“I heard about Amanda Robbins. Nice lady, but an odd duck. A bit of a spaz, if you ask me. Still, she didn’t deserve to die.” Jo looked around the bar. “Everyone’s pretty set right now if you want to unload.”
“Oh, that’s okay.” I dropped my chin. “I couldn’t, really.”
“Really, sweetie.” She peeked down to meet my eyes. “You could.” Her smile was so sincere I couldn’t seem to help myself. The entire story spilled out of me, and I had to wonder if this woman had a little magic of her own. It felt great to have someone to talk to. Something I needed desperately right now.
Nearly an hour later and after yet another double, I had officially reached tipsy status as I finished with, “That stubborn detective has made me his prime suspect. Can you believe it?”
“Anyone can see you’re not the murdering type, sugar. Mitch is the biggest cynic around. He acts all tough and serious because of his ex-girlfriend.” Jo leaned in close, and her eyes sparkled as though she loved a good juicy piece of gossip.
“He used to live in the city, too, you know. Moved here a year ago to be a small-town cop. Said he’d had enough of city life and all the crazies that resided there. She really did a number on him, if you know what I mean.” Jo ran her fingertip down her jawline, and an image of the detective’s scar flashed in my mind’s eye. Had his ex-girlfriend really done that to his face? “He refuses to date anyone now, much to the dismay of all the women in town.”
Well, that explained a lot about why Grumpy Pants was so serious and, well, grumpy. A part of me softened toward him, and I felt an overwhelming desire to help even though he wanted nothing more than to ruin me. I wrinkled my forehead, tracing circles around the top of my glass. “So . . . what exactly did this woman do to him?”
The bell above the door jingled, and Jo turned the heat in her stare up several notches, her smile nearly blinding now as she saluted the new patron. “Hey, Mitch. The usual?”
I glanced over my shoulder, and my stomach flipped. As much as I wanted to help him, I equally wanted to throttle him. And right now he was the last person I wanted to see. “What are you doing here?” I turned around and stared straight ahead.
Detective Stone sat on the stool right beside me, of course, and took a chug from his longneck before answering. “Can’t a man enjoy a beer after a hard day’s work?”
“Aren’t you still working?”
“Divinity’s finest is
always
working.” Jo shook her head. “Isn’t that right, Mitchell?”
“Something like that.” Mitch took another swig of his beer, then nailed me with those penetrating eyes of his. “But my ‘official’ shift ended after I finished with you.”
Jo went about making herself look busy by wiping off the top of the spotless bar.
“Hey, Jo, bring the lady a refill, would ya?” Mitch’s eyes narrowed as he sized me up.
“Sure thing.” Jo poured me another double whiskey.
“Getting me drunk won’t make me slip up and tell you anything, Detective. As I’ve said a million times already, there’s nothing more to tell. I had a vision, it came true, and now the poor woman is dead while the real murderer is running around free as a bird.” I downed this double whiskey a little easier now, as my body was already buzzing and numb from the others. I wasn’t much of a drinker, I didn’t have nearly enough food in my system, and I weighed little more than the “real” Tinker Bell. I set the glass back on the bar and wobbled a bit.
Four double whiskeys in one hour . . .
not
a good idea.
“Easy now, lass.” Sean winked. “I’d say that whiskey’s gone straight to your wee little head,” he added, while restocking the bar beside Jo. “I’d be happy to help you home. Just say the word.”
“I’d say you’re right, Mr. O’Malley.” I giggled. “And I might have to take you up on that lovely offer.”
Mitch reached out and caught me before I tumbled to the floor, his eyes traveling between the hunky bar back and myself with a disapproving look, then finally settling on me. “You’re a bit of a lightweight, I take it.”
“Ya think?” I giggled near hysteria now, going all floppy in his arms and letting him take all my weight. I barely had the energy to blink. I had come to Divinity right after New Year’s to start my life over, and now my life was a total mess.
“I think you need to go home and sleep it off.” He shot Sean a hard look. “I’ll drive.” The detective met my eyes once more. “And I don’t want any arguments from you. You’re not walking home like this.” He sat me back on my stool.
