Framed to Death (A Faith Hunter Scrap This Mystery Book 4) (15 page)

EIGHTEEN

“I don’t need an escort.” I exited my car and stomped toward my front door. I didn’t know if my attitude resulted from holding back grief over Charlie’s death, Ted ordering Jasper to go with me to replace my phone and then follow me home, or a combination of both. Ted had stayed at Made With Love to secure the scene and wait for the coroner to finish.

“I’d agree with you, except you keeping showing up in places that tick off Detective Roget. Powell’s murder just complicated this case.”

“
Now
it’s complicated?” I unlocked the door.

“With Dawn’s disappearing act, the public believes she had more to do with the sale of the drugs than just be being married to Chad. And you’ve been helping her. I’d advise you to stay inside.”

I harrumphed a reply.

“I didn’t hear a yes from you,” Jasper said.

A shut door was my response.

I pressed my ear to the door, listening for Jasper to pull out of my driveway. I frowned. Nothing. What was the guy doing? I wandered over to the window and pulled back the curtain.

Jasper had walked over to Mrs. Barlow’s house. Even from across the street, I could feel the happiness radiating from Mrs. Barlow as she bobbed her head up and down, a beaming smile decorating her face. Jasper hugged her.

Butterflies took flight in my stomach. I had just been had. Moments later, Mrs. Barlow exited her house with a small square black bag and a canopy sports chair. She set up the chair, angling it toward my house. Shrugging off the strap of the bag, she settled into the chair and leaned over to pull items from her bag. With a jaunty wave toward me, she placed a notebook and a pair of binoculars on her lap, and a water bottle went into the chair’s cupholder.

I should’ve just promised Jasper I’d stay put. I sat in the chair near the window and picked up a book from the coffee table. I planned on reading a few pages, then checking to see if Mrs. Barlow had gone inside yet. She’d have to take a potty break sooner or later.

Hours later, I conducted another Mrs. Barlow check. She waved at me. I let go of the curtain. I hated doing nothing. There was no way I was getting out of the house without her squealing on me. I was sure if I said I was going out for a bite to eat, Mrs. Barlow would tag along. I didn’t want her knowing what I was up to, and more importantly, I didn’t want Ted finding out.

My whole being felt jittery, especially knowing Mitchell was building a case against me. This all started because the teens lied. I had to talk with Hannah. I glanced down at my sneakered feet. Walking was good for a person. I decided against calling Hannah, opting to make it a surprise visit. I’d grab a flashlight, then I was ready. I tugged on a hoodie, zipping it all the way up, and dropped the flashlight down the front. Pressing the flashlight to my side so it didn’t slip out of my hoodie, I went out the back door. It might take me a few attempts before I made it over the back fence with one arm.

I was right. It took three tries before I got up and over the fence. Fortunately, I landed safely on the other side, and my neighbor had their Labrador in the house when I made my escape. I wasn’t worried about the dog attacking me, just licking me to death. Howard was an overly friendly dog with no boundaries whatsoever.

The streets were quiet. I swept the light back and forth across the ground. At the next town meeting, I’d suggest sidewalks for all areas of town, not just ones in family neighborhoods. I walked as close to the trees as possible without becoming one with them. If Ted got wind of my “prison break,” he’d send out a search party, and I was sure in his irritation, he’d dub Mitchell the leader. The trek was longer than I thought and the night had turned cold. When I headed out, eight blocks hadn’t seemed that far, but after walking up the third hill, I was regretting my hasty decision of not calling.

After some more heavy breathing and exertion, I reached the Hanson house. There were lights on. Good. I wasn’t disturbing anyone’s slumber. I rang the bell and waited. I stamped my feet, trying to stay warm. I pressed the doorbell again.

The curtain moved back a sliver. Two blue eyes peered at me then vanished.

“Come on, I see you, Hannah.” Or maybe it was Charlotte. Mother and daughter had the same color eyes.

I heard voices arguing in harsh whispers. I debated turning myself into a nuisance, but realized it ruined the whole plan of Ted not finding out. My trip might be in vain. I walked around on the porch. The air felt colder when I stood still.

Finally, the door opened. I rushed inside. “It’s cold out there.”

“I didn’t hear your car.” Hannah looked out the door. “Where is it?”

“I walked.”

“Why?”

