I took deep, slow breaths to keep the anger at bay. Sitting on my couch, I gripped my hands tightly in my lap to stop myself from jumping to my feet and waving my arms around like a maniac in frustration. Police presence in my home had disrupted the early hours of my morning. I hadn’t even had time to get dressed, so I sat in my old knit pajamas and a fuzzy robe, the only night garments I’d kept after tossing out all the sexy silk things my ex had insisted I buy. It was hard to be dignified with fuzzy Cookie Monster slippers on your feet, but I would be damned if Sutter would sit in my living room and treat me like a criminal.
“And you’re sure you don’t know who might have broken into the store in the night.” Sarcasm dripped from the seemingly affirming statement.
“As you already know, Detective Sutter, I’ve only been in town for four and a half days. How could I possibly know who’d want to break into a store I’d never seen before then?” Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
Rita, who had rushed over the moment she noticed a police car outside, walked over from the kitchen area with a fresh pot of coffee and four mugs. “Do you think it’s connected with Paul’s death?”
“We’re not at liberty to say.” Detective Frank Sutter referred to his tiny notebook, turning the pages with fleshy fingers.
“Well, it’s a good thing Gladys Washburn comes in at six AM to clean, or the front door would have stood open for several more hours before Jenna found out.” Rita placed a steaming mug on the coffee table in front of me, giving me an odd look.
I smiled weakly at her, shoving aside my anger at feeling railroaded again. Inhale. Exhale. I turned back to the detective. “Since you wouldn’t let me into the store, I have to ask, did anything seem damaged?”
Detective Logan spoke, his gentle tone calming my nerves. “As you know, Mrs. Washburn walked through the store with us. Since she’s been cleaning it for so many years, she probably has a better idea than anybody what’s in there. She didn’t see anything missing, only thrown around, as if someone was searching for something. Do you know what that might be?”
I gratefully wrapped my fingers around the warm mug, racking my brain over every little thing I knew about Uncle Paul. “No, I honestly have no idea.”
Detective Sutter glared at me, and I shuddered. His calculating gaze sent a chill down my spine.
After a brief silence, he changed his line of questioning. “Had you had any recent contact with Mr. Baxter before arriving in town?”
“I hadn’t seen him since I was a teenager.” I shifted, trying to find a more relaxed pose. “We did exchange rare emails, and he had recently emailed an invitation for me to come stay with him for a few weeks while I got my feet back under me.”
Grunt. His eyes narrowed. “Did he send you anything in the mail lately?”
“No, he did not.” I locked eyes with him, determined not to let him think I was intimidated. Two could play the shock game. “Does this have anything to do with Uncle Paul’s murder?”
Sutter’s graying, bushy eyebrows went up a notch, and he shot a quick glance at his partner before answering. “So, you’re admitting it was murder now?”
“Frank Sutter, have you always been a jackwagon, or did you study it in police school?” Rita plopped a mug of coffee down in front of him, sloshing a bit over the sides. “Jenna’s the victim here, so stop treating her like she’s the one who committed a crime.”
I shot Rita a quick glance, catching the tiny wink she shot me. This woman who barely knew me had stood up for me. It was all I could do to stifle the smile.
Sutter glared, this time at Rita, picked up his mug, and took a swig of coffee.
I held back a smirk when Sutter grimaced as if he’d burned his tongue. This was my home now, and the morning’s events had nothing to do with what had happened in Charlotte. If anyone was going to be digging for information, it would be me. “I’d like to know exactly why you think it was murder.”
Detective Logan answered. “According to the coroner, Paul died around seven PM, and we found a sleeping medication in his bloodstream—”
“Paul would never have taken sleeping pills.” Rita handed Detective Logan a mug of coffee. “He was too much of a health nut. He hated over-the-counter drugs and felt prescriptions were overprescribed. There’s no way he willingly took sleeping medications.”
“Yes, ma’am. We think that too. Several people have the same opinion as you do. But we need more to go on than opinion.” Detective Logan’s open honesty was refreshing after the subtle jabs his partner had thrown.
Sutter gave him an “I’m in charge” glare over the rim of his coffee mug.
Logan clenched his jaw and closed his eyes. The fire in them had died down when he opened them again.
