Hidden Peril Page 3

  “I’ve been ousted.”

  “Ah. Let me guess. That’s Hank’s van.” She motioned toward the Crime Scene Unit vehicle at the curb, two doors down.

  “Yep.”

  “That figures. How’s his mood today?”

  “Let’s just say he won’t win the Mr. Congeniality award. Not that he gives a hoot.”

  She snickered. “You pegged him fast.”

  “I was coached—or should I say warned?”

  The wind ruffled the tight, gray-streaked ebony curls that framed her latte-hued face. “I like warned better. As in handle with care. But he’s the best.”

  “I know. Will you email me your findings?” He hooked a thumb toward the shop.

  “Soon as I have anything to report.”

  He moved aside and held the door open for her.

  “Shut the door!” Hank barked out the command, his voice muffled.

  “I’ll be in touch.” Lacey rolled her eyes and slipped inside.

  After ditching his empty cup in a waste can at the curb, Luke continued down the sidewalk toward the insurance office where Kristin was waiting.

  “Sir . . .” A reporter from one of the TV stations thrust a microphone in his face as soon as he emerged from behind the crime-scene tape. “Can you give us an update on—”

  “Sorry. No comment.” He kept walking.

  “Are there any leads on—”

  “No comment.” He picked up his pace.

  The reporter trailed after him for several more steps before giving up.

  He continued a few more feet . . . stopped on the pretense of taking a phone call . . . then slipped into the insurance office.

  A woman seated at a desk jumped to her feet as he entered, clenching her hands in front of her. “May I help you?”

  “Detective Luke Carter.” He flashed his badge. “I understand the owner of WorldCraft is waiting for me here.”

  “Yes.” Relief smoothed some of the tension from her features. “This has been a very upsetting morning. I can’t believe anything like this would happen here.” She pulled a key from the desk and opened a door that led to the back. “She’s in the conference room on the right.”

  “Thanks.” He walked down the short hall, glancing into a large, unoccupied office on his left as he passed.

  At the door to the conference room, he paused. A man with light brown hair was sitting at a rectangular table. He was angled toward Kristin, his back to the door.

  Her eyes widened when she caught sight of him, and the man in the suit shot to his feet. He pivoted, posture taut.

  “Are you with the police?”

  The mid-thirtyish guy kept himself between Kristin and the new arrival, in a clearly protective gesture.

  How many male admirers did this woman have, anyway?

  A weird little spurt of annoyance juiced Luke’s adrenaline.

  He didn’t even try to figure it out.

  Instead, he pulled out his badge and ID and introduced himself.

  The man gave the ID a more thorough scrutiny than most people did. At last he extended his hand. “Ryan Doud. I assume you want to speak with Kristin alone.”

  “Yes.”

  He refocused on the blonde, and his tone changed from businesslike to warm. “Would you like some more coffee?”

  “No, I have plenty. Thanks, Ryan.”

  “I’ll be in my office if you need me.” With a dip of his head, he withdrew, closing the door behind him.

  “Ms. Dane.”

  “Detective. It never occurred to me you’d be working this case.”

  “Luck of the draw. I was available when the call for assistance came in from Kirkwood PD.” He took the seat Doud had occupied and pulled out his notebook. “You okay?”

  “Yes.”

  That was a lie.

  She was a faded facsimile of the woman he’d met Saturday night.

  Her complexion had lost all its color, her eyes were glazed, her shoulders slumped, and based on the rippling java in her cup, she was shaking.

  Badly.

  “Tough morning.”

  “Yes.”

  The word quivered, and he had a sudden urge to cover her hand with his and assure her everything would be fine.

  Pressing his lips together, he held on tight to his notebook instead. What was going on? This had never happened to him during an investigation.

  He needed to get a grip and do his job. For all he knew, Kristin Dane could be involved in this murder—even if his gut said otherwise. “I’d like to hear your version of this morning’s events.” He extracted a pen.

  “I already gave a statement to an officer.”

  “I know. She briefed me. I’d like to hear it again. Some people recall more on a second telling.” Or trip themselves up if they had anything to hide.

  “Okay.” She set the cup down, linked her fingers on the table, and repeated what she’d told D’Amico, including the fact that she hadn’t been in the shop since early afternoon on Saturday, when she’d left to get ready for the wedding, but that she’d spoken with the victim by phone at about noon yesterday.

  “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  “I assumed you would.”

  “Tell me about Susan Collier.”

  A flicker of distress echoed in her irises, and her knuckles whitened. “I hired her a year ago to work with me part-time. My business is growing, and I needed another set of hands. She has a second part-time job as a receptionist at a health club.”

  He jotted down the name of the facility she named.

  “Is she married?”

  “Was. It was a bad situation. Her husband was abusive. They separated two years ago, and she filed for divorce soon after.”

  “Did she ever mention being afraid of her ex-husband?”

  “She didn’t talk much about him, but based on the few comments she made, I think she did have some initial concerns for her safety. After he moved to Denver a few months ago to take a new job, those seemed to dissipate.”

  “Do you know his first name?”

  “Les. Do you think he might have . . . that he could have done this?”

