CHAPTER NINE
Mrs. Hunt led me toward the front of the house and up the stairs. She opened the second door on the right. The phone rang downstairs. From the sound of it, it was a landline. "Excuse me," Mrs. Hunt said. "I'll be right back. Go ahead and look around." Her smile grew nostalgic. "Not much has changed since he was a teenager."
As she left me alone, I stood in the doorway for a moment. The room didn't show signs of a police search. At least not like what I'd seen on TV. The bed was slightly rumpled but still covered with a dark blue and green plaid comforter. I had a hard time picturing Justin's tall body being comfortable in the twin size bed.
I scanned the room, noting the desk, a dresser, and a closet. Where to start?
I moved to the desk first and pulled open the middle drawer. A few pens rolled around, but besides that it was empty. I checked the other drawers, but they were much the same. I found an old notebook labeled Math. It was empty of notes, which tracked with what I knew of Justin in high school.
The sound of Mrs. Hunt chatting with someone on the phone floated up from downstairs. I went to the dresser next. The clothes were unfolded as if someone had rooted around in the drawers. I checked anyway, running my hands under the clothes. What was I even searching for? A note detailing how Justin feared for his life and if I was reading this, it meant he was already dead? I huffed out a frustrated sigh. This wasn't some Lifetime movie.
The closet looked how you'd expect a closet to look—hanging clothes, shoes on the floor. I moved the clothes aside, patting the pockets as I went. Something crinkled in the pocket of a flannel shirt.
Bingo! Evidence. I pulled out a receipt to a gas station in Rose Lake and pursed my lips in frustration. I already knew Justin went to Rose Lake all the time.
I continued my search, more out of an obligation to the opportunity than out of any real hope I'd find anything. I dropped to my knees and riffled through his shoes. Nothing. I rocked back on my heels and scanned the room one more time. If there'd been any clues in Justin's room, Finn must have found them.
From the sounds of it, Mrs. Hunt was wrapping up her phone call. Justin's bed caught my eye. The navy-blue dust ruffle was tucked up on one end, as if it had gotten caught in the mattress. It wasn't going to be pretty, but I knew what I had to do.
Before I could change my mind, I crawled to the bed, dropped to my belly, turned my phone flashlight on, and scooted under Justin's bed. People stored things under their beds all the time, and Finn definitely wouldn't have fit in the narrow space.
I sneezed as the flashlight panned past dust bunnies and random candy wrappers. I pointed the light toward the back corner and hit pay dirt. A shoebox was shoved all the way into the corner. It could've been nothing. It could've been there for years. I scooted closer and sucked in a breath of surprise, promptly coughing past all the dust I'd just inhaled. Real nice, Gwen.
The shoebox was suspiciously free of dust. If this was some kind of evidence, I didn't want to move it and ruin chain of custody, or some other police lingo. I flipped the lid off and looked inside. Now we were getting somewhere. A thick roll of money lay next to several baggies of white powder.
The doorbell rang. I could hear Mrs. Hunt saying goodbye to whoever was on the phone. A moment later, she answered the door and said, "Detective Butler, I didn't expect to see you today. What can I help you with? Did you find who killed my Justin?"
Finn was here? My heart stopped. Sweat seemed to pour from everywhere on my body all at once, and those dreaded old-fashioned vapors threatened to overwhelm me. I couldn't get caught snooping in Justin's room. Finn would have a fit.
"I had a few more questions I was hoping we could go over?" Finn's deep voice rumbled from downstairs.
With panic pumping through my body, I snapped a picture of the contents of the box and replaced the lid. Shoving my way backward, I bit back a yelp as my elbow banged into the underside of the bed.
"Of course, come on in," Mrs. Hunt replied. "A friend of Justin's stopped by to bring me flowers. Gwen Stevens. She's just upstairs. Let me see if she needs anything."
"Gwen Stevens is here?" Finn asked, sounding suspicious.
"Oh that's right. You probably met her during the investigation," Mrs. Hunt said. "She's the sweetest. I'll be right back."
"I'll come with you," Finn said. The sounds of their footsteps coming up the stairs was unmistakable.
The vapors were back. I sucked in another sharp breath and inhaled more dust as I scooted the rest of the way out from under the bed, banging my head for good measure. I bit back a yelp of pain, jumped to my feet, and caught my reflection in a mirror hanging on the wall near the door to Justin's room. My shirt was covered with dust, and my hair was a mess.
I frantically brushed the dust off my shirt and yanked my hands through my hair. I jumped into the hallway and examined a series of family photos as if my life depended on it as Mrs. Hunt and Finn reached the top of the stairs and rounded the corner.
"Look who's here," Mrs. Hunt said. "Find anything helpful?"
"Find anything helpful?" Finn echoed, eyeing me suspiciously.
