Runways and High Heels and Murder

by Patti Larsen

  I shrugged, feeling my hands tighten into fists in the front pockets of my jeans, the only shield I had against his prying tone. “There are too many secrets in this town, if you ask me.”

  I didn’t mean to sound so whiny about it, but Dr. Aberstock laughed instead of chastising me, nodding, grinning.

  “There are, dear Fiona, that much is true.” He glanced sideways at Barry who seemed intent on sewing up the chest cavity of the dead man, the Y incision now folded back over the returned organs. “You know, I made your father a promise I’d never speak of Siobhan Doyle, not to you, not to anyone.” He sounded sad all over again, eyes locked on the dead man. “Seemed so important to him back then, and I’ve kept that promise, but mostly because no one was looking for her anymore.”

  “Siobhan?” She’d gone missing?

  When he met my eyes again, his were dark, shadowed with something he didn’t want to say. “No. Her daughter. Fiona Doyle.”

  I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t draw an ounce of oxygen, hearing my name spoken so casually like that, knowing in my heart I was connected to this other Fiona in a way that would shake my whole world when I found out the truth. What Dad and Mom were hiding from me, what Malcolm and Siobhan wanted me to know.

  Meanwhile, Dr. Aberstock went on as if he didn’t notice my distress and I caught what he said through a haze of shock at hearing my own name as he rambled on.

  “As far as I’m concerned, what happened with Siobhan and her daughter had nothing to do with John.” Oh my god, Dad. “It wasn’t your father’s fault, Fee, none of it.” What? What wasn’t? I wanted to lunge at the doc, grasp him by his shoulders, shake him. Instead, I was the one shaking, standing there, frozen, unable to move as he rubbed his round button nose and shrugged. “Your dad carries the guilt of it, Fee, but you have to know he did everything he could. And no matter what, Fiona’s fate was on her.” He tossed both hands, the pair of them landing on the metal table with a soft ringing sound as his wedding band impacted stainless steel. “John was a deputy himself, ten years into his career and he certainly didn’t have any experience with that sort of thing. And he was too kind, you know? Too untried, while that waste of space sheriff, Harold Patterson, let the case go cold.”

  I fought to swallow, to ask the million or so questions I desperately wanted to ask. Instead, I gurgled loudly enough Dr. Aberstock broke out of his retrospective reverie and noted the state of me, I guess, because he instantly froze, then shook himself as if reminded of that promise he made to my dad so long ago.

  “Let it rest,” he said, circling the table to squeeze my hand. Something flashed in his eyes then, a fierceness I’d never seen before, as he leaned in and whispered, “Or, if you can’t, for heaven’s sake, find out what really happened to Fiona Doyle so your father can be free of his demons.”

  ***

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Crew’s hand on my shoulder snapped me out of my deer in the headlights state. I immediately refocused on Dr. Aberstock, ready to demand more answers, only to find him retreating, waving at Barry who backed off the body while the doc examined his handiwork.

  “Nicely stitched,” he said with his jovial good humor returned, like he hadn’t just told me a fraction of what I needed to know and way more than anyone else in my life had about this particular mystery. I wanted to grill him, of course I did, except as he looked up one last time and met my eyes I knew he was done, that I would get nothing else out of him and that, yet again, I was on my own.

  Except now I had a name, one eerily tied to mine, to dive into.

  Crew didn’t seem to notice I was out of sorts, thanking the doc while my head spun. I barely heard him say goodbye, followed him on autopilot while I scoured my brain for the wherewithal to pull myself together long enough to stop shivering. It wasn’t until we were in the cab of his truck Crew caught the hint and reached out to hug me. I clung to him, shaking for real now, while he chuckled in my ear.

  “I never expected you of all people to be freaked out by the morgue.” My boyfriend leaned away, grinning down at me. His expression shifted instantly as he realized there was more to it than the heebie-jeebies. Likely because I was crying and couldn’t stop myself.

