by Patti Larsen
“I’m sorry, Sheriff,” Alicia said, teeth chattering, her hand so tight around mine I winced a bit at the pressure but didn’t let her go. “I panicked. I’ve never had to deal with anything like this before and all I could think of was Fee had so I called her and she came right away and I’m so… so… glad.” She stumbled to a halt after blurting her way through that run-on statement, inhaling and letting out a wail at the end that turned into sobs before she spun into my shoulder and clung to me like she’d fall over if I didn’t hold her up.
Crew’s annoyance faded instantly and he eye rolled at me before sighing out his visible frustration. “It’s going to be all right,” he said, soothing tone not really helping but at least he tried. “Can you tell me, did you touch anything?”
She shook her head, not looking as Dr. Aberstock began his examination while I couldn’t help but stare. Hard to see anything in detail from this distance, though. I’d be asking questions in short order, if only to irritate his young intern, Barry Clements. I’d thought Barry had been employed temporarily, as part of his education, but it turned out he’d chosen to stick around, rumors about financial issues and tuition reaching me without my having to dig for them. I felt for him, if that was the case. But he’d been less than helpful when I’d faced the death of Grayson Gallinger, toeing the Patterson company line when Geoffrey Jenkins was in favor and he hadn’t done much to endear himself to me since. If anything, the young man I’d first thought rather likeable had turned bitter and resentful, and I wondered if it was his natural inclination, his loss of funding for school or pressure he might still be receiving from those who would prefer I stayed out of the loop.
Right, Fee, because everything that happened in Reading was about you. Snort.
Jill glared from the side of the stage, arms crossed over her chest, staying out of the way, about as perplexing as the dead body. She’d looked so furious when she’d found me with Alicia, Crew’s arrival drawing her attention, I was sure she was going to say something. Instead, she’d backed off and just stood in that same spot for the last fifteen minutes. Weird, though Crew didn’t comment that his deputy wasn’t stepping in to help and I wondered what was going on between them that put any kind of wedge with Crew on one side and the usually amiable Jill on the other.
“Where is she?” I heard Jared’s voice before I saw him, the sound having an immediate effect on her. She spun away from me and abandoned her grip on my hand like I never existed, rushing to her fiancé who engulfed her in his arms. Hey, hang on. Was he actually scowling at me like this was my fault or something?
Crew spoke before I could be annoyed enough to say anything. “I’ll have more questions for Miss Conway,” he said. “But they can wait until she’s feeling more herself.” That really was nice of him, though Jared just nodded and looked down at her, rocking her a little and whispering to her. I let go of my own irritation at his reaction, knowing he was just responding to her hurt and fear. Still, sheesh. I came running when she needed me. Jared could let up just a little bit.
As for Jill, the moment Jared led Alicia away, she finally approached, Matt lingering behind her, his scowl matching hers. And though Crew was her boss and she really needed to be addressing him right now, helping with the investigation, it was me she had words for.
To my utter shock, she hissed in my face, anger so openly apparent I gasped. “What the hell were you thinking? You should have come and got me.”
She said what? Crew’s hand settled on her shoulder, but she shrugged him off like he offended her. Their eyes met with the kind of mistrustful animosity that enemies held for each other, the realization I’d missed something important hitting me like a blow.
“Fee did the right thing,” he said, voice low and mild. “She called the police, Jill. And while you’re a deputy,”—wow, why did it sound like he wanted to add for now to that as a caveat?—“you weren’t working in that capacity at the time.”
She didn’t respond, jaw set, eyes flat and angry. Matt looked uncomfortable though not nearly as upset as she did, more like he just wanted this to go away, would have liked to lead Jill off somewhere and put an end to the brewing fight. Because, yup, a fight was brewing, boiling under the surface while I gaped back and forth between my boyfriend and my friend and wondered what was going on that put them at odds.
