Saving Scott (Kobo) (21 page)

“Are they
really questioning everyone?” Lorna’s voice piped up from the rear of the room.
“I shopped at Felicitea, but nobody’s asked me anything.”

Wasn’t Lorna
supposed to be gone? Ashley hadn’t even noticed her when she’d come in.

“I think
they’re looking for closer connections than being a customer,” Maggie said.

Kathleen
twisted her pearls some more. “Have they asked you anything, Maggie?”

“An officer
came to the shop, yes, right after they discovered Felicity. I expected as
much, given that we’re right next door. They talked to everyone on the block.”
Maggie stepped to the front of the room. “And now, as Kathleen pointed out, our
time is valuable. Let’s talk about the bakeoff and leave the gossip for another
time.”

Ashley hid a
smirk behind her hand. At least Maggie hadn’t tried to pretend they weren’t
going to gossip at all. And maybe she could pump the group for more about
Belinda Nesbitt. For now, it was about the bakeoff. She joined Maggie at the
front of the room. “May I say something before you start?”

Maggie
smiled and took a seat.

“First,”
Ashley began, “thanks so much for all your help. You can’t possibly know how
much it means to me. We’ve filled all twenty slots for the bakeoff, and I have
fantastic donations for the door prizes. And Penny—I’d love to display your
students’ artwork in my bakery.” She shifted her gaze to Kathleen. “If I buy a
bulletin board, can Willie mount it on the wall for me?”

“Of course.”
Kathleen practically beamed. “I know he’d love to.”

“Great. I
hope one or two of you can arrive early and help with setting up, and I’ll need
a few brave, dedicated souls to help with cleanup, too.”

Kathleen
raised her hand. “I’m happy to do both. And I’ll make sure Kevin and Willie
show up, too.”

“Put me down
for cleanup,” Lorna said.

Ashley
blinked away the heat prickling her eyes at the show of support.

Maggie consulted
a spiral notebook. “Moving along. Judges. I think we shouldn’t let them into
the bakery until it’s time for them to taste.”

“I thought
all the entries would be anonymous, and finished before we opened,” Penny said.

“That’s what’s
supposed
to happen,” Maggie said. “It was a suggestion, one more way to
ensure we’re being as fair as possible.”

“Make sure
we don’t announce the judges,” Ashley said. “If nobody knows who they are, then
they can’t try to sway them. I’ll remind them to keep it a secret.”

The door
opened, and Sarah strolled in. Heads turned. “Can I help with anything? I know
I’ve been out of the loop, but I’m a quick study.” She grinned at Ashley. “I
sampled Ashley’s goodies over at Randy’s welcome back party. I’m all for doing
whatever it takes to make her business a roaring success.”

It was clear
from the whispers as Sarah took a seat that everyone was more interested in
hearing about her honeymoon than working on the bakeoff. But Maggie, bless her
days as a schoolteacher, stepped forward and made short work of the remaining
tasks on her list.

Ashley
checked the time. “Sorry, ladies. I have to run. I’m expecting my furnishings,
and you know how it is with these delivery people. They say between twelve and
five, which means they’ll show up at four-fifty-seven. But I have to be there
by noon, just in case.” She left the cookies, knowing they wouldn’t go to
waste.

Lorna
intercepted her at the door. “If you’d like, I can wait with you. I’ll help put
things away when they arrive.”

Ashley
assumed she was still hiding from her husband. “I can always use an extra pair
of hands.”

“I’ll be
there in about an hour, okay?”

Which would
give Ashley plenty of time to do a little snooping. The police pictures had
shown a lot, but there was no substitute for first-hand exploration.

Scott
carried two lattes down the hall and shouldered open the door to the detectives’
office. Detweiler and Kovak barely looked up when he entered.

Scott
stepped across the room and set the cups on the desk. “Figured it was my turn.”

They’d moved
the white board in here last night to make room for the party. Scott paused in
front of it, noticing the additions. The column under Belinda’s name had
filled. And, apparently last night’s paper duty had panned out, because there
were several names—if you could call “Viper” and “Stinger” names—under the
victim’s picture. “Boyfriends?”

Detweiler
grunted.

“I thought
you’d be at your party,” Scott said.

“Crime waits
for no celebrations.”

