23
“Merry Christmas.”
The cop looked at me like I’d just told him to jump off a bridge before he smiled. “Thanks,” he said, and then pushed the rest of the way out the door to the Pine Hills police station. I noted he had a skip in his step that wasn’t there before I’d spoken as he made his way to his cruiser.
Despite recent frustrations, I was feeling pretty good. Maybe the Christmas spirit was finally taking over and overriding my worries about the murder and strange gifts. I tapped the wreath hanging from the door before I entered, humming an off-key Christmas tune.
Only a single officer lounged in the main room. He was seated at a desk, feet propped on a nearby chair, eyes closed, earbuds in his ears. His soft snores told me he was asleep, and not just relaxing while waiting for a call.
Paul’s car wasn’t in the lot, so it wasn’t a surprise not to see him inside the station. Chief Dalton’s door was closed, though I could see a pair of moving shadows through the partially closed blinds on the window that told me she was inside with someone.
I was about to wake the sleeping officer when the door opened behind me and Officer Becca Garrison entered, not in uniform, but carrying an overstuffed laundry bag. She jerked to a stop when she saw me.
“Krissy? What are you doing here?”
“Hello, Officer. I have something I want to report.”
Garrison’s face bunched up. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Call me ‘Officer.’ It sounds weird coming from you.” She started walking toward the interrogation room. “Call me Becca. Follow me.”
“All right, Becca.” I grinned as I followed her.
The interrogation room looked pretty much the same as it had the last time I was there. The same old table sat in the middle of the room with the same old uncomfortable plastic chairs. The dartboard hung above the couch and the coffeepot held the same black sludge I couldn’t imagine anyone could drink.
But now, there were added touches that told me that Becca Garrison was still using it as a temporary apartment. A box of oatmeal sat next to the coffeepot, along with a small microwave. The couch had a blanket and pillow. A tattered paperback rested atop them.
Garrison tossed her bag into the corner and then removed her freshly washed uniform from it. She folded her clothing over one arm and then turned to me. “This has been an adventure,” she said with a sigh. “Had to have a friend do my laundry, just so I’d have clean clothes. It feels oddly invasive, even though I’d asked her to do it.”
“Are you holding up okay?” I asked her. She looked good, if not a little rumpled around the edges. Sleeping on a police station couch could do that to a person.
“I’m fine. It’s not so bad, really. I think I’m getting used to it.”
Garrison had been scammed on her place by the guy who’d sold it to her. Apparently, he’d managed to do his scheme legally, so nothing could be done about it. It put Garrison in a financial situation she had yet to climb out of. She’d taken the department up on the offer to let her sleep on the couch here, but she steadfastly refused to accept help from anyone else, and that included her friends.
“If you want to sleep in a bed, my spare room is still available.”
She shook her head. “No, thank you. I think it’s going to work out. I expect to be out of here in less than a month. I can tough it out until then.”
“You’ve gotten your money back?”
She snorted. “Not hardly.” Her bicep flexed as she squeezed her fist. It was the only sign that she was still angry about what had happened to her. “What was it you wanted to report? I need to get changed before Chief Dalton sees me out of uniform, but can take a minute if needed.”
“Go ahead,” I said. “I can wait. It’s not time sensitive or anything.”
Garrison hesitated before she said, “Give me a minute. You can hang out in here.” She smiled. “Wouldn’t want someone to think you’re in trouble again.”
She strode from the room and entered a bathroom down the hall, leaving me in what was really beginning to feel like a bedroom. I’d been inside the room countless times over the years, yet this was the first time I really felt like I was invading someone else’s space.
I turned my back on the couch and Garrison’s personal belongings, but declined to sit in the plastic chairs. This wasn’t going to be an interrogation. I was there to talk, and hopefully, help the police find a killer before the killer made a move on Jules.
Garrison returned within five minutes. She was in her uniform now and had touched up her makeup, so she looked refreshed. She walked over to the coffeepot, grabbed a mug, and then glanced at me. “Want a cup?”
