Deadly Devotion (6 page)

Tom struggled to keep his tone even as he conjured that image. “Maybe Hank wanted to show you that amateur sleuths can get themselves into trouble if they’re not careful.”

Kate let out a huff that rivaled Mount St. Helens. “You told me I could investigate.”

“If you didn’t break the law.”

Her cheeks flamed. “I didn’t go into that shed, so I didn’t break and enter.” Her tone turned icy. “And I certainly didn’t steal anything.”

“Ever heard of trespassing?”

Kate’s head jerked back as if she’d been slapped. “But Daisy was here.” Desperation crept into Kate’s voice. “She saw something she shouldn’t have, and now she’s dead.”

Yeah, and Daisy wasn’t the only one who saw something she shouldn’t have.
The sooner he got Kate away from here, the safer she’d be. He prodded her forward.

Kate’s hands clenched at her sides, but she kept walking. “Your chief said there have been grow-ops around here.”

“If drug dealers wanted to bump somebody off, they wouldn’t go to the trouble to make the death look self-inflicted.”

“Well, if they wouldn’t kill to protect their operation, why was your chief so desperate to keep me quiet?”

Good question. One he wanted answered too. Tom chose not to point out that he hadn’t said the growers wouldn’t kill, only that they wouldn’t go to any trouble. At the edge of the woods, he caught Kate’s arm. “Our department routinely keeps suspected grow-ops under surveillance, to uncover all the players ahead of a raid. If they suspect we’re onto them, they could ship out and destroy evidence before we make the arrests.”

Clearing the trees, Kate jumped over the ditch between them and their cars. “That doesn’t excuse your chief’s behavior.”

“You gotta understand he’s under a lot of pressure to prove himself.” Tom stepped across the ditch, his words tasting as unpalatable as the stagnant water beneath his feet. Hank had worked hard to get out from under the shadow of his father’s past, but . . . “Some people in this town don’t think he deserves to be chief.” And Hank was paranoid enough to think an amateur sleuth questioning his judgment would tip the balance of public opinion against him. It was the only explanation for his behavior that made sense.

Kate stroked her jaw where a faint impression of Hank’s thumb was still evident. “I can see why.”

At least she’d calmed down enough to be able to joke about the incident. Whereas his annoyance with her for putting herself in danger, and his annoyance with Hank for being Hank, were still duking it out inside his chest. “We are thorough in our investigations.”

Kate leaned against her car door and plucked burrs off her slacks. “If that were true, you’d have Daisy’s killer behind bars.”

“I promised I’d investigate your grow-op theory. Now”—he rested his hand on the roof of her car—“can I trust you to go back to work and stay out of trouble?” He reached down and pulled a leaf from her hair—soft, silky hair.

“I can’t. I have more interns to visit.”

He blew out an exasperated breath. “Then do me a favor and stick to the parking lots and main doors.”

She gave him a smart-alecky salute, then hopped into her car.

Climbing into his own car, he watched her drive off.
Why couldn’t this woman appreciate how much danger she could get into if she stuck her nose into the wrong people’s business?

He still wasn’t convinced that someone murdered Daisy, but he didn’t like what he saw out in those woods. Somehow, Kate had gotten herself into a hornet’s nest, and he intended to make sure she didn’t get stung.

Kate glanced at Tom in her rearview mirror and mulled over his cryptic statement about the police chief. If the chief had something to prove, he might have something to hide too. Something connected to Daisy’s death.

Kate signaled right and drove toward town. Intern assessments could wait. This development was too hot a lead to put off chasing.

From the way Brewster had clamped his sweaty palm over her mouth and hissed warnings in her ear—warnings that sounded a whole lot like veiled threats—she’d guess he knew exactly who killed Daisy. And would stop at nothing to make sure Kate didn’t figure it out.

Kate rubbed her leg where his holstered pistol had jabbed her when she’d struggled against his hold. She shuddered to think what he might have done if Tom hadn’t shown up.

An image rose in her mind of her dad being shoved into a police car. “Remember, I love you, Kate. I will always love you,” he’d shouted.

She’d broken free of Mom’s embrace, but a burly cop slammed the door before Kate reached the car.

Dad pressed his forehead to the window and with tears
streaming down his cheeks said again, “I love you, Kate. Don’t ever forget.”

The driver had looked at her with sadness in his eyes, but he still drove away.

Tom’s unmarked black sedan loomed in her rearview mirror. Tom looked a lot like the cop with the sad eyes—a trick of her memory, no doubt. She’d never been so happy to hear the words, “Stop! Police.”

