CHAPTER TWO
“Wait a minute, Dutch,” I called, stepping out of the hallway, causing all heads to swivel toward me. “Are you concluding that this is a murder before you’ve even listened to what Sergeant Reilly has to say? Why not hear him out before you decide Mr. Rafferty had something to do with his wife’s death?”
“Who let Junior Miss Detective in here?” Arno snarled.
“Are you afraid to answer my question?” I challenged, as Reilly took my arm and backed me out of the kitchen.
“Questioning the husband is standard procedure,” Reilly said quietly. “You know that.”
“And you know how Dutch railroads the first person he sets his sights on,” I said loud enough for the bull-headed detective to hear.
“Get her out of here now,” Arno snapped, “before I arrest her for interfering with a police investigation. And you and your men can leave now, too, Sergeant. I’ll take over from here.”
Reilly didn’t say anything, but I could tell by the way his lips were pressed together as he escorted me to the front door that he was angry.
I stepped outside to see Officer Martin taping off the front porch with yellow crime scene tape. As Reilly lifted the tape to let me through, I said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get you kicked off the case. That’s the last thing I wanted to do.”
He didn’t respond, just gave me a look and pointed to my van. I nodded and started walking only to see the New Chapel News crime reporter, Connor MacKay, whom I’d known for years, striding over to meet me. He was wearing his usual white polo and khaki pants, a pen behind his ear and an audio recorder in his hand.
“Hey, Abby, I see the coroner’s van is here. Who died?”
“I can’t say anything until the family’s been notified,” I said as I sidestepped him and continued toward my vehicle.
“Then there has been a death,” MacKay said.
Oops. I shouldn’t have opened my mouth. “That doesn’t necessarily mean there was a death.”
“Come on, Knight. Let’s not kid each other. I’m assuming it’s Mrs. Rafferty.”
I turned to give him a scowl. Instead of correcting him once again of my new last name, I simply said, “Go away, Connor.”
“You’ve got to give me something to work with. How did you get inside?”
“I said, go away.”
“Look, I can see Mrs. Rafferty’s BMW in the garage and the front door has obviously been smashed open. So do we have a murderer on the loose?”
“You’ll have to ask someone in charge.”
“Great. I’ll do just that.” Connor smiled mischievously then called, “Sergeant Reilly.”
I turned around to see Reilly stepping back outside. I hurried after Connor as he marched up to the porch, where the tape stopped him. “I was just talking to Abby and I understand there’s been a death in the house. Is it a murder?”
“No comment,” Reilly said, then gave me a glare.
I turned the glare on Connor. “I never said anything about a death in the house and you know it.”
Ignoring me, Connor said to Reilly “There’ve been a string of robberies in this neighborhood over the past month. Would you say this could be related? Possibly a robbery gone bad?”
“I said no comment, MacKay.”
“So you’re not denying it, Sergeant?”
“What does no comment mean to you?” Reilly snapped.
“It means you’re not denying it,” Connor retorted.
“Come on, Connor,” I said, looping my hand through his elbow, “I’ll walk you back to your car.”
“Thank you very much,” Connor said, stumbling a bit as I jerked him forward, “but I can take a hint.”
We had just reached my minivan when I heard someone call, “Sergeant Reilly?”
I glanced around to see Officers McConnell, Smith, and Beck step out to talk to Reilly. I immediately found myself being pushed around to the front of my vehicle so Connor could listen to them without being spotted. My gut instinct was to stop him, but my curiosity won out, so we both listened.
“The house is clear, Sarge,” McConnell said. “We didn’t recover a cell phone, but we found some interesting items that you should take a look at.”
Officer Beck spoke next, “Detective Arno also informed us that you’re turning the murder investigation over to him already. Is that true?”
“I’ll speak with him about that,” Reilly said. “Go ahead back to your patrols. We’ll talk later. Good work, guys.”
“So Mrs. Rafferty was murdered,” Connor said, scribbling notes in his notebook. “And there was a robbery.” He finished writing and glanced up with a Cheshire cat’s smile.
“Don’t you dare print that until you go down to the station and verify it with the police spokeswoman,” I warned him. “Anything you heard those officers discussing is off limits until then.”
“I wouldn’t dream of printing anything unofficial,” he said dryly. “And by the way, where were you when the murder happened?”
I glowered at him as I opened my van door.
“No, seriously,” he said, laughing. “At least you can tell me if you were the one who found the body.”
“I came to deliver flowers and that’s all I’m saying. Goodbye, MacKay.”
I was about to get into my van again when I heard a man call, “Hey, Abby Knight.”
I looked around and saw Detective Arno motioning me over to his unmarked police car. I got out and walked toward him, with Connor on my heels. “It’s Abby Salvare now, Dutch,” I said to him, “in case you hadn’t heard.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Salvare. MacKay, you get lost. Abby, take a seat in the back and let’s have a talk, you and I.”
