Chapter 7: Chapter Seven
“What time did you leave for Latte Love?” Detective Trinity Colson’s brows remain straight and unmoving as she watches me with her bright brown eyes, as observant as they’ve always been. We were best friends since first grade and all through high school, but I’ve never seen this side of her. The “I think you might have killed a woman” side.
“I told the rookie, I mean, Officer Sam. His name is Sam McCloud, right?” I look at my childhood bestie, hoping for a bone. “I left my shop right after Frannie left, sometime around ten-thirty. I came back here later in the afternoon after I left church. I went to the four o’clock Mass.”
“Did anyone you know see you there?” Some distant part of my mind understands what Trinity’s doing, that it’s part of her job, not personal. But having someone who once knew me so well question my truth makes me shake more.
“Father Drew. The parishioners who were in the back, when I left.”
“Names?”
“I, I don’t know.”
Trinity sighs, making a single dark curl on her forehead dance. We’re still in my office, where she’s been questioning me for the last hour. The Stonebridge PD forensics team, a.k.a. four officers trained specifically for this purpose, are working the scene in the storage room. I notice they’re taking all kinds of samples from the room, as well as going into the front retail area. I warned them not to stick their fingers in Ralph’s cage. He’s unpredictable when stressed, and since he’s so good at picking up on my mood, I’d say he’s mere heartbeats from stroking out. At least, that’s how I’ve felt since finding Frannie.
The image of her too-still body defiled with what are supposed to be festive decorations is permanently scored into my memory.
Sitting here with Trinity allows me the chance to check out my office, which I bypassed when I was following the trail to Frannie. My stomach sinks at the overturned desk drawers that were thrown against the wall, their contents strewn everywhere. I haven’t had a chance to see if anything’s been taken yet. I didn’t have any valuables in the desk, so it’s not a priority but I can’t help wondering what the murderer was looking for. Or if they had an accomplice who searched my desk while they killed Frannie.
A burnt-orange wool coat—Frannie’s—is strewn over a column of stacking boxes meant for the window display and reminds me of a flag. A sign. It wasn’t tossed there casually as the bandboxes would have been knocked down. Someone placed her coat there deliberately.
In short, Frannie’s murderer wants to frame me. Or maybe the murderer was here to rifle through my stuff and happened upon Frannie? But again, why was Frannie back here in the first place?
I’m both exhausted and wired. My mind is fried. I need my sister, my brother, my family, but I haven’t been allowed to call anyone yet. Trinity hasn’t accused me of murder, and I want to believe she realizes I’d never do something so macabre. But…yeah. There’s a dead body in my new shop, and it appears my damaged stock was the murder weapon.
Nausea rises, not for the first time, and I close my eyes, take a tiny sip of water. I got both of us a bottle from the small refrigerator in my office when Trinity first arrived. When I had no doubt she’d believe me.
“You’re awfully interested in Officer McCloud’s reaction, Angel.”
“Well, he did puke up whatever he had for lunch all over my floor.” I hear how shallow it sounds and grimace.
“It’s upsetting for anyone to see such a grisly crime. McCloud’s definitely a rookie but he knows how to do his job.” I’m not surprised she’s defending her officer. I’d expect no less. But she’s treating me like I had something to do with this, and it’s the last thing I need right about now. “I have to ask you all the questions again, Angel.”
“Because Frannie was murdered.”
“You’re certain it was a murder?” Trinity didn’t add “which makes you my number one suspect.” She doesn’t have to.
“Of course I think it’s, it was, a murder.” I hope I sound more confident than I feel. “I don’t have the law enforcement experience, you’re the expert. But I’m sorry, a dead body with a Santa statue stabbed through the heart and swizzle sticks poked in the eyeballs like olives in a dry martini? Call me an armchair detective, but that’s not any kind of natural death.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. Maybe you should have applied to SPD instead of opening up your own shop.” She gulps from her bottle of water. Keeps her gaze on me. Doesn’t lift her mouth in that quirky grin that always made me giggle back in the day. No, Trinity’s all about being the successful Stonebridge PD detective that she is. I search my memory for what my Mom’s told me about Trinity over the years. She was a cop in Harrisburg for many years, which is part of why we lost touch. The other reason is the Navy. Regret at the lost connection wells, and I shove it back. I can’t fix the past.
