Hazardous Duty (17 page)

“She knew something she wasn’t supposed
to, something that would hurt the election?”

“Maybe. Killing someone is still pretty
drastic.”

“Being in office means power, prestige.
Some people would kill for that.” I watched as Riley pieced together an entire
section, revealing a barn door. Finally, the picture started to take shape.

“What if Cunningham is telling the
truth? What if Newsome killed Gloria and had one of his friends come to burn
down the house?” Riley asked.

“It goes back to motive again. Why would
Newsome want to risk so much to burn the house down?”

“To conceal evidence.”

“But the only evidence was the gun I
found.”

“Which was in a metal case.”

“Which wouldn’t have burnt.”

“But would have been revealed for the
police to find.”

We looked at each other, realization
dawning between us.

“So, it was someone who knew the gun was
there. Someone who knew Cunningham was the killer.” I leaned into the couch and
could hardly breathe. “Cunningham didn’t start the fire.”

“Someone who wanted him found out did.
They couldn’t tell the police about the gun or they would look guilty. So they
burned the house down, realizing the evidence wouldn’t burn.”

I sat up straight. “What if they didn’t
realize I was inside? My van was parked out back and the only light on in the
house was in the bedroom. They could have assumed it was empty.”

Riley nodded, abandoning the jigsaw
also. “But that still doesn’t explain why Cunningham was at the house that
evening and why he’s denying it.”

“Burning down the house would only
implicate him.”

“This is even getting more tangled.”

“Maybe his opponent knew about what was
happening. Maybe he set the house on fire.”

Riley let out a quick laugh. “Senator Ed
Laskin? No way. He’s straight-laced.”

I leaned toward Riley, curious. “How do
you know so much about local politics? You’ve lived here less than a week.”

That brooding expression I saw all too
often settled on his face. What exactly was this weight he carried?

“I try to stay up on the local political
scenes.”

“Obviously.” I waited for him to say
more, to offer an explanation, but he remained silent. “Laskin would have the
best motive.”

“It wasn’t Laskin.”

“It couldn’t hurt to check out his
alibi.”

He stood and started toward the kitchen.
“You sure you don’t want a muffin?”

I followed him. “What’s wrong, Riley? Is
it something I said?”

He grabbed a banana nut one from the
cake dish displaying them. I had gotten something out of working at the
coffeehouse—I’d had a crash course on Martha Stewart presentations.

“Nothing’s wrong. Why would you think
that?”

“You’re acting strange.”

“Nothing strange about getting a
muffin.”

I placed my hand over his arm. “Riley,
you don’t have to talk to me. But I’m here if you need to.”

He started back toward the living room.
“Nothing’s wrong, but thanks.”

Men. I sighed and followed him.

“So, what’s next? Who are our other
suspects?” I asked.

“We have to figure out who else was at
the house that evening. That will tell us who the arsonist is.”

We worked on the puzzle in silence for a
few minutes. I marveled as the scene began to take shape. If only Gloria
Cunningham’s murder was as simple as this jigsaw. In essence, it was. All the
pieces were in front of me. I just had to fit them together.

“Go to church with me tomorrow,” Riley
said.

My gaze jerked to Riley. “Church?” I
shook my head. “I don’t do church.”

“Why not?”

“Because a mythical god has no appeal to
me.”

Riley popped another puzzle piece in
place. “What if He’s not mythical?”

“What if he is?”

“Then what have you lost?”

“Time and energy. Believe me, Riley. If
there is a God, he must severely upset with me because my life has been
anything but ideal.” I leaned back into the couch. “It’s like everyone’s
looking for something to fill a void. Some people pour themselves into service
clubs and others pour themselves into church. If they’re a little more
self-destructive, they try drugs or drinking. It’s all the same in the end—just
another empty pursuit as people try to find meaning in life.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

“Me too,” I answered, doing my best to
ignore the void that hollowed me out inside. “Me too.”

I looked down at my pink T-shirt. It
read, “Waiting for my Happily Ever After.” It could have been my mantra. But I
wouldn’t find my happy ending in a church building.

