Chapter Nine

After breakfast I walk down to my building only to find it swarming with police and other official-looking people who wear booties over their shoes and latex gloves to avoid leaving their prints on anything.

Trinity stops me at the front of the shop, the crisscrossing of yellow police that surrounds the building a sobering backdrop. “You can’t go in yet.”

I nod. My resolve to not care what Trinity thinks lessens as I meet the gaze of the woman who let me go last night, when we both know she could have taken me into custody. My prints are all over the murder weapons and the victim was in my shop. Damning circumstantial evidence at best, the lead-in to an indictment at worst.

“I can’t promise, but it looks like we’ll be wrapped up by the end of the day, definitely by tomorrow.” Trinity stands with her hands on her hips, her police parka unzipped to reveal her V-neck charcoal pullover and burgundy collar blouse underneath.

“Aren’t you cold, without gloves or a hat?”

“I’ve been running around all morning, so the cold air actually feels good. Give me fifteen minutes, though, and I’ll be looking for a hot cup of coffee.”

“I can make you some in my office.”

“Not right now, you can’t.” Her expression loses some of its edge. “This is more to protect you than anything, you know.”

“Sure.” I can’t agree, but I don’t want to tick her off. Not yet. There’ll be plenty of time for that when she realizes I’m not waiting for her team to solve this. I’m going to dive in full throttle and do whatever I can do.

“You may as well go back to your brother’s, or find somewhere else to hang for the rest of the day.” Trinity’s patience with my stalling is wearing thin if the downward curl of her mouth is a decent barometer.

“May I go upstairs, to get some fresh clothes? With an officer escort, of course. And I need to feed my bird.”

“Ralph’s fine. I, er, checked on him earlier.” It’s the first crack in Trinity’s professional demeanor since yesterday. She met Ralph when I moved in this past summer, when she’d accepted my invitation to catch up over coffee. Turns out that Trinity had become a bird lover, too, and had two lovebirds, Malcolm and Harriet. She purses her lips. “Fine. Let me go with you.”

I figure she’s either taking pity on my circumstance, or she’s following her nose. I took a shower at Bryce and Nico’s, but having to put on the same clothes this morning, no matter that they were washed and dried by Nico, wasn’t fun. The stench of my stress sweat that permeates the sweater and jeans is beyond the powers of the most odor-neutralizing detergent.

Trinity walks under the crime scene tape and motions for me to follow, holding the tape up as I duck through. My gaze ping-pongs from one crime scene tech to another as we enter the shop through the front door and she leads me to the back stairwell, which allows me to see most of my office and storage room. I would have taken the home entrance to the left of the shop door, thinking I’m not allowed inside my shop while the cops are doing their jobs.

The store doesn’t appear too messed up and the techs are leaving things be as much as possible. I try to focus on this, tell myself it’ll be okay, I’ll be able to continue with the shop.

And then I see the bright white tape, in the shape of a leg, on the storeroom floor. Dismay wells and smothers my tiny bit of hope. I freeze, unable to make my legs move, my stomach clenched in prep for a hurl.

No, no, no. I cannot lose it right here, right now. I’ve sucked down worse emotions in the past, haven’t I?

You’re a civilian now. Your friend was murdered.

I should know better. Didn’t Tom’s illness and death teach me that I have zero control over my emotions?

“You okay?” Trinity holds open the door to the stairs, waves me ahead.

I don’t respond until we’re in my kitchen, where I sink onto a chair and put my forehead on my arms. “I’m fine, I… I…just…need a sec.”

“Mommy’s home!” Ralph’s bright greeting doesn’t give me the usual lift but instead triggers an intense longing for life before yesterday afternoon. Sobs wrench from deep inside, making my avoidance of the facts seem infantile. No matter that I know I’m innocent and I’m pretty certain Trinity knows this, too, the fact remains that I had the scare of my life yesterday. I could have gone to the clink or at least spent the night in a cell for something I didn’t do. Which means my girls, Ralph, my entire family, could have been minus one. The thoughts tumble into a mess of illogic, and I can’t do anything but keep my head down, suck in huge vats of air.

