Shirlee McCoy - Undercover Bodyguard

Someone knocked on the door, and she pulled it open, expecting Ryder to be standing impatiently on the other side.

“Hold your horses, big guy. I’m almost…” Her voice trailed off as she looked into the face of a stocky, middle-aged man.

“Sorry. I thought you were someone else.” She glanced down the hall, surprised at how disappointed she was to see it empty.

“Mr. Malone is speaking with the sheriff. I’m sure he’ll be back shortly. I’m Fire Chief Timothy Saddles, Spokane County Fire Marshal. How are you feeling?”

“Okay. All things considered.”

“It’s been a rough morning. I’m sorry to say your friend lost her life in the fire.”

“Ryder…Mr. Malone told me you’d found her remains.”

“We did. They’ve been sent to the medical examiner and will be released to the family once he’s finished.”

Medical examiner? That made Maureen’s death sound less like an accident and more like…

Murder?

Shelby’s pulse jumped, her thoughts spinning back to those moments before she’d rung Maureen’s doorbell, back to the man with the sunglasses jogging away from Maureen’s street.

“Is that common procedure? I thought the medical examiner only made rulings on suspicious deaths.”

“Not really, ma’am. His job is to determine cause of death when an examination by a physician can’t determine it. In this case, we’re assuming the explosion killed the deceased, but assumptions don’t make for good investigations. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“Go ahead.”

“Mr. Malone said you were making a delivery to the deceased’s—”

“Maureen.”

“Pardon?”

“The deceased was Maureen. A bestselling author, a mother, a good friend. I was making a delivery to her place because it was her birthday, and she had invited a dozen friends to go on a shopping trip to New York City. They were going to meet at her house, have some breakfast and then take a limo to the airport.”

“My apologies if I sounded callous, Ms. Simons. What time did you arrive at Maureen’s house?”

“At 5:25. Five minutes later than she had asked me to be there.”

“Did you notice anything out of the ordinary? Anything different about the house?”

“There was a guy jogging down South Hill as I was heading up it. I saw him come off her street.”

“Plenty of people jog on South Hill,” Chief Saddles said as he jotted something in a small notebook.

“I know, but he was wearing sunglasses and gloves. It struck me as…odd.”

“Did you get a good look at his face?”

“He was Caucasian. Medium complexion. Maybe five-ten. I didn’t see his hair. It was covered by a hood.”

“It was a chilly morning. A hood and jacket wouldn’t be out of the ordinary. Gloves, either, for that matter. We’ll ask around, though. Maybe he lives in one of the houses on 21st.”

Maybe.

But Shelby couldn’t help shuddering as she remembered the way he’d turned, taken a step toward her.

“Do you know what caused the explosion?” she asked, trying to refocus her thoughts and get ahold of her wild imagination. He hadn’t followed her, hadn’t tried to harm her, hadn’t done anything except jog by and look, then turn and look again.

As if he were memorizing her features.

Trying to make sure he’d recognize her if he saw her again.

“A gas leak in the heater. It looks like the heating unit cracked, gas escaped. One spark of electricity from old wiring and the whole place went up.”

“A spark? Like from someone ringing the doorbell?” Shelby asked, cold with the thought. Had she killed her friend?

“It’s possible. Either that, or Maureen turned on a light—”

“All the lights were off. The only electricity was from me ringing the doorbell twice. It’s my fault, isn’t it? I killed her.” She dropped into a chair, her stomach sick, those stupid tears back again.

“Of course you didn’t, ma’am.” The chief patted her arm awkwardly, and Shelby almost felt sorry for him.

“Everything okay in here?” Ryder stepped into the room, his height and oversize muscles dwarfing the average-size fire chief, his dark gaze on Shelby.

“You’re crying again.” He stated the obvious, and she frowned, irritated with him, with herself and with the fire chief, who hovered uneasily a few feet away.

“Because I just realized I killed my friend.”

“Ma’am, your friend may very well have been dead before the gas was ignited. The amount of gas it took to cause such a catastrophic explosion was enough to asphyxiate her while she slept.”

“That really doesn’t make me feel any better, Chief.” But she stood anyway, refusing to meet Ryder’s eyes as she shoved his jacket into his arms. “I really need to get to work. Are we done here?”

“Yes. Just give me your contact information, and I’ll call if I have any more questions.”

Shelby spouted off her home address and her cell-phone number, and gave the chief the bakery’s address for good measure.

“Will you call me once you have news from the medical examiner?” she asked.

“Of course. You’ll probably hear from me in a day or two. If not, give me a call.” He handed her a business card, and she shoved it in her apron pocket.

His findings wouldn’t change the fact that Maureen was dead, but they might ease some of the guilt Shelby was suddenly feeling.

She’d felt the same way when Beulah had died alone in a hospital in Beverly Hills while Shelby sat in an airport in Seattle waiting for her connecting flight. She’d been trying to get to her grandmother after receiving a late-night call from the nursing home saying Beulah had had a heart attack, but all the trying in the world hadn’t put her where she needed to be when she needed to be there.

And all the crying in the world couldn’t undo what had happened at Maureen’s house, because crying over spilled milk never got the mess cleaned up.

That’s what Beulah would have said, and Shelby knew it was true. When Dottie had shown up on her doorstep, homeless because she’d been kicked out of Beulah’s Beverly Hills rental property, Shelby had let her live in her spare room, offered her a job at the bakery, made her feel like family, because she’d known it was what Beulah would have wanted. Shelby hadn’t been able to be at her grandmother’s side when she’d died, but she had carried on the legacy of kindness and compassion that Beulah had shown to the people in her life.

She might not be able to bring Maureen back to life, but Shelby could press the fire marshal and the police to find the reason for Maureen’s death. It’s what Maureen would want. Complete disclosure. Absolute truth. Just like she always wrote in her true-crime books.

The fire chief left the room, his shoulders stooped, his hair mussed. He’d probably been sleeping when he’d been called out to Maureen’s place. Shelby had a feeling he wouldn’t be sleeping much in the next few days.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here.” Ryder cupped her elbow, led her through the quiet hospital corridor. Shelby didn’t bother telling him she needed to wait for aftercare instructions, because she didn’t want to wait. She wanted to go to the bakery, lose herself in the process of creating cakes and cookies and pastries.

“Thanks again for bringing Mazy.”

“I probably should say it wasn’t a problem.”

“But it was?”

“She chewed a hole in my car’s upholstery, so yeah, it was.”

“I’ll pay you for the damage.”

“You weren’t the one who chewed the hole,” he growled, but Shelby thought there might be a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“No, but I did ask you to give her a ride here.”