CHAPTER TEN
We pulled up to Henry's Hardware, and I jumped out of the truck before Finn could offer to help. An inviting light, promising warmth, spilled from the large windows lining the front of the old hardware store. I pushed the door open, Finn close on my heels.
Aisles of everything you would imagine a hardware store carrying, plus things you'd never expect, were crammed into the small store. I looked to my left where bags of rock salt usually sat. The space was empty, stray pellets of salt the only indication of what had been there before.
Finn ran his hand across the back of his neck, eyeing the dusting of crushed salt on the hardwood floor. "You'd think they'd have stocked up on salt." He glanced around. "And you'd think someone would be around to help."
Finn was right about one thing. Not having salt was an anomaly. "Henry?" I called out.
"Is that little Guinevere I hear?" A bald head with a small fringe of white hair ringing the edges peeked out from aisle ten.
Finn's grin let me know the endearment "little Guinevere" hadn't escaped his notice.
"It's me," I answered.
Henry adjusted his wire-rim glasses and headed in our direction.
"And who's this tall young man with you?" Henry asked, clearly excited at the sight of Finn. "A new boyfriend? Your mother was in here right before they left town last week. I can't believe she didn't mention anything." I tried to jump in and stop him, but Henry was on a roll. "You two make such a handsome couple. I'm so glad you found our little Guinevere. She's a special one." Henry's face beamed at the two of us.
I said a prayer that the floor would swallow me up and save me from this humiliation. Unfortunately, God didn't seem interested in defying the laws of matter to help me today. Instead, Finn's eyes danced with laughter. He threw his arm around me and said, "Guinevere sure is something special. I can't put my finger on it, but when she's around, the day is never boring."
I attempted to slide away, but Finn tightened his grip. I looked up at him and widened my eyes, trying to communicate the severity of the situation. This was how rumors started in Star Junction. I didn't need any flying around about this new detective and me.
My bugging eyes didn't work. Finn was taking entirely too much pleasure in this. Time to take matters into my own hands. I jabbed him in the ribs with my elbow, coughing into my arm to cover the movement.
Finn doubled over, and I maneuvered out of his grip. I beamed at Henry while Finn rubbed his side. I risked a look at Finn to see how angry he was with my elbow attack. Instead of anger clouding his features, his whiskey-brown eyes sparkled with delight. He thought this was funny.
"This isn't my boyfriend," I explained to Henry. "This is Finn Butler, the new detective Stan hired."
Henry's pale blue eyes lit up with interest. "The new detective." He reached out and shook Finn's hand. "Welcome to Star Junction, young man," he said.
Finn accepted Henry's handshake. "Thank you very much," Finn said sincerely.
Henry rubbed his hands together before saying, "What can I do for you two?"
Finn replied, "We're on the hunt for salt for the church parking lot. The pie social is tonight, and it's getting slippery out there."
Henry pulled off his glasses and cleaned them with the edge of his flannel shirt. "Here's the thing. I'm plum out. Everyone's out. People have been coming in all weekend buying up my supply because of the forecast with the warming and then the freezing. My next shipment won't come in until tomorrow," he said regretfully.
"What do you mean everyone's out?" I asked.
"Just what I said," Henry replied with a shrug. He settled his glasses back on his hook nose. "I made some calls this afternoon to see where I could direct people when they came in looking, and everyone's out—the grocery store, the gas station. Everyone."
This was not good. "What are we supposed to do?" I asked, feeling desperate. "The social starts at seven. It's not safe in the church parking lot right now. I don't want someone slipping and breaking something."
"I'd head to Rose Lake," Henry replied. "You can be there and back in forty minutes. Plenty of time. I talked to Jim at the Mobile station, and he says they got a new shipment this morning."
I looked over at Finn, who shrugged.
"Okay, thanks, Henry," I said. "Say hi to Rita for me."
"Will do, darling," he said to me with a grandfatherly smile. "Good luck with the salt." He moved to walk away but stopped. "One more thing," he said to Finn. "My Rita is plumb scared over the thought of a murderer in Star Junction. Any good news I can pass along?"
Finn ran his hand over his beard and gave Henry the same line he'd given Mrs. Johnson. "It's still early. We're working on it though."
