Mug Shot (6 page)

I stood up, pulling Pete with me. “They're ready for us.” I turned to him and put my arms around his waist. “Do you think you can do this?”

He hung his head. “No.”

“Come on. Everything will be fine, except unfortunately we have to talk to grumpy old Cromwell. Just hold it together a little while longer, okay?”

I took him by the hand, and we walked slowly back to the vendor area. The place was a freaking circus. There were people
everywhere,
and we had to shove our way through the crowd and flash our IDs to a uniformed officer to get inside the newly posted crime scene tape and back to our bench under the trees. Cromwell was there waiting for us, looking pissed off, as usual.

“Ah, Ms. Langley. Mr. Bennett. We meet again,” said Detective Cromwell, his bushy eyebrows furrowing.

“Hello, Detective,” I replied.

Pete didn't say anything, but I could feel the tension radiating off him.

“I want to start with you, Ms. Langley. Have a seat. Mr. Bennett, if you'd wait on that other bench, I'd appreciate it.”

Pete shuffled over to a bench several yards away and threw himself down onto it. I rubbed my forehead. It was going to be a long day.

I sat down next to Detective Cromwell. “I didn't do it,” I said wearily.

Cromwell chuckled, breaking out of his hard-boiled cop persona. “I figured you'd say that. And since you had a police officer with you when you found the body this time, you're nearly off the hook. I just have a few questions. Walk me through this morning.”

I told him, in detail, what had happened between my arrival at the park and finding Cecilia. He nodded while I was speaking and took a few notes.

“That's exactly what Hamilton said. Good. And how do you know the victim?”

“We went to college together, she's—she
was
dating my best friend, and I'm kind of seeing her brother.”

“So you were close, then?”

“No.”

Cromwell regarded me curiously. “Did you have a good relationship with her?”

“Since I know how you hate it when I omit things, Detective…”

“Oh, crap. Don't tell me you've been in a public altercation with Ms. Hollingsworth recently.”

I winced. “Well…”

He shook his head. “What is wrong with you?”

“If people would quit dying after I argue with them, it wouldn't be a problem,” I huffed.

He chuckled again. “That's true. Now one more thing. Where were you between eight and ten o'clock last night?”

“I was at work until nine, and then I went straight to Mixology with Stan Hollingsworth. We were there for about two hours.”

“I'm glad you have an alibi this time, Ms. Langley.”

“You and me both, Detective.”

His mustache twitched as he tried to hide a smile. “Since you fancy yourself an amateur sleuth—”

I cut him off. “No, I don't.”

My sleuthing days were over. I'd tried to do a little detective work to exonerate myself after Dave's murder, but it only ended up getting me shot at, stabbed, and nearly arrested. Never again.

“Humor me. Who do you think did it?”

“Hell if I know. I'll tell you who
didn't
do it, though. I didn't do it, and Pete didn't do it.”

“How do you know Bennett didn't do it? Was he with you last night?”

“No, but I know Pete. He doesn't have it in him. Plus, if you'd seen his face when I broke the news to him, you'd know.”

“Why didn't you include your boyfriend, Stan Hollingsworth, in your list of people who didn't do it?”

“Um, well…” Truthfully, I hadn't even given Stan a thought. My stomach tied itself in another knot as I thought about how this would affect Stan as well. Sure, he and his sister were anything but close, but they were still family. Now I had two men in my life to try to console.

“Ms. Langley, would you answer my question, please?” Detective Cromwell said, breaking me out of my thoughts.

“Sorry. Well, first, he's not my boyfriend. And second, I wasn't with him from eight to nine, so I can't speak for him or his whereabouts. I'm…sure he didn't do it, though.” Mostly sure. Stan didn't seem to be the killer type, but I could certainly understand if he harbored murderous thoughts toward Cecilia. She did not treat him well.

Cromwell narrowed his eyes at me. “You're not defending him like you did your friend Bennett. Why?”

I was treading on shaky ground here. Bottom line, I couldn't imagine Stan killing Cecilia, and I had promised to defend him. However, in light of the fact that Stan's character had been called into question after Abigail's tumble down the stairs a few days ago, it didn't look good for him that his other sister turned up dead. I knew exactly what Pete and Ryder were both going to think.

“I don't…I don't really know Stan that well.”

He pointed at me. “I think you think he did it.”

“Aren't you leading the witness or something, Detective?”

He smiled slightly. “That will be all, Ms. Langley. Thank you. By the way, due to the violent nature of this crime and the high-profile social status of the deceased, we're not divulging any details to the family or anyone just yet. If the media gets hold of this, it'll be a firestorm. What you saw is all confidential information.”

