Football is Murder (Bee's Bakehouse Cozy Mysteries Book 4) (Bee's Bakehouse Mysteries) (13 page)

The scene cut suddenly to a shot of a room Jessie recognized. It was the conference room at Rockfield police department. She recognized the man at the front of the room too, even though his brow was furrowed and there was none of the easy charm that she had seen in person.

Chief Carston of the Rockfield PD.

He was shaking his head in response to a question from the floor.

“Of course not, Bernard. There’s a clear link between the victims. I don’t think the general public has anything to worry about unless they are aspirant football players.”

Jessie groaned. The Rockfield cops standing behind the chief had a similar reaction, if their expressions were anything to go on. The chief faltered for a moment—the response to his tactless remark obviously wasn’t lost on him.

“On a serious note,” he went on. “We’d like to reassure the citizens of Rockfield that we’re doing everything we can to apprehend this criminal. You can rest assured that we’ll catch him soon.”

“Chief Carston, a question,” a familiar voice said. Jessie sat forward, wondering what Ken was about to ask. She was practically at the edge of her seat at this point.

Chief Carston nodded curtly.

“I’m sure you’ll apprehend
somebody
. But what measures have you put in place to ensure you’ve apprehended the actual killer this time, and not an innocent man?”

The room fell silent. Jessie stared in horror at the chief’s face. She had to admit that Ken had a point—she felt no small amount of guilt for her part in laying the blame at Chad’s feet. But this was bad. This was exactly the kind of situation that Chief Daly had been trying to avoid.

“That was an unfortunate exception,” Chief Carston stammered.

“I’d say it was most unfortunate for Mr. Denver,” Ken said. “I take it he’s been released?”

Chief Carston narrowed his eyes. “Of course.”

Jessie’s eyes widened as she thought back to her conversation with the chief. She rushed to the window and glanced out. There was no sign of life in the house across the street and the lights were off. That meant nothing, of course—it was still just about bright outside.

She shook her head. There was something she hadn’t thought of—now that the media knew he’d been released, they’d likely flock to Chad’s home in the hope that they’d be the first to be granted an interview.

The news report didn’t just change her mind, it made her realize that there was no time to waste.

“I’ve got to go,” she said suddenly. She rushed to the door before stopping and wheeling around. She made a beeline to the refrigerator. “Oh, and I’ll order us pizza later, okay?”

Melanie frowned back at her. “Why? There’s an entire vat of chili in the refrigerator. Surely that’s enough for the two of us?”

Jessie shook her head. “Change of plan.”

There was no time to explain.

Chapter 15

Jessie powered across the street and up the driveway before she could change her mind. She kept glancing around, terrified she was going to see an approaching army of news vans. This thing was bigger than she had realized—the press conference had been packed out. It seemed like every reporter in the state had turned up.

She shook her head as she got to the door and tried to plaster on a smile even though all she wanted to do was go hide under a rock. The guy had been unfriendly and that was before he’d spent time in police custody.

She pushed the buzzer and waited. She could hear it chiming inside the house. She glanced behind her. Chad wasn’t the killer—he couldn’t possibly be—but that didn’t make her feel any more comfortable.

“Yes?”

Jessie glanced up and found herself face-to-face with Chad Denver.

“Hi,” she whispered, momentarily losing her train of thought.

He was staring at the large bowl in her hands. She held it up. “I brought chili,” she said, regretting it almost immediately.

His expression didn’t soften a bit. “You brought chili.”

Jessie swallowed back her urge to turn around and walk back to her home, where there was no awkwardness or hostility. But the chief had asked her to do this one thing. She didn’t care about the Rockfield PD or how they looked, but she cared about Chief Charles Daly. She cleared her throat.

“Look, I live across the street. I know we seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot, but…”

What am I going to say,
she thought wildly.
Sorry I accused you of murder?
The only thing that stopped her falling at his feet and begging forgiveness was the fact that he hadn’t once protested his innocence. That meant there was something going on. And he was involved in it.

