Saving Scott (Kobo) (33 page)

“He showed
up about five minutes ago. He’s trying to get Sarah to tell him what she knows
about the dead guy they found last night.” Jennifer shot a look in Sarah’s
direction. “She’s a pro at the ‘no comment’ thing. Everyone seems to think she’s
got the inside track because of Randy.”

Porky turned
and almost stormed into Ashley and Jennifer, who had to dodge to get out of his
way.

“Yep,”
Jennifer said. “Sarah’s a pro.”

Ashley was
going to say something about the identity of the dead man, but she decided
keeping her mouth shut was a wiser option. She had a brief inkling of what it
might be like for Scott. Knowing things, but not being allowed to talk about
them. Probably smarter to say nothing at all than worry about what you should
or shouldn’t say.

But he could
have explained that, couldn’t he?

Sarah joined
them. “Reporters. If they’re not calling at all hours, they’re showing up at
your door. That guy is the worst. He’s always saying he’s got all this insider
information. He was going on and on about cause and manner of death. He loves
spouting cop terminology, thinking I’ll be fooled into believing he already
knows what he’s asking me. Like I’m supposed to be ‘confirming’ his facts.”

“Yeah, he’s
a fisherman all right,” Ashley said. “I’d better get back. I’ve got tons of
stuff to do.”

“Maggie’s
due in at noon,” Sarah said. “There’s not really enough work for three people
here, but I hate to tell her I don’t need her. How about I ask if she’ll help
you instead?”

“That would
be great.” Promising to return the paper cutter as soon as she was finished,
Ashley got busy cutting and mounting the artwork. She smiled as she worked,
imagining the kids working on their creations. She would definitely talk to
Penny about a regular feature.

While the
glue dried, she made her phone calls. With each item checked off her list, her
excitement grew. She should probably feel some guilt about being so elated when
people had died, but she promised herself she’d mourn them after her bakery was
open.

She tried to
recall the dead man. The picture wasn’t exactly … flattering. She wondered what
he had worked on. Plumbing? Electrical? Had he installed her appliances? She
knew Willie Duncan, and Carl, but otherwise, she’d barely spoken to the crew.
Most were in for a day, maybe two, then gone. They’d all been polite to her.
She had a sudden recollection of one man’s friendly flirting, which she’d
ignored. She tried to put his face with the picture. It might have been him.
She’d hardly paid attention to any of the Klutz Brigade. They were Carl’s
responsibility.

Should she
feel guilty about that? Would it have mattered? She refused to believe there
was any connection between that man and her bakery other than the fact that he’d
been one of many who’d worked the job.

Wait
.
Had Felicity really tried to sabotage the job? Hadn’t Detective Kovak thrown
that in her face when he’d interrogated her? Were the two connected? But
Felicity died first. Or had she? The man’s body wasn’t discovered until last
night, but that wasn’t when he’d died. When Randy showed her the pictures, he’d
warned her that it would be on the gross side, because the body had been around
for a few days.

Too many
questions, too many possibilities. That’s why she was a baker, not a cop.

And speaking
of baking, she needed to get some more inventory ready for Monday. She set to
work on the ganache for her Grand Marnier truffles. While the chocolate melted,
she zested and juiced two oranges, then added the zest to some heavy cream, and
brought it to a boil. Once she’d assembled everything, she poured the ganache
into a pan, covered it with plastic wrap and put it in the walk-in fridge,
where it would keep until she was ready to roll and coat the truffles.

She smiled
as she remembered learning to assemble them at culinary school. It was a
two-person job, and she and her partner had joked about the classic
I Love
Lucy
episode as they rolled and coated the confections. She looked forward
to working with her new assistants. Heck, she looked forward to working,
period.

Cookie dough
was something else she could prepare in advance. And with her special discount
coupons, she’d better have plenty.

She’d barely
finished assembling her ingredients when there was a knock at the back door. So
help her, if it was Porky the Reporter again, she’d—

“Ashley? It’s
Maggie. Sarah said you could use some help.”

Ashley
unlocked the door, and Maggie swooped in. “Put me to work.”

