Saving Scott (Kobo) (29 page)

“Ties.”
Another flutter in Ashley’s stomach. “Tie breakers. Any suggestions?” She
looked imploringly at the group. “We certainly can’t have them baking another
entry.”

“Why not let
the judges decide? The initial scoring would end up with three finalists, and
then the judges taste them again, and they have to agree on a favorite.”

Once they’d
hashed out the finer points, Ashley added “create the score sheets” to her
to-do list.

“All right,
everyone. Let’s wrap this up.” Maggie settled her glasses on her nose and
opened her notebook. Point by point, she went over every aspect of the bakeoff
and made sure everyone knew her responsibilities.

“I’ve got my
three part timers coming in as well,” Ashley said. “Feel free to put them where
you need them.”

After Ashley
and Maggie declared the meeting a success, Ashley couldn’t bear to listen to
the gossip and speculation about Felicity’s death, so she begged off sticking
around, claiming—quite honestly—that she still had a lot of prep to do.

As Ashley
walked down the hall toward her apartment, she wondered if she should stop at
Scott’s and apologize for her earlier huff. After talking to Sarah earlier,
Ashley had a better understanding of his position.

Sarah hadn’t
been able to give her any details about the investigation other than Randy and
Detective Kovak were still trying to get a handle on motive. Ashley had mentioned
being questioned, and how Detective Kovak had been in her face.

Sarah told
Ashley about being a suspect once, and even though Randy knew she was innocent,
he couldn’t treat her any differently than anyone else. “He made sure I knew my
rights, but he couldn’t keep the cops from doing their jobs. Everything has to
be by the book, and they’re always having to make sure whatever they do will
hold up in court. They want to find the bad guys, but they also want to make
sure the bad guys don’t walk because of something the cops did or didn’t do.”

Ashley
slowed at Scott’s door, listening for signs that he was home. No light from
under the door. No music, no sounds of someone moving around. She kept walking.
Tomorrow she could make amends. Tonight, she wanted to go over her notes one
more time and crawl into bed.

She tossed
the envelopes Penny had given her onto the entry table and kicked off her
shoes. She fished her cell phone out of her purse. She’d turned the ringer off
for the committee meeting. Maybe Scott had broken the “real men don’t apologize
first” rule and tried to reach her.

Yeah,
right.

The display
showed one new text from a number she didn’t recognize. Not Scott, then. She
opened the message.

Sorry can’t
be there 4 yr bakeoff. Can’t tell U where I’ll be, but tell Maggie & all thx.
Good luck w/ bakery. L. PS. Pls delete this msg 4 my security.

So, Lorna
had found her hideaway. Ashley knew how hard it must have been for Lorna to
decide to go it alone, but she was glad she’d be making a new life for herself,
even if it was clear she’d be looking over her shoulder for a while.

Ashley
texted “good luck” and deleted the thread. She eyed the bottle of Hennessy she
hadn’t bothered to put away. Heck, it was almost ten. Reviewing her notes in
bed with a nightcap sounded like a better plan.

She’d poured
an inch of cognac when she heard what had to be Scott’s door open and close.
Was he home? Should she go over?

A quick
apology. Get it out of the way. Clean slate for tomorrow. Sleep better with
mended fences. Rationalizations streamed through her brain like cognac into the
snifter.

What the
heck. She poured a second glass—bringing the bottle would be overdoing it—and
went next door.

Scott
trudged into his apartment, undressing as he headed toward the bedroom. A knock
on the door interrupted his trek. All he wanted was bed, and he was tempted to
ignore the knock, but he checked the peephole and discovered Ashley’s face on
the other side. He refastened his trousers and opened the door.

She held up
two snifters, each containing about an inch of amber-colored liquid. “Nightcap?”

Seeing her
face, her smile—some of the tension he hadn’t realized he was carrying eased.
He opened the door a little wider. “Isn’t that your special occasion Hennessy?”

She nodded.
He motioned her inside. “I just got in. Give me a minute. Make yourself at
home.” He hurried to the bedroom to change his clothes, which hadn’t escaped a
spattering of crime scene gore. No need for her to see that and start asking
questions.