***

Riley stayed at my house until five
o’clock, playing board games and drinking coffee. He was playing bodyguard and
I was too shaken to run him off. Finally, I’d insisted he could go home,
knowing he had work to do on Harold’s case. I missed his company the moment he
stepped out the door.

I shuffled across the room, staring at
the puzzle as I passed. Riley and I had completed half of it and the picture
finally began to emerge. I’d enjoyed working on it more than I expected, but
had no desire to piddle with it anymore today.

Instead, I headed toward my bedroom to
find a book to read. As I passed a mirror, my reflection stopped me. A gash
slashed across my forehead. A burn mark reddened my other temple from where I’d
maneuvered across the carpet last night. The bandage was gone from my hand, but
huge blisters remained from my run in with a hot doorknob. It really had been a
tough week.

I kept moving. I had a box of books that
Mrs. Mystery had given me hidden somewhere in my closet. I opened the creaky
door to the storage space, and my throat went dry.

The light had burnt out, and I never
bothered to replace it. Now, as I stared at the cave-like darkness at the end
of the long narrow space, I flashed back to the trunk.

As if someone rushed out of the dark
toward me, I slammed the door and leaned against it. Gasping for breath, my
heart pounded until I could feel pulsing in the burn on my face. Someone
desperately wanted me dead. And unless I put an end to this, I’d be living la
vida loca soon. How many attempts could be made on a person’s life before one
started to get a little loopy? Some would argue I was already there.

The phone jangled, and I grabbed it.

“Gabby.”

Speaking of father figures.

“Hi, Dad.” I braced myself.

“Did you ever think about calling to
check on your old man?” His voice sounded three or four decibels too loud, like
Jack Daniels turned up the knob on his volume control.

“I figured you were enjoying yourself at
Aunt May’s house. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“How are you doing?”

I twisted the phone chord. “It’s been a
rough—”

“You should see the mountains here.
You’d really love them, Gabby. Remember when we went hiking together that
time?”

It was one of the few fond memories I
had of dad. Of course I remembered. My heart softened.

“That was a fun—”

“Listen, I don’t have time to chat. I’m
using May’s long distance. You pay my rent yet?”

The real purpose of his call. Money. Why
would I ever think he was just calling to check on me?

“Yes, Dad. I do every month.”

We hung up and I forced my thoughts away
from the conversation. Dad dealt with his grief over the past by drinking. I
dealt with mine by taking care of dad. It seemed everyone did what they could
to get by. Was this really all life was about? Getting by? Maybe Riley was on
to something. Maybe God was the answer I’d been looking for. It would be so
nice to have answers for a change, instead of just more questions.

Science couldn’t readily explain the
meaning of life, other than survival of the fittest. I knew deep inside there
was more to life than simply surviving. There had to be . . .
didn’t there?

The phone rang again and I jerked it to
my ear. “Yes?” I waited to hear my dad’s voice, to hear the request for more
money.

“Gabby? It’s Detective Parker.”

I relaxed my shoulders. “Hello,
detective.”

“Listen, we’ve arrested a man for your
attempted murder. Can you come to the station to identify him?”

Blood pounded through my veins. “I’ll be
there.”

I quickly pulled my shoes on and grabbed
my keys. As I stepped into the stairwell, I remembered my promise not to go
anywhere alone. But I knew Riley wasn’t home, nor was Sierra.

I quickly jotted them a note and then
hopped in my van. As I drove to the station, I mentally ran through the
possibilities of whom they may have arrested. Was it the mechanic and, if so,
what was his tie with this case?

Cunningham wouldn’t have done it
himself, but he could have hired someone. That made the most sense. But would
whomever he hired give him up? They’d be looking at attempted murder if they
didn’t.

I pulled up to the station and saw
Parker waiting at the door. He looked as glamorous and camera-ready as ever.
After I parked and hurried across the pavement, Parker led me inside.

“We traced him through the car you
cleaned for him,” he said. “He’s not talking, though. Looks scared to death.”

He led me down a plain hallway, past
offices and a water fountain. Finally, he stopped in front of a steel door.

“You’re going to go into this room for
the line-up. You can see the men, but they can’t see you.” Parker lowered his
voice. “You ready for this?”

