Saving Scott (Kobo) (11 page)

“Thanks. I’ll
owe you.”

She laughed
again. “You have email at the cop shop, Mr. Civilian? It won’t be before late
today. Maybe not until tomorrow, but I can let you know what I find.”

“Might be
better to use my personal account. Or call with a heads up.” He’d finished
giving her his address and cell number when Ashley walked in. Stumbled in was
more like it. Tendrils of her hair had escaped the confines of her ponytail,
and her brown eyes seemed barely able to focus. She gripped the narrow counter
on the other side of the glass as if it was all that was holding her up.

He did his
best imitation of leaping to his feet and hurried to reach her side.

***

Ashley tried
to enjoy the sunshine as she and Scott sat at a picnic bench in Pioneer Park.
Not far away, moms pushed toddlers in the swings, or helped them up and down
the slide. Giggles, squeals, and birdsong filled the air.

Under Scott’s
stern eye, she’d eaten half the turkey sandwich he’d given her, but it felt
more like an entire frozen Thanksgiving turkey sat in the pit of her stomach.
She managed a weak smile. “I’m stuffed. I guess I sampled too much of my
baking. I hope the people at the station will like them.”

Scott
finished his sandwich, took a deep swig of his root beer, and wiped his mouth. “I’m
sure they’ll be fantastic. How are you feeling now?”

“I’m all
right. Sorry about almost collapsing before.” Her face warmed, and it wasn’t
all from the sun. Seeing the concern in his eyes made her drop her gaze, afraid
he’d notice the attraction in hers. “I guess I kind of hit the wall,” she
mumbled.

“You talk to
your insurance company?”

Good. Back
to business. No point in thinking about whether he saw anything in her. She had
enough to deal with without adding a man to the mix. “Yes, they sent someone
out with a temporary fix, and put a rush order on a new pane for the door. At
least Officer Brody didn’t knock the entire door off. But there was crime scene
tape across the door, and people were stopping, and looking at me as if I’d
killed Felicity. I had three bakeoff cancellations, and—” her voice hit that
quaver pitch again, and she stopped. Her head throbbed. She yanked the elastic
from her ponytail and shook her head to relieve the pressure.

Scott
maneuvered himself around the picnic table and sat next to her, draping an arm
across her shoulder. He stroked her hair with his other hand. No hesitation, no
awkwardness. Simply recognizing the need for comfort and offering it. She
leaned into his chest, accepting it. They sat in silence for several moments.
She felt his heartbeat, the rise and fall of his chest, and inhaled his scent.
This morning, he’d smelled like Jacuzzi chemicals. Now, he simply smelled clean
and fresh.

“You all
right now?” His lips were close to her ear, and his breath warmed her cheek.

“Yeah.
Sorry. Again.”

And then the
sounds of the night played through her head. She pushed away. “I’m fine.
Really. You don’t need to fuss over me. I mean, I know you have someone else.”

“What?”
Confusion filled his face.

Her cheeks
flamed. She twirled her soda can in her hands. “Um … your bedroom and mine.
They share a wall. Sound travels. I … kind of heard you … you know…”

“Ashley, I
don’t know what you heard, but it wasn’t … what I think you’re saying. I was
alone last night. And for a lot of nights before that.” He reddened. “I …
sometimes I have … nightmares. Normally, I wake up. I guess this time I didn’t.”

She laid a
forefinger on his shoulder. The one she’d caught him rubbing a few times. “About
your accident?” Someday, when—if—things ever settled down, she’d ask him what
happened.

He nodded,
then his solemn expression turned into a grin. “I think I like your
interpretation better.”

The
suggestive gleam in his eye brought even more heat to her face. Or was he
trying to distract her from her current misery? Ever since she’d caught Barry
cheating, she distrusted her ability to read men.

“Don’t be a
pessimist,” Scott said, his tone shifting. “I’m sure things will work out for
you. For every person spooked by a dead body, there are at least three who will
come to your store to check it out. And they’ll buy. Your grand opening will draw
crowds.”

“You’re not
saying that to make me feel better?” Then again, that would be enough. Right
now, all she wanted was to feel better, even if it was for no longer than Scott’s
lunch break.

