Fame and Fortune and Murder Page 8

  “I wish that were the case,” Crew’s soft voice interrupted. I looked up, startled, we all did, to find the sheriff standing in the doorway of the dining room, looking grim. “But the report just came back and it’s as I feared. Skip died of an OD brought on by a massive injection of Quexol.”

  Matt’s lower lip quivered. “I should disclose I have some with me. But the bottle is full. I never used it.”

  Crew sighed, shrugged. “I’ll still need to question you,” he said. “And confiscate the drug. For now, though, things aren’t looking good for accidental overdose.” Of course they weren’t. “He has no other puncture wounds or places of entry for the dose of Quexol. And the location of injection paired with the angle of entry makes it almost impossible for him to have administered it himself.” Naturally. “The amount that was found in his system exceeds any normal dosage, likely an entire bottle injected at once.”

  Which meant, as I feared, Petunia’s wasn’t opening to the public any time soon.

  Crew confirmed it. “It’s pretty clear at this point Skip Anderson was murdered.”

  ***

  Chapter Seventeen

  I stirred the pot of spaghetti sauce simmering on the gas burner and tried to shake off the feeling that Petunia’s had become a prison. It certainly felt that way, made worse by the fall of darkness. While the sound of their presence was muffled by the thick walls of the B&B, the flashing and glaring lights of the media gathered outside and the volume of voices talking over each other as reporters went live with my precious bed and breakfast in the background—I’d seen enough watching a few news channels as I cooked dinner to feel even more empathy for Willow and the public life she led—made it impossible to ignore the fact any kind of normalcy was out of the question.

  I hoped our food stores would hold up because we weren’t leaving without being badgered and hounded by the press any time soon.

  Crew had almost immediately confiscated the front sitting room for his interrogations. “I can’t take them past that circus to the station for questioning,” he told me in a low voice as Jill escorted Matt to Grandmother Iris’s antique sofa and stood over him. “I just don’t have the room to house everyone. And going back and forth will be a logistical nightmare.” He was right. I wasn’t arguing. “I’m sorry to do this to you, Fee, but since the suspects are here, I need to use Petunia’s.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, noting that my dad hovered and watched, brows drawn together, but whether feeling protective of me or needing to interject himself in the case I didn’t know. Either way, he wasn’t going anywhere, I could tell. “I’m used to it by now, I think.”

  Crew’s little smile was grim but lit his blue eyes. “You’re okay? Really?”

  I nodded, exhaled. “Just hurry up and figure it out before I beat you to it this time.”

  I really knew how to push his buttons. Crew’s nostril flare and loss of amusement told me I’d stepped over the line when I was just trying to be funny. Because foot in mouth seemed to be my most common form of communication with him.

  “If you could keep your head down and, if you can manage it, stop feeding Pamela information.” He snapped that off before spinning, shoulders stiff, and stalking away while my own temper sparked. I’d managed to bruise his little boy ego, had I? Did he think that parting shot was going to get to me?

  I jabbed the wooden spoon into the pot of bubbling sauce, splattering the front of my apron with my irritated enthusiasm. Well, I guess he knew what he was doing after all. If only he could translate that into police work my B&B wouldn’t feel like someone smothered it in bars and locks.

  Mom firmly took the spoon from me and tasted my attempt at food before shoving me aside with one hip and reaching for spices over the stove, adding this and that as she spoke.

  “You’re lost in here,” she said, turning to offer Petunia a slice of pineapple from the fruit salad she’d been assembling before straightening, wiping her hands with a professional air on her apron before fixing me with those green eyes that were my eyes. “And you’re in my way. Not to mention how unsanitary it is to have Petunia in here while we’re cooking.”

  Mom should have known better. Keeping the pug out of the kitchen was actually impossible. Honestly, having her here was kind of against state rules. Somehow, though, Grandmother Iris had forged an agreement with the Department of Health, something to do with a Grandfather clause she’d negotiated, though I never looked that particular gift horse in the mouth.

