Part 2 (1/2)
”Well, he is on TV.” This, apparently, was enough of an explanation for Sophie.
It did little to satisfy me.
Before I had a chance to think about it, Detective Oberlin stepped into the waiting area and crooked a finger in my direction. ”We need to know which lights were on,” he told me. ”And if the door was locked when you got here.”
Automatically, I nodded. ”It was. Sophie unlocked it. And the lights . . .” I thought back to what had happened just an hour earlier. It seemed a lifetime ago. ”No lights.” I knew this for sure because I had a clear image in my mind of Declan Fury coming in the front door to the waiting area, then peeking into the main room of the restaurant where it was dark. ”No lights,” I told the detective. ”Not until we walked in there and turned them on.”
He nodded, but I had no idea what that was supposed to mean. Something told me he wouldn't have bothered to explain even if he'd had the time. The way it was, before he could say another word, a fresh-faced cop poked his head out from the restaurant.
”Hey, Sarge,” the cop said, ”Lantana says you should come back in here right away. The window on the back door is smashed in. That's got to be how the killer and the victim got in here. But this is weird. The door that leads from the outside directly into the bas.e.m.e.nt has been broken into, too, and it looks like someone was down there trying to swipe the copper.”
Detective Oberlin had been taking notes about what I'd told him about the doors being locked and the lights off, and now his mouth pulled into a smug smile. He flipped his spiral-bound notebook closed.
”So that explains it.” He tucked the notebook in his pocket. ”The Lance surprised someone who was here to steal the copper. The thief knew he'd been seen. He killed the Lance to keep him quiet.”
”But what was the Lance doing here in the first place?” I asked him. ”And how did he get in? The restaurant's been closed since Sat.u.r.day. You don't think he's the one who broke in the back door, do you?”
”Huh? What?” Oberlin's s.h.a.ggy brows veed over his eyes and that smile of his faded in an instant. When he turned to head back into the restaurant, he was grumbling.
And I was left feeling just as confused as I had been since I found the Lance of Justice.
I sat back down next to Sophie, but she was so busy craning her neck to see what was going on out on the street, I wasn't sure she noticed. That is, until she provided the narration to the scene outside the Terminal's front window.
”There's Kitty from the beauty shop,” she said, pointing to a woman whose hair was the same honey blond as mine and who was wearing a pink smock. ”And that's her husband, Pat. The big guy with the broad shoulders who's standing next to her. Nice people.” She slid me a look. ”Kitty and Pat Sheedy are Declan's aunt and uncle.”
I might have asked what on earth that had to do with anything, especially a murder investigation, but she didn't give me the time. ”And there's Kim Kline. She's still here.” Sophie rose out of her seat, the better to get a gander at the reporter, who had a microphone in her hand and was back in front of a camera. ”I guess I should have been more prepared, huh? But when I knew the camera was filming, well, I just couldn't get any words out of my mouth.” She swiveled around in her seat for a better look. ”I thought she'd be taller. And look . . .” She pointed to the far end of the dead-end street and a redbrick building with a canvas awning over the front door.
”That's John and Mike from the bookstore.” She was referring to two middle-aged men who might have been clones. Both were tall and thin, both had receding hairlines and wore wire-rimmed gla.s.ses. They watched the proceedings at the Terminal, worry etched on their faces.
”Carrie's already gone for the day, of course,” Sophie said, turning from the bookstore to look across the street at a place called Artisans All. ”The arts and crafts crowd,” she confided. ”They don't shop late. And then there's Barb and Myra and Bill, of course.”
For a moment, I thought I must be imagining things. Was that really perpetually cheerful Sophie sounding as sour as if she'd just bitten a lemon? I looked where she was looking, at the store just to the right of the empty storefront next to Artisans All where three people stood just inside the front door, coffee cups in their hands and their gazes trained on the Terminal.
”Caf-Fiends?” I read the name painted on the front window.