“Penny’s
artwork contributions should be ready to go up. Can you make things look
festive?” She gave Maggie the adhesive and brought the stepladder from the
storage closet where she’d left it after they’d discovered the upstairs.

Maggie
hummed as she worked, and Ashley mixed three kinds of cookie dough, adding each
to the walk-in. Each trip into the refrigerator sent chills through her—and not
because of the cold. She stepped into the front of the house where Maggie had
finished hanging the artwork. She’d also arranged the door prizes throughout
the room. Nice way to keep people moving.

“Shall I
start setting up for the judging?” Maggie asked.

Ashley
couldn’t see making Maggie drag more furniture around by herself. “I’ll help.”

“You heard
the news,” Maggie said as they worked. “About the other body?”

“Yes. The
police were here asking if I recognized him.”

Maggie’s
eyes glinted with curiosity. “Did you?”

Since she
hadn’t known who the man was, Ashley decided it wouldn’t really be lying when
she told Maggie no, the same way she had with Sarah and Jennifer. Didn’t the
news always say they wouldn’t reveal someone’s identity pending notification of
next of kin? She certainly didn’t want to say anything she shouldn’t, and
perhaps mess up the police investigation.

“But there
was something else I wanted to ask you,” Ashley said. She told Maggie about
what they’ve found upstairs. “It looked like a … love nest. And it’s connected
to Belinda Nesbitt’s shop.” She chose her next words carefully, skirting the
real question. “Do you think she was bringing guys up there?” Ashley didn’t
want to say anything that might reveal Belinda’s secret, which wasn’t her
concern. “I mean, what she does is her business, but now that I’m opening, I’m
going to have to make sure nobody can get from there to here. The landlord
seemed pretty blasé about the whole thing, but I’m sure it could be an
insurance nightmare.”

Maggie
smoothed the tablecloth before meeting Ashley’s eyes, calmly pinning her gaze. “I
wouldn’t expect Belinda to have men up there, no.”

The teeniest
inflection on the word “men.” So maybe Belinda’s secret wasn’t quite as deep
and dark as she’d thought.

Scott was
working through another stack of printouts as Detweiler entered the war room,
rubbing his neck. Scott looked up, rubbing his eyes. “How was the cut?”

Detweiler
collapsed into a chair. “Nothing remarkable. Cause of death was the overdose.
Manner of death to be determined. Nothing conclusive as to whether it’s
homicide, suicide, or accidental. Nothing other than post-mortem damage. We’ll
get the full report, but I don’t think it’ll be much help.”

It was clear
enough that attending autopsies wasn’t something Detweiler enjoyed. Then again,
in a place as small as Pine Hills, he probably hadn’t had to cover many.

“Time of death?”
Scott asked.

“Doc said
the entomology report puts it around the same time as the other victim.”

“Definitely
adds ammunition to the single case theory.”

“I don’t
know if I’m supposed to feel good about that. We still have two bodies.”

“Yeah, but
we’re looking for one killer. Or maybe it’ll turn out to be a double suicide.
But my gut still says homicide.”

“Anything to
connect them?” Detweiler said. “Because if this
is
a serial killer,
there ought to be some commonality. You’re the big city homicide expert. What
would you be doing?”

“Serial
killers tend to target the same type of victim. We’ve got two victims,
approximately the same age, both white. But the fact that one’s male, one’s
female doesn’t fit the profile of a serial killer.”

“Just our
luck to be the exception.”

Scott
frowned. “I don’t think we have a classic serial killer. What we need is to
know who our second victim is, and from there, we start linking the two of
them. I’ve been trying to call the contractor, but no luck. He’s a one man
operation, and he’s apparently still dealing with his family crisis.”

“And nobody’s
reported the victim missing?”

“No. At
least not in this county. Haven’t expanded the search. Waiting for Kovak.”

“And where
is he? Wasn’t he following up at The Tool Shed?”

“That, and
an interview with Crystal Gosselin,” Scott said. “He’s on his way in.”

As if on
cue, Kovak entered, sans lattes this time. Must be a morning thing. He shrugged
out of his sport coat and hung it on the back of one of the chairs.

“Report,”
Detweiler said.