“It was what we didn’t find that made us consider he may have been given the medications without his knowledge: a pill bottle,” said Sutter.
“See.” Rita interrupted for the second time. “I told you. Paul was a night owl. He loved staying up late. He would never have tried to go to bed that early.”
I nodded. “His email said he was usually up until midnight and if I came in later to use the hidden key and not wake him.” The thought washed through my brain that I’d spent the night in a house with a dead body in the store below. I shuddered.
“That strengthens our case.” Logan made a note in his own little book.
“Against me?” I stared directly at Sutter, mentally pinning him to his seat. Might as well get it out in the open.
A slow, menacing smile spread across Sutter’s round face. “Care to share your sleeping pill prescription number with us? It would save us a lot of time.”
I matched his slow smile, which seemed to unnerve him, as his own slipped from his face at my answer. “I do not now have, nor have I ever had, a sleeping pill prescription. Are you basing everything on the medications in his bloodstream?” Surely they had more to go on than that. But then, what did I know? I’d seen how the police sometimes jumped to the easy solution and didn’t look further. It didn’t always happen like it did on TV.
“Not completely.” Logan snapped his book shut. “We have other loose ends to tie up, but we aren’t at liberty to divulge that information at this time.”
I looked over at Rita, who rolled her eyes. Were all cops taught this phrase in police training as a polite way to say “none of your business”?
The two detectives looked at each other for a few seconds before Sutter spoke. “We’d like to discuss an argument the cleaning lady overheard on the day of Mr. Baxter’s death.”
“Oh?” What could I add to an eyewitness account of an incident that happened before I came to town?
“Yes. She says she heard Mr. Baxter arguing with a man who had come to see him that morning before the store opened.” Sutter again consulted his little notebook. “According to her account, Baxter let the man in and they went into the back room while she was there cleaning the store. She says she couldn’t hear what they argued about, but she could tell they were pretty fired up about something. Do you have any idea who the man your uncle argued with might be?” The detective leaned forward, his pencil poised to take notes.
“No, sir. I don’t. The argument happened before I arrived, and since Uncle Paul was already dead by then, he couldn’t tell me either.” I looked to Rita. “Can you think of anyone?”
Rita’s brow wrinkled, and she shook her head. “I can’t think of anyone off the top of my head … unless … well … Stan Jergins has had a long-term beef with Paul.”
“Stan Jergins?” Logan flipped to a new page in his book and made a note.
“Yes,” Rita explained. “Stan’s a real estate agent who constantly battled with Paul over the possible building of a large shopping mall. Stan wanted to set up the deal, and Paul kept organizing the townsfolk to squash it. Stan was getting ready to rev up his building proposals again, and it seems mighty handy that Paul is conveniently out of the way now.”
“Thank you, Miss Wallace. We appreciate the information.” Sutter glanced at his notebook once more. “If there’s nothing further either of you might add …”
I tried to think of anything else I could pry out of them and came up empty. Ready to have the conversation over, I stated, “No, not anything we can think of.” I looked at Rita, who shook her head.
Sutter continued to regard his notebook. “Interesting.” He leaned back, reached into his inside jacket pocket, and withdrew a folded paper. Slowly he unfolded it. A small green square was stapled to the upper corner. “We found this letter in Baxter’s email.”
I reached for it, but Sutter moved it to his other hand and began to read.
“‘Jenna, I know we haven’t been in contact much over the last few years, but I’ve heard you might need a place to land for a while until you get your feet under you again. I would love to have you stay with me. You would be welcome here for as long as you needed. I have plenty of room, so you would have your privacy. While you’re here, you can help me with a little mystery I’ve run across. It’s quite exciting and will be major news if it turns out the way I think it will. I could use your help to work through it all. I hope to hear from you soon. Love, Uncle Paul.’” Sutter extended the page toward me. “Care to explain what little mystery he was talking about?”
As I accepted the page, tears threatened to overwhelm me. I sucked in a breath, determined to retain at least some semblance of composure. “Detective, this is the email he sent, offering me a place to stay. However, we never had the opportunity to discuss what mystery he meant.”
“Oh?” Sutter grunted and crossed his arms. “I think you might have come, found out what the big mystery was, and decided your uncle was in the way.”
