Saving Scott (Kobo) (31 page)

“My knocking
on doors was less than helpful. Did get a couple of people who saw a
dark-colored pickup parked by the lot two nights ago, but no plates, no make,
not even confirmation of the color. Could have been black, blue or dark red.”
Detweiler’s grin was gone, replaced by a tight-lipped frown. “I’m getting
flashbacks to the last murder. Another unidentifiable body, another vacant lot.
And I don’t like it one bit.”

“You think
it’s the same killer?” Scott asked.

Detweiler
sipped his coffee and took a deep breath. “No, we caught that guy, and there
was no question he was the killer. He’s in prison.”

“Plus, the
other guy had his face blown off to conceal his identity. This guy was
intact—at least until the dogs and bugs found him,” Kovak said.

“You can’t
discount the possibility that someone is trying to make those two cases appear
connected,” Scott said.

“Which would
mean we should be looking close to home for our killer,” Kovak said. “That case
was huge from a Pine Hills standpoint, but on a national scale, I doubt it was
a so much as a blip on the media radar. Heck, even in central Oregon, it’s
probably long-forgotten.” He balled his fists. “We don’t get homicides in Pine
Hills. This is a safe town, a great place to raise a family.”

Scott heard
the anger, the frustration in Kovak’s tone.

“We’ll get
him,” Detweiler said. “Focus.”

Scott
brought things back to the investigation. “You said you had witnesses mention a
pickup. Have you found an abandoned one that matches what they’ve described?”

Both men
shot their gazes to Scott. “Good thought,” Detweiler said. “The killer knows he’s
got evidence in his truck, so he ditches it. I’ll put out a BOLO.”

“Check for
stolen vehicle reports while you’re at it,” Scott said. “The creep might have
reported his truck missing to cover his tracks. That ruse has been on
television so often, even the dumbest assholes know it.”

“Which
speaks to premeditation if he reported it missing before he killed the guy.”
Kovak said. “Or maybe the killer did steal it.”

“Assuming it
was a homicide,” Scott said. “Still no confirmation. He could have died of a
heart attack.”

“You think
so?” Kovak asked. “Would make things easier all around.”

“Not really.
But here in Pine Hills, I’d give it more credence than if it happened when I
worked County.”

While
Detweiler left to take care of the lookout order, Kovak resumed his pacing.
Abruptly, he stopped. Put his coffee on the table. Stared at Scott. “We’ve got
two bodies in less than a week. You think there’s a connection? Should we be
working them together?”

Scott
smiled. Kovak had the chops.

“I wouldn’t
rule it out,” Scott said. “And, when I was digging into Belinda Nesbitt’s
background, I found something that might be another puzzle piece to consider.”

“A
connection?” Kovak asked.

“Don’t know
yet. You have any problems with gays in Pine Hills?”

***

Walking into
her apartment, Ashley pondered what Scott had whispered in her ear. Macquarie.
Another connection to Belinda? Or Felicity? She jotted the word on the notepad
by her phone. Whatever it was, it would have to wait. Her bakeoff and grand
opening were first, second, third—and all the way to the end—of her to-do list.

She flipped
on the television, hunting for the local news. Maybe there would be more
information about Felicity’s death. The station was in the middle of the
weather forecast. That, she knew, would be followed by sports, and then no
telling when they’d get around to the local headlines. Why wait? She needed to
shower and dress. Besides, Scott would have told her if they’d found out
anything. Wouldn’t he?

As she
strolled to her bedroom, she ran her hands along the soft fabric of Scott’s
robe. She let it drift along her body as she shrugged it off. She gathered it
close for one last inhale of Scott’s lingering scent. And some of hers, with
definite undertones of sex. She’d have to wash it before returning it. One more
thing to add to her ever-growing to-do list. Which now had an actual deadline.
She had to be ready to go first thing in the morning.

She rushed
through her shower and yanked on some jeans and a tee. She’d grab something to
eat later. Stuffing her feet into her sneakers, she crossed the living room to
turn off the television. When Detective Kovak’s face appeared on the screen,
she froze. Had they solved Felicity’s death? She looked more closely. The
newscaster was in the studio, and Detective Kovak’s image was a picture behind
him. To make the story more believable, she guessed. She punched the volume
button on the remote.

