by Julie Miller
Now she was having trouble focusing on anything job-related. She’d sat at the breakfast table, trying to pinpoint a smell in her apartment, something musky and cloying, but so indistinct that she must be imagining it. Could a person imagine smells? Eating her oatmeal with her eyes closed and her brain half asleep, she decided the scent was somebody’s aftershave. But Conor and her dad were the only men who’d been in the apartment recently. Her father was an Old Spice guy and Conor smelled...like Conor. This was woodsy...no, floral...no, a figment of her imagination. She’d gone through a pot of coffee after that, then had brewed a second one just to keep the smell of the steaming, fragrant java in the apartment, dulling her scent receptors to the idea of invisible men and nonexistent aftershave.
Diving into her to-do list hadn’t distracted her much. She had opened her email to tackle a couple of work projects. Laura was physically drained from the wedding and Chloe’s death, along with the sleepless night that had followed. Last night simply hadn’t been enough to catch up. More than that, her thoughts kept slipping away from processing tour packages for her clients and ending up fantasizing about Conor kissing her again. Or worrying about Conor. He seemed so melancholy when they’d visited his parents’ graves. He’d seemed so alone.
How could a man who was so good at making people laugh, so good at making her feel safe and cared for, so good at keeping bullies and bad guys in line, be so isolated? Coming home to Arlington had forced him to face down his past and all the things that had hurt him. He had friends, but no family. He’d overcome the tragedy of losing his mother and growing up without his father. He’d moved beyond Lisa ending their relationship and marrying his college roommate. But at what cost?
The man she’d held at the cemetery needed to be loved. He needed to know that there were relationships in this world that lasted. He needed to trust that his love would be safe with someone else—with her, she hoped. But how did she break through that hard wall of armor around his heart and convince him of that? Was she even the right woman to do it? She wanted to try. For Conor, for her own future, she really wanted to try.
She’d nearly blurted out her feelings last night at the cemetery, just before Deputy Cobb’s call. That probably would have ended up in another humiliating moment followed by a few jokes to make light of her confession and allow them to pretend a declaration of love hadn’t happened. Then Conor would go home and stew about it, probably feeling guilty that he’d inspired an affection he couldn’t return, and she would go home and...
Laura’s eyes popped open. Spend the day wanting and wishing and not having any clue how to make him see that he fell for the wrong sister. She dropped her feet to the floor and stood. Why did she feel like there was a deadline for her to get Conor to wake up and see her as the right woman for him? And just how selfish was she to keep pushing him out of his comfort zone when he seemed to need a friend more than anything else right now?
Laura shook her head and picked up her coffee mug before heading to the kitchen. She had plenty to worry about right now, without throwing her feelings for Conor into the mix. She stopped at the window over the sink and peeked through the blinds for the mail truck. She wasn’t the only one impatient for the mail to arrive. Across the street, a little way down the block, there was a black and white car from the sheriff’s department. Either Deputy Cobb or one of his coworkers had been parked down there since breakfast, waiting for Chloe’s package to be delivered.
Needing something mindless to do instead of thinking and waiting, she opened a can of soup to warm on the stove. Then she sat down to pick at her lunch. Was Conor eating lunch, too? Did he do simple things like eat three meals a day to take care of himself? Or was he too busy meeting with the furnace guy at his mother’s house to take care of that responsibility, and calling some old friends in local law enforcement to try to find out whatever he could about Chloe and Verna Wilson, Isaac Royal and Vinnie Orlando? He’d promised to share any information he uncovered, even as he’d reminded her to keep her nose out of the murder investigation once she received Chloe’s package and turned it over to Deputy Cobb.
She spotted the white mail truck in front of her building when she carried her dishes to the sink. A sense of anticipation coiled through her. Was that package the answer to Chloe’s murder? Was a voice from the grave about to reveal her killer’s identity? Were the threatening phone calls and wary suspicions about the danger Chloe had gotten involved with about to end? Laura scooped up her phone and texted Conor to let him know the package had arrived. Then she grabbed her keys and hurried out the door.
She reached the lobby and wall of mailboxes in time to wave a goodbye to the letter carrier on his way out the front doors. Ignoring the beep of Conor’s reply, and the blast of cold air that made her shiver, she inserted the key into the lock and pulled open her box. Her breath stopped up in her chest when she saw the padded white envelope folded in half and stuffed inside. Eager to find answers as much as she dreaded discovering what those answers were, she pulled out the envelope, leaving the rest of her mail in the box.
There was the red lipstick mark. Definitely from Chloe. She trailed her fingers across her name written in her friend’s artistic scrawl and felt a pang of sorrow over the loss of such talent, such zest for living, such a generous free spirit that had all been violently taken from the world.
“Is that it?”
Laura shied away from the growly, good ol’ boy voice that startled her. She turned with her back against the mailboxes and looked up at T. J. Cobb, who was knocking snow from the sleeves of his uniform jacket.
She let the wintry air he’d brought in with him settle around her before she spoke. “I said I’d bring it to you as soon as it arrived. What if there’s something personal inside?”