“Long story.” Sooner or later someone would check up on me. It had been a long time since I snuck out of my house. The first and last time I had done it I was seventeen—and I got caught. “Why were you at Made With Love the night of the fire?”

Hannah drew back, opening and closing her mouth like an oxygen-starved fish.

“I don’t have time for niceties. Karen England plans on proving Felicity lied. When she’s successful, the police will come to ask you questions.”

“I wasn’t there,” Hannah said.

“You were already there when your mom and I arrived.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” Hannah ran into the living room and threw herself on the couch. School books, notebooks, and index cards slipped to the floor.

I felt a little bad for making her cry, but there was no way I’d go to prison to cover up for her. “I don’t want to do anything to you. I’m trying to keep myself out of jail. Officer Mitchell has his sights set on me.”

“I swear I had nothing to do with the fire or Mr. Carr’s death. I wasn’t there.” Hannah raised her tear-stained face toward me.

“I saw you there. So did Detective Roget and Officer Mitchell. Try again.” My patience and temper were being pushed beyond their limits.

“I got there after my mom. I took Brandon there. He told me his mom went to the bonfire to catch the kids with the Janie. He was worried the football players would hurt her. That stuff can make people crazy violent.” Hannah gathered up the items on the floor, placing them on a pile of fashion magazines and catalogs for manicurist supplies.

A little bit of my sympathy returned for Hannah. She knew her friend wasn’t physically able to help his mom, so she accompanied him. “Where were you when Brandon called? We went to find you.”

“At Daniel’s house.” Hannah blushed and lowered her gaze to the floor.

“Daniel Burke? The volunteer firefighter guy?”

She nodded.

“At night?”

Hannah huffed out a breath. “Yes. I snuck out to spend a couple of hours with him. Daniel always takes me back home. I don’t spend the night there.”

Gee, that made it better.

“Daniel didn’t want me at the bonfire. Said it would be nothing but trouble.” Hannah sat cross-legged on the couch. The girl couldn’t keep still.

“At least the man has some sense.”

“When my mom saw I’d left, she called my cell. I told my mom I was with Felicity at Made With Love, that I had promised to help find the drugs.” She changed positions again, now slouching against the armrest.

“You have to tell your mom the truth.” The web woven was growing thicker and thicker.

“I can’t tell my mom.” She bolted upright, kicking the stack of books, magazines, and catalogs to the floor. “She’ll kill Daniel.”

“I’m sure she won’t.” Hurt him, yes. Kill him, doubtful.

“She will.”

The front door opened. “I will what?” Charlotte walked in, frowning at me.

“Give Faith a ride home. She broke down.” Hannah rushed out the words.

I occupied myself with picking up the scattered items from the floor. Underneath an order form with a lot of cross-outs was a Vulcan Catering business card. My mind flicked back to the night this all started for me. Charlotte had said she was meeting with an insurance agent.

“I’ll bring some pizza home,” Charlotte said, motioning for me to move it along.

“Thanks, Mom.” Hannah beamed at her. “See you later, Faith.”

“So what’s going on? Really?” Charlotte asked the moment my derrière touched the passenger seat.

“I wanted to know where Hannah was the night of the fire.” I buckled up as the truck shot backwards.

“You have no right to question my child when I’m not home.”

“It’s because of you and your child I’m in this mess. Hannah let the police believe I brought the drug to the girls.”

“Hannah fibbed. She was scared. Don’t worry, no one thinks you’re a drug dealer.”

“Officer Mitchell does. And he thinks I’m a murderer. Karen says there is no way Felicity was capable of killing Chad Carr, and another man was murdered after Felicity was locked up.”

“She could’ve done it beforehand.” Charlotte weaved around a pothole.

“No. People saw me talking to the man on Monday. He worked for the insurance agency and was investigating the fires. The company was suspicious about paying out on three policies in this little area.”

“I don’t blame them. I’d look twice too.” Charlotte glanced into the rearview mirror and frowned.

“Are we being followed?” I turned around. A dark-colored truck turned onto the crossroad.

“A little too close to my bumper. I hate tailgaters.”

I shivered. Was it the same person who shot at me and Ted?

“You okay?” Charlotte fixed a concerned motherly look on me.

“I’m fine. All of this is bringing up bad memories.”

“I’m sorry, Faith.” She squeezed my shoulder. “I know trying to protect my daughter is costing you. I promise you won’t go to jail. I won’t let it get that far.”

