Her Hometown Detective

by Elizabeth Mowers

  Tully let a laugh escape. “What?”

  “I like her. So does Mara.”

  “And?”

  Charlie shrugged nonchalantly, taking another swig of soda. “You’ve got a solid job and this big house—”

  “It isn’t that big.”

  “It’s too big for just you. Despite that full kitchen of yours, you’re always coming over to Mara’s for dinner...”

  “I don’t cook much.”

  “Not surprising since all you have in your fridge is beef jerky and pickles.”

  “Good enough for me.”

  “I’m not the only one to notice...”

  “Notice? What?”

  “Even Paige picked up on your reaction at dinner the other night. You might try to hide it, but Faith got to you.”

  “Ha!” Tully said. He snapped the tab off his soda can. “Is that what you think?”

  Charlie’s face broke into a wide grin.

  “We think she’s pretty great.”

  “We?”

  “You know Mara and Paige want to fix you up again. Why not Faith?”

  “I don’t need help finding a date.”

  “True, but you need help keeping a woman longer than two weeks.”

  “I suppose now that you’re happily married, you want me married off as well. You’ve been friends with me long enough to know I’m not interested in being tied down.”

  “I don’t feel tied down. Paige is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  “I believe you, but you almost married Crystal, and she was the poster child for what the wrong partner looks like. She broke your heart with one of your best friends—”

  “And a good thing too or I wouldn’t have met Paige.”

  “I’m glad you can find the silver lining in that, but I’m not interested in—”

  “—putting yourself out there?”

  “Look, man. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. I’m not the—”

  “—marrying kind. Yeah, I remember,” Charlie said, staring at him. “Still...”

  Tully huffed, finishing his cola in a few giant swigs. There were plenty of fine single women in town. He enjoyed the flirting, but casual dates were more his speed. He’d learned a long time ago that loving someone long term was the easiest way to get hurt—deeply hurt. It was never worth it.

  “Why date down there when I’m content up here, thinking about fishing? It’s a moot point.” Tully punctuated his statement with a light chuckle to put a friendly, but firm, end to Charlie’s line of questioning. His friend nodded, as if the message was received loud and clear.

  “Speaking of people who need to settle down, where is Samantha heading off to next?”

  Tully released a groan. “Who knows. At the rate she’s going, she’ll have to fly into a war zone to get the kind of pictures her so-called fans demand. Tell Mara and Paige to set their matchmaking sights on her for a change.”

  “And your dad?”

  Tully turned his face away, staring at the tree line in the direction of his dad’s cabin.

  “I ought to drive out there. I really ought to.”

  “Want me to come?”

  “No. It’s better I visit alone. You know how he gets.” He crushed his can, compressing it to a thick disc, and tossed it off the roof. It clanged when it hit the open trash can near the garage.

  “Nice shot. Double or nothing.” Charlie crushed his can and handed it to his friend.

  “I didn’t know we were betting.”

  “I want to see if you can make it under pressure. Miss this shot and Mara will put out feelers to see if Faith finds you attractive.” Tully twisted his mouth. He knew how to handle pressure in all matters. Well, work-related matters anyway.

  “And if I make it?”

  “You won’t hear a peep out of me about Faith again.”

  “Are you sure you can restrain yourself?”

  “I will do my best, but just so we’re clear, if you miss this shot, I’ll always wonder if it was on purpose.”

  Tully snorted and tossed the crushed can. It clanged around the inside of the can, ringing a successful shot.

  “And that’s why you were a high school all-star,” Charlie said. “Tell me again why you’re still single?”

  Tully peered at him from beneath hooded eyelids. “Do you want me to help you off this roof?”

  “I’m only kidding.” Charlie held up his hands in apology. “I’ll drop it already.”

  Tully nodded. He watched a speedboat skimming over the lake, at least a hundred yards in the distance. It reminded him of a case he’d had two summers before.

  “I think I might make a trip out to Harrison’s place tomorrow,” Tully said.

  “Heath Harrison?” Charlie looked off in the direction of Heath’s house. Heath had graduated high school a couple of years ahead of them. After he and his wife had split, his son, Oliver, had gotten involved with Cody Ward, a troubled teen who had been more than happy to cause his fair share of trouble in Roseley, including vandalism.

  “I know what you’re thinking, but I’d suspect Cody long before I’d suspect Oliver.”

  Raised by his grandparents, Karen and Moody, Cody had a reputation for pushing boundaries at home and at school.

  “Me too, but I’ll have an easier time talking to Heath than Moody or Karen. Perhaps Heath will have some insight on Cody,” Tully said, reaching for the cell phone vibrating on his hip. “As it turns out,” he continued, reading the text message that had come through, “I might have to run out there sooner than later.”

  “Why?”

  “Are you familiar with The Gypsy Caravan?”

  “The new antiques shop on Third Street? I don’t think it’s opened yet.”

  Tully nodded and stepped carefully toward the ladder, motioning his friend to follow. “It hasn’t, but they just had a break-in.”

  “The sun isn’t even down yet.”

  “Yep. Whoever our suspect is, he’s getting bolder.”

