Deadly Devotion (13 page)

Kate swung the shop door wide and headed down the
street. “Come on, no more dillydallying. We have a cake to pick out.”

An hour later they stepped out of the bakery, and a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the change in temperature slid through Kate’s veins. Gripped by an uneasy sense they were being watched, she scanned the windows above the shop, thinking Edward might be spying down on them from Molly’s apartment. The blinds were closed.

Kate squinted toward the Kish apartment up the street, but it was too far away to tell if anyone stood at the windows.

Julie nudged Kate’s arm and jutted her chin toward the hardware store. “Do you know that man over there?”

A group of gray-haired men were congregated around the barrels set up in front of the store for games of checkers.

“See him?” Julie pointed, cupping her hand over her pointer finger to disguise the action. “The man in the blue shirt. He’s staring at you.”

Their eyes met and Keith tipped his ball cap.

The chill melted from her veins. “That’s Tom’s dad.” Tom must have asked him to keep an eye on her, be her bodyguard. The thought warmed her more than she liked to admit. After all, Tom was a police officer—one of the very people she’d spent most of her life distrusting. Although unlike the men who arrested her father, Tom was willing to admit he’d made a mistake by closing Daisy’s case. A mistake he seemed determined to remedy.

Of course, he wouldn’t be too happy when his dad reported that she’d returned to the lab after hours. But she couldn’t just sit around twiddling her thumbs while Edward got away with murder.

Tom accepted a delicate teacup teetering on an equally dainty saucer, and sunk into Nora Hopkins’s poufy floral sofa. His hostess had refused to answer a single question about the robberies she’d reported—robberies from the research station—until she’d served tea. Her cozy living room with its comfortable chairs, collection of lighthouse replicas, and bright bay windows was as different from Kate’s cluttered apartment as the plump, white-haired woman was from Kate.

He groaned. There he went again, letting his thoughts stray where they didn’t belong. It was bad enough that Dad thought he had a thing for her.

Tom cringed at the memory.

At breakfast this morning, without warning, his dad had said, “Have you told Kate how you feel about her?”

Of course, Tom did what any red-blooded male would do. Deny. Deny. Deny.

But apparently he hadn’t tamed the goofy grin that had been smiling back at him from the bathroom mirror a few
minutes earlier because his dad just said, “Uh-huh,” and launched into a story about the day he’d met Mom after clocking her going fifty-five in a fifty zone.

Halfway through the story—a story Tom had heard a hundred times—Tom finally blurted the truth. “Okay, I like her.” A lot. But if he didn’t stop thinking about her and start making some progress on the other cases Hank had dumped on him, he’d be out of a job.

Following up on suspects in the Leacock case would have to wait until the end of his shift. Figuring out what to do about his feelings for Kate would have to wait a whole lot longer.

Regardless of how much he’d enjoyed sharing dinner with her, Kate had withheld information, of that he was certain, and after the number Zoe pulled on his FBI partner, Tom was in no hurry to play Russian roulette with his heart.

He returned his attention to Nora Hopkins, the research station’s janitor.

The woman had long since settled into her chair and now looked at him with a peculiar expression, as if she knew his mind had been a million miles away—or more precisely, six blocks.

He downed his tea in one long gulp and unburdened himself of the cup and saucer. “So, when did you first notice the items missing?” he asked, extracting his notebook and pen.

Nora set her teacup onto the end table and her hands flew into action as she talked. “Miss Leacock was the first to notice. Since I clean all the labs, she’d thought I put the missing items away in a cupboard.”

“What items exactly?”

“That’s what’s so strange. They were little things like
spools of wire, beakers, half empty jars of chemicals. Pilfering, really.”

“What kind of chemicals?”

“Fertilizers, mostly.” She twisted her fingers together and pressed her hands into her lap. “When other researchers started noticing things missing from their labs and storage closets too, enough to prompt them to ask me if I knew anything about them, I wondered if they thought I took the stuff.” A blush crept up her neck and into her cheeks. “That’s why I filed the report. Maybe it was silly to bother the police with such a small matter.”