Uh-oh. “Um…I kind of already told Pete…”

Wiping a hand down his face, he said tiredly, “Send Bennett over. I'll give him the same speech.” He wagged a finger in my face. “And no more gossiping! Now get out of here.”

I hopped up, relieved to be done with my questioning. Pete was still sitting on the bench, nervously tapping his feet on the ground. Approaching him, I said gently, “Cromwell's ready to talk to you.”

Pete looked up at me and grimaced. “Does he think I did it?” he asked, his brow furrowed worriedly.

“No!” I exclaimed, kneeling down in front of him and taking his hands. “Where did that come from?”

“Isn't there some crazy statistic that it's nearly always the significant other who turns out to be the murderer?”

“Maybe, but I'm going to tell you something a really smart guy told me one time—the evidence will speak for itself. The cops will figure out that you didn't do it. Let them do their jobs.”

Glancing around, he lowered his voice. “That's the thing. My prints and DNA are all over that tent from when I set up.” He paused. “And my…DNA is going to be on Cecilia, too.”

My eyes widened. “Huh? Pete, is there something you're not telling me?”

He cut his eyes away and didn't answer me.

Before I could get anything else out of Pete, Cromwell called, “Mr. Bennett, I need you over here now.” Pete brushed past me and headed his way, leaving me staring dumbly after him.

“Juliet! Juliet!” I looked around to find the owner of the voice calling me. Stan was waving at me from the other side of the crime tape. His demeanor didn't seem distraught. Maybe he didn't know yet about his sister. My heart started aching again.

Taking a shaky breath, I walked toward Stan. He reached over the crime tape to grab me and give me a crushing hug. “Are you okay?” he asked. “Why are you on the inside of the tape?”

I didn't want to be the one to break the news to another of Cecilia's loved ones, but I didn't see any other way around it. I hugged him back, beginning hesitantly, “Thanks for worrying about me, but I'm fine. Stan…did you hear what happened?”

“Yes, Cecilia was murdered. I can't believe it.” I couldn't see his face because he was still squeezing me, but from the unemotional way he spoke, he sounded unaffected. It was like he didn't really care, or Cecilia's death wasn't news to him. Either way, it sent a slight chill through me.

I stepped back from him, but reached out to take his hands. “I'm so sorry about your sister.”

He regarded me for a moment, and then his face fell into a grimace. “Right. Yes, thank you. I'm still in shock.” He leaned in to me, lowering his voice. “Do you have any inside information? She was found in the Java Jive tent, right?”

Having been told in no uncertain terms that the details of the crime scene weren't to be repeated, I hedged, “Yeah, she was found in our tent.” That part wasn't a secret, because the tent had been thoroughly wrapped in crime scene tape.

“Was that a cop you were talking to just now?”

“Yes.”

“Do they have any suspects yet?”

“I don't know, Stan. I probably shouldn't—”

“Well, well, well. If it isn't my favorite troublemaker,” drawled a familiar, grating voice. I turned to find Don Wolfe, a sleazy reporter who had mercilessly hounded me about Dave's murder, trying to push his way in between Stan and me. Great. That was just what I needed.

I jumped back, far out of the reach of that slimy little man. “Oh, no. You get away from me, you vulture.”

Not one to be deterred, he replied, “I heard you found another body. Care to give me an exclusive on the murder of Cecilia Hollingsworth? You're not a person of interest again, are you?”

“Go to hell, Wolfe,” I barked, crossing my arms and sneering at him.

He snapped a picture of me with his camera. “This should look fantastic on the front page. I'm thinking ‘Local Woman Finds Second Dead Body: Coincidence or Conspiracy?' for the headline. What do you think?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “I think you're a jackass, but you already know that.”

Wolfe smiled his smarmy smile at me. “Ah, and you're still bitchy and unwilling to cooperate.”

Stan just stood there and watched our exchange, dumbfounded. My knight in shining armor, he was not. The last time Don Wolfe called me a bitch, Ryder physically threw him out of Java Jive.

“Yep, I am,” I replied, feeling the overwhelming need to get the hell away from the little creep. Turning to Stan, I said, “I'm sorry to leave you like this, but I need to go. Will you be okay?”

He sighed. “It's going to be a rough day, and I should probably get home to Mother. We'll talk soon.”

After giving him a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek, I took off across the lawn to get as far away from Don Wolfe as possible.

As I was shivering in the cold and impatiently waiting for Pete to finish talking to Cromwell, Ryder came up to me. “You look upset,” he said, studying my face. “Cromwell in a foul mood today?”