“Here.” The sound of a glass on the wood table, the scrape of the chair legs as Trinity sits opposite me. I peek up and reach for the tall glass of water, suck it down in three full gulps. The nausea passes.

“I’m not giving you the best impression of myself, am I?”

Trinity’s eyes are guarded, but there’s a glimmer I know well. Compassion. “You can drop the tough girl charade with me, Angel.”

“But you consider me a suspect.”

“I had to, until proven otherwise.” My ears perk at her use of the past tense. “We’ve confirmed your alibis and compared them with the coroner’s estimated time of death. You’re no longer a suspect.”

“Even with my prints on the Santa stake and swizzle sticks?” Does my mouth ever know when to stop?

“Yep. The prints were smudged, you know. The killer used gloves but wasn’t that careful. He only cared about hiding their identity.”

“‘He?’ Who do you think did this? And how in the world did one of my Santas do enough damage to kill Frannie?”

Trinity’s mouth purses. “I shouldn’t tell you, and you can’t repeat this, but neither of your items led to her death. It was blunt force trauma to the back of her head.”

“She was shoved? And hit one of the shelves.” Oh no. It is my fault, no matter how indirectly. I had the contractor put in the strongest shelves possible. “If I’d picked a different style of shelf, or waited to install them—”

“That’s the thing with a crime like this, Angel. You didn’t know it was coming, couldn’t have foreseen it. You’re going to have a lot of similar thoughts over the next days and weeks as we get to the bottom of this. Whatever you do, do not blame yourself. Take it from me. Crime doesn’t pay, and neither does misplaced guilt.” Trinity’s pretty face I remember from high school has transformed into a beautiful one, but I don’t miss the extra life lines etched into her dark skin. I have them, too.

“I still can’t believe you’re a cop.”

“Preach.” She rolls her eyes. “Neither can my family. Dad’s still asking if I’ll ever consider law school at Dickinson, since it’s so close.” Dickinson Law School was in Carlisle, PA, only a half hour away.

“Would you?” I know my mid-life career change isn’t unique.

“No way! I like working on catching the crooks. Let the lawyers and DA take care of the rest. My calling’s on the streets.”

“I suppose it’s a long way from pre-law at Penn State, in your folks’ eyes.” Trinity, whose father was Black and her mother mixed Latinx and white, had disappointed her father when she hadn’t chosen his alma mater. A Historically Black College and University, Howard was where he’d always hoped his children would go. Her mother wasn’t so concerned about where her daughter enrolled and had been supportive of Trinity picking criminal justice for her undergrad major. But her mother had been horrified that her baby wanted to be a street cop instead of attorney.

“At least I’m back here in Stonebridge, closer to them. They do love their grand kids and now they get to see them almost every day.” She’d worked in Harrisburg for fifteen years before transferring. Trinity’s laugh brings a smile to my tired face. “My Dad is the best with the boys now, as a matter of fact. As hard as my teenage years were, he’s made theirs bearable. Can you believe he taught them to fly fish? He finally got the sons he wanted.”

“That’s wonderful, Trinity. I hear you on the grandparent relationship. My parents are better with the twins than I am, lots of times. I suppose we’ll do the same for our grand babies, someday.”

Trinity regards me. “It’s good to have you back, Angel. I haven’t had a BFF in a long while.” She quirks her mouth when she says BFF. Texting and clever acronyms weren’t part of our adolescent lexicon.

“I’m glad to be back. And that life brought you back here, too. From all that I’m hearing, you’re a godsend to the local PD.”

She waves my compliment away. “I do my job. I enjoy the challenge of running this team. They’re all dedicated pros, right down to the rookie.”