“What if there’s evidence for my investigation?”
She hugged the envelope to her chest. “It’s my mail. You can’t take it unless you have a warrant.”
“I thought you understood how this was gonna work when we talked last night. A warrant takes time. Don’t you want me to find your friend’s killer?”
“Of course I do.”
He took a step toward her. “Then you’d better open it and see what’s inside.”
“With you looking over my shoulder?”
He was staring right at her. Waiting to grab whatever Chloe had entrusted her with. “How do I know you’re not going to hide something you might find in there unless I’m right here with you?” He took off his hat and knocked it against his thigh, adding to the puddle of melting snow forming at his feet. “I’d be happy to come up to your place and open it in private, if you prefer.”
In private? Alone with Deputy Slimeball? She wished now that she’d taken a few minutes to wait for Conor to get here before coming downstairs. Although she had a disturbing feeling Deputy Cobb would have been knocking at her apartment door to make her come down to the mailboxes the moment the delivery had been made.
“Fine.” With her back literally against the wall, she had nowhere to go, anyway. Even with his lumbering weight, she had a feeling the deputy moved faster than he spoke. There wasn’t any place she could run to before he caught up with her. And the idea of him putting those big bear paws on her to stop her made her stomach churn. “I’ll open it.”
With that announcement, she unfolded the envelope and smoothed it against her thigh. A blip of confusion distracted her for a moment. Hadn’t Isaac said something about the envelope being lumpy? Not only were there no lumps between the padded sides, but it felt as though there might not be anything at all inside.
“Today?” Cobb reminded her of his hovering presence and her need to get rid of him as soon as possible.
She inhaled a deep breath to calm her nerves, and for a split second, she was breathing air tainted with the deputy’s scent. Her nose stung with the unpleasant tang of sweat masked by Deputy Cobb’s cologne.
Or a
ftershave.
Laura averted her gaze, trying to match his scent to the one she’d imagined earlier in her apartment. She certainly hadn’t imagined body odor, and his aftershave or body spray or whatever application he thought made him smell better was more potent than the smell she’d talked herself out of identifying. She didn’t think T. J. Cobb had been inside her apartment while she’d been out with Conor, or worse, while she’d been asleep in her bed.
But someone had.
She hadn’t imagined anything.
A new wave of fear washed over her, leaving her shaking. A stranger had been in her home, and she hadn’t heard him, hadn’t seen any evidence of a forced lock or broken window. She had no idea why someone would break in. Unless he was looking for something. Or looking for her.
“Miss Karr?” The deputy’s gloved hand closed over her shoulder, and she couldn’t stop herself from bolting at his touch.
“Don’t touch me!”
He rested his arms on the holster and handcuffs box anchored to his utility belt. “You went away to la-la land. I do have other responsibilities in this county besides waitin’ for you to open the damn envelope.”
There was nothing relaxed or friendly about his tone and posture, and Laura didn’t pretend she could relax or be polite, either. Without wasting another moment, she slipped her finger beneath the envelope flap and ripped open the sticky seal. She found nothing but a sheet of white paper, which she pulled out. Before reading what was written on the paper, she thrust her hand inside. “There’s nothing else in here.”
“Are you sure?” Cobb snatched the envelope from her, turning it upside down to dump the contents into his hand.
Just as she’d said, there was nothing there to fall out. “What were you expecting to find?”
“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that,” he answered, rolling the envelope into a baton and squeezing it in his fist. “What does that say?”
Laura turned the paper over to find more of Chloe’s loopy, colorful handwriting. The fourth sentence after her name had been crossed out. After that, the black ink changed to a crayon-thick green, as if her pen had run out of ink and she’d picked up one of her pastels to finish the note. Or someone had interrupted her, and she had to finish the missive in secret, with whatever instrument she could find.
Laura,
I’m going for the brass ring. I’m going to be happy. I finally figured out how to make the right man love me.
Keep an eye on this
Watch my cat for me. Keep her safe.
Love ya,
Chloe
Cobb shifted to read the letter beside her. “That mean anything to you?”
Laura could honestly shake her head no. She handed the note over to the deputy. “Sounds like she’s talking about eloping with Vinnie Orlando. You might as well take it. Maybe there are some fingerprints or something useful you can get off it. I’m sorry the package didn’t give you the answers you were looking for. You know, ‘Hey, Laura—so and so is trying to kill me.’”
Cobb had no sense of humor. He eyed her suspiciously before replacing the letter in the envelope and stuffing them both inside his jacket. “Why would she write you a letter about taking care of her pet? Why not call? Or run downstairs to ask?”
“Who knows?” Since he didn’t ask about the nonexistent feline, Laura didn’t volunteer the information. “I was gone a lot this weekend with wedding events.” She shrugged at another plausible explanation. “Maybe her phone died.” Her memory went back to that last weird phone call with her friend. Her breathless tone. The jazz music in the background. Speaking as if she didn’t want someone who was with her to overhear. She pointed to the note he’d tucked away. “That may be old-school communication, but it works. Chloe didn’t think like other people.”
“It’d be easier if she did.”