She smiled in a way she hoped was calming. “I heard about what happened,” she said softly. “And I just wanted you to know that you’re welcome in Springdale.” She gritted her teeth and prayed she wouldn’t be struck down for utter hypocrisy. “We think it’s a crying shame that the Rockfield PD charged you with a crime you didn’t commit.”

Jessie told herself she was doing it for good reasons. It wasn’t like her to be such a hypocrite, but she needed him to talk to her. And if he did, maybe the police could get to the bottom of this thing and find the real killer. Wasn’t that worth it?

She told herself that, but her stomach churned uneasily.

“I’m Jessie,” she said, plastering on her brightest smile.

He stared at her completely impassive. “Chad,” he said at last. “But then you know that already.”

Jessie froze. Her first thought was that he’d somehow found out about her involvement in the investigation. But then a second later he smiled tightly and jerked his head. “From the newspapers. Right?”

Jessie nodded sheepishly. “Right. Yeah.”

They stood there looking at each other. In a normal situation, Jessie would have given up and left because of this awkwardness, but this wasn’t a normal situation. He made no attempt to invite her in and she couldn’t say she blamed him.

“I’ll just put this in the oven?” she said, almost apologetically, holding up the bowl again.

“You didn’t have to bring me food,” he said evenly. “I’m not sick.”

Jessie bristled. “I thought you might appreciate some home cooked food after...” She shrugged.

“You just made this?”

“I made it earlier. For the café. You know, Bee’s Bakehouse.”

He stared at her uncomprehendingly. Jessie was about to give up and go home when he stood aside.

“Come in.”

“Okay,” she smiled, sucking in a breath. She looked around, surprised at what she saw.

The inside of the house looked completely different to when she had viewed it. Gone were the classic furniture pieces. In their place were wide low-slung black furnishings and shaggy white rugs.

“Wow, I came to see this place when it was on the market. It looks totally different.”

He shrugged. “I’m not into all that decorative stuff. I like my home comfortable.”

Jessie nodded. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”

She followed him into the kitchen. He rifled in one of the cupboards for a while before turning around looking defeated. “Is that microwavable?”

Jessie glanced down. It was one of the storage bowls from the café. They didn’t have a microwave there—she’d been planning to move it to Tupperware for her and Melanie. She lifted it up and squinted at the bottom, looking for the microwave symbol.

“I think so,” she said, handing it over. “Though I won’t be held responsible if it explodes.”

He smiled—the first time she’d seen any levity on his face. “Deal.”

Jessie sat on one of the stools at the counter and watched as he barreled around in the kitchen, opening drawers and slamming them closed again in search of something. She was starting to feel comfortable—so much so that she had to continually remind herself that this wasn’t a social call. But she also knew she needed to take it slow.

“You haven’t used the kitchen much, huh?” she said, watching as he opened another drawer and shook his head when he didn’t find what he wanted in there.

He glanced up, looking resigned. “No. Not really. I’m more of a restaurant or takeout kind of guy.”

Jessie smiled. “I used to be like that. I never had time to cook after work. It used to drive me crazy.”

He shook his head. “Nah, I’ve never been much of a cook. Whether I have the time or not.”

“What brought you to Springdale?” she asked.

He shrugged, a wistful look in his eyes and she suddenly thought of the financial records she had seen. She immediately regretted asking.

But he didn’t seem to mind. “I guess I wanted a change of scene. I had my fill of partying. As crazy as that might sound.”

“That doesn’t sound crazy at all,” Jessie said, nodding. “I moved here this year from the city. It’s certainly a change of pace.”

He regarded her silently. Jessie glanced at the microwave and was alarmed to see it still had two minutes to go. All of a sudden, the only things she could think of asking seemed intrusive and rude.

“So.”

“So,” she said, taking another look around the kitchen. Unlike the huge living room, this room was exactly how she remembered it from when she’d seen it. “You know there’s a distillery out in the outhouse?”

He nodded.

Jessie shivered, wondering why on earth she had brought
that
up. She thought hard for something else to say.

He just stared at her, seeming to look through her. Jessie shuffled awkwardly in her seat. She’d never had a problem with confrontation. Awkward silences, on the other hand? She couldn’t abide them.