Another
body? Discovered yesterday? The remote slipped from her hand. The newscaster
went on in the typically emotionless tone common to the profession. Ashley
tried to listen above the blood pounding in her ears.

The victim,
a male, probably in his thirties, has yet to be identified. The police are
unable to determine if this death is related in any way to the death of Pine
Hills resident and business owner, Felicity Markham, who was discovered in a
construction site just days ago.

Construction
site. That conjured up images of bulldozers and scaffolding, not her bakery
remodel. Ashley exhaled in relief. No mention of her shop.

Scott must
have known about the dead man. Yet he hadn’t said a word. What if the two cases
were
related?

Was that
where he’d been last night? He’d have said something. Wouldn’t he?

Ashley
shoved her irritation away. Scott was under no obligation to share his work
with her. It was enough that he’d included her in his search for Felicity’s
killer. But deep down, it wasn’t. Even if he couldn’t share details, couldn’t
he have said something? “By the way, there was another dead body.”

She thought
about asking Sarah how she and Randy handled things, then wondered why it
seemed important. Sure, she’d slept with Scott. Sure, she was attracted to him.
But their relationship hadn’t reached that “share everything” stage. Heck, they
hadn’t really reached the relationship stage, period.

If she’d
learned anything from Barry, it was that she couldn’t assume there was anything
deeper than sex when it came to men. Maybe something would grow between her and
Scott. But now, she had a bakery to open.

She clicked
off the television and added the envelopes Penny had given her to her bakery
notes and laptop. Today, she’d sequester herself in the bakery, away from any
distractions, and make sure every contingency was covered.

Despite her
determination to focus on the bakery, her brain insisted on returning to Scott,
and from there to the second body. Why hadn’t he said anything? Didn’t he trust
her? Or did he think she couldn’t handle it?

Stop.
Focus.

She forced
her mind to the bakery to-do list. Confirm with the judges. Verify the schedule
for the contestants. Make score sheets.

Score
sheets. She detoured to Thriftway and scoured the office supply department for
some colored index cards. She should be able to print those herself. While she
was there, she picked up some lightweight poster board. Not exactly matte
board, but she could do a quick mount of the artwork Penny had given her. She
perused the shelves, finding some removable adhesive to affix the finished
products to the walls. The bulletin board she’d ordered hadn’t come in yet. And
it wouldn’t be large enough to display all Penny’s contributions. She’d have to
work something out. Maybe a “Top Five” every month. She tried to visualize how
much of the bulletin board five pictures would fill. Would she have room for
community news, or should she get a second one?

Slow
down.

Too many
ideas, not the right time. She inhaled deeply, reminding herself not to get
ahead of herself.

She pulled
into the lot, finding a slot near her shop’s back door. Seeing the nearby Happy
Cook reminded her of last night’s discussion with Scott. Was Belinda secretly
gay? Not that it mattered to Ashley on a personal level—but would it help Scott’s
investigation if she could confirm it? She could see herself walking into
Belinda’s shop and asking, “Are you gay?” Yeah, right.

Focus.
Bakeoff.

With her
laptop case slung over one shoulder, her purse over the other, envelopes tucked
under one arm, key in hand, she didn’t notice the man leaning against the wall
beside her door until she almost bumped into him. Or had he moved to intercept
her?

Porky the
Reporter. What was he doing here? If it was anything other than a story about
her grand opening, she wanted nothing to do with him. She found a polite smile,
but didn’t unlock her door or say anything.

“Let me help
you with that,” he said, reaching for the envelopes that threatened to fall to
the ground.

“I can manage,”
she said.

But he’d
already rescued them.

“Howard
Vossler, Ms. Eagan.
Pine Hills Bee.
We spoke before.”

“I remember,”
she said.

“I have a
couple of follow-up questions. Won’t take a minute of your time.” He glanced
toward her locked door. “Might be more comfortable inside.”

