Лори Касс - Booking The Crook

Hal put down his memo pad. “Let me guess. So you don’t duplicate our efforts while you conduct your own amateur, unofficial, and completely unsanctioned investigation?”

Put like that, it sounded bad. “On the contrary,” I said primly. “It’s more like making sure law enforcement has all the help it can get. Aren’t you always saying the sheriff’s office is overworked and understaffed?”

Ash winked at me with the eye farther away from his boss. “She’s going to find out anyway,” he said. “We might as well tell her.”

Hal grunted. “I hate small towns.”

Taking that as permission to speak, Ash said, “We’re looking into the bank where Ms. Bennethum worked. Coworkers, of course, because you never know, but also loan applicants she might have recently turned down.”

I frowned. “How would killing Rowan help anyone get a loan?” It didn’t make sense to me. If one loan officer turned down a loan, wasn’t the next one likely to do the same thing?

“Money is a critical factor in many murders,” Hal said. “Add an element of anger and the result can be lethal.”

“So you’re talking about revenge as motive?” I asked.

“All avenues of investigation, Ms. Hamilton.” Hal tucked away his notepad. “Now, unless you have something else, Deputy Wolverson and I have work to do.”

Seconds later, I was out on the sidewalk, walking to the library with my head down against the gusting snow. Hal was right, all avenues did need to be investigated, but revenge? For a denied loan? When there were other banks in town, and dozens more not far away?

It didn’t make sense to me. Not a single bit.

• • •

That night, Rafe and I met up at Fat Boys Pizza to grab a quick dinner. We hadn’t seen each other in a few days due to some night meetings he’d needed to attend, and I was surprised at the rush of happiness I felt when I walked into the restaurant.

He was sitting sideways in a booth, back against the wall, long legs up on the bench, talking to the couple at a nearby table. A cold whoosh of air came inside with me and he turned around. When he saw me, he smiled, and my insides turned to happy mush. I’d felt mushy on the inside before and thought it was love, but now I knew better. This mush glowed. It warmed me from dawn to dusk and made me want to give the whole world a hug. This kind of mush was making me a better person and maybe that’s what true love was all about.

Rafe slid himself off the bench and stood. He gave me a quick hug, whispered, “Hey,” in my ear, and helped me divest myself of hat, mittens, and coat. “What’s it like out there?” he asked.

“Like January.” I sat and pulled my coat over my lap to keep any drafts out of my bones. “Good thing snow is white. Just think what it would be like if it was brown. Or pea soup green.”

I’d made the comment before, but I liked to say it out loud every so often, especially in public where I could be overheard, so other people could get the benefit of a pro-snow point of view. Come April I could get tired of the stuff, too, but no matter what the circumstances, snow had fairy-tale qualities. It hid raw ugliness and added beauty to the most mundane landscape. Toss in the basic gorgeousness of Tonedagana County’s lakes and forested hills, and you had sheer magic with every snowfall.

Rafe glanced outside. “A light blue might be okay.”

“Nope.” I shook my head. “It would clash with the color of the snowplows.”

“Huh. Guess it’ll have to stay white. I already ordered food, by the way. Hope you’re okay with what we’ve had every week for the last three months, except for the week of Christmas.”

“It’s not just men whose hearts can be won through their stomachs.”

“You mean it wasn’t my charm, winning personality, and immense intellect?”

“All on the list.” I pulled a pile of napkins out of the holder and split them between us. The sub sandwiches here were exceptionally good, but notoriously messy. “I know you’re busy with end-of-the-semester stuff, but there’s news about Rowan Bennethum’s death. Have you heard?”

Rafe reached out to hold my hands. “I heard it was murder. I should have called you.”

“No, it’s all right.” My response was a reflex, but accurate. Immediate sympathy could have made my reaction worse. Sometimes not talking about things was okay. “Truly.”

I lifted his hands, gave them a light kiss, and extracted myself. “Anya and Collier are all torn up. They stopped by the library last night—they’re home for a week or so.”

Rafe pushed one of the two glasses of water on the table over to me. “Didn’t Collie get engaged over Thanksgiving to some hot blonde from college?”

“Don’t call him that,” I said automatically. “He says it makes him feel like he should be wearing a leash.”

“Considering the circumstances, I won’t call him Collie until summer.” Rafe touched the rim of his glass to mine. “Scout’s honor.”

I wasn’t sure Rafe had ever been any kind of a scout, but I let it go. A vow for a temporary ban on the nickname was win enough. “Ash says hey, by the way.”

“When did you see him?”

“Stopped by the sheriff’s office this morning to—”

“Heads up, kids, dinner’s here.” Brendan, the evening manager, deposited our food. “Eating along gender lines, I see. Meatball sub for him, veggie for the lady. A bit boring, don’t you think?” he asked me.

“My mom likes it when I eat vegetables,” I said. “There are lots in here.”

Brendan looked at my sandwich, which I loved mostly because it had as much dairy product as vegetables, thanks to my habitual request for triple cheese. “More than in the fish and chips,” he said, after considering.

I beamed. “There you go. Mom will sleep happy tonight.”

“You two are the perfect couple,” Brendan muttered. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Did you hear that?” Rafe picked up his sandwich. “We’re the perfect couple. If anyone knows, Brendan does. He’s been married four times.”

Though I wasn’t sure that was proof of romantic expertise, and in many ways thought it proved the opposite, my mouth was too full of food to discuss the point. When I was swallowing and getting ready to start a good-humored argument, Rafe asked, “Why were you at the sheriff’s office? Did they have more questions now they know it was murder?”

Um. “Sort of, but not really.”

Rafe gazed at me over his sandwich, clearly waiting for me to expand.

“I remembered a couple of things I figured they should know,” I said, “but also Anya and Collier asked me to help figure out who killed their mom.”

Dark brown eyes blinked at me. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No.” I got ready to take another bite of cheesy goodness.

“Don’t we have a professionally trained sheriff’s office to take care of that kind of thing?”

“Well, sure, but—”

“And wouldn’t professionals get annoyed by amateurs trying to do things they aren’t equipped for?”

Rafe often annoyed and frustrated me but I couldn’t think of a time when he’d elicited the emotion that was creeping up inside me: sheer and unadulterated irritation. “It’s not like I’m going to walk around tapping potential killers on the shoulder and asking, ‘Gee, did you kill Rowan? If so, let me know so I can tell the police. Thanks, have a nice day.’”

“No? Because that sounds exactly like something you’d do.”

I glared at him. “You really think I’m that stupid?”

“I think trying to find a killer could be the definition of stupid.” He glared right back. “He killed once, he can kill again, and you’re . . . you’re little.”