Death by Vanilla Latte Read online

  “As am I,” Will added.

  I wanted to crawl away somewhere and bury my head in the sand until the compliments stopped coming. All I’d really done was stick my nose in other people’s business, usually where it didn’t belong, and nearly got it shot off or bashed off in the process. It was by pure luck that I’d solved any of the cases, and honestly, I’m not sure I would have managed any of it without Paul Dalton’s help.

  I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, wishing someone would change the subject. I was glad I’d helped out all those times, but I was never good at taking compliments, especially when I hadn’t done it for the accolades.

  “I think you should march right down to the police station tomorrow and make them deputize you,” Maire said with a sharp nod.

  “It doesn’t work that way, Mom,” Will said. “Besides, she’ll be busy tomorrow.”

  “I will?” I asked, genuinely perplexed.

  “Your appointment,” Will said. “With Paige.”

  In the excitement, I’d completely forgotten I’d set one up with her. I had yet to get a doctor since I’d moved to Pine Hills, and with the way I kept getting knocked around, I figured it would be a wise move to have one. Choosing someone from Will’s practice only made sense.

  At least for now. If something happened, and we broke up, it might end up being a bit awkward. I’d have to cross that bridge if and when I came to it.

  “I’m sure that won’t take all day,” Maire said, stubbornness spread across her features. “You need to figure this out before someone else gets hurt.”

  I looked at Dad, but he only shrugged. No help there. How was I supposed to stay out of the way when people kept telling me to get involved? It was like a conspiracy to get me into trouble. First Rita, now Maire!

  Thankfully, my cell phone rang just then. I leapt from my chair and grabbed at it like it was a lifeline. I glanced at the caller ID and groaned when I saw it was Paul, no longer sure it was a blessing. “One sec,” I said, carrying it into the next room, hoping no one would consider it rude. If he was calling me now, it couldn’t be good. “Hello?”

  “I’m sorry to bother you so late,” he said. “But something’s come up and I need you to come down to the police station.”

  “Can it wait?” I asked, glancing back into the dining room. Maire was still talking, and I was pretty sure she was still pushing the issue. Hopefully, either Dad or Will would talk her out of pressuring me anymore, because quite frankly, she wouldn’t have to push too hard to get me to cave.

  “It can’t,” Paul said. He sounded grave. “It’s about the murder investigation. I think we need to have a talk.”

  16

  “I could come with you,” Dad said from the passenger seat. We were idling in front of my house twenty minutes after I’d received Paul’s call. Eleanor was peering out her window at us, making no move to hide her spying. She probably couldn’t see us well enough from behind slightly parted curtains, so she’d pulled them open and was leaning forward, binoculars gleaming in the evening light.

  “No, I’d better do this alone.” I had no idea why Paul wanted me to come down to the police station, but I was darn sure I didn’t want Dad there when I found out. If they were going to accuse Dad of killing Rick, I wanted him as far away from the station as possible. California would be best, but I doubted he’d jump on a plane, even if I asked. My house would have to do.

  “You sure? Why does he want you?”

  “I’m sure. And I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

  Dad frowned. “I don’t like this.”

  “Neither do I, but I’ve got to do it.” A part of me wondered if Paul had called simply to break up my dinner date with Will. I knew it was a ludicrous thought, yet I couldn’t help myself. It would be a far cry better than anything else I could come up with.

  “Okay, Buttercup. You know best.” Dad kissed me on the cheek, sighed, and then slipped out of the car. “Let me know when you get home.”

  “Will do.” I waved as he closed the car door, and then I backed out.

  I should have demanded Paul tell me exactly why he wanted me to come down to the station, but our conversation had been cut short when something had happened on his end. He’d told me once more to get there as soon as I could and hung up before I could even tell him whether or not I was coming. It would serve him right if I didn’t show.

  But both he and I knew I wouldn’t be able to resist showing. My curiosity always won out. It was probably why he didn’t take my calls or return them after he hung up on me. And believe me, I’d tried four times on the way home, hoping he would explain himself. He was either ignoring me, or something big was happening that had captured his full attention.

  There were only a few things Paul could want with me at this late an hour. Either he’d had a break in the case, one that needed my input, be it about my dad, Rick and his presumed fascination with me—or it was something completely different. Perhaps he simply needed my insight on the case, realizing how important I was not just to him, but to the police force.

  “Maybe he will deputize me.” Now that would be a riot.

  Other than discussing Rick’s murder, I couldn’t think of a single reason for Paul to call me downtown. As much as I wanted to make it about me, I knew he wouldn’t have called just to tell me he’d made a mistake and wanted to get back together. I’d tell him no, of course. But it would be a nice gesture.

  I pulled into the police lot and parked out front. No one else was outside as I got out of my car and headed for the door. It wasn’t like on TV, where the cops were always dragging felons in, usually against their will. In fact, the Pine Hills police station was pretty sedate almost every time I’d been here. The town simply didn’t have that much crime.

  Other than the murders that have sprung up since I moved in.

  Not exactly a comforting thought, but it was true.

  I headed inside, nervously chewing on my thumbnail. There were only a couple of cops in view as I made my way to the counter. The officer there, Officer Garrison, looked up and frowned when she saw me.

