Cropped to Death (Faith Hunter Scrap This Mystery) (4 page)

FIVE

Whispers floated around me as I followed Jasper into the police station. Bobbi-Annie, the receptionist and our local town tattler, picked up the phone receiver and punched in a number.

I hoped she wasn’t doing me the favor of calling my grandmothers to inform them of my whereabouts.

Jasper opened up the door to a small room with no windows. “You can wait in here, Faith.”

I rubbed my hands up and down my arms. “Why? What’s going to happen?”

“I don’t know. It all depends on Detective Roget.”

The words sounded ominous. I stepped inside and fought back the tears. Hurrying over to a metal chair, I sat down and tried thinking about something pleasant to stop from crying. I hated showing weakness. Unfortunately, the only thought creeping into my mind was I wished Marilyn hadn’t handed me the cut-up photos.

And that I had thrown out the garbage last night.

The door opened and Marilyn walked inside. Tear tracks stained her face.

Roget narrowed his gaze at me. “Why is she in here? I want them separated.”

“Clay Webber is in the other room. Drunk and disorderly,” Jasper said.

While Clay wasn’t a violent man, he made inappropriate offers to every woman in town. He held the town status of “whipping post” after getting punched at least once by every husband, son, and brother in Eden. Of course that hadn’t stopped his comments.

Except for Hilda Pancake, Karen’s grandmother. He steered clear after she broke his arm and nearly his skull with a baseball bat. No charges were brought because Clay swore he was too drunk to remember who hit him. More like too ashamed to admit an old woman gave him a beat down.

Leaving the door open, Roget nodded and motioned for Jasper to step closer for a private talk.  Marilyn dropped into the chair beside me and shot me a glare that could’ve melted a glacier. At Christmas time, I’d probably be moved from the handmade card list to the picked-up-at-the-after-Christmas-sale card list.

I inched away. “Do you know what’s going on?”

Marilyn slashed her arms through the air. “Are you that dense, Faith? You really can’t figure out what’s happening? They brought us here because we’re suspects.”

“But I didn’t do anything.” The words shook from my throat.

“Oh, and I did.” 

Heat blazed across my cheeks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

Marilyn covered her face, hunched over, and sobbed. I froze in my seat at her reaction. From livid to despair in two seconds. Things were going to get much worse for us.

Now I wanted my grandmas. 

Jasper stepped into the room and handed me a box of tissues. “Listen, Roget is using the break room to talk to two prosecutors right now, so you both have to stay in here. He wants no talking between you two. Got it?”

I nodded while Marilyn continued sobbing.

“I’ll be standing right outside.” Jasper took one step outside the small room. “The door will remain open. I mean no talking. Not one word to pass between you ladies. To make it easier, don’t even look at each other.”

Did Jasper really expect me to just sit here and ignore the fact my friend wept? I squirmed and crossed my arms. I wanted to reach out and hug Marilyn but was afraid that would make the situation worse for us.

Marilyn raised her head and I handed her some tissues. Anguish and anger sparkled in her eyes. She scrubbed her cheeks. “They’re going to arrest me for Michael’s murder.”

Her matter-of-fact tone slugged me in the gut. “No they won’t,” I whispered.

“I’m the wife,” she said. “I was there. They have those photos.”

“There’s always the girlfriend.”

Marilyn shook her head. “It’ll be me.”

“Everyone knows you wouldn’t kill someone.”

A throat cleared and I shifted in my seat. Jasper gave me a narrowed-eyed look and placed his finger on his lips.

“Trust me, Detective Roget believes I did it,” Marilyn whispered, the words sounding even more threatening. “He’ll have me arrested and shoved into a cell by tonight.”

“If he does—” I stopped talking as I didn’t really know what we could do if Roget arrested her. Besides find her a good defense attorney.

“Good. Then you’ll do it.”

The triumphant tone in the words regained my attention and the confident smile gracing her face worried me. The last time someone had that I-have-the-perfect-idea smile on their face, I accepted a marriage proposal from a knight in shining armor and later discovered he was a con artist in tinfoil.

“What do you need me to do? I’m in this as deep as you.” Hesitation shook my voice. I hoped that gave Marilyn enough of a clue I was asking about—not committing—to her plan.

“I told Roget you had no idea I was at the store.”

“Thank you. Because I didn’t know.”

“Jasper said he saw me hand you the photographs. They should let you out of here.” 

“Uh huh…”

“I’ll need you to prove I didn’t kill Michael.”

I leaned closer and lowered my voice. “I can’t do that. I don’t know how.”

She shrugged. “You’re an expert. Figure it out.”