“Now,” Crew said, still softly but with that particular weight to his words I was familiar enough with, the old FBI commanding tone in full force, “if you’d like to change into your uniform I’m happy to have you help investigate this case. Or, if you’d prefer to continue your private work, I’ll ask you to secure the perimeter and keep everyone out so I can do my job.”
Jill’s nostrils flared. For a long moment I was sure she was going to argue. Instead, finally, with a sharp nod she turned away and stormed past Matt who shrugged an apology before following her. Crew watched her go with sadness in his eyes, then sighed and met my gaze with a small head shake.
“Not now,” he said, “please. We can talk about it later.” His hand slid down my arm, fingers squeezing mine before letting me go. “Are you okay?”
There was the kindness and compassion I’d been hoping for. But now I knew his annoyance wasn’t just with Alicia and finding me here. He had more issues to deal with, work issues he’d been keeping from me. I reached out and mimicked his movement, releasing his hand after a brief, comforting touch.
“I’m fine,” I said. “What’s a dead body between friends?”
He actually smiled, though it was tired. “Go home, Fee,” he said. “This one’s mine.”
I wanted to hug him but I knew better. Not that he wasn’t demonstrative, but we had an agreement about kissing at the office, and I assumed hugging at a crime scene fell under that set of rules. Besides, the last thing I wanted was to make him uncomfortable when he had a murder to investigate.
Oh, yes. Again, sure, it could have been suicide. Except that there was no way Faith could have hung herself unless she could fly. Or move the ladder on her own. So I was calling this one without hearing from the doc or the crime scene techs right now checking that same ladder for fingerprints.
I left, offering a back pat for Alicia who snuffled against Jared’s shoulder, relenting when he reached out to hug me against the two of them in apology for his initial reaction.
“Thank you,” he whispered, letting me go. I just nodded and walked on, determined to hunt for Jill and Matt and grill my friends about her confrontation with Crew. But from the way Jill, head down and hands at her hips, shook her head while Matt talked fast and low to her she was in no mood to chat. I could have forced a conversation, but instead I opted for the smart route for once and went home.
Look at me being all thoughtful and everything. That was, until she calmed down. Then I’d be cornering her and firing her up again. Honestly, my choice to leave wasn’t really for Jill’s benefit, anyway. Whatever her problem was, I left to save Crew from having to deal with his deputy yelling at his girlfriend when I gave her a hard time for being mean to him for no reason.
Then again, did she have a reason? I thought it out as I drove home to Petunia’s, the short trip down the mountain picturesque as a postcard but utterly lost on me thanks to my internal turmoil. This had to be a new thing, right? I would have noticed. Or would I? I’d been so lost in Crew and in Petunia’s and the annex, in this year’s unwinding business, had I failed to see something that had been brewing a while?
No, no way. Had to be current. Which meant it might just blow over without my interference. On the other hand, it could turn into something that lead to Jill leaving Reading, something that I’d feared when Crew’s job was at risk, not when he was firmly back on the bright side of the good folks of our little slice of America.
Whatever the case, and whatever their issue, I’d get it out of Crew now that I knew something was up.
I parked in the lot between the annex and the main house, my personal spot marked with the hand-painted cutout of a
pug illuminated in my headlights, Fiona Fleming in black across her round tummy. The space markers had been Daisy’s idea and while a bit chintzy had an equally cute appeal I finally went along with. At least having the lot kept us from running into parking violations, though the occasional indiscretion still meant I had to deal with town hall more often than I liked. Whoever was behind the rabid enforcement of all things parking (Robert, I’m looking at you), things had only gotten worse over the years.
It wasn’t until I entered through the back door and into the kitchen I realized Mom hadn’t gone home yet and, better yet, Dad was there. Wherever he’d stashed his pickup truck, it wasn’t in the lot and I winced, wondering if he’d found a new way to piss off my cousin with his choice in parking spots. Dad’s office was just down the street from town hall and he took full advantage of the lot there, something that Robert detested and tried to use against my father. Only to run up against Olivia’s irritation and continual support of my dad. It had been a delightful winter of my dad contesting tickets and Robert doing his very best to get Dad’s truck towed. While I’m sure my father was amusing himself with the whole issue, I was getting a bit tired of Petunia’s being a focus of attention as Robert’s attempts to retaliate against Dad meant him hovering outside my place looking for violations to ticket.
