Death by Pumpkin Spice (25 page)

“Did you see him interact with anyone?” Dad asked. “Argument? Heated or otherwise?”

I opened my mouth to speak when the door opened and two people I didn't know walked in. Nothing about them was all that interesting, yet I found myself watching them anyway. My subconscious prodded at me, though I had no idea why.

The man looked to be in his mid-forties. His hair was dark, combed back and tucked behind ears that were heavily lobed, so much so that they hung comically low around his jaw. It might be mean, but
Dumbo
immediately came to mind.

The girl at his side looked as if she was no older than twenty. Her hair was blond, but it was obviously a dye job. He said something to her, causing her to laugh. She reached up and tucked her own hair behind her ear.

An ear that was identical to her father's.

“Krissy?”

My dad's voice came from a long ways away.

“I have to go,” I told him, mind working overtime. I clicked off, not thinking about how it must have sounded to him.

Why were these two so fascinating? I watched them approach the counter and order their coffees. They got them to go and, after paying, carried them out. I watched them walk down the sidewalk and out of sight.

It was their ears, the way it made it obvious they were related, I realized. But how did that fit in with Jessica Fairweather's murder? There were people who were related at the party, sure. I even knew a few of them. Heidi and her mom, Regina. Mason and his dad, Raymond.

But that wasn't it. Whatever it was, it was right under my nose and I couldn't see it!

I froze, mid-thought.

Nose.

I knew what I was missing.

I shot out of my seat and rushed for the door, leaving my mostly full cup behind.

26

“Woah there, Ms. Hancock.”

I stopped just outside the Pine Hills Police Station and turned as Chief Patricia Dalton approached. She was holding her hat, as if she'd been in the process of putting it on when she'd spotted me. The top button of her shirt was undone, telling me she was more than likely just now arriving.

“Chief,” I said, breathing heavily. I'd practically sprinted across the parking lot.

“What has got you in such a tizzy?” she asked, eyeing me. “You look harried.”

“We've got the wrong guy.” My mind was whirling. I wanted to see Paul, to talk to him directly. He would understand where I was coming from; he'd been there.

“What wrong guy?”

I slowed my breathing and forced myself to calm down. If I continued running around like I'd lost my mind, people would start treating me that way. “The killer. At the party. We have the wrong guy.”

“Philip Carlisle, you mean?” Patricia frowned and crossed her arms. “He's already confessed to killing Ms. Fairweather. He even took something from her body. It was still on him when we took him in.”

I shook my head as she spoke. “I know he killed her.”

“So, if he is our man, how exactly do we have the wrong guy?”

“Where's Paul? I really need to talk to him.” I was dancing from foot to foot in my excitement.

“Not until you tell me what you're trying to say.” Chief Dalton moved to stand between me and the door. One look at her told me she wasn't going to budge until I told her what she wanted to know.

“Philip killed Jessica,” I said. “But you don't know why, do you?”

“He didn't give a reason. A man like that rarely needs one to kill someone. He not only confessed to her murder, but at least three others. I spent most of the night listening to him.”

Which meant she was running on fumes by now. I imagine she'd gotten only a few hours of rest before coming back in, more than likely to continue questioning Mr. Carlisle.

“It's because he was hired to kill her,” I said. “That's why he didn't say why.”

“By whom?”

“I . . .” Some of the oomph went out of me. “I'm not sure.”

“Then how do you know he was hired?”

“It's all in the nose!”

Skepticism flashed across her features, and maybe a little bit of pity. I wasn't doing a very good job of sounding sane. “Now, Krissy, we can't have you running all over town, accusing every suspicious person of wrongdoing, all because you have a hunch. You need to provide solid evidence. Facts.”

“It's more than a hunch,” I said. I was already regretting coming to the police station. I should have called Paul, told him where I was going, and went ahead and gone on my own. It was what I would have done before everyone started telling me to be more careful. See what I get for listening?

Chief Dalton still didn't look impressed, so I pressed on.

“I saw a photograph. The more I think about it, the more certain I am that it is the key to this whole thing. If I can just talk to Paul, he'll understand. He'll believe me.” The last came out at a near whimper.

“I'm not saying I don't believe you.” Patricia sighed. “But we have to follow protocol here. Do you have any evidence that Mr. Carlisle was hired for the murder? What photograph are you talking about?”