  * * *

  FAITH HAD ENJOYED dinner at The Nutmeg Café with Caroline. Her back ached a bit from all the moving and cleaning she’d accomplished over the last few days, but it didn’t keep her from treating her cousin to dinner. It was a gesture of thanks for all of Caroline’s help.

  The Nutmeg Café was one of the few new additions in town. She cruised the narrow side streets admiring all the cute storefronts and felt happy that not much else had changed.

  Years ago, she’d roamed these streets alone on her bicycle. Riding was a happy respite from her parents’ arguing, but after her father had been arrested, she’d needed the freedom to escape the silence that fell over the house whenever her mother disappeared to her room to hide away from the world. Aside from Uncle Gus’s home, the open road had been her only refuge. The road didn’t judge her or criticize her or suspect her of being like her father. The road was always forgiving.

  But now, instead of a bicycle, Faith cruised on her motorcycle. It was one she’d managed to fix up all on her own too. The bike’s restoration was something she prided herself on, and if she could get her detailing and repair shop off the ground, she hoped to branch off to selling not only new models of motorcycles but restoring and selling some old models too. It was too ambitious, or so Kyle had sneered when she’d worked up the nerve to share her dream. With him gone and a new life in Roseley spread out in front of her like a smorgasbord of opportunities waiting to be sampled, she decided she’d had enough failure in the past to last a lifetime. Perhaps, she hoped, fate would throw her a bone and give her a little taste of success, and happiness, soon.

  She’d swung around the back of Third Street, intending to take a shortcut to her shop on Main, when something caught her eye. Shattered glass made her swerve her motorcycle dramatically to avoid running over the shar
ds. She’d just breathed a sigh of relief, believing she’d successfully dodged the array of glass, when her handlebars began to put up a fight.

  “Are you serious,” she groaned, muscling the handlebars to stay aligned. The resistance meant the front tire had been damaged and although she was only a couple of minutes from her shop, she couldn’t drive as the crow flies. Without an ability to control the steering, she was momentarily stuck. Faith wobbled her bike to a stop without dropping it flat to the pavement like a hot potato.

  “Well, isn’t this dandy?” she said, cutting the engine and popping the kickstand. She glanced around the back lot. It was empty, not a soul in sight. Dusk was an hour away, still, the long shadows, growing longer by the minute, were creeping over every nook and cranny of the small town. Although it was a safe place, much safer than other places she’d lived, she didn’t feel like abandoning her motorcycle while she hoofed it back to the shop.

  The only things around were dumpsters, crates, wooden pallets and her. Squatting to inspect the damage, she could tell the tire’s sidewall had been severely punctured and would need to be replaced.

  Faith stood, irritated by the unexpected expense, and shuffled back toward the shattered glass to figure out what had caused the damage. The glass was strewn around the rear entrance to one of the shops. A window looked like it had been blown out of the glass door, which was opened a crack.

  Faith scratched her head. As it was still daylight, she doubted it was one of those vandalism cases. Although, with the glass smashed and the door open, someone might be robbing the place. Without a getaway vehicle in sight, she found it unlikely. She also didn’t understand how a simple break-in caused glass to shatter all over the pavement, leading her to pop a tire. Any good criminal would have given the window one good whack to break a hole big enough to reach in and unlock the door. This was not that.

  Faith pushed the door open farther, prepared to find someone hurt or in need of help. As she didn’t have her cell phone on her, an accessory she tried to leave at home as frequently as possible, she was prepared to assess the damage and run for help.

  “Hello? Is anyone here?”

  Silence greeted her as she flipped on a light and glanced around. A few things had been knocked to the ground and they looked expensive. Thankfully, Caroline had brought her up to speed on Roseley’s local politics when she’d arrived, so she recognized the back of the shop as The Gypsy Caravan, owned by the famous Callahan brothers, Dash and Ledger.

  Caroline had explained that when the newspaper had caught wind that the Callahan brothers were considering a shop in Roseley, a few locals had put together a modest protest. Miss Jenkins’s shop had been the only antiques dealer in town for the better part of thirty years, and folks were loyal. They also didn’t like that the two brothers had a reputation that preceded them. They had made a name for themselves on social media, traveling around the country to find antiques bargains and gaining a mass of followers. Most people in Roseley were split over the attention the brothers’ fame would likely bring. On the one hand, more tourists meant more business for the rest of the establishments in Roseley. On the other hand, more tourists meant...more tourists. The protests had fizzled by summer, but the brothers were still a hot topic of conversation, especially because few had seen them, let alone met them.

  Faith half expected to find one of the brothers lying helpless on the floor, clocked over the head with a priceless lamp, perhaps bleeding out on the Persian carpet. But once she’d stepped completely into the shop and glanced around, it was something else that made her stomach drop.

  “What is this?” she cried, squatting to examine the damage to a vintage BMW motorcycle dumped to its side. The bimmer looked like it was from WWII. Covered in an aged paint, the hue coffee with cream, the BMW logo on the side fender made its value undeniable. So did the fact that it had an attached sidecar, its wheel sunny side up and rotating slowly on its axis. “Who did this to you?”

