Lye In Wait: A Home Crafting Mystery Part 9

Official demeanor back in place, he made another note. "I haven't had the pleasure. Yet. I'll see her this evening."

"Oh. You weren't the one who told her about Walter?"

He shook his head. "Let's get back to your curiosity about your neighbor. Tell me more about why you've developed this sudden interest in him."

"I told you-"

"Ambrose!" Sergeant Zahn stood in the rear doorway, looking very unhappy.

"Excuse me," the detective said, and rose. Zahn took a couple steps toward him, and they spoke in low voices. Affecting disinterest, I examined the painting of men working a herd of cattle and listened as hard as I could.

"Why is she here?" Zahn asked in a low voice.

"Just finishing up a few loose ends," Ambrose said.

"Like what?"

"She saw someone over at Hanover's place the night he died."

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Zahn glance at me. I ignored him.

"Did she see who it was?" he asked.

Ambrose shook his head. "No."

"Anything missing?"

"Not that I know of." Ambrose said.

"Then forget it. The guy killed himself. End of story. Stop trying to make it into something more. We don't have time to investigate a homicide that didn't even happen. I need you back on the mayors case.

Stop trying to make it into something more. Meghan had said those same words to me. Was Ambrose looking into what had happened to Walter after all?

TWELVE.

DETECTIVE AMBROSE SIGHED As he sat down again. "I think we're done here. Thanks for coming down."

"Walter was murdered, wasn't he?" I whispered.

He looked uncomfortable. "We have no evidence of that"

"Did you find a note?"

He shook his head. "Not in his house or his vehicle."

"What about the lye-did you find any at his house?"

He hesitated, then shook his head again.

"Okay," I said. "So he didn't leave a note. Lots of people don't, so that doesn't prove anything. But someone was in his house the night he died, and he had a pile of money and a new fiancee, neither of which tends to make someone want to kill himself. And both of which could be a motive for murder."

Sergeant Zahn walked by.

Ambrose said, "I'll walk you to your car."

"No! You can't-"

He grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet. As we approached the entrance, he said, "I'll be back in a few minutes," to the officer manning the front desk.

Outside he asked, "Where's your car?"

"Wait a minute!"

"Where is it?"

"I walked."

His hand firmly gripping my elbow, he guided me to the sidewalk that ran along the side of the long, low police station.

"What's this about a fiancee?" he asked.

"You don't already know?"

"If I did, I wouldn't ask."

"But you know about the lottery?"

"Yeah-got his bank records yesterday."

I told him about meeting Debby and Jacob, wondering if I was getting her in trouble. But if Walter had been murdered, Ambrose needed to know about her.

"What are their last names?"

"I don't know. But they hang out at Beans R Us."

"So you were in Hanover's place, moving things around?"

"This morning. Boxing things up at his mother's request"

He muttered "s.h.i.t" under his breath.

I raised my eyebrows.

"Sorry."

I laughed. "We stopped in the middle of cleaning out the place. Walter's fiancee wanted to help go through things, after the memorial service."

"That's on Monday?"

"In the afternoon."

He looked thoughtful. "You still insist the lye wasn't yours"

"Yes! But why would someone kill Walter in my..." I trailed off. Swallowed. "Am I a suspect?"

He looked disgusted. "At this point no one is a suspect." All of a sudden, he looked me in the eye and gave me that grin. "But I suppose you'd be as good as any."

"That sounds just a tad unprofessional, Detective Ambrose," I said.

"Just a tad." He blinked that slow cat blink again.

"So why doesn't Sergeant Zahn want you to investigate Walter's death? Don't you guys usually keep at it until you know for sure what happened?"

The grin slid off his face. "It looks like suicide. And I can't point to any physical evidence to the contrary, just an odd set of circ.u.mstances that makes my gut twist. I don't know, maybe he's right. It's true enough that I've got other cases that deserve my attention. But I can't seem to let it-" Suddenly he looked chagrined, and I knew he wished he hadn't said anything.

"Is whatever you're working on for the mayor more important than catching a killer?"

Ambrose looked at the pointy toes of his boots. Ground one against the cement. He sighed.

"Well, for what it's worth, I agree with your gut," I said. "But how do you make someone drink lye?"

He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked across the street. "I'd like to know that myself. Is there anything, anything at all you haven't told me?"

I shook my head. Then, "Wait a minute. There is something else." I told him about the intruder coming back to clean up his mess.

"Don't go over to Hanover's again. I need to take another look around over there before you disturb anything else." He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "Listen, I don't know exactly what happened to your neighbor, but whatever it was, you need to stay clear of it. You're too involved."

"To your benefit," I said, indignant.

He dropped his hand. "I would've found out about the fiancee and her friend soon enough. Now I need you to back off until I can get the situation sorted out."

Back off? I'd already found out more than this cowboy had. "And how are you going to, uh, sort it out if you're not allowed to officially work on the case?"

He ignored the question. "Do I have your word you'll leave it to me?"

C( Um...

A deep-red flush swept up his face and he leaned over me. I felt a little shudder of fear, and maybe something else, travel up my spine, but I stared back, defiant. When he spoke, the words were measured and low.

"I'll find out what happened to Walter Hanover. My job. Not yours.

He turned and took a few steps, then turned back. "I can't have you interfering in this investigation. It's too dangerous."

I rolled my eyes. "But I helped."

"Maybe. Maybe not. You may have already compromised any information we could have gained from Hanover's home, tainted interviews, who knows what else. And Sophie Mae? When I indicated you don't appear to be a suspect now, that doesn't mean if there's evidence that implicates you, I won't dig it up."

With that, he strode back inside.

And I walked home, contemplating why men seem to have such tender egos.

THIRTEEN.

As BAD AS I felt when I came into the house, someone else felt worse. Erin was curled on one end of the sofa, rereading The Wolves of Willoughby Chase, one of her favorite books. Brodie lay with his head in her lap, watching her face.

d.i.c.khead had done it again. He couldn't even keep his daughter for a full twenty-four hours. And this time he'd come right out and a.s.sured us all he would see the weekend through.

"Hi, Bug," I said, trying not to let my anger show.

She looked up, misery shining from her eyes. "Hi"

I sat down next to her on the sofa and put my arm around her. She leaned into me and sighed.

"Where's your mom?" I asked.

Erin shrugged against me. "Don't know. No one was here when I got home."

"He... Did your Dad know that?"

She nodded. "I had to get the spare key to get in."