“Easy to say, harder to do when the time comes.”

“We know you didn’t kill Carr. I didn’t kill him. Hannah didn’t. And it seems Karen has enough to prove Felicity didn’t. So that leaves…” Charlotte trailed off.

“Allan Sullivan. Felicity is lying either because she wants the hero’s reward for killing the criminal, or she’s protecting her husband.”

NINETEEN

Nightmares had kept me tossing and turning all night. Every time I closed my eyes, Charlie’s face—alive and dead—filled my head. Our conversation played over and over like a song on repeat. I tried grasping what my subconscious demanded I knew, but the lack of sleep hindered rather than helped. The one image that was a constant in every reenactment was Charlie’s interest in the burnt grass circle. It was like the ring held the answer to finding the murderer and their reason for it.

I had taken some photos on my phone. A clue was in those pictures. Fortunately, the salesclerk at the cell phone store was able to transfer all of my data over. I sprang from the bed, unplugging the new cell from the charger, and raced to my office.

In a few seconds, I’d downloaded them onto my computer. I brought up the picture folder and enlarged the photos to fit the monitor screen. I tapped the mouse, going through each photograph. The circle around the building was nearly perfect. No way it had happened naturally. I didn’t know much about starting fires, but I knew a Google search would tell me everything I wanted to know.

I scanned through the search results, stopping on one titled “Using Bonfires for Controlled Burns.” As I read the article, fear and anger grew inside of me. During planned fires, a black line was created to reduce the amount of material consumed by the flames. Small fires—back burning—were created to “burn back towards the main fire.”

The circle on the ground was the “black line” established to make sure the fire started at Made With Love didn’t branch out too far from the building. Someone in the know set the fire.

My mind flickered to the business card I had found at the game after I spotted Chad talking to someone. Had someone stolen my camera because they were afraid I caught them meeting with him?

All the businesses that had burned down were insured by Allan Sullivan. Was that why Felicity turned herself in? To save her husband? It had to raise suspicions, especially in a small town, that one insurance agent sold the policies to all the businesses that sustained fire damage.

Saturday night, Jim Ryland had been upset when I opened his register. Had he been worried that I’d seen the Vulcan Catering business card?

I felt sick. Had Allan found a way to increase his income by causing a few fires in order to pick up more business clients? Was Allan working with someone in the volunteer fire squad? Or was I totally off-base?

God, I really hoped I was off-base. I liked Allan. I liked Felicity. It was easier to consider the people you didn’t like as possible murderers.

There were two people who held some of the answers: Felicity Sullivan and Fire Chief Ridley. Only Felicity could tell me if she was afraid her husband was guilty—or knew he was. And Charlie had planned on talking to Fire Chief Ridley, so part of the answer must be at the firehouse. Did Charlie ever get there, or had he been killed before—or because of—his questions?

I decided to visit Chief Ridley first. Felicity wasn’t going anywhere.

The fire station looked deserted when I pulled up outside the building. The fire department was manned by volunteers and didn’t have someone there twenty-four/seven. Next door, the bowling alley’s parking lot was almost at capacity. Ridley was probably helping his wife out with their business. I turned in the direction of the bowling alley, planning on asking him to let me in.

What if Chief Ridley had something to do with the fires?

I let the voice get to me and looked for my own way in. Five feet above my head were windows placed around the station like decorative flowers on a birthday cake. Every twelve feet there was another window. If I parked my car on the side of the building away from the alley, I could stand on the top and look inside; not as good as actually getting into the building, but better than nothing.

I glanced around the adjoining parking lots of the fire station and bowling alley. Only one other car was in the fire station lot. No time like the present. I parked my car right alongside the brick wall, the passenger side just inches from it. I climbed onto the hood, then stood on top of the car, bracing my hands on the windowsill. Leaning forward, I peeked into the truck bay, barely making out anything at all. I needed a little more height.

Standing on my toes, I stretched my neck farther, hoping to get a tiny glimpse of what was on the other side of the bay.

A shotgun racked behind me. “Don’t move!”

I held onto the ledge for dear life, afraid to even flatten my feet to get better balance.

“The police are on the way.”

“Can I sit? I might slip off the car.” I hoped the person holding the weapon was a gentleman—and not the killer.

“Faith Hunter, is that you?” Fire Chief Norman Ridley peered into my face. “Wait until your grandmothers hear about this.”

