Chapter 4 #3
Charlie watched Kieran’s face as her sister listed off the possibilities, but Kieran’s expression stayed impassive. “Why’d you come here tonight?” Charlie asked.
Kieran’s lips pressed tight. “To see if you knew anything. About Cobra’s death.”
“You think we did it?” The idea was so ridiculous that Charlie almost laughed. “I hate to tell you this, but Simpson doesn’t need to import its killers. You seem to have more than your share of homegrown ones.”
With a sharp, negative shake of his head, Kieran said, “Because you found him, not because you did it.”
“Why?” Fifi asked. “So we can tell you what the cops know?”
He looked as close as he’d ever come to rolling his eyes. “I already know what the cops know, and it’s basically nothing. If they had something, they wouldn’t be coming after me.”
Maybe it was his ridiculous hotness level, or the way he spat his words out so angrily, but Charlie was inclined, once again, to believe him. “Who do you think killed Cobra?”
“Clint.” The answer was swift, but also confusing.
“I thought he was cleared?” The reminder brought up another question. “And how did he alibi out? Forensic science is an amazing thing, but there were just a few bones left. There’s no way they narrowed his time of death down to hours or even a specific day.”
“Cobra drove him to jail six months ago, where Clint served almost five months on a weapons charge,” Kieran said. “Caught Cobra on the security footage arriving and leaving—all while breathing.”
Glancing at Fifi, Charlie nodded. “That’ll do it.” Just because Clint didn’t actually pull the trigger—or swing the tire iron—didn’t mean he didn’t order it done, however.
“Lots of people seem eager to do Clint’s bidding,” Bennett said, echoing Charlie’s thoughts. “Could’ve been a hit. He had a motive, since he took Cobra’s spot as the Freedom Survivors’ leader.”
“And got his pickup,” Fifi added. When everyone looked at her, she shrugged. “People have murdered for less than a nice truck.”
Charlie nodded in agreement before she considered Kieran once again. “So were you ever involved in the militia? You know, like a father-son bonding activity?”
“Never.” The way he spat out the word like a vow was extremely convincing.
“You have an inside source of information though,” Fifi said reasonably.
Kieran stared at the ceiling for a long moment, as if asking for patience. When he eventually met Fifi’s even gaze, however, he didn’t appear to have gained any. “I’m a firefighter.”
Charlie met Fifi’s eyes, but her sister looked just as confused by the apparent non sequitur, so Charlie asked Kieran directly, “Very noble and all, but what does that have to do with anything?”
He gave a deep sigh as he switched his focus from Fifi to Charlie. “They’re my source.”
“The firefighters? They’re all militia?” Charlie frowned. This was seriously the weirdest, most crime-ridden town she’d ever visited.
“Of course not.” He stared at her like she was an idiot. “They’re just in everyone’s business.”
“Oh.” Charlie took a second to process the roller coaster of conflicting information. The idea of firefighters not being dangerous militia members but rather a bunch of nosy Nellies was a relief and also a bit adorable. “So not militia members, just gossipy hens?”
His nod was short, although his mouth twitched up slightly when she called the firefighters hens.
“Okay, so what did you need from us?” Charlie felt like the whole point of the conversation had been lost—plus her fascination with this particular gossipy hen didn’t help.
“I want you to investigate Cobra’s death.”
She met Fifi and Bennett’s eyes, reading their reluctance to get involved, but also seeing that same spark of curiosity that she felt.
How could they ignore a mystery when it just flopped down at their feet, begging to be solved?
It’d be a bonus if Clint was involved, since he’d been the one to organize Fifi’s kidnapping attempt.
“Between trying to trap Mom and burning down the Black Bear Inn, things are getting busy,” she said thoughtfully, trying to keep from blurting out immediately that of course they would investigate Cobra’s murder.
“Don’t burn it down,” Kieran snapped.
“Sorry, that’d be more work for you, wouldn’t it?” Charlie frowned. “How about blowing it up? Do you have enough explosives, B?”
Bennett nodded, but Kieran sliced his hand through the air, as if decapitating that idea. “Who do you think would respond to an explosion?”
“Right.” Now that he’d said something, it seemed obvious that the fire department would be called to an explosion too. “Maybe we could excavate underneath it, so it just kind of dropped into a ho—”
“If I get the health department to do a surprise inspection of the motel, will you let this go?” Kieran grumbled.
After considering the idea—while not being able to come up with a revenge plan that wouldn’t create more work for the firefighters—Charlie huffed out a breath.
