Death by Tea (4 page)

4

There's something unnerving about sitting alone in a police interrogation room—even if it does look more like a lounge than a place where hardened criminals are questioned. My foot jiggled up and down, and I kept looking at the wall behind me as if there was something more than a dartboard there. I swear I could feel eyes on me. Did they make see-through walls like those one-way mirrors? It sure felt like it.

Paul didn't zip strip me up like I thought he would. He didn't answer my questions on the ride over, either. After I gave up trying to talk, we rode all the way to the police station in silence. He spoke to me again only once we were inside the interrogation room, where he told me to sit tight before walking out.

I eyed the coffee machine across the room. The pot was halfway empty, and I knew it had probably sat there for the last two hours, but I was thirsty and headachy. I hadn't had time for my morning coffee, which was usually a recipe for disaster.

Eventually, the door opened and Chief Patricia Dalton entered. She was flanked by her son, Paul, and the one cop in the entire world I didn't want to see right then, Officer John Buchannan. He was grinning as if he'd been the one to apprehend me, which seemed to be his normal expression anytime I got myself into trouble. He'd caught not just me, but Paul, at the scene of a crime, poking around where we shouldn't have been. He'd arrested us with much gusto, but we'd gotten off pretty easily—probably because Paul is the chief's son—which had to rankle Buchannan to no end. Ever since then, he'd had it in for me.

I stood as they entered, and opened my mouth to speak but had no idea what to say. Proclaiming my innocence right off the bat was probably the wrong thing to do, especially since I had no idea whether they viewed me as a suspect or not. As far as I knew, I was there only for my protection, though looking at Buchannan, I was guessing it was a bit more than that.

“Is Vicki okay?” I asked, suddenly worried about my best friend. If the police had me here for my protection, they'd have to have a reason for it, wouldn't they? And since Vicki was often working before I ever showed up . . .

“She's fine,” Chief Dalton said. She pointed to a plastic chair pushed against the table in the middle of the room. “Sit.”

I stepped away from the couch, more worried than ever. I'd never been told to sit anywhere but on the semicom-fortable couch when in the interrogation room, which was happening more than I would like. Something was different this time, something that had my stomach in knots and my forehead breaking out into a cold sweat. I eased down slowly, looking from face to face as I did. Buchannan was still grinning. Paul and Patricia looked grim.

“Please . . .” I trailed off as the chief's eyes rose to meet mine.

“Where were you last night?” she asked in a businesslike tone.

“After work, I went home.”

“And afterward?”

“I went to sleep.”

Buchannan lunged forward and slammed his open palm down onto the table. I just about toppled over backward as he leaned in, putting his face as close to mine as he could with the table between us.

“Liar!” he screamed. “We know what you've done. You won't get away with it.”

The room fell silent as Buchannan's shout finished echoing off the walls. Both Daltons stared at him like he was an idiot, which I wholeheartedly agreed with. I think the chief was more disappointed in him than anything. With a sigh, she took him by the arm and pulled him away from the table. His chest was heaving and his grin had turned into a sort of sinister glower.

“John, I think you need to take a walk. Go. Cool off.” Chief Dalton gave him a little shove toward the door with one hand while keeping a firm hold on him with the other. “Now.”

Buchannan turned incredulous eyes on her, clenched his jaw, and then jerked his arm from her grip. I had a sudden flashback to all those police dramas on TV where one cop would act the friendly part while the other was the rampaging psycho. It was obvious which part Buchannan was playing.

He raised a finger and pointed it at me—well, jabbed it, really. “I knew about you from the start.” He was practically snarling. “I only wish I'd been there to see you do it. Then I wouldn't have to hold back.”

“John!” Patricia barked his name. “Out.”

He turned and stormed through the doorway. He slammed the door behind him hard enough to cause the dartboard to rattle.

“Jeez,” I said. “He seems a little uptight today.”

Nobody cracked a smile. I swallowed as best as I could due to my parched state and chose to study my hands rather than meet their unhappy gazes.

