Chapter 14
Pippa packed up and headed to Moo-La-lattes to meet Tippi and the kids shortly after the paramedics arrived for Levi. I was glad she went. I would worry less knowing she was with Jordy and her family. It had taken a few hours, but the police thoroughly searched the shop front and back to ensure that my nemesis had not left any more caustic gifts lying around for me. Thankfully, the place was clean. When they began to clear out of the store with their equipment in tow, I stepped out front for some fresh air.
That’s when I saw Carol Billingsly, the editor of the Garden Cove Gazette, interviewing people across the street from the shop. Carol, an attractive woman in her fifties with sandy blonde hair and a professional appearance, had been responsible for the anonymous letter getting published in the paper, and now she was speaking with Mr. Lems in front of my store. And she had a camera guy with her. Anger boiled inside me, but I wasn’t about to let it be immortalized on film. Still, I couldn’t believe Mr. Lems had agreed to be recorded. I bet the old sourpuss was giving her an earful about me.
I spotted his son Waylon, standing under the awning of his father’s shop. When he met my gaze, he had the good sense to look embarrassed. I stormed over to him.
“Why is your dad talking to a reporter?” I demanded.
“Hello to you too, Nora,” he replied. “Sorry, but I’m not in charge of my dad today.”
I felt a twinge of embarrassment for being rude. Waylon had always been nice, unlike his dad. “I sincerely apologize. I haven’t had a lot of sleep, but that’s no reason to take it out on you.”
He glanced at the cop cars and the ambulance parked along the street. “What’s going on with your place?”
“We got broken into last night,” I explained. “The police are investigating.”
Waylon’s eyes widened. “Man, that’s terrible. Did they steal much?”
I shook my head. “I’m not sure anything was taken at this point.” Except for the bar of soap the guy removed to replace it with the nitric acid one, I thought.
He glanced back at his dad’s furniture store. “Maybe I should get an alarm system put on Dad’s store. But it’s hard to justify the monthly payments for a store that’s only open during the summer and only three days a week.”
“I get that,” I sympathized. “We had an alarm system, and it did jack to prevent getting burgled.”
“Huh,” he grunted. “Bad luck. There’s been a lot of that going around lately.”
Edgar Jones, his arm still slung, was stopped by Carol as he walked past her interview with Mr. Lems. He shook his head vigorously, to the effect of saying “no comment.” Poor Edgar. The man had been put through it yesterday. I hoped he was taking care of his injury. He put his head down and kept walking.
Waylon tipped his head to me. “Welp, I gotta get going. People to do, work to see.”
I groaned at his attempt at humor, and he laughed.
“Are you leaving?” I asked.
“Yeah, there’s not much to help Dad with today, and it’s Sunday.”
“Okay,” I said, absently watching Carol gesticulate toward my shop while she talked to Mr. Lems. They were far enough away that I couldn’t tell what she was asking, but I imagined it had to do with me.
“You really don’t like that reporter,” he observed.
“That woman hates me,” I murmured. “And I’m beginning to hate her back.”
“Why does she hate you?” Waylon asked.
“I have no idea,” I replied honestly. Any theories I had were all speculation.
“Maybe you should ask her then. You know, carpe the diem.”
“That’s a good idea,” I told him.
He grinned. “I get those every once in a while.”
I smiled. “Your dad might not tell you this, but you’re a good son, Waylon. I hope Mr. Lems knows how lucky he is to have you helping him.”
“Nah, I just do some odds and ends and help him keep the lights on. Besides, he lets me put some of my sculptures up for sale in the store. Can’t say it would hurt my feelings if he sold the shop before the bank decides to take it. There’s been a few offers, but my dad’s stubborn. Even so, he’s had a tough go of it lately, so I’ve been trying to help him out as much as I can when I have time off from my day job. Dad’s got back pain nowadays and can’t do a lot of things he used to. I guess it’s the price of getting old.” He shrugged. “But better than the alternative, am I right?”