Kovak paced
as he spoke. “I interviewed Crystal Gosselin. She makes no bones about her
sexual preferences, but confirmed that Belinda is totally freaked that her
parents would find out—that it would ruin their standing in the community.
Crystal is committed enough to Belinda to go along with her need for secrecy.
And get this.” He dragged a hand across his buzz cut. “The love nest above the
bakery was theirs. She swears they never used the trap door. Never went down
that way.

“Belinda was
upset that they’d have to find another spot now that the bakery was opening.
She liked the hideaway because nobody needed to see her coming or going to a
motel, or even Crystal’s place. No sneaking around, just going upstairs. The
night of their last tryst jibes with the night Willie Duncan saw the light.
They didn’t realize he’d be working right underneath them when they scheduled
their liaison.”

“Did you
confirm with Belinda?” Scott asked.

Kovak
stopped pacing and perched on the edge of a desk. “Yeah, I did.”

“I’m thinking
she didn’t take it too well,” Scott said.

“Understatement
of the month. Yeah, she was upset. Embarrassed. Scared. I promised that there
was no reason to reveal her secret.”

“Shouldn’t
make promises you can’t keep,” Detweiler said. “If this goes to court,
everything could come out.”

“I didn’t
get any guilt vibes from her, though. And we still haven’t hooked her to the
first victim, have we?” Kovak looked at Scott and the stacks of paper.

“Not yet.”

Kovak
continued. “Crystal Gosselin didn’t recognize the victim, either. And we need
that connection to the victims if we’re going to find our killer.”

“What did
you get from Willie Duncan?” Detweiler asked. “According to Ashley, he should
have been able to ID the guy.”

Kovak’s
mouth curved up at the corners. “He took one look at the photo and passed out
cold. At least he didn’t puke. Apparently, he doesn’t do violence well.”

“But if he
worked the job, he must have known the victim. Ashley said Willie Duncan was
there almost every day. He’s a handyman, not a specialist,” Scott said.

“Yeah, he
knew him. Sparky the Electrician. That’s how Willie Duncan—and everyone else,
for that matter— knew him. Willie never had a reason to care what Sparky’s real
name was.”

Kovak
strolled to the window. After staring outside for a moment, he turned, a tiny
grin teasing the corner of his mouth.

“All right,
partner,” Detweiler said. “I know that look. You’ve got more. Spill.”

Kovak’s grin
widened. “I did some first rate detecting. Kathleen Duncan at The Tool Shed
gave me a list of the electricians that patronize her shop. No luck with them.
But I expanded the search and found the company Sparky works for.” He puffed
out his chest. “It’s in Salem, but distance is no obstacle for a crack
detective such as myself. I have the real name of our victim.”

***

Gold light
speared through the window as sunset approached. Ashley gave one last,
lingering gaze around her shop. Maggie had done a fantastic job with the
artwork. Combined with the informal seating groups around the room, the space had
a wonderfully homey feel. The front of the house was set for the bakeoff
guests; the back was ready for the contestants. She’d done all she could, and
with her first contestants due to start baking at seven the next morning, she
needed to get home and get some rest. As if. Her adrenaline was already hitting
a major high. She could hardly imagine what it would be like tomorrow night.

What if
nobody showed up?

She refused
to consider that a possibility. At the very least, family and friends of the
contestants would be here.

Knowing she
needed to eat something, Ashley stopped at Sadie’s. When eyes turned to her as
she walked in, and all conversation stopped, she changed her mind about eating
in. Even if it was all in her imagination, she couldn’t bear to think that
everyone wanted to talk to her about the two deaths. Instead, she ordered
chicken-and-dumpling soup to go. The comforting aroma filled her car on the
drive home, and by the time she got to her apartment, her mouth watered and her
stomach rumbled.

The bakery
and the police investigation vied for her attention. She tried to find
something else to think about. Scott came to mind, and with it the memory of
what he’d whispered in her ear that morning.

She pulled
her laptop to the kitchen island and booted it while she ate her soup.
Macquarie, he’d said. She Googled it. Some mega-financial group. A university
in Australia. A hotel. What did any of these have to do with Scott?