Deadly Devotion (4 page)

“I never asked you to come.” Dad crossed his arms over his sleep-rumpled shirt.

“I won’t let you starve yourself to death. You act like you’re the only one in the world who’s ever lost someone. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and start living. Do you think Mom would be proud of you like this?”

Dad shot to his feet, grabbed his coat, and slammed out the door.

Great.
Why’d he have to deliver the lecture tonight, when he’d wanted to talk about Daisy? Now Dad probably wouldn’t talk to him for a week.

Tom collected a dirty mug and three empty chip bags from the living room. Okay, his dad wouldn’t starve, but how long could anyone survive on coffee and potato chips?

Tom put away the groceries, then filled the sink with soapy water. He inhaled the lemony scent that always roused memories of Mom. Her tulip-shaped suncatcher glittered in the window. She had loved to work at the counter and watch the colors dance across the walls. He hated to think how she would shudder at the mess her men had made of the place.

A bird flitted past the window and rose toward the heavens. Even in the darkest days of her illness, Mom had lifted her troubles to God as confidently as that tiny bird launched itself into a vast unknown. Tom wished he had a quarter of the confidence.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here, Lord. I thought you wanted me to come home and help my dad find his footing, but I just seem to be making a mess of it.
Worse than that, I have a civilian conducting her own investigation, and if her theory is right, she could put herself in danger.

Or she was a murderer.

Kate lugged the box of jars to her second-floor apartment, trying to ignore the shadows skulking in the stairwell and the moans of the wind whistling through the eaves of the converted century-old house. After her roommate’s wedding next month, she’d look for a new place. One with an elevator and security.

Once inside their apartment, Kate deposited the box on the table sandwiched between the galley kitchen and postage-stamp living room. Next, she stacked her roommate’s scrapbook paraphernalia and moved it to the sofa. At least she’d have an hour to look through the jars before Julie got home from work. The jumbled collection of memorabilia sparked a memory of the newspaper strewn across Daisy’s couch. Edward had always been a bit of a neat freak—someone who would fold the paper and set it on a table. Had he been trying to conceal something else he’d been reading?

Something like Daisy’s journal.

Kate let out a huff of disgust and pressed her palm to the
side of her head. Just contemplating such a far-fetched idea made her head swim. She thought she’d talked herself out of those suspicions on the drive home.

Naturally he’d hesitated to encourage her investigation. Neither of them wanted to perpetuate the scandal.

And unlike Detective Parker, Edward at least had been willing to help her. He’d given her the jars and notebooks and told her about the cheating student. Not the response she would have expected from a guilty man.

Kate pilfered a blank sheet from Julie’s papers, divided it into columns, and labeled them
suspects
,
motives
,
evidence
, and
questions
. Under suspects she wrote “disgruntled student” and “Edward,” then wrote possible motives for each. Under questions she wrote “Where is Daisy’s journal?” She tapped the pen against her lips. Parker may have taken the journal into evidence. Or maybe Edward had . . .

No, she wouldn’t jump to conclusions.

She set down the pen and one by one removed the jars from the box. After she sifted through the items, she’d phone Detective Parker and ask him about the journal. If he hadn’t taken it, maybe the fact it was missing would convince him that somebody had something to hide.

“What’s all this?” Julie walked into the room, towel-drying her hair.

The jar in Kate’s hand toppled to the floor, and she pressed her now empty hand to her thumping chest. “What are you doing home?”

“I got off work early.” Julie rescued the dropped jar. “What is all this stuff?”

“Daisy’s herbs. The police refused to reopen the investigation, so I’m going to figure out who killed her.”

“You? You can’t be serious. You’d mistake a purse snatcher for a Boy Scout helping an old lady carry her purse across the street.”

Kate snatched the jar back from her roommate. “I would not.”

“Yes, you would. And I mean that in the nicest possible way. You don’t have a suspicious bone in your body.”

“That’s not true.” For about a second and a half, Kate debated sharing her suspicions of Daisy’s nephew, but she relayed her disgruntled student theory instead. “Edward told me that Daisy was about to expel one of her students. I thought if I could find—”

“You have to let this go,” Julie cut in.

“No, I don’t. Detective Parker said if I can give him a reason to reopen the case, he will.” Her hand tingled at the memory of how he’d pressed his business card into her palm and folded her fingers over it. His gaze had been wary, but his touch . . .