One look at the way the sludge oozed within the pot and I shook my head. “I’ll pass.”
“Good choice.” She poured herself a cup anyway. “So, what’s up?”
I hesitated. Becca Garrison was a police officer, but it was John Buchannan’s case. As much as I didn’t like talking to him, this was something he should hear. “Is Detective Buchannan around?”
“He’s out at the moment and I’m not sure when he’ll be back.” She took a sip, grimaced, and then leaned against the table. “I take it this is about the murder.”
“Kind of.” And then, because someone needed to know, I told her what I’d learned from Annie about Doris’s husband, Dave, along with my theory that his death might be tied to Andrew’s own.
Garrison was shaking her head before I was finished.
“Don’t let Doris Appleton’s tall tales distract you,” she said.
“Tall tales? Dave didn’t die?”
“Oh, he did, but he wasn’t murdered.”
My heart sank. “So, Andrew’s death wasn’t retaliatory.”
“It still could be,” Garrison said. “But not for Dave’s death. No, he died of a heart attack compounded by a stroke. Some of the people I talked to said it was because Doris never stopped hounding him. Doris was the one who started the rumor that he was murdered, likely in response to the talk about her being the reason he’d died.”
Which did sound like the Doris Appleton I knew. “Andrew was stabbed, right?”
Garrison nodded. “He was.”
I bit my lip and considered. “I had a chat with Lee Komph the other day. He was holding a wood chisel.”
I didn’t have to say what I was thinking. Garrison caught on right away.
“It’s always possible,” she said. “You didn’t happen to see blood on it, did you?”
I closed my eyes and thought back. I remembered seeing the chisel in Lee’s hand, remembered him opening the door, putting the pointy end inches from my face. I could recall the smell of the wood he’d been working on, the anger on his face.
But of blood, I had no recollection. I told Garrison as much.
“Figured that’d be too easy.” She sighed, considered her mug and then set it aside. “Besides, Detective Buchannan thinks he knows who did it.”
“What?” I took a step back in my shock. “What do you mean he thinks he knows?”
Garrison checked her watch and then motioned for me to follow her out of the room. I did, trailing behind with my mouth hanging open.
He knew? Then why was I there throwing around unsubstantiated rumor? I mean, it’s not like he was under any obligation to tell me anything, but still. The least he could have done was to tell me that I no longer had to worry about someone killing Jules in my bookstore café.
Nothing had changed in the station since we’d been in the interrogation room. No Buchannan. No Paul. Chief Dalton was still locked inside her office and the other officer was still asleep at his desk. Yet it all felt different somehow, like the calm before a storm.
“Is that where Paul’s gone?” I asked, thinking back to the commotion I’d heard over the phone. “To catch the killer with Buchannan?”
“Paul?” Garrison looked confused before she shook her head. “No, he had something to do at home.”
I blinked at her. “At home?” When a killer was about to be apprehended? It didn’t make sense that he’d miss that. “Why’s Paul at home?”
Instead of answering, Garrison nodded toward the door. “Here he is.”
I thought she meant Paul, but when I turned, it was Detective Buchannan who was headed for the station doors.
And he wasn’t alone.
With wallet chain beating at his left thigh, head down so his hair covered his face, and his hands cuffed behind him, Jacob shuffled his way toward the doors, looking as defeated as a man could get.
As they entered, Garrison and I stepped aside. Jacob didn’t look up, just allowed himself to be led past us, to the interrogation room. Buchannan, however, narrowed his eyes at me, like I was there to mess up his arrest, before nodding once to Garrison, and leading Jacob away.
“Jacob is the killer?” I asked. I was shocked, despite my own suspicions about him. “Buchannan’s got proof?”
“Remember that night when Mr. Phan was being lured to Death by Coffee?”
“By that gift he’d received. The one you carried out of Phantastic Candies.”
Garrison was smiling as she nodded. “That’s the one. I was there that night and I saw someone matching Mr. Callahan’s description lurking down the street.”
It took me a moment to realize she was talking about Jacob since I hadn’t heard his last name until then. “Jacob was there? Buchannan told me no one suspicious showed up!”