“Now,” Chief Dalton said, leaning on the table in front of me. Paul remained near the door, like he was afraid to come in any farther. “Buchannan wasn't entirely wrong. We have a witness who claims she saw you leave your house last night, dressed in black, acting like you were up to something.” She looked me up and down.

My stomach clenched as I crossed my arms over my shirt, as if to hide it. I had to take a few deep breaths before I could answer, lest I be sick all over the table. “Eleanor?” I asked, knowing the answer already.

Chief Dalton didn't so much as twitch. Behind her, Paul gave the faintest of nods. I guess at least someone was still on my side.

“I suppose I did leave last night,” I admitted, face flaming for being caught in the lie. “I had something to do at Death by Coffee.”

“In the middle of the night?” Patricia asked. “Dressed like . . .” She gestured at my outfit and frowned. “Like that? Why not wait until morning? What was it you had to do?”

“It was nothing. I forgot something and had to pick it up. I was wearing this for bed.” I tried not to wince at all the little white lies I was telling. I was afraid of what they'd do to me if they knew the truth. When I thought about it, the whole thing sounded silly, so much so I was worried they wouldn't believe me.

Patricia sighed and rubbed at her temples. “Please tell me you didn't kill him.”

“I didn't kill him.” I paused. “So, who didn't I kill?”

“When you went to the shop, did you see anyone?” Patricia asked, ignoring my question.

“No.” I shifted in my seat. The plastic was hard and uncomfortable. “It was dark. I only ran in for a minute and was out again. I didn't even turn on a light or go much farther than the entrance. I promise I didn't kill anyone, and I swear I never saw a body!” I started to hyperventilate.

Paul moved from where he stood to the coffee machine. He poured some of the thick goop into a Styrofoam cup and carried it over to me. I took it with a muttered “Thanks” and took a sip. The bitterness was enough to cause me to grimace. What I wouldn't give now for one of Jules Phan's cookies.

“Now, think hard,” Chief Dalton said as Paul stepped back. “When you went into Death by Coffee, did you see anything at all that seemed out of place? Hear anything?”

I shook my head. The only thing out of place was the cardboard cutout of my dad, but I'd removed that. “No one was there.” My blood ran cold. But what if someone
had
been there, waiting inside the darkened shop. “Oh, my God.” My hands were trembling so badly now, I had to set the cup down lest I spill lukewarm coffee on myself. “Do you think the killer could have been waiting in there for me?”

“We don't know,” Patricia said.

“Oh, God.” I very well might have been within inches of my death. If I'd turned on the light, I could have seen a masked man, knife poised and ready, or perhaps a gun would have gone off. I shuddered.

“What can you tell me about David Smith?” Patricia asked.

I jolted out of my thoughts. “The British guy?”

The chief nodded.

“Not much. He was in the store yesterday because he's part of a book club competition Rita is running.”

“I know of it,” Patricia said, her expression stony.

“That's all I know about him. He came in and . . . wait! Is he dead?”

Paul and his mom shared a look before the chief nodded. “He was found this morning by your partner, Vicki Patterson.”

Holy crap! What was it with me and meeting guys who ended up dead shortly after? The sad thing was, I sort of liked David. Well, it was his looks and voice I'd liked, but I didn't actually know anything else about him. It would have been easier if he'd been a jerk.

I sniffed and a tear found its way onto my cheek. “Who would do such a thing?” I asked, genuinely shocked.

“We were hoping you could tell us.”

I looked from the chief to Paul and back again. “I have no clue. There was a little spat earlier that day, but it was between Rita and Albert—he's one of the guys from out of town.” Patricia nodded as if she already knew. “I had to step in when Albert was about to clunk Rita over the head with some stupid teapot. . . .” I trailed off at the look the two police officers were giving me. “What?”

“David Smith was bashed in the head with a silver teapot,” Paul said, speaking for the first time since he'd left me alone in the room. “It was next to the body. We found quite a few fingerprints on it and hope one of them belongs to the murderer.”

