Saving Scott (Kobo) (20 page)

Scott
lowered himself to the couch and leafed through the photos, seeking the one he
remembered when he’d gone through them at the station. “Here.” He handed it to
Ashley.

She stared
at the photo, then at the basket. Then the photo again. “This is from … from
the bakery?”

He nodded. “That
was found on the counter beside the sink in your shop. When they found the
body.”

She looked
at the photo again. “The mug. It’s the same pattern as the one in the basket.”
She squinted through the colored plastic. “And, allowing for the way the pink
cellophane makes blue look purple, I’d say they’re the same color, too.”

Scott knew
she didn’t have any dishes or the like in her shop. But she’d said she had a
lot of things in storage. “It’s not one of yours?”

“No. Mine
are mocha. No pattern.” She gazed at him in confusion. “What does this mean?”

Scott pulled
out his cell. “It means I call it in, and we’ll have more questions for Belinda
Nesbitt, for starters. It could be these mugs are common, sold everywhere.”

“I don’t
think so,” Ashley said. “Belinda prides herself on being a specialty shop. I
know her stock isn’t one-of-a-kind, but it’s also not the kind of stuff you can
pick up at the discount stores. Does this mean she had something to do with
killing Felicity? I can’t believe it.”

“It’s one
more puzzle piece to deal with. It’s possible she’s sold hundreds of these
mugs. Or gave them away, the way she did here.”

While Scott
reported his findings to Kovak and Detweiler, Ashley went to the kitchen and
returned with the champagne. She’d topped off both glasses and sipped from hers
as she offered him the second. Scott shook his head, gesturing for her to put
it on the end table beside the couch.

“What I don’t
get,” Ashley said, pacing the living room, “is why she’d do something as stupid
as use one of her own mugs to poison Felicity. Not that I have a clue as to why
she’d want to poison Felicity to begin with.”

Neither did
he. But that was why he loved police work. Sure, the satisfaction came when you
put the bad guys away, but the journey was what kept things interesting.

Ashley
reached for the envelope, then drew her hand back. “Are there pictures of the
secret rooms in here? Am I allowed to look at them?”

Scott
nodded. He almost handed her the whole file before he remembered she might not
appreciate looking at photographs of a dead body. “Let me find them.” He did a
quick censorship job, making sure the pictures of Felicity stayed in the folder
before handing Ashley the rest.

She took a
seat on the couch, and he sat beside her, at what he thought was a professional
distance. Not touching, but near enough to view the photos along with her.
Which turned out to be near enough to be engulfed by her scent.

If his
proximity affected her, she certainly didn’t show it. Then again, crime scene
photos weren’t part of her daily routine, and he understood why they might
command her full attention. Since he’d already seen them—several times—he
allowed a portion of his attention to focus on Ashley.

She perused
a photo, holding it up, squinting, moving it closer, then farther away. Her top
teeth worked on her lower lip. He thought of those teeth working on his
fingers. Okay, back to paying attention to the photos.

He cleared
his throat. “Basically, what we found were several rooms. The one with the trap
door is a bedroom.”

“You know
this because?”

“Because I’m
a fantastic detective. And maybe a bed and two end tables in it gave it away.”

He pointed
to a picture of the second room, the one with a large cabinet. “That’s some
kind of chamber between the bedroom and Belinda’s side of the building. I’m not
up to speed on Victorian architecture, but we think it’s likely where a lady’s
maid or valet might have slept. Or maybe it was a dressing room. Terminology
aside, someone, most likely someones, had been using both the bedroom and the
dressing room.”

“How do you
know? Maybe everything’s been sitting there since the people moved out.”

Scott
smiled. “We had a very significant clue leading us to believe that couldn’t be
the case.”

Her eyes
widened. “What?”

He chuckled.
“Actually, it was something that
wasn’t
there that gave it away.”

“Tell me.”

“You’ve
shown some pretty darn good detective skills. Think about it. A set of rooms
has been sitting there, unused, for decades. What should be there?”