“Voice of
experience,” he said.

His
detective expertise was more important than whether or not he lied about having
a girlfriend. “So, tell me, experienced detective. What happens next?”

“One perk of
your shop being virtually empty, is that the crime scene techs should be
finished quickly. You should have your bakery back soon—my guess is by
tomorrow.”

Gathering
courage from the way she felt in his arms, she asked the question she hadn’t
been able to face. The one she dismissed, telling herself she was jumping to
conclusions. “Do you think someone killed Felicity?”

“I don’t
know. But contrary to what mystery books and television shows lead you to
believe, only about five percent of deaths are homicides.”

She pulled
away and looked him in the eyes. “Really?”

He grinned
and pulled her against him again. “Really. Trust the experienced detective on
that one.”

“Good,
because … well … I had this thought. That I might be a suspect.”

“You? Why?”

“Felicity’s
display at Elaine’s. People might think I was mad at her, and wanted to stop
her for good. After seeing her at Thriftway, I know she didn’t like me. Or,
remember, I told you how I’d had all these snafus with the construction? They
found Felicity in the bakery, and if she could get in, then maybe she was the
one behind at least some of the accidents. And then, what if I’d found out, and
decided to kill her?”

“Interesting.”
He gave her hair one last stroke, then pushed her away and cupped her face. “But
I think any experienced detective would be able to find enough holes in that
scenario to dismiss it. At least the part where you killed her. Criminals tend
to be stupid—that’s how we catch them—but I doubt anyone would ever think you
were stupid enough to kill someone and leave her body in your own bakery.”

His fingers
were warm on her cheeks. She was tempted to move them to her lips.

Sheesh
.
She had a dead body in her bakery, her dreams were shattering around her, and
she was thinking of—? Of what? Flirtation? Seduction? She had to find a
different book to read.

She jiggled
her head a fraction, and Scott released her. It was as if a safety net she didn’t
know was there had disappeared. “So if I’m a suspect, then you think someone’s framing
me?”

“First, I
don’t think you’re a viable suspect. And we experienced detectives know better
than to jump to conclusions before we have facts. The big one we’re missing now
is the cause of death, so there’s no reason to suspect homicide yet, much less
you as the killer.”

He stood,
gathering their trash. “And, I’ve never once, in all my detecting days, had a
picnic lunch with a killer. Or asked one to walk through a park on a sunny day.”
He extended his hand.

She took it.
Dovetailed her fingers through it. Warm. Strong. “So, what’s your theory about
Felicity?” she asked as they strolled along the path toward the parking lot.
The long way around.

“No
theories,” Scott said. “Not enough facts. She’s dead. She was found inside your
locked bakery. According to Kovak—he’s one of the official detectives on the
case—only you and Carl have keys. Is that true?”

“Yes.” She
considered it. “But what if Carl had duplicates made? If he did, then anyone
might have a key, right?”

He stopped
and spun her to face him. “You have the makings of a detective, you know that?”
His eyes twinkled, their hazel shade turning almost green.

“You already
thought of that, didn’t you?”

He shrugged.
Rubbed his shoulder. “Well, I
am
the experienced detective. You’re the
rookie.”

His cell
phone rang. “Scott Whelan.” He turned, and Ashley stepped away while he took
the call. She tried to ignore the way his polo hugged his broad shoulders, the
way the sunlight turned his hair to gold.

His
shoulders stiffened. He put the phone away. When he faced her, his expression
sent fingers of ice down her spine.

Scott
slipped his phone into its clip on his belt. Not much point in sugar-coating
the news. “That was the medical examiner. Preliminary results say Felicity
Markham died of a drug overdose. Painkillers. Whether she took them herself or
someone helped her along isn’t clear yet.”

“So maybe it
was suicide? What are the odds on that one?”

“About ten
percent.”

“A little
better than homicide, I guess. If that’s the case, then she gets into my bakery
to kill herself? Why?”

“I have no
idea. Maybe her financial problems were too much for her. The cops will
investigate.”

“Can you
find out what’s going on? I know you’re not a cop here, but will they tell you
stuff?”

