Candy Apple Dead (25 page)

She was gone before I could argue, but it wouldn’t have done much good anyway. She was right. I hate when that happens.

I tossed the phone onto the cushion beside me, dragged the toffee onto my lap, and dug around the couch for the remote. So Brandon had a wife. Who was she, anyway? Why hadn’t anyone ever seen her around here before? And why
hadn’t
Brandon told me about her? Even with the evidence mounting, I had a hard time believing that he’d been that cold.

Another miserable whine floated across the room, and Max lifted his head. I picked up on the sound of footsteps going by outside, and I knew Max was hoping they belonged to Brandon.

With a sigh, I slid to the floor, taking my pillow and the emergency candy tin with me. I could almost feel the extra inches settling on my hips, but at that moment I didn’t care.

If Aunt Grace had found herself in this predicament, she would have rushed to the candy kitchen and started cooking, but I just couldn’t imagine finding solace in hot sugar syrup and flavor oils. Not tonight.

“Never again,” I told Max solemnly. “I don’t care who comes along. I’m through with men, present company excluded. I authorize you to remove body parts—theirs or mine—if you ever feel me weakening.”

He yawned noisily and settled more comfortably in front of the door, and my heart constricted. Yeah, maybe it was pathetic, but I was getting used to having the dog around, and I didn’t like the idea of some stranger breezing into town and taking him away. I just wasn’t sure whether there was anything I could do to stop her.

 

 

I slept fitfully, disturbed by nightmares as Brandon and Roger marched through my subconscious. Somehow, Max got mixed up in there, too, darting in and out of my dreams, agitated and growling. So I didn’t feel any more rested when I climbed out of bed than I had when I’d finally tumbled into it a few hours earlier.

Rubbing eyes gritty with exhaustion, I stumbled down the hall and into the bathroom. In front of the toilet, my foot landed in something cold and wet where nothing cold and wet should have been. I pulled back sharply and stared in dismay at a puddle that didn’t look—or smell—like rain water.

Muttering under my breath, I cleaned off my foot and mopped up the puddle, then went in search of the offender. He lay nose-to-door like always, an air of canine innocence about him.

Disgusted as I was, I couldn’t really blame him. I’d been distracted last night and hadn’t taken him outside for his before-bed walk. It was a little harder to overlook the pillow stuffing on the living room floor and the deep gouges in the doorframe. Obviously, Max needed attention.

I picked up a handful of stuffing and held it in front of his nose. “Max? What did you do?”

He let out a heavy dog sigh.

“And the bathroom. What happened in there?”

The poor dog looked so dejected, I had a hard time staying angry with him, but it seemed to me that his mental outlook was getting worse, not better. I couldn’t ignore it, so I sat on the floor and lifted his head so I could look into his eyes. The sadness in them wiped away the last bit of irritation I’d been feeling. “It’s okay, buddy. It’s just one accident, and we’re going to get you some help. But next time come and wake me up, okay? Chewing up my stuff is not the way to win my heart.” Nor was lying to me about your marital status but, thankfully, Max and I didn’t have to deal with particular issue.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to think for long about either issue. Janice Smalley would be here in two hours to pick up her butterscotch bouquets and, much as I hated to admit it, Karen was right about one thing. I hadn’t spent enough time thinking about the store and its future lately. Hell, I’d barely even thought about the present. If I really wanted to carry on Aunt Grace’s legacy, I needed to pull my head out and focus.

The candy bouquets were my own idea, the first and only thing I’d changed at Divinity since taking over. I can’t even claim that the idea originated with me. I’d seen something similar once in Sacramento, but it seemed like an idea whose time had come.

Using craft wire and floral tape, I attached pieces of candy to a “stem” and arranged the bouquet in some kind of decorative container. People seemed to like the brass tins for the butterscotch bouquets, but I’d also used everything from cut glass with cinnamon “roses,” to popcorn containers for flowers made of taffy.

Determined not to let anything sidetrack me, I made an appointment with Manny Garcia, the veterinarian, then trotted down the hall and slipped into sweats so I could take Max for a walk before I started working. By the time I stepped outside, the sun had already crested the mountains, spinning a dewy web of spun silk across the mountainside. The stormy weather had moved out again, and we were in for a glorious autumn day.