I started to protest, but good ole “Mitchell” ignored me, paying our tab and helping me to my feet. “Let’s go, Tink.”
“Fine, Captain Hook, cuz you sure aren’t Peter Pan,” I slurred. “Nothing carefree or fun about you, uptight scallywag.”
He ignored me, half carrying me to his squad car for the second time that day.
“Really, daaah-ling, we have to stop meeting like this.” I snorted, my common sense gone with my sobriety.
He shook his head, drove me home in silence, and then fished my keys out of my purse. Unlocking the door with one hand, he carried me inside since my legs no longer seemed to work. I had to admit there was something very appealing about Detective Stone. He was big, strong, and ruggedly handsome, making a woman feel protected and safe, but he was also distant, aloof, and off-limits. Oh, who was I kidding? That was half the attraction. I felt suddenly sleepy.
“Where’s the killer kitty?”
“Who, Morty? He’s harmless.” I yawned. “He disappears at night, you big scaredy-cat.”
“You weren’t the one he was hissing at and staring down with those freaky eyes.”
The detective scanned the entryway, honing in on the same couch we had sat on earlier, then deposited me on my back. He tossed an ancient afghan over my body, and the shutters on the outside of the house shook as though it was storming out. But other than soft snowflakes, the night was still and quiet. The detective glanced around with a puzzled look on his face, and I began to wonder if the house really was haunted.
The house quieted.
A V formed on the detective’s forehead.
I giggled.
“Stay put. I mean it,” he said, shaking his finger. I wanted to protest, but instead I closed my eyes, no longer able to keep them open. He tucked the edges of the blanket around me, making me smile just a little, then he mumbled, “The streets aren’t safe, Tink.”
I could hear him lock the door on his way out, and for the first time since this whole awful ordeal had happened, I felt hope.
The streets aren’t safe, Tink.
He didn’t actually think I was the murderer. He might not believe I was really psychic, but he also didn’t believe I was capable of killing another human being, no matter what he said.
Maybe it was about time I proved him right.
Hours later, just before dawn, I slipped out of my house. With flashlight in hand and plenty of warm, dark clothing, I tiptoed behind bushes, weaving in and out of people’s backyards until I reached the librarian’s house. It hadn’t been hard finding her address since her name was still listed in the phone book. Police tape surrounded the premises, forbidding others to cross the yellow line. But I had no choice. I had to clear my name, and they’d never let me snoop around during the light of day.
Although now that my alcohol-induced buzz had worn off, my brain was rethinking my rash decision.
I chewed the inside of my cheek, peeking around once more. No one was up. I wasn’t going to break or enter anything, so what was the harm, really? Creeping forward before I could change my mind, I walked around the entire house. I didn’t see any signs that someone had broken a window or forced their way in. Either the librarian had left her doors unlocked at night, which seemed out of character for Crazy Lady, or there was only one other explanation.
Amanda Robbins had known the person who killed her.
Well, that didn’t narrow the suspects down much. This was a small town. I was pretty sure everyone knew everyone else. But who would she welcome into her home after dark? My tea leaves had clearly shown a man was the killer, not to mention the eyes I had witnessed the murder through had most definitely belonged to a man. A bitter, angry man, to be exact.
Shivering, I finished walking around the house, preparing to make my escape before the sun rose completely. I happened to glance down and saw footprints other than mine. Footprints that had to be at least a half day old. It had snowed last night, so they were partially filled in but not completely. Hmmm. They were right outside the master bedroom window . . . but they did
not
belong to a man.
I knelt down and studied the prints. Small. That didn’t make any sense. The killer couldn’t be a woman; I was sure of it. Another thought hit me square in the gut. There was a witness out there that no one knew anything about.
I straightened and turned to leave.
“Going somewhere, Tink?” Detective Stone stood before me, arms crossed and definitely back on duty. Steam rose in misty puffs around him with every word he spoke.
“For a walk?” I said uncertainly, matching him puff for puff. I could have kicked myself for my hesitation. “I’m an early riser,” I added with more conviction.
So
not the truth. I was much more of a night owl and a late sleeper, but somehow that didn’t sound like it would help my case right now. Given my current situation, I thought it best to plead the Fifth.
