Candy Shop Mystery - Goody Goody Gunshots Part 15

Pleased with myself for my ingenuity, I led Max across the street and clipped him to a piece of fencing that surrounded a yard filled with old metal farm implements. When I let myself in through the front door, the musty smell of old buildings greeted me-unusual for our area of the world. Buildings, no matter how old, don't pick up that moldy smell when there's no humidity to cause it.

A large bureau stood flush with the door, and two tall windows flanked a Victorian secretary made of what looked like mahogany. A narrow opening between the bureau and the cash register revealed a long room filled with pieces, the sheer size and volume of which made me feel claustrophobic.

"See anything you like?" A woman's voice sounded close to my ear and caught me off guard.

I pivoted to face her and found myself eye to eye with a woman a few years younger than me. Her copper-red hair was so bright, I knew the color couldn't be natural, and her eyes were slightly puffy, as if she'd been crying recently or suffering from hay fever.

To my surprise, I recognized her. I just couldn't figure out why Marshall hadn't mentioned that his half sister had returned to Paradise. "Ginger?"

Her smile drooped a little, and she moved into the light so I could see a sprinkling of freckles trying to make themselves visible beneath layers of foundation and powder. "Yes. Do I know you?"

Paranoia returned full-force, and suddenly Marshall's visits, that kiss, and his presence at the murder scene seemed almost sinister.

But that was ridiculous. Marshall? No way he could have been involved in Hobbs's murder . . . could he? Shaking off my suspicions, I smiled at the woman standing in front of me.

"You did once. Abby Shaw. I went to school with Marshall."

"Oh my-" Her smile regained all of its brilliance, but it seemed almost unnaturally bright. "Well, of course it's you. I would have figured that out sooner or later. How are you?"

"I'm doing well, thanks."

"Last I heard, you'd fled the coop, too. Don't tell me we both came crawling back."

"I didn't exactly come crawling," I protested, even though I had. "I came back almost two years ago after my Aunt Grace died. I own her candy shop now."

"Really?" Ginger reached somewhere above my head and pulled down the largest cat I've ever seen. She held it close to her chest and scratched under its chin, and the thing let out a contented rumble. "I've just been back a couple of months, but I love this store. Do you like it?"

I nodded and glanced into the room behind me. "I've heard some wonderful things about it. In fact, I decided to stop in because several friends have mentioned your place, and my friends at the B & B across the street couldn't stop raving. The coffee set they bought from you is exquisite."

Ginger beamed. "Isn't it? I was really proud of that find." She s.h.i.+fted the cat and cast a pleased glance around her. "Are you looking for anything in particular? I'd be happy to point you in the right direction."

"Actually, I'm just here to take a look around. I'm killing time until another appointment."

"Well, feel free to look around all you want, and give me a shout if I can help you find anything." She deposited the cat on the top of the bureau, disturbing a layer of dust, and wiped the hair from her hands onto her pant legs.

I battled a sneeze and felt a strong urge to escape the cramped store and grab a lung full of fresh air. But I'd told Ginger I was there to browse, so I felt obligated to at least give it a quick look. I wandered idly through one room after another, slipping past mounds of crockery, headboards, dressers, silver teapots, and an occasional vanity, sidling past stacks of mismatched dinnerware, coat trees, mirrors, and picture frames.

On sheer volume alone, her inventory was impressive but a bit baffling. The freight charges for hauling all of this furniture up the mountain would have been astronomical, but I doubted there were this many antiques in the whole basin. It was hard to believe that she'd acc.u.mulated this much by going on a ma.s.sive antique hunting binge once she got here.

I wondered how Richie and Dylan had found anything of value in all this clutter, and whether any of the pieces I was dismissing with barely a glance were actually valuable. Just when I was about to give up the whole visit as a waste of time, I came across a nearly hidden selection of teacups and saucers that caught my interest. I didn't think they were worth much, and the price tags stuck to the bottom of the saucers confirmed my suspicions, but they struck a chord with me, and I imagined the cup with the lavender roses filled with purple hard candies and bound up with cellophane and a bow made from antique-looking ribbon.