  Faith stood and took a more serious look around the shop. Vases, jewelry, paintings and other antiques were strewn all over the floor, so whatever had happened in the shop had just happened. She decided she needed to get out of here before it happened to her next.

  Hurrying to the door, she had no sooner made it outside, jogging toward her dumped bike, when someone screeched their tires to a halt.

  “Hold it right there!” a man called.

  Faith turned and found an oddly familiar face framed in the car window. She scrambled to place the fellow before he, no doubt, placed her. He was someone she used to know but how?

  “I’m already on the phone with the cops so don’t bother running.”

  “I wasn’t planning on it.”

  “Who are you?” He stepped out of his car with his phone pressed to his ear. Faith didn’t see how he was in a position to demand answers. As far as she was concerned, he was as much a suspect as she and the realization flooded her veins with authority.

  “Who are you?” she said. There had been a time in her life when she would have fallen over herself to prove she was an innocent caught up in someone else’s scandal. That time had passed.

  The man blinked as if taken aback by her tone.

  “Rick Murdock.”

  “Faith Fitzpatrick,” she said, clenching her fists.

  “What are you doing back here, Faith?”

  “I was taking a shortcut to my motorcycle shop when I popped a tire.” She jerked her head toward the glass strewn on the ground nearby. Rick eyed her and her bike before nodding.

  “I called the guys who own this place. They’ll be here soon so sit tight, okay?”

  “What about the cops?”

  “I’m sure Detective McTully is already on his way. He usually works break-ins.”

  Faith shifted on her feet. She didn’t want to be standing around like a bad guy caught in the act when Detective McTully arrived. Given Rick’s expression, she could tell he trusted her about as far as he could throw her. She couldn’t stand to see the same expression on Tully’s face.

  “I have to get my bike to the shop before someone messes with it. It’s getting dark.”

  “I’d stick around if I were you, Faith. I’m sure Tully will want you to answer some questions.”

  “I’m sure he will,” she muttered to herself, contemplating her options. “Look, Rick,” she said. “I have to walk over to my shop and get my truck and trailer. I’ll be back soon, obviously, because I can’t leave my motorcycle overnight. Detective McTully knows who I am. He can follow up with me if he has questions.”

  “That’s not a good idea,” Rick called after her. “Leaving the scene of a crime like this... You’re going to look guilty.” She knew that was true, but she also knew the way things stood, she already looked guilty.

  * * *

  TULLY TURNED THE corner of High Street as the overhead lights flickered on. Even in the dim evening light, he could still spot the familiar hip swagger of Faith Fitzpatrick as she cut a diagonal line across the street in front of him. He rolled down his window.

  “Jaywalking is up to forty dollars these days,” he called. She turned, easing back across the street to meet him. It reminded him of their first encounter. He bit back a smile at how cute she had looked trying to keep her cool when she had scowled at him. Now, as she stood at his truck window, she flashed a coy smile.

  “Should I expect a ticket, Detective?”

  “Depends. Do you have a good reason for jaywalking at dusk?”

  “I popped a bike tire. I’m heading to my shop to get my trailer.”

  “Where’s your bike?”

  She hesitated. It was only a second too long, but he’d spotted it as clearly as if he’d had a map.

  “You’re going to find out in a minute anyway, and I don’t want you to think I’m hiding anything.” Tully’s eyebrows flinched upward as she continue, “It’s behind the s
hops on Third Street.”

  “Behind The Gypsy Caravan?”

  “Nearby.”

  “How near?” There was that hesitation again. Tully rested a hand on the steering wheel at twelve o’clock and tipped his head toward the passenger seat. “Get in. I’ll give you a lift.”

  “I’m capable of making it to my shop. The walk is only a few more minutes—”

  “Get in, Ms. Fitzpatrick. You can tell me what happened on the way.” She sighed before climbing up into the bed of the truck. “We’re not going to your shop.”

  “Yeah, I figured.”

  “Who called in the break-in?”

  “Rick Murdock.”

  “Rick’s a good guy.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I’m sure he’s a real gentleman if he doesn’t suspect you of foul play. He wasn’t happy when I left the scene.”

  “That’s because you shouldn’t have left.” Faith shifted on her seat to better face him, drawing a breath of protest no doubt.

  “I have to get my bike back to my shop before something happens to it. With thieves in this town breaking into stores and turning over vintage motorcycles, it’s not safe—”

  “Turning over motorcycles?” Tully’s tone downshifted into detective mode as he glanced her way again. Her lips formed to speak but no words came out. “How involved are you, Ms. Fitzpatrick?”

  “Okay,” she began as Tully pulled behind the stores on Third. He took the drive painfully slow, scanning for anything out of the ordinary, aside from Rick’s parked car up ahead. “Full disclosure before you talk to Rick.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Someone broke into The Gypsy Caravan—”

  “I know.”

  “There was glass all over the ground. That’s how I popped my tire.”

  “Okay...”

  “All the glass made me suspicious—”

  “Suspicious?”

  “Concerned. So, I went inside—”

  “You what?” Tully threw his truck in Park with a force that made Faith jump. His emotional response had surprised her. Staying low-key was his calling card, but the thought that Faith had entered the shop alone and had possibly disturbed things before he had had the chance to investigate—