“Not at all.” Boy, Hank must have scraped the bottom of the barrel to pull out this complaint. “Can you tell me when the thefts began?”

“Oh my. A month and a half ago now. At least that’s when people started noticing. Things went missing for a few weeks and then the thefts stopped around the time Miss Leacock died.”

The coincidental timing piqued Tom’s interest.

He reviewed the list of stolen items. Wires. Chemicals. The kinds of things that could be used to build bombs.

His grip on his pen tightened. In his experience, coincidences were few and far between, which meant his terrorist theory might not have been the dead end he’d been led to believe. If Leacock snooped where she didn’t belong, she might have paid for her curiosity with her life.

Mrs. Hopkins’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “When the police didn’t follow up on my complaint . . . well, I understood how busy you were. It’s not as though anything of much value was stolen.”

“Who has access to the labs?”

“The researchers, their supervisors, and security personnel
all have keys. During the day, student interns are often in and out too. And that new PR fellow was in a lot, visiting his aunt.”

“Edward Smythe?”

“Could be. I don’t know his name. I remember him because he always left a trail of dirt in the hall I’d have to mop up.” Nora wrinkled her nose. “If not for the fancy suit, you’d think he spent his days tromping around the orchards.”

Or woods.

Tom punched his pen against his notepad. He needed to go back to the shed and verify Hank’s claim that it was used for building firecrackers . . . not bombs. Tom’s gaze strayed to the window and the bright blue sky. He could just imagine what Dad would say about this theory.

Tom’s phone beeped and Dad’s name flashed on the display.

Tom closed his notebook. “Excuse me, I need to take this.”

“Son.” The urgency in Dad’s voice yanked Tom to his feet. “You need to get to the research station, pronto.”

“What’s wrong? Wait. Hold on a minute.” Tom pressed a business card into Mrs. Hopkins’s hand and moved toward the door. “Thank you for your time. If you notice anything else peculiar, please don’t hesitate to call.”

Her eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yes, we can never be too careful.”

Hurrying to his car, Tom strained to rein in his overactive imagination. “The research station is supposed to be closed on Saturdays.”

“It is. Locked tight. But Kate’s in there. Somewhere. And Edward just let himself in.”

“What?” Tom cranked the ignition and gunned his car onto the street. “She promised she’d be careful.”

The woman obviously didn’t know the meaning of the word.

Empty.
Kate shoved her palms against the edge of the lab desk, and her chair skated backward. Who would’ve deleted Daisy’s internet browsing history?

Edward grinned at Kate from the gilt-framed photo on Daisy’s desk.

Of course. After he found something incriminating in Daisy’s journal, he’d probably worried there’d be more of the same on her computer. Kate dug through the desk drawer. When her fingers touched the cool metal of a portable hard drive, she let out a whoop. Every Friday without fail, Daisy had backed up the entire computer, including all the temporary internet files.

I bet you didn’t know about this when you sabotaged Daisy’s computer, did you, Mr. Smythe?

Kate’s fingers tingled with anticipation as she plugged the USB into the computer port. If Edward had gone to so much trouble to conceal the internet surfing Daisy had been doing, it had to reveal something incriminating.

Kate clicked on one file after another. Pages and pages held profiles of the various herbs they were researching. Applications for research grants. A news report on some guy who’d swindled an old lady out of half of her fortune.

What?

Kate hit the back arrow and stared at the article until her head pounded from forgetting to breathe. The description of how the guy gained the victim’s trust held eerie similarities to
how Edward ingratiated himself into their lives. Had Daisy suspected Edward of running a con?

No, she would have said something, and she wouldn’t have named him in her will.

In the list of websites Daisy had visited in the past couple of months, Kate spotted an adoption registry site.
Bingo.

She clicked on the site, but the page had expired. She worked through the layers of information to try to find data on Edward’s adoption, but without specifics on his birth mother and date of birth, she couldn’t get the system to spit out the answers she wanted.

