bow when the big guy gets back.” He turned away, headed back for his
office, Scott presumed.
“Kovak?”
The
detective pivoted. “Yeah?”
“When you
interview Miss Eagan, remember she’s baking the desserts for tomorrow. Be nice.
You wouldn’t want her to mix up the sugar and salt now, would you?” Or get
too heavy-handed with the cayenne.
“Right.
Working solo’s been a bitch, but I’m cool.”
Scott didn’t
doubt it. The first hours of a case could be critical, and no cop worth his
badge didn’t feel the stress. And cop-to-cop conversations were a far cry from
cop-to-citizen. But he didn’t regret giving Kovak the reminder.
Scott got Ashley’s
voice mail, so he left a message about calling her insurance company. In
between dealing with paperwork, calls and drop-ins, Scott leafed through the
pages Kovak had left him. Felicity Markham’s finances were a disaster, but she
didn’t have a record. Or if she did, Kovak had left those pages out.
At
ten-thirty, Scott called Sadie’s and ordered some sandwiches to go. Then he
called Charlotte Russell.
“You pushing
me, Whelan?” she said when he asked if she’d done the autopsy on Felicity. “You’ve
got no clout anymore.”
But there
was a teasing to her tone, so he relaxed his grip on the phone. “Of course not.
I missed our visits. Thought I’d bug you—you know, nostalgia, old time’s sake.
You have anything at all? TOD?”
She laughed,
a warm, deep rumble. “I am going to miss you. Estimated time of death is
between one and three a.m.”
“Thanks. I’ll
owe you.”
She laughed
again. “You have email at the cop shop, Mr. Civilian? It won’t be before late
today. Maybe not until tomorrow, but I can let you know what I find.”
“Might be
better to use my personal account. Or call with a heads up.” He’d finished
giving her his address and cell number when Ashley walked in. Stumbled in was
more like it. Tendrils of her hair had escaped the confines of her ponytail,
and her brown eyes seemed barely able to focus. She gripped the narrow counter
on the other side of the glass as if it was all that was holding her up.
He did his
best imitation of leaping to his feet and hurried to reach her side.
***
Ashley tried
to enjoy the sunshine as she and Scott sat at a picnic bench in Pioneer Park.
Not far away, moms pushed toddlers in the swings, or helped them up and down
the slide. Giggles, squeals, and birdsong filled the air.
Under Scott’s
stern eye, she’d eaten half the turkey sandwich he’d given her, but it felt
more like an entire frozen Thanksgiving turkey sat in the pit of her stomach.
She managed a weak smile. “I’m stuffed. I guess I sampled too much of my
baking. I hope the people at the station will like them.”
Scott
finished his sandwich, took a deep swig of his root beer, and wiped his mouth. “I’m
sure they’ll be fantastic. How are you feeling now?”
“I’m all
right. Sorry about almost collapsing before.” Her face warmed, and it wasn’t
all from the sun. Seeing the concern in his eyes made her drop her gaze, afraid
he’d notice the attraction in hers. “I guess I kind of hit the wall,” she
mumbled.
“You talk to
your insurance company?”
Good. Back
to business. No point in thinking about whether he saw anything in her. She had
enough to deal with without adding a man to the mix. “Yes, they sent someone
out with a temporary fix, and put a rush order on a new pane for the door. At
least Officer Brody didn’t knock the entire door off. But there was crime scene
tape across the door, and people were stopping, and looking at me as if I’d
killed Felicity. I had three bakeoff cancellations, and—” her voice hit that
quaver pitch again, and she stopped. Her head throbbed. She yanked the elastic
from her ponytail and shook her head to relieve the pressure.
Scott
maneuvered himself around the picnic table and sat next to her, draping an arm
across her shoulder. He stroked her hair with
office, Scott presumed.
“Kovak?”
The
detective pivoted. “Yeah?”
“When you
interview Miss Eagan, remember she’s baking the desserts for tomorrow. Be nice.
You wouldn’t want her to mix up the sugar and salt now, would you?” Or get
too heavy-handed with the cayenne.
“Right.
Working solo’s been a bitch, but I’m cool.”
Scott didn’t
doubt it. The first hours of a case could be critical, and no cop worth his
badge didn’t feel the stress. And cop-to-cop conversations were a far cry from
cop-to-citizen. But he didn’t regret giving Kovak the reminder.
Scott got Ashley’s
voice mail, so he left a message about calling her insurance company. In
between dealing with paperwork, calls and drop-ins, Scott leafed through the
pages Kovak had left him. Felicity Markham’s finances were a disaster, but she
didn’t have a record. Or if she did, Kovak had left those pages out.
At
ten-thirty, Scott called Sadie’s and ordered some sandwiches to go. Then he
called Charlotte Russell.
“You pushing
me, Whelan?” she said when he asked if she’d done the autopsy on Felicity. “You’ve
got no clout anymore.”
But there
was a teasing to her tone, so he relaxed his grip on the phone. “Of course not.
I missed our visits. Thought I’d bug you—you know, nostalgia, old time’s sake.
You have anything at all? TOD?”
She laughed,
a warm, deep rumble. “I am going to miss you. Estimated time of death is
between one and three a.m.”
“Thanks. I’ll
owe you.”
She laughed
again. “You have email at the cop shop, Mr. Civilian? It won’t be before late
today. Maybe not until tomorrow, but I can let you know what I find.”
“Might be
better to use my personal account. Or call with a heads up.” He’d finished
giving her his address and cell number when Ashley walked in. Stumbled in was
more like it. Tendrils of her hair had escaped the confines of her ponytail,
and her brown eyes seemed barely able to focus. She gripped the narrow counter
on the other side of the glass as if it was all that was holding her up.
He did his
best imitation of leaping to his feet and hurried to reach her side.
***
Ashley tried
to enjoy the sunshine as she and Scott sat at a picnic bench in Pioneer Park.
Not far away, moms pushed toddlers in the swings, or helped them up and down
the slide. Giggles, squeals, and birdsong filled the air.
Under Scott’s
stern eye, she’d eaten half the turkey sandwich he’d given her, but it felt
more like an entire frozen Thanksgiving turkey sat in the pit of her stomach.
She managed a weak smile. “I’m stuffed. I guess I sampled too much of my
baking. I hope the people at the station will like them.”
Scott
finished his sandwich, took a deep swig of his root beer, and wiped his mouth. “I’m
sure they’ll be fantastic. How are you feeling now?”
“I’m all
right. Sorry about almost collapsing before.” Her face warmed, and it wasn’t
all from the sun. Seeing the concern in his eyes made her drop her gaze, afraid
he’d notice the attraction in hers. “I guess I kind of hit the wall,” she
mumbled.
“You talk to
your insurance company?”
Good. Back
to business. No point in thinking about whether he saw anything in her. She had
enough to deal with without adding a man to the mix. “Yes, they sent someone
out with a temporary fix, and put a rush order on a new pane for the door. At
least Officer Brody didn’t knock the entire door off. But there was crime scene
tape across the door, and people were stopping, and looking at me as if I’d
killed Felicity. I had three bakeoff cancellations, and—” her voice hit that
quaver pitch again, and she stopped. Her head throbbed. She yanked the elastic
from her ponytail and shook her head to relieve the pressure.
Scott
maneuvered himself around the picnic table and sat next to her, draping an arm
across her shoulder. He stroked her hair with
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