his other hand. No hesitation, no
awkwardness. Simply recognizing the need for comfort and offering it. She
leaned into his chest, accepting it. They sat in silence for several moments.
She felt his heartbeat, the rise and fall of his chest, and inhaled his scent.
This morning, he’d smelled like Jacuzzi chemicals. Now, he simply smelled clean
and fresh.
“You all
right now?” His lips were close to her ear, and his breath warmed her cheek.
“Yeah.
Sorry. Again.”
And then the
sounds of the night played through her head. She pushed away. “I’m fine.
Really. You don’t need to fuss over me. I mean, I know you have someone else.”
“What?”
Confusion filled his face.
Her cheeks
flamed. She twirled her soda can in her hands. “Um … your bedroom and mine.
They share a wall. Sound travels. I … kind of heard you … you know…”
“Ashley, I
don’t know what you heard, but it wasn’t … what I think you’re saying. I was
alone last night. And for a lot of nights before that.” He reddened. “I …
sometimes I have … nightmares. Normally, I wake up. I guess this time I didn’t.”
She laid a
forefinger on his shoulder. The one she’d caught him rubbing a few times. “About
your accident?” Someday, when—if—things ever settled down, she’d ask him what
happened.
He nodded,
then his solemn expression turned into a grin. “I think I like your
interpretation better.”
The
suggestive gleam in his eye brought even more heat to her face. Or was he
trying to distract her from her current misery? Ever since she’d caught Barry
cheating, she distrusted her ability to read men.
“Don’t be a
pessimist,” Scott said, his tone shifting. “I’m sure things will work out for
you. For every person spooked by a dead body, there are at least three who will
come to your store to check it out. And they’ll buy. Your grand opening will draw
crowds.”
“You’re not
saying that to make me feel better?” Then again, that would be enough. Right
now, all she wanted was to feel better, even if it was for no longer than Scott’s
lunch break.
“Voice of
experience,” he said.
His
detective expertise was more important than whether or not he lied about having
a girlfriend. “So, tell me, experienced detective. What happens next?”
“One perk of
your shop being virtually empty, is that the crime scene techs should be
finished quickly. You should have your bakery back soon—my guess is by
tomorrow.”
Gathering
courage from the way she felt in his arms, she asked the question she hadn’t
been able to face. The one she dismissed, telling herself she was jumping to
conclusions. “Do you think someone killed Felicity?”
“I don’t
know. But contrary to what mystery books and television shows lead you to
believe, only about five percent of deaths are homicides.”
She pulled
away and looked him in the eyes. “Really?”
He grinned
and pulled her against him again. “Really. Trust the experienced detective on
that one.”
“Good,
because … well … I had this thought. That I might be a suspect.”
“You? Why?”
“Felicity’s
display at Elaine’s. People might think I was mad at her, and wanted to stop
her for good. After seeing her at Thriftway, I know she didn’t like me. Or,
remember, I told you how I’d had all these snafus with the construction? They
found Felicity in the bakery, and if she could get in, then maybe she was the
one behind at least some of the accidents. And then, what if I’d found out, and
decided to kill her?”
“Interesting.”
He gave her hair one last stroke, then pushed her away and cupped her face. “But
I think any experienced detective would be able to find enough holes in that
scenario to dismiss it. At least the part where you killed her. Criminals tend
to be stupid—that’s how we catch them—but I doubt anyone would ever think you
were stupid enough to kill someone and leave her body in your own bakery.”
His fingers
were warm on her
awkwardness. Simply recognizing the need for comfort and offering it. She
leaned into his chest, accepting it. They sat in silence for several moments.
She felt his heartbeat, the rise and fall of his chest, and inhaled his scent.
This morning, he’d smelled like Jacuzzi chemicals. Now, he simply smelled clean
and fresh.
“You all
right now?” His lips were close to her ear, and his breath warmed her cheek.
“Yeah.
Sorry. Again.”
And then the
sounds of the night played through her head. She pushed away. “I’m fine.
Really. You don’t need to fuss over me. I mean, I know you have someone else.”
“What?”
Confusion filled his face.
Her cheeks
flamed. She twirled her soda can in her hands. “Um … your bedroom and mine.
They share a wall. Sound travels. I … kind of heard you … you know…”
“Ashley, I
don’t know what you heard, but it wasn’t … what I think you’re saying. I was
alone last night. And for a lot of nights before that.” He reddened. “I …
sometimes I have … nightmares. Normally, I wake up. I guess this time I didn’t.”
She laid a
forefinger on his shoulder. The one she’d caught him rubbing a few times. “About
your accident?” Someday, when—if—things ever settled down, she’d ask him what
happened.
He nodded,
then his solemn expression turned into a grin. “I think I like your
interpretation better.”
The
suggestive gleam in his eye brought even more heat to her face. Or was he
trying to distract her from her current misery? Ever since she’d caught Barry
cheating, she distrusted her ability to read men.
“Don’t be a
pessimist,” Scott said, his tone shifting. “I’m sure things will work out for
you. For every person spooked by a dead body, there are at least three who will
come to your store to check it out. And they’ll buy. Your grand opening will draw
crowds.”
“You’re not
saying that to make me feel better?” Then again, that would be enough. Right
now, all she wanted was to feel better, even if it was for no longer than Scott’s
lunch break.
“Voice of
experience,” he said.
His
detective expertise was more important than whether or not he lied about having
a girlfriend. “So, tell me, experienced detective. What happens next?”
“One perk of
your shop being virtually empty, is that the crime scene techs should be
finished quickly. You should have your bakery back soon—my guess is by
tomorrow.”
Gathering
courage from the way she felt in his arms, she asked the question she hadn’t
been able to face. The one she dismissed, telling herself she was jumping to
conclusions. “Do you think someone killed Felicity?”
“I don’t
know. But contrary to what mystery books and television shows lead you to
believe, only about five percent of deaths are homicides.”
She pulled
away and looked him in the eyes. “Really?”
He grinned
and pulled her against him again. “Really. Trust the experienced detective on
that one.”
“Good,
because … well … I had this thought. That I might be a suspect.”
“You? Why?”
“Felicity’s
display at Elaine’s. People might think I was mad at her, and wanted to stop
her for good. After seeing her at Thriftway, I know she didn’t like me. Or,
remember, I told you how I’d had all these snafus with the construction? They
found Felicity in the bakery, and if she could get in, then maybe she was the
one behind at least some of the accidents. And then, what if I’d found out, and
decided to kill her?”
“Interesting.”
He gave her hair one last stroke, then pushed her away and cupped her face. “But
I think any experienced detective would be able to find enough holes in that
scenario to dismiss it. At least the part where you killed her. Criminals tend
to be stupid—that’s how we catch them—but I doubt anyone would ever think you
were stupid enough to kill someone and leave her body in your own bakery.”
His fingers
were warm on her
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