There was no way I was telling her I'd found drugs and cash hidden under her precious son's bed. And I definitely wasn't going to bring it up with Finn here. The last thing I needed was a lecture in front of Mrs. Hunt. "Nope, nothing in these pictures was helpful," I said, grasping for some kind of explanation for her question that would make sense to Finn.
Both Finn and Mrs. Hunt gave me weird looks, which was fair. I could no longer see my reflection, but I was guessing I looked a little deranged, if how I was feeling was any indication. "I better get to work," I said. I gave Mrs. Hunt a quick hug. "Let me know if you need anything."
She returned my hug and said, "Thank you, dear."
I followed Mrs. Hunt and Finn downstairs where she'd hung my coat on the coat rack by the door. She asked about my parents as we walked to the door and said our goodbyes.
"I'll follow Gwen out to make sure she gets to her car okay," Finn said.
So much for my clean getaway. "That's not necessary," I said with a saccharine smile. "It's perfectly safe."
Finn's grin matched mine in level of insincerity, but thankfully Mrs. Hunt didn't seem to notice. "Can't be too careful, Guinevere."
It took every ounce of self-control I had to not stick my tongue out at the man who was clearly goading me. It was clear he wasn't going to take no for an answer. I said one more goodbye to Mrs. Hunt and headed outside with Finn on my heels.
He closed the door, and I turned to face him, giving him that overly cheerful smile again. "What can I do for you, Detective Butler?"
"What were you really doing upstairs?" he asked pointedly.
I kept the smile on my face, but my stomach flipped as if I'd be caught doing something I shouldn't have been doing. But I hadn't been caught, and there was nothing wrong with looking around Justin's room with Mrs. Hunt's permission. "Mrs. Hunt was telling me about Justin," I said. Not a lie. "And she mentioned some pictures she wanted me to see upstairs. She couldn't remember how old we were when we went to the field trip to Shedd Aquarium. She had a picture and wanted to show it to me." Definitely a lie.
Finn stared at me a moment longer as if he could read the truth of my statements through sheer force of will, and then his eyes, the color of warm whiskey, softened. "It was really nice of you to bring Mrs. Hunt flowers. I wanted to see how you're holding up. Finding a dead body can be traumatic."
My face warmed, despite the frosty wind blowing across the yard. I'd come outside ready to defend my presence, and all he'd wanted to do was be nice. "It was nothing. Besides," I added, completely taken off guard by his change of attitude, "I wondered if maybe Mrs. Hunt knew of someone who might want to hurt Justin."
Finn's expression darkened, the warmth draining from his gaze. "You asked her about the case?" he asked.
I rubbed my hands together against the cold creeping through my winter layers. "There's hardly any other topic of conversation to be had around here. I just asked her—" I started.
"You shouldn't be asking her anything," he snapped. "This is a job for the police."
I folded my arms across my chest, my chin jutting into the air with defiance. "Whether you like it or not, I'm involved in this," I argued. "I found his body."
"You're involved as a witness. Not an investigator," he countered.
"Maybe I wouldn't have to be asking questions if you were focused on finding the real killer and not on trying to find evidence to pin this on Chris."
Finn's cheeks reddened, and his brown eyes flashed. "I don't need to try to find evidence that points to Chris," he said. "It's everywhere."
"Exactly," I said, pointing my finger at him. "Don't you find that suspicious?"
He huffed out a breath and rested his gloved hand on the gun at his side. "I find it—" He stopped and looked to the sky as if praying for patience. "Let me do my job. If your boyfriend's innocent, the facts of the case will bear that out." He opened the door and moved to walk inside.
"He's not my boyfriend," I called after him.
He threw a dismissive wave over his head before disappearing into the house.
I stomped back to my car. Any inclination I had to show Finn the photo of what I'd found evaporated in the face of his accusations. He was upset I'd asked Mrs. Hunt about Justin. What would he do if he found out I'd searched Justin's room?
I drove to Camelot Flowers, guilt mixing with the indignation I was feeling. I needed to tell Finn about the box. No matter how frustrated I was, I couldn't withhold possible evidence. Even if it wasn't related to Justin's murder, it was evidence of a crime.
But I didn't have to tell Finn about the box before I figured out more about what it meant. Had the drugs been for personal use? Was Justin selling drugs like the rumors indicated? How did someone even get drugs to sell? My innocence around this sort of thing was going to be a major roadblock in this investigation. I was going to need help, someone with some dirt on their hands. Too bad I didn't know who that might be.
* * *
I arrived at the church hall at five thirty, exactly an hour and a half early as requested by Margie, who'd texted me to say they needed some young blood to help with setup for the pie social. I'd do anything for Margie, especially after she'd broken the rules to let me see Chris.