Except . . .

She swallowed the emotions wadded in her throat. She couldn’t trust Parker any more than the cops that railroaded her dad. Brewster was his boss, after all—the top lawman in the county—which made him that much more dangerous.

She parked outside the town library. The tired brick building housed little more than children’s picture books and a mishmash of outdated nonfiction books, but Julie had access to just about anything from the library’s computer.

Kate’s car door swung open without her touching it. Her heart jolted.

A shadow towered over her. Tom, with one hand on the top of the door, the other on the door frame. “Since when do you have interns at the library?”

She snatched her key from the ignition and dropped it into her purse. “What business is that of yours?”

He stepped back with a frown, and her conscience pricked.

“I’m sorry. Your chief put me on edge. I’m here to meet my roommate. She’s the librarian.”

Tom scrutinized her a moment longer, then nodded. “Stay out of trouble.”

The concern that rippled beneath his words softened her opinion of him—a little. Maybe not all cops were heartless.

The library door creaked open, and Julie stuck out her head. “What are you doing here?”

Kate hurried up the steps before Tom heard enough to start wondering why Julie was surprised to see her.

Stepping outside, Julie raked her fingers through Kate’s hair and presented her with a couple of dead leaves. “What happened? You and Detective Parker been scouring the woods for clues?” She waggled her eyebrows in that googly way of hers, slanting her head so Parker couldn’t help but see too.

Kate grabbed Julie’s arm, twirled her around, dragged her back into the library, and shoved the door closed with her foot. “Parker rescued me from the police chief who caught me sneaking around looking for clues—apparently where I didn’t belong.”

Julie’s mouth gaped. “He arrested you?”

“Worse—he threatened me.”

“The chief?”

“Yup.”

Julie scrunched her nose. “You sure you didn’t imagine it? All this sleuthing has you . . . kind of . . . keyed up.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Shh.” Old Mrs. Peabody, her finger glued to her lip, glared at them from behind an ancient edition of
National Geographic
.

Julie maneuvered Kate past the stacks of books to the back of the library. “You’re accusing the chief of police of what?” Julie’s hands swept through the air. “Uttering death threats?” The swoops widened with each question. “You think he killed Daisy and now he’s after you? What possible motive could he have?”

Kate opened her mouth, but she didn’t have an answer. Not yet, anyway.

“If you ask me, Edward or that student you mentioned are far more likely suspects. At least they have motives.”

“I think I have a name on the student. Gord Laslo. One of Daisy’s interns. He skipped town a couple weeks ago.”

“Did you tell Parker?”

“No.” Kate spied a couple of blue-haired ladies lounging nearby, pretending to read, with their ears cocked in Kate’s direction. They might have fooled her too, if one of them weren’t holding her book the wrong end up. Kate steered Julie to another corner. “I’m here because I want to know more about Brewster. Tom said that some people in town don’t think he deserves to be chief.”

“Oh, I don’t think anyone really holds his dad’s past against him.”

“Past? What past?”

“Shh. Do you want to get thrown out of here?” Julie glanced at the convex mirror mounted above their heads. A mirror that allowed them to see half of the main floor
and
allowed its occupants to see them.

Old Mrs. Peabody had left her post by the front desk, but the two blue-haired ladies’ eyes were glued to the mirror, along with those of a young man. Kate hadn’t noticed him before. A baseball cap shadowed his face, making it impossible to identify him from the tiny reflection.

“Come on.” Julie grabbed Kate’s hand just as she was trying to sidle down the aisle for a closer look. After all, Brewster might have sent a young rookie in to spy on her.

Julie led Kate up the back stairs into a small room. A microfiche reader sat along the far wall, flanked on either side by
filing cabinets. “Here’s where we’ll get your answers. I don’t think I ever knew what Hank’s dad did, but I remember he went to jail. Hank was a few years ahead of me in school, but that kind of news gets around, if you know what I mean.”

Jeers of the schoolkids after her dad’s arrest echoed in Kate’s mind. She knew firsthand how fast news like that got around and how hurtful the kids’ taunting felt. But she wasn’t ready to share that particular secret with Julie, let alone feel a smidgen of empathy for Chief Grab-First-Ask-Questions-Later Brewster.

