Death by Tea (7 page)

“You don't have to stick around,” I said, feeling about as small as I could get. “It's okay.”

Will's eyes darted to his retreating friends. “Don't mind them,” he said. “They're both married already and think I need to get on board with the program. Of course, if you'd met their wives, you'd wonder why anyone would ever trap themselves like that. We're talking stuck-up snobs here.” He smiled. “Just don't tell them I said so, all right?”

“Sure.” I found myself smiling right along with him.

With a sigh, Will spread his hands in defeat. “But I really do have to go. We shouldn't have stayed out this long.”

“Oh, okay,” I said. The brief moment of flirting was nice, but it was good that it was over. He couldn't honestly be interested in me.

“Let me give you my number.” He patted his pockets and frowned. “Do you have a pen and paper by chance?”

I winced.
Foiled by lack of stationery?
That was just my luck. “Sorry,” I said.

“How about a cell phone? I left mine in the car.”

This time I groaned. “Mine's in my purse, which I also left in the car.” Go figure.

“Ah well.” He smiled. “We'll figure something out.” Another glance at his watch. “I best get going.”

“Death by Coffee!” I shouted it at him like I'd completely lost my mind.

He raised his eyebrows at me in confusion.

“I work there,” I said. “Well, own the place, really. You could stop by. We can work things out then.”

He smiled. “Okay, then, Death by Coffee.” He nodded slowly, and I could tell he had no idea where that was. “I'll see you sometime soon.” Another quick peek at his watch and then he started away. “Have a good time, Krissy.”

“I will, Will.”

He chuckled and walked away.

“Look at you,” Vicki said, grinning. “Making friends.”

It was then I realized she'd been done with her turn long ago and had stood back to watch our little interaction.

“It's nothing,” I said. “He's going to show me how to bowl.”

“Uh-huh.” She was smiling so wide, she looked like she might split her face in half. “You're going to let a man show you how to handle balls, all right.”

“Vicki!” I looked around to make sure no one had heard her.

She laughed and gestured toward the ball return. “It's your turn, by the way.” She sat down, still laughing.

I picked up the bowling ball and moved to the line, head still spinning from what had just happened. I didn't think it was possible for me to forget about David's murder, but right then it was the furthest thing from my mind.

Instead, I was thinking about Will, about his willingness to help a hopeless girl out with her ball-handling skills.

And I thought about Paul Dalton. Would he be jealous I'd talked to another man? Would he even care?

As I strode forward and threw my ball, I realized that at that moment I didn't really care either way.

7

Red and blue lights spun, illuminating the front of my house. I sat in my car at the end of the driveway, backseat full of things Vicki and I had bought on our free day together, and stared at the two police cars, not quite believing what I was seeing. Eleanor Winthrow stood outside her house, nodding as if she'd known this day was coming all along, which seemed to be the norm with most of my detractors. Chief Dalton stood, arms crossed, facing the front of the house. She turned as I started forward again. She motioned for me to park behind her cruiser.

“What's going on?” I asked, getting out of the car. “Did someone break in?” It would be just my luck to come from having something good happen to me, in the form of Will, to having someone break into my house and steal all of my things. Couldn't I ever catch a break?

Patricia frowned at me before handing me a piece of official-looking paper. I looked at it and gasped.

“A warrant? Why did you get a warrant?”

“We have reason to believe a stolen object that might pertain to the murder investigation could be inside the premises.”

“Wait. What?” My heart started pounding. What could they possibly think was inside? “Why would you think that?” I looked down at the warrant in my hand. “And how did you get this so fast?”

“Local judge,” Patricia said, leaning against my car as if we were simply shooting the breeze. “Helps expedite things.” She chewed on her lower lip a moment before narrowing her eyes at me. “Did you actually admit to stealing something from Rita Jablonski?”

My stomach fell. Of course. No wonder Buchannan had left the ice-cream shop so quickly. Apparently, he'd overheard my confession to Vicki, and after the scene Rita had made over her stupid cardboard cutout, he'd surely assumed I was up to something nefarious, especially since I hadn't told the police I'd taken it.

“I can explain . . .”

“Got it!” Buchannan strode out of my house, Cardboard Dad tucked under his arm. “She had it in her bedroom.” His eyes fell on me and a grin split his face. “And there she is.”

I went immediately defensive. “I didn't kill anyone!”

He sauntered my way, clearly enjoying every second of this. “Oh? Then why do you have this?” He held out the cutout as if it proved my guilt.

I reddened. “Because it was an eyesore.” I glanced at the chief. “I was going to give it back.”

He snorted a laugh. “Or is it because there are bloodstains on it that would implicate you in the murder?”

“What? Where?” I started forward, intent on scouring every last inch of the cutout in search of blood, but Chief Dalton stopped me with an arm across my chest.

“That's far enough, Krissy.”

