Death by Tea (20 page)

20

A groan escaped my lips as I lay on the couch, empty tub of ice cream on the floor next to me. Misfit lay a few feet away, whiskers heavy and white from his own vanilla ice cream. My stomach felt as if I'd opened a bag of sugar and poured it straight down my throat. Apparently, candy plus an entire tub of Rocky Road for lunch isn't such a good combination.

The TV was on, turned to the Home Shopping Network. I wasn't actually watching it, mostly because I wouldn't be able to afford anything they were selling, but the voices were comforting. And let me tell you, I needed the comfort.

Misfit's paw twitched. My left foot jumped in sympathy. My stomach did yet another flip. In a way, it felt like my insides were trying to make cotton candy, slowly spinning all of the sugar I'd consumed around and around until it came out as a cheerful pink fluff.

A gurgle worked its way up my throat. No more spinning, even in thoughts, or I was going to end up having to throw out the couch.

I forced myself to sit up. Lying around in a sugar-induced coma wasn't going to get me anywhere. There were countless things I could be doing on my day off, not the least of which was laundry and cleaning. I might have gotten most of Misfit's mess cleaned up from the other day, but there were still spots I'd missed. It wasn't exactly the most enjoyable of chores, but it gave me something to do that would force me to stop worrying about my upset tummy.

And don't forget about the murder.
How could I? It was all I thought about these days, and I
so
needed a vacation from it.

I made it to my feet, took two steps forward, followed by two quick steps back, and I sat right back down. The mess wasn't going anywhere. I could clean it up later. My head was spinning, and every motion made the cold knot in my stomach churn. Sitting was probably a better option right now.

Of course, the universe is cruel and a knock sounded at the door.

“Could you get that for me?” I asked Misfit, who gave me a one-eyed blink before rolling over, putting his back to me. “Jerk,” I grumbled, working my way to my feet.

I felt pregnant as I waddled across the room. I don't think my stomach was actually bulging more than usual, but it was hard to tell. I couldn't look down to check without getting dizzy. It was no wonder I could never seem to get healthy and fit. Ice-cream binges might be great while they're happening, but the results afterward aren't pretty.

The knock came again just as I reached the door. I leaned against the doorframe, winded from such a short walk, and breathed in through my mouth. After a few steadying breaths, I opened the door, fully expecting to see Officer Buchannan standing there, zip strips in hand, ready to arrest me for assaulting a tub of ice cream.

Instead, I found myself staring at the kid from the bed-and-breakfast, Justin, rocking from foot to foot outside my door.

“Uh, hi,” I said. My brain was currently frozen, so it was a struggle thinking through why a guy I'd met once would come to my house. As a matter of fact, how did he even know where I lived?

Fear turned the ice cream in my gut sour. “How did you find me?” I asked before he could say anything. I clutched the doorframe, doing my best not to look as if I was about to fall over. If he came at me with a knife, I was so dead. There was no way I was running from anyone in the condition I was in, let alone from a young man who had yet to put on the postcollege poundage.

“Phone book,” Justin said. He glanced past me into the house, which reminded me of Misfit. If the cat wasn't in his own ice-cream coma, he would have already bolted for the door.

“Is there something you need?” I asked, closing the door a little in preparation for the orange blur. It might take him a few minutes to work up to speed, but I had no doubts the cat was in the process of readying himself for his grand escape.

“Can we talk inside, Mrs. Hancock?” Justin asked, looking back over his shoulder. He was still prancing from foot to foot, looking to all the world as if he really had to pee. His eyes were round in his face, and he was still wearing his work uniform and name tag, as if he'd come straight from Ted and Bettfast to talk to me.

I wasn't keen on letting what was pretty much a total stranger into my house, but Justin did look rather harmless.

Of course, that was probably what all murdered girls think just before the psycho sticks the knife into their back.

“Sure.” I stepped aside, letting Justin in, despite the warning clanging in my head. I closed the door and turned to find Misfit stalking slowly my way. As soon as the door closed, he flopped over onto his side, resigned to his indoor fate.

