CHAPTER FIVE
I walked into Titan Fitness a few minutes later, my nose and fingers freezing after the short walk, even though it was only a block away from Camelot Flowers. Scanning the room, I looked for Derek's tanned skin and blond buzz cut. Three women were on treadmills side by side all chatting with one another. Another woman and a man were busy near the free weights, but there was no sign of Derek.
"Hey, Gwen. Looking good today," Derek's smarmy voice came from behind me.
I closed my eyes and prayed for patience. I'd come looking for him but somehow regretted finding him. This conversation wasn't going to be easy. Not with Derek Won't-Take-No-For-An-Answer Thompson. I just needed to keep the conversation focused on Justin.
I turned to see Derek in his gym "uniform" of tight muscle shirt over baggy shorts. He smiled at—no, scratch that, he leered at me. Derek asked me out incessantly. I said no just as incessantly. He crossed his arms over his chest, clearly pushing his biceps into view. "Too bad about Chris," he said, although he didn't sound the least bit upset.
Guess I wasn't going to have to find a subtle way to bring up the Justin situation after all. "It's awful," I said, agreeing with Derek for once in my life. "Just when he was getting the building ready to open, he had to lose a friend there."
Derek put his hand on my shoulder, giving it a little squeeze as he said, "I was talking about how he got arrested yesterday."
I took a step back, forcing his hand to drop from my shoulder. "Chris wasn't arrested," I said incredulously. "The police just wanted to ask him some questions. Besides, no one's even heard from him."
"That's not what I heard," Derek said. He kicked his right foot up behind him, caught it in his hand, and pulled on it to stretch his leg. "I heard the police have got motive and proof. Everyone knows what Chris did to Justin."
Derek thought the only reason I wouldn't say yes to a date with him was because I had a thing for Chris, which was another painful reminder that I wasn't that great at hiding my crush from the rest of the town. Because of that, he'd say anything to stick it to Chris.
I swallowed back the sick feeling gathering in the pit of my stomach and pushed on with why I'd come to find him. Derek had information I needed. Maybe he even had information about the fight between Chris and Justin.
"What do you know about what Chris did to Justin?" I asked suspiciously.
Derek switched legs in his stretch. "I know it had something to do with money. Don't know the details," he said.
I threw my hands up. "That doesn't help me at all," I said.
"Why don't you ask Chris?" Derek said. It was impossible to miss the bitterness in his tone when he said Chris's name.
I decided to ignore his taunt. Getting into an argument with him about Chris wasn't going to get me anywhere. "What about Justin and Samantha? Did Justin cheat on her?"
Derek's eyes were such a pale-blue color, they were almost silver. Right now they looked anything but friendly. "That's my friend you're talking about," he said, the message to tread carefully obvious in his tone. "My friend who was just murdered. Show him some respect."
"You're saying he didn't cheat on Samantha?" I pressed. I couldn't let this go. I wouldn't. Not when Chris was a suspect.
"I'm not saying nothing," Derek said as he crossed his arms over his chest.
I took a step toward him, closing the distance between us. While Finn's cologne had smelled expensive and made me inexplicably want to wrap my arms around him, Derek's cologne tickled my nose and made me want to sneeze. "Tell me what you know about Justin cheating on Samantha," I challenged.
"No," Derek said emphatically.
There was a small part of me that was tempted to flirt with him to get the information, but I had a feeling that wouldn't work, not in this case. Plus, the thought of flirting with Derek Thompson, even to get information out of him, threatened to give me a case of those old-fashioned vapors once again.
"I'll find out one way or another," I said.
Derek sneered. "Good luck with that. I've got to get back to my workout."
He walked away without another word while I resisted the urge to scream in frustration. So much for learning something useful by talking to Derek. I'd learned Chris had been arrested, which couldn't possibly be true, the fight between Chris and Justin was about money, which told me practically nothing, and Derek knew something about Justin and Samantha but wouldn't rat on his friend.
It could only mean one thing. Justin had cheated. Otherwise, Derek would've denied it. I pulled out my phone and opened the Notes app. Talk to Samantha went on the top of the list. Right underneath it I wrote, Send flowers to Justin's parents and Ask Penny about Tony's Facebook post. Then in all caps, I added, FIND OUT WHERE CHRIS IS.
I hurried back to Camelot Flowers to get my car. Talking to Derek hadn't taken as long as I thought. Showing up early to the police station wasn't going to do me any good. I picked at the bottom of my sweatshirt. Maybe I would run home and change. First impressions were everything, my dad always said.
The first impression I'd given Finn had been something between homeless woman and crazy cat lady. There was nothing wrong with my current sweatshirt and jeans. They were certainly an upgrade from the pajama pants, oversized sweater, winter boots, and bed head I'd been rocking the first time we met, but I had extra time, and having Finn's second impression of me be a good one couldn't hurt.
