Chapter Nineteen

The next day, exactly one week before Thanksgiving, I stay in the store all morning, finally in a mental place to get some work done. The question of who killed Frannie continues to distract me, but until I work up some nerve I’m not going to get any further.

I need to go talk to Ken again, but not as a sympathy visit. I want to know what his role in raising the rents was. Frannie is taking the visible hit from all I’ve heard, but it’s Schrock Real Estate, as in, Frannie and Ken. My mind wants to wander down the righteous path of feminist theory, how women have always been blamed for whatever throughout history. It shouldn’t surprise me that outgoing, assertive Frannie had attracted the resentment of many Stonebridge Buddy members.

The bells on the store entrance ring and I look over at my tablet to see who it is. The security system is indeed top-notch and allows me to view all the building entrances, no matter where I am in the world, via an app. I immediately recognize the tall, white-haired figure and leave my desk.

“Dad! What a nice surprise.” I walk to him and we hug. The scent of late autumn along with the unusual cold clings to him, almost overpowering his Old Spice. I look him over. He cuts a handsome profile and has never met a piece of clothing that doesn’t look perfect on him. Today he’s covered a burgundy cashmere pullover with his scarf and slate-blue all-weather jacket. “What’s going on?”

“What, I need a reason to visit my lovely daughter on a fine afternoon?”

“No, but you must have one. You’ve never been in here unless I’ve invited you.”

“Well maybe you should invite me more.” He erases any sense of hard feelings with his wide grin. I know it’s a match to mine. I got my mother’s hair and eyes. Dad’s gene pool gets credit for my mouth and square jaw. Both girls have his smile, too.

“Come on back and get a cup of coffee. Or we can walk up to Latte Love?”

He waves away my offer with a sputter. “No thanks. That froufrou coffee’s not for me, you know that.”

I grin to myself as I turn and make my way to the beverage station.

“Take my chair.”

“Naw, I’ll sit here. That’s your spot.” He nods at my specialty desk chair and sits on one of the cushioned folding chairs. “Do you have any decaf? Your mother will want to know what I had and I hate to lie to her.”

“Sure do. Give me a minute.” I turn on the kettle and reach for the single-serve French press. “I bought this decaf blend the other day I think you’ll like.”

“Coffee’s coffee. I hope you’re making me instant.”

“Close enough.” I lean my hip against the high counter, waiting for the water to boil.

“Looks like you’ve gotten a lot accomplished.” His gaze moves to the entrance to the storage room. I get it; the draw is a primal thing. As if the deepest part of our brain needs to see exactly where the murder happened, so that we can prevent it from happening to us.

“You mean considering a murder happened last weekend?”

“Is it already almost a week?” He scratches his chin. “I’ll tell you, since I retired my sense of time has flown the coop.”

I pour the water for our drinks and take the seat next to him. “You don’t wish you were still working?” Dad had been the town’s single CPA for years, and then two other accountants set up their offices.

“Sometimes, sure, I miss the people, helping folks out with their numbers. You’d be surprised how many business owners avoid balancing their books in any form.”

“Before I started this new venture, I might have been surprised that anyone would avoid something as big as financial accountability. But now that I’m working to get the store open, I understand why it’s easy to push the books to the back of the line. There’s so much else that needs to be done.”

“Yeah, well, the taxman still has to get paid. Don’t miss your quarterly taxes and you’ll never go wrong.”

“I won’t. And if you decide you don’t want to do my books, I’m more than happy to ask one of the other CPAs in town.”

“I’m happy to do it. I want to do it. You and a few other people are my remaining clientele. It keeps my brain exercised and gives me something to do when I can’t get out.”

“How was it today? A personal best?” I hand him his coffee.

“Thank you.” He wraps his hands around the warm mug. “Nothing to report. It was too cold to stay out there longer than nine holes.”

“But still, Dad, you were outside for almost two hours, right?”

“Something like that.” He sips. His brows shoot up toward his silver hairline. “Whoa. This isn’t bad.”

“It’s from Latte Love. I told you we could have gone there. It’s more comfortable than these seats.” I keep dunking my tea infuser. The Irish Breakfast tea’s aroma competes with Dad’s coffee in the small space.