Justin was pacing back and forth in the dining room. I watched him a moment, since he'd apparently forgotten I was there in his nervousness. He kept glancing at my purse, which I'd tossed onto the table when I'd come in earlier. It made me even more worried about his motives for seeking me out.

“So, how did you find me again?” I asked, walking into the dining room.

Justin jumped at the sound of my voice. “I, uh . . .” He cleared his throat. “You told everyone your name.” He spoke haltingly, as if unsure of his words. “So I just found out who you were, looked you up, and here I am.” He tried on a smile, but still looked terrified before choosing to scratch at his chin instead.

I walked past him and picked up my purse. As not to make him feel as if I didn't trust him—which I didn't—I rooted around in it for a tissue before carrying it to the island counter in the kitchen. From there, I returned to the dining room and pretended to blow my nose.

I watched him in an attempt to deduce why he would come all the way to my house, unannounced, looking nervous enough that it was making me jittery. When I'd gone to the bed-and-breakfast, I'd spent the entire time asking about David Smith, so it seemed likely that David was what he wanted to talk to me about. Was it something he'd suddenly remembered? Were there new developments he wanted to keep me apprised of? Or was this about something else entirely? It was hard to say as long as he didn't speak up and explain himself.

“So,” I said, drawing out the word. “What's up?”

Justin took a deep breath, glanced toward the door as if he was thinking about running, before finally turning toward me. There was definitely fear in his eye. I couldn't tell if it was because he was afraid of me or if it was something else. When he opened his mouth, nothing but a faint squeak came out.

“Is someone after you?” I asked, dreading the answer. If he came running here because the murderer was on his tail, I'd kill the kid myself. I so didn't need killers knowing where I lived, thank you very much.

“Nah,” Justin said, trying to act cool despite the sweat running down his brow. “I, uh, just wanted to tell you something.”

“Okay?”

“Well, um . . .” He looked all around me, as if looking directly at me might turn him to stone. “I work at Ted and Bettfast, as you know.” He started pacing again. I wanted to grab him and hold him in one place. “I mostly just clean the rooms and stuff. I rarely interact with the guests, so I don't know much about them.”

He paused and started running his fingers through his hair as he paced.

“Well, you see, while in the rooms, I come across a lot of stuff.” He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye again before focusing on the comatose cat. “Some of it is valuable.”

A lightbulb went on over my head. “You steal from the guests?” I quickly looked around to make sure nothing valuable was within Justin's reach.

“Not all of the time,” he said. “But if they leave something out where anyone can see, it serves them right, you know? You gotta be more careful in this day and age.” He cleared his throat. “What I take is usually stuff they won't miss too much, or could put off as simply lost. You know, earrings and stuff like that.”

“I see.” I touched my wrist where my watch resided. It wasn't expensive, and how Justin would have removed it from me without my knowledge I don't know, but it made me feel better to know that it was still there.

“So, you came asking about that Smith guy, right?” I nodded. “Well, he left some things lying around in a drawer. I didn't know the dude was dead until after I took them, I swear.”

“Did you take these items to the police?”

His eyes got as big around as dinner plates. “No way.” He shook his head so fast, it was a wonder he didn't break his neck. “I ain't going to the slammer over this.”

Ain't ain't a word,
I thought before saying, “I'm sure they'd understand.”

Justin chewed on his lower lip before suddenly reaching into a back pocket. He removed a wallet and held it out to me. “Here.”

I stared at it like it might be a bomb. The wallet was plain brown leather with nothing special about it from first glance. It wasn't faded like a normal wallet would be, telling me it was either rarely used or brand new.

Justin motioned for me to take the wallet, almost urgently, and I finally reached out for it. He held on for a moment and finally met my eye.

“Please don't tell anyone where you got this,” he said. “I only take things because I have a little sister who needs providing for. Pay at the B&B isn't as good as you might think. Without this money, we'd have nothing.”

He held onto the wallet until I gave him a nod and a “Okay, I won't tell.”

Justin relinquished his hold and immediately stepped back, as if he was afraid I might throw it back at him. “I'd better go,” he said. Before I could ask him anything further, he was out the door and into a pickup that had seen better days. It started up with a rumble that made me wonder how I'd missed it coming up the driveway, and then he backed out, leaving flakes of rust behind.