She picked
up a photograph of the bedroom, chewing her lip. He could almost hear her brain
grinding out possibilities, trying to see the invisible. She tapped the photo
against her leg. “If it’s missing, looking at the pictures won’t help. Mice?
Rats?”

He tossed
her a hint. “You were nearby when Kovak opened the door. Why do you think he
thought it was worth investigating in detail?”

“But I
couldn’t go up. I couldn’t see anything.”

“Detectives
have to use all their senses.”

He enjoyed
watching her think some more. And when the light bulb finally went off, it was
as if it were real enough to illuminate her face.

“No dust. It
smelled clean. Lemony. Am I right?”

“Right as
rain.”

When she
hugged him, he made no attempt to cut it short. When she broke it off, she
offered no apology beyond a slight flush to her cheeks. And that might not be
due to embarrassment. He was pretty warm himself.

Scott picked
up a shot of the bedroom floor and trap door. “There’s a small rug here.” He
pointed, and Ashley held the edge of the photo, turning it toward her. “Connor
and Kovak think whoever used the room normally kept the rug over the trap door,
but the night your worker saw the light, they must have either forgotten or
left it partially uncovered. The windows are boarded up. They’ve got curtains
hanging on the window side, but that’s purely cosmetic—looks better from the
street, but no light would be visible to passersby.”

“How did
they get light? There’s no electricity up there, is there?”

“Best guess
is a battery operated lantern. We think they didn’t need much light for what
they were doing.”

Ashley
reached for another picture of the bedroom, this one showcasing the bed. “No
sheets.” She wrinkled her nose. “Ick.”

“They
probably brought their own.” He found another photo. “Here’s the other side of
the room. This cabinet matches one in the smaller room.”

“Armoires,”
Ashley said. “They didn’t have many built-in closets back then.” She gathered
the pictures into a pile. “I want to spread these all out so I can get a better
idea of what the whole thing looks like.”

She went to
the kitchen and started stacking the plastic containers of party food. Scott
carried them to the coffee table. Ashley arranged the photos on the cleared
counter, frowning as she moved them around.

“They’re
numbered on the back,” Scott said.

Ashley
flipped them over and began again. “There are numbers missing.”

“I printed
the ones I thought were relevant. The rest are all on the computer at the
station.”

Her eyebrows
winged up. “Good thing you’re not using film. That would get expensive.”

He grinned. “One
of very few money-savers with new technology.”

As Ashley
pored over the photos, Scott related what he, Detweiler, and Kovak had
brainstormed as a likely scenario. “We don’t have original blueprints. Also,
nobody filed plans with the city for remodels. Building codes were nonexistent
back then. Nobody knows what kind of remodels were done, or when the
residential use stopped. For all we know, people lived there when the first
conversions of the downstairs to retail space were made. When the last
residents moved out, they didn’t take all their furniture.”

Ashley
leaned over shots showing close-ups of the carved wooden bedstead and matching
night tables. “Probably worth a pretty penny. Wonder why the owner didn’t sell
them. Or if he’d sell the tables to me. They’d be great in the bakery.”

Scott
pointed out another one. “This … armoire … contained sheets and blankets.” He
found the next in sequence, of the armoire with its doors opened, as if proving
his point.

“Not left
from the last residents, I take it.”

“Nope. New.
Clean. We figure the people using the place would replace the used ones as
needed.”

She chewed
her lip again. “That would mean they might have been using the rooms for a
while. Not likely a one-shot deal the night Willie saw the light.”

Brainstorming
with Ashley beat hanging with Kovak, hands down. He picked up his glass of
champagne.

Ashley
sipped from hers. “Do you have any leads on who was using the room?”

“Nada.
Waiting on prints.”

“So what’s
next?”

He grinned. “Another
strawberry?”

Ashley made
a final adjustment to her dessert platter display and stepped back to admire
her handiwork. An entire table had been designated as hers, and she’d laid it
with pale mocha tablecloths and dark brown vases filled with roses made of
white chocolate. And, of course, a few tastefully placed table tent cards with
her Confections by Ashley logo to complete the package. Small cards identified
each dessert. She angled the serving pieces for her chocolate Pavé and the
fruit-studded almond torte a few degrees to the left and stepped back again.
Perfect.