“Still defending the officer who puked yesterday, I see.” Trinity’s loyalty warms my insides, that place inside my ribcage that’s been frozen since yesterday.

“Tell me you haven’t done the same for one of your sailors.”

I remain silent.

She harrumphs in triumph. “So don’t go telling me how to handle my officers.”

“Mmm. Got it.” I wait to throw my next observation out. Sitting in my kitchen has done wonders for my psyche. It’s as if the house has its own healing vibe. “Your parents are proud of you, Trinity. You have to know they are.” I loved Mr. and Mrs. Colson as much as my own family. They’d put up with Trinity and me and our shenanigans since we’d met in fifth grade.

She sighs. “I do know, but they’re not so happy that I’m divorced and raised two kids on my own, for the most part. It hurt them more than anyone when Raj and I split.”

“Breakups are hard all around. Raj has tried to be a good Dad, though, hasn’t he?”

“He has.” She nods. “He’s always been a full co-parent, especially financially. But living in California with his new family and young kids takes away from mine. There’s no getting around it.”

“You’re doing a great job. Look, one already off at college! How are you doing with the empty-nest thing?”

“It’s not empty until Elijah leaves next year. He’s all wrapped up in his girlfriend, but fortunately between sports and studies there isn’t a lot of time left to date. Reggie is doing well in State College, from what he tells me, that is.” She grimaced, her eyes rolling. Reggie was a freshman at Penn State’s main campus, located in its namesake town of State College, Pennsylvania.

“Boys are so different from girls, I get it. But if it makes you feel any better, the girls haven’t been telling me a whole lot of what they’re really up to. Their course loads, athletic activities, sure. If they need fast cash, I’m dear sweet Mom again. But on the social scene? Not a peep from either of them. Every time I bring it up, they disconnect.”

“Reggie’s social scene doesn’t worry me. It’s the lack of one. He can really isolate, you know?” This was what I missed with Trinity. Sharing the ins and outs of everyday life.

“He’s always been brilliant. I know you worry because you’re his Mom, but don’t you think he’s just miles ahead of his peers?”

“Intellectually, sure. Socially, he’s still in grade school.” Trinity’s phone rings, and she immediately picks it up. “Colson.”

I watch her take the call, which appears to be from one of her officers. It’s interesting to observe her leadership skills in action. Like me, she’s direct and to the point but polite enough about it. Unlike me, she isn’t afraid to make her opinion clear.

“I don’t want anyone questioning him until I can be there. Got it?”

When Trinity disconnects, she’s all business again. “Get your stuff. I need to be at the station.”

As I head for my bedroom, hope blooms that maybe Trinity and I will reestablish our friendship after all. There’s no reason my hope can’t come true, as long as we don’t treat one another poorly. It never occurred to me it would be over a murder.

I grab a hot chocolate at Latte Love, which is sadly missing Nate behind the counter today, and walk through town. I do my best thinking when I’m in motion. Cold, crisp air tumbles dried leaves, and I remind myself this is my favorite time of year.

Usually, that is. When there’s not a murder to solve.

Trinity seemed even more confident when we went back downstairs that I’ll be able to get back in my building later today, as several team members reported that they’d wrapped up their portion of the investigation. I took the minimum out of my apartment and dropped it at Skeins and Baahls, where the guys went after breakfast. They want me to come back and “enjoy our trunk show” later but in no way am I ready to carry on with life as usual. Not until I do all I can to put Frannie’s memory to rest, and hopefully glean insight into who killed her and why. And why in my building?

It’s fair to say it’s my responsibility to do what I can to make things right. I know it’s not my job to conduct an investigation. Not officially, anyway. But it’s my shop, my business, my new life at stake.

I cringe at my lousy metaphor. Will I ever again be able to look at a carved Santa figure as simply a festive decoration? Will anything about Stonebridge, um, Shop ’Round the World, ever not have the pall of Frannie’s murder over it?

The answer has to be “yes.” Or my new life is over before it’s begun.