Deadly Devotion (9 page)

The strong perfume of the hyacinths whisked her back to the many happy hours she’d spent with Gramps weeding flower beds. Her friends had thought she was crazy, but she’d loved to linger over the chore, talking with Gramps. He’d given her a love of flowers—especially perennials, something that could be depended on to come back year after year.

A slightly gray-haired version of Tom, bearing the same distinctive blue eyes and chiseled chin, opened the screen door. “You must be Kate.”

“Yes.” She smiled, pleased that Tom had talked about her with his dad. Perhaps Tom hadn’t completely dropped Daisy’s case.

“Call me Keith,” Tom’s dad said, pushing the door wide so she could walk past him.

The aroma of baked apple pie greeted her. “Mmm, it smells like Saturday afternoons at my grandparents’ in here.”

“Don’t let your mouth water,” Tom said, stepping in behind her. “The smell is from an air freshener.”

Keith let the screen door bang shut. “Always a critic in every crowd.”

The hall opened into a bright sitting room that by the looks of the worn leather recliner served mainly as a TV room. Family photos graced every shelf and tabletop to the point of looking cluttered, but not messy. “You have a beautiful home, Keith. I love your flower bed by the front porch.”

“Gardening was my wife’s passion.” He motioned for Kate to take a seat in the TV room. “I’m afraid I haven’t given the garden the attention it deserves since she passed on.”

The affection in his mellow bass voice made Kate miss not only Daisy but Mom and Gran and Gramps too. “I was so sorry to hear of your loss.”

He gave her a vacant nod. A nod she understood all too well. The kind of nod she’d been guilty of dispensing herself when on the receiving end of too many empty condolences.

“I’d love to help you with the garden,” she said, “if you like.”

His eyes brightened. “Thank you. I’d appreciate that.”

She sat on the sofa and found herself relaxing. The quiet tick of a miniature grandfather clock made of foam puzzle pieces reminded her of quiet afternoons reading in Gran’s living room. How strange that she should feel so at home here.

She shook the notion from her head and frowned at the potted dracaena in the middle of the coffee table. The tips of its leaves had turned brown, a symptom of salt damage. She rotated the pot and found the culprits—fertilizer sticks. Plucking them out, she said, “You don’t want to use fertilizer sticks. They’re notorious for burning the roots.”

“Didn’t I tell you?” Keith said to Tom.

Tom lifted his hands and shrugged. “The plant looked like it was dying, and that’s what the lady at the store told me to use.”

Kate let out a frustrated sigh. “Obviously not someone who knows anything about plants. The pot is too crowded. All you need to do is flush the soil and give the poor thing a bigger pot.”

Keith laughed, a roaring belly laugh. “I guess she put you in your place, son.”

Rather than look annoyed by his dad’s burst of laughter at his own expense, Tom smiled as if he relished the sound.

One of Kate’s co-workers had said that he moved back to town to keep his dad company following his mom’s death. Seeing Tom’s eyes crinkle with pleasure at the sound of his dad’s laughter confirmed how deeply Tom cared for him—the kind of selfless affection she’d cherish in a relationship.

Whoa. Where had that thought come from?

Julie’s silly romantic notions must have found a patch of fertile ground in her heart, and Kate needed to weed them out. Now. Before she made a fool of herself. Never mind that Tom’s muscular shoulders were broad enough to handle her worries. Dad’s fateful scrape with the law had long ago squelched any childish fantasies of finding her happily ever after with a man in uniform.

“Kate?”

Kate looked from Keith to Tom. “I’m sorry. My mind went somewhere else for a minute. What did you ask?”

Tom drew his chair closer, which didn’t help her concentration one bit. “Did Edward threaten you?”

Edward, right.
Maybe her mind had wandered into daydreams about Detective Parker because daydreaming beat
thinking about the danger she’d gotten herself into. “No. Edward gave me a stack of Daisy’s journals. I’m sure he thought I wouldn’t realize one was missing. But after the way I ran out of there, he’s got to know I figured it out. He wouldn’t burn her books unless he had something to hide.”

Tom caught her hands and held them still. “Most people do.” A tremor rippled his jaw as if perhaps he too harbored such a secret. “That doesn’t make them killers. I can’t arrest Edward without proof.”

“When Daisy’s sister gave birth to Edward out of wedlock, Daisy’s parents compelled her to give him up for adoption. Even all these years later, with Daisy trying to make amends, he never tried to mask his bitterness over being rejected by his biological mother and grandparents. Isn’t revenge a prime motive for murder?”

