Death of a Crafty Knitter (9 page)

He went to the bottom of the stairs and called up, "Captain, we're all clear down here. Do you need a hand up there?"

As he waited to hear the answer from Tony, I studied Kyle's face in profile. The muscles in his cheek pulsed, like he was tapping his molars nervously. He was putting on a brave face for my benefit, and wasn't eager to see the dead body. Or maybe he was afraid he'd throw up in front of me. It's a normal human response to be ill after seeing death. I was surprised I'd held on to my own breakfast. Perhaps the stories from my father had made me more resilient than most people. Without a mother in the house to create a barrier between me and my sister and our father's work, we'd gotten a full induction in the ways of the world from a young age.

Kyle's parents, if I recalled correctly, didn't even have a television. And now their sons both had exciting, action-packed, dangerous careers. The irony wasn't lost on me.

Tony answered from an upstairs room, his voice clear even though he was unseen, "Anything noteworthy down there? Don't let Stormy distract you."

Kyle replied, "There's a clock down here that's going to start chiming on the hour. Don't shoot anything when it does."

Tony called down, "I won't if you won't."

Right on cue, the clock let out one GONG to signal that it was one o'clock. I'd been inside the house for a full hour—an hour that had felt like nothing, and also like an eternity.

Kyle grimaced at the post-GONG noise still echoing in the red room. "Now, did you see an appointment book around here?"

We looked, and talked through what we were thinking. Voula probably kept her appointment book on her phone or laptop, but we still hoped to catch a break and find something on paper that would tell us who her morning appointment had been with.

Kyle Dempsey's blue eyes didn't linger on anything for long, until he looked at me, and then it seemed like he couldn't look away.

"I'm distracting you," I said. "As soon as the tow truck gets here with my car, I'll go."

"No, you can keep helping me. Tony doesn't like to think out loud."

"He thinks he's the strong, silent type."

"And he's my captain." Kyle cleared his throat. "So, who do you think killed her? You saw the dustup with the waitress at the Fox and Hound last night."

"You saw me last night?" I could feel my cheeks blushing. "I mean, you were there, too? You saw that waitress woman—her name is Dharma Lake—throw a drink on Voula?"

"I saw. And I noticed that not one of those women at her table went with her to the washroom. Just you."

"I was only in there by coincidence. That was the first time I met Voula Varga, Psychic Extraordinaire, I swear. And right before I came here, I was at my house with Jessica. I'll give you her number."

He smirked and raised his light brown eyebrows. "Guilty conscience? Don't worry. You don't need an alibi. You're not a suspect."

I made a sniffing laugh sound, almost a snort. "I should be. I keep turning up dead bodies. If I'm not a suspect, I'm certainly a bad omen."

"No way. There's nothing pretty about a bad omen, and you are the prettiest girl in this whole town. I can see why Tony's so possessive of you."

"Tony?" I turned my head to give him a sidelong look. "We're just old friends. What do you mean,
possessive
?"

Kyle glanced toward the stairwell, then changed the topic, asking me what sort of music I liked. I named off a few bands and was surprised when Kyle was familiar with them. Hearing that we had similar taste in music almost made me consider accepting a date with him.

Almost.

Unfortunately, there was still the ten-year age difference. Plus I couldn't stop thinking about how I'd once put baby powder on his little red butt.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked. "You keep frowning and shaking your head, like you're wrestling with something."

"Just this murder case," I lied. "I wish I could remember something about the vehicle that ran me off the road, but it was dark in that grove of trees, and all I saw was headlights and my life flashing before my eyes."

"Don't be hard on yourself. You're doing great."

Kyle led me over to the red room's sofa. It was a tufted couch with tight upholstery—the kind of couch you perch on rather than sink into. We both sat on the edge, turned toward each other. A foot of space remained between our knees.

Kyle had his notepad and pen out, and asked me to start at the beginning. I walked him through my drive to the house, and the accident that sent my car into the ditch. This time through my story, I remembered the dark-haired girl I spoke to before I entered the house.

"Very good," Kyle said. "There aren't that many Corgis in town. If we don't round up an ex-boyfriend or a disgruntled client and this case drags out, I could call the local vets and get the girl's name."

"I could make some calls, if you'd like."

Kyle smiled up from his notepad. "We could trade jobs for the day. What is it you do? Besides run around town looking pretty and stumbling over bodies?"

Ignoring his compliment again, I answered, "I run a gift shop downtown. Glorious Gifts."

"And is the store as glorious as… your smile?"

Just then, Tony came down the stairs noisily.

"What's going on?" he demanded gruffly. "You two look awfully comfortable on that love seat."

"I believe it's a fainting couch," Kyle said. "Not a love seat. Technically."

Kyle's correct identification of the furniture didn't take the dirty look off Tony's face—the dirty look that implied I'd invited a known axe murderer to be my prom date.

"I'm just giving your rookie my statement," I said. "Save the monster-dad face for when your daughter starts dating."

"Your tow truck is here." Tony nodded to the window at the corner of the room, overlooking the front driveway. Sure enough, a tow truck was unhooking my rescued car at that moment. I hadn't noticed the flashing lights.