“He’s glad
to have an excuse to avoid the ragging,” Kovak said. “He lasted about ten
minutes. Besides, he’s grumpy because we had a case a while back where a coffee
mug was the definitive clue. This one doesn’t seem that straightforward.”

Scott broke
in before Kovak could recap the old case. “Need anything? I’m on my official
lunch break, but Chief said I should put myself at your disposal.”

“Do I detect
a desire to get away from phones and filing?” Kovak said.

“I go where
I’m needed most.”

Detweiler
rubbed his eyes. “You come up with anything beside the coffee mug?”

“I called it
a night at midnight,” Scott said. No reason to tell them what he’d been doing
until then. After all, he
had
provided a new piece of evidence. “You get
anything on it?”

Randy stared
at his notes before speaking. “Good news. Small manufacturer. Less good news.
They’re sold all over the country. Slightly better news. They’ve got a fairly
exclusive clientele. Belinda Nesbitt placed one order with them, for two
cases—that’s a total of twenty-four mugs. Not so good news. It was three months
ago. The other good news is that they’ve only got three other customers who
ordered that same mug in Oregon. One in Bend, one in Eugene, and one in
Newport.” He handed Scott a sheet of paper. “Feel like making some calls?”

Scott
accepted the paper, but said, “Have you asked Belinda to share her records?
Odds are it came from her shop, not one of the others. Better to start checking
out the horses before we go looking for zebras.”

Detweiler
looked at him as if he were a green rookie. “She said she doesn’t keep those
sorts of records.”

A red flag
waved in Scott’s mind. He frowned. “How can she track inventory if she doesn’t
track sales?”

“My thoughts
exactly,” Detweiler said. “Sarah’s got a fancy computer system and spreadsheets
up the wazoo. She knows who bought what, when, and probably why. Maybe what
they had for breakfast. But before she got the computer program, she had to do
it all by hand, and it was tedious. No telling how Belinda Nesbitt does her
bookkeeping.”

“So, are you
going to demand to examine whatever records she does keep?” Scott asked.

“If Belinda
Nesbitt is our killer, I’d rather not alert her. Not until we have enough to
consider her a viable suspect,” Kovak said.

Scott had to
agree. A smile tickled his lips as he thought of Ashley. “Wouldn’t want her to
rabbit.” He shifted gears, serious now. “Do we have anything to indicate
whether she’s feeding us misinformation?”

“As in lying
to a cop?” Kovak opened his mouth in pretend shock. “You mean some people don’t
tell us the truth?”

Detweiler
lifted his hand, “On task, please. I don’t think poor bookkeeping or selling
blue flowered mugs is enough to get the paper we need so she’ll turn over her
records. And there’s no law saying she has to keep detailed records. Stupid on
her part if she doesn’t, but she’s in charge of her inventory control.”

“What about
seeing how many mugs she has left?” Kovak said. “We know she ordered two dozen,
so we might get at least a ball park of how many people we’re looking for.”

“I could
wander into Belinda’s shop and browse around,” Scott said. And pop in to see
how Ashley’s doing.

“Yeah, like
you’d blend right in,” Detweiler said. “Hang on.” He unclipped his cell and
punched in a number. “Sarah?”

After a
pause, red-faced, he stepped into the hall.

“Newlyweds,”
Kovak said. Scott shoved those images out of his mind.

Detweiler
came back a few minutes later. “Sarah’s going to check out Belinda’s store. She
brought souvenirs back from Hawaii and has one for Belinda, so it’s a perfect
cover.”

Scott kept
his mouth shut. Sarah was a civilian, same as he was. But at least he actually
worked for the department. And had the blessings of Chief Laughlin. Since Kovak
didn’t object, Scott figured they must know what they were doing. He moved on. “So,
what’s up with the boyfriends?”

Kovak tapped
the white board. “It’s taken us this long to find two possible boyfriends. More
accurately, names of possible boyfriends. We still have to track them down. If
they even exist.”

Did Scott
detect a hint of irritation in Kovak’s tone? Did he resent Scott’s leaving last
night? Or was it exhaustion? Hell, Scott had stayed at Ashley’s until midnight,
then managed a few hours of frustrated sleep before his alarm jolted him out of
bed barely five hours later. Four hours of desk duty hadn’t improved his mood,
especially when his chance to see Ashley had evaporated with those old biddies
whining about a loose dog in the neighborhood.