It was the first time since I took over Divinity that an artistic design had sprung into my mind, fully formed, and my heart beat a little faster in response. I spent the next several minutes looking through every cup and saucer and picking five of my favorites. Five should be enough to test the idea without spending a lot of money.

Carefully, I stacked the saucers together and picked up three of the cups by hooking my fingers through their handles. As I reached to pick up the other two with my free hand, I heard footsteps behind me. I turned to see Marshall come through the door of what I thought must once have been the kitchen.

He smiled when he saw me, and I was struck again by how good-looking he'd become since we were kids. "Ginger told me you were back here. I didn't know you liked antiques."

"I don't know much about them," I admitted, "but I'd heard good things about the store and thought I'd check it out. Why didn't you tell me Ginger was back in town?"

"I didn't realize you knew her; she's so much younger than we are."

I made a face at him. "We're not that old. I was an aide for her Girl Scout troop for a couple of years. I would have come by to see her weeks ago if I'd known she was back."

Marshall bowed slightly at the waist, a teasing light in his eyes. "My humble apologies. I won't make the same mistake again."

I laughed and picked up the last two cups. "It's no big deal. I was just surprised to see her when I came through the door. She has quite a store here."

"Doesn't she?" Marshall stepped in front of me and s.h.i.+fted a chair to make it easier for me to get past it. "And it's quite a success so far. People seem to love it."

"I'm happy for her," I said, and I honestly meant it. The place might make me feel as if the walls were closing in, but I still wished her well. "You're both doing well, aren't you? Gigi seems to be getting more popular all the time.

He laughed softly and s.h.i.+fted another chair out of my way. "It's amazing, huh? Who would have thought the Ames kids would make good like this?"

I stopped walking and studied his face. "What do you mean by that?"

"Oh come on, Abby. I know what a geek I was in school, and Ginger wasn't exactly the homecoming queen. We both struggled. I'm just saying, I think it's kind of funny how the world changes." He started walking again slowly, and I moved with him. "I mean, look at somebody like Kerry Hendrix for example. He was king of the world while he was in high school. Captain of the football team. President of the senior cla.s.s. Everybody loved him. Girls couldn't keep their hands off him. Now look at him. He's working at the bowling alley and coaching Youth League basketball. How the mighty have fallen."

"I don't remember Kerry Hendrix in school," I admitted.

"He was in Ginger's cla.s.s," Marshall explained. "She had a killer crush on him, but he didn't really give her the time of day. You know. Typical high school c.r.a.p. You were gone by the time they got to high school, but the whole town made a big deal out of him back in those days."

Suspicion zapped me again. Everything I'd been hearing about Kerry explained his arrogance, but Marshall seemed oddly emotional about Ginger's childhood. "Well, I'm sorry for Ginger, but she's obviously survived and thrived, so she doesn't appear to have suffered."

Marshall laughed, and the moment was gone. "You're right. Oh, man, listen to me. I haven't even thought about that stuff in years. It must have been talking about him at your place yesterday that brought it all back again."

"In that case," I said with a small grin, "I offer my most humble apologies." We reached the front of the store, and I put the cups and saucers on the counter. "So you're not friendly with Kerry these days?"

"If I were, would I have told you to watch out for him?"

I shook my head and laughed. "No, I guess not," I said. "What about Ginger?"

"Are you kidding?"

"Silly question, I guess." I stretched out my hand to ring the bell that would let Ginger know I was ready.

Marshall put his hand over mine and said, "Before you do that, I need to ask you a question."

With Karen's warning ringing in my ears, I drew my hand away slowly. "What?"

"Have dinner with me."

"Dinner?"

"Yeah. It's a meal, generally eaten in the evening. I thought it might be nice to eat one together."

