Candy Shop Mystery - Goody Goody Gunshots Part 11

"Yeah, but why? What do all of these people have in common? That's what's driving me crazy."

"Who knows? But really, Abby, think about what you're doing. You're messing around with murder. Just because you've done it before and come out okay, that's no guarantee you'll be safe this time."

Marshall's vehemence surprised me. "I'm not that far involved," I a.s.sured him. "I'm just trying to find the answers to a couple of questions, and when I do, I'll go straight to the police. Besides, if Coach Hendrix is involved or being targeted, I can't just turn my back and let him be alone with all those boys, can I? Don't I have a duty to make sure they're safe?"

Marshall noticed a trail of crumbs on my desk and swept them into his hand. He stood and brushed the crumbs into the trash can, then came around the desk to stand over me. "Let the police save the world, Abby. It's their job, not yours." And before I knew what he intended, he leaned in close and touched his lips to mine. The kiss didn't last long, but it left me speechless and totally unable to form a coherent thought long after he walked away.

I was still trying to process what had happened when a soft knock on the office door brought me back to the present. Karen stood in the open doorway, a deep scowl on her face as she watched me. She'd clearly witnessed Marshall's kiss. "What was all that about?"

"All what?"

"You and Marshall."

Still confused, I could only shake my head. "I have no idea. He came by to make sure I was okay after finding the body the other night-at least that's what he said."

Karen came into the office and sat in the chair Marshall had vacated. "Well, it's pretty obvious that's not all he wanted."

"Maybe." I gave up a thin smile and tossed the uneaten half of my m.u.f.fin into the trash. "He's a nice enough guy, but that wasn't what I was expecting."

"Judging by the look on his face, you'd better expect it next time you see him. He's got the hots for you. So, are you going to tell Jawarski?"

"About that?" I laughed lightly. "Why? Nothing happened."

"Marshall kissed you," Karen reminded me, which wasn't exactly necessary. "I don't think Jawarski will consider that 'nothing.' "

"Jawarski doesn't own me," I said sharper than I'd intended. "We're not an item, and we're not exclusive-unless he's made some decisions without consulting me. We're friends who occasionally go out."

"Yeah," Karen said, giving me a look. "But only because you don't want to take things further. Jawarski's crazy about you. You're the only person in town who doesn't know it."

Uncomfortable with the conversation, I stood. "You don't know that. He's no more ready to make things official between us than I am." I wasn't in the mood to dissect my personal life right then, so I walked into the kitchen.

Karen followed and planted herself in front of me. The look had intensified in the time I'd had my back to her. "Don't try to avoid the subject, Abby. If Jawarski finds out about you and Marshall from someone else, you could lose the best thing that's ever happened to you."

"Who else is he going to find out from? The only people who know about it are you, me, and Marshall. I'm certainly not going to tell anybody, and you'd better not tell anybody ..."

"Which leaves Marshall. I saw the look on his face. If something happened to break you and Jawarski up, he would not be unhappy."

I laughed and pulled a couple of c.o.kes from the old refrigerator we keep around for personal use. "You make it sound like we're living in a soap opera or something," I said, handing a can to Karen. "It was a simple kiss on the spur of the moment. It didn't mean anything, and it's certainly not something I'm going to tie myself in knots over."

Karen rolled her eyes as if she had never met anyone so naive, but she didn't argue. One of the things I like best about her is that she knows when to back off. "Fine. Have it your way. But if you screw up your relationship with Jawarski, just remember I warned you."

As if I could forget.

Chapter 19.

I worked the rest of the morning situating candy corn and lollipop sticks in the molds, then pouring the hot syrup and slowly, carefully, tapping the bubbles out of the candy.

I was right, and Karen was wrong. But no matter how many times I told myself that I had nothing to worry about with Jawarski, Karen's warning needled at me all day. Which was ridiculous because I wasn't even interested in Marshall. I hadn't initiated that kiss. I had nothing to worry about.

When I finally had three dozen lollipops cooling, I spent an hour filling orders we'd received over the phone. By the time I had the orders ready to ship, the sun had melted most of the snow that had fallen overnight, so I packed the boxes into a canvas bag, climbed the stairs to let Max out of exile, and walked with him through town to the post office.

My route took me past Walgreens which, of course, started me thinking about the dead man again and the lack of information about his ident.i.ty. Somebody had to know who he was. Somebody had to know who owned that SUV and why it had followed me last night. And I'd have bet everything I owned that someone living in Paradise had the answers I wanted. But where to begin? That was the million-dollar question.

Thankfully, the lines at the post office were blessedly short, so I was in and out in record time. Knowing that Karen had Liberty to help her at the store gave me a new feeling of freedom I hadn't had since I took over the store. I decided to take a leisurely stroll back to work. Maybe even do a little window shopping.