“He must not have wanted to give too much away until he was certain it meant something,” Garrison said. “You know how John can be.”
Oh boy, did I. “What time did you see him there?” I asked.
Garrison rubbed the back of her neck as she considered it. “It was at about ten that night. I only remember because I’d glanced at my phone to check the time, and when I looked up, the person was gone.”
Ten. Hours before Jacob’s car had left Caitlin’s. “Are you sure it was Jacob?” I asked.
Garrison’s smile faded. “Pretty sure. I only got a glimpse. Why?”
“He was at my neighbor’s house that night,” I said, thinking it through. “I kept peeking out the window because I knew he was there and I was nervous. He didn’t leave until a little after midnight.”
“It was dark,” Garrison admitted. She sounded worried. “The person I saw was dressed in all black and was keeping to the shadows, so I didn’t get a look at their face. The only distinguishing feature was a reflection off a metal object around thigh-high.” She held her hand down next to her right thigh to emphasize.
Like Jacob’s wallet chain. And while Jacob was of average height and weight, like a lot of people, not everyone in town dressed in all black.
Garrison was silent a long moment before she spoke again, “Are you certain about the time? Could Mr. Callahan have left and come back.”
I considered it. I supposed it was possible that Jacob had snuck out, driven off, and then gotten back before I noticed his car was gone, but I didn’t think so. I’d checked the windows almost religiously.
“I didn’t see Jacob after I talked to Caitlin,” I said. “But his car never left, not until after midnight. Caitlin’s either. And I’m pretty sure no one showed up to pick him up. I would have seen the lights or would have heard them pulling up.”
Garrison looked toward the interrogation room, a frown forming. “John needs to know about this,” she said. “I’m going to go talk to him.”
“If you want me to stay, I can.”
“No, you go ahead. I have a feeling he’s not going to be very happy and you probably don’t want to be here for it.”
I could only imagine Buchannan’s rage once he found out I was poking holes in his theory, especially since I was the one who’d told him about Jacob in the first place.
As Garrison headed back to the interrogation room to tell Buchannan the bad news, I slipped out the door, questioning myself the entire way back to my Escape.
Was I positive I’d checked regularly enough to have seen Jacob’s car during the window in which he’d had to have left in order to get to Death by Coffee at ten? I had attempted to sleep, so it was possible I’d dozed just long enough to miss him.
And what if it wasn’t Jacob’s car I should be worried about, but Boo’s? She could have picked him up, parked down the street as not to alert Jules or me. If Caitlin had fallen asleep, all Jacob would have needed to do was sneak out, meet Boo, and then head to Death by Coffee. Once he saw the police there, he could have had her drive him back, and then climbed into his own car to leave, which is what I’d heard at midnight.
Someone needs to tell Caitlin.
And yet, I couldn’t bring myself to do it, not without knowing for sure whether Jacob was innocent or guilty.
I found myself headed to Paul’s instead. I needed to see him, to talk to him and get his opinion before I did anything. Jacob’s possible guilt was hitting me harder than expected. It made me wonder if he’d considered walking across the yard and killing me before heading to Death by Coffee. Had I come that close to a killer?
Paul’s car was sitting in his driveway, which was a relief. I’d been half afraid I’d end up missing him and would have to decide what to do on my own.
I climbed out of my Escape and hurried to the front door, anxious to see him. I knocked. The door opened almost immediately, but it wasn’t Paul who met me.
The girl had to be no more than twenty. Her hair was a tangled mess atop her head, as if she’d recently been rolling around on it. Her face was flushed and she was wearing a shirt that was too big for her tiny frame.
A shirt I recognized.
“That’s Paul’s,” I said. It came out as a whisper with no force behind it.
The girl winced when she tried to brush hair out of her pretty face, which was coated in a fine bead of sweat. “It is. Do you want me to get him? He’s here.”
Thankfully, I didn’t need to reply. I wasn’t positive I’d have been able to speak if I’d tried.
