“Three feet at most, but it drops off quickly once you get to the end of the dock. What are you thinking?”
“Yeah. What
are
you thinking? ’Cause I didn’t bring my swimming trunks,” Morris said sourly.
“You can actually swim? That takes a certain amount of energy,” Candace said.
“Cut the crap, you two. Don’t make me feel like a middle school teacher trying to keep the bickering students in line,” Mike said. “We’ll have to look beneath the surface before anyone goes wading in and disturbing whatever might lie underwater. That means goggles, a special camera and someone with the skill to handle this. I got a person in mind, so I’ll make some calls.”
“We better get busy looking for any other evidence we missed last night in the dark,” Candace said. “Might rain, and that’s the last thing I need—a washed-out crime scene and a stirred-up lake.” Candace set her mug down and started for the back door.
Grumpy Morris hung his head and followed her, muttering, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Wet evidence. Wouldn’t want
that
.” Guess he liked the role of snarky middle schooler.
Mike stopped punching numbers on his phone and looked at me. “When Nancy arrives, I’ll be on the deck.” He checked his watch. “She should have been here already.”
But the knock that came on my front door a minute later wasn’t Nancy Shelton arriving. It was Kara and Tom. After they both greeted the three cats—mine, not Isis, who had disappeared again—we all went into the living room. The cats went to finish off any food they’d left earlier.
Tom carried two boxes of donuts from Wanda’s Bakery, and the smell of icing and yeast made my mouth water. When was the last time I’d eaten a donut?
“Why didn’t you call me last night, Jillian?” Kara said.
“I’m sorry. I wanted to, but it was late. You might have already been asleep, and—”
“You could have used the support,” Kara said. “I mean, you found a dead woman in your lake. This place is your sanctuary, and now it’s been tainted by a vicious death.”
“Nothing will ever taint this place for me, Kara. And I planned to call you first thing this morning—at a decent hour, of course, and—”
“I still could have come over. I do want to be here for you,” she said.
“I suppose it’s all over the newspaper,” I said.
I caught Tom’s glance—he was shaking his head slightly—and I instantly knew that this was a sore subject.
“You would think a story this big would be above the fold, wouldn’t you? But no. It’s
not
.” Kara’s jaw tightened.
“That’s not good, is it?” I said.
“A story like this? No. It’s plain embarrassing, if you ask me,” she said.
“You’ll own the paper soon enough, and then you’ll make sure something like this makes the front page right away.” Secretly I was glad the story wasn’t running already. People in Mercy loved to talk, and they’d probably be calling me or stopping me in the grocery store once the news spread.
Kara said, “The
Mercy Messenger
needs this kind of story to boost sales. But that idiot Buddy who works the night desk didn’t even get off his butt and come here, even though he heard the 911 call on the scanner. He sat in the office eating those five tuna sandwiches he always brings with him. The entire office always smells like tuna. Guess he figured the current owner, editor, do-everything-by-himself, Mr. Mortenson, would handle this today. Do you know how dumb that is?”
“I do now,” I said quietly.
Kara’s expression softened. “Damn. I am so sorry.” She came over and hugged me. When she released me, she said, “I sound like I used to. I sound like the person I was running away from in Houston. Tell me how I can help.”
“You’re here. You’ve already helped.” I looked at Tom. “Do not let Morris see those donuts, or Candace will not be happy. They’ll distract him. I suggest you set them on the counter in an inconspicuous place until the evidence gathering is complete.”
“Rain might end that endeavor,” Tom said. “By the way, Kara tells me Scott Mortenson is happy to let her do the story and all the follow-ups.”
“Oh. That’s great,” I said, trying to sound like this was a wonderful development. But I had mixed emotions. From Kara’s smile, I knew she was thrilled. Despite settling in a small town, she had journalism in her blood. Her first Mercy bylines would be big ones. But would I be her first interview? That might be awkward. I hoped I got a chance to talk to Candace about being in the middle—between Kara and the investigation.
