CHAPTER SIX
I couldn't believe Margie was going to sneak me in to see Chris. "Really?" I asked.
"Really. Now let's get going. I happen to know Stan stepped out to meet a friend for lunch and Finn is on some kind of conference call. Now's our chance." Margie jumped up from her desk and practically danced toward the hall that led to the holding cell. "Oh, this is so fun. It's like one of those Mission Impossible movies." She crouched and peeked around the corner like we were infiltrating an enemy base.
I should have known better than to worry about Margie. Margie lived for this sort of thing. If push came to shove, she'd be able to take care of herself.
I couldn't contain the sly grin that twitched the corners of my lips as I followed Margie to the back of the police station, where a single holding cell ran along the back wall. My heart pumped with excitement. I wanted to see Chris, but I took pleasure in defying Finn with his formal procedures and uptight attitude.
Any lingering worries I had over Margie getting into trouble for helping me died at the sight of Chris sitting on the bed in the corner of the holding cell. He stared at the floor, his arms on his knees, his head bent low.
"Chris?" I said hesitantly, not wanting to startle him.
His head snapped up. He stared at me like he was seeing a mirage. "Gwen?"
I rushed over, wrapping my hands around the thick bars. "Oh, my word! I've been so worried about you." I looked over at Margie. "How much time do I have?"
Margie looked through the window in the door to the hallway. "Maybe ten minutes. I'll keep my eye on Finn and detain him if necessary." She searched through the big ring of keys and unlocked the door to Chris's cell.
"Detain him?" I asked suspiciously. She seemed really into this Mission Impossible fantasy. How far was she going to go to keep Finn away?
"You know, make small talk," Margie said. "I don't think I've told him about my trip to the Hosta convention in Springfield last summer."
I turned my head to hide my smile. I'd heard the story. Maybe detain was the right word after all.
Margie turned to Chris and said, "I'm sorry about all of this. Hopefully they'll get it cleared up real soon."
"Let's hope," Chris replied.
The resignation in Chris's normally confident voice arrowed through my heart. I slipped into the cell, and Margie shut the door behind me. "I'll be back in ten to let you out." She lifted on her tiptoes and slinked down the hall, hugging her back against the wall.
Chris watched Margie's stealthy exit. "What's that about?" he asked.
"That's Margie living her dream of being an international spy." The smile at Margie's antics slipped off my face as silence descended between Chris and me. Shifting my weight from one foot to another, I was unsure of what to say or where to start.
"Thanks for coming," Chris finally said.
I gave him a sad smile and said, "Of course. Anytime."
"Want to sit?" He patted the bed next to him, the only place to sit in the small room.
I sank down onto the thin mattress.
Chris resumed staring at the floor as he said, "The new detective says I have a motive for killing Justin. And then there's the text to you that makes it sound like I'd done something stupid and needed help."
I shifted to face him. "What was that about? You asked me for help, and then you weren't even there," I said.
Chris jumped up and paced the length of the cell. "That's just it." He ran his fingers through his sandy blond hair. "I accidentally left my phone at the center that night. By the time I realized it was missing, I was already home and too tired to go back and get it. I figured I'd just get it in the morning. I'm not the one who texted you." He stopped in front of me, pain etched across his face. "You have to believe me, Gwen."
"If you're not the one who texted me…" I looked up at him, reading the concern in his blue eyes as if he already knew the answer to the question my mind was trying to ask. My hand tightened around the strap of my purse. "If you're not the one who texted me," I said again, my voice just above a whisper, "then whoever did probably killed Justin."
Chris pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut as he said, "Probably."
Goosebumps raced across my skin. "They lured me there?" I asked, my voice rising in fear.
Chris dropped to his knees in front of me, running his hands up and down my arms.
"Why me?" I blinked rapidly, trying to stop the rising swell of tears in my eyes.
"Think about it," Chris said. "Who else would jump out of bed for me in the middle of the night? Everyone knows you're my best friend." He gave me a half smile, but it did little to penetrate the fog that was wrapping itself around me with a blanket of icy fear. "Everyone knows we'd do anything for each other," he added.
