Death of a Crafty Knitter (12 page)

"He's not a stalker." I crossed my arms, as much to prevent myself from pilfering the handcuff keys from Tony as to keep the chilly air from infiltrating my bathrobe.

"You know this man?" Tony demanded.

Logan groaned. "I told you, man, I'm—" He didn't finish, because Tony shoved his face into the snow again.

Now Tony had gone too far. This kind of casual violence was the sort of thing that gave some small-town cops a bad reputation.

I uncrossed my arms, strode forward purposefully, and shoved Tony off Logan. He wasn't expecting it, and landed awkwardly in the snow. His dark brown eyes blazed at me with fury.

"Uncuff him." I pointed to Logan's wrists.

"Stormy, I'm just trying to protect you," Tony said. "I was driving by and saw this guy prowling around your house."

"I wasn't prowling," Logan protested.

"You were prowling," Tony growled.

"Prowling isn't a crime," I said. "And what does that mean, anyway? My cat prowls around with a stuffed mouse in his mouth. Is that what Logan was doing out here? Was he on his hands and knees, prowling around in the snow? What are you arresting him for?"

"I'll think of something," Tony said.

"Just let him go," I said forcefully. "Let him go or you'll have to cuff me as well, because I
will
come at you." I held my fists up in what I hoped was a menacing fashion. "Prepare to be… prowled on."

Tony winced at my efforts, then righted himself and reached into his pocket for his keys. He was in no apparent hurry to uncuff Logan, moving just fast enough to keep me from shoving him again.

"Captain Milano, you do realize Logan lives here, right? You can't be a prowler or a stalker at your own house."

Tony flashed his eyes at me while slowly going through his ring of keys.

Had Logan been prowling? A moment earlier, I'd been standing in my brightly lit living room, wearing little more than a robe, at two in the morning. Tony must have been driving by when he spotted a man standing in my yard, watching me.

How long had Logan been watching me? Despite a few jerky comments when we'd first met, he didn't seem creepy, but now I wondered if I'd been blind to something. I wanted my tenant to be a good guy, so had I overlooked negative traits? Was he spying on me through my windows regularly? Were there rooms in the house where he could hear me, the way I'd heard someone in his bathroom?

Logan was wearing boots, fully laced up, and a winter jacket. The jacket was zipped up, which made me think he'd been coming back from a walk, and not on his way out. Not every guy is the same, but in my experience, men run a bit warm and wait until they've been outside for a while before they zip their jackets.

While Tony ever so slowly uncuffed Logan, I leaned over and placed my hand on the back of Logan's boot. It was cold; he'd been outside for more than a few minutes. I'd been in my washroom for at least twenty minutes, doing a fifteen-minute face mask. If Logan had been watching me while I sat with the cat, he would have assumed I'd gone off to bed when I disappeared down the hallway.

Therefore, Logan was not a creepy stalker, and had been coming home from a walk when he spotted me in the window. Maybe he thought I could see him, and stopped to wave hello. That would be the neighborly thing to do.

The handcuffs clicked as they released, and Logan got to his knees with a groan. He moved slowly, his eyes darting to Tony's gun holster and then sheepishly to my face, then down at the ground again before repeating the pattern.

"I'm so sorry," I said to Logan. "Tony's my friend, and he was just looking out for me. He's like a brother to me." I turned to Tony and gave him a pointed look. "Tony's sort of like an uncle."

Or a jealous ex-boyfriend, but we're still ignoring that giant elephant in the room, even when it eats all the food and makes its business on the coffee table.

Right about then would have been a good time for
Uncle Tony
to apologize for tackling my tenant, but he kept his lips pinched shut.

"Sorry," I said again, because I felt bad.

"Don't be," Logan said. "It's my fault. He yelled for me to identify myself, and I didn't." He gave me an adorably sheepish look. "I got embarrassed and didn't want you to know I was standing out here like an idiot, staring at you."

"But you weren't stalking me. You were just getting back from a walk, weren't you?"

"Yes. Walking clears my head, but sometimes I get lost in my thoughts. When I got back here and saw you in the window, I was thinking—"

"That's enough out of you," Tony barked, like Logan was about to describe some twisted stalker fantasy. "Next time an officer of the law asks you to identify yourself, you'll know what to do."

"I sure will." Logan had gotten to his feet and now squared his shoulders, facing Tony. Logan was taller, and he tilted his head back, making it clear he was looking down. They looked like brothers, with their similar dark hair and rugged good looks. Logan was younger, but looked older because of the height and beard.

They were barely moving, locked in a macho staring contest, their chests swelling and getting dangerously close to touching.

"Just kiss already," I said.

They broke eye contact and gave me annoyed looks.

"Oops." I brought my hand up to my mouth. "Did I say that out loud? Don't mind me, really. Keep going. I love a good bro-mance. Or a bro-mantic comedy."

"You're not funny," Tony said.

"Ouch," Logan said. "Burn."

"I suppose formal introductions are in order," I said. "Captain Tony Milano, I'd like you to meet my tenant and friend, Logan Sanderson. How about you two shake hands, now that nobody's in cuffs?"

The two moved hesitantly, shaking hands mechanically.

"You two have something in common," I said. "You're both involved in the justice system. Logan is a lawyer."

Tony gave him a surly look. "Not with that beard, you aren't."

Logan took a step back and pointed at Tony. "I remember you now. We met once before, at the veterinarian clinic. You said the same thing about my beard."

Something buzzed—Tony's phone, rattling in his belt holster.

"Excuse me a moment," he said, walking away from us to take the call in private.

Once he was across the yard, his low voice barely audible, I turned to Logan. "It's been a long day. Happy New Year, by the way."

He brushed the remaining snow off his clothes, but made no move to go back into the house.