Kara said, “I saw the cop cars out front, and I was hoping—”
The doorbell rang. This time it was Nancy Shelton, but she wasn’t alone. A tall man with a shaved head, maybe midthirties, was with her. She wore her navy blue suit—but this one was different. She wore slacks, and the trim along the edges of her jacket was metallic blue. These suits she wore, with the gold buttons to match her badge, had to be custom-made. I knew plenty about fabrics and sewing. A skilled seamstress had been at work—and had done a marvelous job.
The man with her wore a summer-weight suit with a silk brown-and-pink-striped tie. I instantly envied his thick, dark eyelashes. He probably had a wonderful smile, but right now he looked as serious as a politician giving a concession speech.
When I ushered them into the living room, Nancy Shelton introduced him as Liam Brennan, the county assistant district attorney. “Mr. Brennan will be coordinating the joint efforts of both our towns’ law enforcement to solve this murder as soon as possible.”
She sounded like she was giving a press conference—especially since she was staring straight at Kara the whole time. Did she know Kara was journalist?
I made my introductions then. “This is Kara Hart and Tom Stewart.”
Brennan’s brown eyes were on Kara, too. “Aren’t you buying the newspaper?”
Yup, they know,
I thought.
But I caught a flicker of surprise in Kara’s eyes. “Yes,” she said. “And though I’m Jillian’s stepdaughter, I need to be clear that I’m also here because of my connection to the
Mercy Messenger
.”
“I didn’t see any story in this morning’s paper,” Brennan said in an almost taunting way.
I glanced at Kara, feeling the need to protect her. “You
will
see a story. Isn’t that right, Kara?”
She was staring Brennan down, not appearing the least bit intimidated. I should have known she didn’t need any protection from me.
Kara said, “Since I’m already taking over many aspects of the newspaper’s day-to-day operations, you’ll be seeing my byline. A lot.”
Brennan smiled, and that smile was as charming as I’d imagined it would be. “Look forward to it.” He turned to Tom. “And you own a private security business. But weren’t you a police officer at one time, and then you—”
“Good for you. You’ve done your homework,” Tom said tersely.
The escalating tension in the room had my stomach churning. Those donuts smelled sickly sweet and unappealing now. I said, “Let me get Mike. He was trying to round up some underwater equipment.”
But Mike must have heard their arrival because he came in through the back door.
Suddenly I felt the need to sit before my legs gave out. For the first time, the enormity of what had happened overwhelmed me. I found the closest easy chair. All of this bantering and the apparent need for one-upmanship seemed ludicrous. A young woman was dead. And yet politics, news scoops and evidence collection were all anyone seemed to care about.
Kara addressed Mike as soon as he came into the living room. “Do you mind if I see the crime scene for myself?” She pulled a camera from the hobo-style bag slung over her shoulder.
“From a distance.”
Brennan held out a hand to Mike. “Good to see you again, Mike.”
The two shook hands, and Mike said, “Nancy told me you’d be involved—help us share information. Thanks for that.”
Brennan glanced back and forth between Tom and me. “You two please stay inside.” He turned to Mike. “Lead the way.”
When they were gone, Tom came over and took my hands. “You’re cold, not to mention pale as a polar bear. This isn’t what you signed up for when you told Shawn you’d help with Isis. Where are the cats, by the way?”
“I don’t know. Let’s find them,” I said. “I could use a cat in my lap right now.”
And find them we did. In my quilting room. And guess who was stuck in my sewing cabinet drawer while my three sat in a half circle staring at her latest dilemma.
Fifteen
I
carefully extracted Isis from the cabinet drawer while Tom crouched beside me and petted my cats.
I said, “Isis apparently thinks she’s thinner than she actually is. Maybe her whiskers are too short. Whiskers should warn a cat about whether they’ll fit into a space.”
“I get the feeling that Isis does what Isis wants, regardless of the consequences,” he said. “Sounds like a little criminal, if you ask me.”
I held her up and looked into her green eyes. “Is he calling you names? Doesn’t he know you’re a goddess?” I smiled and set Isis down. She strolled away as if nothing had happened.
I said, “Why do cats act like they had no part of an embarrassing situation? Is it that little human section of their brain at work?”