"I understand," Henry said with a sigh. "Rome wasn't built in a day and all that." Henry turned and walked away, whistling a tune as he adjusted a barrel filled with yardsticks before disappearing down aisle ten again.
We walked back to Finn's truck. "Is that the official line?" I asked as Finn opened the car door for me. "You're working on it?"
"It is now." His tone held some bite, as if he was offended by all the questions.
"People are going to ask, you know," I said. "It's a small town. They're worried."
Finn huffed out a breath, his expression softening. "I know. Should we drive to Rose Lake?" he asked.
"I hate driving there if the roads are getting slippery, but we need salt," I said. "I don't want to waste time driving around town asking people to use some of theirs if we're going to end up empty-handed."
Finn pulled onto the street and turned toward the highway to Rose Lake. "We'll be fine. I have the four-wheel drive on."
Finn turned on the radio, songs of attraction and love filling the car. I hummed along as we cruised down the dark highway toward Rose Lake. I'd driven this stretch of highway more times than I could count. Finn pressed down on the accelerator, taking us up to sixty-five.
"Don't get going too fast," I said as I eyed the speedometer. "There are some turns up ahead that get icy."
"I'm fine," Finn said casually. "I've been driving in snow and ice all my life. I don't want to be late getting back."
"Okay, but black ice can develop—" I started.
The truck slid to the side. I gripped the handle on the door. Finn's jaw flexed in concentration as he worked to steer us out of the skid. My heart slammed against the walls of my chest as I braced myself against the dashboard.
The truck straightened for a moment but caught another patch of ice. We careened across the road and down a steep embankment, plowing through several inches of snow. The front bumper skidded to a stop inches from a thick pine tree.
The sound of our frantic breathing filled the truck. I loosened my grip on the door handle and straightened in my seat. The headlights played off the sides of the embankment. There was no way we were going to drive out of this mess. Not without some help.
"Are you okay?" Finn asked as he pushed himself back from the steering wheel and surveyed me from head to toe.
"I-I'm okay," I stuttered out. "I think." I moved my head from side to side and groaned. "I'll be stiff tomorrow." As the initial fear faded, frustration burned in my chest. A simple task, go get salt for the parking lot, had us stranded. Finn's jaw flexed as he took in my accusatory glare.
"I can't believe you got us into this!" I yelled at the exact moment Finn shouted, "Don't even start with me!"
We glared at each other, Finn on the defensive, and me on the attack.
Frustration pulsing through my veins, I collapsed back into my seat. "Maybe next time you'll listen," I muttered.
He leaned forward and scowled. "What makes you think there'll be a next time?"
I turned to make a face at him, but a drop of fresh blood on his shirt caught my attention. "You're hurt," I exclaimed, my tone softening as my concern eclipsed my frustration. I put my hand on his shoulder, searching for the source of the blood. Above his eye, a cut intersected his eyebrow. "That looks deep."
Finn reached up and fingered the cut, his fingers coming away red. "I hit my head on the driver's-side window when we slid off the road," he explained. "It'll be okay. There's a first aid kit in the glove box."
Flashes of Justin's chest, smeared the same color as the blood on Finn's face, slammed into me. My eyes swam with tears as I reached for the handle of the glove box. Not now. Don't do this now. I pushed the memories of Justin from my mind. I couldn't do anything to help Justin, but I could help Finn. "It's locked," I said, my voice shaky.
"Sorry," Finn said as he pulled the keys from the ignition, plunging us into darkness. He leaned across the seat, his shoulder brushing against my arm. He used a small key on his keychain to open the glove box and leaned back, starting the truck again.
I opened the glove box to see a red bag with a white cross on the front. Right next to it—a handgun. No wonder it had been locked. Pulling a large, square gauze from the zippered pocket of the first aid kit, I scooted closer and held it to his forehead. He winced as I touched the laceration, gripping my arm.
Silence descended between us as I tended to his wound. It didn't escape my notice that this was the second time I'd played nurse this week. First Chris. Now Finn. I leaned closer as I dabbed the cut.
Finn caught my gaze. "Thank you," he said softly. The look of genuine gratitude in his gaze disarmed me.
If I were being honest with myself, his prior defensiveness wasn't unwarranted. I'd done nothing but criticize him since we met. "Sorry for yelling," I said quietly. "This could've happened to anyone. At least we're okay."