She plucked his business card from her pocket, smoothed the creases, then danced it in front of Julie’s eyes. “He even gave me his cell number.”

Julie grabbed the card and, staring at it, sank into a chair. “You’re kidding.”

Kate tilted her head and imitated her mom’s notorious do-I-look-like-I’m-kidding eyebrow arc.

Julie let out a good-natured snort. “Right, you never kid.” She turned over the card, and her expression morphed into an eye-glowing, cheek-scrunching grin. Her tongue poked out and she caught it between her teeth as if she intended to keep Kate in suspense about what was so wonderful. “Ohhh,” Julie oozed, giving the word an extra three syllables. “He must like you.”

Kate’s heart jogged. She laced her arms across her chest as though Julie might notice the erratic ka-thump.
Liked her?
Huh. “Why would you say that?”

“Cops don’t have time to investigate non-cases.” Julie scrunched her damp towel into her lap, then finger-combed her long blonde waves. “If you watched TV, you’d know that.”

“This is not a non-case.”

Julie read the labels on the jars. “How can any of this prove Daisy didn’t kill herself?”

“I want to make sure everything in the jars is what’s on the label. Parker had the gall to suggest Daisy wasn’t the person I believed her to be. And I intend to prove him wrong.” Kate shoved aside the notion that Edward might not be what he seemed. If Daisy knew Kate suspected her nephew, she’d have a conniption.

Daisy had loved him, trusted him, believed in him. That ought to be reason enough for Kate to trust him too.

Unless Daisy’s trust had cost her
her
life.

Julie opened a jar of lavender and inhaled. “I read somewhere that statistically men are more likely to kill people by violent means, while women prefer to use pills.”

“That’s interesting.” Kate jotted the fact in the margin of her suspect list.

Julie flipped through Daisy’s notebooks. “What are these?”

“Research notes.” Had Edward given them to her to distract her from the journals? Kate back-stepped into the kitchen. “I’ll just grab a cookie sheet from the cupboard. To empty those jars onto.” Out of Julie’s sight, Kate drew in a deep breath to try to calm the latest attack of jitters.

Julie’s voice cut through the clatter of metal pans. “Uh, Kate, I think Parker might have a point.”

Kate poked her head around the doorway.

Julie held up a dried palmate leaf with sharply toothed, narrow leaflets. “Do you know what this is?”

“Cannabis. Where’d—?”

“Are you kidding me? It’s marijuana.
Marijuana
, as in totally illegal. I’m getting married in three weeks. No way am I going to let you get us arrested for possession.”

Kate set a cookie sheet on the table and took the leaf from Julie. “Stop overreacting. I know it’s marijuana. Cannabis is its proper name. Was this in one of Daisy’s notebooks?”

“Yes, and I don’t care what its proper name is.” Julie snatched up Parker’s business card. “I love you like a sister, Kate, but if you don’t call the detective, I will.”

Kate looked from the marijuana to Julie. “And tell him what?”

“I don’t know, but I want that . . . that thing out of here.”

“You’re right, this might be the evidence I need to convince Parker to reopen Daisy’s case. If Daisy stumbled onto an illegal grow-op and the growers found out, that’s a motive for murder. Don’t you think?”

“Yes, they shoot people who stumble upon their little gardens of pot out in the woods.” Julie held out the card. “Now, call the police and let them handle it.”

“Not yet. It’s still just a theory.” Kate took the card and placed it on the table. “Until I find out where Daisy found the marijuana, I have nothing.”

Julie flagged her arms back and forth. “No way. Uh-uh. I’m not going to let you nose around looking for drug dealers.” She grabbed the card and marched out of the room. “I’m calling the cops.”

Kate chased her down the hall. “Wait a minute. Let’s talk about this.”

“No.” Julie slammed her bedroom door, and the lock clicked.

Rattling the knob with one hand, Kate slapped the wood with her other. “Don’t do this. You’ll ruin my investigation. What if Parker confiscates everything?” She curled her fingers into a fist and pounded harder. “The cops had their chance.”

When Julie didn’t come out, Kate grabbed the notebooks and combed through them as fast as she could, looking for anything out of the ordinary that might indicate where Daisy had been or who she’d talked to.

Less than ten minutes later, the doorbell rang.

Kate stuffed the notebooks under a pile of magazines on the bookshelf and fluffed the throw pillows at either end of the sofa.

