16

Duped.

Tom carried his coffee to a table near the front of A Cup or Two and surveyed the street. Nothing was what it seemed. Not even the buildings. In the fifteen years he’d been away from his hometown, carpenters had concealed half of Main Street’s crumbling brick buildings behind brightly colored facades reminiscent of a bygone era. Coupled with the recently cobbled street and Victorian lamp stands, the place looked straight out of nineteenth-century England—quaint, friendly, trustworthy. Kind of like what he’d mistaken Kate for.

He gulped his coffee, letting the bitter taste strip away his ambivalent feelings for the woman he’d left at the police station. When he’d tried to warn her to be cautious and she’d squared her shoulders, claiming she had nothing to hide, all he could see were Zoe’s lying eyes. If only he’d remembered his own motto that people are rarely what they seem. Watching his partner’s car blow up should have seared that fact into his brain for life.

Dad yanked out a chair and planted himself across the table from Tom. “You mind telling me what’s going on? I just got a call from Lorna, who got a call from Marjorie down at the research lab, telling me my son just arrested Kate Adams.”

Tom twisted his coffee mug between his hands. “Your grapevine’s not quite accurate. I brought her in for questioning.”

“Then what are you doing sitting here?”

“What do you think?”

“Did Hank fire you?” Dad’s blunt question hit too close for comfort.

“Not yet.”

Dad’s grim frown reinforced Tom’s fears. “What does Hank think he’s got?”

“New information.”

“Are you going to make me pry it out of you?”

Tom leaned across the table and spoke in a low voice. “That Laslo kid I’ve been trying to track down, the one I thought might be connected to the case. He showed up yesterday.”

“Dead?”

“No. He came into the police station and claimed he’d witnessed Kate serve tagete tea to Leacock.”

Dad nodded. That was it. No reaction. As if the revelation was inconsequential. “What did the kid say when you talked to him?”

“I didn’t.”

“Well, don’t you think you should?”

“Sure, if I want to be fired.” Not that that would stop him. He just needed a few minutes to stew first. “That’s not all Hank found out.”

“Oh?”

“Kate Adams is really Kate Baxter.”

“So? It’s not a crime to change your name. Maybe she’s widowed.”

“Never been married and her father worked for GPC until he was arrested for stealing company secrets.”

“How does that give her a motive to hurt Daisy?”

Tom swirled the coffee in his mug. “Maybe it doesn’t, but it’s one more thing Kate’s been hiding from us.”

“Like how you didn’t tell her Edward is Jim Crump?” Dad’s biting sarcasm could’ve stripped the varnish off the table.

“That’s different. I was trying to protect her. The less she knows the safer she’ll be.”

“Fair enough, but why would she even think to mention that she used to be a Baxter?”

Tom slapped his mug onto the table. “She was thinking about it all right. Saturday night. Didn’t you notice how she clammed up when we started talking about the drug company coming to town?”

“What of it? If I’d been arrested, would you share that fact the first time a girl had you over to her parents’ house for dinner?”

“That’s hardly a valid comparison.”

“Isn’t it? Seems to me she didn’t want to sully your opinion of her by parading out the skeletons in her closet. Any fool with two eyes can see she likes you.”

“Yeah, well, not anymore.”

“I’m sorry, son.” Dad’s gaze drifted to nowhere in particular as his fingers drummed on the tabletop. A moment later, he tapped all his fingers together in one brisk tap and refocused on Tom. “How’d Hank figure out Kate’s history if you missed it?”

“Hutchinson overheard some guy ask Kate about her mother. Kate seemed bothered that the guy had made the connection and the difference in last names tweaked Hutchinson’s curiosity.”

Dad shook his head. “He must’ve searched all four million hits on Google to dig this stuff up.” His expression morphed into a look Tom hadn’t seen since the time he forgot to call Mom on her birthday. “Don’t tell me you think Kate’s guilty?”

The bell above the shop door jangled, and Tom grabbed hold of the opportunity to duck the question by glancing toward the entrance. An elderly couple ambled in. The woman held a pie box from Wagner’s bakery. The aroma of apple and cinnamon entwined itself around Tom’s thoughts, fingering other memories of Kate. Sunday’s dinner, with roast beef and apple pie, had been—thanks to Kate’s presence—the first meal since Mom’s death that he and Dad had sat through like a real family. If not for Kate, Tom might still be collecting empty chip bags and coffee mugs from the living room instead of sitting here defending his conduct to a father very much engaged with what was going on around him.

Tom wanted to believe her actions last week weren’t an elaborate scheme to convince him to arrest Edward. He’d stopped short of actually arresting Kate, hadn’t he?

But he’d brought her in. And then left—as per Hank’s orders.

The pie couple deliberated over the array of specialty teas and then methodically scooped their choice of herbs from the containers lining the countertop. Did Tom really believe Kate could heartlessly watch her friend sip poison day after day?