“Right.” I’d taken care of my mother for two years when she was diagnosed with cancer, and even in the hardest of times during her cancer treatments and the last few months when we knew the end was coming, I was grateful I could be there for her. I hoped it was like that for Waylon with his dad. Mr. Lems wasn’t an easy man to be around, and it had to be even harder for his son. “I’m sorry again for my poor excuse for manners.”
Before he could respond, I saw Carol signal the camera guy to pack up. Then, she shook hands with Mr. Lems. With the camera off, I took the opportunity to confront her.
“Carpe diem,” I said to Waylon as my parting words, then made a beeline for the irritating reporter. I passed Mr. Lems, who scowled at me as he crossed the street to return to his shop.
“What have you got against me?” I asked her point-blank the moment I got across the street. “Why are you coming after me like this?”
“You’re nuts,” Carol said, folding her arms. “How am I coming after you?”
“First, you print that damning anonymous letter, and now you’re interviewing neighboring businesses about me. How would you describe it?”
Carol laughed loudly. “First, I thought the letter was a hoot. It’s an anonymous letter claiming a prominent businesswoman is a psychic. It’s not hard news. I thought it would give people a laugh. Secondly, I’m not here interviewing people about you. The mayor is giving a press conference at the grandstand pavilion in front of the courthouse at noon about the false alarm shooting at the fair yesterday and the stink bomb that was set off at the Community Cove Church. Channel Five in Kansas City reached out and asked me if I could cover it for them. I’m out here interviewing Garden Cove citizens, trying to get some color commentary to add to the reel.” She jabbed a finger at me. “It’s not about you, Nora. This could be my big break. The thing that gets me out of this Podunk town. I’ve been trying to leave for over thirty years, and you’re not going to ruin it for me by making false accusations. Not this time. Not again!”
Again? She acted as if the reason she was in Garden Cove was my fault. “How did I ruin?—”
“I don’t owe you any explanations.” She cut me off. “This conversation is over.”
“Hey, hey.” Ezra held his hands out in front of him and patted the air as if he could tamp down the explosive energy brewing as he walked over. “Why don’t you just move along?” he suggested to Carol. “The mayor is speaking from the bandstand. That’s four blocks east of here.”
“Freedom of the press,” Carol retorted snidely. “The First Amendment gives me the right to express, publish, and share information, ideas, and opinions without fear of censorship or government interference,” she recited. “And in my opinion, which I’m legally allowed to have, your girlfriend sucks.” She stuck her tongue out at me.
Ezra stepped between us, mostly to keep me from lunging at the total witch with a capital B. “Settle down.”
“Real mature,” I said to Carol. I’m sure she’d feel the sting of my comeback for days. Not.
She smirked. “It takes one to know one.” With a flourish, she turned around and walked away.
I was stunned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you probably shouldn’t be starting fights on the street where anyone can record it,” Ezra replied.
“The camera was off.”
“That one was, but...” He gazed around the streets, and I saw a couple of people with their phones out. “The streets have eyes and ears.”
“I hate technology.” I crossed my arms with disdain. “Besides, I don’t suck. Progress sucks.”
He sniffed and, with all seriousness, said, “Because you’re in a bad mood, I’m not going to mention that it doesn’t bother me one bit when you occasionally suck.”
“Now you’re being nasty.” I tried not to smile, but my damn lips betrayed me. “Stop being cute. I’m mad as hell, and that’s the way I want to stay.”
“You go ahead and be mad.” He gestured to my shop. “You’ve earned the right.”
“Levi’s back,” I noted.
“He got back from the hospital about ten minutes ago.”
The paramedics had taken him to the hospital, at Ezra’s insistence, to get checked out. The young officer’s hand was bandaged up, and he was talking to Reese on the sidewalk. He must’ve been superficial if they released him.
“How’s his hand?” I asked, wanting verification.
Ezra looked up, his expression calm and professional. “He’ll be all right. The doctor said he was lucky. The baking soda Broyles used neutralized the nitric acid before it could do any real damage. If Levi hadn’t been wearing gloves, he probably wouldn’t have gotten burned at all. I guess nitric acid has a strong reaction to latex.”
I stared at Levi for a moment, taking in his defiant stance and the tension in his shoulders as he continued his conversation with his superior. He’d gotten lucky. We all had. Every situation this madman put us in could’ve gone seriously wrong. His dangerous antics were juvenile in nature and a bit geeky.