I took a deep breath and slid into the back seat, preparing mentally to deal with a bully. Arno got into the driver’s seat, then swiveled to talk to me. “I just wanted to say that you were right. I should have listened to what Reilly had to say before I commented. Can you think of anything else you noticed that might be helpful to the investigation?”
I was so stunned by his sudden change of attitude that I couldn’t think of a reply. And then my inner antennae sprang up, waving a bright red flag. “If you really did listen to Reilly’s information, then you wouldn’t need to ask me anything.”
“Okay, then how about a new question? How well do you know Mr. and Mrs. Rafferty?”
“Only as customers.”
“I was told you came to deliver flowers to Mrs. Rafferty. What did you notice when you first knocked on the door?”
“Again, if you’d listened to what Reilly had to say, I wouldn’t need to repeat it. I told him everything I saw.”
I could see by the muscle tic in Arno’s jaw that he was losing patience. “Look,” he said, “I heard what you said to Reilly about me and I know you don’t like me or the way I do my job, but all I’m doing is following procedure, as I always have done.”
His procedure maybe. I looked out the window.
“I was wrong about implicating your friend before, too,” he said, “and I apologize for that. I’m simply asking for your input to help solve this case. You were the only person at the crime scene when police first arrived.”
Wow. He was pulling out all the stops now. Still not saying a word, I glanced at him in the rear-view mirror and our gazes locked. His dark, penetrating eyes were working overtime, but I sat still. I wasn’t about to be cut in half.
“So that’s how you intend to play it,” he said. “Okay, then listen to me carefully. I’ve made mistakes before, but I never make the same mistake twice. You can count on that. You’re free to go.”
I got out of the car, slammed the door, and walked away. No matter what he said, I would never trust him or his methods of working.
I heard him open his car door and call my name. “One more thing, Mrs. Salvare.”
I turned around to glare at him. “What’s that, Dutch?”
“Like I said before, you were the only person at the crime scene when police arrived.”
“Yeah, what’s your point?”
“Just that you should be thanking me.”
“For?”
“For not railroading the first person I set my sights on.” Arno gave me a smile that sent shivers down my spine. “Have a good day, Mrs. Salvare.”
My phone rang as I got into the minivan and Marco’s name popped up on the screen. “Hey, sunshine, it’s after seven o’clock. I thought you had one delivery to make and were going to head home.”
“I did have one delivery to make, or at least I tried to make the delivery.”
I filled Marco in on what had had happened as I drove back to Bloomers to drop off the minivan and pick up my car. “I know Arno’s way of working, Marco. He was actually trying to intimidate me, implying I had something to do with the murder. Now he’s decided to target Mr. Rafferty. If we were investigating –”
“Okay, stop right there. We’re not investigating, sweetheart, and you’re probably starving. I’m drizzling the vinaigrette on our salads as we speak. So try to put what happened out of your mind and think about dinner instead.”
Right. Just put it out of my mind. As if it were that easy. And salad is not dinner.
“How about pulled pork sandwiches instead?” I asked. “I can pick some up on the way home.”
“We agreed to have a healthy salad for dinner, Sunshine.”
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll be home soon.”
I pulled into the garage, pushed the button on the remote garage door opener, and walked into the kitchen, still going over the events in my mind. There was something about that crime scene inside the Rafferty’s kitchen that seemed off. I just couldn’t put my finger on what that was.
…
Tuesday
I woke to the dull ache of sore muscles, making every subtle movement sheer agony. My stomach was running on salad fumes, and I could hear Marco playing with our pets in the living room without a care in the world. I touched my bare toes to the carpet and stood slowly, stretching my back and catching my reflection in our tall bedroom wall mirror. I pulled my chin into my neck and let my belly relax. This was going to be the hardest three weeks of my life.
The previous week, Marco and I had started our new exercise routine. The long, cold winter had definitely not been kind to me, and it was showing big time. Even as I had been loosening my belt and wearing larger clothes, the thought of eating better and working out hadn’t really hit until we got the news.
My parents, along with Jillian’s parents, had pooled together and surprised the family with cruise tickets to the Caribbean islands. The excitement soon wore off, though, when I began going through my summer clothes, and desperation quickly sank in when I tried on my old bathing suit. Marco had found me crying in the bathroom and decided that we would immediately start a strict healthy regiment to make sure we were both in great shape for our family vacation.
I pulled my stomach flat and straightened my shoulders, every muscle pulsing with pain. Caribbean cruise, here I come.
I was still musing over the murder when I sat down at breakfast. Marco was already exercising in the basement, and the newspaper was unfolded on the kitchen counter with the banner headline that read: MURDER ON SANDY CREEK COURT. Beneath was a photo of Paige Rafferty and below that was Connor MacKay’s article. I made myself a breakfast of almond butter on toast, poured a cup of coffee - without creamer, ugh - and sat down to read it.
