Leann Sweeney (15 page)

It was Chief Baca. “Join us, please, Ms. Hart. Seems you were planning on that anyway, in a fashion.”

I felt like a kid caught stealing a cookie. He held the door open and I sidled past him into the office.

Much nicer digs than the hall or reception area. The chairs were padded, the desk mahogany and the wall color a soothing pale green. But the air was thick with tension between a seemingly angry Lydia and what looked like a less-than-interested Tom.

“Thank you for coming, Ms. Hart.” Baca settled into his leather high-backed swivel chair.

“Anything I can do to help,” I said.

“Tell us about yesterday. Before you arrived at the Wilkerson house. You went there because you saw Mr. Wilkerson on video surveillance inside your home, correct?”

“Yes. I was certain he’d stolen my cat and—”

“This decision to go to his house without contacting the authorities—tell me more.”

“Am I in trouble for that? Because there was that fire and I saw my cat run into the house and Mr. Wilkerson’s door was open and—”

“You are not in trouble,” he said. “This is an informal interview, and I’m not even taking notes. We just want to figure this whole mess out.”

That brought the first sound from Lydia since I’d sat down—a noise reminiscent of Chablis hacking up a hairball. Lydia was apparently disgusted, but with him? With me? I had no idea.

Baca shot her a glance as if to tell her to quit with the attitude. “Go on, Ms. Hart.”

“I don’t need a lawyer or anything?” I said.

“We certainly can delay all this until you find one,” he said. “But I sense you don’t have anything to hide, right?”

I wanted to check Tom’s expression, see if I could read his eyes and if that would tell me what I should do. But I could tell that would certainly not help him, with Lydia fuming close enough to catch his clothes on fire, so I decided I should keep answering the questions—though briefly, as Tom had suggested.

“I’ve been talking with Mr. Stewart, and he tells me you asked for his assistance at the Wilkerson place? Why was that?” Baca asked.

“Yeah, I’d like to know the answer to that one, too, seeing as how Shawn Cuddahee seems to be your go-to guy,” Lydia said.

Baca started to speak but was interrupted by an obviously pissed-off Tom, who said, “Leave her alone, Lydia.”

Chief Baca slammed a fist on his desk and I nearly jumped a foot in the air. His voice, in contrast, was soft and controlled when he said, “Shut up, both of you. Deputy Coroner Monk, I appreciate your assistance and your need for information, but this is exactly why you will
not
be working this case except in a secondary capacity.”

“What?” She rose halfway off her chair. “That’s not the way this works.”

“I’ve spoken with Coroner Beecham, and he has decided that I will be running this investigation.”

She stood. “Why? Because I dumped you? Or because you can make a name for yourself if you solve this? Maybe run for county office down the road?”

Baca flushed. “Prior relationships have nothing to do with the decision. The coroner believes that the Mercy police have the resources to handle this case. We know the town better, and besides, you have a lot on your plate. You did your part by coming out and coordinating the evidence collection yesterday, and we’re grateful for—”

“Save it, Baca,” she said. Chin high, breasts leading the way, she left the office, and I was thankful for no slamming of doors. I felt rattled enough.

Baca looked at me. “Do I need to repeat the question?”

“Yes, please,” I said.

“Did Mr. Stewart know why you needed his assistance at the Pink House yesterday morning?”

I hesitated, trying to think back to that brief conversation. “I’m sure I told him, but everything happened so fast and—” I glanced at Tom. “Did I tell you?”

He was looking down, shaking his head, his hand to his forehead.

Thirteen

“
P
lease think real hard, Ms. Hart,” Baca said, all his South Carolina charm dripping into every word. “Why did you call Mr. Stewart for help?”

What was I missing here? He seemed to be looking for a specific answer, probably something I knew nothing about, or at least I didn’t think I did. I looked over at Tom again, but he still had his head down. “I called Tom because I know very few people in town, and since the police had responded to that fire, I didn’t want to bother them.”

“But Mr. Cuddahee helped you the day before. Like Ms. Monk said, why not call him?” Baca said.