  “I’m sorry,” I hiccupped past the tears, wiping at the endless stream of them while Crew grabbed his tissue box, slightly crumpled from the passenger side floor, and handed it to me. I helped myself to multiples, fingers struggling to hold onto the soft sheets while I sobbed into them. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” At least, that’s what I tried to say. Still not sure if the meaning made it out or not past the choking tears.

  Crew tucked me against him, cheek on my hair, rocking me softly and whispering things I’ll never remember but that made me feel better, pulling me back from the brink of where Dr. Aberstock’s lack of reveal took me. Fiona. That name, it had to have meaning, had to be connected to Dad, to me. Why else name me after a girl that vanished or died or who knew what else?

  What happened to Fiona Doyle?

  Crew’s soothing did the trick and I righted myself a moment later, dabbing at the remaining tears, blowing my nose, apologizing while he watched me with those serious blue eyes, face still and empty of judgment.

  “Did you want to talk about it?” He waited for me to answer, hand stroking my hair.

  I shook my head after a moment of thought. I hadn’t told him much—wait, if anything—about the mystery of Siobhan Doyle, partly I guess because of Malcolm Murray’s involvement. And, because I had lived in fear for so long, since hearing about it, that Dad was responsible for something horrible and I didn’t want Crew to know. Yes, I was still protecting my father, but was it necessary? Not according to Dr. Aberstock. Still, until I knew more, I wasn’t done being the good daughter, not after practically accusing my dad of cheating on my mom.

  Did I say good daughter? Yeah, doing my best.

  Crew looked like he was going to press, but instead sighed and looked out the window. “That was Liz,” he said, “on the phone.” I did my best not to react negatively to the fact his former partner, Special Agent Elizabeth Michaud, was still in the picture, though both of them had assured me there was never anything between them. Thing was, maybe not in Crew’s case, but I had doubts Liz didn’t have feelings for him at some point. Regardless, she still worked for the FBI, so that made her helpful, right? And I trusted Crew above anyone else, until he proved otherwise.

  Sheesh, Fee, way to tag on a caveat to the man who loved you unconditionally.

  Crew filled me in as he started up the truck and pulled out of the parking lot, heading back toward Reading. The winding road leading from the new hospital toward downtown wasn’t very well lit, a bone of contention during town meetings lately. I figured we were just lucky to have a hospital close at all and kept my mouth shut.

  “Turns out Henry Ostler has been having some financial issues with a certain model.” Crew turned on the heat, warmth helping me to stop shivering but doing nothing to erase the worry hovering in the back of my mind. I resolved to focus on what he was saying instead of what I was thinking as he went on. “Faith Leeman.”

  Interesting and enough to pull me the rest of the way back to the present and out of over thirty years in the past. Fiona and Siobhan had waited that long. They could wait a little longer. “What did he owe her for?”

  “According to the court case she filed, he failed to pay her for a shoot she did,” Crew said. “She used the proceedings to sever herself from his agency and go freelance. That was just before she joined Grace.”

  Sounded like possible motive to me. “Let’s get his side of the story, then, shall we?”

  Crew grinned, nodded, though there was a wickedness to it that made me pause. “Let’s,” he said.

  Not like him to just invite me along like this, was it? I didn’t argue, though, and it wasn’t until we pulled into the parking lot at the lodge I figured out what he was up to.

  “You’re using me against Jill.
” That almost made me angry, if she wasn’t being a jerk about things and actually letting someone like Robert—and Rose through him—turn her against her friends.

  Crew didn’t respond, waiting for me outside the truck with his hands in his jacket pockets. I sighed over the duplicity of boyfriends who were also small town sheriffs and joined him, hooking my arm through his as he headed for the front door.

  “Go easy on her,” I said at last, just as he pulled the big front entry open for me. “She’s doing her best, Crew.”

  He didn’t comment, though the normal warmth in his eyes was missing. So they’d had the kind of words that weren’t easily forgiven, had they? I wanted to shake him, too, wondering at my penchant for men and my need to rattle the living crap out of them. Dad was on that list, too, thanks, as I resigned myself to pissing Jill off further and joined Crew as he headed for the ballroom.