Shaking my head, I replied, “No, he was actually nice for once. I just got accosted by Don Wolfe.”

“Bet that was fun.” He nodded with his chin in Stan's direction. “I'm more worried about you hanging out with Stan Hollingsworth. Looks to me like you two are still an item.”

“It's complicated. I…” I looked away, at a loss for how to express what I was thinking.

“Something's going on in that beautiful mind of yours. What is it?”

I shrugged. “Just a weird feeling. I probably shouldn't say anything.”

“You know you can tell me anything,” he said kindly.

Even more off-putting than Stan's indifference was Ryder's gentleness. I didn't exactly know how to respond.

He took my hand. “I can see you're struggling with this. Tell me.”

At his touch, goosebumps shot up my arm. With everything going on today, I didn't need to add having amorous feelings about Ryder to my list of issues. I reluctantly pulled my hand away. “It's only that Stan was acting really strange just now, asking me all kinds of questions about what's going on. He seemed almost unaffected by the fact that his sister was murdered. It bothered me.”

“Why, do you think he's hiding something and should be questioned?”

“Well, no…maybe…I don't know…”

Ryder's face didn't show any emotion, but I could have sworn I saw a twinkle in his eye. “You realize the MNPD is not going to question someone on the basis that
you
think he's ‘acting really strange,' Scooby.”

I knew his nice-guy act couldn't last long. “Oh, great. You're an asshole again. I had missed that.”

The corner of his mouth turned up. “And I had missed being able to get you all hot and bothered,” he said as he ambled away.

Savannah came walking over, her shoulders slumped and eyes red from crying. I hurried to her and gave her a hug, and she let out a sob. Patting her back, I said, “I'm so sorry about Cecilia. I know you two were friends.”

After a moment, she stepped back and wiped her eyes. “Oh, it's all so surreal. She was so full of life and energy yesterday when we were rushing around making all the last-minute preparations, and today she's…she's just…
gone
.” Savannah started quietly weeping again, and I put an arm around her to comfort her. She added, “And I can't…I can't help feeling sad that she worked so hard to put this event together…and now…and now she won't get to see all of the
good
she did.”

That was true. For as obnoxious as Cecilia had been lately, I had never seen her so passionate about a cause. I truly envied her organizational skills, which were evident in everything she did. She had worked tirelessly for months to make sure that everything was perfect, and now she wouldn't get to see her work realized. It angered me when I thought about how quickly and senselessly her life had been cut short.

“You both really put your all into this event. It was shaping up to be such a wonderful day.” I asked hesitantly, “Are you…planning to go on with the 5K?”

Savannah shrugged. “That's why I'm over here. I guess I'm sort of in charge now, and the police have to give us the all clear before we can do anything.” She looked at me with an uncertain expression on her face. “I don't know what to do, Juliet. Do we go ahead with the festivities as planned, or do we cancel everything? Neither way feels right to me, but I have to make a decision. Is it better to see that Cecilia's work is carried out, or is it more appropriate to give people time to grieve?”

“That's a tough decision. I think you should do what you believe Cecilia would have wanted. Her friends and family need time to mourn, but on the other hand, you could turn the day into a major tribute to her. I think she would have loved that.”

She brightened a little. “What a wonderful idea, Juliet. That way we could be reverent
and
carry out her work. I'm hardly in a state to pull everything off by myself, though. The 5K is ready to go, but I could really use a smart, hardworking lady to help me with the ball tonight…”

“I don't know, Savannah…”

Grabbing my hand, she pleaded, “Come on, Juliet! I need the help. You're going to be there anyway. Might as well make yourself useful.”

Wrinkling my brow, I replied, “I've never even been to a big fundraiser gala before. What if I screw everything up?”

“If you can run a coffeehouse, you can easily do this. All of the preparations are done, for the most part, so the party should run itself. I'm just going to need someone I can count on to help me make sure the evening goes off without a hitch. My other friends aren't exactly hard workers like you and Cecilia,” she said, looking at me hopefully.

It was difficult to say no to Savannah. I relented, “Okay, fine.”

“Oh, thank you! I know I'll be able to keep it together if you're there to help me,” she cried, hugging me.

Ryder approached us. He said, “Mrs. Worthington, I'm Detective Hamilton. I believe we met at Mrs. Hollingsworth's funeral repast. I'd like to speak to you now about the race, and then Detective Cromwell has a few questions for you as well.”

Wiping her eyes, Savannah replied, “Yes, sir.”