Her brain
whirled. She wasn’t obligated to answer his questions. But maybe he knew
something. If she made him angry, he might give her bakery negative publicity.
And if she thought fast enough, she might be able to take control of his
interview and turn it into an article about her shop.

She smiled
and unlocked the door. “Come in.” She led him quickly through the back of the
house, and motioned him to one of the loveseats. “I hope you don’t mind if I
work while you ask your questions. I’m sure you’re aware of tomorrow’s bakeoff.
As a matter of fact, I’d love for you to attend.” She thought of previous
conversations with Scott. “I’d give you complimentary tickets for samples, but
I’m sure you can’t accept gifts. It might look like you were paid to write
something complimentary.”

“Um…Yes. I
mean, no. That is, I’ll try to get here, and you’re right. I can’t accept
favors.”

She took the
envelopes from him. “Oh, and you might want to mention that Confections by
Ashley is a strong supporter of the youth of Pine Hills. Penny Foxworth’s
middle school art class did the decorations for my bakeoff. When he didn’t seem
to be paying attention, she repeated Penny’s name and spelled it.

He took the
hint and pulled out a notebook much like the ones Detective Kovak and Randy had
used, and clicked open a pen. Before he could ask his first official question,
she jumped in. “I plan to showcase their work on a regular basis at Confections
by Ashley.” Might as well drum the bakery name into his head. Afraid she’d lose
her nerve, she laid out the artwork on the counter as she spoke.

“The bakeoff
contestants will be baking here all day tomorrow. Then, at seven-thirty in the
evening, the judging will take place. Our judges are three professionals in the
industry. I can’t reveal their names, because we don’t want anyone to try to
influence them.” She continued giving him the details, not pausing long enough
for him to interrupt. He was nodding and writing, although for all she knew, it
was a grocery list. “And please make sure you emphasize that all the proceeds
will go to the Women’s Center.”

She paused,
heart pounding. Had she really been that assertive? A warm glow of pride
enveloped her. He looked up from his notes.

“That’s all
very well, Miss Eagan. But I came to ask you questions about the murder.”

She feigned
a look of innocence. “Murder? As far as I know, the police haven’t officially
released the way Felicity died. It might not be murder after all. I think, as a
reporter, you would want to be precise with your words.” She stopped, afraid
she might have pushed things too far. She backpedaled. “Would you like some
coffee? I was going to brew a pot.”

“No, none
for me, thanks.” He flipped a page in his notebook. “I understand you’ve been
questioned by the police, and that there was no love lost between you and
Felicity Markham. I have it on good authority that she tried to undermine the
construction of your bakery. Which would give you motive to want her dead.”

Good
authority? What did he know? What else had Scott not told her?

“Since I
didn’t know anything about it, that theory is unfounded. And if there was any
love lost, it was all on Felicity’s side, not mine.”

“What about
Belinda Nesbitt? The police are investigating her. What would make them do
that?”

“Why don’t
you ask them? That’s their job. Mine is to get this bakery open on time.” She
made a point of arranging and rearranging the artwork on her counter.

“One more
question, and I’ll be on my way. How can you explain the connection between the
two deaths?”

Connection?
Although she managed to control her expression, she couldn’t do anything about
the heat rising to her face. She knew Porky the Reporter had noticed. His beady
eyes narrowed.

He was
fishing. He had to be. And he wasn’t going to get the tiniest minnow from her. “I
have no idea what you’re talking about. I didn’t know about the second body
until I saw it on the news this morning. The police haven’t said a word to me.”
Or their ex-detective civilian consultant, either.

He tucked
his notebook into his jacket pocket. “Very well. I’m sure they’ll be saying
something to you very soon, Miss Eagan. Have a good day. I can see myself out.”

Scott set
forth his working hypothesis to Detweiler and Kovak. “If Belinda Nesbitt is
that deep in the closet, she’s a viable suspect if she thought someone was
going to out her.”

Kovak
appeared to ponder that for a moment. “Pieces fit. Belinda has access to the
mugs, the cocoa, and a way into Ashley’s bakery.”