I led Max down the stairs and started toward the street, but as we passed the patch of flowers bordering our parking strip, he stopped walking so abruptly, I thought my arm would come out of its socket. Once again, the despondent dog was gone and Max the Protector was back.

Growling long and low, he followed the edge of the parking strip, searching for whatever scent had caught his attention. I gave him his way, partly because I knew it would be useless to fight him, partly because I wanted to see what had roused him out of the doldrums.

Halfway back to the apartment stairs, he stopped and lifted his head, staring off into the distance and breathing through both mouth and nose. I thought I remembered reading once that taste helps dogs to process what they smell, but I might have been making that up.

On the street, cars swished past as people started their morning, but Max paid no attention. He let out a whine and started sniffing again. This time he plowed through the flower bed and finally came to a stop near the bottom of the steps.

He looked back at me as if he expected something. I had no idea what he wanted, but I stepped carefully into the flower bed beside him. “What is it, boy? What did you find?”

He whimpered again and buried his head in the flowers. He even seemed impatient with me for not understanding.

Far be it from me to irritate the dog. I squatted beside him and looked at the ground. Several of the flowers had been smashed, and two cigarette butts lay crushed in the middle of a large footprint. In fact, there were several large footprints in the mud.

“Is that it?” I asked Max. “The footprints?” It seemed like an odd place for them, but let’s face it, people do strange things. And a town like Paradise is full of strange people doing strange things.

Thoroughly confused, I straightened again. As I did, I realized that whoever had been in the flower bed had been facing my apartment and a chill iced my spine.

Jawarski was my first thought. He’d been concerned about me last might. Maybe he’d stood there for a while. But I’d never seen him smoking, and I’d heard him driving away last night. Besides, these prints had been made by someone wearing a heavy boot. Even I could tell that from the waffle print on the sole. Jawarski had been wearing loafers last night.

I’m no expert in footprints, but unless I was mistaken, the prints hadn’t been made by a woman, which meant Stella Farmer and Chelsea Jenkins were probably off the hook. But who could it have been? And why had he been there?

I didn’t want to make too much of it, but I’ll confess it left me a little shaky. I stood there for a few minutes contemplating my options. Just when I’d about decided I was overreacting, I heard a footstep on the pavement behind me. My heart slammed against my ribs, and I whipped around, eyes wild, to see who was there.

Holding up both hands to ward off an attack, Jawarski quick-stepped backward, out of my reach. “Whoa there, Ms. Shaw. Slow down.”

Heat rushed into my cheeks, and I offered a sheepish smile. “Sorry. Two visits in two days. I know it’s not because you like the pleasure of my company, but please don’t tell me you have more good news.”

He shrugged with his mouth and looked over my shoulder. He was wearing jeans again, this time with a pink polo shirt under a police-issue windbreaker. Roger always said it took a very secure man to wear pink, and Jawarski didn’t disprove his theory. “You seem a little jumpy this morning. Something wrong?”

I shook my head. “Max found some footprints in the flowerbed. I was just looking at them.”

“Footprints?”

“Yeah, but they’re no big deal.”

“Mind if I take a look?”

“Be my guest.”

He did some looking, hunkered down and peered a little closer, then straightened again with a frown. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”

That question didn’t fill me with warm fuzzies, but I nodded. I hadn’t brought my shop keys, so my apartment was the only option. It always felt a little cramped, but it seemed downright minuscule with Jawarski standing smack-dab in the middle of it. He checked the door and the windows, and his scowl deepened. Finally, he stopped snooping around and plopped on one end of my couch.

I couldn’t bring myself to sit on the couch beside him, so I sat with Max on the floor, winning the brief argument over my choice of seating, and settled back against the door with my arms wrapped around my bent knees.

Jawarski spied the candy dish and helped himself to a piece of toffee. He crunched happily for a minute, then held up the uneaten half and said, “Good. Did you make it?”

I had no idea why we were talking about candy, but I shook my head. “Aunt Grace did.”