  “Down the hall,” she said with a jerk of her thumb. “Interrogation room.”

  “Thank you.” Apparently, Officer Garrison still wasn’t my biggest fan. We’d only ever met one time, and that was when she’d driven me home after a night’s stay in one of the downstairs cells. I’d never seen her smile, and was starting to wonder if she knew how.

  I hurried down the hall to the indicated room and peeked inside. Paul was sitting at the table, rubbing his forehead. His hat lay next to him. Even from the back, I could tell he was exhausted.

  “Paul?” I asked, stepping inside. “You wanted to see me?”

  He looked up at me, and any hope I might have had about him wanting to see me for a more pleasant reason than murder fled. “Krissy,” he said, standing. “Come in. Take a seat.”

  I hesitated before crossing the room and sitting on the couch. There was no way I was going to sit on one of those uncomfortable plastic chairs like a common criminal. I was here because he’d asked me to come, not because I’d done anything wrong.

  Paul picked up his hat, put it on his head, and then closed the door. He stood there a moment, facing away from me, before turning. His eyes looked sunken in, and a light stubble coated his chin and cheeks. He scrubbed at it with his hand before he moved to sit on the edge of the table.

  When he didn’t speak right away, I did. “Why am I here?”

  “I thought I asked you to keep out of Mr. Wiseman’s murder investigation.” It was a statement, one spoken with a resigned exasperation only someone who knew me could muster.

  “What do you mean?” I asked. “I haven’t done anything since the last time we talked!” Was that really only earlier that day?

  Paul studied me a long moment before speaking. “Earlier tonight, we got a call about a disturbance. Apparently, a woman took it upon herself to question Harland Pennywinkle about Rick Wiseman’s murder, and when he di
dn’t cooperate, she forced her way into his home and started going through his things.”

  I stared at him, wide-eyed. “I did no such a thing!”

  “You didn’t,” he said. “But someone claiming you put them up to it did.”

  “What?!” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I didn’t put anyone up to anything. Someone has been telling bald-faced lies.”

  Paul sighed, closed his eyes. “Krissy, I want to believe you . . .”

  “I’m not lying!” You’d think after all this time, he’d have learned to trust me. “I have no idea what you are talking about. The only people who know anything about my suspicions of Harland are you, my dad, and . . . Oh no.”

  “Rita Jablonski,” Paul finished the thought for me.

  I’d almost forgotten how gung ho she’d been about working the case with my dad and me, whether we wanted to or not. I guess I figured she’d drop it once we stopped talking about it.

  But then she’d spent those hours talking to my dad. And I just had to bring up Harland while we’d sat there. I should have known Rita wouldn’t be content with spreading rumors, not when Dad was there for her to impress.

  “It’s not my fault,” I said, slouching. “I might have mentioned Harland’s name to her earlier today, but I never told her to go talk to him.”

  “Why were you even discussing the case with her?” Paul asked.

  “You know Rita. You can’t stop her once she starts talking about something. She got on a roll and it sort of slipped out. I didn’t realize she’d go so far. I swear!”

  “She claims you put her up to it. Said you told her what to do in case he didn’t cooperate, that she was only following your lead.”

  “You know I wouldn’t do such a thing. I try not to confront suspects directly if I can help it.”

  Paul gave me a flat look. “Have you forgotten Heidi Lawyer and her mother, Regina Harper?”

  I blushed. “Well, that was different. I was just wanting to talk to Heidi.” Besides, I was new in town then. How was I to know Regina was such a grouch?

  “And what about at the Halloween party?”

  “You told me to keep an eye out!” My shoulders slumped. “But I get your point.”

  “Mrs. Jablonski swears she only did what she did because of you.”

  “I didn’t tell her to do a single thing, other than to stay out of it. She did this of her own volition.”

  Paul eyed me a moment before sighing. “I figured as much, but wanted to talk to you first before I released her to you.”

  “Wait, she’s still here?”

  He flashed a mischievous smile that quickly faded. “She’s with Buchannan. He’s keeping her company while she waits in a cell. Mr. Pennywinkle decided not to press charges, so she’ll be free to go.”

  “And what does that have to do with me?”

  Another smile. “She needs a ride home.”

  Paul rose and started for the door. I stood and made to follow after him, but he stopped and turned.

  “Please tell me you’re going to stay out of this,” he said. “It’s already complicated enough without you getting involved.”

  I crossed my heart. “I have no intention of getting in your way.” Though after what Maire had said, I was finding it harder not to want to at least poke around a little.

  He didn’t look convinced, but nodded, anyway. “You can wait out front. I’ll go get her for you.”

  Paul walked me to the doors and then continued on to get Rita. I noted he didn’t go downstairs, to the dank, unused cells Buchannan had shoved me in during my brief incarceration a few months back. I watched him go and then turned to find Officer Garrison watching me.

  “I had nothing to do with it,” I told her.

  She snorted and walked away.

  Buchannan stalked by a moment later, looking monumentally annoyed. He glared at me, but refrained from accusing me of anything. Rita had probably talked his ear off, and, knowing her, had found a way to embarrass him in front of his colleagues. I remembered her saying something about him frequenting a less than respectable establishment, and wondered if she’d asked him about it.