Perhaps I’d been so disturbed by Shawn’s behavior with Wilkerson the day before, I’d never even thought of phoning him instead of Tom. But mentioning that might hurt Shawn even more as far as suspect status. I had to say something, though. “I guess Tom came to mind because he’d put in my security system Saturday night. He’d helped me.”

“And Mr. Stewart could be of more assistance than a man like Mr. Cuddahee, who we all know tends to be confrontational?”

“That wasn’t my first thought when I called Tom.”

“Sounds like you did think about it, though,” Baca said. “Mind if I look at your cell phone? Confirm this call was made?”

“You think I’d lie?” I was surprised how much his words upset me.

“I have to confirm the call, that’s all,” he said.

Tom finally spoke. “Take mine. Like I told you, the call was short and sweet.” He shoved his phone across the desk.

Baca pressed buttons on the phone and apparently found what he wanted because he read off my cell number, then said, “That yours?”

I nodded.

He pressed another button, and I heard my muffled ringtone coming from my jeans pocket. It stopped when Baca closed Tom’s phone.

“Thanks,” Baca said, handing the cell back to Tom.

Despite Tom’s warning to say as little as possible, I felt the need to explain further. The police do seem to have a way of making you feel guilty even when you’re not. “I do remember the conversation better now. Tom said he knew where Flake Wilkerson lived when I asked if he needed directions. He agreed to meet me there, and that was about it.”

“He said he knew where he lived?” Though he was speaking to me, Baca was looking at Tom.

Uh-oh. What had I done now? I quickly added, “I also said something about Tom meeting me in five minutes. I’ll admit I was upset with Mr. Wilkerson for breaking into my house and I was sure he had stolen my cat. I’m certain that even if Tom hadn’t agreed to help me with that problem, I would have gone to the Pink House no matter what.”

“Really?” Baca settled back, hands intertwined behind his neck, and said, “You were that angry?”

“Angry?” I said. “No. That’s the wrong—”

“I don’t think you should say anything else,” Tom said.

“You got a law degree, too, Mr. Stewart?” Baca said.

“Would you quit with the cop crap? I’m Tom and you’re Mike. We’re friends, remember?”

“The
cop crap
? Is that what murder was to you when you were on the force?” Baca said.

“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it,” Tom said.

I stood, tired of all these complicated Mercy relationships coming into play. “You know what?” I said. “No matter what Flake Wilkerson did, I would never kill him. That’s not the kind of person I am. Now, I’m leaving.” I walked out of the office, my heart beating so fast I had trouble breathing. Could you actually walk away from the police without ending up in handcuffs?

Seemed I could, because no one called my name and told me to stop, and no one followed me. Candace might have, if she’d been in the waiting area—but a new person sat behind the desk, a young man who could have passed for twelve. Since he was wearing a Mercy Police uniform, he was probably closer to eighteen or nineteen.

I hurried down the hall and out of the building, making a beeline for my minivan. The sun was desperately attempting to break through the cloud cover. A warm change was imminent—the humidity told me as much. Yes, in many ways this was a different world than it had been a few days ago. But it would not be a world where I hid in my sewing room trying to pretend none of this had happened. I had to find out why Flake Wilkerson stole my cat and what, if anything, that had to do with his death.

On the drive home I considered how I could accomplish those two things. I wasn’t a police officer. I didn’t know anything about being a detective. Yet I was smack in the middle of a mystery where people were thinking the worst of me and keeping secrets. People like Mike Baca, who was only doing his job, but it still hurt my feelings. And people like Tom. Had he been protecting me when he offered his cell phone? Was he afraid there might be something incriminating on mine? I had no idea.

When I made the last turn for home, I saw a squad car in my driveway. Apparently I hadn’t made a clean escape after all. When I pulled in behind the car, Candace got out and walked toward me. Maybe they needed a female officer to put me in jail and that was why I hadn’t been stopped when I left.

Oh God, I’m going to jail
.

“What happened in there with you and the chief?” Candace’s eyes were dancing with interest.

“You’re not here to arrest me?” I said.