“But there isn't any blood! I took it from the front of the store last night. That's all I did! I didn't kill anyone. Honest!”

“We'll see about that.” Buchannan opened the back door of his cruiser and shoved the cardboard cutout into the backseat. Apparently, there were no evidence bags big enough for the cutout, or I was sure he would have made a show of sliding it inside. Once satisfied, he crossed his arms and stood expectantly in front of his cruiser.

“I guess we're all done here,” Patricia said. She heaved a sigh. “Please stick around, okay? I'm sure you have a perfectly good reason for taking this thing, but until we check it over, this puts you at the very top of our suspect list, whether I like it or not.”

“But . . . but . . .” But what? It was all happening too fast.

“Aren't you going to arrest her?” Buchannan asked as Chief Dalton started for her cruiser.

“Why?” she asked, clearly annoyed. “She isn't going anywhere.”

“But she is our best suspect! She might make a run for it now that we have evidence.”

Patricia glanced back at me. “Are you going to leave town?”

“No.” It came out as a mumbled whisper. I sounded like I did back when I was a little girl caught with my hand in the cookie jar before dinner.

“Good.” She got into her cruiser and started it up.

Buchannan stood, mouth agape, as he watched Chief Dalton turn the car around—driving over my yard, no less. As soon as she was at the end of the driveway, his gaze turned toward me and hardened.

“We're going to get you,” he said, pointing a finger. “Even if I have to follow your every step for the next month, I'll make sure you don't get away with this.”

“Buchannan!” Chief Dalton was leaning out her window. “Let's go.”

He glared at me a moment longer before he stormed around to the driver's side of the car, got in, slammed the door hard behind him, and then jerked the car into reverse. His tires spun and he nearly lost control before he managed to find his way back onto the road. He gave me one last furious glare before shoving the car into drive and speeding off in a flurry of dust.

I stared after the retreating cruisers in disbelief. Did they actually search my house while I wasn't there? Was that even legal? Somehow, I didn't think it was, but I doubted I'd make much headway if I tried to argue it, especially in a town like this. I was quickly learning that Pine Hills wasn't like other places. Things were done differently here and I'd best learn to fit in or else I was going to find myself in a whole lot of trouble.

Something warm and fuzzy barreled into my legs just then, startling a scream from me. I staggered forward, arms pinwheeling, and just barely managed to keep from falling. A sharp yip came next, and before I could turn around a white Maltese was standing on his back paws, front paws pressed against me, begging to be pet.

“Maestro, no!” Jules said, rushing to my side. “I'm so sorry.” He picked up the little dog and held him close to his chest. “He just gets so excited sometimes.”

Jules Phan was my neighbor—the one I actually liked. He appeared to be of Asian descent, though I'd never asked him if he was born here or immigrated. It seemed rude somehow. He had caramel skin you could lap up and stylized hair that made him look as if he could fit right in with a boy band. When at work, he often dressed in outlandishly colorful outfits, but today he was wearing white Keds with tan shorts and a tight-fitting T.

“It's okay.” I swallowed back my heart as I brushed hair from my face. I ruffled the dog's ears.

“I saw what was happening,” Jules said. “It's absolutely terrible how they're treating you, isn't it? I heard through the grapevine that Mrs. Winthrow is responsible for a lot of your troubles.” His gaze traveled to the Winthrow house, but Eleanor had already retreated inside.

“I suppose,” I said with a sigh. “I brought a lot of it upon myself.” At Jules's widening eyes, I hurriedly added, “I didn't kill anyone. But I did take a cardboard cutout of my dad that belongs to Rita Jablonski. She left it in my shop, and well . . .”

Jules nodded as if he completely understood. “She's a special one, isn't she?” He clucked his tongue. “I just hope this doesn't interfere with the book club competition. It would be a real shame if they had to cancel it.”

“You actually go to that thing?” I asked completely shocked. I mean, a book club competition? Really?

“Of course,” Jules said with a smile. “Everyone does.” He glanced over his shoulder to where a tall, well-built blond man was walking our way. “Ah, here he is.” He waved. “Lance was dying to meet you.” He paused. “Well, figuratively speaking.”

I'd seen Lance only in pictures before now, so it was quite a shock to see how well defined he was. He reminded me of a professional swimmer. His skin was tan, without a hint of sunburn anywhere. He wore a teal polo shirt with shortened sleeves that exposed biceps to die for. His shorts were khaki, revealing calves that I had to force my eyes from, lest I begin drooling.

“Krissy Hancock?” he asked, extending his hand. A mile-wide grin split his face. “I'm Lance Darby.” I took his hand as if in a dream. His voice was deep and strong, as was his grip. “I'm Jules's live-in.” He winked.

“I, uh.” I cleared my throat. “Yeah.”