I walked into the station thirty minutes later and was greeted with a warm hug by Margie. "Gwen, honey, I'm so glad whoever murdered poor Justin didn't get you too. Just think, you could've stumbled in at the wrong time, and bam!" Margie clapped her hands in my face with her final word.
I flinched back. "Uh, thanks?" I said hesitantly.
Margie held me at arm's length and looked me up and down. I'd changed into dark skinny jeans, a black V-neck sweater, and black suede high-heeled booties. The sweater wasn't exactly low cut as Margie had suggested, but it definitely showed more skin than my Camelot Flowers sweatshirt. I'd touched up the waves in my long hair with the curling iron and added a swipe of berry-colored lip gloss along with an extra coat of mascara.
A wide grin deepened the smile lines on Margie's plump cheeks. "You certainly didn't come right from work looking like this. Maybe you care a little bit what Finn Butler thinks of you?" she said suggestively.
"What are you talking about, Margie? I got dressed up for you," I said enthusiastically.
Margie threw her head back and laughed. "I love you, Gwen," she said affectionately.
"You too, Margie," I said.
Not having extended family in the area and being an only child, I'd taken for granted how many adults acted as surrogate aunts and uncles for me growing up, but it was something I appreciated more than ever as an adult.
"I'll let Finn know you're here," Margie said, heading back to her desk.
This was my chance to solve one mystery. Margie knew everything about everyone. "Do you know what Finn is short for?" I asked.
Margie's smile grew impish as she said, "I do, but if he hasn't told you, I'm not going to either. Life's more fun with a little mystery, isn't it?"
I folded my arms across my chest. "This is where you draw the line at gossip? Telling me what his full name is?" I said in disbelief.
Margie chuckled as she headed back to her desk and said, "The line has to be drawn somewhere."
"Fine," I said, maybe pouting just a little bit.
"What's fine?" Finn asked as he appeared at the end of the hall wearing another dark suit fitted perfectly to his muscular frame. My stomach gave a little flip, which only served to darken my mood.
I shot a look at Margie that said keep your mouth shut and turned to Finn with a sly smile. "Nothing," I said in a sing-song voice.
He pinched his lips into a tight line as if holding back whatever retort was running through his mind. "Thanks for coming in today," he said stiffly.
"Did I have a choice?" I challenged.
"Why can't you just say you're welcome?" he asked, annoyed.
I shuffled my feet and adjusted my purse. Margie was watching us, the delight evident on her face. "Sorry," I said reluctantly. "You're welcome. How can I help?"
"Let's head back to my office," he said as he turned and extended his arm, inviting me to take the lead.
I gave Margie a little wave.
"Behave yourself," Margie crooned as we headed down the hall.
Which one of us she was talking to, I couldn't be sure.
I walked into Finn's office and sat in the chair opposite his desk. Behind the desk, a bulletin board displayed papers advertising everything from upcoming community events to the standard OSHA compliance sign.
Finn closed the door and settled behind the desk. He'd paired a golden tie with his blue suit, which made his golden-brown eyes glow. His beard looked slightly longer, as if he hadn't had time to trim it since Justin's murder.
Finn clicked a button on his laptop and said, "I want to go over the timeline one more time to make sure I didn't miss anything."
"Sounds like a plan," I said.
See. I could be polite, although I had a feeling pointing out how polite I was being would ruin the goodwill I was attempting to build. I'd been treating Finn like the enemy, when I really needed to be treating him like a source. And as the saying goes, you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.
Finn opened a document on his computer and started with, "You had dinner with your friend, Penny, at Bucky's Saturday night."
"Yes," I answered, determined to be helpful. If I helped Finn, maybe he'd tell me something about the murder investigation I could use to prove Chris didn't do it.
"At six thirty, Justin came in looking for Chris," Finn said.
"I guess. I'm not really sure what time it was." I leaned forward, curious how he knew what time Justin had shown up at Bucky's. "Actually, I don't remember mentioning what time Justin came into Bucky's."
Finn kept his gaze on his notes as he said, "You're not the only person I've been talking to. Others said it was six thirty."
He was talking to other people. I was dying to ask him what else he'd learned but knew even from our short interaction in the early morning hours of Sunday that it wouldn't go over well. "That makes sense," I finally said after concluding my internal debate about whether or not to risk annoying him with my questions. "I got there around six."
"Justin left five minutes later after Mitch Alcomb calmed him down and said Chris wasn't there," Finn added. He fixed me with a pointed look. I imagined it was a very effective tool in an interrogation room.
"Correct," I said. Feeling uncomfortable under the weight of his stare, I crossed my legs and shifted in the hard, wooden chair. Why did he need me to answer the same questions again? Did he think I was lying?
