Thai Coconut Murder: Book 6 in The Darling Deli Series (11 page)

Somehow, she managed to navigate the route home without getting into an accident. She couldn’t even get close to her house; the police had set up a line half a block away, and weren’t letting any cars through. She parked and got out, approaching a young officer.

“Stay back, ma’am, it’s not safe,” he said, holding his hand out, palm towards her.

“It’s my house,” she whispered, her eyes on the smoking mess behind him. “Please, let me through.”

“Hold on.” He spoke into his walkie-talkie, and a moment later, Detective Jefferson appeared as if by magic.

“Moira,” he said. “Come this way.” Gently, he guided her between the cones, towards the house and the fire trucks. Moira stared at the blackened shell of what used to be her home, too shocked to say anything, or to even begin thinking of what this meant. A terrible thought struck her suddenly.

“My dog,” she gasped. “He was in there when…” She couldn’t finish the sentence, but felt tears come to her eyes.

“It’s all right,” he assured her. “One of our volunteer firefighters got him out in time. He’s by the ambulance. They gave him some oxygen just in case, but he seems fine.”

Almost sobbing in relief, she hurried over to the ambulance where a terrified Maverick was waiting for her. He nearly bowled her over with his enthusiastic greeting, and he smelled of smoke, but she didn’t care. Hugging the dog, she dried her eyes on his fur. Keeping hold of his collar, she stood back up and turned once more to gaze at her house.

It was beyond saving, even she knew that. The roof had collapsed, and the windows were blown out. Most of the house was blackened, charred beyond recognition. The yard was blackened a good twenty feet out from the house; it looked almost as if the fire had exploded out suddenly.
What could have caused such damage?
she wondered. As she watched, a fire somewhere in the upstairs roared to life, and the firetruck aimed their hoses through the window.

Over twenty years of memories
, she thought.
Gone.

Waking up on the slender couch in her daughter’s apartment wasn’t something that she thought she would ever get used to. It had been three days since the fire that had destroyed her home, and she still found herself hoping that it was all just a bad dream.

She would be haunted for years by the memory of her daughter’s horrified face when she had told her the news. That house had been Candice’s home too; she had spent her entire childhood running through the halls and playing in the backyard. It terrified Moira to think what might have happened if either of them had been in the house when the fire started. What if it had happened at night, while she was sleeping there?

Or even worse, what if the fire had started while Moira was up north with David and Candice was alone in the house? The possibilities were too terrible to consider.

Moira turned over, shoving the pillow under her head in an effort to get comfortable. Somehow the thought of getting up and braving another day just seemed too much to bear. When would this nightmare end?

The one consolation was that Maverick was okay. She had thanked the fireman who had rescued him profusely, and after a bath and a good night’s rest, the dog was as good as new.
He seems to be enjoying our stay here, at least
, she thought, looking over at the dog sprawled on the carpet in front of the TV.
Probably because Candice makes him scrambled eggs every morning.

She was huddled under a sleeping bag, and was wearing the sweatpants and t-shirt that she had kept in a gym bag in her car. Since she never actually went to the gym, they were still almost brand new, and served fine for pajamas. The sleeping bag was Candice’s, from when she was a teenager. Everything that had been in Moira’s house was gone – all of the cookware in the kitchen, her mother’s handwritten recipe book, the boxes of stuff from Candice’s childhood, and every single one of Moira’s possessions that she had accumulated over the years. It was a strange feeling to have so little.

“Good morning,” her daughter mumbled sleepily as she came out of her room. “How’d you sleep?”

“I slept fine,” she said, ignoring the twinge of pain in her neck when she turned her head to look at her daughter. Candice had offered to give her mother the bed, but Moira had refused, already thankful that her daughter had let her and Maverick stay with her and not wanting to intrude any more. “Do you want me to make coffee?”

