cheeks. She was tempted to move them to her lips.
Sheesh .
She had a dead body in her bakery, her dreams were shattering around her, and
she was thinking of—? Of what? Flirtation? Seduction? She had to find a
different book to read.
She jiggled
her head a fraction, and Scott released her. It was as if a safety net she didn’t
know was there had disappeared. “So if I’m a suspect, then you think someone’s framing
me?”
“First, I
don’t think you’re a viable suspect. And we experienced detectives know better
than to jump to conclusions before we have facts. The big one we’re missing now
is the cause of death, so there’s no reason to suspect homicide yet, much less
you as the killer.”
He stood,
gathering their trash. “And, I’ve never once, in all my detecting days, had a
picnic lunch with a killer. Or asked one to walk through a park on a sunny day.”
He extended his hand.
She took it.
Dovetailed her fingers through it. Warm. Strong. “So, what’s your theory about
Felicity?” she asked as they strolled along the path toward the parking lot.
The long way around.
“No
theories,” Scott said. “Not enough facts. She’s dead. She was found inside your
locked bakery. According to Kovak—he’s one of the official detectives on the
case—only you and Carl have keys. Is that true?”
“Yes.” She
considered it. “But what if Carl had duplicates made? If he did, then anyone
might have a key, right?”
He stopped
and spun her to face him. “You have the makings of a detective, you know that?”
His eyes twinkled, their hazel shade turning almost green.
“You already
thought of that, didn’t you?”
He shrugged.
Rubbed his shoulder. “Well, I am the experienced detective. You’re the
rookie.”
His cell
phone rang. “Scott Whelan.” He turned, and Ashley stepped away while he took
the call. She tried to ignore the way his polo hugged his broad shoulders, the
way the sunlight turned his hair to gold.
His
shoulders stiffened. He put the phone away. When he faced her, his expression
sent fingers of ice down her spine.
Chapter 10
Scott
slipped his phone into its clip on his belt. Not much point in sugar-coating
the news. “That was the medical examiner. Preliminary results say Felicity
Markham died of a drug overdose. Painkillers. Whether she took them herself or
someone helped her along isn’t clear yet.”
“So maybe it
was suicide? What are the odds on that one?”
“About ten
percent.”
“A little
better than homicide, I guess. If that’s the case, then she gets into my bakery
to kill herself? Why?”
“I have no
idea. Maybe her financial problems were too much for her. The cops will
investigate.”
“Can you
find out what’s going on? I know you’re not a cop here, but will they tell you
stuff?”
Ashley’s
wide brown eyes affected him with a punch to the gut. He recognized the
pleading in her tone. He’d heard it countless times on the job. Family,
friends, all wanting to know how a loved one died, wanting justice done.
Standing for the dead was his job. More than a job. His reason for existing. At
least it had been until Rina. Now, he wasn’t sure who he was anymore. But even
though Felicity Markham was neither a friend nor relative of Ashley’s, his new neighbor
had burrowed deeper inside him than any of those other justice-seekers.
Nothing more
than his returning libido, he told himself. Dormant since he’d entered his Dark
Place, somehow Ashley had opened a crack, letting the light in.
“I’ll do
what I can,” he said. She took his hand again, clearly anxious to get going.
Feeling the slightest twinge of guilt, he kept the pace slow. It wasn’t his
case to solve. Five more minutes wouldn’t make a difference.
In the
parking area, he opened the car door for her, and enjoyed her quick grin. She
was silent on the short drive to the Municipal Building, and he left her to her
thoughts. Much as he wanted to offer assurance, he’d be spouting
Sheesh .
She had a dead body in her bakery, her dreams were shattering around her, and
she was thinking of—? Of what? Flirtation? Seduction? She had to find a
different book to read.
She jiggled
her head a fraction, and Scott released her. It was as if a safety net she didn’t
know was there had disappeared. “So if I’m a suspect, then you think someone’s framing
me?”
“First, I
don’t think you’re a viable suspect. And we experienced detectives know better
than to jump to conclusions before we have facts. The big one we’re missing now
is the cause of death, so there’s no reason to suspect homicide yet, much less
you as the killer.”
He stood,
gathering their trash. “And, I’ve never once, in all my detecting days, had a
picnic lunch with a killer. Or asked one to walk through a park on a sunny day.”
He extended his hand.
She took it.
Dovetailed her fingers through it. Warm. Strong. “So, what’s your theory about
Felicity?” she asked as they strolled along the path toward the parking lot.
The long way around.
“No
theories,” Scott said. “Not enough facts. She’s dead. She was found inside your
locked bakery. According to Kovak—he’s one of the official detectives on the
case—only you and Carl have keys. Is that true?”
“Yes.” She
considered it. “But what if Carl had duplicates made? If he did, then anyone
might have a key, right?”
He stopped
and spun her to face him. “You have the makings of a detective, you know that?”
His eyes twinkled, their hazel shade turning almost green.
“You already
thought of that, didn’t you?”
He shrugged.
Rubbed his shoulder. “Well, I am the experienced detective. You’re the
rookie.”
His cell
phone rang. “Scott Whelan.” He turned, and Ashley stepped away while he took
the call. She tried to ignore the way his polo hugged his broad shoulders, the
way the sunlight turned his hair to gold.
His
shoulders stiffened. He put the phone away. When he faced her, his expression
sent fingers of ice down her spine.
Chapter 10
Scott
slipped his phone into its clip on his belt. Not much point in sugar-coating
the news. “That was the medical examiner. Preliminary results say Felicity
Markham died of a drug overdose. Painkillers. Whether she took them herself or
someone helped her along isn’t clear yet.”
“So maybe it
was suicide? What are the odds on that one?”
“About ten
percent.”
“A little
better than homicide, I guess. If that’s the case, then she gets into my bakery
to kill herself? Why?”
“I have no
idea. Maybe her financial problems were too much for her. The cops will
investigate.”
“Can you
find out what’s going on? I know you’re not a cop here, but will they tell you
stuff?”
Ashley’s
wide brown eyes affected him with a punch to the gut. He recognized the
pleading in her tone. He’d heard it countless times on the job. Family,
friends, all wanting to know how a loved one died, wanting justice done.
Standing for the dead was his job. More than a job. His reason for existing. At
least it had been until Rina. Now, he wasn’t sure who he was anymore. But even
though Felicity Markham was neither a friend nor relative of Ashley’s, his new neighbor
had burrowed deeper inside him than any of those other justice-seekers.
Nothing more
than his returning libido, he told himself. Dormant since he’d entered his Dark
Place, somehow Ashley had opened a crack, letting the light in.
“I’ll do
what I can,” he said. She took his hand again, clearly anxious to get going.
Feeling the slightest twinge of guilt, he kept the pace slow. It wasn’t his
case to solve. Five more minutes wouldn’t make a difference.
In the
parking area, he opened the car door for her, and enjoyed her quick grin. She
was silent on the short drive to the Municipal Building, and he left her to her
thoughts. Much as he wanted to offer assurance, he’d be spouting
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