“I do know Hank’s uncle has a reputation for walking on the edge of the law. He owns the garage across the street, and the rumor is that it’s a place where you can buy more than auto parts, if you know what I mean.” Julie fed a film into the microfiche machine. “One thing is for certain. Port Aster’s weekly would have devoted an entire front page to his dad’s arrest. If news of Mr. Halloran losing his false teeth down the storm drain can earn front page status, an arrest would have been a publishing coup.” An image of a twenty-year-old edition of the
Port Aster Press
flashed onto the screen. Julie wound through page after page. “Here it is. ‘Brewster Brothers Arrested in Drug Bust.’”

Kate stared at the photo of a squat, dark-haired man. “That’s Al from Herbs Are Us greenhouses. He’s much older now, but I’m positive it’s the same guy.”

“You know him?”

Kate pulled out her suspect list and feverishly jotted down notes. “I just met him. The intern I was telling you about worked for this guy until he quit around the time of Daisy’s death.” Goose bumps erupted on Kate’s arms. “No one has seen him since.”

Julie’s face paled. “You think Al got rid of the intern because the kid saw something he shouldn’t have?”

Kate covered her mouth at the sound of her suspicions voiced aloud. She closed her eyes to orient her thoughts, then slowly lowered her hand to her pounding chest and released the breath she’d been holding. “I’m afraid that’s a real possibility.” She scanned the article. Al Brewster and his brother Cal had been sentenced to two years in prison for growing marijuana. “If Daisy got too inquisitive about what happened to Gord, Al might have decided he needed to get rid of her too.”

Julie pushed her chair away from the desk. “But Daisy died from a toxin in her tea. How could Al have poisoned her tea?”

“I don’t know.” Kate stared at the screen. Al didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would have invited Daisy into his office to share a cup of anything. Kate squinted at the grainy negative image of Al and his brother being carted off by police—or more precisely, at the woman standing in the background. “Is that Grandma Brewster?”

Julie leaned closer, tilted her head from side to side, her expression uncertain. “Probably. She’s Al’s mom. Why?”

“Grandma Brewster gave Daisy elixirs to sample all the time. Al—or his son—could have easily spiked one. How better to get away with something illegal than to have a son as the chief of police? It makes perfect sense. If Daisy found the marijuana at Herbs Are Us, she would have reported it directly to Hank to protect him from a scandal, believing he would handle the matter quietly.”

Julie nodded, her whole body swaying in agreement. “Instead, he filed the report in the trash and disposed of the only witness—to protect his dad and his precious reputation.”

“It explains why he came after me in the woods. I wondered how he had spotted me from the greenhouse. His father must’ve warned him someone else had been nosing around.”

“But if that’s true, what can you do? Hank Brewster is the chief of police!”

At police headquarters, Tom marched straight to Hank’s office. Questioning the chief’s actions was never a good way to stay under the radar, and that’s where Tom needed to be if he intended to find out who was responsible for the explosives residue in the shed. The sooner he got the reaming out finished with, the sooner he could get on the blower to someone at the National Security Agency and find out what was really going on in this town.

Hank’s secretary dipped her chin and looked over her glasses at Tom. “The chief’s gone for coffee.” She scrutinized him like he was an uncooperative suspect she wanted to break. “You’re supposed to wait in the conference room.” Carla had been sweet on Hank in high school, running interference for him like an all-star. Apparently, that hadn’t changed.

Tom felt the stares of half a dozen cops bore into the back of his neck as he slipped into the empty conference room. He shut the door and closed the blinds, then scrolled through the numbers on his cell, found Zeb’s name, and hit Connect.

His NSA buddy picked up on the second ring. “Hey, Tom. Rural life getting to you already?” Zeb bellowed like he was still every inch the burly quarterback he’d once been. “Craving some excitement?”

Tom snorted. “You’re the adrenaline junkie, not me. But I have run across something you might consider exciting.”

“What? A trip over Niagara Falls in a barrel?” Zeb guffawed, and Tom could picture him rolling back in his chair, slapping his thigh.

“Yeah, it’s great fun. You should try it sometime. Now, seriously, any chatter at NSA about an impending threat?”

“Why? You planning an invasion?”

“Are you going to tell me what I want to know, or do I go over your head?”

“You check your sense of humor at the border?”

Prying apart the blinds, Tom peered out the window. “Is Cliff still your boss?”

“Okay. Okay. Yeah, there’s chatter. There’s always chatter. We stopped some arms coming across the forty-eighth parallel into Minnesota last week.”

“What about from Niagara?”

“What’re you sitting on?”

Tom let the blinds fall back into place and paced the room. “I may have found the remains of a manufacturing operation. Could be old, but seems like they cleared out in a hurry.”

Zeb whistled. “What makes you think the stuff is coming our way?”