“Sure.” Candice yawned. “I’m gonna shower really quick.” She disappeared behind the bathroom door, leaving Moira alone in the living room again. She pulled out her phone and checked her messages. Nothing. She was still waiting on a call from both her insurance agency and the police to let her know what the investigation turned up. Knowing that it might take weeks, or even longer, to get a definite answer frustrated her. The fire had burned hot and quick, and she couldn’t think of anything in her house that might have set it off. She was certain it was arson, but it seemed to be taking the police quite a bit longer to come to that conclusion.

She got up and made coffee, then pulled out her tablet and began looking online for somewhere to stay until things got figured out with her insurance company. While she was sure Candice would insist that she was glad to have her, Moira didn’t want to intrude on her daughter’s life if she didn’t have to.

After emailing a few different apartments that advertised month-by-month leases, she got up to fix Maverick breakfast and get herself ready for work. No matter what else was going on, the deli still needed her.

While she was driving to the deli, Moira’s phone rang, and she hurried to answer it. It was Detective Jefferson, and for once it was a relief to hear his voice.

“Moira, if you’re free, could you come down to the police station? We found something.”

She had been to the police station enough times that the woman behind the counter recognized her immediately.

“He’ll be right out,” she said. Moira took a seat, glancing at the pile of magazines before deciding that she was too wound up to be able to focus on reading anything.

“Thanks for making time so quickly,” Detective Jefferson said a few minutes later, holding open the door that led into the police station. “Come on back.”

She followed him to his office, noticing vaguely that they had redone the carpet in the hallway. She kept thinking about running home before work to change into a different pair of shoes and to grab the book she had been in the middle of reading, only to realize that home wasn’t there anymore. If she started thinking about how she was going to afford to live if the insurance didn’t come through, she knew she would be useless for the rest of the day. She steered her thoughts in a safer direction.

“What is it you wanted to see me about?” she asked as she sat at the detective’s desk across from him.

“My men found something in your house while they were going through the wreckage.” He hesitated, then reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a piece of paper encased in a zip-lock bag.

“I’m going to have to ask you not to open the bag,” he told her. “We have to preserve the quality of the evidence.”

With shaking hands, she reached for it and read the note in silence. It was short and simple, but sent chills through her.
Mind your
own
business
, it said. She frowned, rereading it, then flipping the paper over in case something was written on the other side, which was blank. It wasn’t charred at all, which she thought was a bit odd, since the rest of her house had been beyond recognition.

“Do you have any idea what it means?” he asked.

“No,” she said with a shake of her head. She handed it back to him. “Where did you find it?”

“It was in your mailbox,” he said. “Do you recognize the handwriting?”

“No.” She shook her head, surprised to find her eyes filling with tears again. She thought she had cried herself out over the past couple of days, but apparently not. Even though she had known that the fire had to have been arson, she was still hurt by this physical proof that someone had hated her enough to start the fire. What had she done to make someone so angry?

“What do I do now?” she asked. “Do you think I’m in danger?”

She went over the message again in her mind.
Mind your
own
business
. Why had the emphasis been on
own
? Had the fire been set by some competitor?

What competitor?
she asked herself. Denise and Arlo were the only other restaurant owners in town. Denise was her friend, there was no way she would do anything like that. And Arlo… well, Arlo she had known her entire life. Surely he wouldn’t burn her house down to try to put her out of business. Besides, the diner had been doing better lately, hadn’t it?

“Possibly,” he admitted. “I want you to be careful. Don’t go anywhere alone, and make sure to always lock your house and car behind you.”

“I will,” she said. She took a tissue from the box on his desk and dabbed at her eyes. “I’m sorry. I must be a mess.” She sniffled, trying to pull herself together. “So, how has your week been? Probably better than mine.” She was proud of herself for managing to crack a weak smile.

“My week has been going well, so far,” he told her, kindly accepting her change of topic. “We’ve seen a major drop-off in drug-related crimes lately, which is always a plus. Though of course there’s been the usual number of car crashes and lost hikers. Luckily nothing too serious.”

