Saving Scott (Kobo) (10 page)

Why are
you jumping to murder? He didn’t say that. Why can’t it be an insurance issue?
One of the Klutz Brigade broke something else and Carl’s insurance is maxed
out.

But
something told her this was more serious than he’d implied when he’d shown up
at her door. If it wasn’t serious, he wouldn’t have arrived in person, right?
At five in the morning, right? Oh, this was feeling very, very wrong.

Keep your
cool. Don’t act guilty.

And why
would she be acting guilty? She hadn’t done anything. She sucked in a breath.

“Felicity
and Elaine? Yesterday afternoon. Between four-thirty and five, I think. I was
at Elaine’s studio ordering some discount coupons for my bakery. And then
Felicity came in, and got all huffy. She left, and I finished with Elaine, and
then we went to my bakery.”

“We?” Brody
said, fixing his gaze on Scott.

Of course.
Scott had shown up wearing a towel. Did Officer Brody think they had something
going on? And speaking of goings on, what about whoever had been with him last
night? Was she waiting in Scott’s apartment?

Ashley gave
Scott a pleading look. Was there a problem mentioning him? He gave her a nod
and a quick smile.

Feeling more
assured, she went on. “Scott was with me. We’d had coffee at Sadie’s, and then
went to Elaine’s.”

“That sounds
about right, and I’ll agree to the time frame,” Scott said.

Officer
Brody wrote something down. “Would either of you care to elaborate on ‘huffy’?

Scott nodded
toward her. Her stomach twisted. Why didn’t he explain it? He was the one who’d
worked around cops. He must know the right things to say. All Ashley could see
was herself being hauled off to jail for saying the wrong thing. In her robe,
no makeup, and in need of a shower.

She reached
for the coffee, then decided her brain was already in overdrive, helped in no
small part by the chocolate and sugar in the cookies. She wiped her palms over
her face, trying to slow things down. After another deep breath, she went on.

“I don’t
know exactly why Felicity came into Elaine’s. But she must have heard me
discussing coupons for free cookies, and she kind of … exploded. She accused me
of trying to put her out of business. I tried to explain that we weren’t in
competition, but she didn’t want to hear anything. She told Elaine she’d take
her business elsewhere and stormed out.

“Oh, and I
ran into her briefly at Thriftway. Kind of literally. My cart bumped into hers,
and she turned around and went the other way.”

“About what
time?” Officer Brody asked, his pen poised above his notebook.

“Around six,
I guess. I finished shopping and came straight home.”

She waited,
wondering if Scott was going to bring up what Elaine had said. That Felicity’s
credit had stretched until it snapped. But that was none of her business, and
for all she knew, Elaine might have made it up. If Officer Brody wanted more,
let him ask.

“Anything to
add, Detective Whelan?”

Detective?
Ashley swiveled to face Scott, whose expression had changed to one she wouldn’t
want to meet in a dark alley. Or a brightly lit one.

“It’s.
Mister
.
Whelan.” He spat the words out. “I’m a civilian. No different from Miss Eagan.”

Officer
Brody lifted his palms in apology. “Sorry. Slip of the tongue.”

Okay, what
was
that
all about? Was it really a slip of Officer Brody’s tongue? Was
he used to working with detectives and used the title reflexively? Or was Scott
working undercover on something and Officer Brody had blown it? Ashley let it
slide—for now.

Scott sipped
his coffee and chewed on another cookie. When he finished, his composure had
returned. “Nothing to add. That’s exactly how it played out.” He set down his
mug. “And now, if you don’t mind, we’ve been patient and answered your
questions. I think it’s time you told us why you’re here.”

This time it
was Officer Brody who took a moment with coffee and cookie. When he finished,
he put his notebook away. “I’m afraid Felicity Markham is dead.”

“What?”
Ashley’s mouth dropped open. Even though she’d almost expected Officer Brody to
say something like that, the shock hit her like a physical blow. She gripped
the counter. “Where? When? How?”

“I think the
more significant questions is what Miss Eagan has to do with any of this,”
Scott said. “I saw Felicity Markham yesterday, yet you didn’t come to
my
apartment.”

Officer
Brody’s gaze alternated between her and Scott. “That’s because Ms. Markham’s
body was discovered inside Miss Eagan’s bakery.”