  That meant he was looking for a confrontation. As we entered the crime scene I held off judgment, though the sight of Jill talking with the very man I thought we’d come here to investigate made me wonder if Crew had set this up somehow. But nope, he looked disappointed enough I figured this was luck or the Universe or whatever doing its best to keep him from making a big mistake.

  The expression on Jill’s face told me she was in about the same mood as him when it came to Crew, though she snapped into professional when he did, nodding to both of us, face a tightly controlled mask as we came to a halt next to them. Henry seemed to notice the tension, though it was obvious he chalked it up to the case, because when he spoke he sounded livid.

  “I understand the FBI has been investigating me.” Whoops, though Crew didn’t seem all that upset Henry knew that little detail.

  “You’ve had some money problems with the victim, Mr. Ostler,” the sheriff said, all casual, my favorite, that tone that told me Crew was in underestimate me, I dare you mode. There was something super sexy about him when he played quiet country cop that sent thrills through me.

  Okay, fine, I admit it. Everything about Crew did that.

  “You think that led to her murder, Sheriff Turner?” Henry’s attempt at bluster came off fake and hollow. He had to have known we had the details of his court case with Faith.

  “I understand you chose to contest Miss Leeman’s case against you.” Crew almost came across as sympathetic, kind, even compassionate.

  Henry hesitated, though it was obvious he wasn’t a fool and saw right through the sheriff’s attempt to put him at ease. But before he could answer, Jill spoke up, physically putting herself between Crew and the suspect.

  I gaped as she shouldered herself into place and spoke in a low, angry voice.

  “I’ve been instructed to tell the police that no one is to speak to you without a lawyer present.” Um, hated to break it to her, but Jill was the police. What the hell?

  Crew’s face tightened, jaw jumping, that tic under his eye that used to be reserved for me making an appearance while the vein in his forehead pulsed. “This is the last time I’ll warn you, Deputy Wagner.” Whoa. I’d never heard that particular tone from him before. Not a threat, not anger, but the sort of utter conviction that made me choke up and want to turn and run away. “If you’re going to continue to interfere with this investigation, to work contrary to the office you hold in your capacity as a security guard,” everything he put into those two words made it absolutely crystal clear what he thought of her choice, “I would advise you to move on now, rather than waiting until one of those other jobs you’ve been applying for comes through. Because if I have to fire you, you will never get another position in law enforcement for the rest of your life, I promise you that.”

  I needed to do something, to stop this train wreck disaster barreling toward the inevitable. The pair of them glared at each other, Jill’s anger more visibly volatile than Crew’s, but no less frightening. Henry Ostler stared, glancing back and forth between them, even he seeming to realize he was in the middle of something he probably should back away from.

  Jill finally backed down. I didn’t see the moment of her choice. I was too busy looking at Crew. But when she did, it was with the level of resentment and guilt on her face that told me her days in Reading were numbered. Which hit me far harder than I was expecting.

  I almost went after her as she turned and left the ballroom, almost. Would have, if Crew didn’t immediately refocus his attention on Henry and start lobbing questions in a firm, low and intense voice that had the other man spluttering.

  “I didn’t pay her because I wasn’t satisfied with her work.” Henry finally got to the point, glancing nervously over one shoulder as if looking for backup and finding himself alone. I knew Crew would never actually hurt him, but even I felt intimidated by this frustrated and demanding man, a side of my love I’d never seen before and I’d triggered a lot of sides in him over the years. “The photos taken that day were rejected by the client because Faith was combative and uncooperative. She disagreed, contested it, and we ended up in litigation. I should have won, except she pulled out the tears and batted those long lashes and the judge chose in her favor.”

  I was sure there had to be more to it than that, but Crew relented, nodded. Did he know something I didn’t, something he hadn’t told me?

  “Any other money troubles?” Crew hadn’t even bothered to take out his trusty notebook, hands on hips, blue eyes insistent.

