and she gave him a measuring look. He smiled at her and got into the car. The second look came as no surprise after the comment by Smithers. Law enforcement was still a man’s world in many communities.

  “We’re right in the historic district here,” she said as she guided the car onto King Street. “It’s not a big area, and during tourist season it’s crowded. You have to keep your eyes peeled or it’s easy to run over a jaywalker.”

  She gave him the standard tour. He debated telling her he’d taken it when he visited for the interview and decided not to at this point. Seeing the city through her eyes would give him a better perspective of it—and her.

  “Years ago there was quite a debate over whether a new, modern-looking bridge should replace this one. Every so often somebody would get fed up with the traffic jams on the bridge,” she said as they waited at the traffic light to drive over the bridge that connected downtown St. Augustine to Anastasia Island.

  “The old bridge had deteriorated,” she continued. “Finally, we got a new bridge but it looks like the old one. The two Medici lions there were at the foot of the old bridge, and now they guard this one.”

  She turned to him and smiled. “What other city has something like this?”

  The light changed and just as they were halfway across, lights flashed and a gate came down, blocking traffic. The drawbridge went up as a boat passed beneath.

  “You learn to pray that we don’t have an emergency and get stuck on the bridge,” she said as she drummed her fingers on the steering wheel.

  The drive was short since the island was small. “If you’re into lighthouses, you’ll have to climb this one,” she said, waving at the tall structure painted with a winding black on white design. “The view up there is something else.”

  “We locals don’t go doing stuff like that in the middle of summer,” she said as she made a U-turn.

  She drove across the bridge and turned right to take them past Castillo de San Marcos. The old fort, a huge structure built of coquina stone, had stood guard over the city for hundreds of years. Horse-drawn carriages were parked along the right side of the road, and she watched carefully in case one of them was about to pull out onto the road.

  “This city has a history of violence,” she said as she parked so that he could look up at the fort. “Matanzas Bay. Matanzas means blood. At the same time, it’s supposed to have more churches than most cities.”

  A horse-drawn carriage passed on the road, and the driver waved at Tess. “That was my first part-time job,” she told him. “I loved it.”

  “So that’s where you learned to be a tour guide.”

  She gave him a brief smile. “Can’t help but be one when you grow up here. I should warn you every relative you have will want to come visit you now that you live in Florida.”

  “No one to visit. Mom died two years ago and I was an only child.”

  “Father?”

  “In the military,” he said briefly. “We’ve never been close.”

  He sensed that she was curious, but she didn’t press him. “You?”

  “My mother died several years ago, and I never knew my dad. My only relative is my aunt. Her husband is Gordon Baxter. Have you met him yet?”

  “He sat in on the interview with the chief.” Logan hadn’t been impressed with her uncle and was a little relieved the man wasn’t a blood relation of Tess’s.

  She nodded. “He and the chief are tight.”

  They drove around for another hour, and she filled him in on crime statistics and insider information about the city.

  “Dinner break?” She’d brought a sandwich, but now she didn’t feel like returning to the station for it.

  “Sounds good. You choose.”

  “Seafood?”

  “Seafood sounds good.”

  “Place not too far from here has the best shrimp in the county.”

  “Okay.”

  “Just ignore all the tourist shtick. You know—the mermaid paintings. Nautical décor.”

  A few minutes later, they settled into a booth with tall glasses of sweet tea and smoked mullet dip before them.

  Logan ignored the menu and let Tess’s order of a dozen shrimp—fried—and sides of cole slaw and French fries guide him.

  “And hush puppies?” the waitress asked him.

  Tess groaned.

  “Problem?” Logan asked.

  “No,” said Tess.

  Pam laughed. “I’ll just bring you one. One can’t hurt.”

  “I can’t ever stop at one.”

  The waitress looked at Logan. “Guard your plate. Girl steals them right off it when you’re not looking. Seen it too many times. Outright larceny.” Chuckling, she left them to put in the order.

  Logan took a sip of his tea. “So, Tess. Why’d you get into law enforcement?”

  Her fingers tightened on her glass. She set it down. “Sam—my best friend, Samantha—was murdered my senior year in high school.”

  She traced the condensation on the side of her glass and frowned. “The killer’s never been found.”

  2

  They got a call just as they were finishing their Key lime pie.

  “Okay, partner, let’s roll,” Tess said, rising from the table.

  Logan pulled out his cell phone, aimed it at her, and snapped a photo before she had time to throw up her hands and stop him.

  “Hey, what’d you do?”

  “Just took a photo for posterity. It’s our first case together,” he said, getting into the passenger side of the car.

  “What’re you going to do, make a scrapbook?”

  He chuckled. “Maybe.”

  She spared him a glance as they got in the car, and she flipped on the AC. “You’re in a good mood.”

  “I’m always in a good mood.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Sure.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “How can you not be in a good mood in a beautiful place like this?”

  She drove down US 1 for a few miles.