He may have been more surprised by my apology than the fact that we'd slid off the road. He rubbed his hand across his bearded chin. "I'm sorry too," he said. "I should've listened and slowed down."
"Black ice is invisible," I said, making an excuse for him. "You were just trying to get us back to the church on time."
I pulled the gauze away from his forehead. The bleeding had stopped, and the cut didn't look as deep as I'd initially thought. "I think a couple of Band-Aids, and you'll be good to go."
I rummaged through the well-stocked first aid kit. "Or we could go for the full-on head wound look," I teased as I pulled out a roll of white bandages. The incredulous look on his face made me laugh. "No, seriously, I think it could be a good look on you," I continued to tease.
"I think no," Finn said with a grin on his face. He reached over me, pulling butterfly bandages from the first aid kit. "These will be sufficient."
"If you insist," I said lightly, shooting him a grin. "I've been going to renaissance fairs and Live Action Role Playing events with my dad since before I could walk. At some point around middle school, I got roped into applying bandages to the faux-wounded. If you want to look like a knight who took a blow to the head, I'm your gal."
"I'll keep that in mind, but let's go for the modern look this time around," he said.
How quickly we'd gone from who says there's going to be a next time to next time around.
I pulled the butterfly bandages from their wrappers and carefully applied them to Finn's wound. He winced but stayed silent as I tugged the strips tight, pulling the ends of the cut together. "Sorry." I pulled the second one taut and pressed it to his skin.
He gave me a pained smile. "I'll live. Let me call someone from the precinct to get us out," he said.
I eyed the steep embankment. "No offense to anyone on the fine Star Junction police force, but I think we need more than a pickup truck with a tow cable. I'll call a professional. I've got the full roadside assistance package courtesy of my overprotective dad," I explained.
"Remind me to thank your overprotective dad," Finn said as he turned up the heat and settled back in his seat.
I waited for the call to connect, reflecting on the truce that once again seemed to have formed between us. Would this one last?
The call connected, and I answered the operator's questions, giving her our location and assuring her we were safe. The tow truck would be there within the hour. I called Margie to explain what had happened. After reassuring her about a thousand times that we were fine, I was finally able to end the call.
Finn looked over the dashboard. "At least we have enough gas to keep the heat going," he said.
This was it. I had a captive audience. Unless Finn wanted to wait out in the cold, he couldn't walk away from my questions. Or my suggestions. I recommitted to my original plan of using honey instead of vinegar to get Finn on my side. "How did things go with Mrs. Hunt today?" I asked, making sure my tone was friendly and approachable.
"You know I can't talk about that," he said, sounding resigned but not offended.
This wasn't going to be easy. "Come on, Finnegan! I'm trying to help you," I said.
Finn barked out a laugh. "Finnegan?" he asked incredulously.
"Finn could be short for Finnegan," I said flirtatiously. I couldn't help it. Bantering with Finn was as exciting as arguing with him.
"Strike two," he said. "No to Phineas, and no to Finnegan. You're getting colder."
I rubbed my hands together with glee. "A clue. I'll have to put some thought into what would make me hotter."
Finn's gaze heated at my innocent comment that ended up sounding not-so-innocent, but instead of coming back with a flirty retort, his eyes tightened and he said, "You're not helping me with this case. And I can't give you an update on Chris."
"Who asked for an update on Chris?" I said indignantly.
"It was coming," he said.
Well, shoot. He wasn't wrong. "I think you're making a mistake," I said.
Finn folded his arms across his chest. "What kind of mistake is that?" he asked.
"The mistake of forgoing my expertise," I said.
"You're an expert on murder?" His tone left no doubt as to what he thought of my assertion.
I was tempted to argue that I listened to more true-crime podcasts than anyone I knew, but I suspected he wouldn't count that as real experience. "My expertise on Star Junction," I explained.
Finn paused as if considering my argument before saying, "Tell me more about what you mean by that."
I was so shocked by his genuine interest that it took me a moment to answer. "Cops have informants, right? People who hear things on the street they're not privy to because people don't always want to talk to the police. That can be me. I know everyone in town. People underestimate me all the time. People might tell me things they wouldn't tell you."