He let go of my hand and planted his hands on his hips as he looked toward my house. “I can't believe they are able to just come waltzing in like that. They should have waited until you got home.”

“They had a warrant.”

He glanced at me. “And? That still doesn't give them the right to invade your privacy like that. Jules has assured me you could have had nothing to do with that young man's death.”

“You're too good of a person to do something like that,” Jules put in. Maestro gave a little bark of agreement.

“Thanks.” I heaved a sigh and covered my face. I felt as if I was going to cry, and I wasn't even sure whether it was because of their kind words or how I felt violated by the police. I took a shuddering breath that ended in a hiccup.

A strong arm wrapped around me and I was pulled in close to tight, hard muscles. I could smell expensive cologne, and it was all I could do not to bury my face in Lance's chest and breathe it in for the next hour.

“It'll be okay,” he soothed. “This sort of thing will blow over eventually.”

“I wish I could believe that.” It seemed like with every passing minute, things only got worse. What if David
had
been killed before I got to Death by Coffee? He could have been whacked beside the cutout, splattered blood on it, blood I'd somehow overlooked, and then been dragged upstairs to be stashed behind a bookshelf. If that was the case, I'd have a heck of a time talking my way out of a murder charge.

I thought frantically back to when Misfit had clawed me during the Flossing Incident. Had I gone into my bedroom before Paul took me away? What about after? Had I still been bleeding? Or could Misfit have had my blood on his claws, which he shook off onto the cutout? If so, my goose surely would be cooked.

“I still can't believe this has happened,” Jules said. “I didn't know this David fellow all that well, but I had seen him at Ted and Bettfast. He seemed nice enough.”

I looked up, brow furrowed. “Ted and whatfast?”

Jules waved a flippant hand. “Ted and Bettfast. It's a little bed-and-breakfast down on Elm. Ted and Betty Bunford own it. She goes by Bett, by the way.”

“Oh.” Why wasn't I surprised?

“The Cherry Valley folk always stay with Ted and Bett during the book club week when we have it here in Pine Hills. We saw David out by the pool with Sara Huffington all over him, didn't we, Lance?”

Lance nodded and squeezed my shoulder. “They looked very close, if you know what I mean.” I could almost feel his wink without having to see it.

I pulled out of Lance's grip and wiped my eyes. “Were they together, then?”

Jules shrugged. “I can only assume so. None of the others were around, and I do believe I saw her kiss him, but that could have been a friendly peck on the cheek for all I know. We lost sight of them before I could tell for sure.”

My mind started whirring to life. “Do you know if Sara has a boyfriend, or maybe a husband back home?” Maybe if she was snuggling up close to David Smith, her significant other found out and killed him. That would make my life a whole lot easier, especially if I could prove it.

“Not that I know of.” Jules looked to Lance, who shrugged.

“She has something of a prickly personality,” he said. “It's a wonder they let her stay in the book club. It wouldn't surprise me in the slightest if she has never, well, you know.” He mimed a crude finger gesture that involved making an “O” with one hand and poking at it with the other.

“Lance!” Jules giggled and slapped Lance's arm. They both grinned. “He is such a perv sometimes.”

I forced a smile, thinking back to Vicki's balls comment at the alley. “Aren't we all?” That earned me a chuckle.

“Well, we best get home,” Jules said. “It's getting late and we have yet to eat dinner.” Maestro was also starting to squirm in his arms, but he refused to let the little dog down. “You could always come over if you'd like. Lance makes a mean lemon drop martini if you're interested.”

As tempting as it was, I wasn't in much of a mood for company, no matter how pleasant it might be. “I should probably get inside and see what kind of damage Buchannan has done.”

Jules nodded and stroked Maestro. “Well, if you change your mind . . .”

“I'll come right over.”

Lance patted my shoulder and then took Jules's arm. Maestro's tail wagged about a million miles per second as they walked away, talking quietly.

I felt depressingly alone now that they were gone, and I almost took off after them. I'd never had a martini before, lemon drop or otherwise. It would be something new, and maybe, just maybe, it would get my mind off the horror my life had become.

But I still felt violated and could feel Eleanor's eyes on my back. I had half a mind to storm over there and yell at her for a solid hour about respecting other people's privacy. If it wasn't for her vigil, I wouldn't be in this mess and the police would be searching for the real murderer instead of harassing me.

With a sigh, I gathered my bags from the backseat of the car, suddenly wishing I hadn't spent so much money. What if I had to make bail? I didn't have enough in the bank to cover even a small one. Death by Coffee seemed to be sucking up nearly as much money as we were earning, and I had no idea how that was happening or if it would ever stop.

I refused to look toward the Winthrow place as I pushed through the front door. Misfit was nowhere in sight, which might have worried me if I hadn't known Buchannan had been there. The cat could smell bad people and would hide long after they'd left. And if there was one thing I knew, Officer John Buchannan qualified as a bad person.