Saving Scott (Kobo) (15 page)

He’s protecting
you.

Thankful the
hallway was empty, she followed him to her door. She unlocked it, then took her
bag from Mr. Spencer. “Thanks again.”

He nodded,
then walked toward the elevator. Not the laundry room. Warmth suffused her. Her
eyes misted. She made a mental note to bring him a platter of goodies when she
finished baking.

She set her
bags on her island counter, then locked her door, exhaling deeply as the
deadbolt snicked into place. Her hands shook as she separated the first egg for
her chocolate Pavé, but by the third, the familiar routine had settled her. She
was midway through the prep when she noticed the seventeen messages on her
answering machine. Reporters? The police? Her stomach clenched. Should she
bother checking them? She’d been using her cell phone for her business
contacts. But what if it was important—what if something had happened to her
family?

Knowing her
curiosity would nag at her until she knew, despite being virtually positive she
already did, she walked over to the machine and pressed the button. But to
prove to herself she didn’t
really
care, she went back to work, adding
softened butter to her chocolate, egg and sugars, pretending that if she wasn’t
hovering over the answering machine, it wasn’t like she thought the messages
were important.

Yeah,
right.

She sampled
one of the brandied cherries destined for the Pavé. Definitely packed a kick.
After she tipped them into the bowl, she paused. Would there be a problem
serving this to police officers? She’d have to check with Scott.

And what was
he doing? Would he have some answers when he got home?

A man’s
voice, vaguely familiar, coming from the answering machine interrupted her
thoughts.

“Miss Eagan?
This is Willie Duncan. I think maybe there’s something you ought to know about.
Please call me.”

Scott shot
Kovak a questioning look as the threesome walked toward Kovak’s car. Did the
detective want him to sit in on the interview with Paige Haeber? There was
probably a lot of information to be gleaned from an inspection of the tea shop,
but since officially, Scott wasn’t anything more than a consultant, Kovak
shouldn’t leave him here to investigate on his own.

Paige had
locked the shop, and Scott figured things ought to be secure until they could
get back. Back on the job, he’d have left a cop to make sure nobody got into
the place.

He eased
himself into the passenger seat of Kovak’s Stratus and let the detective settle
Paige into the backseat. Kovak hadn’t cuffed her—she’d seemed cooperative
enough—but the hair on the back of Scott’s neck prickled, and he was glad for
the partition between them.

At the
station, Kovak put Paige into an interview room, then motioned for Scott to
follow him to his office. “How do you want to play this?”

Scott
shrugged. “It’s your case. I’m the humble consultant.”

Kovak sat
behind his desk and pulled out two notepads and pens. “I’m consulting you. You
want to do the good cop-bad cop thing, or a straight interview?”

“You think
she’s anything more than a disgruntled employee?”

Kovak
narrowed his eyes. “Unlike the court system, I thought we assumed everyone was
guilty until we prove them innocent.”

Scott
chuckled. “I suppose that’s one way of putting it. How do you and your partner
normally handle things?”

Kovak gave a
wry smile. “Since we don’t normally deal with homicide, we’re usually playing
solo. Mostly we kick things around, but we handle our own interviews. In this
case, I don’t want any Ts uncrossed or Is undotted.”

“Understood.
I don’t think there’s any reason to badger her. Unless she turns out to be
hinky. How about you run the interview, and I’ll chime in if I think it’ll
help.”

Kovak stood.
“Sounds like a plan.”

“You want me
to grab some water? I’ll join you in about ten minutes. Give her time to stew.”

Kovak
grinned. “The old water bottle trick. You’re planning to grab her prints. You
think she’s got a fake ID?”

Scott
returned the smile. “You’re the one who said guilty until proven innocent.
Might as well run a background check and make sure everything matches.”

Kovak headed
to the interview room while Scott went to the break room fridge and took out
three bottles of water. He debated taking his pain meds, trying to decide
whether he’d be sharper dealing with the pain rather than muddle-headed from
the pills.

Didn’t
really matter. Kovak was on top of things. As a matter of fact, Scott was
getting the feeling Kovak wanted confirmation of his investigative techniques
more than he wanted help.