The cookies
and coffee sitting in Ashley’s stomach threatened to make the return trip. Her
ears rang. The kitchen tilted. She fought the nausea.

Scott’s hand
rested on her shoulder. “You all right? Take a few deep breaths.”

She
swallowed. Did as he asked. The room righted itself. “I’m all right. I guess. I
mean, someone’s dead, so I’m not really all right, but—”

“That’s
okay, Miss Eagan.” Officer Brody’s voice, calm and soothing, registered from a
distance. “I’ve got what I need. The detectives will take over from here.”

“Wait,” she
said. “How did she die?”

“That’s for
the medical examiner to determine, ma’am.”

“My bakery?
Is she … still there?”

“No, ma’am.
She’s at the morgue.”

Scott
appeared at her side, rested his hand on her shoulder again. More than rested.
Squeezed. But gently. “Let the police do their job, Ashley.”

Brody put
his cap on and strode down the hall. Ashley stood in the open doorway until she
heard the elevator ding. She twisted to face Scott.

“What’s with
the detective bit?”

Scott
skirted the obvious question on Ashley’s mind. “They always send a detective to
follow up on an unattended death.”

“That’s not
what I meant,” Ashley said, and he knew she’d seen through his ruse. “He called
you a detective. Why would he say that?”

Scott
dragged a hand through his hair. Dry now, he noted. “I have to get ready for
work.”

Ashley
fisted her hands at her hips. “How long can it take to answer a simple
question? Why did Officer Brody call you detective? And if you’re working
undercover, I promise, your secret’s safe with me.”

He exhaled. “No,
I’m exactly what I told you. A civilian working at the Pine Hills Police
Department. But … I used to be a detective. I guess Brody knew that.”

He turned,
but she reached for him. “Please. Can you tell me what’s going to happen? What
I should be doing?” Her brown eyes glistened. “I hate to sound callous or
petty, but my business—delays, or the stigma of someone dying in my place—if
anything happens—”

Hearing the
quaver in her voice, after she’d been so strong with Brody, twisted something
inside him. He fought the urge to gather her in his arms. “Let me change. I
really do have to get to work, and maybe I can find out more from there. Can we
meet for coffee? Or an early lunch? I get a break at eleven.” By then, he
should have something more to tell her.

“Okay.” She
swiped at her eyes and sniffed. “Should I meet you at the station?”

“That’ll be
fine. See you at eleven.”

She nodded,
hope and trust clear in her expression.

What the
hell.
He squeezed her shoulders and brushed his lips to her forehead. “Don’t
worry.”

Before she
could react—or see his reaction—he high-tailed it to his apartment although his
limp and the towel made it more like low-tailing.

At the
station, Kovak stopped by Scott’s desk carrying his usual two coffees. Scott
wondered if he automatically bought two and gave one to whoever he bumped into
first. Scott accepted it, although he didn’t particularly care for all the
frou
frou
enhancements.

Kovak
hitched a hip onto Scott’s desk. “You know something we don’t? Or are you some
kind of psychic? One minute you’re asking me to do a sneaky background check on
Felicity Markham, and the next minute, she’s dead.” He stood and dropped a file
folder where he’d been sitting. “Now that she’s deceased, I don’t suppose there’s
any harm in sharing what I dug up.”

“Total
coincidence, I assure you.” Scott took a polite sip of Kovak’s offering, then
set it down next to his mug of sludge. “Any investigative information you’re
allowed to share with us humble unsworn?”

“Actually, I
was hoping to pick
your
brain. We don’t get many suspicious deaths here.”
He looked thoughtful. “Come to think of it, the last one we got was when
Detweiler was out of town, too. Maybe the chief should cancel all his vacation
time.”

“You have
cause of death?” Scott asked, trying to get the conversation back on track. “Or
time?”

“In the
queue at the ME’s office. Charlotte Russell—she’s the ME—is good, but she won’t
say anything until she’s got the body in the morgue and lab results in.”

Scott
smiled. “That’s the truth.”

“Right. You
probably worked with her a lot.”

“More than I
wanted to—nothing personal. If we worked together it meant someone had died.
You were on scene, right? At the bakery?”