An image of Zoe with her arms draped around his partner flashed through Tom’s mind. Some women were capable of anything.

He returned his attention to Dad. “Doesn’t matter whether or not I think Kate’s guilty. After today, she won’t want my help, and Hank would likely have my badge if I offered.”

“I thought Hank was supposed to be your friend. Why’s he gunning for you?”

“The mayor’s pressuring him to make this murder case go away. I think Hank’s afraid I’m going to show him up.”

“Are you sure that’s all he’s afraid of?”

Like the glare of oncoming headlights, the question momentarily blinded him. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been away a long time. People change. Maybe Hank’s the one with something to hide. You said yourself he’s been acting strange.”

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. After all his rants about people rarely being what they seem, he had dismissed Hank’s behavior too easily. “Okay, I’ll have a talk with him.”

“And with Kate. You owe her an apology.” Dad splayed his hands on the table and pushed to his feet. “Don’t mess this up, or your sister and I might have to disown you.”

“Promises, promises.”

“I’m serious, son. You’re looking at this all wrong.”

Someone tapped on the café window.

Dad waved to Lorna. “I gotta go. She talked me into taking her to lunch.”

Tom did a double take. Lorna and Dad? Tom was missing way more than he’d realized.

Molly cleared the cups from the next table and swiped away the crumbs. The sun glittered off her diamond ring, splashing a rainbow of colors across the chair backs.

Tom set down his mug. “When’s the big day?”

The dark-haired girl gave him a confused look. He pointed to her engagement ring.

As if the sun rose inside her at the mere thought of her groom-to-be, Molly’s face lit up. “Oh, we haven’t set a date.”

“That’s good.”

“Pardon me?”

“I mean, I think it’s good to take time to really get to know a person before you marry them.” With any luck he could spare her from making a huge mistake. She seemed like such a sweet girl. He hated to have to tell her she was engaged to a con artist. Too bad too, because Edward must love her. Wooing cash-strapped waitresses wasn’t his usual modus operandi. Tom finished off his coffee.

Molly nodded toward the empty mug. “Can I give you a refill?”

Tom covered the top with his palm. “No, I’ve gotta get back to work. Thanks.”

Hank’s dad sauntered into the shop, carrying a bloated paper lunch bag. He’d grayed in the past decade and a half and had added another twenty pounds to his waistline, but he still looked as disheveled as ever.

Beth Kish met him at the back counter.

Tom hadn’t even noticed her come downstairs. His observational skills had gone down the tubes right along with his FBI job.

Beth opened the cash drawer, and in exchange for the paper sack, she handed Brewster a wad of bills. He stuffed the money into his wallet, tipped his hat, and sauntered out of the shop.

Molly reached for Tom’s empty cup.

“Brewster delivering lunches now, is he?” Tom motioned to Brewster as he passed by the window.

“No.” Molly shot a nervous glance to the back counter. “Beth sometimes buys special herbs from him. Excuse me. I have more tables to clear.”

Suspicion coiled in Tom’s gut. The last time Brewster was caught selling herbs, they were of the illegal variety. Beth Kish clearly bought pounds of herbs every week to stock this place, and if not for Brewster’s history, Tom would have no reason to think the exchange he’d just witnessed wasn’t a legal business transaction.

Except that a businesswoman wouldn’t pay cash out of her till for stock she put through her books. Surely Brewster wouldn’t be stupid enough to sell his produce in broad daylight in the middle of a crowded coffee shop. Then again, who would suspect the police chief’s father of being so brazen?

Tom jerked to his feet. Was Hank’s warrant a cover-up?

Hank had been peculiarly aware of Kate’s whereabouts all weekend, including their dinner at the Wildflower and attendance at church. What if those had been more than casual observations? Maybe Kate’s crazy grow-op theory had been right all along.

Tom slipped out of the shop and scanned the street.

Brewster, whistling as if he didn’t have a care in the world, headed into the hardware store.

Tom climbed into his car. He wouldn’t put it past Hank to follow Kate to make sure she didn’t uncover anything that might expose him to public scrutiny. If the newspaper found out Hank’s dad was growing again, it’d destroy Hank’s career. That was a powerful motive for alienating an old friend and trumping up charges to scare an innocent woman out of her sleuthing.

Recalling Kate’s watery eyes, trembling chin, and ashen face, Tom felt sick. He’d steeled his emotions against her distress and convinced himself that she’d used him the same way Zoe had used his partner.

Not only had he failed to protect her, but he might have just delivered her into her enemy’s hands. From day one, Hank had taken an unusual interest in Daisy’s case, overly eager to dismiss her death as a suicide or accidental poisoning, then later frantic to squash Kate’s investigation. Pressure from the mayor?

Yeah, a convenient excuse.

Tom pulled his car onto the street. If his hunch proved right, the real question was, how far would Hank go to cover for his dad and protect his job?