Fine. Scott
was happy to be Kovak’s audience. And, since he was a mere consultant, he’d be
able to beg off if his body rebelled against too many hours.

He sat on
the edge of Kovak’s desk, sipped his water, let his mind drift. Could Paige
Haeber be their killer?

The wrinkle,
though, was the discovery of the body in Ashley’s bakery. How had someone
gained entrance? And why leave her there?

Maybe the
killer hadn’t meant to kill her. Maybe he hadn’t realized how much drug he’d
administered.

His head
throbbed, joining his leg and shoulder. Sighing, he pulled the pill container
from his pocket and swallowed half a dose.

He stood,
walked stiffly around the small office until his leg muscles loosened. His cell
vibrated at his waist. He checked the display. Ashley.

Not exactly
sure why seeing her name accelerated his heart rate and brought a smile to his
face, he forced a professional tone when he answered.

“Scott
Whelan.”

“It’s
Ashley. Can you come to the bakery?”

“Now?” He
was already heading down the hall.

“If it’s not
too much trouble. I think there’s something you should see.”

Another
body, was his first reaction. But she didn’t sound upset, at least not “Someone
else is dead” upset.

“Is it a
police matter? I’m not official, you know. Hang on.” He muted the phone, then
went into the interview room and dropped two water bottles on the table. Kovak
nodded. Paige Haeber sat across from him, her arms folded across her chest,
staring at the recorder sitting on the center of the table. Scott motioned
Kovak outside.

“You have
things under control?” Scott asked. “Ashley Eagan called. Something’s come up.
I’ll be back in half an hour.”

Kovak lifted
an eyebrow, but didn’t press for more. “I’m about to cut Paige Haeber loose. My
gut says her attitude stems from thinking she’s out her back wages, and that we’re
the cause.”

“Leads to
the boyfriends?”

“She insists
that she and the victim had a strictly professional relationship. They never
discussed lives outside of work. Didn’t socialize. Paige came in, did her job,
and went home.”

Scott
frowned. “Doesn’t sound like most women I know. None of that coming in
starry-eyed one morning? Showing off trinkets? Leaving early on a date night?”

“I’ll push a
little longer, I guess.”

“Right now,
she’s the closest link we have to the victim. You want me to sit in?”

“No, Ashley
Eagan is another link. You take care of that one. We can regroup here.”

“Works for
me,” Scott said, although he was already thinking too much about Ashley and too
little about the case. He forced himself to modify his priorities.

“Oh, and the
missing cell phone?” Kovak added. “Turns out the victim didn’t own one. She
thought it would fry her brain. Total health freak.”

“Then I’ll
start the paperwork for her home and store phone records as soon as I get back.”
He paused. “Unless you need me to do it now.”

“Nah. I can
handle it. You can listen to the interview recording when you get back.”

Scott let
Ashley know he was on his way. When he arrived, she opened the bakery door
within seconds of his knock.

“Thanks for
coming.” She closed the door behind him, pivoted, and went toward the
restrooms. He followed, getting that little thrum that seemed to flutter
through his chest as he watched the gentle sway of her hips. He decided he
might as well enjoy it.

Ashley spoke
as she walked. “Willie Duncan—he’s one of the workers—told me he noticed this
about three days ago. He didn’t say anything because—well, he’s a bit on the
slow side, and I don’t think it registered that it wasn’t supposed to be here,
but—”

“Whoa.”
Scott grabbed her arm—gently—and turned her to face him. “Slow down. Deep
breath. Start at the beginning.”

“Better if I
show you. This way.”

Ashley led
Scott to a door marked
Employees Only
between the two restrooms and
opened the door. “In here.”

A storage
closet. He froze. His feet grew roots. The palpitations began.

Breathe,
damn it. You did fine before.

But that had
been a clothes closet, and he’d been there with another cop. Keeping his mind
on task had been easier.

Scott closed
his eyes and pictured himself in the shrink’s office. “Focus on your breathing,”
the doc had said. Over and over. “In. Slowly. Out. More slowly.”