"People underestimate you?" he said incredulously. "I find that hard to believe."
Was that a compliment? I was too afraid to ask just in case it wasn't. "Using my connections makes sense. Even you have to admit that," I said.
"I can't give you details of the case," he said earnestly. "I also can't let you put yourself in danger. Let me handle this. Believe it or not, this isn't my first rodeo."
"I won't be in danger," I argued. "I'm going to talk to people I already know. I graduated with Justin. We know all the same people, and they'll trust me."
"One of those people might have killed Justin," Finn explained. "What happens if you're poking around and you get too close?"
His argument mirrored Penny's, but I was undeterred. "Let's have a job interview. I'll tell you what I know, and you decide whether or not I could be helpful," I said.
"Let me ask you a question first," he said, clearly hedging. "Would you be this invested in finding Justin's murderer if Chris Crawford wasn't my prime suspect?"
The question stung in more ways than one. I wanted to say yes, to say I'd want justice for Justin no matter what. But was that the truth? The other thing I needed to consider was whether or not this was the right time to show him the picture of the box beneath Justin's bed.
Finn was going to be mad when he saw it. I was getting somewhere with him. I could feel it. I didn't want to jeopardize it by tipping my hand too soon. Waiting too long wouldn't be good either.
"Your silence tells me a lot," he finally said.
My embarrassment at the implication of his statement flared into irritation. "My silence says I'm trying to give a thoughtful answer," I snapped. I paused again, just long enough to shoot him a dirty look. "I'd like to think I'd want to find Justin's killer either way." There. That was pretty honest.
"Fair enough," Finn said. "Tell me what you know."
"There's a rumor about Justin being mixed up with drugs," I said. "Drug dealers kill each other all the time. That's a motive that has nothing to do with Chris."
"I've heard that rumor and am following up on it," Finn said simply.
"Did you know he cheated on his girlfriend Samantha, and the other woman is pregnant?" I countered.
"Yes, and allegedly pregnant," he pointed out. "I have an officer looking into it."
If I couldn't give him something new, he was never going to let me help. "It's possible the other woman has a boyfriend who's not very happy with Justin. Or there's Samantha. You said it would take a lot of force to drive that screwdriver into his chest, but adrenaline can enable people to do crazy things. Maybe Samantha did it. Or the girl he got pregnant. Maybe he's not supportive, and she's mad."
"That's a theory," he said blandly.
"You don't seem impressed." As far as job interviews went, I was failing miserably.
"So far, you've only told me things I already know," he explained.
I got my phone from my coat pocket. Like it or not, it was time to pull out the big guns. I opened my photo app and showed him the picture. "I found this under Justin's bed today. It was shoved way back in the corner against the wall. I didn't move it or touch it besides taking the lid off," I said.
Finn's jaw worked as he studied the picture. "So you weren't just upstairs looking at old family photos," he finally said, his tone tense.
I grimaced. "No," I admitted. "I was never going to keep this from you, but I didn't want to say anything in front of Mrs. Hunt. She worshipped the ground Justin walked on. I didn't want her to hear about anything related to drugs."
"Can you send this to me?" he asked as he handed back my phone.
"Sure," I said, sounding hopeful. Maybe he really was trying to solve this case the right way. "What's your number?"
Finn rattled off his phone number, and I texted him the photo. I saved the number. Who knew when having direct access to Finn might come in handy?
I tucked my leg onto the seat and shifted so I could face him. "Did I pass the test?" I asked.
Finn rubbed his hands across his eyes, suddenly looking weary. "There wasn't any test," he said.
"I mean, if I learn something helpful, do you want me to tell you?" I clarified.
"I want you to stay out of this, but if you happen to learn something helpful, I'd like to be informed," he said, sounding resigned.
I'd gotten my way. Sort of. Even so, somehow the victory felt hollow. We had at least thirty minutes before the tow truck would arrive. Time to wade into safer topics. "So, why Star Junction?" I asked.
"Why Star Junction?" he repeated.
"Yeah, you used to be a cop in Chicago," I said. "At least that's the rumor. So, why Star Junction?"
I wasn't sure he was going to answer. Even I had to admit it wasn't the smoothest segue, but if I was going to help him solve this murder, I wanted to get to know the guy.