Sophie sniffed. ”Stupid name for a coffee shop, isn't it? New in the neighborhood. I don't know about you, being from Hollywood and all, but I have to say, I don't trust people who charge three dollars and fifty cents for a cup of coffee. Three dollars and fifty cents!” Another sniff emphasized her outrage. ”It ought to be illegal.”
”We're going to have to talk to each and every one of them.”
Sometime while I'd been looking out the window, Detective Oberlin and the young cop had come back out to the waiting area, and at the sound of his voice, I turned in time to see the sergeant send a laser gaze around the neighborhood. ”Who saw what, where they were, what they know about the deceased. You know the routine. Statements, contact information, blah, blah, blah. And when you're done with that-”
Before he had a chance to finish, the front door of the restaurant opened and Declan hurried over. He crouched down in front of Sophie and took her hands in his.
”I saw the police cars. Is everything all right?”
”Obviously not.” I shouldn't have had to point that out, so really, I didn't deserve the condescending little half smile he shot my way.
”Well . . .” Oberlin stepped back, his weight against one foot, and aimed a look at Declan. ”Doesn't it figure? There's trouble, and look who's here.”
When he got to his feet, that funny little half smile never faded from Declan's face. ”Nice to see you, too, Gus. What's going on?”
”A murder, that's what's going on.” Since they were pretending I was invisible, I stood up and stepped between Declan and Oberlin. ”Some guy called the Lance of Justice.”
Declan pursed his lips and let out a long, low whistle. ”That ought to stir things up around here.”
”You would know.” Over my head, Oberlin glared in his direction.
Declan was nearly as tall as the detective, and though he was broad, he wasn't anywhere near as burly. That didn't stop him from trading the cop look for look.
”Just being neighborly,” Declan said.
”As always,” Oberlin shot back.
”Just like you were neighborly earlier tonight?” I asked, and don't think I didn't notice that this got Oberlin's attention.
He s.h.i.+fted his gaze from Declan to me. ”What are you talking about?”
”He stopped in,” I said, indicating Declan with the tip of my head. ”About an hour ago. Right before we found the body. He said it was because he saw the lights on and he wondered what was going on.”
”That would be because I saw the lights on and wondered what was going on.” Declan crossed his arms over his chest and his black leather jacket creaked.
”He also said he was going to go back across the street when he left here, but when he did finally leave-”
The clink of metal on metal interrupted me as the paramedics wheeled a cart out the door of the restaurant. There was a black body bag strapped to the gurney, a round hump at the end where Jack Lancer's head was and the squared-off outline of his feet showing at the other end.
Instantly, the TV camera lights outside swung our way and we all squinted.
Except for Sophie. She looked like she was about to be sick.
”I don't suppose there's any way around this,” Oberlin grumbled. ”Vultures, every one of them.”
He opened the door, then stepped back and out of sight of the cameras, allowing the paramedics to leave with the body. The cameras followed the gurney to the ambulance and when they did, Oberlin looked back my way.
”So what was it you were saying?” he asked me.
”I was saying that while you're taking statements, you might want to take his.” I didn't have to point to Declan; he was standing right beside me. I looked up at him. ”He was here earlier this evening, too. And when he left, he went-”
”I know you've got plenty to do.” I would have thought Declan had forgotten me completely, I mean, what with the way he talked to Oberlin as if I weren't there, but his hand clamped over my arm. ”And I'm sure you need to talk to Sophie and Laurel some more. But they're going to be in the way here and they don't need this crazy publicity.” He tugged me toward the door. ”I'll take them across the street and you can be sure I'll keep the newshounds away from them. When you need them, you'll find them over at the Irish store.”
Chapter 3.
Declan opened the front door of the shop and stepped back to allow first Sophie then me inside.
”Welcome to Bronntanas,” he said.
I glanced up at the giant shamrock over the front door. The word he used-one he p.r.o.nounced BRON-tuh-nuss-was nowhere to be seen on the sign.