“That’s good. I’m glad no one else is going through what I am.” She paused, something that the detective said catching her ear. Why had his comment about drug-related activity caught her attention?

Slowly the pieces began to come together in her head. It all made sense, if she could only find a few missing pieces. She didn’t trust herself to say anything to Detective Jefferson yet; she needed more evidence to prove to both of them that this wasn’t just her grieving mind reaching for straws.

Excusing herself, Moira told the detective that she needed to get to the deli. She had a lot of work to do, and not all of it involved cooking soup and making sandwiches.

Moira knew she was being foolish as she crept down the stairs that led out of Candice’s apartment, but she didn’t want to involve anyone else until she had some sort of proof. She was already second-guessing herself and her plan. Was she grasping at straws? Drawing lines where there weren’t any? Well, if she was wrong, at least no one would know. And if she was right, the police were just a phone call away.

With only the light of the moon to help her, she fumbled through the keys on her keychain until she found the one to the toy store that Candice had given her. She unlocked the back door and slipped inside, opting to use her phone’s flashlight app instead of risking the overhead lights.

She started her search in the storage room, checking inside and under every box, shelf, and cabinet she could reach. Becoming increasingly disappointed, she made her way to the main room and, shielding her phone’s light with one hand in an effort to be less noticeable by anyone passing by outside, she continued her search. Nothing. Frustrated, Moira leaned against the counter behind the register and closed her eyes. What had she been expecting? Piles of drugs hidden behind the cash?

When she had heard the detective mention the shortage of drug crimes in the past few weeks, her mind had jumped immediately to the peculiar behavior of Vincent and his two friends who acted more like hired help. What if he had been using the toy store as some sort of front for drug business? Maybe Alice was helping him, and when Henry found out, they had killed him. Then Alice might have gotten cold feet after seeing what they did to her grandfather, which would explain why Vincent was so angry and kept hounding her.

I don’t know what I was thinking
, Moira thought, glad that she hadn’t told Detective Jefferson her idea then and there.
Why would anyone use a toy store as a front for a drug business?
Her gaze fell on the row of teddy bears lining the shelves, surprisingly creepy at night with her phone’s light creating long shadows that hid their beady eyes. Vincent’s words came back to her. “
I was hoping to buy a couple of teddy bears for my niece.”

Not sure she wanted to believe it, she stood up and reached for one in the center of the shelf. She didn’t have a knife, so she groped around in the drawer under the register until she found a pair of scissors. Feeling oddly like she was committing some sort of brutal crime, she began cutting along the stitching in the stuffed bear’s abdomen.

It didn’t take her long until she had a hole big enough to start pulling out stuffing. When she reached in and felt a thin plastic bag under her fingers, a shiver went down her spine. It seemed like she wasn’t so wrong after all.

She pulled the baggie out and shined the light from her phone on it. She held a small zip-lock bag filled with fine white powder. She wasn’t an expert by any means, but she was pretty sure the white power was some sort of illegal drug.
Smuggling drugs in children’s toys
, she thought, sickened.
What sort of person does that?

She was trying to decide what to do with the baggie when she heard aa clatter coming from behind the door that led to the back room. Her hands jerked and she dropped both the baggie and her phone, which went dark as the back popped off with an ominous snap.

Moira froze. She was crouched down by the cash register, invisible, she hoped, in the shadow cast by it in the faint light coming through the big windowpane in the front. Her mind raced. Who else could be in here? Could it be Candice? She was the only other one with a key, as far as Moira knew. With a sudden sickening lurch, she realized that she didn’t remember locking the door behind her when she came in. Anyone could be lurking in the dark beyond the door.

She felt around on the floor for her phone, desperate to put the pieces together, but try as she might she couldn’t find the battery. Her eyes darted over to the toy store’s front door, which exited onto Lake Marion’s Main Street. She could probably make it out the door before whoever was in the back came out… but that only helped if she could find the lock in the dark. If she couldn’t get the door opened in time, she would be a sitting duck.