My heart beat double time, but I was as
ready as I’d ever be. “Let’s do it.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Inside, darkness and chilled
air greeted me. Parker put his hand on my back as the door clicked behind us. I
spotted Adams waiting in a lone chair in the
closet-sized room.

“Gabby, thanks for coming in.” Adams rose. “Don’t be nervous about this, but pay careful
attention.”

I held my breath as men walked into the
viewing area. Each of them had similar features, but the last one caused me to
draw a quick breath.

It was him. The mechanic. No doubt.

“Do you see him?” Parker asked.

I nodded and pointed to the man.

“Thanks, Ms. St. Claire,” Adams said. He jotted something with his pen and paper.
I’d never seen the man without the two, though it made me think of him more of
a reporter than detective.

“Are you going to interrogate him?”

“Yeah,” Parker said. “We’ll see if we
can get a confession out of him.”

“Can I watch?”

The detectives glanced at each other,
and Parker said, “It’s not a good idea.”

“Please. I know about this case. I want
to hear what he has to say. It might offer the clue we’ve been looking for.”

Parker grasped my elbow and led me out
of the room. “I’ll tell you what. You wait in the lounge while we interrogate
him. Afterward, we can talk about it. Okay?”

It was better than nothing. Parker
settled me on a ratty brown couch with a cup of old coffee then disappeared
down the hall.

Chills raced across my cold skin. That
man had tried to kill me. I shivered when I thought of how close he’d come to
succeeding. What were the detectives getting out of him? Would they be able to
make an arrest?

I couldn’t sit still. I needed answers.
I needed for life to return to normal. I needed my sun to come out tomorrow. I
glanced down at my T-shirt. I needed my happy ever after.

It seemed like hours had ticked away as
I paced. Finally, Parker stuck his head into the room. I rushed toward him.
“Well?”

“Claims he was blackmailed. Doesn’t know
who threatened him. Said they’d tell his wife about his pregnant girlfriend if
he didn’t do it.”

I let what he said sink in. It amounted
to nothing. My shoulders slumped. “So, his wife would forgive him for killing
someone before she’d forgive him for having an affair? That makes no sense.”

“Whoever contacted him said you wouldn’t
be hurt. They just wanted to scare you. Apparently, they sent him pictures
taken of him and his mistress. Threatened to send them to his wife, also.”

“And he has no idea who the person is?”

“Their only contact was over the phone.
We’re checking his phone records now.”

I lowered myself on the couch and buried
my face in my hands, exhaustion weighing on me. A hand covered my shoulder.
“You okay?”

“I’m not sure anymore.”

Parker’s fingers circled my arm and
pulled me to my feet. “Come on. I’m going to get you something to eat, then
take you home.”

Now that he mentioned it, a warm dinner
did sound nice. I walked with him into the balmy night. Though the temperature
was probably 75 degrees, I shivered. Parker slipped his coat off and placed it
over my shoulders. He directed me toward a red Viper.

As soon as we started down the road, I
started in on my own interrogation. “How did you track down the mechanic?”

“Through the car’s VIN.”

“Did you arrest him?”

“With your identification and the fact
he purchased the car you cleaned, it seems pretty cut and dried.”

“But he has no idea who blackmailed
him?”

Parker shook his head. “No idea. They
used an electronic voice modifier. We’re checking the photos for fingerprints
now, but I doubt we’ll find any. Whoever’s doing this seems pretty thorough.”

We pulled to a stop. I glanced out the
window in time to see a man reaching for my door. I gasped and jerked away.

“It’s just the valet, love.” Parker
winked at me with an amused half-smile.

Heat rose on my cheeks. “I guess I’m a
little jumpy lately.”

I stepped out, mumbling an apology to
the boy. Parker tossed his keys to him. We entered Freemason Abby, an old
church building converted into a restaurant. Stained-glass windows, rich
burgundy carpet, and walnut stained wood trim adorned the century old building.
I’d only been inside once before and it was for a lunch special. At night, the
place made me feel like someone of high society. And totally out of place in my
standard jeans and flip flops.