“An expert? Wouldn’t that qualification go to the police who are investigating the case?”

“Faith, Detective Roget has already solved this case. He didn’t bring the prosecutors in here because he thinks I’m innocent. He’s going to arrest me for the murder of my husband.” Her voice grew lower and grief etched itself onto her face.

“It’s not right.”

“And that’s why you’re going to help me. I thought about it all the way here in the police car.” She crossed her arms and glared again. “Besides, you owe me.”

“I can’t get involved in this. I’m not a private investigator.” I tried to erase the responsibility guilt weaved around me.

“You were in JAG.”

“I typed reports and Article 15s.”

“You told us you transcribed cases.”

“Transcribe means taking notes during court. As in the case is being tried in front of judge and jury. CID investigates the crime, the military police arrest the suspect, and then JAG takes the case to court. I didn’t interrogate suspects and go to crime scenes.”

“Legal experience is legal experience.”

I wanted to bang my head against the wall. “Give the police time.”

Marilyn opened her mouth, but closed it as Detective Roget entered into the room followed by Steve.

“Marilyn Kane, I need you to stand up,” Roget said.

Nausea rose and I covered my mouth with my hand.

“There’s a bathroom down the hall, Davis.” Roget unclipped his handcuffs from his belt. “Why don’t you help Miss Hunter locate it?”

“Come on, Faith.” Steve reached for my hand.

I swiveled and his hand touched the empty air. “I’m   fine.” Marilyn needed me. I wouldn’t abandon her.

“Marilyn Kane, you’re under arrest for the murder of Michael Kane.” Roget pulled Marilyn’s hands behind her back and slapped the cuffs around her wrists. The clink of metal striking metal reverberated through my body.

As he recited the Miranda warning, I numbed my emotions to stop the kindred feelings from dredging up my past.

The tears that threatened to emerge during the drive home tumbled down my cheeks. Using my foot, I shut the front door of my house and dropped my keys and purse. They plopped onto the carpet. I shuffled into the living room and collapsed onto the couch. 

I flopped over and pressed a pillow against my face to muffle the sound of my sobs. If my grandmothers heard my cries through the walls, they’d rush over even though I sent Steve over with instructions and reassurance I was fine, but needed to be alone.

Murder. I shuddered. The word was ugly. The deed unimaginable. And the police believed Marilyn committed the action
. Because of the evidence found.
I slapped the traitorous thought away. Marilyn was my friend. Just because someone could’ve done something—had the motive to do something—didn’t actually mean they did it.

My ex-husband Adam, technically my never-was-husband, flashed into my mind. We can only think we know someone. Secrets and hidden agendas lurked inside everyone.

I stood and paced around the living room, avoiding the dining room I had turned into a scrapbooking area.  Seeing my cropping tools and photo cast-offs littering the floor only reminded me of Michael’s murder and Marilyn’s arrest. 

My gaze settled on the worn yellow-tinged chair in the corner of the room. An aged blue and yellow hand crocheted afghan was draped over the arm. The blanket Grandpa Tom would tuck around me as he told me stories about him and Grandma Hope and their son, my dad.

Growing up, I sighed at the romantic story of how two best friends meet and fell in love with two best friends. I loved looking at the pictures of the double wedding ceremony and always wished I could’ve seen it. The story continued years later when the only children of these two couples fell in love and got married. Two loving families merged into one. My grandparents celebrated by purchasing a three-family townhouse unit. The houses my grandmothers still owned. They lived in one unit together and rented out the other two, one to Steve and the other to me.

I picked up a framed photograph of my parents and me taken a week before they left for a three-week mission trip to China. The plane crashed before they left the United States, killing all on board. 

Still holding the picture, I settled myself into the worn chair, tucking my feet under me. Even though Grandpa Tom died seven years ago, three months after his best friend and my other grandfather, Joseph, died, I could still smell his pine-scented aftershave. I joined the military right after my grandfathers’ deaths. Wanted to see the world. And run away from the grief and fear that my grandmothers would follow their beloved husbands into the afterlife. I wanted to be nowhere around to witness it.

It’s A Small World
chimed through the house and I cringed. I picked that doorbell chime because of the whimsy and cheerful nature of the song. Today it felt silly and childlike. No wonder my grandmothers forgot that I was a grown-up.

I walked over and wrapped my hand around the doorknob. I paused. What if Detective Roget decided he had more questions—or accusations—for me?

“Faith?” My name in the form of question floated through the door. Steve.

I pulled the door open. Steve balanced a casserole dish and a plastic bowl in his hands. “Your grandmothers sent over some dinner.”

“I’m not hungry.” I started to close the door.

“Your grandmothers are watching.”