Get a
grip. You’re as grouchy as Kovak.

“Okay, so if
I’m not needed on mug detail, what about the boyfriends?”

Kovak tilted
his chin toward a computer. “If you can locate either one of them, we can
follow up.”

He’d
definitely been demoted to grunt. But it was still a job.

“Guess I’m
on the boyfriends.” He crossed to an empty desk and booted up the computer. “I
don’t have access to this case.”

Kovak
supplied him with the necessary information, but before Scott plunged into the
depths of the law enforcement databases, he started with the obvious. Sometimes
Google worked better than LexisNexis or the DMV.

After half
an hour, Scott didn’t know what was worse—staring at paper or staring at a
monitor. He’d always preferred being in the field, talking to people. People
had body language. Computer screens didn’t. He’d found what looked like
boyfriend lead number one’s Facebook page, which led him to a blog, which led
him to an address in Salem, where the guy was a musician, appearing in
countless bars and dives.

“My turn for
good news, bad news.” He got up, hissing out a breath between clenched teeth
when his leg protested. He leaned against the desk, waited out the spasm, and
limped to the white board.

Kovak
swiveled in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. “Good news first.”

“Viper is
the stage name for one Isaac Garfield. He fits the description and hangs out in
bars.”

“The bad
news?”

“He’s an
aspiring rock star. While it’s possible he and Felicity had some kind of
relationship, my gut tells me it’s more likely it was the star-groupie thing.”

“Which means
Belinda could have seen them together, but hardly as a couple.”

“Thereby
strengthening the likelihood that Belinda is attempting misdirection,” Scott
said. “I trust my gut, but would never eliminate—or accuse—someone without a
personal encounter.”

Kovak stood
and stretched. “You have an address?”

***

Ashley
maneuvered the ladder she’d borrowed from Sarah’s shop under the trap door. She
placed her flashlight on the platform and moved up the ladder, taking slow,
deep breaths. It wasn’t that she had anything against heights. But she didn’t
have anything
for
them, either. Especially when they led into an unknown
place. What if she got stuck up there?

That’s
why you have your cell phone. And what’s going to happen? You saw the pictures.
It’s not booby-trapped. Detective Kovak and Connor would have found that.

Not trusting
the logical part of her brain, she pressed her fingers gingerly against the
trap door. When nothing exploded, she pushed harder, and the door slammed open.
Startled, she jerked back, clutching the ladder rails to keep from falling. The
flashlight clattered to the floor.

You are
such a wuss.

She
retrieved the light, ascended again, and wriggled her way into the bedroom.

She brushed
herself off, wishing she’d taken the time to change out of the dress slacks she’d
worn to present a professional appearance when she delivered her desserts to
the police station.

The pictures
she’d seen last night had clearly been taken before the police had collected
their fingerprints. Black residue coated most of the furniture. One thing she
did remember from the pictures was a can of furniture polish in one of the
armoires. She retrieved it, and a rag that sat next to it. Spraying and
rubbing, she worked her way around the rooms.

After she’d
removed the evidence of the police visit and replaced the polish and rag where
she’d found them, she contemplated one of the end tables, envisioning it and
its mate as accent pieces in her shop. She’d already decided on an eclectic
look rather than having everything all matchy-matchy, and a couple of antiques
would add to the effect.

But they’d
be subject to the abuse of rings from the cups, not to mention spills. Glass
tops would solve that, and shouldn’t be too expensive.

Speaking of
expensive—she had no clue what the owner would charge for them. Maybe she
should offer to take them off his hands—he might not know they were up here, or
what they were worth.

Her
conscience immediately kicked in. No. She’d have to negotiate a fair and
reasonable price.

The armoires
would be gorgeous, too, but realistically, there was no place to put even one
of them, and nothing to fill them with—yet.

Seeing this
space made her itch to be able to expand and include it. Maybe add a spiral
staircase. She could see private parties, or special tasting sessions, or more
places to sit and relax. She could have a book-sharing shelf. That, she
thought, would be a perfect use for the armoires. Her heart beat a little
faster. She chided herself for getting so far ahead of things. First, she had
to make a go of the bakery.