Candy Apple Dead (26 page)

My empty stomach heaved. “But why would someone be watching
me?
I don’t know anything.”

“Not through any fault of yours. You’ve been doing everything you can to find out about the case. If the guy we’re looking for did leave those footprints, maybe he’s not too happy about that.”

That pretty much ruled out the idea of a stranger riding into town, murdering Brandon, and then riding out again. Most of the people I’d spoken with were people I’d known forever and considered friends.

“Why don’t you tell me who you’ve talked to in the past few days?” Jawarski urged. “That might help point us in the right direction.”

I stared at him blindly—not because I didn’t want to answer, but because the reality was hitting me for the first time, and I couldn’t think. “What?”

“Tell me who you’ve talked to since Brandon died.”

“I don’t know . . .” I struggled to my feet and stared down at the street through the window. “Stella Farmer. Twice. Rachel Summers. She runs the candle shop just down the street.” I rubbed my forehead and tried to get my brain working. “Iris Quinn. She has a bookstore around the corner.”

I could see his reflection in the glass, and I watched until he finished making notes and looked up again. “That can’t be all,” he said. “You’ve been busier than that.”

“I’m trying to remember. I talked to Nora Stackhouse out at Sage Fork Outfitters. Her husband is Wyatt’s best friend. I talked to Lucas Dumont and Chelsea Jenkins. But there just doesn’t seem to be anybody who hated Brandon enough to want him dead.”

“Except your brother.”

Filled with anger born of fear, I rounded on him. “I wouldn’t have asked questions if you hadn’t been so busy accusing Wyatt of something he didn’t do.”

“Good detective work means not rushing to judgment, Ms. Shaw. I have to explore every possibility. Shake the tree and see what falls out.”

“Well, we know what fell out
now,
don’t we? For the record, it wasn’t
me
who gave Stella Farmer the impression that she was a murder suspect.”

“I didn’t mention your name.”

“Apparently, you didn’t need to.”

“Apparently not. Look, Abby, it’s probably nothing to worry about. We’ve probably all got our knickers in a twist over nothing. But don’t take chances, all right? No more questions.”

“That’s fine with me as long as you do your job.”

“I am doing my job, and it’ll be a whole lot easier to keep doing it if you’re not out there stirring up trouble.”

Our disagreement disturbed Max. He lumbered to his feet, looked back and forth between us for a few seconds, then finally came to stand beside me. I felt as if I’d just won the lottery.

I shot a triumphant smile at Jawarski and decided to broach a subject I’d been avoiding. “Tell me something. Have you met Brandon’s wife?”

“I have.”

“Did she say anything about Max?”

“I asked what she wants to do about him. She’s going to let me know.”

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, but I couldn’t even breathe right. “And you’ll let me know?”

“As soon as I hear anything.”

“Okay, then. Thanks.” It was hard to get that last word out, but I managed.

Jawarski actually smiled. An honest-to-God, turn up both corners of his mouth smile. To my chagrin, I discovered that I’d been right. He
was
reasonably pleasant to look at when he did that.

We stood there for a few seconds until Jawarski realized there was nothing left to say and turned away. But it didn’t take long for me to decide that I didn’t feel completely safe.

Completely?
Hell, I didn’t feel safe at all.

I mean, sure, I live at the top of the stairs, and since Aunt Grace blocked off the inside staircase years ago, there’s only one way in. But that means there’s only one way out, too—if you don’t count taking a dive out of the bedroom or kitchen windows. Anything could happen downstairs in Divinity without me knowing and, as Jawarski had pointed out, a child could get inside my apartment without even breaking a sweat.

For the first time in my adult life, I was afraid to be alone.

Nothing on earth could have kept me hanging
around that apartment after Jawarski left. Not even Janice Smalley and her butterscotch bouquets. At least not until I’d installed that added security he was talking about.

Even though Jawarski had sent a couple of uniforms through the building, I dragged Max on an inspection with me so I could be one-hundred-percent convinced that Karen wouldn’t be in any danger if she showed up before I got back. To my immense relief, Max trotted obediently behind me and didn’t show any interest in anything.

Fairly certain we were safe for the moment, I scribbled a hasty note for Karen, then loaded Max into the car and headed into traffic. I tried not to think about the footprints in the flower bed as I drove, but it was hard to think about anything else.

Traffic was light, so I made it to K-Mart in just a few minutes. It was a cool day, so I rolled down the windows a few inches for Max and hurried inside. Picking out dead bolts, window alarms, and a motion sensor took a little while, especially since I had to stop what I was doing every time someone passed me to look them over, make note of their choice in footwear, and sniff for the scent of stale tobacco.

Finally, I had everything I needed, and the total sale left me with renewed determination to make sure the store had a prosperous winter season.

I’d just finished paying when I noticed Urban Ross buying a half-case of cold beer at one of the self-pay machines. Even though I was trying not to think about the bombshell Jawarski dropped on me the night before, I couldn’t make myself walk away. I had too many questions.

Since I didn’t want to ask them inside where others could overhear, I left the store, tossed my bag into the car, and sat on the trunk to wait. I could see Urban’s Harley from where I’d parked, so I killed time breathing clear, fresh air unlike anything I’d ever experienced in the city. A touch of autumn took the edge off the sun’s warmth, and a slight breeze sent showers of leaves from the trees every few minutes.