"Did you see Chris later that night?" Finn asked.
I tugged on a loose string hanging from the sleeve of my sweater. It came off in my hand, and I proceeded to twirl it around my finger. "No. I told you I didn't see Chris after I left the center. After dinner, I was tired and went home. Why would I have seen Chris?" I asked.
"People say you two are close," Finn said casually. Almost too casually.
My cheeks grew warm as the meaning of his words sank in. Like at dinner with Penny, I found myself defending my unrequited relationship with Chris. "I mean, we're close, but we're just friends." How to explain this clearly? "I'd have no…reason…to see him late on a Saturday night," I finally managed to say.
Finn held my gaze for a moment then exhaled lightly before turning his attention back to the computer. "So, no one saw him that night," he said quietly, as if talking to himself. "You got a text from him at two in the morning asking you to come to his building," he continued through the timeline.
"Yes, he said it was an emergency," I said as I shifted again, but this time it wasn't due to physical discomfort. I didn't like how specific Detective Butler was getting with his questions about Chris. My stomach squirmed, and I clutched my hands together in my lap. "I haven't been able to get ahold of Chris. Is he okay?" I asked.
"You arrived at the building at what time?" Finn asked, ignoring my question.
I looked up at the ceiling, scanning through my memory of that morning. "I believe it was about two thirty," I said.
Detective Butler looked up from his computer. "And Mr. Crawford wasn't there when you arrived?" he asked.
"No, it looked like the building was empty," I said. "It was dark. There were no cars in the parking lot."
"But you went in anyway." It could've been a question, but Finn's tone held a sting of reproach.
Being like honey instead of vinegar was proving more and more difficult. "Of course I went in. What if Chris had hurt himself? What if he needed help?" I said.
Finn must have noted the change in my tone, because he looked up, his eyes softening slightly as he said, "Gwen, I'm just making sure I have everything clear so the right person pays for Justin's murder."
I loosened my death grip on the arms of the chair and tried to see things from his perspective. He had a job to do. Ensuring he had the details straight was part of that job.
Finn walked me through the events of the rest of the night, and I tried my best to be cooperative. As he finished typing something into his computer, he looked up and smiled for the first time since I'd arrived. "That was helpful, Gwen. Can you think of anything else I should know?" he asked.
I scanned through my memory like a movie on fast forward, landing on Tony's behavior at Bucky's. Finn had been interviewing other witnesses, it seemed, but he hadn't mentioned Tony. "There was this one thing," I said slowly as I thought through Tony's seeming dislike of Justin.
Finn had been checking something on his computer. He looked up in surprise, clearly not expecting me to have something else to add, even though he'd asked the question. "Yes?" he asked expectantly.
"There was this guy at Bucky's Saturday night. Tony. He graduated high school with us but moved to Chicago after college. He was in town visiting his parents this past weekend and ended up at the bar with Mitch and some of the other guys who played football together. Anyway, he seemed upset with Justin," I explained.
"Upset how?" Finn asked.
"Justin came in yelling about looking for Chris, as you know," I said. "But Tony was making all these snarky comments about Justin, and then he said if Justin was staying, he was leaving." I shook my head. "It was weird. They used to be friends."
I left out the part about Tony's Facebook post practically accusing Chris of murdering Justin. I couldn't risk Finn adding another check in the guilty column for Chris.
"Thanks for sharing that," Finn said as he made another note on his computer. "No one else mentioned it."
I shrugged and said, "Justin was kind of the star of the show. I'm sure everyone was focused on him. Even Andy, the owner of Bucky's, was worried Justin was going to start some kind of fight."
Finn didn't ask more about Andy. He must have already talked to him. Funny that Andy hadn't mentioned Tony, since it seemed that Tony's slightly drunk statements had been a possible ignition point for the fight between Justin and Tony that Andy had successfully prevented.
Finn stood and said, "Thank you, Gwen. That was helpful. I'll walk you out."
Finn followed me into the hall, where a booming voice called out, "Guinevere?" The police chief walked toward us, his arms outstretched, a smile under his bushy mustache.
He was wearing the dark-blue police uniform.
Despite being in his early sixties, he'd avoided the spreading girth of a lot of men his age.
His hair, what was left of it, was snowy-white despite his sandy-brown mustache.
Margie's husband had passed away ten years ago from cancer.
I'd always thought she and Uncle Stan would be a good match, but they'd resisted my efforts over the past year to push them together.
"Uncle Stan!" I said as I greeted him with a hug.
Finn looked back and forth between us. "Uncle Stan?"
"Oh, I'm not her real uncle, but I've been best friends with her dad since before she was born," Stan said as he looked at me with what could only be described as fatherly pride. "I held her in the hospital. I've gone to every school function she's ever had. Never had a family of my own. Gwen is like a daughter to me."