He turned to me. “Ms. Langley, if you'd excuse us.”

“Sure thing,
Detective Hamilton
,” I replied, rolling my eyes at him as I walked away.

Pete was just getting up from his interview with Detective Cromwell, so I headed over to meet him. He looked jittery and anxious. I put a hand on his arm and asked, “Are you okay?”

He was shaking. “I need to get out of here, Jules. I'm going crazy.”

“Let me find out if we can leave, and then I'll take you home, okay?”

I hurried over to Detective Cromwell. “Hey, Detective. Are you done with Pete and me? He's having a hard time with all of this. I want to take him home.”

He said gruffly, “Yes, I'm done with you both for now. There's no reason for you to stick around, because the crime scene techs aren't going to let you back in your tent today. However, I may need to speak with Bennett again later.”

“Why?”

“Don't give me any of your sass, young lady!” he sputtered. Cromwell had the stick back up his ass for some reason.

I held up my hands in mock surrender. “Sorry.”

He began flipping through his notebook. “And I'm going to need to talk to your two employees who helped Bennett set up the tent last night. What were their names again?”

“Cole McBain and Shane Emerson. They'll both be at Java Jive after two today.”

“Thank you. You can go now.”

Grateful at least this part of the nightmare was over, I headed back and grabbed Pete, steering him toward my car. Coming here early had gotten me a great parking spot, but it also got me hemmed in by a couple of cop cars. So we continued on to Pete's car, which was easier to get out of the lot.

He tossed me the keys. “You drive.”

Now I was even more worried. Pete always drove, especially in his own car. I didn't make a crack about it, but I watched him out of the corner of my eye as we drove the few blocks to his house. He didn't look right. There was something more going on that he wasn't telling me. I let us into the house, and he immediately flopped down on his couch, face-first.

“Pete,” I said sharply.

“What?” he fired back angrily, not raising his head.

“You're hiding something from me.”

“Am not.”

“Peter James Bennett, sit your ass up and talk to me. Now.”

He sat up, his face red and angry. “Yes, Mom. What do you want to talk about? The fact that my girlfriend was murdered last night, or that the cops think I did it?”

I didn't back down. “Yes. That's exactly what I want to talk about. There's something you're not telling me. I can see it in your eyes.”

Pete glared at me for a moment, and then dejectedly put his head in his hands. His voice broke as he admitted, “She was cheating on me, Jules.”

My heart sank. I
knew
Cecilia wasn't good enough for him. I had only told him so about a million times. But I was not about to say it again now. I sat down next to him on the couch and put my arm around him. “Oh, Pete. I'm so sorry.”

He turned to me, his eyes strained. “She died less than two hours after I left her. If I hadn't gotten so angry…maybe if I'd tried to talk to her instead of bailing…if we'd even gone somewhere else to talk…”

I saw where he was going with this, and I didn't like it. “This is
not
your fault, Pete,” I insisted. “You cannot blame yourself for something someone else did.”

He wiped a hand down his face. “If I could have been a little more understanding—”

“Understanding? She cheated on you. You don't have to be understanding about that! And you don't have a crystal ball. There's no way in hell you could have anticipated what was going to happen to her.”

Pulling away from me, he got up and began pacing around the room.

I continued more gently, “Pete, I know it's your thing to help people, and everyone loves you for it. But this was something that was simply out of your control. You can't beat yourself up over this. I won't let you.”

He stopped pacing and looked at me with a miserable expression. “She wasn't the only one who died last night.”

“
What?
What the hell are you talking about? Who else died?”

Pete looked away and replied quietly, “Cecilia was pregnant.”

I felt like I had been kicked in the gut. My jaw dropped, and I couldn't speak or even breathe. The thought of Pete having a child with Cecilia made me physically ill. However, I willed myself to not react, because this situation was not about me or my feelings.

“It wasn't mine,” he added, his voice sounding hurt.

Overwhelmingly relieved, I let out a pent-up breath. “I know it has to suck to find out something like that, but you have to admit you dodged a bullet there.” Being forever attached to Cecilia was something I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. Immediately feeling callous when I saw the tortured look on his face, I added, “Sorry, Pete. That came out badly.”

Wordlessly, he went and poured himself a drink. It was a little early for a drink, but he seemed to need it, so I didn't make a crack about it. As I watched him drain his glass, I mulled over the conversation we just had, and the wheels in my head started turning. Pete had to have been one of the last people to see Cecilia alive, and there were witnesses to that. She was cheating on him and pregnant with some other guy's baby. If that wasn't opportunity and motive, I didn't know what was.