“You always walk on other people’s properties?”
“Okay, so I admit curiosity. Never mind that. Did you notice in your investigation that there are footprints by the bedroom window?” I pointed smugly to the ground beside me.
He slid a pair of aviator-style sunglasses on as the sun cleared the horizon, the frigid morning air ruffling his thick hair. “There’s not much I don’t notice, Miss Meadows.”
I threw my hands up. “Then you must realize there might be a witness out there walking around who can clear this whole unfortunate mess up.”
“Or the killer is a woman, not a man like your so-called reading revealed.” His head tipped down, and I could tell he was sizing up my boots. Then he looked over the top of his rims so I could see his intensely serious dark eyes. “A woman with the same size feet as you, I’d wager.”
“Normally that would intimidate me, but I heard you last night. You were worried about me because you know the real killer is still on the loose. You don’t really think I’m capable of killing anyone, Detective.” I crossed my arms over my own chest and lifted my chin a notch. “I’m on to you.”
“You heard nothing,” he said with a blank expression, pushing his glasses up all the way. His cheek twitched once, just a little, but I saw it. “Move along, Miss Meadows. This is private property and a crime scene.” He turned around and headed for the street. “Don’t you have a business to run?”
“You and I both know that no one is going to come to me for a reading until this case is solved.” I hurried after him. “I’m helping you out.” I waved my hands about. “Sticking to you like glue and all that, so you can keep your eye on me.”
He grunted. “Not gonna happen, Tink. Go pester someone else, and let me do my job.” He kept walking down Main Street, several yards ahead of me, then glanced over his shoulder and stopped.
“What? Last I checked this street was public domain.” I fluttered my lashes at him. “You can’t stop me from walking on it.”
He rolled his eyes and then resumed walking, picking up the pace. I had to practically run to keep up with him. He stopped at the coroner’s office, pausing outside the door. I quickly slowed to a power walk, waved at him, and kept moving as though I did this every morning. Once he hurried inside, however, I did a quick turnaround and slipped in after him.
I stood back in the shadows as he jogged down a stairwell, then I carefully followed him to a morgue-type room below. He entered the coroner’s office labeled Kip Johnson, with the door slightly ajar. I tiptoed to the edge and peeked inside, seeing the detective standing by a middle-aged man with brown hair parted on the side and small, round spectacles perched on the end of his nose. They both stared down at the sheet-covered body of Amanda Robbins. I huddled close, my ear near the crack.
“You’re telling me she had a reaction to nuts, Kip?”
“Yes, but that’s not what killed her,” said a sharp, piercing voice that reminded me of Maxwell Smart. “She was poisoned,” the voice finished decisively. “The time of death appears to be around six thirty P.M.”
“What about the blood on her temple?” Detective Stone asked, his voice much deeper and smoother. I forced myself to concentrate on what they were saying.
“Probably fell after her heart stopped,” Kip speculated. “It doesn’t take much digoxin to stop a person’s heart. Pretty lethal stuff if used in the wrong dose, and I found plenty of it in her system.” A pause filled the room. “Plenty in her teacup as well.”
I sucked in a sharp breath. Someone put poison in the tea I’d given the librarian?
The door whipped open, and I tumbled inside the office, bouncing off the detective’s wide sculpted chest. Coroner Kip stared bug-eyed above his bifocals, his mouth agape.
“Oh my, I, um . . . Oh, hell, I got nothin’.” I stared at them both sheepishly.
“I’d say you’ve got plenty,” Detective Stone said, his eyes accusing. “Plenty of clues that point in your direction, Miss Meadows. Right size foot, right kind of tea leaves. What you don’t have is an alibi from the time the librarian left your house at six P.M. until I arrived at seven P.M. With a time of death at six thirty, you would have had plenty of time to commit the murder.”
“I also don’t have a motive, Detective, and you don’t have hard evidence.” I tried to poke him in the chest, but he caught my hand. Jeepers, he was quick . . . and jumpy. Once again I wondered what his ex-girlfriend had done to him. “You can’t prove that digoxin came from me.” I stood to my full height, which barely hit his shoulder.