Grunt, growl and bother.
I greeted my father with a knowing frown, though he engulfed me in a hug rather than commenting on my expression.
“What is it with you and dead bodies?” He looked down at me as he released me, the familiar scent of the laundry detergent Mom used lingering on his checkered shirt, his eyes narrowed with worry. I’d always looked up to my dad, his bravery, his stoic strength, how he always took everything in stride. Except when it came to me and Mom, I finally realized. He felt far more deeply than my former sheriff turned P.I. tough guy father would ever admit.
“Alicia found her,” I said. “Not me this time.”
He nodded, let me go, Mom hugging me in turn. She, at least, never failed to show her concern, touching my hair, my cheeks, before releasing me. The lingering scent of her favorite stew recipe she’d served for dinner filled the kitchen with the comforting aroma of beef, fresh biscuits and childhood.
I told them both what I learned, unsurprised my father knew most of what I did already.
“The doc,” Dad said with a shrug and a grin. “And I’m way ahead of Crew on this one. I already have a suspect.”
“You could call him and let him know.” That wasn’t a request, though from the crinkling around Dad’s eyes, the way he fought a grin, he wasn’t about to let my boyfriend have the information he’d uncovered that easily. Made me wonder about their relationship. Dad had been in cahoots with Crew on a number of occasions in the last year or so, though neither of them would tell me what they were working on together. Should have made me nervous, maybe. Instead, I just sighed and carried on.
Except, in light of Jill’s response to Crew, I felt anger surface for the first time in a while and let Dad have it.
“You know,” I snapped, “we’re supposed to be working together. That’s hard to do when you keep things to yourself.”
Instead of responding with his own temper, though, he booped me on the nose and winked. “When you’re ready to commit,” Dad said in that infuriatingly calm and level tone that made me want to smack him, “you let me know, Fee.”
Dads.
***
Chapter Twelve
He was lucky he changed the subject. “You’re aware Mila Martin is back in town?”
Mom looked worried enough I shrugged. “I know, Dad. She’s staying here.”
Dad flinched at that, Mom’s reaction enough I paid attention.
“That girl is a stalker freak.” Wow, Dad, nice. Not. “You need to be careful around her, Fee. She’s been in a mental institution, court enforced.”
“I’m aware of that,” I said. “She told me.”
Mom glanced at Dad then at me, biting her lower lip. “Do you think she’s a threat?”
“I think she’s here for Grace.” I hated to tell Mom that, considering she was all about Vivian these days. Dad inhaled like he wanted to argue, but fell silent, Mom staring, as the kitchen door swung shut, the devil we spoke of watching us like she’d been there all along.
There was no way she could have missed what we were saying, but Mila didn’t seem put off by the fact.
“Fee, I’m so happy you’re back.” She completely ignored my parents, gesturing for me to join her at the door. I hesitated a moment, but Mila’s nervous expression made me relent. I left Mom and Dad who stayed quiet, tense, and joined the young woman, a bit surprised and creeped out when she took my hand and led me out of the kitchen and earshot of my parents.
When she tucked me into the quiet dining room, dinner long over, the space dark and still, I almost resisted, but Mila’s furtive glances caught and held my curiosity.
“Can I help you with something?” Weird, yes, but hardly threatening.
Her big eyes locked on my face once I spoke. Mila’s lower lip trembled, her hand on mine cold and clammy, as she pressed something into my fingers and closed them around it. I glanced down at what looked like a piece of paper with writing just visible through the folded edges as Mila spoke.
“I found this,” she whispered loudly enough it was apparent she hadn’t brought all of her marbles out of the hospital with her. “It might help you in your investigation.”
