Virginia Smith - Scent of Murder

Klaxon alarms sounded in Caitlin’s ears. Her heart was vulnerable, and she knew it. The pain inflicted by Glenn was too fresh, too raw. That’s why the dateless year was so important. She needed time to heal so she wouldn’t fall head over heels for the first good-looking guy who came along. And Chase definitely fit that mold.

But this wasn’t really a date, was it? It was a concert at church. No harm in that, surely.

“I’m staying at the Nashville Inn,” she told Chase.

“I’ll pick you up around seven, then.” His gaze fixed on something behind her. A half-formed smile froze on his lips.

Caitlin turned and looked through the window in the door. A vehicle pulled into the space next to her Geo, white with green lettering and the unmistakable red-and-white bar across the top. A cruiser from the Brown County Sheriff’s Department.

“It’s the police.” Mrs. Hollister’s voice was low. “What do they want?”

“Me.” Chase stared out the window. “They want me.”

Startled, Caitlin jerked her head around to stare at him. The police were here for the handsome candle man?

What have I gotten myself into?

Chase stood in the parking lot beside Detective Jenkins’s vehicle and watched Caitlin’s car disappear down the treelined street. She was an attractive woman with a sweet, appealing air about her that he didn’t come across often. And she’d survived Mom’s clumsy maneuvering with grace. Exactly the kind of woman who could coax him back into the dating world. But the sight of the sheriff sent her scurrying away like a frightened squirrel. Not that he blamed her.

He glanced toward the detective, who sat behind the wheel of his car with a cell phone held to his ear. Chase’s hands tightened into fists. The hours he’d spent last year being questioned by Jenkins were still fresh in his mind. This morning had been easy compared to the investigation surrounding Kevin’s death. And Chase had never been able to make any headway in prying out information that would help him understand the real reason behind Kevin’s murder. The detective’s accusations had gnawed at Chase since the moment he’d first uttered them. And the worst part was, Jenkins had hard evidence to back up his claims, evidence Chase couldn’t ignore and couldn’t begin to explain.

Blood tests didn’t lie. At the time of his death, Kevin had been high on heroin.

The guy Chase had known since grade school, the one who had worked right alongside him at the candle factory, wasn’t the clean, straight-up friend he’d always appeared to be. He’d fooled everyone, including Chase.

The car door opened. Jenkins’s head appeared over the top, his gaze locked on to Chase as though daring him to turn away. Chase stood his ground and returned the hard stare without flinching.

“Hollister.” The man left the car door open and came around it.

“Detective Jenkins.” Chase managed an even if guarded tone. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

“You can count on seeing a lot of me until we solve this crime.” A smile flashed onto Jenkins’s face and disappeared just as quickly. “The team is still combing the area where you found the body. Judging from the tire tracks, the car was pushed down the embankment from approximately the same place as your buddy’s last year. If the killer is the same person, and I have no doubt it is—” Jenkins’s stare became hard “—we won’t find anything to identify him or her inside the car.”

So much for Irene’s suggestion that this crime would lead to new evidence about Kevin. From the sound of things, they didn’t expect to find the killer this time, either.

But why come all the way out here to tell him? Just to needle him?

Chase let out a slow breath before he spoke. “What do you want from me, Detective?”

“For the moment, information.” His eyes narrowed. “Ever hear of a man named Lancaster?”

Chase felt pinned beneath Jenkins’s searching stare. “Lancaster?” He searched his memory. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“You sure? George Walter Lancaster.”

“No. I don’t know anybody named George.”

“Ever hear Kevin Duncan mention someone by that name?”

Jenkins’s stare hardened, as though he could pry a confession out of Chase. But there was nothing to confess. Whoever this Lancaster guy was, Chase didn’t know him.

After a minute, Jenkins’s gaze fell away. “I hoped you might have heard of him. Lancaster is the dead guy you found in the park this morning. He wasn’t from around here, and there’s no indication he was in town a year ago when your buddy was killed. But he does have ties to a heroin ring up in Indianapolis.”

“Heroin.” Nausea churned in Chase’s gut. How he hated that word.

Jenkins nodded. “I talked to DEA up there. Seems they’d been watching him for a while. Got a couple of tips that Lancaster’s responsible for some pretty powerful stuff that’s been hitting the streets in that area. Black tar heroin, all the way from Mexico.”

“Then why didn’t they arrest him?”

“They never caught him with the goods. They were making progress, but he must have gotten wind that he was being watched. He disappeared a couple of weeks ago. Guess we know where he slithered off to.”

“Slithered” was right. If there was anything Chase despised more than a drug dealer, he couldn’t think of it. “So he came down here and got tangled up with the same person who killed Kevin last year.”

Of course he did. Druggies stuck together, didn’t they? Chase ground his foot into the gravel that covered the parking lot.

“Apparently.” Jenkins cocked his head. “You sure you never heard of him?”

Chase stiffened. Was the detective insinuating that he hung out in the same circles as heroin users? But in the next instant he wilted. As far as Jenkins was concerned, he did. He used to hang out with Kevin.

He swallowed. “I’m sure.”

His answer seemed to satisfy the detective. With a brief nod, Jenkins rounded the cruiser. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Detective?”

Chase stopped him with a word before he slid into the seat. The man paused in the act of bending. Chase licked suddenly dry lips.

“Uh, if you need help with anything, I’m here. Just ask.”

Jenkins’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of help would you be able to give me, Hollister?”

Chase lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. Whatever. If I can help you track down the person who killed Kevin, I will.”

The man studied him for a long moment. Chase shifted his weight, but held Jenkins’s gaze. Finally the detective pulled his card case out of his pocket, extracted a card, and held it across the roof of the car. Chase took it.

Jenkins spoke. “If you hear anything that might give us a lead, call me. Otherwise, stay out of our way.”

With a hard swallow, Chase nodded. Jenkins slid into the car and shut the door. The vehicle’s tires crunched on the gravel as it backed up, turned around, and headed for the road. Chase stood, unmoving, and watched until it was out of sight. He examined the card in his hand. How much help could he be? He didn’t know anything about drugs or drug dealers, and he certainly knew no one who could commit murder. But he’d keep his ears open and feed any helpful scraps of information to the detective. It was the least he could do for Kevin.

Detective Jenkins clutched the steering wheel as he drove toward headquarters. A long afternoon in the office lay ahead of him. A regular death resulted in a ton of paperwork—the load doubled with a violent murder. And then there were extra reports to be filed with the DEA folks, even though they hadn’t found any illegal drugs on Lancaster’s body. Still, after his conversation with Indianapolis, DEA would want to be informed.