  Besides, Mom’s statement had nothing to do with the pug’s presence and everything to do with getting me out of her hair. “Fine.” I removed my own apron and set it aside, sinking to the stool at the counter, planning to mope a bit before trying to find a way to make myself useful that didn’t involve irritating Crew further. But Dad’s appearance just stirred up my curiosity all over again.

  I actually perked as he paused next to Mom and helped himself to a slice of garlic bread she’d just pulled from the oven. She tried to smack him but it was a half-hearted effort. My stomach growled at the scent of toast and butter and cheesy garlic goodness as Dad spoke around a bite.

  “We need to plug some leaks, Fee,” he said. “Jill caught a reporter sneaking around the Munroe property and the fence.”

  My jaw tightened, headache starting in my right temple. “Not sure what we can do about it.” Did I really just sound that whiny? Well, I wasn’t exactly in the kind of get up and go mood that maybe I should have been.

  “Jill and Robert have their hands full with the media,” Dad said, a bit softer and with the kind of gentleness that irritated me in the state I was in. “Crew asked me to help, and I’m asking you.”

  Mom paused, looked up at Dad with the wooden spoon dripping, her face dark and lips tight. “He did not deputize you, John.”

  I gaped at Dad who looked suddenly uncomfortable.

  “The kid’s in a bind, Lucy,” Dad said, apology in his tone while my mother turned from him with a sniff that spoke volumes.

  “You just run along and play at being a police officer again, then, dear,” she said.

  “Now, Lu,” Dad started. And froze as she spun back on him, little body vibrating.

  “You listen to me, Johnathan Albert Campbell Fleming,” she said. “I’ve been very patient. I even helped you scratch that itch of the cop you were in February when that boy was killed. Did I complain?” Sauce splashed as she plunged the spoon in to the pot and stirred with vigor. “Not a word. But I’ll tell you right now, if you make this a habit, you and I are having a long conversation about the promises you made to me when you—you, John!—chose to retire.”

  Wow. Gulp. I had no idea there was this kind of tension between them about Dad’s job.

  He met my gaze with a guilty look, clearly uncomfortable. “It’s just until the state troopers get here,” he said.

  Mom grunted something that wasn’t appropriate for polite company or small children and fell silent. Even I knew better than to try to talk to her in this particular mood. Instead, I gestured at Dad to follow me and he joined me, shoulders slumped, out the door into the garden, Petunia following me, oddly, despite the fact there was food to be had in the kitchen. Even she must have sensed Mom wasn’t in a generous frame of mind.

  “She’ll be okay,” Dad sighed into the darkness, the outside light clicking on as our motion activated it. The matching one on the carriage house flickered but didn’t turn on, leaving most of the garden in shadow.

  “Are you two having trouble?” I would hate that. Utterly hate it. No way my parents were those parents. How could I have missed it?

  But Dad dispelled my worries, hugging me briefly. “She’s right and she’s been a saint. I’m just an old fool who can’t let go of something that didn’t do me a bit of good for a lot of years, Fee.” He pushed me gently away, sadly smiling down at me. “You wondered why I did my best to keep you as far from law enforcement as I could? It wasn’t because I didn’t think you could do it. Or because I worrie
d you’d get hurt.”

  He was not going to trigger tears. I refused to cry as he went on. Refused.

  “It’s the toll it takes on the family, kid,” he said. “I lucked out with your mom. She picked me, bless her, knew what she was getting into. I never deserved her or the way she just put up with me.”

  “Dad.” I choked out that word, cleared my throat.

  He kissed my forehead and let me go. “She’s been after me to travel. I think that’s a great idea, don’t you?” He inhaled, exhaled, a gusty sigh, grinning then. “Forget the fence. Let security deal with it.” He winked and turned, going back inside, and I stood there in the dark and hugged my pug while I watched through the windows as my father embraced and then kissed my mom like they were twenty again.

  And cried, at last, in silence and the night, for the amazing parents I was lucky to call my own.