“Memorial Day weekend’s coming up.” Tom plowed his fingers through his hair, wishing he could scrape away the image seared on his brain of last year’s Memorial Day picnic.

This was Port Aster. Things like that didn’t happen here. That’s why he’d all but renounced his US citizenship and returned to the quiet Canadian town where he’d been raised.

“How big an operation are we talking?”

“All I’ve seen so far is a shed in the middle of the woods.”

“Oh, good one. You had me going there for a second.” Zeb laughed—no, howled—but when Tom didn’t join in, Zeb abruptly stopped. “You’re serious?”

“Think about it.” Tom stopped pacing and stared at the map pinned to the wall. “Port Aster is a stone’s throw from the border. The Niagara region is a perfect launchpad for smuggling explosives into the States.”

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know. I’ll put a couple of guys on it. But listen, Tom, this isn’t your problem anymore.”

A child’s face flashed across his memory—a girl of about six, blonde pigtails, front tooth missing, screaming for her mother.

“Tom? You hear me?”

“Yeah, I hear you, but you’re wrong. I’m still a police officer.”

“Okay, but all I’m saying is—”

“I know what you’re saying. Just give intel a heads-up, will you?”

“Of course, we’ll take it from here . . . unless you happen to uncover something we can use, like shipment destinations, dates, transportation methods.
Names
.”

The doorknob turned.

Tom drew in a breath. “Okay, I’ll get back to you on that.”

“You do that.” Zeb left the
I won’t hold my breath
unsaid, but his tone said it all. The rumors floating around the FBI had evidently found their way to NSA.

Tom shoved his phone into his pocket and jerked open the door.

Hank tumbled in carrying a wad of files.

“Sorry about that,” Tom said. “You wanted to see me?”

Regaining his composure, Hank glowered. “What were you trying to pull by undermining my authority out there today?”

Tom held up his hands and backed up a step. “Hey, I heard a scream. I investigated. End of story. Why were you so desperate to keep Miss Adams quiet?”

“I told you. I thought you might be a drug dealer.”

“So are you willing to admit there might be something to Kate’s theory?”

“Kate, is it now?”

“Come on. What’s really eating you?”

Hank glanced toward the window overlooking the squad room and lowered his voice. The shadows under his eyes had darkened over the past week or two, and the craters etched in his forehead verged on canyons. “I got a call from the mayor this morning. Seems Miss Adams complained about our handling of the Leacock case. With tourist season around the corner, the mayor doesn’t want rumors of unsolved murders tarnishing the town’s reputation. He told me to handle it.”

“Great, all we need is a politician telling us how to do our job.”

Hank shrugged. “Get used to it.”

“The day I stop doing my job because some suit at town hall tells me to look the other way is the day I hand in my badge for good.”

“Well, I guess I won’t have to worry about you eyeing my job then.”

“I’m the least of your problems. Did you notice the padlock on that shed in the woods?”

“Lot of good it did them with a broken window.”

“Them?” Tom zeroed his attention on Hank. “You know who’s been using the place?”

“Sure. Bert and Clarence use it to assemble fireworks for the fair. They’ve been making them for years.”

“Fireworks?”

“Yeah, they like to assemble the stuff well away from nosy kids. But not far enough away from nosy women, apparently. What did you think it was used for?”

The tension that had been building since lunchtime finally loosened its grip. “Something like that.” Tom laughed. “I wasn’t sure.” He turned to leave.

Hank caught his shoulder. “Not so fast. What you were doing out on Turnbull Road this afternoon?”

Tom silently counted to five. “Kate’s boss told me she was visiting interns, and I was afraid she’d do exactly what she ended up doing.”

“And I told you that case was closed.” Hank’s tone lightened as he waved his hand dismissively. “No matter, after today’s adventure, I doubt Miss Adams will give us any more trouble.”

“Don’t you think there might be something to this drug connection? You must, to have followed her.” Afraid he’d already pushed too hard, Tom stopped short of criticizing Hank’s treatment of Kate.

“No, I was afraid her snooping would get her into trouble,” Hank said without a moment’s hesitation, or rise in pitch, or blink of the eyes to suggest he’d lied.

Okay, so maybe concern had prompted Hank to follow Kate into the woods.

“I’d still like to look into it,” Tom pressed.

Hank’s fingers turned white where they curled around the files. “The Leacock case is closed.” Hank slapped the stack of papers onto the conference table. “These are real cases—unsolved cases—that need your attention. Don’t let our friendship make you forget who’s in charge. If you cause trouble here, you’ll be blacklisted in every county from Niagara to Nunavut,” he said, his tone as cold and merciless as the ice-crusted territory.