“Chief?” To my relief, Paul strode out of the police station in full uniform. He appeared as tired as his mom, which was as tired as I felt, but boy did he look great right then. “What's going on?”

“Ms. Hancock here believes we have the wrong guy in custody.”

“Not the wrong guy,” I said, clarifying. “Just not all of them.”

It was Paul's turn to give me a skeptical look. “What are you trying to say? He confessed, and never once mentioned someone else.”

I took a deep breath and let it out in a frustrated huff. I'd hoped to keep much of what I thought I knew to myself. If I told them everything, then I was positive I'd be left behind when it came time for the interview I was hoping to be a part of. This wasn't the mansion where Paul had little other choice.

“We need to talk to Terry Blandino.”

“Terry?” Patricia asked. By the sound of her voice, I could tell she knew him personally. I'd need to be careful here. “Why?”

“I think he knows more about Philip's motives than he let on before.”

The Daltons shared a look and then as one, turned to me, neither looking as if they were about to jump into a car and drive me to the man's house.

“Please, Paul,” I said, focusing on him. “If you take me there, I'll explain everything on the way.”

“Krissy, I don't know. . . .”

“If I'm wrong, you can arrest me for interfering or disturbing the peace or whatever you want. But I'm not wrong. I know it!”

Paul scratched the back of his head and looked to his mother. “She's been right before.”

“And wrong just as many times,” she said, deflating my hopes. After a short pause, she added, “But I think it might be worth checking out, especially if it earns us a motive. If Mr. Carlisle backtracks on his statement, I'd like to have some more proof, just in case.”

My knees just about gave out in my relief. “Thank you,” I said to both of them. “You won't regret it.”

“We'll see about that.” Patricia smiled as she said it.

I started for my car, but Paul veered off toward his own. I followed after, figuring it was probably a better idea, anyway. I didn't know where Terry lived. I hadn't thought to look it up before I came.

“Shouldn't we take your cruiser?” I asked as he opened his car door.

“I haven't been home,” he said. “Once we do this, I'm going to get myself a little sleep.”

Paul got into the driver's seat and allowed me to ride up front with him. His costume sat in the backseat in a rumpled pile. He gave me a long, steady look before starting the car and saying, “I hope this is worth it.”

“It is,” I promised him.

We started down the road, and he immediately started in. “Now, tell me what you know.”

I told him pretty much everything I told his mom, but little else. Call me paranoid, but I didn't want him to drop me off at the side of the road, or worse, make me sit in the car, just outside Terry's house. This was my epiphany, so I thought I deserved to be involved in the questioning.

He wasn't happy, but at least he didn't pull over and force me to tell him what I knew. It was why I wanted to go with Paul Dalton, rather than any of the other cops. For whatever reason, I found him easier to manipulate, though I didn't like to think of it as manipulation. Easy to convince to my way of thinking sounded far better.

After a fifteen-minute drive, we entered the hills that gave Pine Hills its name. Another five minutes and we pulled into a long, paved driveway. The house sat on a hill overlooking a man-made lake. Unlike the Yarborough driveway, the Blandino one was graded properly. A dock sat in the lake, and another small house sat on its shore. A small boat leaned against it. It looked dry from where we sat, but I could imagine Terry taking the boat out daily, enjoying the sun and breeze.

I was insanely jealous.

“Does everyone living in the hills have a place like this?” I grumbled as we got out of the car.

Paul snorted. “Seems like it, doesn't it?”

I let him lead the way to the front door. He rang the doorbell and stepped back, hands behind his back. It took only a few seconds before the door opened and Terry Blandino appeared, dressed as if he was about to go horseback riding. He even carried a riding crop in one hand. I hadn't seen horses on the way in, but then again, I hadn't seen the back of the property, either. As far as I knew, he had an entire stable back there, along with a racetrack and meadow.

“May I help you?” he asked, eyes flickering toward me before firming on Paul. It was obvious by the downturn of his mouth, he wasn't happy to see us.

“We'd like to ask you a few questions,” Paul said. “Would it be all right if we came in?” He didn't flash his badge like they did on TV and the movies. He spoke in a friendly manner, as if we were all going to have a nice little tea party.

Terry didn't seem soothed by his tone. “What is this regarding?”

Paul looked to me since I hadn't fully told him why we were here.

“It's about Elaine,” I said. And then, after a brief pause, I added, “And her relationship to Howard Yarborough.”

