Chapter Eight
The next morning flew by, and Addie was exhausted. Lunchtime had long since come and gone. She knew she’d earned a break, but still didn’t feel right about locking the store again in the middle of the afternoon. However, this couldn’t be helped. Blain Fielding’s assistant, Elaine, had called and said he wanted to meet with her this afternoon. She crossed her fingers, hoping this would be an opportunity for her to figure out if he was involved in her recent turmoil.
With a heavy heart, Addie turned the door sign to “Closed.” She was more certain than ever that hiring part-time help now was essential, or soon she wouldn’t have a business to worry about at all. She stepped into the street and locked the door. Serena dashed out of Martha’s bakery, clutching a paper in her hand. She turned left toward Main, not back to her shop. It was all Addie could do to catch up to her sprinter’s pace. When she managed to, it wasn’t until she reached the corner that she was close enough to tug on Serena’s sleeve.
“Wait up. Hey, what’s the hurry?”
Serena spun around, her cheeks flaming, her eyes swollen and red.
“You’ve been crying? What’s wrong?”
Serena sniffled and wiped her nose on the back of her hand. “It’s noth . . . nothing.”
“Nothing? You’re upset.”
“I’m fine.”
“Serena, what happened? Did Martha say something to you?”
“I have to go.” She dashed off, crossing against the “Don’t Walk” light, turned right, and ran into the entrance of Fielding’s Department Store.
Addie darted to the crossing lights, which were still flashing the pedestrian warning, and stepped off the curb. A delivery truck squealed right around the corner, forcing her to jump back. Clenching her fists, she tapped her foot, trying to figure out what could possibly be wrong that Serena was in such a state and had run off to Fielding’s at the same time she was to meet with Blain?
When it was safe, she bolted across the street. Two women she recognized as having been in the shop earlier spotted her and stopped, blocking her way on the busy sidewalk.
“Well, hello again, Miss Greyborne.” One of the women pressed her lips into a half smile. “Funny to see you out and about in the middle of the afternoon, Hilde and I were just talking about how much we like your shop and saying we should stop in there now.”
“That would be lovely. I’ll look forward to seeing you later.” Addie smiled, trying to skirt around the women.
“May I ask what hours you keep?” The corners of the second woman’s lips curled upward, but her eyes took on the look of a Cheshire cat.
Addie sucked in a deep breath and matched the woman’s Cheshire grin. “You know, I’d love to stop and chat, but I’m already late for an appoint—” The sound of sirens filled the air. Addie turned just as Marc ran into the door of Fielding’s. “I have to go, sorry.” She turned away from the two women.
“Well, I never,” one of the women gasped. “How rude.”
Addie fled, not daring to look back at the two women she’d left with their mouths hanging open.
When she reached the entrance to Fielding’s, the street was a sea of flashing red and blue lights. Addie tried to move to the front of the quickly forming crowd, but as more people crushed in, she was pushed back and couldn’t see what had caused the commotion. She boosted herself up on the raised base of the old gas streetlamp post.
A woman’s shrill shrieks pierced the air. Whispers and sobs rippled through the crowd.
“What is it?” Addie grabbed the shoulder of a man in front of her.
He looked up at her, his eyes wild. “Blain Fielding’s been murdered.”
The back of Addie’s throat tightened.
A collective gasp carried through the onlookers as Marc ushered Serena to his patrol car, handcuffs glimmering in the sunlight.
Addie jumped down from her perch and forced her way through the crowd. “Marc, wait. What’s going on?”
Marc pushed Serena’s head down, ushering her into the back seat, and slammed the door. He looked at Addie, his eyes full of pain, but he only shook his head, got into his car, and drove over to the police station across the street.
Addie raced across the road, weaving around the police cars and bystanders, and ran through the front entrance of the station. “Where’s Marc?” she shouted at the desk sergeant. “I need to see him now.” She slapped her hand on the desktop.
Another officer came out from behind the desk, his hand firmly grasping the top of his side holster. “Is there a problem here?”
“Yes, there is. Where is he, and where’s Serena Chandler? Get the chief. I need to talk to hi—”
Marc came out of the back room as the second officer was unclipping his gun from the holster. “It’s okay, Jerry. I’ve got this.”
“You sure, Chief?”