“I’d rather they didn’t.” If he intended to tattle on me, then he wasn’t hiding anything.

“Too late,” another voice joined in the conversation.

Ted. How did he always turn up when I was in an unexplainable situation? Or at least one I didn’t want to explain.

“Get down from there.” Ted held out his arms to help me down.

“I can manage.”

I didn’t want his help. It made it too easy for Ted to twirl me to place handcuffs on my wrists. I sat, inching my way down the front windshield and hood.

“You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you.” Ridley unloaded the shotgun, pocketing the cartridge. “What in the world are you doing?”

I umm-ed and ahh-ed a non-response.

“Faith.”

It had been a while since I heard Ted say my name in that warning tone. I still hated it. “I had an idea and wanted to explore it. I was afraid if I went to you, you’d get in trouble.”

Ted groaned. “You need to stay out of this.”

“It’s hard to when a police officer and a reporter are determined to prove you’re guilty of the crime,” I said. “If you or Steve try helping me, your jobs are in jeopardy.”

“If you wanted a tour, Faith, all you have to do is ask.” Ridley’s deep twang held a whole lot of amusement at my expense.

“Charlie Powell was coming to talk to you on Monday,” I said. “I wanted to find out what you told him.”

“That’s not for you to ask.” Ted’s face turned a darker shade of red.

“I took that day off and spent some time at the casino in Rocky Gap. Me and the missus decided to overnight it there,” Norman said.

“The whole day?” Ted asked.

“I know everyone in town thinks my life is just firefighting and bowling, but I use quality time to keep my woman happy.” Ridley waggled his eyebrows up and down.

That was something Norman could’ve left off the police-and-Faith-need-to-know list.

“I’d like to take a look around,” Ted said. “Charlie Powell was murdered, and I was told you were likely the last person he saw. He was headed over to talk to you.”

Ridley shook his head. “I didn’t talk to him.”

“Are you sure?” I asked. “He was blond. A little over six feet tall. Sturdy build. Had a limp. He was a fraud and fire investigator for the company where Chad Carr bought his insurance.”

“’Course I’m sure. As I said, I wasn’t here on Monday.”

“Charlie told me he was coming to talk to you. There was something about the Carr fire that bothered him,” I said, my voice hinting at my frustration.

“I can handle this, Faith. You should head back to Scrap This,” Ted said.

“I wish I’d been here. There’s something been nagging me and Daniel about it too. Then there’s…never mind.” Ridley took a keyring from his pocket. “You’re welcome to look around.”

“You should tell us what’s troubling you. It might be helpful,” I said.

“He shouldn’t tell you anything.” Ted turned me around by my shoulder and gave my rear a little swat. “You should head off to work.”

“I’m not a child.”

I walked through the open bay door.

“Might as well let her come,” Ridley said. “She’ll just come back later on her own. Best to know what catches her eye.”

“I suppose you’re right about that,” Ted said. “She’ll cause less turmoil when I’m watching her.”

I narrowed my eyes, wishing I could shoot laser beams to scorch his backside a little.

“Can I ask a question, Norman?”

“Sure, darling.”

Ted groaned.

“How did you know I was out here?”

“Easy peasy. Daniel lives in the apartment complex up on the hill. He can see the station from here. He was out on his balcony and saw a car parking on the side, got curious, and used his bird-watching binoculars to get a look-see. Saw someone trying to get inside and gave me a call. I could get here a lot quicker, and Daniel doesn’t own a gun.”

Good to know. I might need to take some of those investigating classes Ted’s brother Bob Roget taught. If I was the go-to girl for anyone getting in trouble in Eden, I needed to brush up on my butting-in tactics. A lot of people had an easy time figuring out when I was up to something.

Ridley walked around a large black truck parked in one of the vehicle slots. He kicked the tire. A clump of dried dirt dropped from the deep ridges of the tire. “Now, why did that boy park this beast in here?”

The truck looked like the one driven by the person who shot at us yesterday, and possibly the one I saw Saturday night at Piece A Pie. The look Ted fixed on me sent a shiver down my back, and not the good kind. He wanted me silent, and this time I obeyed.

“Whose truck is it?” Ted knelt down and picked up the wad of dirt. “Do you normally have personal vehicles in the bay?”