  “Nothing connected to Faith Leeman,” Henry said, anger returning. “If you must know, that situation was all Grace’s fault.” Naturally her ex would blame her, right? Men were pigs. All but the one standing next to me, that was. And my dad. Dr. Aberstock. Okay, enough blanket statements about men. Still. Oink.

  “Henry,” I said, “what was in the note Noel Lewder sent you?” I only had a scrap of the one Mila stole. Maybe he could shed light on the full contents.

  He seemed surprised I knew but shrugged without any kind of sophistry visible. “She seems to think Faith set her up, drugged her the night she had her breakdown in New York.” He sounded disdainful enough to be telling the truth.

  “Do you think she had it in her to kill Faith?” It was a giant motive. Noel seemed devastated and I could only imagine what losing her livelihood and the job she loved meant to her. I know what it would have meant to me. Would I kill over it? No promises to the negative.

  Henry seemed taken aback by that. “I’m not sure.” He hesitated, then shrugged. “Possibly. Now that you mention it, she threatened both Grace and Faith in that note. The models can be so high strung.” Wow, what a way to describe a murderer. Hey, I was high strung, right? “I can share it with you, if you like.” His eyebrows raised as he seemed to realize he was talking to me instead of Crew. “That is, with the sheriff.”

  Crew waved that off, bless him. “It would be helpful,” he said. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

  But I wasn’t done with Henry, not yet. In fact, my high strung head was still thinking about what he’d said, heart speeding up a bit. “Could it be the wrong person was murdered that night?” Grace seemed to have a lot of enemies. “Or that someone is doing their best to ruin Grace?”

  He froze, a flash of worry on his face, just enough I had an insight, a peek into the man’s heart, and knew the truth that made me sad enough I relented on the pig analogy. “I wouldn’t know,” he said while my mind whispered he was still deeply in love with her. Did he know I knew? Regardless of his feelings, he pulled himself under control and shrugged.

  “How about your private conversation with Libby Kim?” He flinched this time, visibly, while I watched him more carefully than before. “Grace won’t be happy to hear her assistant has been spying on her.”

  Anger woke, softened instantly while Crew tensed beside me. Henry raised both hands, shook his head. “It’s not like that.” He swallowed hard before sagging just a little, shedding his arrogant powerhouse attitude a moment. “Libby is helping me… reach out to Grace.”

  “Why would you want to do that?” I alrea
dy knew, didn’t I? Crew’s startled frown told me he didn’t, though I guess heart matters were easy for guys to miss. Us girls? Yeah, all over that stuff like a bodice on a heaving bosom.

  “It’s personal.” His voice sounded thick before he cleared his throat and spoke again, leaning in with his frown deepening. “If you’d like my guess as to who killed Faith…?” I nodded, Crew mirroring me, though Henry had locked eyes with me. “Of all the people who hated Faith Leeman,” he said, “the most vocal was Mateo Marney.”

  “Why him?” I asked before Crew could, though my boyfriend didn’t even flinch, still staring at Henry like he could wring truth from him just with his gaze alone.

  “They’d talked about a partnership.” Henry tossed his head like it was foolishness. “Faith thought of herself as an up and coming designer, but the poor child had no taste.” Hmmmm. “From what I heard, Mateo invested a lot of money in developing a line with her, only to have Faith renege and try to claim the designs for her own.”

  ***

  Chapter Twenty Four

  I stood outside Mateo’s door, wanting to talk to Crew about his fight with Jill but not sure how to bring it up. He’d been stonily silent on the elevator ride, withdrawn and so far past stoic and into impenetrable fortress I hadn’t known what to say or even if I should remind him I was there. Instead, I hugged myself and tried not to let the misery of watching my friend and my boyfriend lose their trust for each other over something I hadn’t even been allowed to witness thanks to two people who really needed to take a flying leap off a cliff and splat to an unhappy end at the bottom.

  Gruesome? You betcha. Well deserved, thank you very much. I was, after all, the queen of dead bodies, right?