Morning Cup of Murder (3 page)

Slamming her car door felt good. She wanted to repeat the process with the entry door, but it was too heavy. It closed behind her with an unsatisfyingly gentle swish.

“Who’s in charge?” she demanded before quickly realizing no one was there. Her frustration inched up another notch. If she was going to take out her frustration on random strangers, the least they could do was have the courtesy to be present.

Looking around she noted a glassed-in area in the far corner with what looked like a doorbell in front of it. She used the hem of her shirt to cover her finger before touching the button, imagining the sort of people who usually came to the jail. Her nose was still wrinkled in disgust when a tired-looking young man in a uniform stepped in front of the glass.

“I’m here for my grandmother,” she said, still not believing the words coming out of her mouth.

“Name,” he said. His bored tone told her he couldn’t care less who she was there for, or why.

“Lucinda Craig.” Her voice choked embarrassingly on her grandmother’s name.
Hold it together; be strong.
Always before her grandmother had been the stalwart protector. Having the shoe on the other foot was a disconcerting change of pace. Lacy suddenly felt very young and vulnerable.

The officer turned and left the window without a word. Lacy leaned forward with a scowl, trying to see where he was going, but the heavy metal door he entered impeded her vision. She jumped when the door clanged. How did anyone ever get used to that chilling sound?

The officer returned a few minutes later, looking slightly less bored and harassed. “You’ll have to come back during visiting hours tomorrow,” he said.

“Why?” Lacy asked.

“Because visiting hours are over for the day,” he said.

“But I want to see my grandmother,” Lacy said. “Please.”

The guy, who looked disconcertingly younger than her twenty-five years, softened slightly and leaned forward. “Look, it’s not up to me. They’re questioning her right now, and that will probably go on for awhile. The detective in charge said she is absolutely not allowed to have visitors tonight, but you can come tomorrow during regular hours from ten to noon.”

She wasn’t sure which she wanted to do more---scream or cry. Right now crying had a slight advantage. Embarrassing tears started to well behind her eyes, and she turned away, staring at a door marked “omen.” Her imagination ran away with her, telling her the inability to see her grandmother tonight was a bad omen. Then she realized it was a bathroom and someone had peeled the “W” off the women’s sign.

I have to get out of here before I lose it completely,
she thought. She muttered her thanks to the jailer without turning around and then bolted for the exit, pushing hard against the heavy outer door. As soon as she stepped through the door, large droplets of rain pelted her face. She looked up, allowing the fat plops of water to take the place of the tears she hadn’t let fall.

“You know it’s raining.”

Lacy had no idea how long she had been standing with her eyes closed, head tipped toward the sky, but Jason now stood in front of her, his cruiser parked a few feet away across the sidewalk. Wiping the moisture off her face while scowling at him wasn’t easy, but somehow she succeeded. The rain petered out as the small cloudburst moved on.

Jason held up his hands in surrender. “Lacy, I’m not the enemy here.”

Her rational mind told her that was true, but she still had no desire to talk to him or anyone else. Especially someone who was wearing a uniform. She needed to be alone to think, to process what had just happened, and to plan her next move. Pivoting on her right foot, she tried to sidestep him, but he stepped in front of her. “Hey, ease up. Let’s go somewhere and grab some supper. We’ll talk about it.”

She stopped short, realizing he might have information she wanted. Still, she remained sullen and stubborn. “I already ate.”

“Then get something to drink. Come on; you look like you’re in shock. I can’t send you home like this.”

“I don’t want to ride in that.” She pointed behind him.

He turned to glance at his cruiser. “I have my car. Just give me a second to park this.” He started to walk toward his cruiser but paused. “Don’t leave.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her weight from one foot to another. At any other time she might have worried about her hair and makeup--which were nonexistent after her run and shower. But not now. Now she was too worried and shocked to think of anything other than how to fix her grandmother’s situation. At the very least Jason might be able to offer her some advice about what her next move should be.

She had no idea how long it took him to park his car and return to her; time had lost meaning for her. Everything felt hazy, as if she were looking through a fog. A part of her brain realized she was in shock. She could only hope the fog would fade enough for her to be able to think clearly about what needed to be done.

“Come on,” Jason said, prompting her to fall into line beside him. “Where do you want to go?”

“Don’t care,” she muttered. “Whatever sounds good to you.”

They stopped short in front of his car--a sporty-looking Jeep. The sight of the convertible vehicle without its top worked to jog her out of her stupor. “This is not going to go well for my hair,” she muttered. She noted with surprise that he was standing beside her. He opened her door and took her hand to help her into the tall car. “Thanks,” she said, blinking rapidly to try and clear her head a little more. Who knew Jason was the type of guy who opened car doors?

Since the inside of the car was dry, she guessed the car must have been parked in the covered garage behind the jail. Glancing around the interior of the car, she noticed a pencil in the console between them. “Can I use this?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said. He darted her a curious glance that turned into a stare. He watched, entranced, while she wound up her long hair and fastened it with the pencil. “I’ve only seen that done on television,” he said.

He sounded so awed that she laughed. He smiled at her and started the car. “You’re not up for a crowd, are you?” he guessed.

“Not really,” she said.

He nodded. “I have an idea.” He pulled out of the jail parking lot without another word, heading she knew not where.

Conversation was impossible while he drove. Without the top on the Jeep, the wind whistled and slashed around them, roaring in her ears. Though it was summer, the sun was setting, and the night air was beginning to turn cool. Goosebumps rose on her arms, but she did nothing to try and chafe the warmth back into them. The cold air helped clear her head so that by the time they arrived at the fast food restaurant, she was almost feeling normal.