“Fine. Several surprise inspections. And you’ll need to give us a day’s head start, so we can release the rats and cockroaches.
But if we investigate Cobra’s death, you’re going to have to help us with Operation: Catch Mom. ”
Fifi made a skeptical sound as Kieran stared at Charlie, apparently finally shocked out of his normal cranky mood. “What?” the other three said at the same time.
It had been an impulsive ask, but the more Charlie thought about it, the more she liked the idea.
Not only would her fascinating future fiancé be within ogling view, but she had a feeling he’d be a handy guy to have around, like a second Bennett, but with fewer explosives.
“He could be our muscle. If someone who likes lighting coffee shops on fire is after us, it’d be good to have a firefighter in our back pocket, right?
Also, the gossipy hen part is useful too. ”
“I’m not—” Kieran started to say, but whatever he wasn’t was drowned out by Bennett and Fifi’s protests.
“Let’s talk about this first, Charlie,” Fifi said, just as Bennett made general concerned grumbly noises.
“Fine.” Charlie interrupted the rest of what she was going to say with a wide yawn. “Let’s meet tomorrow after we pick Daisy’s deputy’s brain.”
“I’ll go with you to talk to Chris,” Kieran stated, as if it were a done deal.
Charlie laughed. “Yeah…no. He’s probably not going to give us anything good, but he’s guaranteed not to tell us anything if you’re tagging along. Let’s meet at ten at the coffee…shoot.” She pulled a face. “Where’s a good place to meet that isn’t a blackened shell of a building?”
“Fire department.”
Charlie met Fifi’s gaze, and they exchanged smirks.
“Okay,” Fifi said. “That way we’ll have some eye candy with our discussion. Good idea.”
Both Kieran and Bennett looked a bit grumpy at that.
“Now get out,” Charlie ordered on another yawn. “I need sleep if we’re going to accomplish world domination tomorrow.”
“World domination?” Fifi repeated, sounding amused as she pushed to her feet.
“Well, we’ll be solving a murder, bringing in our skip, and saving our home, so pretty close.”
Bennett stepped back so that Kieran could leave first. With a final scowl directed at Charlie—which she chose to take as a polite goodbye—he left the room.
“Hey, B,” Charlie said before her brother-in-law could follow Kieran out. When Bennett stopped and raised an eyebrow at her, she put on her best entreating face. “You wouldn’t happen to have a sewing kit on you, do you?”
“Sewing kit?” Fifi asked.
“Need to make some alterations to my pajamas.” Like adding useful pockets.
Bennett, bless him, pulled out a small, flat box and tossed it to her.
“Thanks, B,” she said as she caught it. “How about a hand grenade?”
Before she could snicker at her joke, something came flying at her. She managed to drop the kit into her lap and catch it before it made contact with her face.
“Private Investigator Bennett Green,” Fifi growled. “Did you just throw a grenade at my sister?”
Turning the object Bennett had just tossed to her in her hands, Charlie noted that it was indeed a grenade as she requested. “Nice.”
“She needed one.” Bennett spread his hands wide in a what-could-he-do gesture. “Besides, it’s just a stun grenade.”
Charlie felt a bit disappointed, but the down-ranking of the weapon in her hand didn’t seem to appease Fifi. “It doesn’t matter. Don’t throw grenades at my sisters.”
“I really did ask for it,” Charlie said, feeling a bit bad for getting Bennett in trouble.
Besides, she hadn’t been lying about how tired she was.
“Can you take your marital spat and the inevitable making up to your honeymoon suite please? That room is specifically designed for both of those things.”
“I don’t think it’s designed for marital spats.” Fifi frowned at her, distracted from her displeasure about the grenade tossing.
“It’s definitely designed for the making up part, though, so shoo.” Charlie waved her hands at them. “I love you both, but now I’m tired. Good night, and text me if you need backup.”
Although Fifi looked like she wanted to keep arguing—about either the grenade or the intended use of the honeymoon suite—Bennett caught her gently by the hand and towed her out the door.
“Good night!” Fifi called over her shoulder as they disappeared into the hall.
Charlie got up to lock the door behind them.
For all the times she teased them about moving into their suite, she was glad to have the quiet stillness of her own room.
Then the silence settled over her, the nagging need to talk about the wild day they’d had, and she felt the familiar tug of loneliness.
Mentally shoving it away, she turned the dead bolt with extra force and tried very hard not to think of a certain firefighter.