I saw Vonetta c.u.mmings driving past in her Buick and waved h.e.l.lo, then turned my face to the weak sun high overhead. Max sniffed at everything we pa.s.sed with enthusiasm, lunging after a piece of wood one minute, stopping to check out something only he could smell the next. At the rate we were walking, it took a few minutes to reach the Curl Up and Dye, and I calculated that it would take a good fifteen minutes to get back to Divinity, but I didn't push Max to go any faster. After last night and the morning I'd had, it felt good to clear my head.

I waved to Gavin Trotter, who stood in the window of Alpine Sports, and thought about crossing the street to say h.e.l.lo. But when I realized that Annalisa Kelso's teal Jeep Cherokee was in the Curl's parking lot, I changed my mind.

According to Paisley, her mother had seen the man with the limp on more than one occasion. Maybe Annalisa would know something that could help the police identify him. I found a warm, dry spot for Max and pushed open the door. Immediately, a wash of chemical scents rushed over me, and I wondered how Paisley and Annalisa could breathe that air all day long. The scents are just as overpowering inside Divinity, but chemicals can't compete with chocolate, b.u.t.ter, and sugar.

Inside the Curl, it's easy to forget that Paradise has become a cross between old and new. The walls are a pale, b.u.t.tery yellow, the hair dryers a ghastly shade of pink, and white eyelet curtains hang at the windows. It's pure Mayberry.

Annalisa Kelso stood over a customer at the shampoo station near the back of the salon. Closer to the front, Paisley frowned in concentration as she worked a hair dryer over a customer's new hairdo. Paisley didn't seem to notice me, but Annalisa, a st.u.r.dy woman with dark hair and a warm smile, looked up as I entered.

"I'll be right with you, Abby. Have a seat while I finish up here."

I settled in with a magazine on the rock that masquerades as a sofa and waited while Annalisa rinsed and repeated. Finally, she wrapped a towel around her customer's head and steered her toward a haircutting station.

"Sorry about that wait," she called out, tottering on swollen feet toward the register. "What can I do for you? Haircut? Maybe a shampoo, cut, and style? We're running a special."

I did my best not to look horrified by the suggestion. "No thanks. Actually, I just came by to ask you a couple of questions. Is there any chance you could take a quick break?"

Annalisa looked over her shoulder at the woman with the dripping hair. "Now?"

"I know you're busy, but it will only take a minute."

"That may be so," Annalisa said with a tight smile, "but it's really not a good time-unless you want to talk while I cut Joyce's hair."

I'd have preferred to talk with her alone, but I'd take what I could get. "That's fine if you and Joyce don't mind."

"Not a bit. We can kill two birds with one stone. Come on back."

I followed her and sat in the empty chair beside her workstation.

"Now," she said as she picked up a comb, "what do you want to know?"

"I ran into Paisley the other night, and she mentioned that you might have seen a man with a limp hanging around this area in the past few days. Is that true?"

Her customer turned her head so she could look at me. "Are you talking about the guy who was killed over by Walgreens?"

Annalisa put her fingers on the woman's chin and turned her back so she was facing the mirror. "I need you to hold still, Joyce, or you're going to be very unhappy with your hair when you leave here."

Joyce giggled and muttered a soft, "Sorry."

Annalisa dug around in a drawer and pulled out a handful of pastel hair clips. "Yes, I did see the man you're talking about. He was out here in our parking lot a couple of times and standing around on the corner once or twice. Why?"

"The police haven't been able to make a positive ID," I said. "I'm trying to help them figure out where to look next." Which was true. In a roundabout way. Anything I learned, I'd eventually share with Jawarski.

Paisley glanced over her shoulder and said, "I heard he had a thousand dollars in his pocket when they found him. Is that true?"

I shook my head. "I don't know. If he did, I haven't been told about it."

"I have no idea who that poor man was," Annalisa said, continuing our conversation as if Paisley hadn't spoken. "But I know who might be able to tell you. I saw the man get into a car one day."

"Is it true that he was a drug dealer?" Joyce asked, turning her head again and causing Annalisa to lose her grip on another strand of hair. "I heard that he was."

Rumors and gossip always spread fast in a town like Paradise, and obviously this time was no exception to that rule. I was itching to hear what Annalisa had to say, but I felt an obligation to nip rumors in the bud. "Where did you hear that?"

"I don't remember," Joyce admitted. "I think somebody at the school told me. Or maybe it was the clerk at King Soopers."

"I wouldn't believe anything you hear unless it comes in a statement from the police. Now, Annalisa, the car he got into . . . was it a dark-colored SUV?"

"An SUV?" Annalisa shook her head firmly. "No. I saw him getting into a light-colored sedan. I don't know anything about an SUV."

"How did he die?" Joyce asked. "Is it true that he was stabbed to death?" She met Annalisa's eyes in the mirror and confided, "Thomas says that he was stabbed, but you know how he is." She smiled at me and dropped her voice to a confidential whisper. "My husband's a bit of a know-it-all."