He popped the rest into his mouth and slipped another piece from the dish. “I should have known, I guess. This toffee of hers was one of my favorites.”

“Mine, too,” I admitted. “But I didn’t realize you knew Grace.”

“I thought everyone knew her,” he said, and his smile was almost friendly. “I’ve been into Divinity a few times.”

Why didn’t I know that? I studied him closely, looking for something familiar. I came up blank, but he did have a strong chin. A firm mouth. Thick hair. All in all, he really wasn’t bad-looking.

He kept talking as if he hadn’t noticed me mentally cataloging his features. “Grace was a good lady, you know. A lot of people miss her.”

I nodded slowly. “Yes, she was.” He pulled a notebook from his shirt pocket and flipped to a new page, all set to interrogate me about something, but I wasn’t ready to move on. Not just yet. “Jawarski?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

He looked up in surprise. “For what?”

“For last night. For missing Aunt Grace.”

His gaze met mine and locked on for a minute. “Sure.”

Okay. Well. That was enough of that. I looked away and changed the mood. “So . . . you wanted to talk?”

He switched gears almost as quickly as I did. “Those footprints outside. How did you come across them?”

“Max found them. We were heading out for a walk, but he must have picked up on the man’s scent.”

“You didn’t notice anyone hanging around out there?”

“Believe me, if I had, you’d have known about it.”

One corner of his mouth lifted. He might even be pleasant-looking when he smiled. “Max didn’t give any indication during the night that something was wrong?”

“He peed on my floor and chewed up a couple of pillows, but I don’t really think that was a warning of danger.” I thought about the dreams I’d had and wondered if they’d been more than dreams.

Jawarski made a note and took a third piece of toffee without even looking up. “If it was, it wasn’t very effective. Any idea who it might have been?”

“Well, I don’t think it was a woman. The feet are too big.”

“Agreed.”

“But I don’t have any idea beyond that. I suppose it could have been Lucas Dumont, or maybe Duncan Farmer.”

“Do either of them smoke?”

I shook my head slowly. “I don’t think so, but I’m not sure. Maybe whoever it is only smokes when he’s stalking people.”

“I’ve heard of stranger things.” He leaned forward, wiggling his fingers to lure Max. The big traitor scooted across the floor on his belly, and Jawarski commenced scratching behind his ears. “I’ll have a couple of patrol officers talk with your neighbors to see if any of them noticed someone in that flower bed.”

“I wouldn’t count on it. I don’t think the footprints were there last night when you came by. Max would have noticed them at the time if they were. Do you think they’re something I should be worried about?”

He shook his head, but he didn’t seem entirely convinced. “It wouldn’t hurt you to get a little security around here, Ms. Shaw. You need a dead bolt at the very least, and some way to secure those windows. A five-year-old could break in here without any trouble at all.”

I tried laughing, but the sound caught in my throat. “We’re on the third floor.”

“And you have a porch.”

“You’re making nervous, Jawarski. What’s going on?”

Grim-faced, he tucked the notebook away. “We got the complete coroner’s report back today. There was smoke in Brandon’s lungs, so he was alive when the fire broke out. There was also a large contusion on the back of his skull. But the most interesting thing the coroner found was evidence that Brandon had been shot. Looks like someone put a bullet in him and then left him there, alive, when he started the blaze.”

My stomach buckled, and my fingers went numb. “He was burned alive?”

“The smoke probably got him first, but it’s pretty clear that we’re not looking for a nice person who just stepped over the edge for a minute.”

“Then you can’t still believe my brother did this?”

Jawarski dipped his head slightly. “I still think it’s a possibility.”

But not a certainty. That was a step in the right direction. “Well, I know he didn’t leave the footprints,” I said. “Wyatt doesn’t smoke, and his feet are a lot bigger than that. Besides, he wouldn’t really need to hang around outside, would he?”

“Maybe not,” Jawarski conceded, “but if your brother
is
innocent, we have another problem. Because whoever killed Brandon Mills may be watching you to see how much you know. All things considered, I think this might be a real good time for you to stop talking with neighbors about the untimely death of a friend, don’t you?”