Sucker Punch (26 page)

I doubted that any of us were as eager for that as poor Max. He met me at the door, his entire body wagging with excitement that I was home. I felt so guilty for ignoring him all day, I divided the leftover pizza between us and even warmed his slightly in the microwave before giving it to him.

It’s the little things.

Still battling guilt pangs, I sat beside him on the living room floor. Halfway down, I realized that I’d made a mistake, but it was too late to reverse direction. I’m not completely out of shape, but I’m also not twenty-five anymore. My forty-year-old muscles seized up as I sat, and froze solid the instant my butt hit the floor.

“You might have to help me, buddy,” I told Max as I slid his plate in front of him. “Otherwise, we’re going to spend the night right here.”

Max is pretty spoiled, so I knew he wouldn’t like that any more than I did. He wolfed down his pizza with gusto and began to eye mine—just more proof that I’m more indulgent with him than I should be.

“Oh no, you don’t,” I warned him. “I earned this. I need this. You don’t get it.”

He licked his lips and his eyes tracked the slice as I lifted it to my mouth and returned it to the plate. I managed to remain resolute until I reached the crust, which was no longer soft, warm, or edible. I tossed him the uneaten bit just as the phone shrilled into the silence of the room.

My heart skipped a beat, and I nearly choked on my pizza. Phone calls in the middle of the night are never good news. While I know that midnight doesn’t qualify as “middle of the night” to some people, I’m usually in bed by then, especially when I have to work the next day.

A bit panicked, I looked around frantically for the handset. One of these days I
have
to get more organized.

The good news was I found the phone wedged into the cushions of the couch so I could grab it from where I sat. The bad news? It had been off the charger for at least three days, and I expected it to start flashing Low Battery any second.

I punched the On button, praying that nobody I loved had been in an accident or had a heart attack. “Hello?”

“Hey, slick. Did I wake you up?”

Jawarski.
My heart did its usual tap dance, but with the anticipation came a slow-moving feeling of dread. What if he wanted me to respond to his ill-timed “I love you”? I didn’t have the energy, either mental of physical, to deal with “us” tonight.

“Not yet,” I said. “I just left the shop about twenty minutes ago.”

“I tried to call around eleven. When you didn’t answer, I figured you were still working. Either that or you had a hot date.” He laughed, but I thought I sensed a question in there somewhere.

If and when I made some kind of commitment to this relationship, it would have to be on my terms. Otherwise, it would be meaningless. I dodged the silent question and told myself I’d figure out what I felt after I got some sleep. “Yeah, well, it’s been busy.”

“I remember how it was last year.” His voice was low and soft, and the reminder that we’d been through this season together once felt uncomfortably intimate. “You holding up okay?”

“I’m sitting on the floor eating pizza with Max. What does that tell you?”

Jawarski laughed. “Sounds like you’re doing just fine, then. Listen, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Valentine’s Day.”

I felt myself tensing.
Not tonight.
Not when I was tired enough to sleep sitting up. “Do you mind if we talk about that later? I’m exhausted tonight.”

“I suppose not, but—”

“Tomorrow,” I said. “Just let me grab a few hours’ sleep first.”

I could almost hear Jawarski’s frown over the phone, but he didn’t argue. “Sure. What’s going on with the case?”

Happy to talk about anything but the two of us, I filled him in on everything I’d learned so far. I hesitated over telling him about Serena and Laurence, but if this thing between us was real, didn’t I have to trust him?

“I don’t get it,” he said when I’d finished. “Why is keeping all of that quiet so important to Vonetta?”

“Because she’s worked really hard to make her place in this town. She’s been battling racial prejudice her entire life, and people are always quick to think the worst because of who she is. And because some people don’t believe in second chances.”

“The old guard might give her trouble,” Jawarski agreed, “but there are plenty of people who would understand. Besides, it was all a long time ago.”

“Yeah, but Vonetta just found out about it. She knew about the abortion, and she knew Serena couldn’t have kids as a result, but she never knew about Laurence’s part in it until he came back to town.”

“Sounds like a motive to me.”

Was it? I didn’t want to believe that Vonetta could do something like that, but Jawarski might be right. Look at the way she’d acted with me, and all I’d done was talk to Serena. Laurence had been a much greater threat than I was.

I scraped another mushroom from the pizza and downed it. My butt was beginning to ache from sitting on the hard floor, so I dragged myself onto the couch and from there to my feet. “I suppose either one of them could have snapped,” I said. “But is either of them skilled enough at whatever to predict how that spotlight would fall if they cut the safety cable?”

“The spotlight was a diversion,” Jawarski said. “I got a call this afternoon after the autopsy results came back. Laurence didn’t die from the blow to his head. He died from potassium cyanide poisoning.”

I dropped my pizza, and Max lunged for it. “He
what
?”

“He was poisoned. He ingested enough potassium cyanide to lose consciousness before he could call for help and died almost immediately.”

“So it really was murder.” I sank onto the couch cushions again. “Now all we have to do is figure out who bought the poison? Can it be that easy?”

Jawarski laughed. “I’m afraid not. It’s not common, but there was a supply at the theater. Apparently, they use it when the want to make plaster look like gold.”

“So anyone at the theater could have gotten to it?”

“That’s what I’m told.”

“That doesn’t help Richie much, does it?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Jawarski said. “How are he and Dylan holding up?”

“Shaky. They’ve lost every reservation they had for Valentine’s Day, and when I went over there this morning the inn was empty. Not a single guest anywhere.”

Jawarski whistled softly. “In the middle of ski season? That’s not good. Maybe some unsuspecting person from out of town with a pressing need to slalom will check in.”