"Someone wanted me to find Justin?" I whispered. The tears I'd been battling since finding Justin's body broke through my defenses, streaming down my cheeks, leaving dark spots on my jeans as they fell.
Chris hung his head, dropping his hands from my arms. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice breaking. "This is all my fault."
I swiped at the tears. "What? Don't say that." I lowered my voice and glanced at the door to the rest of the precinct. "Especially don't say that in here. You didn't kill anyone." I paused, studying him. "Right?" The man I'd loved since he was a boy wasn't capable of killing anyone, but I needed to hear it from him.
Chris's gaze snapped up to meet mine, and he rocked back on his heels. "No! I would never!" he said insistently. He ran a hand across the blond stubble covering his face, evidence that he'd been locked in here while I'd been desperately trying to get ahold of him. "But everyone knew we were fighting. Justin made sure of that," he added bitterly. Pushing himself to standing, he walked over to the bars, looking out on the empty room. "I never should've gotten mixed up with him."
"Why was Justin mad at you?" I asked, not sure I was ready to hear the answer but knowing I needed to know everything if I was going to help Chris. "Maybe if I understand what's going on, I can help explain to Stan that he's got the wrong guy."
"They haven't charged me with anything," Chris said, dodging my question. "I guess they can hold me for seventy-two hours before doing that."
"That doesn't answer my question," I challenged. "I saw how mad Justin was when I was leaving the center Saturday. I was at Bucky's when he came bursting in looking for you that night."
Chris stood with his back to me, silent.
"Chris?" I asked hesitantly.
"I can't tell you," he said quietly.
His tone, filled with shame and regret, cut right through me. I shifted on the thin mattress, growing more uncomfortable both physically and emotionally the longer I spent in the cell. "You can tell me anything," I said. "We tell each other everything."
Chris turned to face me, pain etching lines across his handsome face. Walking over, he sat down, taking my hand in his. I expected my stomach to flutter at his touch, but instead it filled with dread. "You're the best person I know," he said. "I can't tell you this. You'll never look at me the same way again."
I gave his hand a squeeze. "If I don't know, I can't help you."
Chris rubbed his bloodshot eyes and studied the floor. I'd never seen him like this. Always the class clown, the life of the party, he was quick with a smile and even quicker with a hug.
He pulled his hand away, refusing to meet my gaze. The toe of his shoe traced a small crack in the cement floor. "Six months ago, I learned the building on Lincoln was going up for sale." He looked at me, and a glimmer of the charming, confident Chris flickered in his gaze. "You know I'd had my eye on it for a long time. It's the perfect location for a youth center, and I knew it would be cheap if it ever went up for sale because of the condition it was in."
I nodded, remembering how excited he'd been. He'd rushed over without calling, catching me in the middle of trying to hang new curtains in my living room. He'd burst through the door, which I had a bad habit of leaving unlocked, and scooped me up in a hug before I'd even registered he was in the room.
"I planned to start fundraising, but my real estate agent called the next day. Another buyer wanted to level it and put in a parking lot," Chris said in disgust. "We don't need a parking lot downtown. We need a place where teens can hang out after school when their parents are still at work. I couldn't let the other buyer get it, which meant I needed the down payment as soon as possible. Justin and I were out fishing that weekend, and he told me he could loan me the money. In cash." He looked up at me, waiting for the response he had to know was coming.
"Oh, Chris," I said, not bothering to hide the disappointment in my tone.
Chris's shoulders slumped. "I know. I didn't want to see my dream disappear."
"How did Justin have that kind of cash?" I asked. My fear over the answer to the question pressed heavy against my chest.
"I didn't ask," Chris said. He sighed deeply before saying, "The truth is, I didn't want to know."
"What happened?" I asked. I couldn't help him if I didn't know everything, but part of me wanted to childishly plug my ears and sing la-la-la until it all went away. I wanted to hold on to the idealized Chris that lived in my fantasies.