  “Acrimonious divorces can lead to some bad scenes. We’ll see if he has an alibi.”

  “If Susan’s husband isn’t involved in this . . . what could the motive possibly be?”

  “That’s the question we’ll be trying to answer. Do you keep much cash on the premises?”

  “No. Never more than two or three hundred dollars. Most people pay with plastic. And none of my merchandise is that valuable. Nothing I stock is worth stealing—or killing for.” Her eyes misted. “I can’t understand why someone would do this.”

  Neither could he—assuming the ex was clean.

  Druggies desperate for a fix could—and did—kill for far less than two hundred bucks . . . but this neighborhood wasn’t where that kind of crime usually happened.

  “After the medical examiner and CSU tech finish at your shop, you can see if anything is missing . . . in case robbery was a motive.”

  “When might that be?”

  “The ME’s office will be done within an hour. CSU could be a while. The guy working the scene is methodical. Are there security cameras on the premises?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll see if any of the nearby businesses have one. If they do, it’s possible we’ll find an image that’s helpful. I’ll also need a list of customers who bought items in the shop yesterday. Can you provide that?”

  “Yes . . . for anyone who paid by credit card or check. I can’t help you with cash customers. And we get a fair number of browsers who don’t buy anything.”

  “Understood.” He cleared his throat. His next question was standard in this situation, but for whatever reason it was difficult to ask today. “Can you give me a rundown on where you were yesterday?”

  A beat passed as she scrutinized him. “You mean . . . like an alibi?”

  “We have to cover all the bases.”

&
nbsp; “Right. I get that.” She took a deep breath. “I was at a seminar all day, and afterward I went to dinner with some of the other people who attended. I left the restaurant about nine. I have their business cards if you’d like me to text you their contact information.”

  “That would be helpful.” He continued to write as she provided the location of the seminar and the name of the restaurant. “Did the victim have any children or next of kin we need to notify?”

  “She has a sister in Chicago. That’s the only relative she ever mentioned—and I don’t think they were close. She did give me her sister’s cell number in case there was ever an emergency, though.” Kristin scrolled through her contacts and recited the information.

  “We’ll see that she’s informed ASAP.” He closed his notebook. “It could be several hours before we finish in the shop. There’s no need for you to hang around. I can call you as soon as it’s clear to come back and we can do a walk-through together. In the meantime, we’ll talk with some of the neighboring businesses, see if they noticed anyone or anything suspicious. I’ll walk you to your car.” He stood.

  “Thanks. I’m parked in the b-back.”

  She rose as he opened the conference room door, splaying her fingers on the table when she swayed.

  Driving might not be the best idea.

  “Is there a friend you could call who would give you a ride home?”

  “I’m fine. I wouldn’t want to bother anyone in the middle of the . . .”

  Ryan materialized at Luke’s elbow. “I’d be glad to run you home, Kristin. It’s not that far, and I don’t have any appointments until this afternoon.”

  “I don’t want to impose.”

  “I’m happy to do it.”

  Luke studied the man. He must be more than a business neighbor if he knew where Kristin lived.

  For some reason, that didn’t sit well.

  Yet he couldn’t fault the man’s manners—and he’d prefer Kristin not drive. She was still too shaky.

  Too bad he couldn’t offer to chauffeur her himself.

  But there was work to be done here.

  Lots of it.

  “It’s not a bad idea.” Luke kept his tone conversational, masking his illogical annoyance at the other man’s offer. “I can pick you up later, once we’re ready for you at the shop.”

  She hesitated, but only for an instant—telling Luke she was smart enough to recognize her own limitations.

  “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

  “I’ll walk out with you in case any media types are lurking around in the back.” He stepped aside to let Kristin pass, narrowing his eyes as Ryan took her arm and guided her toward the rear door, leaving him to fall in behind.

  Luck was on their side. No one was in the alley, and the two of them were able to escape without attracting attention.

  Luke waited until the car pulled out onto the street at the end of the alley before turning away.

  He had people to interview, calls to make, reinforcements to bring in to help canvass the area.

  But much as he thrived on the challenges of his job—and despite the fact he’d met Kristin only three days ago—for some odd reason he’d rather be taking her home right now than investigating this murder.

  3

  How was she ever going to return to the shop she’d poured her heart into for five years without picturing Susan’s body behind the counter?

  Fingers wrapped around her mug, Kristin took a sip of her tepid tea and slid onto a stool at the kitchen island. Played with a piece of lettuce poking out of the turkey sandwich she’d made after her stomach reminded her it was closer to dinnertime than the lunch hour. Shoved the plate aside.

  She needed to eat, but the day’s events were twisting her insides into knots—as was the thought of returning to the shop.

  Rising again, she resumed the restless pacing that had filled her day. When did the police expect her to do the walk-through Detective Carter had mentioned, anyway? It was already four forty-five. Going in daylight would be bad enough. But returning at night, even with all the lights on, even with the detective by her side?

  Ugh.

  And why hadn’t he called to give her an update? He came across as a buttoned-up kind of guy. Efficient, professional, focused.

  Maybe another hot case had called him away.