“I haven’t gotten stuck in a wicker basket or a drawer lately, but I’d pretend it was no big deal if
my
peers were watching,” Tom said.
I laughed. “Guess I would, too.”
Chablis was attempting to climb up on his knees, probably because she’d been traumatized by last night’s events and was looking for any comfort she could find.
He picked her up and stood, scratching her around her neck where she liked it the most. She was purring so loud they probably heard her down at the lake.
The lake. The investigation. This stranger Brennan. I couldn’t wait for this morning to end. “How long do you think they’ll be hunting around in my yard?” I asked.
“You know Candace,” Tom said. “She’d do a grid search like when they’re looking for buried remains if it were up to her,” Tom said. “But with the assistant DA and Mike around, they’ll keep her on task. I’d say an hour or two.”
Isis reappeared and led the way as we walked back into the living room. She seemed to want to take over as top cat, and I wondered how long Syrah would put up with that. More reason for this cat to go home. But with Ritaestelle in the hospital, would that happen anytime soon?
“Have you had breakfast?” I asked.
“A donut. And you should have one. I got to the bakery the minute they opened. Those were still hot when they were boxed.”
“A bagel sounds better—if the ones I bought the other day aren’t as hard as hockey pucks by now.”
Turned out they were
harder
than hockey pucks, and I had a banana instead. Even the fruit didn’t set well. A small part of me wondered what they were doing outside, but a bigger part didn’t even want to look out the window. When Deputy Tony Martinez, who I knew usually worked the late shift, showed up dressed in shorts and carrying a camera case, I figured he must be the underwater specialist.
Kara came inside about fifteen minutes after his arrival. Tom had watched the goings-on through the kitchen window, but I stayed in the living room—surrounded by felines.
Kara grabbed a mug and poured herself some coffee before she and Tom joined me. She sat in her dad’s recliner and set her bag with the camera on the floor next to her.
“Will my backyard be gracing the front page of the newspaper?” I said.
“Just the dock,” she said. “If that’s okay with you.”
I took a deep breath and stroked Merlot, not answering right away. He was stretched out between Tom and me. Chablis immediately climbed into Tom’s lap, and Syrah stayed where he’d been, on the sofa back close to my head. Isis had disappeared yet again. Maybe if she stayed stuck in whatever object she’d crawled into this time, she’d learn a lesson.
“Please let me do this story the way it should be done, Jillian? That means interviewing you, too,” Kara said.
There it was. The very thing that concerned me. “I’m not sure I should do that,” I said. “Somehow it seems unfair to Ritaestelle. She’s in enough trouble without me adding to it by talking about her.”
“I’ve interviewed Mike Baca—an interview he was happy to provide, by the way—so I know most of the facts. But the duty of the press is to inform the public, to provide answers. I want to do the job right. You’re a witness with a unique perspective.”
Unique? Was that what this sick feeling was called? “If you spoke to Mike, don’t you have what you need? Besides, you haven’t lived here long enough to understand that even if you put out the facts, folks will still think up their own scenarios about what happened here.”
Kara leaned toward me, her tone soft but insistent. “That doesn’t matter to me. Besides, both Mike and Liam said an interview with you might stir up even more talk in town—talk they can follow up on.”
He was already Liam to her? Hmm. He certainly had a great smile. You can tell a lot by a person’s smile, and I kind of liked what I’d seen. Guess Kara did, too. When I didn’t say anything, Tom put his arm around my shoulder and squeezed me gently. “The press and the police have a funny relationship. It can be an unpleasant one, but they need each other. Tips are often generated from press coverage. Think about it as doing a service to Ritaestelle. If you honestly believe she’s innocent, your interview might just help her.”
I glanced back and forth between them. “Why do I feel like I’m betraying her trust?” Unfortunately, what bothered me more than betraying Ritaestelle was upsetting Kara if I refused to cooperate. That could put a strain on the new and still tenuous relationship we’d formed since she’d arrived in Mercy. That fear is what finally tipped the scales. I sighed and said, “Ask away.”
She asked about how I knew Ritaestelle—even though she already knew this—and went on to quiz me about the woman’s arrival and then the discovery of the body.