Did everyone in Reading know about the murder? “I’m not part of the case,” I said. “That’s Crew’s job.”
She nodded slowly, eyes massive and staring. “You’ll find the murderer,” she said. “I know it. I have faith in you, Fiona. You’re the best, the absolute best. Anyone would want you working their murder. I’d want you working mine.”
Um, okies, not freaking out or anything. I unfolded the paper, realizing it was torn and pieced back together. No, wait, not torn. This had been shredded by a machine. I looked up again, met Mila’s eyes. “Where did you get this?” Okay, so just because it was likely she’d stolen this from somewhere she shouldn’t have been didn’t mean I wasn’t going to read it. Because, yeah. I was going to read it. And did so, skimming the contents while Mila leaned closer. Close enough I could smell the faint mustiness from her sweater, the generic scent of her shampoo, feel her hot breath on my cheek. Eep.
“That ex-model, Noel.” Mila’s voice had a dreamy tone to it suddenly, her lips in a soft smile, eyes moist, unblinking. “I had a look around her room earlier. This was in the trash.”
Okay, that wasn’t a good thing. How many other guest’s rooms had she broken into? Before I could mention she’d likely be getting a visit from Crew in the next little bit, Mila let me go and hugged herself, beaming at me.
“You’re welcome, Fee,” she said before turning and drifting away, glancing back at me a few times as she retreated toward the foyer and the stairs. I let her go, not because I condoned what she’d done, but knowing that Dad was right and it was probably for the best Crew dealt with the poor unfortunate young woman.
As for the stolen, repaired note, well. I’d hand it over to my boyfriend after a quick read through of the contents, wouldn’t I? Like a good Fiona Fleming.
The tape Mila used made it hard to read in low light and I stepped out into the better illumination of the foyer just as the front door slammed open and a furious and agitated Vivian French stormed in. I’d seen her upset a few times in the past, worked up, but typically that had been cold and icy, the Queen of Wheat having a hissy fit. The only time I’d really seen her temper was the day we’d stood outside the back of her bakery and screamed at each other like a pair of spitting cats, venting on each other though neither of us really were to blame for our upset.
This Vivian, however, was clearly emotionally invested in her fury, stomping to a halt next to me with the sort of aggressive agitation I usually equated with myself, not her, no sign of her normal collected and crisp v
itriol in sight.
“What exactly are you doing here?” She grasped my arm and tugged on me like she planned to physically remove me from the premises and relocate me where it was she thought I should be at that moment. “You’re supposed to be at the lodge solving the murder.”
Um, what? “I’m not a deputy, Vivian.” She was well aware of that fact.
She snorted, so uncharacteristic I couldn’t respond right away. That was fine, she did it for me. “Like that’s ever stopped you before,” she snarled. “Now, get back there and find out who killed Faith before this impacts Grace’s business.”
Ah. Gotcha. “Vivian,” I said, “Crew’s handling it. He’s a great sheriff. We both know I just get in the way and make things harder for him.” Okay, I hadn’t meant to say that out loud and fully expected her to turn to disdain and agree.
Instead, to my utter shock, she crumbled, her face showing fear, sorrow, not a trace of the anger that carried her into my foyer remaining as she clutched at my arm, tears standing in her pale, blue eyes. For the first time since I’d met Vivian I saw her, really saw her, the woman behind the mask of derision and control and my heart broke.
“Please, Fee,” she said, voice cracking, a tear tracing down her cheek, marring her perfect makeup while I stared in surprise and unexpected but engulfing compassion, “you have to help. I’m begging you. Grace can’t be touched by this. She just can’t.”
I fish lipped, I’m not too proud to admit it, while Vivian pulled herself under control. But her open worry didn’t shift, and nor did she try to hide her concern for the designer as she went on.
“I know we’ve never been friends.” She released me, dabbing delicately at the tear on her face, shaking her head, inhaling and exhaling before continuing. “But please, for Grace. This could ruin her whole season if she’s tied to the murder.”