I turned to Ezra as the thought marinated in my mind. “The man doing this has dropped bullets in a hot pan to make them explode, mixed sulfur powder with sugar and lit it up to create a stink bomb, and mixed nitric acid into glycerin to make a soap that would cause burns if handled with latex gloves. Don’t these sound like science experiments? Like the kind you see on television or watch your teacher perform out on the lawn?”
Ezra, standing with his arms crossed, nodded thoughtfully. “But he couldn’t have known the soap would be handled with gloves.”
“Couldn’t he?” I shook my head, frustration creeping into my tone. “He made sure that we knew the building was broken into by throwing a brick through the window and smashing my security system. He had to know that once I noticed the out-of-place soap, it would be collected as evidence. What gets worn when evidence is collected? Gloves.” I gave Ezra a sharp look. “I bet he thought I’d be the one wearing the gloves since I would have to get close enough to the soap to smell it.”
Ezra’s brow furrowed as he considered my words. “You might be on to something.”
“But what? All I’ve demonstrated is that The Scented Stalker is probably a Bill Nye, the Science Guy, fan.” My exasperation was real and kind of loud.
“Stop saying that.” Ezra whipped his head around, looking for nearby bystanders. “What if someone overhears?”
“About the guy liking Bill Nye?”
“No,” Ezra whispered urgently. “The Scented Stalker.” His lip curled in distaste. “I don’t want the press getting a hold of it because that’s a name that won’t go away.”
I made a face, unable to suppress a slight grin. “It’s catchy.”
“Extremely,” Ezra agreed. “And it’s the last thing the department needs right now. So...” He mimicked locking his lips and throwing away the key.
I did the same, hoping I didn’t accidentally pick the lock and slip up later.
“Hey,” Ezra said, his tone shifting to business. “I was looking for you because I got a call from the chief. When we’re done here, I have to move my team down to the grandstand on the courthouse lawn for the mayor’s speech. Chief wants all available officers on hand working security, just in case.”
“In case?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“It’s his boss,” Ezra said with a smirk.
“And he’s yours,” I replied.
Ezra smiled, his green eyes softening as he looked at me. “Now you’re getting it.”
I reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “Be careful, okay?”
“Always.” Ezra took my hand, squeezing it gently. “I’ll leave Treece and Walters with you.”
“But Shawn wants all available officers...”
He dipped his head, his lips grazing mine for a brief moment. “Until we catch this guy, Treece and Walters are unavailable officers.” He brushed my jawline with his thumb. “You’ll stay out of trouble.”
“I make no promises,” I went up on my tiptoes, leaning in for a quick kiss. “But I’ll try.”
“I guess that’ll have to do,” Ezra chuckled. “If you find anything else...”
“I’ll call you first.”
“Correct answer,” he said, his voice alight with amusement.
Reese began to wave in our direction then she jogged across the street to meet us. “Hey, Boss. We just got fingerprints back from that coin you found yesterday behind the florist shop.”
“Yeah? Did we get a match?”
Reese pursed her lips. “We sure did.” She shook her head as if in disbelief. “It was a full thumb and a partial index finger match to Edgar Jones.”
“Edgar?” I couldn’t believe it. “He was injured in the blast. He’s the victim.”
“Or is he,” Reese countered. “It’s awfully convenient he just happened to be present at the street fair incident and the Cove Community Church bombing,” she added. “I don’t think so.”
Ezra swore. “Get an APB out on the man. Let’s track him down.”
“He’s here,” I informed them. “I saw him walking past Carol earlier when she was interviewing Mr. Lems.”
“Which way was he heading?” Ezra asked.
I pointed east. “That way.”
Reese’s hand went to the radio on her belt. “Toward the courthouse.”
“The mayor’s address will be starting soon,” Ezra said. “Call in the team. We need everyone down there now to find Edgar Jones.”
“What do you think he’s planning to do?” The mayor had just arranged to speak to the press and the memory had been planted before Edgar would’ve known it was happening. This wasn’t right, I thought. Nothing about this felt right.