Kyle let out a low whistle. "Nice wheels."

"That one comes with real bullet holes," I said nonchalantly.

"I'll walk you out," Tony said firmly, nodding for me to follow him to the front door.

"Not yet. I'm helping with the case." I turned to Kyle. "There's a laptop charger inside her bedside table, but no laptop in the house. I'd bet you good money the killer took it. If she did internet backups, there will be mirror images of the files dating back at least a few months. Even if the killer got her laptop and deleted everything on the hard drive and current backup, we can still get access to those mirrored files, and there might be a clue—"

I didn't get to finish my thought, because Tony had grabbed me by the elbow and practically lifted me to my feet.

"Tony Baloney," I protested, using the nickname he hated.

"Witnesses can't be wandering around the crime scene willy-nilly." He hauled me toward the front door.

"I wasn't wandering, I was sitting. On a fainting couch. And I was helping."

He grunted a disagreeable noise.

We got to the front door, alone because Kyle hadn't followed. Tony picked up the kicked-down door and moved it out of the way, onto the porch. In addition to the tow truck, more police cars were parking in the front yard.

The open door had been cooling the house, but I was still warm in my zipped-up jacket, and the fresh air felt good. I stepped out onto the porch, where Tony stopped me by grabbing me at the waist.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked as he pulled me to face him.

"Getting my car. Do I have to pay, or is the department going to pick up the tab?"

"I meant what were you doing with my rookie?"

Softly, I said, "I used to play
This Little Piggy
with your rookie's toes. I'm not going to date the boy, okay? Not that it's any of your business."

He gave me a stern look, but the softness in his dark brown eyes betrayed his true feelings.

"I'm seven years older than you," he said.

"Exactly. And nothing happened between us."

He took a step back. "Nothing?"

"Except for a few days, nothing."

"Stormy."

His tone when he said my name felt too intimate. I pushed past him and walked down the steps to solid ground. The heads of everyone standing in the snowy front yard turned our way. The cold air was bracing, bringing the situation into crisp focus.

What was I doing?

A woman had been murdered today. It was the first of January, and now all of this was happening. So much for the new year.

I turned back to Tony. "Good luck with your investigation. I look forward to hearing about it on the news when you catch the killer. I just hope you figure out the whole mess before someone else gets hurt or shot at."

"Mind your own business and you won't get shot at, Stormy."

I clenched my fists. "Are you saying it's my fault I've got those bullet holes in car?"

"I'm saying maybe you should stick to running your gift shop, and let us, the police, do our jobs."

I glared at him. He used to love getting my perspective on cases when he first started working with my father. What had changed since then? Oh, right. I was no longer a dewy-eyed teen girl with an adoring crush on him.

Tony nodded, dismissing me. "Thank you for your assistance, ma'am."

Ma'am?
Oh, no, he didn't.
He did not just call me ma'am.

Except he had.

The world was a blur. I walked over to the tow truck driver and paid him for the work. He rattled off estimate quotes for repairing the smashed-off side mirror, but I didn't stick around for auto shop recommendations. I couldn't get out of there fast enough. After Tony's rudeness, I couldn't even think straight.

Noise.

Blur.

Anger.

I was in my car, putting the house in my rearview mirror.

Chapter 9

The drive away
from the crime scene was a blur, and soon I found myself on the road leaving town.

I kept on driving, ten miles over the speed limit, just to see how it felt to leave everything and everyone behind me. If I disappeared now, Tony would feel lousy about being such a jerk.

Speeding away from my life felt good, at first, but then I remembered my cat, all my stuff at the house, plus the fact that even if I did swing back for Jeffrey, we didn't have anywhere else to go.

I slowed down and watched for an exit.

By the time I reached a side road to turn the car around, I'd calmed down enough to sing along with the radio. It was the song I'd been singing to Jeffrey a few days ago, only my lyrics were, "I'm all about that mouse, about that mouse, no catnip."

I drove back toward Misty Falls, my confidence improving with each mile, thanks to the upbeat singing. Sure, I'd gotten dragged into another crime, but I'd survived the previous one, and I would get through this.

As for Tony being a jerk, that mystery had more than enough clues.

I still had feelings for him, clearly. His marital status informed my actions, but not my heart. Since our brief relationship, we hadn't been living in the same town and bumping into each other, creating new memories to wash over the old ones like a fresh coat of paint. Now when I looked into his eyes, which hadn't changed at all, the tender, intimate memories were as fresh as if they'd happened yesterday. He might not have admitted it, but the same thing had to be happening to him.

Where did we go from here? Tony was playing the role of the jealous protector, so where did that leave me? I could ignore him, and let more time pass, or I could accelerate the healing process by moving on. Right in front of him. Where he couldn't miss it.

I imagined dating his new, blond rookie, and found it was a little
too easy
to daydream about the hunky twenty-three-year-old. In fact, I was so caught up in the idea, I sailed by the Misty Falls turnoff from the highway and had to turn the car around yet again.

At just after
four o'clock, I arrived at my father's house with a quarter tank of gas.

He'd been expecting me, perhaps watching from the front room window, and was holding the front door open before I'd even walked up the steps to the porch.

"You shaved," I said by way of greeting.