He’d have to work fast to unframe Kate and figure out what was really going on, before Hank railroaded him off the force, or worse, trumped up charges against him too. How could he have let their friendship blind him to Hank’s deceptions?

The streets blew by in a blur. Within minutes, Tom reached the station. Lord, whatever it takes, help me make this right. I was so quick to believe the worst about Kate that I probably obliterated our relationship. Please, help her be willing to trust me one more time.

A ray of sunlight pierced through the clouds.

Hank nabbed Tom the minute he walked in the door. “Where were you?”

Tom shrugged off Hank’s hold and kept walking toward the interrogation room. In his current state of mind, if Tom so much as looked at Hank, he might confront him. And without any solid proof to back up his suspicions, that would be a colossal mistake. “Taking my lunch break. Why?”

“I thought you’d like to know I released Miss Adams.”

Tom about-faced. “What happened to your rock-solid evidence?”

“Never would’ve held up in court. You know that as well as I do. But I thought we might crack her if she believed we’d figured out the truth.”

“Whose truth might that be?”

Hank laughed. “You’ve really got the hots for this woman, don’t you?”

“She doesn’t deserve to be treated like a prime suspect on a case you adamantly refused to reopen.”

The chatter in the vicinity ceased.

Hank steered Tom into his office and shut the door. “Despite what you think, I didn’t have Adams brought in to mess with you, or her. I had new information. Information I needed confirmed or refuted. Your attachment to her was an unfortunate complication.”

“So why’d you send me to the research facility to haul her in?”

“I needed to prove to myself, and your colleagues, that you could act impartially despite your feelings.”

“Oh, and why’s that?”

“If the rumor gets around that the FBI let you go because your relationship with a woman compromised an operation, no one will trust you to have their back.”

“You know that was my partner, not me.”

“I also know that a couple of my men are still ticked that I hired you as detective ahead of them. But just so you know, I won’t bother Adams anymore. Laslo’s affidavit was a forgery. Adams asked what the kid looked like, and when her description didn’t fit the complainant’s, we checked his school records. The signatures didn’t match.”

“So you’re telling me someone tried to frame Kate?” Somebody besides you. “What are you doing to find this kid?”

“Not much we can do. All we have is a vague description and a contact number that’s been disconnected.”

Tom had the sudden urge to punch his fist through something. “So you’re going to drop it?” He didn’t buy Hank’s story, but a fine line stood between rattling his cage enough to trip him up and revealing too much before Tom had the evidence to make an arrest. “Aren’t you the least bit curious why someone would try to frame Miss Adams for a homicide that the police were no longer investigating?”

“She seemed happy to drop the whole thing.”

Yeah, Hank had probably scared her off good. “You must have a theory. Who do you think sent this kid here?” Aside from the obvious—someone who wanted to divert attention from his father’s illegal activities.

Hank shrugged. “Someone who wants her out of the way, I suppose.”

“But why?”

“Maybe to sideline her research. Drug companies can be cutthroat.”

Tom picked up a photo of Hank shaking hands with the mayor. “That’s the second time you’ve said that about drug companies. A drug company wouldn’t happen to be thumbscrewing the mayor, threatening not to expand into our community unless the competition is eliminated?”

Hank’s face reddened. “How would I know?”

Tom slapped the photo onto the top of the filing cabinet. “You’re the chief of police. It’s your job to know. Clearly someone framed Kate because she was too close to the truth.”

“What truth? She’s found squat. You said she suspected Leacock’s nephew, but she sure didn’t act like it. Smythe charged in here, demanding her release, and she seemed more than willing to accept his offer of a lift.”

“What?” Tom felt like he’d been sucker punched.

“Yep. I told her one of my men would be happy to drive her, but she declined the offer.”

“I don’t doubt that. But no way would she accept a ride with the man she’s convinced killed Daisy. What are you playing at?”

“Nothing. Look, I’m sorry I messed things up between you and the woman. I thought I was doing you a favor.”

Tom drew in a breath and held it. Hank had always been a lousy liar, which from the look on his face meant either he’d learned to lie really well in the last decade or Tom had turned into the paranoid cop the FBI psychologist—the one who’d insisted on an indefinite vacation—said he was.

Three things he knew for certain. Someone killed Daisy. Someone framed Kate for the murder. And the real Gordon Laslo was still unaccounted for. After that, things got a lot grayer.

Edward and Darryl both had motives to kill Daisy. Whereas, if Hank was worried Kate would expose his father, he wouldn’t let her go.

With Edward of all people.

“I’ve got to find her.” Tom flung open the office door and strode down the hall. He never should have left her alone here. She’d probably been so distraught over being questioned by the police that she’d clung to the first person who appeared to be on her side.

Edward Smythe, the man who had the most to gain if she was incarcerated.

Or dead.