To my surprise, he answered with more detail than I'd been expecting. "I've lived in the Chicago area all my life. All I ever wanted to do was become a cop. I got my wish, but it wasn't exactly what I'd thought it would be.
"I worked rough neighborhoods as a new patrol officer. I thought the job might get easier once I made detective, but it was almost worse. We weren't helping people. We were just cleaning up messes. We were chasing a serial killer last year. It was a gruesome case. The one witness almost died before we caught the guy. It made me rethink my life priorities. When a relationship I was in ended around the same time, I decided I wanted a fresh start."
A relationship? How long had it been since it ended? How long had they dated? What did she look like? Were they still in touch? Maybe they weren't the most relevant questions, but I couldn't stop them from running through my mind.
Finn continued, "I didn't expect to be investigating a murder my first week on the job. Especially not after the description of the town Stan gave me during the interview process."
"Thanks for sharing all that," I said, in awe of how forthcoming he'd been.
Finn shrugged like it was no big deal.
Still no tow truck. I'd disarmed him with a personal question, but I needed more information if I was going to help Chris get out of jail. "I have another question," I said.
"Shoot," he said encouragingly.
I rattled off a series of questions, "Did you find any evidence at the crime scene that pointed to someone besides Chris? Fingerprints. Threatening messages on Justin's phone. A doorbell camera somewhere in the neighborhood that showed someone else coming and going. Or a doorbell camera showing Chris went home and didn't leave again the night of the murder?"
Finn's lips pressed into a thin line. "We're not talking about this," he said sternly. "If you want to feed me information, that's one thing. I can't share confidential parts of the investigation with you."
We descended into silence. I wasn't surprised he wasn't willing to share information, but the arrangement didn't strike me as fair.
He must have sensed my displeasure, because he said, "It's not personal. I can't share details with anyone." His tone begged me to understand.
I did understand. It didn't mean I liked it. "Okay, I have another question."
Finn looked hesitant but said, "Go ahead."
"Football or soccer?" I asked.
It was a softball question, not to mix up sports metaphors, but I was tired of pushing. Thoughts of Justin's murder dominated my days, and nightmares plagued my nights. While it felt wrong to think of mundane things with Chris sitting in jail, I needed a break, and I sensed Finn did as well.
"Football or soccer?" he repeated, clearly confused by the abrupt subject change.
"Yeah, which do you like better?" I explained.
"Football, for sure," Finn answered.
"Favorite team?" I asked.
He eyed me askance and said, "The Bears. Obviously."
I grimaced.
"What's that look for?" he asked.
I pointed to myself. "Packers fan."
He couldn't have looked more horrified than if I'd confessed to Justin's murder right then and there. Then his lips twitched as if he were struggling not to laugh. "Get out," he said.
"What?" I exclaimed.
"I can't have a Packers' fan in my truck, not when we're facing them in the playoffs," he said.
I chuckled and pretended I was going to touch him. "What? You think I'll give you Packer-cooties?"
Finn leaned away from me. "That's exactly what I think," he teased. "How did this happen anyway? How do you grow up in Bears' country and become a Packers fan?"
"My dad grew up in Green Bay," I said in way of explanation.
Finn assessed my statement before responding, "You get a pass for that."
I laughed, smacking my hand against his chest. "That's very generous of you."
"Family trumps everything," Finn said.
"Even football?" I asked playfully.
"Even football," he agreed.
"That's a relief. Making me walk back to Star Junction was not going to bode well for your reputation in town. I'm well loved by the people," I said.
A laugh burst from Finn's lips, and he flinched, reaching for the wound on his head.
"Are you okay?" I leaned over in the dim overhead light and examined my doctoring skills. The bandages seemed to be holding.
"It's fine," he said. "Just a little sore."
"Maybe when we get back to town you should go home and rest. You could just drop me off at the church," I said with concern.
"And miss my very first pie social? Not a chance. Besides," he added, "I already have my eye on one of the pies."
"We left before most of the pies even got there," I said, confused.
Finn opened his mouth to respond as headlights washed over us. A tow truck pulled over to the side of the road. I turned back to Finn, but he was already easing his door open. What was he about to say? And how worried did I need to be about the cut on his forehead? No time for answers now. Help was here, and we had a pie social to get back to.