Yesterday,
when she’d peeked into the room on her way to her interview, it looked like a
cops’ workroom. Today it looked like a party, albeit a party in a police
station. There were some balloons hanging from the cross braces of the acoustic
ceiling tiles. But the focal point for sure was the huge banner that proclaimed
“Welcome Back! Randy No More!”

Across the
room, Sadie’s staff was setting up pans filled with lasagna, pulled pork,
coleslaw, and mac and cheese. A huge basket held a mountain of rolls. Two
people in Wagon Wheel aprons opened boxes of pizza. She stepped closer,
inhaling the aroma, which sent her back to last night when Scott had shown up
at the door. And everything that had happened afterward.

Which, in
the grand scheme of things, wasn’t much. He’d been the perfect gentleman—more
of that Southern upbringing?

No. He was
rational. Sensible. And respectful of the fact that they’d agreed to take
things slow. They’d sat on the couch and watched a movie. She wasn’t exactly
sure which one. Damn, the man could kiss.

She paused
at the door, taking one last look at the room. Had she gone too far? The other
food looked like a picnic. Hers bordered on gourmet. And it certainly didn’t
fit the tone of that banner.

No. It wasn’t
gourmet. Most of her offerings were simply cookies. Delicious cookies, but far
from elegant dinner party fare. Instead of one of her bakery three-layer
chocolate fudge cakes, she’d brought her great-grandmother Lena’s chocolate
sheet cake. Far less striking but much easier to serve.

When Ashley
wound her way back to the lobby, Scott was talking to three elderly women,
upset about dogs running around their neighborhood, barking, knocking over
trash cans and leaving unpleasant deposits. Actually, Scott was listening. The
women were doing all the talking. He glanced up as she passed, shrugging
apologetically. She gave a finger-wave and hurried out of the building. She had
just enough time to get to the Women’s Center for a meeting of the bakeoff
committee, and then get to her shop to wait for the furnishings.

She drove
the short distance to the Center, grabbed the container of cookies she’d held
back from the police party and rushed into the building. The receptionist at
the desk directed her to the second floor.

Upstairs,
Maggie’s voice worked better than a GPS, and Ashley found the room without any
trouble.

“Sorry I’m
late.” Ashley popped the lid on the cookie container and set it on a table. She
looked around the room, seeing familiar faces from the previous meeting. Penny
smiled, set down her crochet project and headed for the cookies.

Kathleen
huffed. “I’ve got an hour, Penny. Forget your stomach for once and let’s get
this over with.”

Ashley
stiffened at Kathleen’s outburst, so out of character for the prim and proper
woman.

“Oh, chill,”
Penny said. “I’m capable of doing more than one thing at a time. Unlike
some
people.”

“Ladies,
please.” Maggie’s voice carried over Penny and Kathleen’s bickering. “We’ve had
a stressful time, but let’s focus on the bakeoff.”

“Stress?”
Ashley asked Maggie. She’d been dealing with enough of her own. What else had
she missed?

“The police.”
Kathleen toyed with the pearls around her neck. “Came into The Tool Shed, asked
all kinds of questions. Willie’s most upset. He thinks he’s going to be
arrested for murdering Felicity.”

“Oh, put a
sock in it, Kath,” Penny said around a mouthful of chocolate cookie. “Nobody
would believe Willie could figure out how to murder anybody. The police
questioned everyone. Even me.”

“You?”
Ashley said. “Why?”

“I used to
give Felicity some of my students’ artwork to hang in her shop. Then she went
all high-hat and said it was tacky and unprofessional. Had to find a nice way
to tell the kids we weren’t going to do that anymore. But if the cops think
that’s a motive for me to kill her—dagnabit, they’re grasping at straws.”

“The cops
have to question everybody,” Ashley said. “Then they can eliminate people and
zero in on who’s left.”

All eyes
shot to her. “You have the inside scoop on something?” Penny asked.

“My
next-door neighbor works at the police station. He used to be a detective. They
questioned me, too.” She paused, then added, “Made me go to the station.”