Urban came outside toting a twelve-pack and wearing leather chaps over brown corduroys. His T-shirt bore a picture of a pirate advising people to “Abandon All Hope.” Cute. Brandon would have loved it.

Halfway across the parking lot, Urban saw me sitting there, wedged a pair of sunglasses onto his face, and shifted direction so that he was walking toward me.

“Hey, Abby.” He grinned and detoured to the back window and left the beer on the ground so he could scratch Max’s nose. “Heard a rumor that you ended up with custody of the kid. How’s it going?”

I shrugged. “Okay, I guess. He misses Brandon.”

“Yeah. I’ll bet he does. You’re out early.”

“So are you.” I watched a solitary leaf float across the parking lot and considered telling him about my visitor last night. Urban was the one resident of Paradise I knew personally who both wore heavy-soled boots and smoked, but I couldn’t figure out why I didn’t suspect him. Gut instinct, I guess. Still, it might be a good idea to keep a few things to myself.

“I need to ask you a question,” I said, “and I need you to be honest with me, okay?”

He cut a glance my way and straightened slowly. “Sure. What’s up?”

“Did you know that Brandon was married?”

“Married?” He whooped a laugh, realized I wasn’t joking, and stared at me, incredulous. “Married? Are you kidding me? Where’d you hear that?”

“From the police. Apparently, his wife has arrived to claim his personal effects.”

“Holy sh—” Urban ran a hand over his face and shook his head. “You’re serious?”

“Does that mean you didn’t know?”

“Hell, no, I didn’t know.” He scratched at the tangle of curls on his head and laughed uneasily. “That’s a hard one to believe. Just when you think you know a person, huh?”

“Yeah. Just when. Did you know that when he ran off and left his wife in Texas, he also absconded with close to a million dollars?”

Urban gaped at me, and I believed that his shock was real. It took a minute, but he finally got his head wagging back and forth. “Uh-uh. No. That I won’t believe. Brandon did not have that kind of money.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because he didn’t. He was always scraping by, running through his books in his head. Trying figure out how to pry money out of one place so he could plug a hole in another. If he’d walked off with that kind of money, his life would have been a whole lot different.”

“Maybe he didn’t want people to suspect.”

“Look,” Urban said, a trifle impatiently. “Brandon wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t have started living the high life or anything, but he would have filtered the money into his pockets slowly. A little here. A little there. He wouldn’t have been talking about getting small business loans and worrying about getting through the next season.”

In spite of everything, I wanted to believe him. Brandon hadn’t been perfect, and I wouldn’t have lasted a month in an actual relationship with him. But he had been a friend when I needed one.

Urban touched my shoulder with surprising gentleness. “Hey. You okay?”

“Yeah. Of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Finding out . . . well, it had to be kind of a shock.”

“It was a surprise,” I said, hoping I sounded convincing. “But I’ve learned a lot of things that have surprised me in the past week.”

“Yeah, but the married thing. That’s harsh.”

“Brandon and I were friends,” I said firmly. “We weren’t a couple. You know that.”

Urban rested one hand on the trunk of my car. Once again, I felt that strange sense of comfort I’d felt in his living room. “You were more than friends, Abby. Brandon dug the hell out of you.”

I didn’t want to believe that. Couldn’t let myself believe it. “Brandon liked a lot of women. It was just my turn.”

“Abby—”

“We had a mild flirtation, but that’s all it was. If Brandon had lived, he’d probably already be moving on to the next woman on his life.”

Urban nudged a fallen leaf with the toe of his army boot. “Look, I know Brandon had a reputation. Maybe now we know why, huh? But he did like you, Abby. A lot. You wouldn’t have been just another weekend fling to him.”

I still wasn’t sure if that made me feel better or worse. “That’s nice of you to say, but—”

“Hey, I’m serious.” Urban held up both hands, as if proving he didn’t have fingers crossed would convince me. “I don’t know anything about a wife. I don’t know what was going on with Chelsea or Elizabeth. But I do know how he felt about you.”

I knew now. I felt worse. “I could have gone all day without you telling me that.”

Urban laughed and chucked me under the chin, just the way Brandon used to, only his touch didn’t make me weak in the knees. “It’s going to be okay, Abby. All you need is time.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Being hurt isn’t fatal. Trust me. Just be patient with yourself, okay?”

I nodded, and he walked over to his Harley. As I watched him ride away I realized that trusting other people wasn’t the problem. What I really wondered was how long it would take me to trust myself again.

Manny Garcia told me Max’s behavior wasn’t unusual. Urinating in the wrong place could be a symptom of the dog’s anxiety. So could chewing things and scratching holes in walls. He gave me some suggestions for lifting Max’s spirits, along with a prescription. Not a wonder drug, he warned me. I’d have to work with Max to help him through his separation anxiety.

I just hoped I’d get the chance. I also wished Manny had come up with another way to reach Max. I didn’t want the apartment destroyed because the dog was having emotional issues, but if not for him, I wouldn’t know someone had been watching my apartment. Did I really want to sedate him?