I knew the answer, but I hadn't seen an official statement about cause of death from the police, so I shook my head. "I'm afraid I can't say for sure," I told her, and turned to Annalisa once more. "Are you sure it was a sedan?"

"Of course I'm sure," Annalisa said with a laugh. "I know the difference between a sedan and an SUV."

I sat back in the chair and tried to take in what she'd just told me. I'd been so focused on the SUV and Coach Hendrix, it had never occurred to me that John Doe might have had contact with other people in Paradise. "Do you have any idea whose car it was?"

Joyce sat up straight in her chair. "Ooh, do you, Annalisa?"

Pleased by the attention, Annalisa pinned up another section of hair and shrugged casually. "Sure. I saw the man driving it clear enough." She gestured toward the street and said, "They met right out here on the corner."

That made me sit up a little straighter, too. "Who was it?"

Annalisa looked at me over her shoulder. "It was Quentin Ingersol."

"Quentin Ingersol?" I said, making no effort to hide my surprise. "Are you talking about the real estate agent? The one whose picture is on the billboards and benches all over town?"

Paisley led her customer to the register and punched a couple of b.u.t.tons. "One and the same."

"What was the dead guy doing with him?"

"I'm sure I don't know," Annalisa chided gently. "I only saw the dead man getting into Quentin's car. I didn't hear what they said."

"Of course not." I smiled an apology. "I'm just a little surprised, that's all."

Annalisa picked up a pair of shears and steadied Joyce's head again. "If some new guy came to town and wanted to buy property, this Quentin guy is probably the first one he'd go see. He's got his name everywhere."

The man I'd seen out at Hammond Junction hadn't looked like your typical property owner, but what did I know? So Kerry Hendrix wasn't the only person in town with a connection to John Doe. It would be interesting to find out just what Quentin Ingersol knew about the dead man.

Chapter 20.

I would have liked to track Quentin Ingersol down right then and there, but a quick check of my watch told me that I'd already been away from Divinity for nearly an hour. Max and I hurried back, but I had trouble concentrating for the rest of the day.

Between customers, I spent the afternoon making more centerpieces for Richie and Dylan's dinner party and listening to Karen training Liberty. I had to admit that Liberty seemed bright and eager. She picked up everything Karen threw at her easily, and the questions she asked convinced me that she had processed the information.

The never-ending stream of chatter about everything from Rutger's favorite restaurant to Rutger's favorite television show to Rutger's lucky socks grated on my nerves after a while, but Karen didn't seem to mind, so I did my best to tune it out.

At seven, I tucked the bank bag under my arm and crossed the street to make the day's deposit, leaving Karen and Liberty to lock up behind me. The bank had long since closed its doors, but its after-hours window was still open when I got there, and two other people were already in line. I moved behind them and settled in to wait.

At the head of the line, a bulky man wearing a too-tight T-shirt and jeans that sagged from his hips argued mildly with a young teller named Chloe about a problem cashing the check he'd given her. I didn't intend to eavesdrop, but we were stuck in a ten-by-ten foyer together. There really wasn't any way to avoid listening.

"I'm sorry," Chloe said for the third time since I came through the door, "there's nothing I can do."

"Sure there is," the man argued. "Cash the check. I guarantee it's good."

Chloe shook her head firmly. "I can't cash a check of this size. Not from an out-of-state bank. You can deposit it into your account if you want, but I have to put a five-day hold on it because of the amount. It's the best I can do."

"That's bulls.h.i.t. I've been a customer of this bank for most of my life. Just cash the d.a.m.n thing, and let me be on my way." Torn between natural curiosity and a reluctance to gawp at someone else's misfortune, I took another look at the man at the window, and this time I felt a shock of recognition.

Dwayne Escott. He just kept growing more charming every time I saw him.

Chloe's cheeks flushed pink, but she held her ground. "I can't cash the check, sir, I'm sorry."

"Then get your manager."

The woman in front of me shifted uncomfortably at Dwayne's tone, and an uneasy feeling traced my spine. What was it with this guy? When had he become such a jerk?

"You're more than welcome to talk to the bank manager," Chloe said, "but you'll have to come back tomorrow. He's gone home for the day."

"Well isn't that terrific. Okay, there must be someone around here who knows what they're doing," Dwayne insisted. "Find them. I'll wait."

Irritation began as a low tickle at the base of my stomach and slowly worked outward. I tried to ignore it. I had enough trouble on my plate, I didn't need to ask for more. But I couldn't ignore the look on Chloe's face or the tone of Dwayne's voice as he chewed her out.

"I know what I'm doing," Chloe said, but by this time her face had grown beet red. "I can't cash the check for you, sir. I'm sorry." She lowered her voice, but it still carried through the small bank lobby. "I'm afraid your account is overdrawn and has been for several weeks. This isn't the first time, either. I can't give you cash, but if you'd like to make a deposit-"

"h.e.l.l no, I don't want to make a deposit," Dwayne thundered. "How many times do I have to tell you that? I want the d.a.m.n cash. I need the cash."