in front of the store.
Davidson got out of the first, dwarfed by his loose shirt, and strode up to the boutique. He opened the door, then stepped inside.
“Looks like we’re having a party in here,” Davidson said. “My three favorite suspects all gathered together. That’s an interesting coincidence.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Foster erupted, the raised his hands in prayer position. “Please, please, don’t arrest me. I didn’t do anything.”
The poor guy was ready to keel over from fear. “Good morning, Detective Davidson,” Heather said. “I would say it’s lovely to see you, but I don’t want to be charged with perjury.” Not that she was under oath.
“Perjury is going to be the least of your problems, Shepherd.” Davidson smirked, breaking eye contact with her and honing in on Foster instead. “I’m not here for you, anyway. But for him.”
“No, I didn’t. Those gloves were a gift. There’s two of them. Not one! I didn’t hurt Tara. I love Tara.”
“What!” Goldie shrieked from the counter. “You loved her?”
Oh boy, the scene had reached telenovela proportions of drama.
Detective Davidson blinked at the woman behind the counter. “Please, keep it down, ma’am. You’re interrupting a police investigation, and if you continue, I’ll have to take you in.”
“You can’t do that,” Heather said. “That’s not legal.” Talk about a power trip.
“Don’t even get me started on you,” Davidson hissed.
“You loved her!? How dare you say that? You’re, like, such a scumbag Foster Tombs. A scumbag! I thought we were going to get married. You’re a nobody,” Goldie shrieked, her golden locks swishing with each head movement.
Detective Davidson ignored her this time and brought out a pair of cuffs. “Foster Tombs, you’re under arrest for the murder of Tara Davidson.” He choked on the last part. His daughter’s name.
Chapter 14
The afternoon wasn’t a scorcher for a change. The sun cast mellow sunlight on their backs, and the trees stood silent, untouched by the wind. Squirrels scurried around in their branches, disturbing leaves.
Dave barked and perked up at the motion, but settled quickly after. Chasing squirrels was not his M.O. If the squirrels had been donut shaped and made from confectioner’s sugar, flour, and vanilla bean, then they’d have caught his attention.
Ryan looped his arm around Heather’s shoulders, and they set an easy pace, strolling along the dirt road near the trailer park.
“This brings back memories,” Heather said.
“Of what?”
“Pops Polinksi and his tasteless yard sale.” Heather snorted. “That was the strangest day. I guess I could say that about most days, lately.”
“I guess you could. I could too,” Ryan said, then yawned. “Late shift last night, and boy did it suck.”
“More trouble from Davidson?”
“Yeah. Did you know he brought in that kid this morning? Foster? Poor guy cried all the way from the front, right into the interrogation room,” Ryan said, then gritted his teeth. “He doesn’t have the evidence for this. It’s not right.”
“There’s only one thing to do, and that’s investigate,” Heather said. “Davidson can’t get away with this behavior, not in a court of law. If they put Foster up there, the jury will see right through the case.”
Ryan nodded. “That much is obvious. Which means he’s after a bigger fish.”
Dave paused to sniff a tree and do more of his cheeky ablutions. At least they were in nature this time, and not against the tire of a grumpy man’s car.
“I take it the fish he’s looking to fry is Heather-flavored,” Heather said. “He ‘hinted’ at it the other day. Whenever he sees me, he hints at it.”
Ryan scuffed his boot in the dirt. “This is so frustrating. I wish there were something I could do to stop this. I’m stuck at my desk all day, filling out forms, pushing paper.”
Heather stroked the back of his neck and massaged in circles.
Davidson got out of the first, dwarfed by his loose shirt, and strode up to the boutique. He opened the door, then stepped inside.
“Looks like we’re having a party in here,” Davidson said. “My three favorite suspects all gathered together. That’s an interesting coincidence.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Foster erupted, the raised his hands in prayer position. “Please, please, don’t arrest me. I didn’t do anything.”
The poor guy was ready to keel over from fear. “Good morning, Detective Davidson,” Heather said. “I would say it’s lovely to see you, but I don’t want to be charged with perjury.” Not that she was under oath.
“Perjury is going to be the least of your problems, Shepherd.” Davidson smirked, breaking eye contact with her and honing in on Foster instead. “I’m not here for you, anyway. But for him.”
“No, I didn’t. Those gloves were a gift. There’s two of them. Not one! I didn’t hurt Tara. I love Tara.”
“What!” Goldie shrieked from the counter. “You loved her?”
Oh boy, the scene had reached telenovela proportions of drama.
Detective Davidson blinked at the woman behind the counter. “Please, keep it down, ma’am. You’re interrupting a police investigation, and if you continue, I’ll have to take you in.”
“You can’t do that,” Heather said. “That’s not legal.” Talk about a power trip.
“Don’t even get me started on you,” Davidson hissed.
“You loved her!? How dare you say that? You’re, like, such a scumbag Foster Tombs. A scumbag! I thought we were going to get married. You’re a nobody,” Goldie shrieked, her golden locks swishing with each head movement.
Detective Davidson ignored her this time and brought out a pair of cuffs. “Foster Tombs, you’re under arrest for the murder of Tara Davidson.” He choked on the last part. His daughter’s name.
Chapter 14
The afternoon wasn’t a scorcher for a change. The sun cast mellow sunlight on their backs, and the trees stood silent, untouched by the wind. Squirrels scurried around in their branches, disturbing leaves.
Dave barked and perked up at the motion, but settled quickly after. Chasing squirrels was not his M.O. If the squirrels had been donut shaped and made from confectioner’s sugar, flour, and vanilla bean, then they’d have caught his attention.
Ryan looped his arm around Heather’s shoulders, and they set an easy pace, strolling along the dirt road near the trailer park.
“This brings back memories,” Heather said.
“Of what?”
“Pops Polinksi and his tasteless yard sale.” Heather snorted. “That was the strangest day. I guess I could say that about most days, lately.”
“I guess you could. I could too,” Ryan said, then yawned. “Late shift last night, and boy did it suck.”
“More trouble from Davidson?”
“Yeah. Did you know he brought in that kid this morning? Foster? Poor guy cried all the way from the front, right into the interrogation room,” Ryan said, then gritted his teeth. “He doesn’t have the evidence for this. It’s not right.”
“There’s only one thing to do, and that’s investigate,” Heather said. “Davidson can’t get away with this behavior, not in a court of law. If they put Foster up there, the jury will see right through the case.”
Ryan nodded. “That much is obvious. Which means he’s after a bigger fish.”
Dave paused to sniff a tree and do more of his cheeky ablutions. At least they were in nature this time, and not against the tire of a grumpy man’s car.
“I take it the fish he’s looking to fry is Heather-flavored,” Heather said. “He ‘hinted’ at it the other day. Whenever he sees me, he hints at it.”
Ryan scuffed his boot in the dirt. “This is so frustrating. I wish there were something I could do to stop this. I’m stuck at my desk all day, filling out forms, pushing paper.”
Heather stroked the back of his neck and massaged in circles.
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