Blackmoore Sisters 01-Dead Wrong (2 page)

“That’s her.” He nodded to the two uniformed men who approached Morgan hesitantly. Fiona recognized one of the men as Brody Hunter, whose older brother Morgan had dated all through high school. She saw Brody look questioningly at the Sheriff.

The other man stood a head taller than Brody. Fiona noticed his dark hair and broad shoulders but her assessment of him stopped there when she saw him pulling out a pair of handcuffs.

Her heart lurched at the look of panic on her sister’s face as the men advanced toward her.

“Just what is this all about?” She demanded, standing up and taking a step toward the Sheriff.

There was no love lost between the Sheriff and Fiona. They’d had a few run-ins and she thought he was an egotistical bore and probably crooked too. He ignored her question focusing his attention on Morgan. The next words out of his mouth chilled Fiona to the core.

“Morgan Blackmoore … you’re under arrest for the murder of Prudence Littlefield.”

“Just what is the meaning of this?” Fiona stepped closer to the Sheriff. The smell of stale cigarettes kept her a few paces from getting right in his face.

She felt her stomach curdle as he turned his rheumy eyes on her. The ever-present toothpick bobbed up and down. “Mrs. Littlefield was found not one quarter mile from here. Murdered.”

“And what makes you think my sister did it?” She demanded, hands on hips.

“Earlier this morning, Morgan was overheard telling Prudence that she wanted to turn her into a newt.”

Fiona wrinkled her brow. “So?”

“Prudence was found with a newt stuffed in her throat. She’d been strangled.” He turned to face Morgan. “Where were you two hours ago?”

The girls exchanged glances and Fiona looked at her watch. Two hours ago was about when she was waiting for Morgan to come back with her coffee.

“I was walking here from the coffee shop,” Morgan said. “And I didn’t say I wanted to turn her into a newt, I said
if
I was a witch I would have
already
turned her into a newt.”

“Close enough for me,” Sheriff Overton said. “Did anyone see you walking here?”

“Surely, you can’t be serious?” Morgan stared at him incredulously. “That’s just the kind of thing you say when someone pisses you off. You can’t seriously think I actually killed her over a small argument in a coffee shop?”

“That remains to be seen.” Overton nodded at the officers. “Cuff her and get her into the car.” He switched the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other, then snickered at Fiona before turning and walking out of the shop.

Fiona stared at his retreating back, trying to get her mouth to work. She whirled around at the sound of snapping handcuffs, planting herself firmly in between the officers and the door.

“You can’t just arrest her like this. You need more solid evidence!” She glared at the two men.
 

Brody looked down at the floor.
 

“That’s right Brody Hunter, you should be ashamed of yourself.” She turned her steely blue gaze on the other officer.
 

“And you, whoever you are. How dare you come to our town and arrest my sister on this flimsy evidence. I’ll have you brought up under charges of false arrest!”

Fiona was standing close to him; his height forced her to tilt her head backwards to look up into his face. She saw his gray eyes soften a little before he gently moved her aside.

“Sorry Ma’am,” he dipped his head at her, “Just doing my job." Then he brushed past her, tugging Morgan along behind him.

Fiona stomped outside after them. She noticed with annoyance that they’d parked the police car sideways in the front lawn instead of just leaving it in the driveway. She stood at the side of the car, her fists clenched so hard that her nails dug into her palms painfully, and watched them put Morgan in the back seat.
 

Bending down, she looked in through the window at her sister. “Don’t worry Morgan, they can’t do this. I’ll be right down to get you out.”

Overton walked by, pushing her aside and the three men piled into the car; Brodie and Overton in the front and the other officer in the back with Morgan. Overton started the car and sped off, digging up a piece of their front yard with his back tire.

Fiona’s heart lurched as she saw Morgan turn her head and look out the back window at her. She spun around and raced back into the store, her heart pounding in her chest. Grabbing her purse, she locked up the shop and ran to her twelve year old pick-up truck.
 

Mumbling a prayer to the car starting gods, she held her breath while she pumped the gas pedal and turned the key in the ignition. Relief flooded her when the old truck sputtered to life and she jammed it into drive and peeled out, pointing the truck in the direction of the police station.

***

Fiona burst through the door to the police station, her curly red hair flying wildly behind her. Storming over to the counter, she pounded on the top catching the attention of George O’Neil who gave her a sympathetic look.

“I demand to see my sister,” she yelled, accentuating the words by pounding on the counter even louder.

George took a step back and held his hands up, palms out. “Whoa there, Fiona, I know you’re upset but you need to calm down.”

“I’ll handle this, George.” Someone said from behind her and she whirled around to confront him. It was the officer that had arrested Morgan, the one she’d never seen before.
 

Fiona had heard talk that some fancy cop from Boston had taken a job on their small town police force, which was strange because most cops were trying to get out of Noquitt and move to the big city. Not too many people moved
to
Noquitt from other places and Fiona had an instant distrust of anyone who did.
Probably some big scandal in his past or maybe Overton had brought him in to help corrupt the town.

“Just who
are
you?” She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Jake Cooper.”
 

Fiona eyed the hand he stuck out at her suspiciously, then placed her own hand inside it. His handshake was firm, his hand large and calloused. She had to admit the feeling wasn’t all too unpleasant, but she didn’t have time to dwell on that—she was on a mission.

“And you are?” He prompted.

She ripped her hand away. “Fiona Blackmoore …and I want to see my sister
now
.”

“I’m sorry, but she’s being processed. You can’t see her until visiting hours at 5 pm,” he said softly.
 