“We can only hope.” I carried the phone into the kitchen and dug around in the fridge until I found a can of Pepsi buried under the leftovers. “Meanwhile, I’m no closer to figuring out who killed Laurence. Did Nate tell you if they’re considering any other suspects? Or are they completely focused on Richie?”

“They’re doing their jobs, Abby. Have a little faith. They’ll get it right. Svboda’s a decent cop. He knows the job.”

“And
I
know
him
. Just do me a favor. Don’t tell him about Serena and Laurence. That’s just between us for now.”

“You’re asking me to withhold information that may be material to a murder investigation?”

“I’m asking you, as my . . . friend . . . to keep it quiet. At least until we know for sure whether it had any bearing on the murder.”

“I’m a police officer, Abby. I have responsibilities.”

“Yeah, but you’re not on duty. You’re not even in the jurisdiction.”

“That doesn’t matter. I can’t just take the job off like a coat. I’m a cop now, today, this minute, not just a cop tomorrow when I get back to town. It doesn’t work that way.”

Jawarski and I have these discussions all the time. Usually, I’m not bothered by the sounds of frustration or irritation in his voice, but that’s when we’re face-to-face. Communication loses a lot in translation over the phone, and it’s even worse through e-mail or—shudder—text messaging. Suddenly, I needed to be in the room with Jawarski, looking into his eyes, watching him half smile even while making noises that indicated deep annoyance. The noises by themselves were a little frightening.

So frightening, I changed the subject and spared us both. “So when are you leaving there? It will have to be soon if you’re going to be back by Wednesday.”

“Yeah. About that.”

That didn’t sound promising. My appetite faded abruptly and cold dread sat like a stone beneath my heart. “About what?”

“I’m going to be delayed a couple of days. Cheyenne’s got the flu, and she doesn’t want me to leave. Bree’s working part-time now, so it’ll be good if I can stay here with Chey while she’s out of school.”

“Oh.” It was all I could manage. Even that word felt heavy and hard to get out.

“She’s got a fever. Last night, we even talked about taking her to the emergency room.”

We.
That nasty, jealous part of me lifted her head and smiled knowingly. I tried to shove her back down, but she put up a fight. “Is she doing better tonight?”

“A bit, but she’s still pretty sick. I can’t leave until I know she’s going to be okay.”

My rational side understood, and even applauded his decision. If I’d had children of my own, I’d want their father to do the same thing. Every kid deserves to be loved that much. I gave my irrational side another shove and hoped Jawarski couldn’t hear her in my voice. “No, of course not. I’m sure Cheyenne will feel a lot better having you there.”

“She seems to,” he said. “I have to admit, it does my old ego good. Anyway, I talked to the chief tonight, and I’m cleared from duty for the rest of the week. I may not need to stay that long, but you never know.”

“Take your time,” I urged. “We’ll be here when you get back.”

We spent another minute or two saying good-bye, and this time Jawarski avoided the
L
word like he would the plague. I should have been pleased, but as I tossed the rest of my pizza to Max and scuffed down the hall to get ready for bed, I realized that I was anything but. I didn’t want to feel pressured into saying that I loved him, but now that
he’d
said it once, I was going to notice every time he didn’t say it in the future.

I burrowed under the blankets and tried not to think about Jawarski, Laurence, or Richie. But I had a feeling that sleep would be a long time coming.

The rapidly approaching holiday made it impossible to slip away the next day, but the first chance I got after closing, I headed straight for the Playhouse. I was sure that the police had already confiscated the poison, but now that I knew for certain that someone had killed Laurence on purpose, I was more determined than ever to figure out who the killer was. It would have been bad enough for Richie to be convicted of manslaughter. First degree murder was another story, entirely.

The fact that the potassium cyanide had been sitting on a shelf just begging to be used opened the doors wide open on the suspect list. I didn’t have to figure out who was capable of calculating the trajectory of a wildly swinging spotlight and shoving Laurence into its path at precisely the right moment. I didn’t have to figure out who was strong enough or agile enough to crawl around inside the fly system to cut the safety cable. I just had to find someone capable of opening a jar.

Easy, right? Like taking candy from a baby.

Vonetta and Alexander were in a meeting with the sound crew when I got there, so I decided to look around a little on my own. I was sure the police had gone through Laurence’s office already, but there might be a few interesting things lying around that could give me some idea. A little gilt statue tucked conveniently inside someone’s coat pocket or an electroplating set left in an open duffel bag—
something
to point me toward the last person who’d dipped into the postassium cyanide. Maybe I’d take a quick look at Alexander’s office while I was at it . . . since he was otherwise occupied, and all.

I had no idea what excuse I’d give if someone asked what I was doing. I counted on myself to be clearheaded and brilliant enough to come up with something if I needed to. Crossing my fingers that the back rooms of the theater were either deserted or bustling with activity, I cut through the rehearsal hall and tried to look as if I had something important to do. It didn’t matter to me which, as long as I could slip in and out of rooms, workstations, and offices without anyone taking notice.

I checked the call-board to see who was scheduled to be in the theater and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that the only thing scheduled that evening was the meeting in Vonetta’s office. That didn’t mean no one else was there, but chances were good that I’d have time to look around.

Calculating that I had about fifteen minutes to call my own, I hurried toward the shop area. I checked the prop shop first, reckoning that if the potassium cyanide had been used to turn cheap props into gold, it was a good place to start. I found a couple of plaster rocks, the façade of a mountain cabin, some pirate-wear, and an eye patch, but nothing that screamed “property of a murderer.”