“And pay those prices, for a coffee? No thanks.”

I laugh. “I would have treated, Dad.”

“Ah, well.” He’s stalling. Dad never hesitates to treat any of us to whatever he can. More like what we’ll allow him to do.

I know my Dad. He was the one who held me up through Tom’s funeral, took the girls to check out colleges when my schedule couldn’t handle the extra load. How many active-duty persons have a parent they can rely on as much, to send their teen-aged kids over the pond (Atlantic Ocean) to their grandparents for college visits? He’s got that concerned glint in his eyes that he’s trying to cover up with lighter banter. “Are you still aiming for Small Business Saturday for your grand opening?”

“Yes. It’s hard to believe it’s only a little over a week away.”

“That’s what doing something you love does for you. I never thought twice about tax season. People always wonder how CPA’s get through it but for me, it was never a grind. I always worked better under pressure.”

“I remember that. Mom made us take turns fixing dinner while she graded the senior papers.” April was when Mom, a high school English teacher, set the deadline for the assignments. She said it was in case any had to be rewritten. “She did that so that she didn’t miss you as much.”

“Maybe.” He scratched his chin. “Your mother sent me in here.”

“I knew it.” I said it without alacrity. “She’s not going to stop until the killer is caught.”

“Can you blame her? Honey, we’re worried.” He held up his hands when I opened my mouth to reply. “Hang on. We know you can take care of yourself. You’ve been in combat. But you don’t know what you’re dealing with here. This murder was cold-blooded when I read between the lines of the news reports.”

“Dad, you can’t believe everything in print.” Although the local paper was very, very good. I’d refrained from giving any of my family too many details. Bryce and Nico promised to keep whatever I’d blurted out on Saturday night to themselves. I’d still been in shock. Trinity was adamant that the fewer people who knew what I’d seen, the better. Now that I was determined to help find the killer I didn’t want any privileged information to get out, either.

“I know that, honey.”

“And look.” I got up and grabbed the tablet, turned it to face him. “I knew it was you who walked in the door the minute you did. If you were a stranger, or someone concerning, I would have pushed this button and the police would be here—oh, shoot!”

I’d inadvertently tapped on the 911 button. My fingers flew over the glass surface to cancel the mistake, but it was too late.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“There isn’t an emergency. I’m sorry, I pressed the call button by mistake.” I cast a quick look at my Dad. His brow was up. He was worried about me, but also impressed with this system.

“I’m going to need to verify your identity. Please answer your cell phone.”

My phone rang before she finished, and I picked it up. As soon as I finished the call, I set both devices back on my desk.

“I have to admit, that was straight out of a science fiction novel.”

“No, it’s reality, Dad. I’m safe.”

“Except most killers know their victims, and vice versa. There’s a good chance you won’t be afraid of the murderer when they show up, because they’ll be the last person you suspect.”

“Dad, you and Mom have to lay off the BBC police dramas.”

“Poppycock.”

We both laughed. The doorbells jingle and I looked to see who it was.

“Oh boy.”

“What?” Dad stood, his stance nothing less than Clint Eastwood material.

Before I answered, Trinity walked into the office. She looked me up and down, then scrutinized my Dad, the entire office, the back storage room.

“So you really are okay?”

“Yes. I’m so, so sorry. I won’t make that mistake again. The tablet is far more sensitive than I realized.”

“Didn’t you work with more advanced technology in the Navy?”

“In the aircraft, sometimes, yes. But usually?” I shook my head. “We’re years, sometimes decades behind the commercial world.”

“Huh. Hey, Mr. Strooper. Good to see you.”

“Is it appropriate for me to give a Stonebridge Detective a hug?” Dad opened his arms wide and Trinity doesn’t hesitate. After their embrace, she smiled at Dad.

“A hug from you is always welcome. Just don’t reach for my weapon and we’re good.” She turned to me. “I’m glad you sprung for the higher-end security system. For the record, I knew you were safe and that they’d validated it, but with something as odd as a murder in Stonebridge, I felt better checking it out myself.”

“I appreciate it. Dad’s here on a mission from Mom because they’re both worried about me staying upstairs.”