I sidled up to Ted and looked at it. The grass was dark brown, either from being burnt, or from no longer being in the ground.

“Hell no. Now I need to find out where the response vehicle is,” Norman ranted. “Daniel sees Faith pull up, but can’t see anyone swiping it? What’s the good in paying him to keep an eye on things when he doesn’t notice this?”

“I’d say whoever owns this truck is driving your missing car.”

“That’s the last thing I need, my no-good son-in-law trolling around town in my vehicle.”

Ted forced out a smile. “Come on, Norm, that doesn’t help me out. You say that about each of them.”

“Andrew. The one I had to suspend off the squad a month ago. I told Debi to stay away from him. Knew he was no good from the day I met him.”

Why would Andrew drive his own truck when he was going to shoot at the police? It was a good way to get caught, and quickly.

“Why are you interested in this truck?” Ridley’s eyes widened. “Have anything to do with the man you’re asking about?”

“A car similar to this one drove by and shot at me and Faith yesterday,” Ted said.

Ridley worked his jaw back and forth, face reddening as he evil-eyed the truck. “When I got back, one of the gals working in the kitchen said Andrew called in sick on Monday. Drunk would be more the truth. I’m not that much of a danged fool. The last month, he’s either been drinking or boasting. He’s never at the place he should be. My daughter’s calling her momma every night in tears because Andrew ain’t home.”

“And no one knows where he’s at?” Ted asked.

“Nope, he’s also not showing up for calls. The last call he came to, he was so drunk Wayne locked him in the fire truck.”

“When was that?”

“The night Brandon Sullivan nearly died in the wreck. Wayne told me Andrew stumbled up to the scene on foot, tried yanking Wyatt away so he could do CPR on the boy. Andrew kept saying he needed to save Brandon. The next day, I wrote it up, and then suspended him from coming to the station or on any calls until he got himself straightened out.”

“How did he get in here?” I asked.

“I keep an extra set of keys at the bowling alley. I bet he went in there and got them when no one was looking.”

“Can I get a copy of the discipline report and any records of the calls? I want to check something,” Ted said.

Ridley went over to a small office. “I’ll give you the discipline report with no warrant, Detective, but I want to know why you want the other records.”

I couldn’t help it and butted in. “Maybe it’s not the kids creating the bonfires but Andrew. The fires we’ve been having around town coincide with bonfire nights.”

“Faith—” Ted issued another name warning.

“In that case…” Ridley opened the door and strode inside the office. “Damn it!”

Ted rushed in, blocking me from entering.

I squatted and peered between Ted’s side and the door jam. The place was trashed. The computer was broken and empty file folders were strewn about. Burnt embers filled a metal trashcan.

All the evidence was gone.

Ted walked into the room, frowning as he took everything in. “I’m going to have Jasper come out and help me process all of this. We might be able to get some fingerprints and find out who did this.”

“It’s your time to waste.” Ridley stalked out of the room. “I know the answer already.”

“I’m not quite sure about that. It’s too—” Ted began.

“I know what you’re thinking, Detective.” Ridley grabbed a wrench from a toolbox, lifted up the hood of the truck, then removed something from the engine. “Thing is, Andrew isn’t a smart one. The only brilliant thing he’s ever done in his life was marry one of my girls, and the only brain-dead thing my middle girl went and done was marry him.”

“Just because he’s not the brightest color in the crayon box doesn’t make him guilty of arson or murder,” Ted said.

“I got more than that. Talk to Coach Rutherford too. There was a damn good reason the man threatened him away from the games and the bonfires.” Ridley typed out a text, his movements almost violent. “Rutherford passed on some messages Andrew sent his daughter.”

“What did the messages say?”

“Asking Whitney to meet up with him, that he needed to talk with her. The coach wasn’t happy about them, but there was nothing written to make it a police matter. Coach thought I could put the fear of God into my son-in-law.”

“And did you?” Ted asked.

“He stopped going to the bonfires.”

No, he didn’t. I’d show Ted the Instagram pictures later. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“Because he’s family. I take care of my family’s business.”

“Is that what you just did?” I pointed at his cell phone.

“Yep. Told that SOB if he got near my girl again, I’d kill him.”

“You shouldn’t say that,” I said. “If something does happen to him, Detective Roget will have to come to arrest you.”

“As he should. ’Cause I guarantee if anything happens to that lowlife, I did it.”