  Almost missed, through my tears, the light over the carriage house turning on. And spun, heart pounding, fury flaring, my pug quickly dropped at my feet before I ran at full speed through the path to the fence and tackled with a full body throw the intruder who tried to flee.

  Not this time. Not on my watch.

  ***

  Chapter Eighteen

  Breath whooshed from my lungs as I carried the other person to the ground, the soft and slightly squishy body oofing a gust of air out while I landed on top of the woman. Petunia arrived a moment later, huffing and puffing, throwing herself into the mix as she pounced on my prisoner.

  I panted when I flipped her over and looked down into the scared face of the young woman from earlier today, the same one who escaped me around the corner of the house. There was no escape for her this time. I grabbed my phone from my back pocket and dialed Crew as the woman squirmed but didn’t try to get up.

  “Fee.” His clipped response at the third ring told me he was irritated. Well, poor baby. “I’m in the middle of an—”

  “I caught an intruder in the backyard,” I snapped back. “Mind sending a real cop to finish the job I started?”

  He swore softly and hung up. At me or at the situation I was in? Honestly, I couldn’t care less which. So. Over. It.

  I heard the kitchen door slam as I stood and grabbed the woman’s arm, jerking her to her feet. Maybe manhandling her wasn’t the best option, but I’d had a hell of a day and she was on my last nerve. Her glasses flashed, catching the light she’d triggered with her appearance, blocking briefly the view of her wide, frightened eyes, her ponytail coming loose, her thin hair cascading over her shoulders. Wait, I knew her from somewhere, didn’t I? That brown cardigan, the practical shoes. The acne and frumpy skirt. Where had I met her before?

  Dad appeared at a run, Crew right behind him, the two of them coming to a jarring halt when I spun her around and made her face them.

  “Here you go,” I snarled. “One intruder. You’re freaking welcome.”

  Crew didn’t comment, handing Dad a set of handcuffs. My father raised his eyebrows at me but remained silent as he shackled the young woman and Crew addressed her.

  “This is private property and off limits to anyone at the moment,” Crew said, gruff and doing his best to intimidate. I wanted to laugh in his face, I was that wound up, but it worked on the girl.

  “I’m sorry,” she blubbered, face wet with tears, shaking in Dad’s grip. “I just wanted to make sure Willow was okay.” She looked up at me. “Is she okay, Fee?”

  She knew me? And thought she did well enough to use my nickname, clearly. “She’s fine,” I said. “Do you know her?”

  The girl beamed then, nodded, her whole attitude changing in a flash. “She’s amazing, isn’t she? I’m her biggest fan.” She wriggled a little as if in delight I asked. “I was so worried about her, she’s had such trouble with that husband of hers lately.” Her voice dropped, conspiratorial and only for my ears as though she forgot she was in handcuffs and Dad and Crew were there to take her away. “When I heard he died I knew Willow was finally safe. But I needed to know she’s okay.” Her face shone with adoration.

  And we had a nut job. But as she turned from me to look at Crew, I had an epiphany and blurted out what I remembered before I could censor myself.

  “You work at the nursing home.” That’s where I knew her from. “You gave me Grandmother Iris’s box that day I came to pick up her things.” Wow, it felt like years ago now.

  She nodded to me, snuffled some snot, smiling like she hadn’t expected me to recall our meeting. “Mila Martin,” she said. “You remembered me.” Shy suddenly, and rather pleased. That made me nervous for some reason.

  Crew didn’t seem to notice or care. “Bring her inside,” he said. “Let’s have a little chat, shall we?”

  I could have stayed in the kitchen with Mom. Should have, maybe. But she had the recently reappeared Daisy at her side to keep her company, wherever my best friend vanished to all this time. Where had Daisy gone? It didn’t matter now as she and Mom whispered over making dinner, so I just waved and carried on, Petunia still following me, into the foyer with Dad, Mila and Crew in the lead.

  The hulking bodies of my father and the sheriff almost cut off the reaction Julian and Stella had to Mila’s appearance. I caught only the instant vocal protest and had to ease around my dad to see the revulsion Julian displayed and the utter disgust on the director’s face.

