Morning Cup of Murder (8 page)

Embarrassing tears stung her eyes, but they dried quickly when someone spoke beside her.

“Is this your boyfriend?”

Chapter 7

Jason towered over them, his dark uniform making him seem even more intimidating. Tosh let go of Lacy’s hand and sat back, studying the newcomer as Jason studied him.

“What are you doing here?” Lacy asked Jason, catching his attention so he turned from Tosh to her.

“They have good coffee here,” he explained. “I’m on a break.” The way he looked at her was…odd. Was there accusation in his expression before he looked back to Tosh and held out his hand. “Jason Cantor.”

“Tosh Underwood,” Tosh replied, shaking Jason’s hand.

“Jason and I went to high school together,” Lacy explained to Tosh. Turning to Jason, she tried hard to keep her tone neutral. “Tosh is the new pastor at my grandmother’s church.”

Jason’s eyebrow rose. “You look young to be a pastor.”

“You look young to be a cop,” Tosh returned.

Lacy frowned slightly as she looked between them. There were undercurrents she didn’t understand. Were they sizing each other up, or was it her overactive imagination? But why would they? Jason had made it clear he wasn’t interested, and she had known Tosh for less than an hour.

“I should get back to it,” Jason said. “Nice meeting you.” Turning to Lacy, he paused and tipped his head. “Stay out of trouble, Lacy.”

She scowled at him. “When have I ever been in trouble, Jason?”

He shrugged. “Just be careful.”

Her frown followed him as he walked away.

“Did you guys date in high school?” Tosh asked.

“No. We’ve never dated. We barely even know each other.”

“Hmm,” Tosh said. “Interesting.”

“Why is that interesting?”

He shrugged. “It just is. So tell me about your grandmother. What happened?”

She set down her fork and launched into the story of her grandmother’s shocking and bizarre arrest.

“So this detective thinks she did it, even though he only possesses the sketchiest of evidence,” Tosh said.

“Yes,” Lacy returned, her anger at the overbearing Detective Brenner bubbling to the surface once again.

“And your grandmother’s group of friends insists your grandmother didn’t do it, but they’re also acting suspiciously.”

“Yes,” Lacy agreed. It was nice to have a sounding board to unload her worries on.

“And your grandmother refused to see you,” Tosh said.

“Yes.” Lacy’s voice wobbled a little then.

Tosh gave her a sympathetic smile. “So what’s your next move?”

The waitress returned to the table with their check before Lacy could answer. Tosh waved away her offer to pay, insisting that he would pay since he was the one who asked. He took their bill to the register and paid while Lacy trailed behind him, feeling helpless and flustered. If he asked her out and paid, did that make this a date? If so, how had she found herself on a date with a stranger?

“I’m going to follow you home to make sure you get there safely,” Tosh said. “My mother would kill me if I didn’t,” he added when Lacy opened her mouth to protest.

Her house was only a few blocks away, so the drive was very short. He walked her to the porch and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest in a casual position. “Before we were interrupted at the restaurant, you were telling me what you plan to do next to help your grandmother.”

She smiled at him, inordinately pleased that he was such a good listener and seemingly so interested in her mundane life. She glanced around, wetting her lips with her tongue, trying to decide if she trusted him. Oddly, she realized she did. Maybe it was his unassuming manner, or maybe it was the fact that he was a pastor. Whatever the reason, she found herself leaning in to whisper.

“I’m going to search the dead woman’s house.”

Tosh looked down at her, his mouth slightly agape with surprise. “Do you have permission to do that?”

She shook her head.

“Isn’t that sort of dangerous and against the law?”

Suddenly she realized she had just confessed her plan to do something illegal to her grandmother’s new pastor. Was he honor-bound to report her to the police? He smiled as if reading her thoughts.

“Won’t your policeman friend frown on that sort of behavior?” he asked.

Her eyes narrowed and she leaned against the doorframe, mimicking his pose. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Jason and I don’t agree on much.”

“Still, that seems risky.” He bit his lip and looked away. “I wish I could go with you and be a lookout.”

She was so surprised she laughed out loud.

He grinned down at her. “What? You don’t think pastors ever want to do something crazy and adventurous? But it probably wouldn’t do for my first official act here to be breaking into a dead woman’s house.”

“No, it wouldn’t do at all,” she agreed.

He reached out and touched his index finger to her hand. “Be careful.”

She looked at his hand touching hers and felt her cheeks heat with a blush. “I will.”

He stood straight and so did she. “I should go. I have a full day of meeting my new flock tomorrow.”

She nodded as if she had any concept of what that meant. To her a day spent meeting strangers sounded like a punishment. “Thanks for supper,” she said.

“No, thank you,” he said. With a secret smile she didn’t understand, he turned and walked away.

She stayed on the porch until his car was out of sight, then she let herself in and changed her clothes. After living in
New York
for three years, she had no shortage of black clothing. She sifted her grandmother’s junk drawer until she located a flashlight, and then she was on her way. The last rays of the sun were just beginning to descend and it was still light outside, so she pretended she was a jogger out for her evening run.

Ten minutes later, she jogged past Barbara Blake’s house. It looked exactly as it had when she saw it this afternoon- dark and uninhabited. Lacy jogged to the end of the street and stopped, pretending to bend over and check her shoelace. In reality she was surveying the neighborhood.

From the small, well-kempt houses, she guessed the neighborhood to be full of elderly inhabitants. For her part, that was a very good thing. If her grandmother was any example, older people tended to turn in early and rise almost as soon as the sun was up. That meant that many of the people in this neighborhood were either already in bed or headed there. As if to prove her theory, many of the houses were darkened or had a light only in what appeared to be a bedroom.