Terry Blandino wasn't a dark-skinned man, so seeing someone so light pale so completely was actually a little frightening. He took a step back, as if he might faint, before catching himself and turning it into a smooth step to the side.

“Well, I guess you'd better come in then.”

We followed him into the quiet house, down a short hall, and into a sitting room. There was a fireplace, but no fire. He motioned toward the couch and took a chair of his own. He practically collapsed in it.

“Is anyone here with you, Mr. Blandino?” Paul asked. He'd noticed the tomb-like silence, too.

“No,” Terry said. “I wanted time alone, so I sent everyone out. I thought it would help me clear my head, but the silence got to me. I was about to go for a ride when you knocked.”

“We're truly sorry to disturb you,” I said. “I'm sure this won't take long.”

Terry waved off my comment. He shifted to sit at the edge of his chair, seemingly unable to sit back and relax. It was a wonder his leg wasn't jiggling up and down. If I'd been in his shoes, I wouldn't have been able to sit still at all.

“What did you want to ask me?” he asked. From the tone of his voice, he already knew what I was going to say. “You wanted to speak about Elaine?”

“She's your daughter, right?” I took point since I was the one who knew why we were there. “From your former marriage?”

His eyes held mine steadily. “That's right.”

“Why did you get a divorce?”

A slight pinching at the corners of his eyes told me he wasn't thrilled about this line of questioning. If Paul hadn't been there, I imagine he would have told me to take a hike.

Instead, he answered, “Irreconcilable differences.”

I let it pass. “When I found out Elaine was your daughter, I was surprised,” I said, sitting back. “She looks nothing like you.”

“So?” Terry said, stiff as a board. “Not every child takes after both parents.”

“But I think Elaine did.”

Paul leaned forward. “Is this going somewhere, Krissy?”

I nodded. “Of course it is.” I focused back on Terry. “When I needed to change out of my costume, thanks to an unfortunate trek through the mud, Margaret Yarborough let me use her personal bathroom to clean up in. She left the clothes I was to wear in her bedroom. As I was getting changed, I noticed a photograph on her dresser, one of her late husband, Howard.”

Terry shifted in his seat, all the world looking like a rat who realized he was already caught in the trap.

I went on when he didn't respond right away. “Howard had a, shall we say, a very distinctive facial feature. When I saw it, I was bothered because I swore I'd seen it somewhere before, yet I couldn't place it. I thought he'd come in for a cup of coffee or I'd seen him around town somewhere, but that wasn't it, was it?”

Terry closed his eyes for a long couple of seconds before opening them again. When he did, there was resignation in his gaze. “No, it wasn't.”

“Elaine,” I said. “I talked to her at the party. She's very nice, but was confused as to why she'd been invited to a party where she knew no one but you.” I paused a heartbeat before going on. “I couldn't figure it out. I didn't even know why you would invite her since she was living with her mother, a woman you left without much to her name.”

“She's provided for, as is Elaine,” Terry said, defensive. “I didn't abandon them, despite what she says.” He ground his teeth together and spoke the last through them. “What she did.”

“And what did she do?” Paul asked.

Terry's head moved glacially slow as he turned to look at Paul. “She cheated on me.”

The air felt heavy as silence stretched on for a few moments before I said, “With Howard Yarborough.”

Paul tensed as if he thought Terry might leap across the room at us, though the other man seemed only to sag in on himself. “You didn't think to tell us this before?”

“At the time, I wasn't sure it was relevant,” Terry said. “And this is the sort of thing you don't want to get around if you can help it. My wife's infidelity wasn't something I reveled in, not like these other fools who thought screwing around with someone else's loved ones was perfectly acceptable behavior.”

That was something we could both agree upon.

“So you were embarrassed by it,” I said. “You didn't want people to know your wife cheated on you, that it was the reason you left her. You didn't want it to get out that the daughter you supposedly had together wasn't really your daughter at all.”

Terry sighed. “I don't know how no one else saw it,” he said. “It was as plain as . . .” He trailed off and frowned, so I finished for him.

“As the nose on her face.”

He nodded, clearly bitter. “I couldn't take it. I tried, but every time I saw her, it reminded me of what happened. Margaret knew about the affair and about Elaine, as did Howard. But otherwise, we kept it our secret. Not even Elaine knows who her real father is.” A panicked look came into his eyes then. “Please don't tell her. It would ruin what little relationship we have, and I fear it would crush her mother.”