About the
only useful thing Scott had taken from his sessions. And it only worked about
twenty-five percent of the time.
Let now be one of those times. Please.
Ignoring the sweat, Scott concentrated on following the shrink’s lessons.

Ashley
flipped on the light. Scott exhaled one last slow breath, grateful she hadn’t
seemed to notice.
At least pretend you were once a cop, not a basket case.
He stepped closer.

Aside from
the fact that the bucket and mops looked new, it looked like any other
repository for janitorial supplies. A shelving unit held bottles, jugs, and
cans of familiar household cleansers and disinfectants, along with cartons of
toilet paper and paper towels.

But Ashley
had said one of the workers thought something was amiss. Certainly nothing in
here would have sent up red flags. He kicked his brain into cop gear. Something
in here worth killing for? Drugs? Thankful his attack seemed to have passed, he
took a purposeful stride toward the supplies.

***

Smiling
inwardly, Ashley repeated Scott’s previous gesture, tugging at his sleeve to
stop him. He jerked to a halt at her touch. She let her smile reach her mouth. “Whoa.
Slow down.”

Scott seemed
confused. He paused, breathing audibly for a moment before speaking. “There
could be evidence in here.”

“Evidence?
These are cleaning supplies. That’s not what Willie was talking about.”

“You’re
sure?”

“They were
delivered this afternoon. And they match my order. What did you think?”

Instead of
looking embarrassed, Scott frowned. “Drugs, but I was keeping an open mind.”

“Well, these
things weren’t here when Felicity was killed, so I don’t think they count.” She
picked up a broom and hoisted it above her head, tapping on the ceiling with
the handle. It gave off a dull thunk. “What do you think?”

“Sounds
hollow. Trap door?” Scott squinted at the ceiling. “What’s up there?”

“Nothing, as
far as I know. This building used to be a residence. Way back when, they
divided the ground floor in half. But the upstairs hasn’t been used in decades.
When I leased the space for the bakery, I asked about it, thinking it might be
something I could grow into. Maybe do special private functions. But that would
be somewhere down the road. All I know is the downstairs is mine, and the owner
wasn’t interested in dealing with what it would take to get the upstairs
brought up to code. He’s simply letting it sit.”

“Was this
retail space before you leased it?”

Ashley
nodded. “It was a dress shop. And before that, a Laundromat. And at least two
others. One was a café, I think. Would have been better if that had been the
most recent tenant. Less remodeling. But when I got here, the space had been
sitting empty for a couple of months. I gutted it and basically started from
scratch.”

“So, what’s
the significance of a trap door? Why did the worker point it out to you? Seems
like it wouldn’t be unusual in an old house.”

“I guess.
But the death shook him up, and he remembered seeing light on their recent
late-night session.”

“Light?”
Scott squinted upward again. “From up there?”

“Yes. Willie
was installing shelves, and apparently jostled something so the trap door didn’t
have as tight a seal as it had. All I know is he said he saw light, and thought
he should mention it.”

“He didn’t
look for himself?”

“No. Like I
said, not the sharpest tool in the box, and if it didn’t interfere with his
task, it didn’t matter to him.”

Scott pursed
his lips. “Ladder?”

Ashley tried
not to think about those lips, and what they’d feel like pressed against hers.
What had he asked her? She was definitely losing focus. Ladder. Right. “It’s a
little two-step job. Will that do?”

He looked
toward the ceiling again, and she could see him doing mental calculations. “It’s
a start,” he said.

“It’s in the
kitchen. I’ll be right back.” She dashed away, chastising herself for thinking
of Scott as something luscious she could devour like one of her brownies. But
she remembered the way he’d sort of kissed her forehead back in her apartment.
And in the park, when he’d put his arms around her. Warm. Broad chest. No flab.

Don’t be
silly. He was being comforting. Those were moral support gestures. Nothing
sexual.

But could it
go that way?

She shoved
those thoughts aside and retrieved the little folding stepstool and brought it
to the storeroom. She paused outside the open door. Scott leaned against the
wall, eyes closed. Tired, she thought. And probably hurting.