Kate pulled up Daisy’s email and searched the inbox for correspondence from the adoption registry. A message from the Werland Detective Agency caught her attention.

As requested, we are writing to confirm that your nephew Leonard Leacock was adopted by the Smythe family of Pinehurst, Ontario, and given the name Edward. The adoptive family . . .

Something clunked out in the hall.

Kate jumped. The noise had sounded like the security door being pushed shut. She froze and strained to listen for the slightest noise. Nothing.

No, wait. Were those footsteps?

The rhythmic squeak of shoes grew louder.

Heart racing, she shut down the lab computer, pocketed the backup hard drive, stuffed her notes into her purse, and scanned the room for something she could use to defend herself.

The door inched open.

Spotting a myrtle spurge plant, Kate eased toward it, not daring to take her eyes off the door.

Long fingers, manicured yet masculine, curled around its edge. One foot—one very large foot—stepped into view.

“Who’s there?” she called.

The door burst open.

“What—” Kate swallowed hard, struggling to pull her voice down a couple of octaves. “What are you doing here?”

Edward, dressed in dark clothes and sunglasses, swaggered into the room. “I was driving by and noticed your car out front.” The door clicked shut behind him.

Trapped. What was wrong with her? She should have parked around back like she did yesterday. And she should have told someone where she’d be. If only she hadn’t lost sight of Tom’s dad somewhere between the florist and the caterer.

Edward sauntered along the wall in her general direction.

With Tom’s warning not to betray her suspicions blaring in her head, Kate pasted on a
how nice
smile and discreetly reached behind her, searching by touch for the plant.

“Your roommate told me the two of you were doing wedding stuff all day. Yet here you are.” Edward stopped at the computer and rested his palm on the hard drive as if he knew exactly what she’d been up to.

“We finished early.” Kate walked her fingers along the counter until they bumped into the myrtle spurge. Without looking, she snapped off a runner and prayed the toxic juice wouldn’t spurt onto her own hands.

Edward tilted his head to one side. “What’s the matter? You look nervous.”

“What do you expect?” She waggled the plant runner at
him. “You scared the bejeebies out of me. I thought you were an intruder.”

He chuckled. “And what did you plan to do? Whack me with that weed?”

She jabbed the air with it, trying to act playful. “You bet. This baby works way better than pepper spray. Not only will the sap make your eyes and skin sting horribly, it’ll make your face swell fatter than roadkill on a hot summer day.”

“Ni-i-ice.” He shuddered exaggeratedly. “Lucky for me I’m your friend.”

If only she could believe that. She lowered her arm. “What are you doing here?”

“Like I said”—he hitched his thumb over his shoulder—“I saw your car outside, and since I have that stuff from Daisy in my trunk, I figured this was as good a time as any to give it to you.” Edward took a step toward her, looked at the weed in her hand, and seemed to have second thoughts. “If you want to give me your keys, I can throw the stuff into your car.”

She grabbed her purse from the end of the counter. “That’s okay. I’ll go out with you.” When she didn’t release the myrtle spurge, Edward gave her a funny look.

What was worse, escalating his suspicions or giving up her weapon?

She opted to drop the plant into the trash and poked her keys between her fingers instead. “I’m sorry I didn’t return your call,” she said, striding past him and out the lab door. “With everything that’s been happening, I’ve gotten behind on my work here.”

“No problem. Did you find anything helpful in the journals?” His tone, if it could be believed, held friendly curiosity.

Was he being nice to lure her into a false sense of security?
He had to know she’d seen the remnants of the journal he’d burned.

Kate tried to swallow the sudden clog in her throat. Shouldn’t she be able to see evil in a person’s eyes?

Glancing away, she said, “No, I haven’t found anything yet.”

Edward squeezed her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

She shrank from his touch, barely stopping herself from bolting out of the building.

He let his hand drop. “Are you upset with me?”

“Upset? Why would I be upset with you?” Her voice sounded unnaturally high even to her own ears. The long hall to the main door felt like a dark tunnel. And in the silence, the echo of their footfalls sounded downright terrifying.