“Mr. Strooper, I’d be worried, too, if it were my child. But my department is keeping an eagle eye on this building, and you just saw for yourself how well the security system works. Angel’s safe. If I thought any differently, I’d be camping out here myself.”

“Thank you.”

“You would?” I was happy that Trinity and I were getting our friendship back on track but still wasn’t sure if she trusted me. Now I knew she did.

“Of course. In fact, what are you doing tonight?”

“Do you think it’s sad that we’re out with each other on a date night?” I sat across from Trinity in the local Greek place, the remnants of shared baklava between us.

Trinity drank from the pretty mug of Greek coffee. I’d opted for herbal tea.

“I think it’s sadder to be home alone. Unless that’s what you want to do.”

“I agree.” I sat back against the booth bench. “I miss the girls like crazy, but I am getting to appreciate my alone time.”

“Aren’t they coming back for Thanksgiving next week?”

“Yes, on Wednesday.” My heart dropped. “I can’t stand that we haven’t figure out who killed Frannie. I don’t want all of this hanging over the girls’ visit.” I meant it. Yes, the store opening had the awful cloud of violent crime stuck over it, too. But most important to me was my girls’ well-being.

“How much have you told them?”

“I had to tell them everything. You know they would have found out, if not through the grapevine known as my family, through the news.”

“Maybe not. They’re in different cities, and this barely made the local news.”

“Only because you and your officers have done such a good job of keeping it out of the press. It must be hard to do that.”

“It can be, but the local news knows we’ll cooperate fully with them, that we’re totally transparent, once a case is solved. If we need the public’s help in finding a criminal, we never hesitate to ask, and we use the local news outlets to do so. It’s always better to have a good working relationship with the press than not.”

“I give you credit. In the Navy we had a unit Public Relations officer to handle it.”

“That’s what they pay me for.” She wiped her mouth with the blue-and-white checked napkin. “This has been fun. I have to admit that when I heard you were moving back, I wasn’t certain if you’d be interested in your old friends.”

“Of course I am. I thought the same, too, you know. Every time your name came up over the past twenty years I heard about how accomplished you were, the hard jobs you took that got you to this position. I’m sorry we didn’t make more time to see one another. And that’s on me—I’m the one who was here for such short times.”

“Forget about it. Regrets are a waste of time. We were both raising kids and wrapped up in our domestic dramas.” Her eyes widen. “Oh my goodness, Angel, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to suggest that Tom’s death was a drama. Insert foot much?” She rolled her eyes.

“No offense taken. You’re absolutely right.” We’d talked about ourselves, our lack of social lives, but hadn’t touched on the case. I knew I couldn’t let her go before I told her what I found out with Amy.

“Spit it out.” She’d seen my cogs turning, maybe in how I was biting my lip?

“I spoke with Amy Radabaugh a couple of days ago.” I filled her in, even up to the part where I wanted to talk to Ken again. Trinity listened, her professional demeanor back in place.

“You say you saw her at the coffee shop when you were there last Saturday?”

I nodded. “Yes. She was working.”

“Okay, thank you for sharing this with me. But now leave it be. It’s up to my team to follow up on what she said to you. And officially, it’s all hearsay as you’re not—”

“Official. I know.” I looked at my spoon, the used tea bag squished on it. “Can I talk to Ken?”

Trinity sighs. “I told you, you can talk to whomever you darn well please. You’re at an advantage in some ways because you’re new to a lot of folks here, and hopefully they’ll want to help you clear the shop’s name. My team’s already cleared you as a suspect. But you’re not trained in police work. Don’t put yourself into any compromising position.”

“I’ll stay safe.”

“I mean don’t compromise the investigation, or evidence. I know you know how to take care of yourself.”

“Thanks?”

She sighs. “I don’t want to have to ever issue you a ticket for impeding a police investigation. That’s what happens when well-meaning civilians try to do our job.”

“I hear you.” I finish my coffee. “I’m okay asking questions, I’m to keep passing you any facts I gather, but if I upset a potential witness or tamper with evidence, I’m screwed.”

“You’re a quick study, Angel.”