“What do you want?” Jason asked as he turned into the drive-thru.

“Nothing,” she replied. “I already ate.”

“Drink something,” he commanded. Turning toward the speaker, he ordered a soda for her along with a burger meal for himself. They remained silent while he paid for the food, and then they were driving again. Their small town thinned out, giving way to the rolling countryside. Seeing the dusky pastures through the open Jeep was somehow soothing. Lacy had never considered herself a convertible type person, but she was rethinking things. Maybe when she could afford a car she would invest in something with a pop-top. Then she would move somewhere warm. Somewhere sane, where old ladies weren’t arrested for nothing.

Renewed thoughts of her grandmother’s predicament meant she was frowning when they pulled off the road and parked. Absently, she noted a few other cars parked several feet away. She looked around, trying to see what the attraction was that drew people here, but there was nothing but the last vestiges of the sun setting behind a hill.

“Thank you,” she replied automatically when Jason handed her a soda. She sipped in silence and watched while he downed his burger in record time.

He gave her a sheepish smile as he wiped his fingers with a napkin. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast this morning. I was starving,” he explained.

“It’s not good for you to go so long without eating,” she said.

“Duly noted,” he replied. “You want to talk about it?” He aimed the napkin toward the open food bag, lobbing it like a basketball and smiling smugly when it easily bounced in.

Lacy set her soda in the cup holder.

“You going to finish that?” Jason asked.

“Help yourself.” She passed it into his open hand, waiting to speak until he took a sip and set it aside. “I don’t understand how anyone in his right mind could think my grandmother is a murderer. She’s the sweetest person in the entire world.”

“Murderers don’t have a type,” Jason said.

“Jason,” Lacy exclaimed. “This is my grandmother we’re talking about. She’s the epitome of innocence. She thinks it’s a sin to say ‘heck’ and ‘darn.’ Someone would have to be a sociopath to murder whoever they said she murdered and then come home and bake her granddaughter a prune cake. It’s just not possible.”

“We wouldn’t have arrested her if the evidence wasn’t compelling,” Jason said. By his calm, neutral tone she couldn’t tell if he was arguing with her or simply playing devil’s advocate.

“What is the evidence?”

“I can’t tell you,” he said.

She threw up her hands in frustration. “Then why did you bring me here?”

“Because you looked like you were going to drive off a cliff if I let you go home alone.”

“What
can
you tell me?”

“The woman who was murdered was named Barbara Blake.”

“I already knew that,” Lacy said. “That rude detective said it when he arrested my grandmother. Who was she? How was she murdered? When was she murdered?” Her mind turned somersaults, trying to think up an alibi for her grandmother. If the murder happened during the night, there was no way her grandmother would have been able to sneak out unnoticed. Lacy’s room was right next to the garage.

Jason’s blank expression infuriated her further. “Let me guess: you can’t tell me,” she said. He shook his head. “I think you’re on a power trip like that detective,” she accused.

His lips pressed into a grim line. “Don’t ever compare me to Detective Brenner. I’m not a detective; I’m not even a sergeant. I’m a peon who does what I’m told, regardless of how I feel about it. The law is the law, and I’m sworn to follow it.”

She sat back slightly and tilted her head to inspect him. He had changed into a pair of khaki shorts and a polo shirt. The shirt clung to his muscled chest, outlining every sinew. A part of her mind recognized the fact that he looked good enough to eat with a spoon, but she ignored the thought. “Are you telling me you don’t think my grandmother is guilty?”

“I didn’t say that. It’s not for me to decide guilt or innocence. I can only carry out the law as it’s written.”

She blinked at him. “Jason, who talks like that?”

He grinned at her and reached over to pinch her bicep. “I do, and I’m surprised you don’t, big city writer girl.”

She sat back again, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m not a writer all the time. I have a life outside my job.”

“I don’t,” he said.

“Why not?” she asked. How could someone who looked as good as him not have a fabulous life, even if he did remain stuck in their tiny town?

“I work odd hours. And, really, who is there to hang out with? The few people who remain from high school are stoners who I usually end up arresting once a month. And then there’s you.” Now it was his turn to sit back and study her. “What are you doing here, Lacy? I thought
New York
was your dream.”

“It was,” she said.

“Then why did you come back?”

She didn’t want to talk about it, especially not with Jason. She shrugged, aiming for nonchalance. “Plans change.”

He smiled again. “Mysterious.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him. Her? Mysterious? Was he teasing her, or was he actually curious about her life? As far as she was concerned, the less he knew, the better. He picked up her soda again and took a few sips. She used the silence to scan the horizon once more. And then she sat up in alarm, looking down the row of cars beside them.

“Jason, do you know where we are?” She turned to look at him and saw him grinning at her again, clearly amused.

“How do
you
know where we are?” he asked. “Have you been here before?”

“Everyone in town knows where makeout point is,” she said.

“What an interestingly evasive answer,” he said. He leaned back slightly, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Who did you date in high school? I can’t remember.”

“Who
didn’t
you date in high school? I can’t remember.”

His smile widened. “You. I didn’t date you.”

There was a sudden atmospheric shift between them, and she wasn’t sure if it was because he was making fun of her or flirting with her. Was he reminding her of the difference in their social status during high school, or was he hinting that he wanted to date her now? Nervously, she glanced around again. “Do you come here often?”

“Every night,” he said, “when I’m on duty. I like to think I’m doing my part to keep the town’s teen pregnancy rate in check by putting the fear of God into these kids.”