“Motive is not proof.”

Kate yanked her hands from Tom’s hold. “What does he have to do for you to act? Come after me?”

“Absolutely not. But we have to be discreet. The chief told me in no uncertain terms that this case is closed.”

The chief.
She fought to suppress the throb of raw uncertainty. If she shared her suspicions about Brewster on top of her accusations against Edward, Tom might accuse her of crying wolf about every person who had the remotest connection to Daisy.

Keith cleared his throat. “What Tom is trying to say is that you can’t do anything that will draw attention to the fact that he’s still treating your friend’s death as a possible homicide.”

“Possible?” Kate seethed, squaring her shoulders.

“Yes.” Keith’s tone brooked no argument.

Kate let her shoulders droop. The last thing she wanted
to do was alienate the only two people, besides Julie, who believed there might be something to her theories.

“You’ve presented us with probable cause,” Keith continued, “but we can’t alert Edward or the department to our suspicions before we have enough evidence to haul him in. Guilty suspects are set free every day because the court disallows the use of improperly obtained evidence.”

“But I didn’t take the stuff out of the fireplace.” She gasped. “Edward has probably destroyed it by now.” Kate gripped the edge of the sofa cushion to keep her hands from fluttering in her frustration.

“It’ll be okay,” Tom said, his voice soothing. “If Edward’s guilty, we’ll get the evidence somehow. For now, if you run into him, it’s imperative you treat him exactly the same as you have in the past. Pretend you are following up on some other lead, if you must. Whatever it takes so he won’t think you suspect him.”

Just the thought of being anywhere near Edward made her insides shake. “I . . . I don’t think I can.”

Tom squeezed her hand. “You can do this.”

She wanted to believe him, but she couldn’t escape the horrible scenarios looming in her mind. “What if he comes to my apartment or . . . or . . . ?”

“You have to trust us.” Keith’s no-nonsense tone reminded her of Gramps—a man she’d trusted implicitly. “We won’t let Edward hurt you. But . . . trust no one else. Don’t share your suspicions about Edward with another soul. Otherwise, he may hear about them. Do you understand?”

Now she knew where Tom came by his
people are rarely what they seem
attitude. Trouble was, she’d started to agree. “I understand, yes.”

Except if Julie was right and Kate couldn’t tell a Boy Scout from a purse snatcher, how could she be sure Tom and Keith weren’t part of an elaborate cover-up?

After all, a few hours ago she’d been certain Chief Brewster was behind Daisy’s death. What if Tom’s help turned out to be like the apple pie baking in his dad’s kitchen?

An illusion.

A
scratch, scratch, thunk
jolted Kate awake. Okay, not really awake since one had to actually fall asleep to be awakened, and her visions of Edward trolling around outside pretty much guaranteed that sleep wasn’t in her near future.

The
scratch, scratch, thunk
sounded again.

Kate scooted up against her headboard, dragging the blankets with her, and switched on the bedside lamp. Between the bats in the attic and the mice in the walls, the place was one giant hotel for homeless critters, so she didn’t usually get spooked by the odd scratch or thunk in the middle of the night. After Dad died, she and Mom had moved in with Gran and Gramps into their big old farmhouse, a veritable critter haven, so this converted century-old mansion had always felt like home.

The floor creaked.

Heart pounding, Kate grabbed her pet rock paperweight and slipped out of bed on the side farthest from the door. Outside, the blackness held more boogeymen. She imagined Edward spidering up the oak tree and peering through her
window. She stuck her nose to the glass and cupped her hand around her eyes to block out the light.

Another pair of eyes lasered in on her.

She jumped back, stumbling over a pile of books.

Her peeping tom meowed.

She pressed her hand to her chest and laughed. At least it would’ve been a laugh if she’d been able to gulp enough air to emit the sound.

The floor creaked again. The same creak it made when someone stepped on the left edge of the hall five feet from the living room, give or take an inch. She fished through the pockets of the clothes she’d dumped in the corner and yanked out her cell phone.

It blipped on just long enough to show one microscopic green bar, then promptly went black. Dead battery.
Perfect.
And of course, Julie had to pick tonight of all nights to stay at her mom’s.

Hinges squeaked. The door slowly swung into the room.

Kate pressed her back to the wall and this time eyeballed the tree outside her window for an entirely different reason. But the closest branch was at least three feet away, and she’d flunked long jump in school.