“It must be a relief to be home,” she said, trying to sound as bright and casual as she could.

But she was making it worse, she knew. She glanced at the microwave display. It was almost ready. Chad’s expression had darkened.

“Have you met many of the locals? It’s such a great area around here, you know. So peaceful. There are some great little stores to explore on Spring Street if you’re into that kind of thing.” She knew she was babbling, but she didn’t care anymore. She had to keep talking about Springdale—it stopped her from blurting out something offensive. So many things were taboo with him—the town’s recent history, finances—but she needed to warm him up to her before she broached the topic that she needed to discuss.

He shook his head. He opened a drawer in the island between them and pulled out two tiny side plates.

“These are all I can find,” he said, apologetically.

Jessie shook her head. “They’re fine. We can have two helpings. Have you got any silverware?”

He resumed his hunt. The microwave dinged and Jessie was dimly aware of it—she was beginning to relax again.

“I’ve got these,” he said finally, holding up two long coffee spoons.

Jessie stared at them skeptically. “I guess they’ll do.”

At this rate, it was going to take them hours to eat. She guessed it was a good thing—eating removed the need for awkward ice-breaking conversation—something she’d never been good at.

“Sorry,” he said. “I usually eat at the team facility or at a restaurant.”

She nodded and stood to retrieve the bowl.

“I got it,” he said, waving her away.

This has to be the strangest evening meal I’ve ever had,
she thought, as they scrambled to dole out chili from the large bowl using their long skinny spoons.
Not just the side plates and the spoons, but the fact that I’m trying to grease my new neighbor for information that might help crack a criminal case.

“You don’t seem like the neighborhood snoop type,” he said.

Jessie glanced up to find him watching her. She shook her head. “I’m not. I just thought you might want to eat.”

A sadness crossed his face. “In my experience, it’s never that simple.”

Jessie sighed. He seemed so jaded that she wanted to protest; to tell him she was simply being neighborly. She would have settled for being able to tell him the truth. She just stayed silent, playing with her food.

“That’s a bit cynical.”

“If I’m cynical, it’s because life has made me that way.”

He was an enigma. She hadn’t expected this darkness from him. She didn’t know what she’d expected—if she was honest, probably a jock like a character from a coming-of-age movie. Not a kindred spirit. But now wasn’t the time for neighborly bonding, she knew.

“It’s different here,” she said. “It’s a small town. People really look out for one another.”

“I’ve certainly been noticing the looks alright.”

Jessie winced. One thing was for sure—this guy didn’t pull his punches. “That’s probably because you’re a famous football player. You’ll get that in small towns as well as big cities. Nobody means any offense by it, I’m sure.”

He glanced up at her. The delicate spoon looked totally out of place in his huge hand. “You a fan?”

She shook her head. “No. My ex-husband was, but I’ve never been much of a sports fan.”

“Ex, huh?” he said, shaking his head. “So you’re not the Pollyanna I imagined.”

Jessie snorted with laughter. “Pollyanna? Are you kidding me? I’ve never been called anything like that before.”

He pointed to the bowl with his spoon. “I guess I assumed. Cute cottage. Lives alone. Tiny dog. Takes food to the troubled neighbor.”

“I never said you were troubled.”

“You been living under a rock?” He frowned.

She shook her head. There was a frankness to him that she hadn’t expected. She was beginning to wonder whether it was best to come right out and ask him. In her experience, people like this didn’t like dancing around the subject.

“Yeah, well,” she said. “People around here aren’t judgmental.”

“They aren’t?” he said gruffly.

“No.” Jessie’s heart began to race in her throat. Her food was nearly finished even though she’d tried to eat as slowly as possible—the tiny spoon had helped in that respect. He had made no attempt to elaborate on his arrest, so she had no choice but to broach it herself. “But, you know, you might get some people wondering why you didn’t hire a bunch of big city attorneys and pit them against the Rockfield PD.”

His eyes bored into her.

Jessie knew she had no choice but to go on, even though the subject matter made her feel very uncomfortable. She closed her eyes and pictured the scared looks on the faces of those people in Rockfield. They’d never get the answers they needed unless this guy talked.