I tugged the door back open and stepped outside. Hope and Cheryl wiggled their fingers at me then scooted back into their house. If I didn’t let him in, one of them would be over before Steve made it home.

Sighing, I stepped aside. I did have some anger building up and I’d rather use it on him than my grandmothers. I loved and adored them, but they always smothered.

Steve offered an apologetic smile. “I tried getting out if it, but they seemed determined. I told them I hadn’t ate and promised to join you.”

“I don’t want company.”

“I know. And I actually already ate. I can sneak out the back if you like.” He flashed a grin. “They’d never expect me to lie to them.”

“Fine. You can stay. For now.” 

I walked to the kitchen, but with each step I took, a voice in my head said I was making a huge mistake. I felt unbalanced by the events of the day. I might let my guard down and lean on Steve. A dangerous activity since my treacherous heart was looking for one hint it could latch onto a romantic entanglement with the sexy neighbor.

I opened the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher of ice tea. I needed to focus away from the feelings running loose in my head. Marilyn. Think about Marilyn’s situation.

Wait, Steve was a prosecutor. He could help me. Her. Help her.

“Roget took all the sharp-tip scissors from the store. Michael had to have been killed with a pair. So, it couldn’t be Marilyn.”

Steve paused, half of a plastic lid off the larger bowl, the other half remained attached. His unnerving deep brown gaze settled on me. “Why are you telling me this?”

I wandered over to the table and placed the pitcher down. Why in the world did I think this would be easy? I was cute, but not that cute. Actually, a plan like this called for hotness and my attire did nothing for achieving that effect.

Not that I wanted to look hot for Steve.

“Faith,” he said through gritted teeth.

I hated that warning tone, especially from a man. “I just thought all the facts about Marilyn’s cropping habits should be out in the open.”

“Thanks for telling me.” He looked around the kitchen. “Where’s the silverware?”

  I reached up and took two glasses from the cabinet. “In the drawer near the sink. Marilyn hates using sharp-tip scissors. Loathes them, actually. She never uses them when scrapbooking.”

Steve sighed in an I-give-up manner. “Since you need to talk about this, I’ll grant your wish. Let’s start with the scissors in question weren’t used in the pursuit of a hobby.”

The frosted white glasses clinked on the top of the gold and red toned granite counter top. I planted my hands on my hips, spun, and faced him. “She didn’t do it.”

“I’m not saying that.”

“Then what are you saying?”

He ran a hand over his smooth head. “You should let the police do their job.”

A scratch and howl at the back door diverted my attention. I plucked a can of cat food from a lower cabinet and ripped the top off. “I am. I let them search the store and didn’t stop them from taking anything they claimed was evidence.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Steve roved his gaze to the door then back to me. “Are you still feeding that cat?”

“He’s hungry.”

Ol’ Yowler, an orange tabby tomcat, had taken to me a few months ago. Of course, feeding an animal gained a person some loyalty. I handed Steve the bowl. “You feed him and I’ll serve us.”

Us. The word caused a jump in my pulse. I switched the subject. “Do you think Marilyn will get released on bail tonight?”

Steve opened up the back door and placed the bowl on the ground. Yowler hissed. Steve jerked his hand back and slammed the door. I pressed back my smile. Yowler was a very jealous male.

“I changed my mind,” Steve said. “Let’s talk about something else.”

There wasn’t anything else to talk about for me. My life revolved around my job and hobby, which linked to Marilyn. A chill worked itself down my spine. “Do you think she’ll spend the night in jail?”

“I don’t know.” Steve nodded at the food growing cold. “How about you eat?”

“Could you call and find out? What about her children?” I bit my lip and tilted my head, pleading with my eyes. “Maybe you can talk to someone and let them know the other details.”

“What other details?” Steve pulled out a chair and motioned for me to sit.

“Like the fact Michael told Marilyn, who told me, the woman’s baby wasn’t his. That should be important.” I remained standing.

“That’s hearsay. Stay out of the investigation, Faith.”

“I don’t want to be part of the investigation. I only want to give the police all the information. I don’t want Marilyn to be charged with a crime because of what I said. That detective wouldn’t listen to anything I said unless it hurt Marilyn. He doesn’t like me.” I heard the whine in my voice and clamped my lips shut.

Steve looked into my eyes. The compassion and care he felt for me clear in the soulful depths. “Whatever happens is not your fault.”

“Then why does it feel that way?”

“Because you’re too hard on yourself. Don’t place Marilyn’s choices on your shoulders.”

Steve wouldn’t understand what was happening to Marilyn. I did. I knew what it felt like for someone to take your words and twist them into the most damaging meaning available.