To say Finn's smile was strained would've been an understatement. "That's great," he said, sounding like he thought it was anything but great.
I turned my attention back to Stan. "I haven't been able to get ahold of Chris. I'm worried about him. I can't imagine what losing Justin has done to him," I said.
Stan looked to Detective Butler. "No one told her?" he asked.
"I didn't think it was prudent," Finn said tightly.
"Told me what?" I asked, fear gathering in my gut.
"Chris is here," Stan said softly.
"Chris is—? What?" The meaning behind Stan's words clicked into place, and my eyes narrowed to slits. I pivoted to Finn. "You arrested him?" I spit the words, my voice like ice. So much for honey. We were full-on vinegar now.
Uncle Stan took a step back and said, "The only time I've seen her like this was in fifth grade when she found out little Billy Masters was picking on Tammy Goldberg. She got calm like this right before she punched Billy in the face." Finn snorted out a laugh, but Uncle Stan said, "I'm not kidding."
The smirk slid off Finn's face, and his eyes widened in disbelief. "You think she's going to punch me?"
"Probably not," Stan said. "She's matured since fifth grade. Right, Guinevere?"
"I'm not going to punch anyone," I said through gritted teeth. It didn't mean I wasn't picturing it.
Uncle Stan continued, "Guinevere gets feisty when faced with injustice, especially if someone she cares about is involved."
"Injustice?" Finn objected.
"Gwen is also standing right here," I said, referring to myself in the third person. I shot Finn one more icy glare before turning back to Stan. "I want to see Chris."
"What? No way!" Finn's attempt to control his temper in front of his new boss was admirable, but his flexing jaw and bulging eyes gave away his disbelief we were even having this conversation.
Stan rested his hands on his utility belt. "Sweetie, I wish I could," he said.
"But you can!" I leaned forward and whispered loudly enough for Finn to overhear, "You're the boss. You don't have to listen to him."
Stan smiled sadly, placing a hand on my shoulder and giving it a squeeze. "I know I am, and that's why I can't do it. This is serious. I don't know how Chris got himself messed up in murder, but until we can clear some things up, I can't let you see him. I'll tell him you stopped by," he said.
Uncle Stan's attempts to soothe my temper were lost on me. I turned on Finn. "This is your fault," I snapped before spinning on my heels and marching back toward the front of the station.
Finn sputtered something about following procedure, but I didn't care. Procedure shouldn't matter more than people, and Chris was my people. I turned before rounding the corner and pointed a finger at Finn. "This isn't over."
Finn's eyes widened in shock, and he shook his head. "Unbelievable," he muttered as he headed back to his office. "Move to a small town, they said. It'll be less stressful, they said." His office door slammed shut.
I stomped into the foyer to see Margie typing away on her computer. "Unbelievable," I said, echoing Finn's words but for a very different reason.
Margie eyed me over her reading glasses before sliding them off her face. "What's the matter, dear? That sounded like quite the commotion."
I stopped my pacing and leaned on Margie's desk, trying to calm my racing heart. "Why didn't you tell me Chris is here?" I asked.
"You didn't know?" she asked, clearly shocked.
"No." I shot my best look of death down the hall toward Finn's office. "Uncle Stan won't let me see him because stupid Finn won't shut up about procedure."
"I don't think we should blame Finn—" Margie started.
I cut her off with a bitter laugh and resumed my pacing. "Margie, I need to see he's okay. He can't go through this without me. What am I going to do? What if I never see him again? What if he goes to prison for the rest of his life for a crime he didn't commit? It'll be all Finn's fault. That man—" I was just getting started, but Margie cut me off.
"Now, Guinevere." Her voice held a hint of reproach. Having a group of second mothers was wonderful. Until it wasn't. "Calm down. Everything will work out the way it's supposed to."
I planted my hands on my hips and stared out the front window at the watery blue sky. I sucked in a sharp breath and held it for a moment before letting it out, releasing some of my anger with it. My chest tightened, and my eyes filled with tears. Without the anger, the fear was too real.
Margie's gentle voice broke through my thoughts, "I said, everything will work out the way it's supposed to."
I turned to see an impish smile on Margie's face and a set of keys jingling in her hand.
"Are those…?" I asked, too afraid to hope.
"Yep." Margie's smile grew wider.
The desire to see Chris warred with my need to protect Margie. "I can't let you do that. You'll get in trouble," I said.
Please don't listen to me. Please don't listen to me.
"Pshaw, I've been here since Stan was just an officer writing speeding tickets, and I'll be here long after he finally decides to retire. You let me worry about me. Now, do you want to see Chris or not?" she said with a wide grin.