  “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I didn’t realize it was a question. But I’ll play your game. Yeah, it’s hard not to be in a good mood in a beautiful place like this. But just because it’s sunny Florida and there are a bunch of tourists running around on vacation doesn’t mean that we don’t have crime or problems.”

  “I know. I’m a cop, remember?”

  She nodded and stopped at a red light. When she heard the driver of the car beside her rev his engine, she looked over at him.

  “Wanna race, baby?” the guy called over and revved his engine again.

  “Probably not a good idea. There might be a cop around.”

  “Nah, I’m good at spotting cops.”

  Tess just smiled, held up her ID, and tried not to laugh when his jaw dropped.

  “Aw, man,” he said and when the light changed, he moved forward with the speed of an old lady.

  “Killjoy,” said Logan.

  She drove on. “Where we’re going might ruin your day, too.”

  “How? This is the first case we get to work together. I’m looking forward it.”

  “Why’d you move here?”

  He shrugged. “Looking for a change of pace.”

  She knew from reading up on him that he’d cracked some big cases in Chicago. One of these days she’d find out why he’d moved here.

  “Well, h
ere’s our big B & E investigation,” she announced.

  She pulled into the driveway of a small concrete block house painted bright flamingo pink. The yard was covered with every lawn ornament imaginable: plaster religious statues, plastic geese dressed in clothes, whirligig flowers, and more.

  Tess had been just as agog when she’d seen the house the first time.

  An elderly lady with frizzy scarlet hair opened the door. She wore a purple caftan and a cat draped around her neck.

  “Why Tess, I wasn’t expecting you!” the woman exclaimed. “Why aren’t you wearing your uniform?”

  “I’m a detective now, Mrs. Ramsey. This is my partner, Logan McMillan.”

  The woman’s penciled eyebrows rose as she looked him over. “Good to meet you, Detective.”

  “We’re here to investigate the break-in you reported, Mrs. Ramsey.”

  “Come in, come in,” she said, opening the door a few more inches. “Watch out. Don’t want to let anyone out.”

  “Anyone?” Logan murmured beside Tess.

  “Watch your ankles,” she hissed, looking around.

  “I put Cammy up,” Mrs. Ramsey said.

  “Thank you.” Tess pulled her notepad from her pocket. “You said someone broke in the back door last night. Can we check it out?”

  “You know the way, dear.”

  Mrs. Ramsey settled back down onto the sofa and turned the volume up louder on the television. “Diamonique Hour is on QVC.”

  Tess led the way through the living room and into the kitchen. Several cats were lying in the sink. Another couple peered down from their post on the top of the refrigerator. She checked the back door, looking for signs of forced entry and finding none. Dutifully she went through the rest of the house with Logan.

  When he shot her a puzzled look, she nodded, put her finger to her lips, and returned to the living room.

  “Mrs. Ramsey?”

  The woman tore her gaze from the television. “Will you look at that! Lovely bridal set, isn’t it? I always liked the emerald cut. Makes even a small diamond look big.” She tilted her head and studied Logan. “Are you married?”

  He looked startled. “Uh, no, ma’am.”

  She nodded, then raised her eyebrows at Tess. “I see.”

  Tess wanted to roll her eyes. “Mrs. Ramsey, we didn’t find any sign of a break-in. We checked all your doors and windows.”

  “Well, I suppose that’s all well and good. But where’s my diamond necklace?”

  “Show me where you last saw it.”

  She lifted the cat on her lap and set it down on the sofa, then hauled herself to her feet. “Same place as always. Keep my jewelry box in the armoire in the master bedroom, under my shapewear.” She shot a look at Logan. “They don’t call them girdles anymore.”

  Tess nearly choked at Logan’s expression.

  “I—didn’t know that.”

  “We’ll be right back,” Tess said.

  “I’ll be here.”

  “Nice young man,” Mrs. Ramsey told her. “Single, huh?”

  This time Tess did roll her eyes.

  And got the look. The teacher look.

  She straightened. “Uh, yes, ma’am.”

  Mrs. Ramsey opened the door to the master bedroom, and a huge white cat shot out of the room.

  “Cat incoming!” she yelled to Logan and held her breath. When she didn’t hear anything, she let it out.

  “See? It’s not here!” Mrs. Ramsey said, holding an empty jewelry case.

  Tess nodded. “Description?” she asked and made notes in her pad as the woman rattled off the details that Tess knew by heart: Husband gave to her for their first anniversary. One carat. Oval shape. Platinum setting and chain. Irreplaceable.

  She closed the pad with a snap. “We’ll do our best to find out who took it.”

  They walked back into the living room. Tess wondered if she’d find Logan writhing in pain. Instead, Cujo—er, Cammy—looked adoringly at Logan as he scratched her head.

  “Nice cat,” he told Mrs. Ramsey.

  She beamed. “Thank you. I always say Cammy knows a good person.” She turned to Tess. “I’m glad you didn’t bring that Smithers man. Cammy doesn’t like him. Or that husband of your aunt’s.” She made a face. “Never liked him.”

  “Smithers?”

  “Your uncle. Always seemed . . . sneaky. You know? I could never prove—” she stopped.