Ashley’s
wide brown eyes affected him with a punch to the gut. He recognized the
pleading in her tone. He’d heard it countless times on the job. Family,
friends, all wanting to know how a loved one died, wanting justice done.
Standing for the dead was his job. More than a job. His reason for existing. At
least it had been until Rina. Now, he wasn’t sure who he was anymore. But even
though Felicity Markham was neither a friend nor relative of Ashley’s, his new neighbor
had burrowed deeper inside him than any of those other justice-seekers.

Nothing more
than his returning libido, he told himself. Dormant since he’d entered his Dark
Place, somehow Ashley had opened a crack, letting the light in.

“I’ll do
what I can,” he said. She took his hand again, clearly anxious to get going.
Feeling the slightest twinge of guilt, he kept the pace slow. It wasn’t his
case to solve. Five more minutes wouldn’t make a difference.

In the
parking area, he opened the car door for her, and enjoyed her quick grin. She
was silent on the short drive to the Municipal Building, and he left her to her
thoughts. Much as he wanted to offer assurance, he’d be spouting meaningless
banalities and he knew she’d be able to tell.

At the
municipal lot, he found a slot not far from her car.

“You know, I’m
capable of finding my car on my own,” she said, rewarding him with another
smile.

“I know,” he
said. He escorted her to her vehicle, waited for her to get in, and watched as
she buckled her seatbelt. He stepped back as she started the car, but he didn’t
move toward the station until she’d exited the lot.

His leg
hardly troubled him as he entered the station. Less pain, more libido. If not
for a dead body, he’d be feeling pretty good right now. Then again, it was
Kovak’s dead body, not his.

He figured
he’d better catch up on anything that came in while he was at lunch, and headed
for his desk. Doranna vacated his seat at his approach. She made a show of
rubbing her ear.

“Phones been
busy?” he asked.

She rolled
her eyes. “Everyone wants to know why there’s crime scene tape on the bakery,
and if they should hide behind locked doors for the foreseeable future.
Otherwise, just another day in Pine Hills.” She nodded and headed toward the
back.

Scott had
barely settled in when the phone chirped its internal signal. Still reading the
phone log, he fumbled for the receiver. “Whelan.”

“My office.”

Scott’s
pulse tripped at the sound of the chief’s voice. “On my way.” The click told
him the chief had barely waited for an answer. Telling himself it was stupid to
feel like he was being called to the principal’s office, he made his way to
Laughlin’s door. Along the way, he ran through possible transgressions. Asking
Kovak to run a background check on Felicity Markham? A citizen hadn’t liked the
way he’d handled a phone call? He glanced at his watch, making sure he hadn’t
taken too much time at lunch. It had been a long time since he’d been held to
regular hours, but he’d been at his desk several minutes early.

Laughlin’s
outer door stood open. Doranna sat at the secretary’s desk. Her expression gave
no indication she knew why the chief had summoned him.

“Go on in,”
she said.

The inner
door with its frosted glass pane was closed. Despite what Doranna said, Scott
knocked.

“Come.” The
chief didn’t sound angry, although one word wasn’t enough to make a fair
assessment.

Scott
realized his hackles were up. He could hear his LT.
Don’t be stupid.
He
took a breath, squared his shoulders and stepped into Laughlin’s office. Kovak
sat in one of the two visitor’s chairs. Laughlin motioned him to the other.

“Kovak is
trying to convince me your talents might be better utilized somewhere other
than the front desk at the moment.”

“Sir?” Scott
looked at Kovak, who merely shrugged.

Laughlin
continued. “Detweiler’s not due back until tomorrow. Unfortunately, we’ve got a
dead body today. County is backed up and overworked, maybe more than we are. I’d
like to know if you’d be willing to act as a civilian consultant on this
investigation. I’ll run it by the Town Council to see if I can get you
appropriate compensation, but I have a feeling they’re not going to release any
funds for additional duty.”

Kovak
brushed a hand over his buzz cut. “I’ve got half a dozen open cases. Nothing as
major as a homicide, but it’s not right to put them on the back burner.”

“Homicide?”
Scott said. When had that been confirmed?