Misfit made it to his feet just as I closed the door. This time, he gave a kitty huff before working his way down the hall, toward the litter box. I carried the wallet over to the island counter and set it down for inspection.

As I'd first thought, the thing looked unused. It wasn't bulging, telling me there was little to no money in it. I didn't know if that meant there never had been any or if Justin had lifted it before bringing the wallet to me. It wasn't like anyone would know. The man it belonged to was dead.

A shudder ran through me as I thought about that. I was looking at something that someone who had been alive just a few days before had carried with him. But if this was his wallet, why hadn't it been on him when he was killed? I didn't know many men who left their wallets behind when they went out.

There had to be a reason why Justin thought it prudent to bring the thing to me. I was asking about David, sure, but that didn't mean I was an expert about these things. And I surely wasn't with the police—not with how they were treating me. I might have solved a murder in Pine Hills before, so there
was
that at least.

And if that was why he'd brought it to me, that could mean only one thing.

The wallet was a clue.

I snatched it up off the counter and opened it, fully expecting to see a note or a picture that would tell me everything I needed to know about who killed David Smith. Had he known who was going to kill him? Could he have left a message behind, one of those “in case of my death” sorts of letters? It was almost too much to ask for.

What I found when I opened the wallet didn't make sense at first. There were a handful of cards tucked into the slots and, like I expected, no money. David's face was smiling up at me from his driver's license, which was shoved into a plastic holder that allowed it to be shown without taking it out of the wallet.

I looked at David's face, and a sense of sadness washed over me. I glanced at his birth date and saw that he'd just turned twenty-eight a month and a half ago. It seemed too young to die.

And then I saw it.

My eyes focused on the words, not quite comprehending what I was seeing. It was David's face on the license, all right. The age and eye and hair color were all correct, from what I remembered of my brief meeting with him. All of that was just as it should be.

But the name on the card . . .

It wasn't David Smith.

21

“Caleb Jenkins.” I said it out loud as I paced the room, hoping it would ring a bell. I didn't recognize the name on David's ID. No one had mentioned it as far as I was aware. And I wasn't sure whether Caleb was David's real name or if this was a fake ID of some sort. There hadn't been much online about David Smith that I could find, so if I did a little online research, there was a chance I could learn something about the murdered man. Caleb Jenkins wasn't nearly as common of a name as David Smith, and since the license listed his address in Idaho, it would give me one more thing to add to the search to narrow it down.

“No, Krissy,” I reprimanded myself. “Wait for Paul.”

I'd called him almost as soon as Justin left. He didn't answer, but I left him a voice mail message in the hopes he'd at least return my call. Even if he was avoiding me, surely he would check his voice mail. He wouldn't dismiss a prospective lead just because he was mad at me, would he? And besides, he'd promised he'd call me tonight.

Misfit was sitting on the arm of the couch, watching me. He'd woken from his ice-cream coma an hour ago and had stared at me ever since. Two hours had passed since I'd made the call and I was getting antsy, which was making the overlarge cat nervous.

“Why hasn't he called back?” I asked Misfit. “This is important.” I should have started my online research while I waited, but I hadn't thought Paul would take this long to get back with me. I had left out the exact reason for my call, mostly because I wanted to come up with a good excuse as to how I'd come across the wallet before Paul arrived. I didn't want to go back on my word to Justin about telling on him, but I also didn't want to get myself into trouble.

I was considering picking up the phone and calling Paul again when headlights lit up the front of my house.

“Oh, God,” I said, suddenly worried. I hadn't come up with a good excuse yet. I so didn't want to spend more time in jail because I couldn't explain where I'd gotten the wallet.

I looked wildly around the room, nervous about how it looked. There was still something of a mess from the night of my arrest, and I hadn't even bothered to throw away my ice-cream tub yet. I should have started cleaning up the moment I'd made the call, but it hadn't even crossed my mind. I'd been too focused on what Justin had given me.

