Софи Келли - A Night's Tail

“But you have a family in Boston.” His expression was serious. He wasn’t teasing the way he usually did about living in the middle of nowhere with Bigfoot for a neighbor. Rebecca had laughed until tears came when I’d told her about that comment.

Ethan’s visit had reminded me just how much I missed him and Sara and Mom and Dad. My stomach tied itself into a knot as I thought about how difficult it was going to be to say good-bye to him. But that didn’t mean I wanted to leave behind the life I’d built in Mayville Heights. I blinked hard a couple of times. “I miss you, too,” I said.

There was a knock at the door then. I got to my feet just as Marcus stepped into the room. “Hi,” he said.

I smiled, closed the distance between us and gave him a quick kiss. The guys all gave some kind of acknowledgment but in Ethan’s case it was a little halfhearted.

“Hi, Marcus,” Derek said. “Would you like a cup of coffee? It’s unleaded.”

Marcus nodded. “I would, thank you.”

Derek reached for a mug. Milo went back to the dishes and Ethan stayed where he was at the table, arms folded over his chest. It was the same defiant pose I remembered from when he was a teenager, which really wasn’t that long ago.

“I’m glad to see you, but I thought you had another hockey practice tonight,” I said.

“I do,” he said. “But I needed to talk to Derek about a couple of things and I thought he might be here.”

“We’ll give you some privacy,” I said.

Derek had poured Marcus’s coffee. Now he handed him the mug. “It’s okay. They can all hear whatever it is you have to say.”

“Thank you,” Marcus said. “Actually, all of you will probably be interested in what I came to say.” He was in police officer mode, calm, logical, no emotion. “First of all, Lewis Wallace’s death was not from natural causes.”

“You mean he was murdered,” Ethan said.

“Maybe.”

“Well, which is it? Either he was murdered or he wasn’t.” Ethan’s tone was combative.

“We’re waiting for more information from the medical examiner,” Marcus said.

“How did Wallace die?” I asked.

“Anaphylaxis.”

Milo turned to look at us. “He was allergic to something.” He wore a silver-colored Medic Alert bracelet on his right wrist warning of his own penicillin allergy.

“Yes,” Marcus said. “Lewis Wallace had a peanut allergy. He’d eaten part of a peanut butter and banana muffin.”

Ethan started to cough. Derek reached over and patted him on the back. Ethan held up a hand. “Sorry,” he rasped. “My coffee went the wrong way.”

“He ate something with peanut butter in it?” I said. “Wouldn’t he have tasted it?”

Marcus had been looking at Ethan but he shifted his attention to me. “That’s probably why he only had part of the muffin.”

I remembered the EpiPen on the floor that at first glance I’d thought was just a regular pen. It must have belonged to Lewis Wallace.

“You said you had two things to tell Derek,” I said. “What’s the second?”

Marcus turned to Derek. “We know Lewis Wallace died sometime between ten p.m. Saturday night and two a.m. or so Sunday morning.”

I remembered checking Wallace’s body to see if he could still be alive. The timeline made sense with what I’d observed.

“We already established that you were at the bed-and-breakfast for a big chunk of that time,” Marcus continued. “And we have a witness who can confirm that you were nowhere near the St. James Hotel after that.”

The color drained from Derek’s face. Blindly, he put a hand out behind him and found the counter. “I uh . . . I don’t understand,” he stammered. “I told you I was just walking around.”

“Someone saw you.”

I touched Marcus’s arm and he turned to look at me. “Who?” I said.

“Ian Queen.”

“Wait a minute. Patricia Queen’s son is your witness?”

Ian Queen had been in the library a couple of times, carrying boxes for the quilters. He was in his early twenties, the youngest of Patricia’s children according to Mary, and a lot more laid-back than his mother. I remembered that a few months back Patricia had told me that Ian was working construction and living at home for a semester before going to graduate school in the fall. She was very proud of him.

Marcus nodded. “Ian is a credible alibi witness. He described Derek down to the jacket he was wearing.” He gestured at Derek. “Ian is certain about the time and about his ID because he was at The Brick Friday night. And he doesn’t know you. He has absolutely no motivation to make anything up.”

Ethan came around the table and gave Derek a hug, slapping him on the back. “This is awesome,” he said. “We have to do something to celebrate.” He looked at me. “Hey, Kath, what was the name of that other place you suggested?”

“Barry’s Hat?” I said.

“Yeah, that was it.” He looked from Derek to Milo. “What do you say? Is everybody in?”

They were. Ethan looked at me. I shook my head.

Derek turned to Marcus and extended his hand. “Thank you,” he said. “I . . . I don’t know what else to say.”

“You’re welcome,” Marcus said. “I appreciate the fact that you came and talked to us. It actually helped us confirm where you were.”

I smiled at Derek. “Have fun,” I said. “I’m glad this is over.”

He smiled back. “I will, and I promise, no getting pulled into any fights with drunks.”

“Good plan,” I said.

Owen had wandered in at some point and stationed himself next to the refrigerator. Ethan gestured to him. “I need to find a shirt. Come give me your opinion.”

Owen dutifully followed.

Derek took his coffee cup over to the sink. Milo was telling a story that seemed to have him using that spoon I hadn’t known I’d owned as a lance.

Derek wasn’t a suspect. I didn’t have to poke around in one of Marcus’s cases and I could go back to enjoying my brother’s company. All was well.

So why didn’t Marcus look happier?

chapter 6

The guys left about fifteen minutes later. Apparently, Owen had chosen a dove-gray-and-dark-blue plaid shirt for Ethan. Before he headed out the door Ethan came over to Marcus. “I owe you an apology,” he said. Both hands were shoved in the pockets of his dark jeans. “I kind of overreacted the first time you came to talk to Derek and again tonight. I’m sorry for being such a dick.”

“You’re a lot like your sister,” Marcus said. “Loyal, willing to fight for the people you care about. That’s not a bad thing.” He glanced at me and smiled. “So don’t worry about it.”

They shook hands and then Ethan threw his arms around me. “Love you,” he said.

“Love you more,” I whispered back.

“Let’s roll,” Milo said. He grabbed his black down jacket and wound a long black-and-blue scarf that I recognized was one of Ella King’s creations—probably bought at the co-op store—around his neck.

“Try to stay out of trouble,” I said. I seemed to be saying that a lot.

“But you have bail money, right?” Milo called from the porch.

I laughed. “Just stay out of trouble, please.”

Once they were gone I turned to Marcus again, catching the front of his blue ski jacket, pulling him closer so I could kiss him. “Can you stay for a few minutes?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Did you eat?”

“I had lunch.” He frowned. “At least I think I did.”

I gestured at the table with one finger. “Sit. I’ll warm up some of Ethan’s leftover lo mein.”

“Your brother cooks?” Marcus asked as he shrugged off his jacket.

“We all cook,” I said, going to get a bowl from the cupboard. “My mother says it’s a life skill just like knowing how to swim, how to waltz and how to balance a checkbook. And by the way, he’s a pretty good cook.”