I clutched the cheesecake in my hands as I picked my way across the icy parking lot. The weather had warmed up as promised but dropped to below freezing as soon as the sun set. I'd need to make sure Margie got someone out here to put salt down on the sidewalks. We didn't want anyone slipping and hurting themselves.
I walked through the side door into the bright, warm multipurpose room of the church. Ladies rushed around setting up tables and hanging decorations. Penny's mom stood holding the bottom of a ladder as Penny's dad strung twinkle lights around the edges of the black curtains on the stage.
I scanned the room for the pie table, but movement off to my right caught my attention. A crisp, white tablecloth billowed in the air. As it floated onto the rectangular table below, it revealed Finn.
A dark-gray Henley stretched across his wide chest. Biceps flexed as his wrists flicked the tablecloth again, releasing a crease that had settled into the middle. His well-fitted suits, all buttoned up and stiff, had been replaced by faded jeans that moved with his body as he ran his hands over the top of the table.
I'd never considered myself attracted to men with facial hair, but Finn's short, dark beard was doing it for me. In his suits, he looked like he'd stepped off a cover of GQ magazine, but dressed casually, I imagined him using those muscles to chop wood, and a butterfly took up a dance in my stomach.
Mrs. Johnson walked over to Finn, her reading glasses bouncing against her ample bosom from the silver chain around her neck. In her seventies, she seemed in no rush to retire from her position of head librarian at the Star Junction Public Library. With the proceeds of the pie social going to support the library's summer reading program, tonight was a big night for her. Mrs. Johnson said something to Finn that prompted a wide, genuine smile.
He patted her on the shoulder and replied to whatever she'd said. Mrs. Johnson laughed and said something again, this time nodding her head in my direction. Finn turned, and his gaze locked with mine like two puzzle pieces fitting together. I blinked, my body rooted in place. He ran a hand through his perfectly gelled dark hair and ducked his head.
Mrs. Johnson called out to me, and the spell was broken. I tried unsuccessfully to slow my racing heart before ungluing my feet from the floor. Setting the cheesecake on the table closest to me, I shrugged out of my navy-blue dress coat and draped it over the back of a chair.
I'd paired black jeans with an emerald green blouse with sheer long sleeves that gathered at my wrists. The front was lower cut than the sweater I'd worn to the station the day before. Margie, who wanted me to "show off all my assets," would be proud.
I'd freshened the waves I'd put in my hair the day before, even taking the time to stop in at Lucille's Clip and Curl to have my long curtain bangs trimmed. She'd offered to throw in some acupuncture for free, but I'd declined as sweetly as possible. Penny had been right. The thought of Lucille getting anywhere near with me with needles threatened to give me those dreaded vapors again. As I made my way across the room to them, my gaze flicked to Finn in time to catch him watching me approach.
"Guinevere, it's just so awful that you had to stumble onto"—Mrs. Johnson grimaced and waved her hand through the air—"you know, Justin like that. How are you holding up?"
"I'm okay, Mrs. Johnson. Thanks for asking," I replied, giving her a soft smile. Whether or not I was truly okay seemed to change from moment to moment, but no need to worry Mrs. Johnson.
Mrs. Johnson turned to Finn and asked, "Any progress in finding the killer?"
Finn smiled, but it looked strained, a little too polite, a little too forced. "It's still early," he said. "We're working on it though."
I wanted to argue that he seemed to be making plenty of progress, if locking Chris in a holding cell counted as progress, but I didn't want to get into that argument in front of Mrs. Johnson.
"Anyhoo," Mrs. Johnson said, already moving on. "Thank you for coming early, Guinevere." She waved her hand around the room, where volunteers bustled about getting things set up. "We can use all the help we can get."
"Of course," I said. "What can I do to help?"
Mrs. Johnson held up a finger as if asking me to wait. "One moment," she said before turning to Finn. "The situation in the parking lot is dire. I don't know if you noticed, but it's an icy mess and, and the church is out of salt. Would you be a dear and run to the store? The Friends of the Library will reimburse you for the cost."
"I did notice," Finn said. "I'm happy to help."
Mrs. Johnson reached up and patted his cheek like he was the grandson she'd always wanted. Never mind the fact that she not only had seven grandchildren, but her first great-grandchild was due in a month. "Thank you, dear," she said to him.
This could be an opportunity to pump Detective Butler for information. A little alone time with the man was just what I needed. Plus, I still felt guilty about not sharing the photo of the box from under Justin's bed.
There was no way I was going to share that anywhere public. All it would take was one person overhearing us or getting a glimpse of the picture for the whole town to be buzzing about where all that money came from and what that white powder could be.
"There's ice on the roads," I said to Mrs. Johnson, making sure I sounded very concerned. "Why don't I go with Detective Butler. I can show him where to go and make sure we get back safely."