I groaned. “Some of the prints will be mine. I had to grab the teapot from Albert.”

“Did anyone else touch it that you saw?” Patricia asked.

I thought back, but my head was a jumble. I mean, I couldn't believe someone else had died so soon after talking to me. It was starting to become a trend, and I'd been in Pine Hills for less than a year.

“I don't know,” I said with a shrug. “I think Rita might have taken it from me, but I can't be sure. There were so many people there. Any one of them could have touched the thing. And if they left it out on the table and then went home, I'm sure Vicki or Lena or maybe even Mike could have moved it so someone didn't steal it.”

Chief Dalton produced a pad of paper from her shirt pocket. She tossed it and a pen in front of me. “Write down all of their names, if you would.”

I went about scribbling the names I could remember in my frazzled state. It wasn't easy. I kept seeing David's face, the way he smiled, the way he winked. I didn't have any real desire for the man, nothing I'd act on, anyway. But I sure hadn't minded looking at him or listening to him. To think that he'd never speak again brought yet another tear to my eye.

Could someone have killed him because they were jealous of him? With those looks and that voice, any man would be intimidated. Or could it have been someone from Rita's group, angry because the rules had been broken by his inclusion? It seemed ridiculous, but stranger things have happened.

And they seemed to be happening to me more and more.

“Krissy.” Paul spoke right next to my ear, causing me to jump and jerk the pen across the page. I'd managed all of three names before getting lost in my thoughts.

“Sorry,” I said. I hurriedly wrote the other names I could remember before sliding the pad across the table to Chief Dalton. “I think that is everyone. Some of them are from out of town, so I might have misheard their name or confused them with someone else.”

“Thank you.” She tucked the pad back into her pocket after only a cursory glance. “Now, I for one don't believe you had anything to do with the murder. We don't have an official time of death yet, so I can't completely rule you out. Our witness was able to give a general time of your return, so once we have a better timeline, I'm sure we'll be able to dismiss you as a suspect.”

I nodded, though I had no idea what I was nodding for. I couldn't believe this was happening. Again. It was like I was a magnet for trouble.

“Still,” the chief went on, tone serious. “I don't want you leaving town. You can go about your life like normal, but if I catch you leaving Pine Hills for any reason, I'm going to lock you up until we figure this thing out. Do I make myself clear?”

“Very.”

“Good.” Chief Dalton rose from her place at the table. “Paul will drive you home.” She walked out.

I looked at Paul, hoping to find some sort of comfort in his gaze, but instead I found him looking down at his hands, frowning. When he glanced up, he didn't meet my eyes.

“Let's go,” he said, turning away.

Officer Buchannan was waiting for us outside the room. He was glaring, and his teeth were clenched so tightly, I was positive his face was about to explode. He narrowed his eyes at me and gave me the “I'm watching you” hand gesture. I hurried past before he popped.

This time, Paul let me sit in the front seat as we got into his cruiser. It was an upgrade from the back, sure, but still made me feel like a criminal. As soon as he got into the car, I felt the need to defend myself.

“I would never kill anyone,” I said. “I swear. I didn't even know the guy. Please, you have to believe me.”

“I do,” he said, though he didn't sound too confident.

“It isn't my fault!”

He glanced at me, tried on a smile that failed miserably, and then started the car.

We rode in silence yet again, which wasn't all that bad of a thing. It gave me time to think. I wasn't sure how I could prove my innocence sitting at home, doing nothing. My fingerprints were on the murder weapon and I'd been caught sneaking out of my house like an idiot, thanks to my nosy neighbor. Even if I told the police why I went to Death by Coffee, I had a feeling they wouldn't believe me. My reasoning sounded lame, even to me.

I had an intense desire to solve the case, to prove my own innocence. I knew the police would do their best to make sure the right person was apprehended—or at least, most of them would. Buchannan had it in for me, meaning he would do everything in his power to make sure I ended up arrested for the murder. It would mean he'd be looking in all of the wrong places while a murderer was running loose.