“Oh good, you’re still up,” Julie chirped.

The air left Kate’s chest in a whoosh. She lowered the rock she couldn’t remember raising over her head. “I thought you were staying at your mom’s tonight.”

“And wait until tomorrow to get all the juicy details on how Tom came to your rescue?”

“How did you know?”

“Because I called him when you didn’t answer your cell phone.”

“What made you think I needed rescuing?”

Julie looked pointedly at the rock still clutched in Kate’s hand.

“I thought you were an intruder!”

“Admit it. You thought I was Edward.”

Kate plopped the rock on her night table and plugged in her cell phone. “What if I did?”

“You want to watch a movie with me?”

“Is that a new version of ‘I told you so’?”

Julie laughed. “Come on, a good movie always takes my mind off my troubles.”

Kate grabbed her pillow and blanket. Watching a movie wasn’t such a bad idea. Anything was better than the images that had been reeling through her mind for the past hour. “You do realize that normal people just eat ice cream when they’re upset.”

“Well, you’re in luck. I think there’s still a carton of chocolate fudge buried in the bottom of the freezer for just such an emergency.”

They dug out the ice cream, slipped
Australia
into the DVD player, and rehashed the evening’s events during the slow scenes. By the time Kate climbed into bed three hours later, she fell asleep the moment her head touched the pillow and was visited by dreams, not of Edward stalking her with a fire poker, but of Hugh Jackman sweeping her onto his horse and riding off into the Australian sunset. The scariest thing in her dream was that Jackman looked an awful lot like Tom Parker.

The next morning, Julie stubbornly ignored Kate’s protests and dragged her to A Cup or Two for breakfast. Kate didn’t
want to face Edward without thick metal bars between them, and from the way he’d flirted with Molly yesterday, chances were too good that he’d show up at the tea shop again. So when Kate and Julie arrived, Kate refused to pick up a tray until she’d meticulously scanned the room and assured herself that he was nowhere in sight.

Temporarily appeased, she scooped her tea in record time, grabbed a muffin, and headed for the cash register. A special one-page Friday edition of Port Aster’s so-called weekly newspaper sat on the counter.

“Port Aster High must’ve won a ribbon at track and field yesterday,” Kate muttered to Julie, praying the news-challenged editor hadn’t considered Daisy’s apparent suicide worthy of a follow-up. Kate handed Molly a five-dollar bill for the tea and muffin while voices in her head argued over whether or not she should warn Molly to stay away from Edward.

This wasn’t the time or place to inform Molly that her choice of boyfriends stunk. Besides, Kate was pretty sure Molly would think Kate was sucking sour grapes. And if Molly divulged Kate’s concerns to Edward, that would only make matters worse.

Without waiting for the change, Kate scurried through the crowded dining area to the last available table, smack in the middle of the room.

Julie plopped her tray on the table and poked at the headline on the paper she’d picked up. “Look at this.”

“Buying those extras only encourages Harold to print more, you know.”

“Ooh, someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

Kate poked out her tongue as she dragged the news page to her side of the table. “Pharmaceutical company looks to Port Aster for new home,” she read aloud. “What’s the big deal? The mayor’s been wooing businesses to the area from the day he took office. It’d only be news if the reporter uncovered proof that the mayor scored kickbacks for his efforts.”

Julie rolled her eyes. “Honest Abe probably doesn’t know what a kickback is. But I think he’s hit the big league this time. It says here that the development will bring hundreds of new jobs to the area.”

“New jobs mean more people.”

Julie’s eyes brightened. “Yeah, hungry people. What better time for me to open my chocolate shop?”

“Lack of clients is not what’s stopped you so far. Call me backward, but I like our small town the way it is. Small. I already have a hard enough time finding a table in here.”

The tea shop attracted a surprisingly diverse clientele, from men in business suits grabbing a quick bite before their morning commute to the contingent of senior ladies who tended to jib-jab over their cups of tea for a good two hours before starting their day. When Kate used to work here, she heard more about the goings-on in town than the local hairdresser and barber combined.

That reminded her of someone. Kate pulled out her suspect list and jotted a reminder to talk to Daisy’s neighbor.

A silver-haired businessman stopped beside the table. “Pardon me for interrupting. You wouldn’t happen to be any relation to Gwen Baxter, would you?”

Kate spluttered into her tea. She hadn’t heard that name in over twenty-five years, not since Mom reverted to her
maiden name after Daddy’s death. “Yes, Gwen was my mother.”