An impatient
tap, tap, tap
came from the door.

Kate pushed back her hair and peered through the peephole. Parker had lost the tie and suit jacket and looked a whole lot more tired than he had a few hours ago. With any luck, he’d be in such a hurry to get home that he wouldn’t question how she happened to have all Daisy’s herbs sitting on her table. Kate unlatched the deadbolt and opened the door. “Thanks for coming,” she said with about as much enthusiasm as she’d welcome her dentist.

Parker stepped inside and seemed to take in her, her reemerged roommate, and their miniscule apartment in one all-consuming glance. “I hate to tell you, but your find proves my point. People aren’t what they seem.”

Kate scowled as she handed him the single leaf, which proved absolutely nothing, except that Parker had a tendency to jump to conclusions about people. “Daisy didn’t use this stuff.”

“Lots of people use marijuana. She was probably one of those hippies in the sixties.” His voice gentled, as though he might have a heart buried under all that cynicism. “She had arthritis. Could have been medicinal.”

“Right. That’s why there was only a single leaf in her entire house.” Parker seemed to consider her words, so Kate pressed her advantage. “I think Daisy found a grow-op. If drug dealers caught her snooping, that would be a motive for murder.”

Parker’s gaze swept over the jars lining the table. “An honest person would report their find to the police.”

“Maybe they killed her before she had a chance.”

“Oh?” Humor lit his baby blues. “She invited them over for tea to chat about their indiscretions and they just happened to spike hers?”

Julie chuckled.

Kate silenced her roommate with a glare, then planted her hands on her hips and turned that glare on Parker. “Maybe the coroner is in on the operation. I hear there are lots of drug dealers high up.”

“Trust me. The charge for getting caught running a grow-op is a slap on the wrist compared to murder. No criminal in his right mind would take the risk.”

“Have you ever known a criminal in his right mind, Detective? Maybe someone didn’t want to lose their job.”

Julie slouched onto the sofa. “If you don’t look into this, Detective, she’s going to scour the countryside looking for grow-ops just to prove her point.”

Parker shook his head, but a small smile wrestled the scowl off his lips. “Okay, give me a paper bag for the evidence and I’ll see what I can uncover.”

Julie jumped to her feet and bounded to the kitchen. “Good, because I can’t afford to lose my maid of honor.”

Kate called after her. “He’s just saying this to stop me from looking.”

Parker stepped closer. He was half a foot taller than her, and his nearness seemed to swallow the air, but his gaze telegraphed more concern than she expected. “I promise I’ll look into this.”

Julie’s teasing “he must like you” remark flickered through Kate’s thoughts, bringing with it a whole different kind of jittery feeling. She shook out her arms the way a boxer shakes off his tension before starting the next round. Nothing could dissuade her from her mission. Least of all a smooth-talking cop who was too handsome for his own good.

“Promise me,” Parker added, his voice low and sort of protective. “Promise me you won’t go looking for grow-ops.”

At seven the next morning, after tossing half the night away mulling over her suspicions and denying her silly burst of attraction to Mr. Promise-Me, Kate cruised into the deserted parking lot of the Agricultural Research Center. Detective Parker may have wheedled a promise out of her not to look for grow-ops, but he hadn’t said anything about not looking for Daisy’s journal. If Edward was on the up-and-up about not knowing its whereabouts, here was the next most logical place to search.

Climbing from her car, Kate inhaled the fragrance-laden air. The peach and cherry blossoms were at their peak—a stunning array of pinks and creams. She picked up a fallen blossom and traced its delicate petals, trying to ignore the weight pressing on her chest.

Were there flowers in heaven?

Daisy had often talked about heaven and how she looked forward to worshiping her King face-to-face. Kate pictured her friend there now. Singing to her King. Maybe even in tune. The thought made her smile, but her heart still ached for answers. She hurried to the front of the building. If she didn’t want her search interrupted, she didn’t have time to waste feeling sorry for herself. She swiped her card through the card lock and tugged open the door.

Her footsteps echoed in the empty halls, yet another grim reminder of how empty her days would be without Daisy. The demand for natural medicines, coupled with a generous research grant from the Foundation for Herbal Studies, had detoured the research she and Daisy had been doing from the facility’s stated mandate into the realm of herbal remedies.

Would the foundation pull their funding now that Daisy was gone? When they were on the verge of a breakthrough that could revolutionize the treatment of depression?