“They should be okay for a few hours, at least until—” Paul, who’d just emerged from a back room, cut off when he saw me. “Krissy? What are you doing here?”
My mouth opened, but nothing came out. Paul was here. With another woman. She was wearing his shirt.
He came to the door and put a hand on my shoulder. “What’s going on? You look upset.”
Paul was in his uniform. He didn’t look rumpled or out of breath or anything of the sort. Just the woman. The girl. It made me think of Constance, a waitress at the Banyon Tree who’d taken a liking to Paul. A lot of young women were infatuated with him. I mean, come on; a good-looking man in uniform? Who wouldn’t be smitten?
“I can always take myself,” the girl said. She groaned as she leaned against the wall.
“No, Susie, I’ll take you.”
The name rang a bell. “Susie?” I asked, failing to place it.
“My dogsitter,” Paul said. “Ziggy tripped her and Susie hit her head.”
“I think I’m all right,” Susie said. “And don’t blame Ziggy for me being clumsy. I should have been watching where I was going.”
Paul’s two huskies often forgot how big they were.
“She fell,” I said, sense finally seeping in through my thick skull. “She was watching the dogs.”
Paul gave me a funny look. “Yeah. Why else do you think she’d be here?” And then it dawned on him. He could have gotten angry, could have turned defensive.
Instead, he laughed.
“You thought I was . . . ?” He chuckled as he looked back at a confused—and pained—Susie. “My shirt. You had to think . . .” He laughed harder.
I felt like an idiot. “I’ve got a lot on my mind and wasn’t thinking straight.”
Paul’s laughter ebbed. “Sorry about that. I really needed a laugh.” He wiped a tear out of his eye. “Susie was watching the dogs when Ziggy took her out. She managed to rip her shirt on the way down, hence she’s wearing mine. She hit her head pretty hard and might have a concussion.”
“I’m fine,” Susie said, though she looked anything but.
“Grab your coat and we’ll go,” Paul said. “You need to see a doctor.”
“Will the dogs be all right?” I asked. “I could stay and watch them if you need me to.”
“No, they’ll be fine. I took them out, got them some food. They can handle being alone for a few hours.”
Susie was pulling on her coat with a lot of grunts and winces. I stepped in past Paul and helped her pull it on. It was the least I could do after thinking she was sleeping with Paul behind my back.
“Thank you,” she said. “I wrenched my shoulder pretty good, too.” With her good arm, she reached up and rubbed at her jaw. “Feels like someone socked me in the chin.” She turned to Paul. “If you want to stay here with her, I can drive myself.” To me, “I live down the street, so it’s not a long walk to my car.”
“I’ll drive.” Firm, before he turned back to me. “Did you need something? You could always ride with us if—”
“I was just visiting,” I said. “I stopped by the station like you told me to and was told you came home, so I thought I’d stop by and check on you.”
“You sure?”
“Positive,” I said. “I think I’m going to call Dad and Laura in a bit and see what they’re up to. They’re only here for a few more days and I haven’t seen them nearly as much as I’d like.”
Paul gently placed a hand on Susie’s back and led her out of the house, into the cold. As the door closed, I heard a single bark, and then the house fell silent.
“Once this is taken care of, I can stop by if you want?” Paul said. “Or later tonight?”
“What about tomorrow?” I asked. “It’s Christmas Eve and it would be nice to have a get-together at my place. Dinner maybe? You don’t work, do you?”
“I can make the time,” Paul assured me. “I’d better get her to the doctor.”
Susie was already climbing into Paul’s car with grunts and groans. She was trying to play it tough, but I could tell she was hurting.
“You do that,” I said. “I’ll text you the time after I talk to Dad and Laura. Maybe we can all get together again. Christmas dinner a day early!”
Paul leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. “Sounds great. I’ll talk to you later, Krissy.” He climbed into his car to drive Susie to the doctor.
With nothing else to do but feel like a fool, I got into my own car and headed to Death by Coffee. Right then, a hot peppermint cappuccino sounded like the best thing in the world.