A drink with
Ashley might be the perfect way to unwind. He took the time to wash a little
more dirt and fatigue away. A shower would have been better, but that might
send the wrong message. He wanted to be a friend tonight. God knows, he could
use one after looking at that mutilated body.

In the
living room, Ashley sat on the couch, her brows furrowed as she stared at his
laptop. He’d turned off the oven when Detweiler called, but not his computer.
She looked up, an embarrassed expression on her face, when he joined her.

“I’m sorry.
I didn’t mean to snoop. I was moving your laptop out of the way, and these
pictures popped up. I got curious.” She gave him a sheepish smile. “Another one
of my faults, along with flying off the handle too soon when I’m being
interrogated by cops.”

Scott chose
to ignore the last part. Kovak’s questioning hadn’t come close to the kind of
interrogation she’d have been subject to had she been an actual suspect. “Hardly
snooping. That’s a Google site. Nothing you couldn’t access on your own.”

“I saw.
Those are pictures of Belinda Nesbitt.”

“Yeah. I was
trying to get a handle on her. For the case.” He grinned. “I’m not a stalker.”
He raised a snifter. “What are we celebrating?”

She turned
pink. “Nothing. It’s a peace offering. I acted like a childish idiot today. I
know you were doing your job, and that it wasn’t personal.” She tilted her
head, a slight frown on her face. “Unless the invitation to come in was because
of the booze, not me.”

In response,
he set his glass on the coffee table. “I should apologize as well. I sat in on
the interview as a cop, which was wrong of me. I’m a civilian. If I were a cop,
I’d have been pulled because you’re a friend.”

“Sarah said
that’s what happened to Randy when she was a suspect.” She leaned forward and
set her glass next to his, staring at the laptop again. She pointed to the
screen, to one of the pictures. “I think I saw her today—Belinda was helping
carry packages to her car.”

Scott moved
in so he could see what Ashley pointed at. Her scent erased a layer of aches
and pains. What the hell. He slipped his arm around her. “Which one?” he asked.

Ashley
indicated the image.

“You know
her?” Scott asked.

“No. I don’t
recall seeing her before today. But I haven’t been socializing a whole lot
since I moved here.”

Scott read
the caption. Belinda Nesbitt and Crystal Gosselin, with a link to a website.
The name rang a bell. He started to rise, and his leg picked that moment to go
into shake mode.

“Dammit.” He
deferred to Ashley’s presence and didn’t voice the expletives he’d have used
had she not been in the room.

“Scott.
What?” Alarm filled her tone. Her eyes widened.

He sank to
the couch, rubbing his thigh. “It’ll pass. Just a twinge.” The way his leg was
doing an imitation of a marching band didn’t add credence to his words. The
grimace he knew was on his face probably wasn’t helping, either.

Ashley
darted to the kitchen and came back with a glass of water. “Here.”

Lucky for
him, his hands weren’t shaking, and he took a few gulps. The tremors stopped.
He set the glass down. “See. All better.” He raised his hands and smiled.

Ashley didn’t
return it. “Like heck you’re all better. I let it slide last night, but a few
minutes ago, you said we were friends. Talk to me, friend.”

“It’s a
pain-in-the-neck side effect of my injury. The docs said it wasn’t anything to
worry about. It comes, it goes. I manage.”

She sat next
to him and rested her hand on his thigh. “I’d like to know whatever you’re
willing to tell me.”

Willing to
tell her. Hell, it had taken more sessions with the police shrink than he cared
to think about before he’d tell
him
anything. “It wasn’t really an
accident. Not the kind you think of when you hear the term. More like a case
gone south, and I got hurt. People have survived worse.”

And some
hadn’t survived. He saw Rina’s face again. He was alive. She wasn’t.

Her grip on
his thigh tightened. He tensed, and she let go, switching to a gentle massage. “I’m
so sorry.”

“Not your
fault. Part of the job.” Although, technically, he hadn’t even been on duty.
Officially, anyway. Cops were always on duty. Serve and protect. He cleared his
throat. “Right now, I want to follow up on this Crystal Gosselin person. Would
you do me a favor? There’s a file folder on the kitchen counter.”

She jumped
up, and in the short while she was gone, he managed to regain most of his
composure. He drank half the water, then swigged the cognac.