There were a few houses with lighted living rooms, but none was close to Barbara Blake’s house.

The street was a cul-de-sac, and for that Lacy was thankful. The end of the street behind her was a wooded area. She slowly inched backwards until she faded into the woods, and then she wove sideways until she was parallel with Ms. Blake’s back yard. She had only to creep through two yards until she reached the house in question. Neither house was lit, but Lacy still felt like people were watching her as she darted around any object she could find, stealthily making her way toward her target.

Not until she reached the back porch did she remember the front door had been the one that was unlocked. But, to her great relief, when she tested the back door, it was also unfettered. She bit her lip as she soundlessly and slowly slid the door open, just wide enough to allow access. After slipping inside, she spent a moment allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim light. She had a flashlight but hoped to get by without using it.

The back door opened into the kitchen, so that was where she started her search. The room looked un-lived in, with only the barest of necessities such as a handful of plates and dishes. The drawers were mostly empty, making quick work of her search. The next room, the den, was much the same. The furniture was bare bones and dusty, requiring only a quick glance to sweep the entire room. After satisfying herself that there were no hidden closets, she quickly moved on. Next was a bedroom, and it was completely empty.

Just when Lacy was beginning to feel discouraged, she located the master bedroom--a sharp contrast to the rest of the house. This room was crowded with personal items, and it was clear that someone had been living here. Lacy’s heart beat hard with anticipation as she began slowly sifting the contents of the room. There was no time to think about the fact that she was touching a dead woman’s things. Instead, she focused on her task. She would deal with any ethical repercussions later.

The first thing she noticed was that Barbara Blake had expensive taste. Lacy didn’t know much about the large pile of jewelry sitting on the dresser, but she thought some of it might be worth something. However, years of living in the fashion capitol of the
United States
had taught her a lot about labels. If the labels in Ms. Blake’s closet were any indication, she was either very wealthy or had a very wealthy friend who kept her in finery. By Lacy’s amateur calculation, the handful of clothes she looked at had to be worth at least twenty thousand, or maybe more. And that was without adding in the cost of the designer shoes that also lined the bottom of the closet. If Ms. Blake had no female relatives, then some thrift store was about to receive a bonanza.

Though her wardrobe was interesting, it wasn’t what Lacy was looking for. Her heart sank as she finished her search and still hadn’t found anything worthwhile to her cause. She was just about to walk out of the room when she remembered to check the most obvious hiding place in any bedroom.

Returning to the bed, she strained as she lifted the mattress and ran her hand underneath. She almost wanted to yelp with giddiness when her hand connected with something solid. After reaching in a little farther, she pulled out three hardbound books that looked suspiciously like journals.

Tucking them into the waistband of her pants, she finally left the room. The next door revealed a bathroom. Once again, Lacy was struck by the expense of the cosmetics and toiletries that lined the small room. Whatever the murderer’s motive, it most likely hadn’t been robbery unless they had no idea how much Parisian perfumes and designer clothes and shoes cost.

Lacy stopped short to think about that. Maybe someone who had such expensive taste in items also had piles of money sitting around somewhere. Maybe the murderer really had no idea how much the remaining items had cost and instead took whatever money he could find. Lacy made a mental note to try and find out something about the dead woman’s financial situation.

After leaving the bathroom, only the living room remained to search. The sun had set too much to allow any remaining rays into the house. Lacy realized her mistake when she stepped into the room. She should have started her search here because it was on the front side of the house and had a large picture window in the middle of the room. Now she would be forced to use her flashlight, and there was a chance someone might see her.

Still, it had to be done. Just this one last room, and then she could leave. Even if someone called the police, chances were good that she could make a clean break before they arrived.

She pulled out her grandmother’s flashlight, aimed it at the ground, and turned it on. And that’s when a sound behind her sent a flood of adrenaline through her veins. Before she could turn and look, something hard and heavy connected with the back of her skull and she dropped to the ground, as lifeless as a stone.

Chapter 8

Jason Cantor slammed the door on his cruiser, causing his coffee to slosh over the side of his cup and burn his hand. He forced himself to take a deep breath and put the coffee in the holder before he could do something rash like hurl it at the opposing door.

Life wasn’t going well lately. Instead of resting his head on the steering wheel like he wanted, he signed back on the air and started the car, wishing and hoping that for once something would be going on that demanded his complete attention. Not that things didn’t go wrong in their small town. He knew better than anyone what secrets lurked behind closed doors. But lately he felt like his job was adding to his stress instead of taking away from it.

For all of his life, he had wanted to be a cop. His career was what he had prepared for and dreamed about. He could easily have gone to a bigger city where there was more crime, but it was important to him to remain in his hometown where he had the best chance of making a difference. But lately he was beginning to doubt that decision. More and more he felt like running away without ever looking back.

Day after day he went through the same mundane routine of delivering civil papers to divorcing spouses, handling landlord and tenant disputes, and calming parents who were arguing over custody arrangements. And when he wasn’t doing any of that, he was sitting in the town’s speed trap, handing out tickets. Since nothing was going on and since he didn’t feel like driving around looking for trouble, he drove to the speed trap, turned on his radar, and sat behind the big billboard, halfheartedly wishing for someone to come along while at the same time wishing everyone would stay away.

He didn’t like to give tickets. For him they meant only paperwork and arguments. True, some jerks deserved it. Some people drove so recklessly that they were a danger to others. But most of the people he ticketed were nice people barely pushing the bounds of the law. But, like everything else in his job, giving tickets was out of his control. His bosses had imposed a ticket quota on him, and if he didn’t meet it each month he received discipline.