Trinity takes a phone call but doesn’t move from her seat, doesn’t take her gaze off me. I’m frantic to read her mind. I have to know she doesn’t really think I did it. As soon as she ends the conversation, I go for it.
“Who would do this, Trinity? And why here?”
Trinity’s eyes narrow, and her professional demeanor never slips. “I can’t talk to you about it, Angel. Just answer my questions.”
“Okay.” I let out a breath, nod. “I get it.” I’ve been involved in my share of Navy investigations. And I want Trinity to know I’m a professional; I won’t press her for more information. But it doesn’t mean I can’t try to figure some things out myself, does it?
Unless she locks you up. She wouldn’t lock me up, would she?
“You know I didn’t do this, don’t you?” The question spills out of me like Frannie’s coffee did this afternoon. I’m praying for Trinity’s affirmation. That she absolutely knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I didn’t commit this horrible crime. Murder.
“I’m going to need a list of everyone who’s come into your shop since you opened. And you’re going to have to come down to the station to give an official statement.” Nope, not Trinity’s job to comfort me.
Stay strong.
“Of course. Whatever you need. For the record, I’m not open yet. It’s in two weeks…” But will I still have a business to open, once word gets out that a random killer used my wares to off one of my high school classmates? “You don’t really think I did it, do you, Trinity?” Again, the words seem to have a life of their own.
“This isn’t about what I think, Angel. It’s about the facts. A dead body is in your storeroom, with your products used as weapons. You say you didn’t see or meet with Frannie anytime in the last twenty-four hours, besides earlier today?” She’s tapping on her tablet, and I’d be impressed by how she slips in the scary question if I wasn’t worried about ending up in the brig.
“No, I haven’t seen her except in passing.” Back when I’d blithely strolled Main Street, thrilled to be back in Pennsylvania. When Stonebridge still promised me nothing more than peace and healing. When I thought my days of deep tragedy were behind me.
Waves of panic choke me. I cough, try to make it seem as if I’m clearing my throat, not gasping for my sanity. I blink rapidly, not wanting to lose it in front of Trinity. We were very close at one point, and we’ve met for lunch twice since I’ve been back, but time will tell if we’ll resurrect our once unbreakable bond.
Could Trinity even be my friend, now that I’m a murder suspect?
“We’re going to have to sweep the entire shop, and your living quarters. It’ll take tonight and tomorrow. Do you have a local place you can stay after you give your statement at the station?”
“Yes. My parents.” I give her the address, then think better of it. They’re out of town, and do I want to bring them into this any sooner than I need to? “No, wait—I’ll stay with my brother. Mom and Dad are in Baltimore until tomorrow.” Bryce will keep a calm head, and Nico knows how to dole out empathy like no other.
“Do you have any upcoming trips planned?”
“Um, no.”
“I can’t make you stay in town officially, but I’d like you to stick around, Angel.” She conveys zero empathy as she draws her mouth into a grim line. I see tiny wrinkles around her lips. Did Trinity still smoke?
“So I’m a suspect?”
“Until I check your alibi, yes.”
At Latte Love, I was seen not only by Crystal but Frannie’s assistant Jenna, Amy Radabaugh, Sylvia’s niece, and of course Nate the Silver Fox barista. Thank goodness Crystal and I spent almost three hours gabbing—it makes it certain that I couldn’t have killed Frannie. Doesn’t it? And then I went to afternoon Mass, where Father Tom saw me. Trinity will be able to clear me soon, I’m certain.
Guilt tugs at me. If I’d come back to the shop sooner, if I hadn’t detoured to Mass, would I have been back in time to save Frannie? Would I have looked into the eyes of a cold-hearted killer?
“Gather your things. Officer McCloud will drive you to the station.”
To their credit the police allow me to put Ralph upstairs, give him fresh food and water, and get my purse. But that’s it. I’m quickly escorted out of my own home.
As I get into the back seat of the cruiser—a first for me—I try to ignore the searching gazes of the small crowd that’s gathered beyond the crime scene tape. I don’t let my thoughts wander to my girls, wondering if I’ll miss their call tomorrow. And I force myself to not think about the obvious. That after years of honorable service to my country I’ve come back to what I thought was the safest place on the planet and become a murder suspect.