Tom blinked. He’d known the other guys resented him. But not Hank. They’d been best buddies since grade school. Tom had stood by Hank when he didn’t have another friend in the world.

Hank grinned and gave Tom’s shoulder a good-natured jab. “You should see your face, man. Glad to see I finally got your attention. Now, get to work.”

“Yes, boss.” Tom picked up the stack of files and carried them to his desk.
Got my attention. Right.
The man was on a serious power trip. Tom flipped through the file folders—minor stuff like stolen bicycles and graffiti on the bank’s new brick facade. Hank’s resentment clearly ran deeper than Tom had supposed. For all he knew, Hank had resented him since their youth and this was payback.

Tom shuffled over to the break room and drained the last of the coffee from the pot. The thick sludge was as black as his future if Hank caught him digging any deeper into the Leacock case. Not that
that
would stop him. He’d made Kate a promise.

Even if his terrorist theory was a bust, too many things about this case didn’t add up, and the fact that Kate’s sleuthing infuriated Hank only heightened Tom’s curiosity.

“What will you do, now?” Julie grabbed her purse and hurried after Kate.

“Whatever I have to do to prove Hank’s guilty.” Kate stopped on the steps outside the library door and scanned the vicinity for eavesdroppers. “Except, if the chief is involved in a cover-up, who can I trust?”

Julie cupped Kate’s elbow and steered her toward the crosswalk. “What about Tom?”

Kate shivered at the memory of his drawn gun. “I don’t know. Tom saw how Hank manhandled me in the woods and practically defended his actions.”

By unspoken agreement, or maybe habit, Kate and Julie crossed the street and headed for A Cup or Two.

“You
were
on private property.”

Kate stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “Whose side are you on?”

Julie hiked her purse strap up her shoulder and tugged Kate forward. “Yours, of course. But somebody has to be your voice of reason.”

Kate huffed. Okay, she’d admit she had a tendency to overreact whenever someone in a uniform got within twenty yards of her. Watching one’s dad get carted off by the police did that to a person. But if she’d learned one thing from the aftermath of losing Dad while he was in police custody, it was that cops protected their own. “The chief clamped a hand over my mouth. A dirty, clammy hand at that. And okay, maybe I was trespassing, but really . . . who needs the reality check? There wasn’t another soul out in those woods, except Quick Draw McGraw.”

“And lucky for you he was.” The bell over the shop door tinkled as Julie pushed it open.

Kate closed her eyes and inhaled. “Mmm, smell that coffee.” The delicious aroma of dark roasted coffee instantly calmed her frayed nerves.

“You’re a nut.” Julie slapped a teacup into Kate’s hand. “You never drink coffee. Yet every time you smell it, you get this giddy ‘my seeds sprouted’ smile.”

Kate’s gaze skittered over the handful of people seated about the shop. “My seeds sprouted?”

“Sure. You know . . . Every spring you start trays and trays of seeds in the south window, and when they start sprouting, you get all giddy and walk around the apartment with this silly grin on your face.” Julie paused, a strange expression on her face. She tapped her finger to her chin, her lips widening with each tap into a grin of their own. “Kind of like how you looked last night after your detective paid us a visit.”

“I did not.” Kate turned her attention to the canisters of herbs lining the side counter, her insides as jittery as the teacup on her saucer.

“Whatever.” Julie spooned green tea leaves into her cup. “So what are you going to do about the chief?”

Kate’s heart hiccuped at the too-loud question. She swept her gaze over the chattering customers sitting at the tables. Satisfied that no one seemed interested in her conversation, she whispered, “I plan to keep an eye on him and his dad.”

“Are you sure it’s not his uniform that makes you suspicious? Let’s face it. From the way you rant about their speed traps, cops are about the only people in this town you
would
suspect of a crime.”

“That’s not true. There was Daisy’s intern, and like you
said, Edward might have had a motive, if he knew Daisy wrote him into her will.”

“If that’s a motive, then you’d be the police’s prime suspect.”

Kate’s spoon clattered to the counter, sending raspberry leaves flying. “I’d never kill Daisy for money.”

The hum of conversation in the shop stopped.

Kate’s face heated under the glare of eyes.

“I know you wouldn’t. And
you
know you wouldn’t,” Julie hissed, brushing the scattered leaves into her hand, then dumping them into the trash. “But the police don’t know that. They would suspect you as quick as Edward.”