The car engine shut off, and a door clicked open. I sprang into motion. I shoved the wallet into my purse for safekeeping before I began to gather garbage. I couldn't let him see the results of my ice-cream binge, even if he was no longer interested in me. I crammed the tub deep into the trash can and then dropped the morning paper on top of it, despite the fact I had yet to do the crossword. I'd just replaced the trash can lid when a knock came at the door.

My palms started sweating as I crossed the room to answer it. I hesitated at the door long enough to smooth back my hair. I considered shouting at him to give me a minute or two so I could run to the bathroom to freshen up, but it was too late for that now. Besides, I asked him over to tell him about the ID, not to convince him to give me another chance. I was no longer sure I even wanted him to.

I firmly clamped down on that line of thought. Why would it be anyone else? I plastered on a welcoming smile and opened the door.

And there he stood, the man who had once saved my life. He was wearing his tan police uniform, badge proudly displayed on his chest. His gun rested at his hip, though his hand was nowhere near it. He was wearing one of those stiff hats cops sometimes wore while on duty. He wasn't smiling.

My own smile slipped just a little at that. He didn't look like he was happy to see me. “Paul,” I said. “I'm glad you could make it.”

“Krissy.” He nodded once. “You said it was important.”

“It is.” I glanced around the corner of the house, toward the Winthrow place. Sure enough, the curtain fluttered just a little bit as binocular lenses made an appearance. “Let's talk about it inside.”

A frown flickered across Paul's face, but he stepped past me and into the house anyway. Despite my best efforts not to, I took a deep breath as he moved past, relishing the smell of his cologne. There was a hint of oiled leather beneath it, telling me he'd recently polished his shoes or belt.

I closed the door behind us and led him into the living room. He glanced around, as if expecting to find something incriminating sitting in the corner, before turning to me.

“So, what is it you want to talk to me about?”

“It's about David Smith,” I said. My purse was still sitting on the counter. I could wait to show him the wallet and the ID it contained after I finished laying everything I knew on him. Besides, I was hoping to get a few things out of him first. Once I gave him the ID, there would be nothing keeping him here.

Paul sighed heavily. “Krissy . . .”

“I know you don't want me interfering.” I spoke quickly before he could say anything. “But his murder
did
happen at Death by Coffee. I see these people every day.”

Another sigh, followed by a nod. “Fine. Okay. I'll give you that.”

“Thank you.”

“But I still don't like you getting involved. You are a suspect in this thing, whether you like it or not. If you go making a scene, you'll only make yourself look worse.”

I bristled a bit at that. I was
so
not a suspect, and he knew it.

Okay, I'll admit, one date and a confrontation with a murderer don't exactly make a steady relationship. And honestly, I doubted we would ever have anything more than that date. But he knew me better than that. We'd bonded, even if it was just a tiny bit. His comment hurt.

“Buchannan is doing that well enough all by himself, don't you think?” I said, biting off the words. “I swear that man has it out for me.”

“He's only doing his job.”

“Oh, so you're defending him now?”

“He might be a little overzealous at times, but John is a good cop when he wants to be.”

“Really?” I said, growing angrier by the moment. This was
not
how I imagined our conversation going. “Does a good cop follow an innocent woman around? Does he go through her things and steal her underwear while she isn't home?”

“Wait, what?”

“I don't think so, Paul Dalton. And I can't believe you'd believe it, either.” I stamped my foot for good measure. “You should be thanking me for all the hard work I've been doing.”

“
Thank
you?” he said, an incredulous edge to his voice. “Krissy, you got yourself arrested for assaulting a police officer.”

“He was antagonizing me!”

“That doesn't matter.” He was speaking calmly, but I could hear the frustration growing in his voice. “You broke the law and you paid for it. Do you want it to happen again?”

“No,” I said, lowering my eyes. A part of me felt ashamed, but that part was slowly getting pummeled to submission by my anger and annoyance. I was beyond frustrated and was taking it out on Paul simply because he was here. I was tired of people looking at me like I killed David.

I lifted my gaze and gave Paul a steady look. “Why didn't you come to visit me while I was locked up?” I knew the answer already, but I wanted to hear him say it. It might give me the closure I needed.

He actually flushed a little at that. “I was busy.”

“Too busy to make sure I was being treated okay? Too busy to stop by for one minute to assure me everything would be all right?” Tears threatened, but I held them in check.