  “That woman isn’t allowed to be anywhere near Willow,” Julian huffed, jabbing a finger at Mila who cowered next to Dad.

  “Did you kill Skip, you nasty little witch?” Stella’s accusation made me flinch.

  Mila’s shaking, the soft wail that escaped her, how she turned and buried her face against my father’s chest to protect herself from the two and their accusing hatefulness made me wonder if she was in the throws of guilt or just terrified.

  “I take it there’s a restraining order against Miss Martin?” Crew sounded tired, frustrated.

  “Not that the police seem to take it seriously,” Julian snapped. “That thing has made threats against Skip and stalked our Willow for years.”

  “We are friends,” Mila whispered just loud enough for me to hear. “Since high school.” She met my eyes through the glare of her glasses, her disconnect with reality pretty clear in the glazed and desperate look there.

  I actually felt sorry for her.

  “You can put this all to a rest and drag her off to prison, Sheriff,” Stella said, arms crossing over her chest, judge, jury and executioner written all over her face. “If anyone killed Skip—and is a continuing threat to Willow—it’s this psycho stalker.”

  I ignored the director’s tirade, focusing on Mila’s reaction. How she winced at every word, the way she trembled and clung to Dad.

  “I have a stack of threatening letters in my office back in L.A.,” Julian said. “All from that piece of trash. While we don’t often agree, I think Stella is right. She had to have done it.”

  “And, can I ask you two expert detectives exactly how she got close enough to Skip to inject him with enough painkiller to trigger an overdose?” Crew took just the right tone, in my opinion. That kind of lazy, smartass and yet authoritative growl that got everyone’s attention. I caught the flash of Dad’s hastily suppressed grin as Crew went on. “Right then. If you’d be kind enough to leave the police work to the actual police, I’d be ever so grateful.”

  Snorty time. Okay, so I was really tired, but still. That was about as close to perfect as he could get. And while I was kind of pissed at him, I could appreciate the brilliance. It even softened me toward him as he gestured to Dad.

  “Please escort Miss Martin to one of the rooms and make sure she stays there until I’m ready to talk to her.”

  Dad nodded, led the weeping Mila away who muttered over and over, “That’s not what happened.”

  Julian and Stella both left in a huff, marching upstairs after them. I sighed and shook my head, feeling the bruises that would likely form shortly from my tackle and the impact of the day finally getting to me
.

  “Nice,” I said. “You practice that speech in the mirror?” Again, I meant to be funny. Honestly, just a joke. Intended for a bit of camaraderie, a flash of banter, a back and forth of joking to soften the mood and maybe our feelings for each other.

  Instead, Crew’s face darkened and he glared, fists on hips, brow furrowed.

  “For the last time, Fiona Fleming,” he snarled, “stay out of police business.” He huffed softly before hammering the final nail into his own coffin. “You want to be helpful? Go make me a sandwich.”

  Oh. Snap. No. No he did not.

  Crew seemed to realize he’d gone too far. Or that what he’d said might have sounded right in his head before he said it but the connotations were so off the grid of anything resembling decency and respect he’d flung himself over the side and into the deepest ocean of misogyny he could find without a lifejacket.

  We stared at each other in utter silence a long moment, him slowly crumbling in apology he didn’t speak out loud and me going more and more rigid by the moment, cold spiking a chill to the center of my soul.

  With absolutely nothing to say, I turned and walked away.

  ***

  Chapter Nineteen

  I didn’t make it to the kitchen door. Instead, I came to an abrupt halt at the sight of Carter carrying a platter of garlic bread into the dining room. He paused as he spotted me, looking so startled I’m sure the expression on my face had to reflect the conversation I’d just had with Crew. Or lack of one.

  “Your mother recruited me,” Carter said. “I hope that’s okay?”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be guarding someone?” Yeah, that was nasty and uncalled for but he didn’t hold it against me. Instead, his brow furrowed, his gaze flashing to the foyer and back again.

  “Everything okay, Fee? Do you need help with anything?”