Finn's eyes narrowed slightly as if he could read my intentions. "I don't think that's necessary," he said. His voice was friendly, but his smile looked strained.
"No, no," Mrs. Johnson said. "That's a great idea, Guinevere. Hurry back." She bustled away. We'd been dismissed.
Finn turned to me, the full charm he'd used on Mrs. Johnson long gone, replaced with suspicion. "We're going together? Is that really necessary?"
"You heard Mrs. Johnson. She thinks it a great idea," I said sweetly, although I sensed the smile on my face bordered more on triumphant than sweet.
Detective Butler sighed heavily before saying, "Okay, let's go, Guinevere."
I gritted my teeth at Finn's use of my full name. "Right behind you, Phineas," I shot back.
I grabbed my coat, spun on my heels, and marched out the door. My suede ankle boots clicked on the icy sidewalk as I headed toward my car. Detective Butler's footsteps sounded behind me, but I didn't stop to wait.
"Phineas, huh?" he said into the silence.
I stopped and turned, expecting to see anger in his eyes, but instead they glimmered with amusement. I shifted my coat in my arms. I should've put it on, but the irritation coursing through my veins was keeping me plenty warm. "As I've mentioned before, I have two goals—get Chris out of your jail and figure out what Finn stands for."
I headed in the direction of my Jetta without waiting for a response. My mind shot back to our encounter at Mrs. Hunt's house earlier. I spun on my heels, ready to explain, once again, that Chris was not my boyfriend, but Finn had narrowed the distance between us, and I slammed into his solid chest.
My shoe caught on the edge of the icy sidewalk as I bounced off him. My feet slid out from under me as my body tilted backward. Finn's hands shot out and wrapped around my arms, keeping me on my feet.
For a moment we stood frozen, the warmth of his hands radiating through the thin sleeves of my blouse. His gaze flicked to my lips ever so briefly. The butterfly in my stomach woke up and started fluttering around again. I took a step back, breaking the contact that had me feeling so confused.
"You must be cold," Finn said as he took my coat from my arms and held it open for me.
I didn't want his help, but saying no seemed petty, even for me. I turned and slipped my arms into the sleeves. "Thank you," I mumbled.
"No problem," he said. He scanned me as if checking for injuries, despite the fact that he'd prevented me from actually falling. "Are you okay?"
"Good thing we're getting salt," I joked. I attempted a chuckle, but it sounded thin. Anger was the solution. I didn't have any problem focusing on the murder investigation when I was infuriated with Finn and his stupid rules and procedures. I pictured him adjusting the tie of his overpriced suit. "And another thing, don't call me Guinevere. Only my parents call me that," I added.
A grin played at the corner of his lips. "And Mrs. Johnson," he teased.
I huffed in frustration. "Okay, anyone over the age of fifty can call me that."
There was that look of amusement again. "Aye-aye, captain," he said as he leaned closer, the clouds from our breath swirling together in the space between us. A car pulled into the parking lot, its headlights washing over us. I squeezed my eyes shut against the offending light then eased them open as the car turned the corner.
He gave me a nod as if we'd struck some kind of détente and headed off down the first row of the parking lot.
"Where are you going? My car's right here," I said, gesturing toward my green Jetta.
Finn eyed it briefly. "If the roads are icy, we need a car with four-wheel drive. We'll take my truck," he said.
"Excuse me," I said indignantly. "I don't even know you. I don't get into cars with men I don't know unless I'm driving. And you're new to town. You don't know where you're going. We're taking my car."
Finn looked up at the stars as if praying for patience as he had earlier that day at Mrs. Hunt's house. "I'm a police detective. Not a serial killer. Why does everything have to be an argument with you?"
I folded my arms across my chest and said, "Everything's not an argument with me."
"I rest my case," he said resolutely. "Come on, it's freezing out here. Please get into the truck, and let's get this done so we're back in time to finish helping."
As much as I hated to admit it, Finn was right. It was freezing out here, and it was clear he wasn't going to budge. "Fine," I said pertly. I followed him to a black pickup truck parked at the end of the lot. Whatever cease-fire we'd reached when he'd been gazing into my eyes and that beard had been close enough to touch seemed to have vanished.
Finn's truck was immaculately clean. The smell of leather mixed with brief notes of something both spicy and sweet tickled my nose. The truck started with a low growl. "Where to?" he asked as he backed up.
"Let's try Henry's Hardware downtown," I replied. "Turn right on Elm, and you'll see it up ahead."
Finn nodded his understanding. I watched him out of the corner of my eye. His left hand casually gripped the top of the steering wheel while his right hand tapped out a beat on his knee.
What was happening with the case? Had he found more evidence? Did it point back to Chris? If only Chris had an alibi. If only he hadn't left his phone at the center. If only Justin hadn't been killed in the first place.