“I thought
you said that was for sipping.” Ashley handed him the folder, a faint smile on
her face.

“There’s an
exception to every rule.” He smiled back. He leafed through the pages, finding
the list he’d made. Crystal Gosselin was one of his names to check out.

He reached
for the laptop, then hesitated. Ashley had come on a social call. He’d let her
in because he didn’t want to think about work anymore tonight.

“Can I help?”
she asked.

Her eager
expression was all he needed. “Did Belinda ever tell you why she switched
colleges? Or anything about her family life? Her past? What do you know about
her social life? Boyfriends?”

“No, she’s
very private. At least she doesn’t volunteer information, and I don’t feel
comfortable asking personal questions.”

Which is
probably why she hadn’t pressed when he’d had his little episode last night. At
the time, he’d been grateful, but right now a busybody’s insider information
would have been nice.

He brought
the laptop onto his lap and scrolled through pictures, her Facebook Page,
anything else he could think of.

And then the
virtual light bulb clicked on, so bright it exploded. He searched the screen
again. “You see anything unusual here?” he asked Ashley.

“Unusual?”
She peered at the screen. “Like what?”

He smiled. “Think
about it. Here.” He opened another tab and typed Ashley’s name into Google and
clicked Images. “This is what I see when I look for you.”

She glared
at him.

“Hey, this
is the first time I’ve done this. Honest. I can punch in my name if you’d
prefer.”

“No, it’s
all right.” She looked at several pages of pictures. “I had no idea these were
all here for anyone to see.” She pointed to one. “That’s me on my fifteenth
birthday. Google didn’t even exist then, I don’t think.”

“Any time
your name is mentioned in conjunction with a picture, it’s here. Of course, it
will bring up anyone named Ashley Eagan, so they’re not all pictures of you.
Facebook is a gold mine because people are always posting photos and tagging
them. Look again, and tell me what you think. What’s different about your
pictures and Belinda’s?”

He waited,
wondering if his hunch was correct. It might explain why Belinda was ill at
ease when they’d questioned her, and why she was sending them as far away from
herself as she could. And there was even a chance it might provide a motive.

“Remember
when we looked at the second floor above your bakery?” he asked. “It’s not
always what you see—”

“But what you
don’t see.” She clicked back and forth between the two pages, frowning,
staring, chewing her lip.

***

Ashley
stared at the pictures. People. Some were mislabeled, some were groups, some
were old. Aside from the fact that one page was hers and the other was Belinda’s,
she was at a loss to pinpoint what Scott must have noticed.

“Wait,” he
said, taking the laptop. He typed “Crystal Gosselin” into the search box, and
brought up a page of images of her. “Now what do you think?”

“Crystal’s
obviously into changing her looks. Purple, spiky hair here. Long, blonde curls
in this one. When I saw here today, she had very short hair, almost black. Lots
of different make up styles. Goth to nothing at all. But that’s not terribly
unusual. People do stuff like that all the time.”

“Look at it
from another angle. Don’t look at Crystal.” He switched screens. “Don’t look at
Belinda.” He switched to her page. “Don’t look at you.”

“Scott, I’m
not a detective. And it’s probably a good thing. I give up.”

“Not so
fast.” He pointed to a picture of her with Barry. “Who’s the guy?”

“My ex
fiancé. I told you about him.”

Scott
pointed at a few more. “Okay, so you were a couple, and your pictures ended up
on the Internet.”

She twisted
the laptop and switched screens. “No guys. Is that what you meant?”

Scott
twisted her around to face him and kissed her. Quick, chaste, but it sent a
thrill through her all the same. Or was it a thrill because she’d apparently
given him the right answer? “You think Crystal and Belinda are a … couple?”

Scott
exhaled a deep sigh and rubbed his thigh. “It’s a guess. Maybe not the two of
them. But the fact there are so few men in these pictures raises a red flag.
Concealing her orientation fits with her background. Strict, religious
upbringing. Small town. My money says she’s deep in the closet, that her
parents wouldn’t understand. Or forgive. I think Belinda left her local,
small-town college for the larger one, farther away, where her sexual
orientation wouldn’t be as unusual, where she’d be less conspicuous, and where
word was less likely to get back to her family.”