“Yeah. No
signs of violence, though. Brody was on patrol. Saw a light on, went to check.
Saw the body through the window. We’re trying to figure out what Felicity
Markham was doing in the bakery at four in the morning.”

“The
contractor said his crew was going to work as long as it took to get the job
back on schedule. You talked to them?”

Kovak
scraped his hand across the blond stubble on his jaw. “Workers, yes. Can’t find
the damn contractor. But they all say they left and locked up well before
midnight.”

“Gives you
an approximate window of midnight until four. Until the ME gets back to you
with the COD, all you have is a dead body, right?”

“Yeah. A
dead body in an empty, locked room.”

“Keys?”

“Workers say
nobody but the contractor and the owner have them.” Kovak leaned in. “Brody
says you were there this morning. You have anything to offer on the bakery
lady?”

“The bakery
lady’s name is Ashley Eagan. And she’s understandably upset, having a cop show
up at her door at five a.m.”

“Yeah, it’s
in my notes. I’ve got her on my list for later this morning. Speaking of Brody,
did he do okay? He’s green, but has potential. He was first on scene—his second
time, although the first time was a real doozy. Guy’s face blown off. Oh, wait.
I told you that, didn’t I?”

Kovak did
like to bring up that case. Apparently his claim to fame here in Pine Hills.
Scott swallowed his impatience. “Yes, you did, and yes, Brody did fine. A
little nervous, not altogether organized in his questioning, but he didn’t
screw anything up.”

Except maybe
he should have pushed a little harder on the photo studio altercation, about
Felicity’s finances, but Kovak would probably follow up with Elaine and get it
first-hand.

“Good to
hear. I know doing CPR on a dead body got to him. That’s why I sent him to
interview Eagan.”

“Wait,”
Scott said. “You said Brody saw the body through the window. How did he get in?”

“Busted the
glass on the door. You’re not saying he shouldn’t have.”

“No, of
course not. He saw a woman whose life might have been in danger. No question
about exigent circumstances. But you left it open?” Scott didn’t think there
were enough officers to station one in front of an exposed storefront. His
pulse kicked up as he thought of Ashley having to deal with the setback of
repairing a door. Cops didn’t fix stuff unless they were clearly in the wrong,
and there was nothing wrong about checking to see if a person was in peril.

“Brody didn’t
mention that?” Kovak frowned. “Shit. Guess he was more shook up than I thought.
He should have told her to call her insurance company. We taped the door, and
folks here are usually law-abiding, but there are always a few bad apples. That’s
how we earn our paychecks.”

Thoughts of
vandals helping themselves to Ashley’s shiny new equipment rushed through Scott’s
brain. “I’ll do it.”

“Okay,
thanks,” Kovak said. “Trying to get my ducks lined up so I’ll know which way to
go when I hear from the ME. Be nice to have this one wrapped up with a bright
red bow when the big guy gets back.” He turned away, headed back for his
office, Scott presumed.

“Kovak?”

The
detective pivoted. “Yeah?”

“When you
interview Miss Eagan, remember she’s baking the desserts for tomorrow. Be nice.
You wouldn’t want her to mix up the sugar and salt now, would you?”
Or get
too heavy-handed with the cayenne.

“Right.
Working solo’s been a bitch, but I’m cool.”

Scott didn’t
doubt it. The first hours of a case could be critical, and no cop worth his
badge didn’t feel the stress. And cop-to-cop conversations were a far cry from
cop-to-citizen. But he didn’t regret giving Kovak the reminder.

Scott got Ashley’s
voice mail, so he left a message about calling her insurance company. In
between dealing with paperwork, calls and drop-ins, Scott leafed through the
pages Kovak had left him. Felicity Markham’s finances were a disaster, but she
didn’t have a record. Or if she did, Kovak had left those pages out.

At
ten-thirty, Scott called Sadie’s and ordered some sandwiches to go. Then he
called Charlotte Russell.

“You pushing
me, Whelan?” she said when he asked if she’d done the autopsy on Felicity. “You’ve
got no clout anymore.”

But there
was a teasing to her tone, so he relaxed his grip on the phone. “Of course not.
I missed our visits. Thought I’d bug you—you know, nostalgia, old time’s sake.
You have anything at all? TOD?”

She laughed,
a warm, deep rumble. “I
am
going to miss you. Estimated time of death is
between one and three a.m.”