Chris continued, "He showed up the next day with ten thousand dollars cash in an envelope, and I took it. He was demanding an exorbitant interest rate, but I figured I'd worry about that later. I closed on the building a few weeks later."
"You know the rumors about Justin," I said quietly, as if by my keeping my voice kind, I could soften the gravity of the situation.
"About drugs?" Chris said. "Yeah, I know."
"And you never stopped to think maybe you shouldn't fund your keep-kids-off-drugs youth center with possible drug money?" I asked.
"Of course I thought of that," Chris said, his voice rising.
I glanced at the door, and Chris followed my gaze, lowering his voice. The last thing either one of us needed was for me to get caught back here.
"I told you," Chris said. "I messed up."
"So, what was Justin so upset about? Did you not make a payment?" I asked. We needed to speed this up. I didn't know if I could get back in here again, and if I was going to get Chris out of this cell, I needed to know everything.
"I couldn't live with the thought that Justin's money might have come from him dealing drugs," Chris answered. He paused long enough that I began to worry about what I was going to hear next. "Last week, I called my dad." His face pinched, and he shoved his hands into his pockets, watching me closely.
"You called your dad?" I couldn't have been more shocked if Chris had told me he'd murdered Justin himself.
"I didn't know what else to do," Chris said. He stood and leaned back against the bars, folding his arms across his chest.
The Crawford family had moved to Star Junction when we were in second grade. Mr. Crawford was a lawyer, which made Chris's family one of the wealthiest families in Star Junction. Not only did Mr. Crawford hate Star Junction, but he made sure everyone knew it.
Moving here to take care of Chris's grandma was supposed to be a temporary arrangement. By the time she passed away, Chris was established in school and sports. His mom had insisted they stay.
As soon as Chris left for college, his dad took the opportunity to move the two hours back to Chicago. Chris was a disappointment to his dad, not only because of his decision to become a school guidance counselor and eventually open a youth center, but also because he'd moved back to Star Junction. For him to call his dad meant he was beyond desperate.
"What'd your dad say?" I asked tentatively.
"First he yelled," Chris said, his tone resigned. "Then he lectured. You know, the usual." We shared a brief smile. We'd spent a lot of time in high school trying to avoid his dad's lectures. Chris continued, "Then he said he'd take care of it and hung up. Two days later, there was a check in my mailbox for ten thousand dollars. I used the money to pay Justin back in full. No more payments. No more interest."
I sat back and considered the situation. "That doesn't seem so bad," I finally said. "I don't understand why Justin was so upset."
Chris started pacing again. "I don't get it either. When I gave him the check, he lost it. He started yelling about how he couldn't believe I backed out of our agreement. He said he invested the money and expected the interest he was due. I asked how much he wanted. He wanted his money doubled. Ten thousand more dollars?" Chris said incredulously. "I didn't have that kind of money. I told him a real friend wouldn't rob me blind while I was trying to do something good for the town. He said he'd get his money from me if it was the last thing he did."
"Your dad?" I asked hesitantly.
Chris shook his head. "No way was I going to ask him for more money, and I'd already invested all my own savings into buying the supplies to fix up the building."
I glanced toward the door. I had no idea how much time we had left. I needed Chris to pick up the pace. "Justin thought you cheated him out of money. That's what he was so mad about?"
"And now this new detective is convinced I killed him," Chris said in frustration.
"It doesn't look good," I replied.
He sank down onto the bed next to me, his face buried in his hands. "I know."
A new thought occurred to me, and hope flared in my chest. "Did they find your phone? I bet whoever sent the text left fingerprints on it. They'll be able to figure out it wasn't you."
Chris shook his head and said, "Detective Butler has been stingy with information, but he's asked me repeatedly about where I hid my phone." Chris scoffed. "Like I'd get rid of the phone and not the murder weapon."
I groaned and said, "While I agree with your logic, let's not sound too much like a criminal mastermind. Especially not when you're in police custody."
I tried to see down the hall through the small window in the door that led to the rest of the precinct. From this angle, it was impossible to tell if anyone was coming.