Paul cleared his throat and looked toward the window. “I wasn't allowed to see you,” he said. “Chief made it clear I am not to go anywhere near you while this investigation is taking place. I am defying her orders coming here now.” He turned back to me, a pleading look in his eyes. “You have to understand, you
are
a suspect. I might not like it, and you might not like it, but it's true. I have to treat you as such until we can completely rule you out.”

I knew he was right, knew he was doing exactly what he needed to do, but I couldn't help myself. I wanted to prove to him that I wasn't a killer,
or
a girl who was totally helpless. “Do you, now?” My hands found my hips. “Are you saying you can't give me the benefit of the doubt?”

“I'm not saying that at all.”

“Really? Then why are you acting as if you think I could very well be guilty of killing a man I didn't even know? I haven't done anything to warrant this kind of treatment.”

“Except when you stole the cardboard cutout.”

“Yeah, but . . .”

“Or when you stormed over to the neighbor's and started beating on John.”

“Yeah, but . . .”

“Or when you started sneaking around, talking to everyone involved in the case like you are some sort of detective working for the police.”

I dropped my eyes at that. “You know about that, huh?”

“Of course I do.” Paul took a step forward and rested a hand on my shoulder. “You can't keep doing this. If you snoop too much, you're only going to get yourself into more trouble. Do you really want that? I can't protect you if you end up burying yourself with your own actions.”

I tried really hard to accept his comforting. I mean, he wasn't wrong. The last time I stuck my nose into a murder investigation, I very nearly got it blown off. That time, the murder had been an accident. There wasn't anything accidental about it this time, I was sure. There was a cold-blooded killer running around out there. If I kept asking questions, he or she could very well end up knocking on my door.

But if I didn't keep looking into it, the murderer might get away with it. I didn't doubt the police could handle it, but what was wrong with a little extra help?

“You can't stop me from talking to people,” I grumbled.

“I can if you interfere with the investigation.”

“Are you going to throw me in jail?”

“If I have to.”

What could I say to that? I
was
interfering in a police investigation, though I wasn't hindering anything. I was trying to help. He had to see that. They all did.

“Look, Krissy,” Paul said. His hand still rested on my shoulder, so I shrugged out of it and crossed my arms. He looked lost for a moment before shoving his thumbs into his belt. “I'm only trying to keep you safe. How about you tell me what it was you wanted to talk to me about and then drop this whole thing? I can take care of it.”

I sighed. It
was
the reason I'd called him over. I might have wanted our conversation to, I don't know, blossom into something more. It would have been nice to have him tell me exactly how he felt so I could do the same. Standing here now, with Paul, I could almost forget Will existed.

Almost.

“Well, I . . .” I trailed off as his phone buzzed to life.

Paul frowned, hesitated, and then held up a finger as he grabbed his cell. He checked the ID, sighed, and then looked at me. “Give me a sec. I have to take this.”

I nodded as he lifted the phone to his ear and walked into the other room. He kept his voice low so I couldn't hear what he was saying. I wasn't eavesdropping, per se. Maybe trying to see what the call was about, but not eavesdropping.

Paul's back was to me, so I couldn't see if he was smiling or frowning, but with the way his shoulders tensed suddenly and his back straightened, I guessed what he was being told wasn't good.

“I'll be right there,” he said before shoving the phone back into his pocket and turning to face me. “I have to run,” he said. “Something important has come up.” He started for the door, but stopped. “Can this wait until later?”

I winced inwardly but nodded. “Sure.” If nothing else, it would give me more time to look into the name on the ID and how it related to David Smith before handing it over. “It can wait.”

Paul didn't look convinced but nodded anyway. “We'll talk soon.” He hurried out the door without a good-bye. It made me wonder how bad whatever he had to deal with was.

Could it be another murder?
If so, it was all the more reason to get investigating immediately.

I waited until Paul sped away before closing the front door. I turned and found myself looking at my purse.

“Well,” I said to the empty room. “It looks like I'll be taking care of this myself.” I crossed the short distance to my purse and removed the wallet. After a moment's consideration, I plucked out the ID and turned to get started.