  Or he might have decided to call it a night and head home to the wife—and perhaps family—the wedding band on his left hand indicated he had.

  Yeah, yeah, she’d noticed the ring on Saturday night . . . after those dark green eyes, with their hint of sadness, had sucked her in. Not to mention the tall, toned physique, brown hair that looked like it would be oh-so-soft to touch, strong jaw, deep voice with a hint of . . .

  A musical chime echoed through the condo and she jerked, sloshing the pale liquid in her mug.

  Who would be at her door at this hour of the afternoon?

  Heart hammering, she set the mug on the counter. Had one of the reporters who’d called the condo decided to track her down in person?

  Rubbing her icy hands together, she tiptoed to the door and peeked through the skylight.

  The man on her doorstep wasn’t a reporter after all.

  It was Rick.

  Relief surging through her, she pulled the door open. “What are you doing here?”

  “What do you think I’m doing here? And hello to you too.” He walked in, juggling a large Panera bag in one hand and a tray with two drinks in the other. He set everything on the table in her foyer, closed her front door, and pulled her into a hug. “I’d have come right after you called if I wasn’t in the middle of a slight emergency at the camp. How are you holding up?”

  Tears pricked her eyelids, and she gave him a squeeze. “I’ve had better days.”

  “I bet.”

  He didn’t release her until she edged back. Even then, he grasped her upper arms and kept her close while he gave her a critical appraisal. “You haven’t eaten anything since breakfast, have you?”

  “I made a sandwich. What kind of emergency did you have?”

  “You’re evading my question. Made and eaten are two different things. Which means you haven’t had any food. I brought dinner.”

  She looked at the man who was closer to her than any brother could ever be, and her vision blurred. What would she have done without him and Colin for the past twenty-plus years? Her parents might say they loved her, but her friends were the ones who’d always been there for her.

  “I didn’t expect you to drive all the way in. I only called so you wouldn’t hear about this on the news.”

  “I don’t live that far out. And you’d have been in big trouble if I did hear about it on the news. Remember—all for one and one for—”

  Her bell chimed again.

  She cringed. “I hope that’s not a reporter.” She swiveled around and peeked through the peephole again.

  Detective Carter stood on the other side.

  Huh.

  She hadn’t expected him to show up without calling first.

  “You want me to handle this?” Rick draped a protective arm around her shoulders.

  “No need. It’s the case detective. You met him at the wedding on Saturday. I’m supposed to go back to the shop and do a walk-through, see if I notice anything missing or out of the ordinary.”

  “Not until you eat.” He tightened his grip.

  She twisted the knob and pulled the door open.

  The detective looked from her to Rick. Recognition dawned in his eyes, and he gave the other man a brief nod before his gaze flicked to the arm around her shoulders and returned to her face.

  “Sorry to interrupt. I was passing this way and decided to stop by with an update rather than call.”

  His words sounded a bit stiff. Like he was miffed. Or more likely just tired. The man had no doubt had a long day.

  “Would you like to come in?” Kristin backed up.

  “Not necessary. The CSU tech needed longer than expe
cted, and we were busy with interviews this afternoon. Rather than go back tonight, why don’t I pick you up in the morning? Unless you have another ride?” He glanced at Rick.

  “No. Rick lives too far out. I don’t expect him to come back into town in the morning to be my chauffeur.”

  His expression shifted subtly. Kristin couldn’t quite identify the emotion, but it almost seemed like . . . relief?

  No. That was absurd.

  “I’ll come by at eight o’clock, if that’s not too early.”

  “That’s fine. I’m an early riser. Thanks for stopping in.”

  He dipped his chin, turned on his heel, and retreated down the curving walk that led from her condo to the parking lot.

  “Not the most sociable guy.” Rick reached around her and closed the door.

  “I suppose dealing with murder and mayhem every day can do that to a man.”

  “I guess. He wasn’t too happy to see me here, either.”

  “Why would he care about that?” Kristin followed as he picked up their dinner and carried it toward the café table in her kitchen. “And how did you come to such an off-the-wall conclusion, anyway?”

  “It’s a guy thing.”

  “Oh, please.”

  “It is. Ask Colin.”

  “He’d side with you. He always does about that kind of stuff. Besides, he’s not available.”

  “You should call and let him know what’s going on.”

  “Are you nuts? He’s on his honeymoon!”

  “You want me to call?” He paused beside the counter to examine her uneaten turkey sandwich, shook his head, and continued to the table with their dinner.

  “No! I do not want you to interrupt his honeymoon. Promise me you won’t.”

  “He’ll be mad when he finds out you kept him in the dark.”

  “I’ll deal with it. Promise.”

  “Fine.” He sat and motioned to the chair on the other side of the table. “I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”

  She covered the sandwich with some plastic wrap and joined him. He bowed his head while she said a blessing, then dived in.

  “You weren’t kidding about being hungry.” She took a sip of soda.

  “I missed lunch.”

  “Because of your emergency?”

  “Yeah.” He tapped the box containing her sandwich, waited until she opened it and took a bite, then spent the next fifteen minutes regaling her with a hilarious story about the antics of one of the kids who’d come out for a day camp and promptly wedged himself between two trees.