Even with Karen's prediction, Marshall's invitation stunned me. Words jammed up in my throat, and it took me a minute to get any of them out of my mouth. "That's really nice of you, and I appreciate the invitation, but I can't. I'm . . . seeing someone."

Marshall's smile inched a little wider. "I know all about the guy you're seeing, Abby. I know he doesn't appreciate you, and I know he doesn't spend nearly enough time with you."

"I know it probably looks that way from the outside, but you really can't tell what's going on between two people from outward appearances. Jawarski and I are both content with our . . . with the way things are. Really, Marshall, I'm flattered, but I really don't think it's a good idea."

He studied my expression for a long time, then shrugged and worked up a smile. From a distance, the smile might have been convincing. Close up, it definitely lost the battle. Maybe because I could see the embarra.s.sment in his eyes. There was something else in his expression, too. I just couldn't put my finger on it.

"Well, you can't blame a guy for trying, I guess." He glanced over his shoulder, ran a quick look over his watch, and backed a step or two away. "Listen, I've gotta-I need to get back to the restaurant."

"Oh. Sure," I said with a smile. "Business is always first, right?" I tried again to figure out what that emotion was in the back of his eyes, but again it eluded me. Probably nothing, I told myself firmly. I'd hate to see what would be in my eyes right after someone turned me down for a date. "Listen, Marshall, just because we can't go out, that doesn't mean we can't be friends."

"Right. Friends. That's good. It's cool." He stepped backwards again and the cat, which must have been hiding under a chair, let out a yowl of pain. A flush rushed into Marshall's face, and he turned away quickly. "I'll see you around, okay?"

"Absolutely." I kept smiling until he shut the door behind him, then let out a breath and closed my eyes. I told myself that he'd taken the rejection well, but I couldn't stop thinking about that look on his face and wondering just what it was I'd missed.

Chapter 26.

My conversation with Marshall convinced me that I couldn't put off talking to Jawarski any longer. Not only did I want to find out if knowing Lou Hobbs's name had unearthed any new information, but I had a sudden, intense need to make sure he and I were as comfortable with our . . . whatever it was . . . as I'd told Marshall we were.

I put the box holding the cups and saucers in the hatch and stuffed an old sweater and my emergency kit around it to keep the box from sliding. Then, loading Max into the backseat, I turned the Jetta toward town again.

It was mid-afternoon by the time I got there, and the parking lot the police department shared with other city offices was packed. I drove up and down several rows before I found a spot closer to the library than the police station. The weather was mild, but I had no idea how long this conversation would take, and I didn't want to leave Max cooped up in the car. Hooking him to the chain again, I found a spot where he could lie in the shade or bask in the sun, depending on his mood, then pushed through the gla.s.s doors of the white brick building that housed Paradise's finest.

Since Jawarski and I had started spending more time together I'd become, if not a regular fixture around here, at least not an unexpected one. I waved at the women working dispatch, signed in with the officer working the front desk, and climbed the stairs to the second floor.

The detective division is all the way at the back of the building, down a long, brightly lit corridor that stretched from one end of the building to another. That's why I had no trouble seeing the blonde with the killer body standing just outside Jawarski's office. I didn't have any trouble seeing Jawarski either, for that matter. He lounged in the doorway wearing a broad, appreciative smile as he listened to what the blonde was saying.

I'm sure there were at least half a dozen explanations for what I was seeing, every one of them legitimate and non-threatening. I skipped over every one of them and went straight back in time to the night I walked into the bedroom I shared with my then-husband and discovered him on the floor with the reason my marriage had been falling apart.

I stopped halfway down the hall, wanting to turn around and get out of there before Jawarski noticed me, but unable to move. I was rooted to the spot, staring at the very thing I didn't want to see with the horrid fascination of someone who's just witnessed an accident.

After what seemed like a very long time, Jawarski looked away from the blonde and noticed me. He said something to her and waved me closer. "Hey there," he said as the woman turned and walked away. "What are you doing here?"