“Yes, I’ll be fine. Addie, come in.” He waved her past the desk and motioned toward his office door.
They went in, and he slowly took his cap off, placed it on a coatrack by the door, and took a seat behind his desk. “What can I help you with?” He folded his hands on the desk.
“What can you help me with?” She leaned across his desk. “I just heard Blain Fielding was killed, and then you arrested Serena, and I want to know why.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation with you. Is there anything else?” He looked down and shuffled a stack of papers on his desk.
“Anything else?” She gasped. “Anything else?” Her voice rose. “Yes, an explanation.”
He glared at her, stood up, met her stance, and leaned toward her across the desk. “Sit down, Miss Greyborne.”
She crossed her arms across her chest and huffed.
“Now.”
His hot breath lashed across her cheek. Her eyes widened. She opened her mouth to speak. His neck muscles bulged, and she slithered into the chair across the desk from him. “Okay, I’m sitting.”
He sat down and raked his hands through his hair, his face tense.
Her heart lurched out to him, but she bit the inside of her mouth, pressed her nails into her palms, and took a deep breath. “I know this is hard on you. She’s your sister and all, but”—she leaned forward, her voice softening—“she’s my friend, and I need to know what’s going on. Where is she?”
“She’s being processed in lockup.”
“But why? On what charge?”
He picked up the pile of papers again and flipped through them, then threw them across the desk, sending them scattering across the floor.
Addie took another deep breath and clenched her teeth. “What’s the charge?”
He swiveled his chair around and stared out the window.
“Marc, please. What’s going on?”
“Murder.” His voice cracked. “Maybe even murder one.”
“Murder?” Addie echoed. “Of who? Certainly you don’t think she killed Blain?”
He sucked in a deep breath.
“But, but that’s impossible.”
“I only wish it was.” He turned and looked back at her. Tears moistened his dark eyes.
“No, no, I don’t believe it. It’s not possible.” Her thoughts reeled. Disbelief clutched at her chest. “Serena wouldn’t. She couldn’t, no, never.”
Marc pursed his lips. “I’m afraid the circumstantial evidence is too strong at this point to disregard it.”
“Circumstantial evidence? What evidence could you possibly have on Serena?”
He shook his head. “I can’t discuss it with you.”
“But she’s your sister, and I’m her friend. I want to help if I can. I saw her just minutes before you arrested her. She couldn’t have had time to kill anyone.” She leaned closer to him. “Please. This is Serena we’re talking about. What evidence do you have?”
His brow creased, and his eyes narrowed. “Someone will take your statement later, but for now, she’s booked on the . . . the evidence.” His glassy gaze turned toward the door.
“But Marc, if I can prove she couldn’t have done it, then you can’t hold her.” She winced. “Can you?”
“We can and will unless there’s overwhelming evidence to the contrary proving she couldn’t have done it.”
“But I can prove it.”
“I’m afraid anything you have to say would have to be substantiated by someone else . . . who isn’t a close friend. Otherwise, a good prosecutor could argue that you’re covering up for her to give her an alibi.” He sighed and rubbed his chin. “Anyway, bail will be set in the morning. Until then, there’s not much we can do.” He got up and walked to the window.
“I don’t believe that. She’s your sister, and you’re the police chief.”
“And that’s exactly why I can’t ignore the evidence
.”
She walked around the desk and laid her hand on his arm. “Then let’s go and find some witnesses, question everyone on the street and in the store. There has to be someone who saw her when she went in, and then you’ll see the timeline doesn’t work.”
He shrugged off her hand and moved over to a file cabinet on the opposite wall. “Are you trying to tell me how to do my
job?”
“No, of course not. We just can’t give up.”
“I’m not giving up. She’s my sister, for God’s sake.” He scowled at her. “Now, if you don’t mind, Miss Greyborne, I have police work to do.” He pulled open the top file drawer.
Addie marched over and slammed the file drawer closed. “Stop it, Marc. Talk to me.”
He snapped his hand back; the drawer had barely missed catching his fingers.
“It’s probably just a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. What possible evidence could you have on Serena that a few questions wouldn’t clear up? Tell me.” She grabbed his arm and spun him toward her.
Marc glared at her and stepped back. “She—she was found by Elaine and was standing over his body with a bloodied paperweight in her hand.”