“Easier to find her killer? The missing ring? Is that what you’re looking for?”
The deputy never answered. He put on his hat and touched the brim. “Thank you for your cooperation Miss Karr. Keep your phone charged,” he advised. “I’ll be in touch if I need anything else from you.”
Laura watched him get in his patrol car and drive away before she retrieved the rest of her mail and headed upstairs to her apartment.
As soon as she entered her apartment, she closed the door and leaned against it, breathing in deeply, hoping to catch again the faint scent of someone who didn’t belong here, so she could try to identify any intruder. But all she could smell was her uneaten vegetable beef soup cooling on the stove. After flipping the dead bolt as well as the knob lock, she moved from room to room, checking behind every blind and curtain for signs of entry. Nothing. Even the snow on the fire escape outside her bedroom window was undisturbed. If there had been an intruder, he’d left no clue behind as to how he’d gotten in or why he’d been here.
Yesterday, Conor had warned her she wasn’t being paranoid enough. Today, she was plenty suspicious about every sound, every smell, every threat that she could no longer dismiss as fatigue or imagination. Someone thought she knew something about Chloe’s murder. Deputy Cobb seemed to think she knew more than she was telling. The man on the phone thought she knew more.
Fighting the urge to jump into the shower to wash off the scent and touch of T. J. Cobb, Laura sat at her desk and pulled up her emails to see if there was any sort of travel emergency at work, or a funny meme from a friend she could concentrate on. Conor would be here soon, and she didn’t want him to worry if he came to the door and she didn’t answer because the water was running.
She picked up her phone and read the simple but reassuring text he’d sent her.
On my way.
Smiling at that tiniest of reassurances, she scrolled through the messages in her inbox. Delete. Flag for later. Delete. The messages soon blurred together and became unimportant as she bemoaned Chloe’s inability to spell out whatever she meant by insurance. And what was the deal with the cat, anyway?
She’d had plenty of conversations with her friend that had veered from one tangent to another. Discussing a new recipe could turn into talk of a grocery list and morph into a dialogue on the different shades of green in the vegetable world, with Chloe jumping up from the table to grab her box of pastels and sketch out the idea for a jade dragon sculpture with her signature round, owlish features. Laura’s gaze drifted to the corner of her desk where she displayed the ceramic dog Chloe had sculpted for her. She loved the warm burgundy color of the glaze, and the rounded, puppy-like expression on his face reminded her of Chloe and made her smile whenever she looked at it.
A jolt of insight straightened Laura’s spine. She looked at the little dog again. Chloe made all sorts of animals with those soft, exaggerated features. She sold most of them at art shows. But she’d given Laura a dog that reminded her of the Irish setter she’d had growing up.
And she’d made herself a cat.
The haze of confusion and suspicion that had dulled her thoughts disappeared like the clouds that were breaking up outside, allowing the sun to reflect off the snow and pour through her front window. Laura hurried into the kitchen, peeking through the blinds to ensure Deputy Cobb had gone. With no cop car in sight, she stuffed her phone into her pocket, picked up her keys and ran up the stairs to Chloe’s apartment.
Yellow crime scene tape still crisscrossed the doorjamb, but the rectangular seal that bore the official wording that opening this door was illegal had already been sliced through. A part of the seal had been torn off. Was that how the CSI team had left it now that they were done with the apartment? Had someone else, like Vinnie Orlando, already broken in to search the place for himself? Maybe she was too late.
Remembering that Chloe herself had asked her to do this, Laura inhaled a deep breath and inserted her key into the lock.
Ducking beneath the tape, she slipped inside and quickly c
losed the door behind her. She had to stand there a moment to take control of the grief that swelled up inside her. Little had changed beyond the addition of a few sprinklings of black powder where the crime lab technicians had dusted for fingerprints. The mess in the living room was a haunting reminder that her friend’s life had been reduced to trash. She seized upon the anger that followed on the heels of her sorrow and let it give her strength and the determination to get this done.
Moving along the wall as Conor had instructed, she circled the rifled contents of Chloe Wilson’s life and went to the bedroom. There were more changes here, although none of them were comforting. The dresser that had rested on top of Chloe’s body had been set upright and dusted for prints. And the spot on the rug where Chloe must have taken her last breath had been cut away, probably taken to the lab for analysis. But the exposed bare wood was stained with blood. She idly wondered if the subflooring and support beams held the stains of Chloe’s violent death, too.
“Stop it,” she whispered to herself. If she let her emotions grab hold of her again, she’d freeze up. Tearing her gaze from the crimson mark on the floor, Laura swept the perimeter of the room until she spotted the blue ceramic cat on Chloe’s bedside table. “I’m taking care of the cat, my friend,” she muttered, adding a silent prayer that she understood Chloe-speak for find my insurance and guard it with your life. Laura had a sinking feeling that that insurance had already cost Chloe hers.
The ceramic creature with the big round eyes and shiny blue glaze was cool to the touch when Laura picked it up and cradled it in her hands. She inspected the sculpture from ears to tail before shaking it. Nothing. It was just a cute little cat made of clay and fired in a kiln.