  “There you are! Lordy Lou, can you believe they would do this to me?”

  Rita came storming over, practically dragging Paul along behind her. He had a hand on her arm, presumably to help escort her to the front, but she was having none of it. She marched straight for me, mouth running nonstop.

  “It’s downright unthinkable that they would put me in a cell of all places! I did nothing wrong! It was all a misunderstanding.” She glanced back and glared at Paul. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  “She’s all yours,” he told me. He was practically laughing.

  “Thanks,” I told him. “Let’s go, Rita.”

  She harrumphed and followed after me as I made my way to my car. It was a wonder she didn’t jabber the entire way. I unlocked the car and slid into the driver’s seat. She flopped down beside me and immediately started in.

  “I went to Harland’s, just like you implied I should.”

  “I never did such a thing,” I told her.

  She waved a hand at me. “They already know you’re involved, so no sense denying it.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but snapped it closed again. Arguing with Rita was like arguing with a cat. Neither listened to a word you said and both did whatever they wanted, when they wanted, regardless of the consequences. I started the car and backed out.

  “Anyway,” she went on. “I went over there and tried to get him to talk. When he wouldn’t, I took it upon myself to have a look around.”

  “While he was there,” I said. “Watching you. What do you think would have happened if you’d found something?”

  “Well, I would have called the police, of course.”

  “And if he stopped you? Rita, he could very well be a murderer. Don’t you think you should have been more careful?” I tried not to think about how many times someone had said that to me.

  “I know how to take care of myself, dear,” Rita said. “I’m not an idiot.”

  An involuntary tic made my cheek jump, but I held my tongue.

  “I didn’t get a real chance to look around, anyway,” she said. “His place was an absolute mess! I swear, Harland Pennywinkle needs to find someone who can clean up after him. His house was a pigsty! It’s a wonder he could find anything in that mess. I know I couldn’t.” She leaned toward me. “Can you believe he doesn’t even own a computer? He types all of his stories up on an old typewriter!” She said it like it was the oddest thing she’d ever heard.

  “So, you found nothing that would implicate him in Rick’s murder?”

  She shook her head. “Not a thing.”

  Did that mean Harland had nothing to do with Rick’s death? Or could it be there was nothing to find in his house? Rick had died at the bed-and-breakfast, and the murder weapon had been left behind, so it wasn’t like there was much that could be found, other than some bloody clothes, I supposed.

  “I was thinking I could try again tomorrow,” Rita said. “Maybe you could come along! Oh! Or James. He would know what to say.”

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  “But . . .”

  “No buts,” I said. “Dad and I are going to stay out of this one. And you need to as well.”

  She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, I don’t think it is wise to give up so easily.”

  “No one is giving up.” A headache started to form behind my eyes. “The police are on the case. If you go back to Harland’s, they’re going to arrest you, and this time, they might not let you go after a few minutes in a cell.”

  She glowered at me, but surprisingly didn’t speak.

  “Promise me,” I said. “Tell me you’ll stop trying to investigate.” And in turn, I hoped she’d stop implicating me in her actions.

  “Fine,” she said, sinking down into her seat. “I suppose I should leave it to the professionals.”


  Somehow, I didn’t quite believe her, but it was all I was going to get. I just had to hope that the next time she decided to get involved, she did it in a way that wouldn’t get me into trouble. I managed to do that fine and dandy on my own, thank you very much.

  “Good,” I said, sighing. “Let’s get you home.”

  17

  Dad was already in bed by the time I got home, leaving the house blessedly quiet. I headed straight for the living room and dropped down onto the couch with a sigh. Misfit was curled up next to me, and he glanced up and sniffed before putting his head back down. My laptop lay on the coffee table in front of me. I scooped it up, set it on my lap, and then stared at it.

  This was all Maire’s fault. I thought I’d been doing a pretty good job keeping my involvement in Rick Wiseman’s murder investigation to a minimum, but after our dinner, I was starting to feel that all-too-familiar itch. And thanks to Rita, I wanted to learn more about the authors who’d left their manuscripts, as well as those who hadn’t. What did I know about Harland or Joel or any of the others? Nothing—that’s what.

  “I don’t know if I should do this,” I said.

  Misfit looked up again, yawned, and then went right back to sleep. I stroked him a few times, earning me a stretch and a soft purr. Normally, that would have been enough to get me to relax and put the laptop away, but not tonight. Tonight, every ounce of my inquisitive nature was rearing its ugly head, and I felt powerless to resist.

  I snatched up my phone and dialed without thinking. It was only a little past nine, so surely Vicki would still be up. If anyone could talk me out of doing something stupid, she could.

  “Krissy?” she asked, sounding out of breath, as if she’d run to the phone. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, not really,” I said with a sigh. “I’m just sitting here, trying my darndest not to start prying into Rick’s death. I thought you might be able to set me straight.”

  There was a moment of muffled silence, as if she’d pressed the phone to her chest. And then there was a giggle, followed by what sounded like a light smack. “Sorry,” she said. “What was that?”