Angry with myself for my reaction, I moved into his cluttered office, but I couldn't get out the words I'd come to say. Instead of asking him to grab some dinner at my favorite Thai restaurant, I heard myself say, "I wondered if the information I gave you earlier was of any use."

His expression closed down, just as I'd known it would, but right then it was easier to deal with him as a cop than as the man I cared way too much about. "You came about the murder?" he asked, his voice stone cold.

I nodded once and sat in one of the chairs in front of his desk. "Did the name help you? Could you find anything on either Arthur or Lou Hobbs?"

Jawarski dropped heavily into his chair, but the glare I expected didn't appear. Instead, he smiled as if he'd just won the lottery. "Not yet, but we're still pursuing a few angles, trying to find out if he has any other aliases."

"Do you know where he was staying while he was here in town?"

"If I did, is there a reason I should tell you?"

The question stung, but I wasn't sure whether I resented it because of the blonde, because of Marshall, or just because Jawarski was being an a.s.s. "You should tell me," I snapped, "because I may have some information that I can share with you."

"Really? And what would that be?"

"I have a phone number that Elena Whitehorse from Big Horn Realty used to reach him when she set up appointments for him with Quentin Ingersol." I'd copied the number onto a piece of scratch paper, and I pulled that out of my pocket now and dropped it on Jawarski's desk. "If you don't already know where he was staying, maybe that will help."

He picked up the note and studied it for a long moment. "How'd you get this?"

"That doesn't really matter, does it? What matters is that Quentin Ingersol knew Hobbs, but he's lying about it for some reason."

His gaze s.h.i.+fted from the paper he held to my face. "And you know that how?"

"I told you I talked to him earlier. He denied knowing Hobbs at all."

Jawarski let out a sigh heavy with frustration. "Yeah. I've been meaning to talk to you about that."

"Don't bother giving me the lecture, because I already know it word for word, and you already know I'm not going to listen anyway."

He shook his head and ran a hand over the bristle on his head. "What did this Elena Whitehorse tell you?"

"Just that Hobbs was in Quentin's office more than once, and she called that number when she needed to make an appointment. And she said that she thinks Hobbs made Quentin nervous."

"Have you tried calling the number yourself?"

I thought about saying no, but he'd see right through me, so why bother? "Yes, and I'm pretty sure it's a cell. It went straight to voice mail with the factory recording. I don't have any idea whose phone it is."

I was trying hard not to be p.r.i.c.kly with him, but the mix of emotions churning in my blood made my skin itch. Was I jealous? Feeling guilty? All of the above?

"Is that it?"

I stood and walked to the other side of the room, pretending a sudden interest in a stack of books he had on a table. I didn't want a guy who flipped out over inconsequential things, and here I was tying myself in knots over something far less threatening than a kiss. The worst part was that I had to finally admit that I felt more than friends.h.i.+p for Jawarski.

Doing my best to keep my voice casual, I asked, "Who was that woman I saw you talking to when I came in?"

"Stephanie?" I could hear the surprise in his voice, the effort he made to follow me onto this new track. "She's a detective with the narcotics division, why?"

"I've just never seen her before," I said, darting a thin smile over my shoulder. "I wondered if she was a friend or someone you work with."

"She's both, but not in the sense I think you mean." He stood and came toward me, but he stopped before he got too close. "What's this all about?"

I turned to face him and forced myself to be honest. "I wish I knew. When I saw you talking to her, I felt a whole bunch of things I didn't want to feel."

His blue eyes darkened slightly. "You didn't have to. She's a friend, and she's a fellow officer, but that's it."

I nodded slowly, trying to work up the words to tell him about Marshall and wondering how I'd explain something I didn't understand myself. "I know it's short notice, but I really came by to see if you're free for dinner. I was going to give you the phone number then."

"Tonight?"

"If you're not busy. I was thinking maybe we could grab some Thai at the Lotus Blossom . . . unless something else sounds better."