"Let's review," I said, all business. "You have a motive for killing Justin. You have no alibi?" I figured that's what Detective Butler was getting at when he'd asked if I'd seen Chris Saturday night.
"I was home alone," Chris said.
I folded my arms across my chest. "You need a girlfriend. Then maybe you'd have an alibi and all of this would be over."
"Know anyone who's interested?" It was his usual flirty banter, but there was no heart behind it.
I ticked the points off on my fingers as I said, "No alibi. It looks bad that your phone was used to get me to the center and now it's missing. It happened in your building with your screwdriver." A new thought occurred to me. "How'd Justin get in? Did you leave the door unlocked? It was unlocked when I got there," I told him.
Chris shook his head and said, "I'd never leave it unlocked with all those tools in there. He must have broken in. But why?"
"Maybe he was going to steal the tools?" I theorized. "Get his money another way?"
"Then someone else had to have known he was going to be there," Chris said.
"The same person who texted me." My skin crawled at the thought of someone luring me to find Justin's body. "I told you a passcode of 0000 on your phone wasn't a good idea." Maybe now wasn't the time to nitpick. There were a hundred things Chris could've done differently.
"I'm sure my fingerprints will be all over the screwdriver," Chris said, sounding dejected.
"I'll just have to figure out why Justin was at the center after you left and who knew he'd be there. Maybe I can find your phone," I said.
"You'll… What?" Chris said in horror. "No, you're not going to do anything."
"Someone has to get you out of here," I said. "I don't know if you realize this, but you're in real trouble."
"You don't think I know that?" he practically shouted. "I'm in jail."
"Which is why I need to figure out what happened to Justin," I argued.
Chris launched himself off the bed, his eyes flashing with anger. "No, I don't want you digging into this."
"Well, I'm not going to do nothing while this new detective builds a case to put you away for murder," I said, my voice rising in intensity to match Chris's.
"Gwen, I said no. It's not safe!" Chris yelled.
Margie came bursting through the door. "Everything alright in here?" she asked, sounding out of breath, as if she'd rushed down the hall.
I stared at Chris. "Yeah, it's fine," I said to Margie. "I'm ready to go."
Margie looked back and forth between us as she unlocked the cell door.
I reached for Chris's hand and said, "There's no way you'd leave me sitting in here to rot, and I'm not going to leave you in here either. I'll figure this out." I gave his hand a squeeze and walked out the door before he could object again.
I said goodbye to Margie and glanced through the window into Finn's office as I walked by. He was on the phone, but our gazes met. The smile slipped off his face. I gave him a little wave, hoping he would read the sarcasm in it.
As far as I was concerned, he was the reason Chris was in jail to begin with. Uncle Stan needed to follow procedure, but having this new guy running the investigation likely pushed Chris's detainment more quickly than if Uncle Stan had been handling it himself.
I held my head high as I walked into the cold sunshine. It was time to get to work and prove someone else killed Justin.
I dug around in my purse as I cut across the parking lot to my car. I needed to talk this over with Penny, brainstorm, make a murder board. Something. I found my phone and tapped out a quick text. Just left police station. Chris is in jail. Need to process. Is Jack at the station tonight?
Penny was more likely to be available on the nights her firefighter husband was working. Fingers crossed this was one of those nights.
Penny texted me back before I made it to my car. Yes, he's working. Want to do dinner?
I climbed into my car before responding, turning the heat up and the radio down. I don't have any groceries.
She texted back, Me neither. Let's go out.
Not local though. Too many interruptions. Too many listening ears.
We can do Rose Lake. Pick you up at six?
I sent her back a thumbs-up and headed back to Camelot Flowers to help Hailey close the store. I had a few hours before dinner, which gave me time to work on my to-do list surrounding Justin's murder. I needed to add a column for possible motives, which meant I needed to get information from people close to Justin. Derek had stone-walled me about the affair rumor, but it didn't mean he wouldn't talk to me about other things in Justin's life. I couldn't get stuck on one theory, or I might waste all my time heading down the wrong path.