Julie’s brow scrunched in understandable confusion, but thankfully, for once, she didn’t blurt out the questions that had to be racing through her head, starting with,
Why did your mother change her name?

If this guy knew about Dad’s arrest and Kate didn’t cut him off, everyone in the tea shop would learn her dirty little secret, which meant everyone in town would hear the rumor by nightfall. And wouldn’t that go over well with the powers who held the purse strings on her research project?

There
were
a few disadvantages to living in a small town.

The bell over the door jingled, and in walked none other than Herbert Harold III, the illustrious owner and editor of the
Port Aster Press
.

Terrific.
If he caught wind of the juicy gossip, she’d be tomorrow’s extra-special edition headline. If only she’d snuck off to work this morning like she’d intended and laid low until Tom arrested Edward, none of this would have happened.

“You’re the spitting image of Gwen,” the gentleman gushed. An observation Kate had heard many times over the years. “Your mom living around here now?”

“No, she died.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I hadn’t heard. After your dad—”

“I’m sorry, Mr. . . . ?”

“Call me Peter.”

“Nice to meet you, Peter, but I’m afraid I’m already late for work.” Kate swallowed her tea in one gulp, tucked her muffin into her purse, and threw Julie an apologetic glance.

“Yes, of course, sorry to keep you. Perhaps I’ll see you again sometime.”

The suggestion sent an icy chill through her despite the hot tea burning her throat. If he talked to others about her family’s skeletons, she’d be served up as the special of the day for a solid month. Longer if no better news cropped up. “Are you in town for long?”

“Not this time. On my way out now, as a matter of fact, but if everything goes according to plan, I’m sure I’ll be back.”

Wonderful. She couldn’t wait. Not.

After pacing the floor half the night, thinking about where he might uncover a telltale slipup that would give him the ammunition he needed to take Crump down, Tom decided that the coroner’s office was the logical place to start. Early in the morning, he followed the maze of corridors through the hospital’s basement to the cramped quarters of the county’s forensics team.

The clerk at the front window, who had the unsavory job of logging all the bodies, sent Tom to the supervisor’s office in the back. The office was miniscule and doorless—an ego-deflating blow to a guy who’d spent half a decade in medical school to get here. The kind of demoralization that might justify accepting a little palm greasing if the opportunity arose.

Tom rubbed his nose in a vain attempt to get rid of the stomach-curdling smells swirling up his nostrils.

The slight thirty-something doctor looked up from the report he was scrawling. His milky coloring suggested he rarely ventured outside. “May I help you, Detective?”

“Yes, I have a few questions regarding your report on Leacock, Daisy—apparent poisoning.”

“Well, I’d offer you a seat, but as you can see, we’re a little short on space here.”

Tom looked around the eight-by-eight room for a place to park himself, but the boxes occupying every square inch of available floor space didn’t look strong enough to support his weight. He leaned on the door frame instead. “You stated in your report that Daisy died from thiophene poisoning.”

“That’s correct. According to her medical records, she had high blood pressure and arthritis but was otherwise in good health. No evidence of trauma to the body. The information’s all in my report.”

“Isn’t thiophene a phototoxic chemical, not one that you’d expect to cause death?”

The coroner tilted his head from side to side, his lips a tight line, as if he was reluctant to agree. “Generally speaking, yes. However, you wouldn’t expect peanuts to kill people, yet every year hundreds of people die from eating them.”

“So you’re saying Miss Leacock had an allergic reaction to the poison?”

“No, I merely cite that as an example of how we can each have a different response to the same stimulus. Forensics is a science, Detective. I stand by my conclusions.”

“In your report, you noted the presence of hemolysis. What is that?”

The coroner tossed his pen on the desk and kneaded the muscles in the back of his neck. “Simply put, it means the red blood cells were breaking up. You don’t need to understand the process. That’s what they pay me for.”

“But there are other poisons that weren’t tested for?”

“Of course. The department can’t afford to test for a fraction of the possible poisons. As it was, we tested for some fairly obscure ones based on the herbs you found in the victim’s home. And, I might add, we got the results back to you in record time.”

“Yes, we appreciate that.”

“Well, let’s hope the mayor shows his appreciation with an increase in funding.” The coroner’s tone suggested that there was an
or else
behind his words. “In a strange twist of fate, Leacock may have done her community a greater service than if she’d lived to develop her newest herbal remedy.”