  “Never could prove what?” Tess asked, trying to look casual. “I won’t say anything.”

  Mrs. Ramsey sighed. “I could never prove he cheated on tests in my class. But I know he did.” She glanced at Logan. “I taught long enough I had Tess’s uncle and Tess in my classes at the high school.”

  “How about that?”

  “We have to go, Mrs. Ramsey. I’ll call you if we find your necklace. In the meantime, be sure to keep the doors and windows locked.”

  “I will, dear. And you promise you’ll read a book this week.”

  “I will.”

  “Thanks for warning me about the cat.”

  “I got your back.” She glanced over when he didn’t say anything. “Cat got your tongue?”

  “Thought women didn’t crack jokes like that.”

  She shrugged. “Couldn’t resist. You want to stop for something to drink? I know a place that has great sweet tea.”

  “You Southerners sure like your iced tea.”

  “Sweet tea.”

  She got the tea and a big cookie called a sand tart. Logan didn’t eat sweets much but she hadn’t steered him wrong in what she’d chosen to eat at their break. As usual, she introduced him to the woman behind the counter. He knew from his years as a beat cop you got to know your neighborhood, but it seemed like Tess knew everyone.

  They settled in a big booth and watched the tourists walking around sweating in the afternoon heat. Now and then, a few of them straggled inside, sighed over the air conditioning, and ordered drinks and pastries.

  “So tell me about Mrs. Ramsey. She seems . . . quite a character.”

  “She wasn’t always like this. She was my high school English teacher for several years. Got bumped up when I did. I thought it was a coincidence at the time, but now I know better.”

  “What do you mean?” He took a bite of the cookie and nearly groaned it was so good.

  She shrugged. “Things happen for a reason. I learned a lot from her but not just about English. She really helped me after—after Sam died.”

  Logan took a sip of the tea and found it a bit sweet for his taste. “So how long has she been thinking someone’s breaking into her house and stealing her jewelry?”

  Tess lifted a hand when someone walked past and greeted her. It was turning out this was a smaller town than he’d originally thought.

  “About a year now. Her husband died not long after Sam, and it took a lot out of her.” She set the cookie down, half-eaten, and looked up at him. “She hasn’t been . . . eccentric until recently. So far it seems harmless, but I’m going to keep an eye on her.”

  She sat back. “I guess this is different for you, coming from the big city.”

  “Big city’s made up of small neighborhoods,” he said. “You gonna eat that cookie?”

  “Help yourself.”

  He bit into it and then realized it made him think about her lips had touched the same place his were doing now. Don’t go there, he warned himself. You’re partners. Not a good idea to mix personal and work.

  Their break was short-lived. They’d barely finished the tea when they got a call to investigate several more break-ins—real this time.

  “Not a lot of excitement since you’ve been here,” she said as they got into the car after the last one.

  “Fine by me,” he said. “I’m not looking for excitement.”

  She looked at him, started to say something, and then started the car.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Might as well ask. It’s the only way we’ll get to k
now each other.”

  “What makes you think I want to know about you?”

  He laughed and gazed out at the car window. “Of course you do. The reason both of us wanted to be detectives is because we’re hypercurious.” He looked back at her. “And the more we know about each other, the better we’ll work together.”

  He watched her as she stopped at a red light and glanced around. “Then there’s safety, too. Being a detective is less dangerous than being a patrol officer. But if there’s a situation, good partners who know and trust each other can up the odds of surviving it.”

  “Well, things are pretty quiet here,” she told him as she turned off the ignition and unclipped her seat belt. “Being attacked by Cammy is probably as hazardous as things are going to get.”

  Logan remembered the way the cat had come tearing out the bedroom toward him. He’d had a few uncomfortable moments until it got closer and he saw it didn’t have a crazed look on its face. Trusting, he bent and scratched its head, and everything was fine.

  He didn’t have to wonder why it had attacked Smithers. Seemed to him that the cat had good judgment there. He didn’t care for Smithers talking about Tess the way he had and was glad he’d gotten her for a partner.

  “So, got big plans for the weekend?” he asked.

  “Some real exciting stuff. A few home repairs, church on Sunday.”

  “I like to do home repairs.”

  She reached into her pocket for the cards she carried and handed him one. “You’re welcome to attend if you like.”

  “Oh, this is for your church.”

  Her lips quirked in a grin. “Yeah. I do my own home repairs. Why don’t you buy your own place so you can have some fun?”

  He fingered the card before putting in his own pocket. “I’m renting until I know what part of the city I want to live in.”

  “Smart.”

  He met her eyes. “Yeah. I thought so. Maybe you can give me some advice on where I should buy.”

  “Sure. Take some time. Not everyone likes living here.”

  “I’m liking it fine,” he said, pausing on the sidewalk to look around. He looked back at her. “I’m liking it just fine.”

  3

  They could talk all they wanted about fancy cures for stress. Tess felt it slip from her shoulders when she ran on the beach. Or when she walked into the quilt shop her aunt co-owned with a friend.