“What do you mean I can’t see her? You can’t just keep her in there alone … I mean, doesn’t she get a phone call or something?” Fiona blinked away tears of frustration.

“I’m sorry,” Jake spread his hands. “That’s the rule. I promise you she’s being treated well … I mean, heck, she seems to be old friends with everyone back there. They’ll take good care of her.”

Jake’s soothing tone and words of comfort had the opposite effect on Fiona. She felt her anger rising and took a step closer to him.

“Look buddy, I don’t know what’s going on here or who you people think you are, but I do know that you can’t arrest my sister on this flimsy evidence." Fiona wondered if they had some other evidence they had not told her about, but brushed away the thought. She
knew
Morgan didn’t kill Prudence.

She saw a flicker of something in Jake’s eyes. Understanding? Guilt? Compassion?
 
He leaned in toward her, lowering his voice.

“Listen, if I were you, I’d go home and calm down. Get a decent lawyer. Then come back this afternoon and you should be able to get her out,” he said glancing over at the desk as if to make sure no one heard him.

Fiona was taken aback. Was he trying to help her?
 
Or was this all part of their trap?
 
Suddenly she felt alone, confused and helpless.
Why were they trying to blame this on Morgan?

“I don’t know what you people are up to,” she said, taking a step closer to the tall officer. “But if you think my sister did this you are
dead wrong
.”
 

She punctuated the last two words by poking her index finger hard at his chest, her eyes widening in surprise at the solid muscle she felt.
Or was that his kevlar vest?
 
Jerking her finger away before she could contemplate it further, she turned and fled out of the station.

Flinging open the door to her truck she tumbled inside, shaking so hard she could barely get her key in the ignition. As she drove away she remembered what Jake had said about getting a lawyer. She knew a good one and wanted the best chance for Morgan, but lawyers didn’t come cheap nor did they work for free.
 

Chewing her bottom lip, she wondered how on earth they would pay for a lawyer when they could barely raise the money to pay the taxes on their home.
 

Her stomach felt like lead as she drove toward town on autopilot. Her mind was so busy trying to work a solution that she barely noticed how crowded the roads were getting now that tourist season had started. Or how all the shops were now opening for the season. Or Mrs. Penobscott setting up for her perpetual weekend yard sale that she stocked with random items she found in the attic of her old family home.

Suddenly Fiona had an idea of how she could get the money to hire a lawyer for Morgan. She pressed harder on the gas and headed toward home.

The springs on Jake’s ancient police-issue chair protested loudly as he leaned back and put his feet on the desk. He knew the woman in the holding cell was no murderer. He had a gut instinct about these things, and he was usually right. Of course, getting Sheriff Overton to see it his way was another story.

It was curious, though, that Overton had been so adamant about arresting her, even though any fool could see the evidence was circumstantial at best. But then, Overton rarely did things that made sense to Jake.

Jake ran his hand over the stubble on his chin. He hated to admit it, but he just didn’t get a warm feeling about his new boss. Something was strange about him. Jake often found him difficult to work with. Overton was the type of guy that was never wrong, and some of the things he did made Jake wonder which side of the law he was on. But Jake was the new guy … a peon, so he just nodded and did his job.

Of course, he wouldn’t just stand by and let Overton prosecute someone without the proper evidence, but hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. Surely the various lawyers and judges involved would laugh in Overton’s face if he tried to get a trial on the evidence he had … which made Jake wonder just what the Sheriff was up to with this arrest.

He’d almost refused to handcuff Morgan, but something told him it would be better if he played along. Still, he’d felt bad snapping those metal shackles on her slender wrist. At least he’d made sure they were loose—she probably could have wriggled out of them if she’d tried. But she didn’t.
 

Jake smiled thinking of the redheaded sister and how fiercely she had tried to defend Morgan. She sure was a feisty one, whereas the dark haired girl was more calm; serene almost. The two were so different. You’d never know they were sisters, except they both had those piercing ice-blue eyes.
 

Jake had always been a sucker for redheads but he had no intention of getting caught up in any kind of relationship. Especially not in a small town like Noquitt where everybody knew everybody else’s business. Besides, he’d had enough of relationships to last him a lifetime in Boston.
 

Probably better off to avoid the Blackmoore sisters … and maybe even the whole case.
 

Still, he felt bad for the woman sitting in the jail cell in the basement of the police station. She didn’t have any prior arrest record, so she was probably terrified. Not to mention she was most likely there under false pretenses. Jake couldn’t do anything about that, but he could do something to make her stay a little less harrowing.

He slid his feet off the desk, slapping them down on the floor and picked up his phone to dial in some take-out. The least he could do was get her something decent to eat besides the slop they’d give her down there.

He placed the order for a pot-roast dinner to be delivered at five. He planned to take it down to her himself for dinner, convincing himself he was just doing a good deed to try to make up for his role in her arrest and it had nothing to do with the fact that her sister would be back just around supper time.

Fiona’s heart thumped in her chest. She stared at the old door that led to the attic. Reaching for the glass knob, she turned it slowly. The squeaking of the hinges echoed loudly in the stairwell setting her nerves on edge.

The stairs loomed in front of her, stretching up into the darkness of the fourth floor. Fumbling for a light switch, she took a deep breath. It was silly to be afraid of the attic. After all, it was just a big room … well, more than a room as it comprised the whole fourth floor of the mansion her and her sisters lived in. But she had been warned since childhood by her mother and grandmother to stay away from there and the place still scared her even if she was all grown up now.