I asked, "What were you thinking about on your walk?"

"Lots of stuff. I can't remember. But when I got back and saw you, I had the strangest thought. I was wishing we both were smokers."

"Smokers?" I let out a laugh, because laughter lubricates awkward social situations, and with Logan fresh from being tackled for alleged prowling, and me in my crazy bathrobe, the only thing that would make this more difficult would be my father turning up and asking when I planned to pop out some kids, while giving Logan meaningful glances. The last part of that wasn't just my overactive imagination—he'd done it to my former fiancé, Christopher.

For the second time in as many days, I was thinking about Christopher. What was he doing now, at two in the morning? Probably guzzling energy drinks at his computer keyboard, on his second or third wind of the day.

"Hey." I felt a warm hand on my shoulder, and looked up into Logan's blue eyes. "There you are," he said. "Did you hear a word of what I just said?"

I gave him an apologetic smile. "I'm tired. It's been a long day." I thought about telling him about my discovery at Voula Varga's house, but it was all too much information for words—let alone words that wouldn't lead to me sobbing in his nice, strong arms.

He gave my shoulder a respectful squeeze, then dropped his hand away. "About the smoking," he said. "I saw you talking to your cat, and I felt jealous of him, because he gets to live here without paying rent."

"You wish you were a freeloader who claws my furniture? I don't need two of those."

He chuckled and looked at the dark window. "Then I was thinking about how it would be nice if we both smoked, because we could meet on the front lawn for smoke breaks, and casually talk about our day."

"That would be nice," I said. "For two people who live together, we don't bump into each other much. Plus you don't dance, or so you say."

"Have you given any thought to vegetables?"

I laughed. He was good at changing the topic away from dancing.

He expanded on his vegetables comment, talking about putting in raised garden beds in the backyard. He described a method of multiple platforms stacked in a pyramid. It didn't gain you any space, but it made weeding a breeze and picking strawberries easier, because you didn't have to stoop down so far to spot the red berries under the leaves.

I nodded in agreement, my mouth watering at the idea of fresh summer strawberries. Logan's voice had such a rich, comforting timbre, like someone who could have his own gardening show on the radio. For a recent transplant to small-town life, Logan had such an earthy, woodsman vibe. I could imagine him in a log cabin, chopping his own wood for a potbelly stove.

He had snow in his beard, from his tousle with Tony. Without thinking, I began tidying up his beard, pulling chunks of icy snow from the dark hairs on his chin and jaw. He kept talking about gardening while I pulled away the ice chunks.

"…and fresh spinach to go with the tomatoes. Hey, thanks for grooming me."

I realized what I was doing and yanked my hands back. "Sorry. Jeffrey gets snow clumps between his toes. Force of habit for me to help pull them out."

Logan gazed at me calmly. His blue eyes looked dark gray under the thin light of the street lamp. "I got my wish," he said, his voice a low rumble in his chest. "I got to be your cat for a few minutes."

"You're a big cat. Don't start using Jeffrey's litter box."

"Somebody's jealous."

I thought he meant Tony, but then followed his gaze and saw Jeffrey on the windowsill, his dark gray body barely visible with the interior lights off. He saw me looking and feigned a yawn.

Something occurred to me out of nowhere. "Logan, you don't have a cat, or a dog. Why were you at the vet's the day we met? Don't tell me you have lizards or snakes in your place. You're not a reptile person, are you? I mean, why? Why would someone
own
reptiles?"

"Snakes are beautiful," he said with a neutral tone and expression. "Magnificent, even."

"No!"

"The snakes enjoy our shared laundry room, actually. If you see them in there, don't panic. They like to get up in the ceiling and then surprise you."

"Ugh," I said, playing along. "How many snakes?"

He shrugged. "They're so hard to keep track of once they start multiplying. I really should count up hatched eggshells."

"You're a big tease."

He held up both hands. "Guilty. If you must know, and it seems like you're the type of person who can't leave any mystery unsolved, I was waiting to get a fax."

"That makes sense."

His blue eyes twinkled. "The best alibis always do."

Captain Tony Milano cleared his throat to let us know he was approaching. "You two can be on your way."

"Why were you driving by?" I asked. "Did you want to talk to me about… that thing, from today?"

"It's late," he replied gruffly.

"But you drove here for a reason."

"It's late," he repeated, looking at Logan. "I'll drop by tomorrow morning. Around ten."

"I'll have the coffee on," I said cheerily.

He almost smiled. "I'll bring the donuts." He gave Logan a stiff nod, then started walking back to his car.

Logan watched him leave. "I'm glad he roughed me up. It might come in handy, to have a cop owing me a favor. I'm sure
the captain
doesn't want a complaint filed against him."

"Please don't file a complaint. Tony's a good cop. His heart's in the right place."

"For you, I'll drop the issue," Logan said. "But could you put in a good word for me?"

"Sure. I'll tell him how helpful you were last month, with the whole snowman thing. Plus you pay your rent on time, don't have parties, and probably don't own any snakes."

Logan looked down at my crossed arms. "Someone's teeth are chattering, and they don't sound like mine." He unzipped his jacket and tried to hand it to me.

I stepped back. "I should head inside this perfectly warm house."

He folded his jacket over his forearm and turned toward his own front door, on the other side of the house. "Sounds like a plan. See you around, landlady."

"See you around, tenant. Keep your scary reptiles out of the laundry room."

"No promises."

Chapter 12

In the morning,
I left a voicemail for my employee to let her know our plans for doing storewide inventory were delayed, and she should open the store and run it as usual.

I didn't expect my meeting with Tony would last very long, but even if he got to my house right at ten, it could be noon by the time I got to the gift store, and counting inventory seemed like the sort of gargantuan task that was wrong to start mid-day.