“What?” came her confused reply. “Remember? I’m off this case. The only thing that makes the taste in my mouth a little less bitter is that Lydia’s been kicked off, too. She made sure I knew as much, and for some reason she thinks it’s all your fault.”

“But that’s crazy,” I said.

“And you expected . . . what, exactly?”

I shrugged. “I have so much to learn about this town.”

Candace glanced toward my house. “It’s my lunch break, so can we talk inside? I want to know every detail of what went on in that office.”

I smiled and waved for her to follow me. Once inside, I fixed us tall sweet teas, and then Candace and I settled in the living room. Dove, who I’d decided was the inspiration for the song “We Are the World” because she seemed to love everyone, jumped into Candace’s lap. Merlot sat close to me on the couch, and the other two sniffed and rubbed on Candace before they went off to find a dark, quiet spot to sleep. They’d been stressed in the last few days and needed to catch up on their z’s.

I related my rather perplexing visit with the chief and Tom and summed up by saying, “I think I’m still a suspect. But there’s an issue between Tom and Mike, one they sure didn’t share with me.”

“Interesting,” Candace said. “Tom stays pretty busy between the security setups and his PI work. Maybe he and Wilkerson had a history.”

“That might explain things,” I said. “I can’t help but feel that my calling Tom yesterday got him in trouble, too.”

“You were smart enough to know you needed help at the Pink House. You did the right thing. The only mistake you made was a lack of patience. You should have waited for Tom to get there.”

“I couldn’t wait. Not when I saw Syrah in the driveway,” I said.

“I understand, but I don’t think the chief does. He doesn’t trust you, Lydia’s pissed off, and he and Tom aren’t on good terms. I mean, what a mess. I have a mind to solve this case myself and show those boys how to get answers without antagonizing the entire town at the same time.”

“Lydia was like a different person from the minute she saw me with Tom,” I said.

Candace laughed. “She was bouncing mad when she stormed outta Baca’s office. And we both know what was bouncing the most.”

“I’d like to clear my name and Shawn’s, too. Can you and I work on that?” I said.

“As long as they don’t make me the paperwork princess, I would love to. But only as your friend—not while I’m on the clock. Got to do what I can to keep from getting fired—at least until I can save enough to go back to school and get a job in forensics. This small-town stuff is wearing me out.”

She had to leave then but told me her shift was over at three and she’d be back to brainstorm on how we should proceed. At the back door she gave me a big hug and said, “I do so like you, girlfriend. You and me are gonna get to the bottom of this.”

I busied myself with my quilt orders for the next several hours and then went to the computer to send e-mails to a few customers. Several of the Syrah flyers that hadn’t printed well were in the wastebasket near my desk, and I thought about how I’d put them around town before knowing they’d be gone within hours thanks to the sign ordinance.

That got me wondering who removed signs for the city. I recalled Belle mentioning that she’d wanted to put up signs when her cat had disappeared, too. How many other people had done the same when their pet went missing? Could this “sign remover” know about any missing cats? Like the three cats Shawn took from Wilkerson’s place after the murder? This might not lead anywhere, but I would run it by Candace when she came back later today. Maybe it would help us find other people who had reason to be upset with Wilkerson for stealing their cats.

My cell phone rang and I hurried to the kitchen, where I’d left it. Syrah found this entertaining and chased me. When I reached the phone, he leaped onto the counter and sat down, ready to listen.

“You okay?”Tom said when I answered.

“Fine. I take it this isn’t your one phone call from jail,” I said.

“Nope,” he said. “Looks like both of us lucked out today. I can’t tell you what Mike was referring to in that odd interview because I don’t know. Maybe he thinks you and I conspired to commit murder together.”

“Yeah, right. Having never been interviewed by even one police officer before all this, I couldn’t tell you if it was odd or not.”

“You want to get a bite tonight?” Tom blurted out.

The ensuing silence was deafening. I was completely taken aback. Was Tom asking me out? If he was, I had no idea what to say. He was attractive and smart, and I liked him, but the only man I could really think about, even now, was John.