“Oh for God’s sake, Frank. Enough.” Rita slapped her hand down on the arm of the couch and stood. “She’s told you she doesn’t know. You have nothing to prove she ever had a conversation with Paul about his mystery, whatever it was, and you have nothing showing she came earlier that evening and killed him, or you’d have arrested her by now. You’re not going to sit here and browbeat her about the whole mess.”
Detective Logan rose, gesturing to his partner, who hefted himself to his feet. “You’re absolutely correct, Ms. Wallace.” He turned and nodded at me.
I rose, anger and sadness still warring in my heart. “I’m more than happy to help in any way I can. I’d like to see justice for my uncle.”
“If you think of anything else, please call me at this number, day or night.” Detective Logan handed Rita and me each a business card with his contact information. “And thanks to both of you for all your help.”
I took a step forward, wrapping my robe more snugly closed and tightening its belt, since I didn’t even have a bra on yet and wasn’t exactly under-blessed. “Detective Logan.” What was I doing? They were leaving. Don’t call them back.
“Yes?” He turned and looked at me.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” At his questioning look, I continued. “My store? The one that was broken into?”
“Oh yes.” He cleared his throat. “We’ll keep you informed of our progress to apprehend the perpetrator or perpetrators of this crime. In the meantime, we’ve taken down all we need to downstairs, and you’re free to enter the premises. And once again, thank you for your help on this matter.”
After the men left, Rita wrapped an arm around my shoulders and gave me a quick squeeze. “Don’t let Frank get to you. He treats everyone that way. I think his motto is ‘Guilty until proven innocent,’ even when he has no idea what someone might be guilty of. In his book, everyone is guilty of something.”
A shudder washed over me, and my knees threatened to buckle as fear replaced the angry bravado. “I think a lot of cops have that attitude.” I opened my eyes and caught Rita’s questioning look. “If we don’t figure out what really happened to Uncle Paul, history could repeat itself, and I could end up in jail again.”
Rita nodded, and we gathered the coffee things and took them to the kitchen. Silently Rita returned the half-full coffeepot to its base while I rinsed the cups and placed them in the dishwasher.
Finally, I had to ask. “Rita, why didn’t you bring up the Aunt Irene angle of Stan’s vendetta with Uncle Paul?”
She turned and leaned on the counter. “Honey, if Stan killed Paul, it was over that real estate deal. I thought about our talk for a long time last night before bed. I really think he could’ve done it.”
“The police will probably check to see if Stan had a prescription for sleeping medications or if he had access to them. Maybe they’ll put him in a lineup for the cleaning lady to see if she recognizes him. He could be the man she saw Uncle Paul let into the store that day.” I washed the last dish and set it in the dish rack, pulling the sink plug with my other hand and visualizing my stress rushing down the drain with the dirty water. It didn’t help.
“As many ads as he splashes around town, I can’t believe she wouldn’t know his face,” Rita said.
Drying my hands on a dish towel, I turned to face Rita. “Thank you for not dragging Aunt Irene’s and Uncle Paul’s memories through the mud.” I hopped up to sit on the kitchen counter, letting my legs swing.
“I would never do that. Without them here to defend themselves, there’s no telling what the gossips would do. Everyone loved Paul and Irene, but you never know what folks will say to get attention.” Rita flashed a playful grin. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to make the new neighbor mad at me after knowing her less than two days.”
I chuckled, trying to let go of the tension still knotted in my stomach. “Well, it seems I’ve got a lot to do today, so I guess I’d better get going.” I hopped off the counter and walked to the bedroom to get my keys.
Rita followed. “It’s early yet. What’s on your agenda for the rest of the day?”
“First, I need to go check the store. If there’s damage, I need to get someone out to repair things. Then I’ll start wading through some of the mess.” I wasn’t looking forward to all the work, but it would be a wonderful distraction for a while. And I was eager to get everything in place so the store would look its best. Whether I sold it or kept it, it had to be done.
“Want some company?”
“If you have the time, I’d love some.” I smiled, happy not to face the mess alone.
“I have the day off, and I might as well accomplish something. Besides, it might be fun. You never know what we might find in all those piles. Maybe even something worth killing for.”