Paige Rafferty, forty-two, of New Chapel, Indiana, was found dead in her home yesterday. According to Police Sergeant Sean Reilly, Mrs. Rafferty was a victim of an apparent robbery/homicide.
My stomach gave a lurch when I saw Reilly’s name, hoping Connor had verified that information as he’d promised.
I read on:
The victim’s husband Slade Rafferty, owner of Rafferty Exclusive Homes Realty Company, is being held for questioning and is considered a person of interest. The investigation is now being led by Detective Richard Arno who will be making an official announcement tomorrow morning concerning the case.
I pushed the paper aside and went to the sink to rinse my cup, sickened all over again at the thought of how Arno would mess up the investigation. Marco came upstairs just then, looking as sexy and as masculine as always. He had a sheen of sweat on his face and his wavy dark hair was pushed away from his forehead. His soulful brown eyes brightened when he saw me, until he noticed the scowl on my face. “What’s up, Buttercup? Ready for our workout?”
“Did you read the article about Slade Rafferty?”
“Yep.”
“Is it normal for a detective to dismiss the first responding officers and take over the case?”
“It depends,” Marco said. “Arno has experience. Although detective is technically the same rank as officer, a senior detective usually pulls a little more weight. It’s not normal for a detective to dismiss his sergeant though, that I can tell you.”
My handsome hubby knew what he was talking about. After serving two years as an Army Ranger, he’d spent a year on the police force before deciding he didn’t like all the rules and regulations, so he’d bought Down the Hatch Bar and Grill and then set up his own private detective agency.
“That’s what I thought, and it’s another reason I don’t trust Dutch.”
“What happened is a tragedy, but it’s not our case.” Marco put his hands on my shoulders. “If we don’t get a move on it, we’re going to be late for work.”
As I started toward the basement I continued, “I’ll bet you anything he’s not going to look at anyone other than Slade Rafferty.”
“Not our case,” Marco replied.
…
When I arrived at Bloomers that morning, my staff had already gathered to discuss business in the coffee-and-tea parlor, a former storage room that I’d transformed as a way to draw in more customers. Lottie Dombowski, the former owner of the flower shop, Grace Bingham, the ex-pat Brit who ran the coffee-and-tea parlor, and Rosa Marin, my newest employee, were suspiciously quiet as I entered the room. Grace stood to pour me a cup of her gourmet coffee, and as soon as I sat down with them, the discussion erupted into Paige Rafferty’s murder and they began to fire questions at me about the delivery I’d made there.
Grace finally held up her hands. “Would everyone please give Abby a chance to speak?”
Grace was sixty-something, a widow, trim, with short, stylish gray hair. Physically fit, she climbed stairs without breaking a sweat and maintained her calm in any crisis. Today she was dressed in a pale blue sweater set, black pencil skirt, and sensible black flats.
I’d met Grace when she’d worked as legal secretary to Dave Hammond, a defense attorney where I’d interned during the disastrous year I spent in law school, the highlight of which was flunking out. But like anything else, something good had come out of it. I’d found my calling at Bloomers and met the man of my dreams shortly thereafter.
I filled my employees in on the details, including that Detective Arno – or, Dutch, as I condescendingly called him - had taken control of the investigation, and that Slade Rafferty had been picked up for questioning and labeled a person of interest, which for Dutch meant his top suspect.
“Still,” Rosa said, flipping back her beautiful dark brown hair, “you cannot discount Mr. Rafferty.” As usual, she had on a bright print blouse, this one off-the shoulders, and a flirty skirt with mile high heels. How she worked in them all day was beyond me. “I’ve seen too many shows on the TV where the husband looks innocent but, in the end” –she made a cutting motion across her throat— “guilty.”
“Oh, you should have been here when he bought those tulips, Rosa,” Lottie said. “He was all smiles, blushing like a school boy when he made that order. I just don’t think he has it in him.”
“Rosa may have a point,” Grace said as she poised herself. “As Aesop once noted, ‘Beware lest you lose substance by grasping at the shadow.’”
I sat in silence, enjoying every sip of Grace’s coffee, already mixed with my favorite heavy cream, (oops) while the women went back and forth on Slade Rafferty’s guilt.
“Well, my dears,” Grace finalized, “We must agree to disagree for the moment. It’s nearly opening time.”
We left the discussion there to get on with the morning’s work. I pulled my first order, an arrangement for a tenth anniversary that the husband wanted all in pink, his wife’s favorite colors. I stepped into the big cooler where we kept our stock and pulled pink roses, sweet peas, and peonies in shades of blush, pink and cerise, added some bright green honey bracelet with its thin needles and long flowing branches for contrast, then found a crackle-finish cream-colored ceramic vase and began to put it together. But as I worked, I kept going over that kitchen scene in my mind. Something was nagging at me. I just couldn’t figure out what that something was.