Her Hometown Detective Read online

  Charlie chuckled as they pulled up in front of The Cutest Little Tea Shop. They sat in the truck for a moment, taking in the sight. The tea shop wasn’t cute any longer.

  The two-foot-long window box had been ripped off the front of the storefront wall and had been banged up pretty badly. The flower baskets and ivy adorning the entrance had been torn apart and kicked along the sidewalk. Someone had emptied a can of black spray paint on both the storefront window and mauve bench in front of it. The ugliness of it all stood in contrast to the beautiful morning sunshine warming the sidewalk.

  “I know people are people—” Charlie said as they emerged from the squad car.

  Tully finished his sentence. “—but it’s always a surprise to find something like this here.”

  “Thanks for coming so quickly,” Dolores said, popping out of the shop. Her violet-gray updo frizzed in the morning humidity. “I didn’t want to start fixing anything until I filed a police report. I’m glad you got here as soon as you did, because I have to get this place cleaned up. It’ll take me all day to scrub this black paint. What a shame. Those flowers were finally blooming too.”

  “What time did you find the place like this?” Tully asked. Dolores gathered pieces of the strewn flowers and motioned down the block.

  “CeCe saw it first.”

  Tully spotted CeCe Takes hurrying up the street, two hot coffees in hand.

  “Yoo-hoo! Detective! I’m sure I can answer your questions.” She handed each man a coffee and settled back on her heels, pleased with herself.

  Dolores scowled at her friend. “I could have gotten them something to drink, CeCe. I run a tea shop, for heaven’s sake.”

  “They prefer coffee, not tea. Don’t you, Detective?” CeCe’s face smeared into a wide smile. CeCe had wanted to fix Charlie up with her niece a couple of summers before he’d married Paige. When that prospect fell through, she had aggressively turned her attention to Tully, eager for him to be her new nephew. Tully could think of nothing worse than getting roped into a relationship that would place CeCe as a more integral part of his life. He’d ducked and dodged the anxious matchmaker for months before her niece had decided not to move to town for at least another year.

  “What time did you find this mess?” he asked, motioning to the black spray paint. CeCe tipped her head thoughtfully, trying to remember.

  “I’m an early riser. Even when our walking group takes the morning off, I still like to power walk on my own. At my age, it’s important to keep moving. Anyway, I was out about a quarter after five when I found this.”

  “Did you see anyone leaving either by car or foot?”

  “No one. But I did see a light on—” CeCe lowered her voice considerably “—next door.”

  Tully sauntered over to take a closer look at the adjacent property. Brown paper covered the inside storefront window with only a few skinny pieces ripped away. He cupped his hands around his eyes and pressed his forehead to the glass to get a better look inside.

  “Someone was in here this morning?” he said. “I didn’t know Mark had leased it.”

  “Some woman is opening up a—” CeCe flicked an eyebrow in disapproval “—motorcycle repair shop.”

  “Really.” Tully caught a glance at some tools, but no motorcycles. He’d ridden a little in college and found his curiosity piqued.

  “Have you met the owner?” Charlie asked.

  “Unfortunately.”

  Tully turned, considering the negative undertones. “Why do you say that?”

  Dolores huffed and crossed her arms, her annoyance at her friend rather than at the new resident. “CeCe said the woman had a bit of an attitude, Detective.”

  “She did!”

  “You think everyone has an attitude.” Dolores picked up a handful of her crushed flowers. “Especially outsiders.”

  “That’s not true.” She turned to Charlie. “I thought Paige was the loveliest girl when I first met her, didn’t I, Charlie? She told you how welcoming I was, didn’t she?”

  Charlie grinned as CeCe turned her attention to Tully.

  “It’s worth noting that the only light on so early in the morning was coming from this new shop next door, isn’t it? I banged on the door for several minutes and hollered at her to open up, but she didn’t answer. Isn’t that a bit suspicious, Detective? Like she’s hiding something?”

  “Was your shop light on also?” Charlie asked. CeCe’s brow furrowed before easing into an amused smile. She winked at him.

  “My light is always on, Officer.” Dolores bellowed a laugh as the rumble of a motorcycle snagged their attention. Cruising up the block before coming to a stop in front of them was the same black Sportster from the gas station and the same rider.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Tully muttered, softly enough for no one else to hear. The rider cut the engine and sat for a few moments, as they all stared at her. Finally, after heaving what looked like a deep breath, she slipped off her helmet and ran a hand through her shiny locks. She had one of those haircuts that looked like she’d rolled out of bed, spiked some gel in her hair and didn’t give two cents what anyone thought about that. He liked it more than he ever expected he would.

  She slid her sunglasses off in one cool movement, briefly shifting storm-gray eyes his way. Eyes that could cut a hundred men in one swift slice. She nodded curtly to everyone else standing on the street.

  “Good morning, Ms. Fitzpatrick,” CeCe said. The corners of the rider’s mouth rose slightly, politely, but her eyes remained unchanged.

  “Is everything okay?” Ms. Fitzpatrick asked, easing off her motorcycle. CeCe pointed to the mess in front of Dolores’s shop.

  “Not if you call smashed mailboxes and ruined benches okay.”

  “Simmer down, CeCe,” Dolores said. “That wasn’t what she meant.” She turned to the woman. “Good morning, dear. We haven’t met yet, but I’m your shop neighbor, Dolores Mitchell.”

  Ms. Fitzpatrick moved forward to shake hands before turning to Charlie.

  “Officer Stillwater,” he quickly supplied. “You’ve already met CeCe. And over here is—”

  “Detective,” she said, accepting his offered hand in a shake. Her petite hands had a faint smear of grease on them, the residue that most likely still lingered after several minutes of scrubbing. It was nothing he minded. If anything, he found this dichotomy about her to be fascinating. Delicate hands, working hands. Fair skin, dark hair. Feminine features, bold attitude. When she squeezed his hand and her eyes met his, she managed a polite smile. “Nice to see you again.”

  “You as well,” he said. “And...”

  Her eyes flashed, making him the first to release his grip. She spooked easily even if she tried to hide it.

  “Pardon?” she said.

  “He wants to know if you have a first name, Ms. Fitzpatrick,” CeCe supplied, her condescension making everyone cringe. The woman’s jaw tightened, but Tully was certain that no one had seen it but him.

  “Faith,” she said.

  “Did you just arrive in town, ma’am?” As usual, Tully worked to keep his voice calm and steady, as if he was negotiating a hostage situation at the bank. Still, she shifted on her feet as though he had accused her of a heist.

  “And if I did?”

  Tully noticed a strange charge hung in the air. He set his gaze steadfast on Faith, patiently letting the silence draw her into more of an explanation.

  “No,” she finally said, as if reconsidering her tone. “I moved here a week ago to get my shop prepared for opening.”

  “What kind of shop?” He already knew the answer, but he wanted her to relax a bit, wanted her to know he wasn’t there to accuse her of anything. He would lob a few easy questions over the net and affirm her answers with every response.

  “Repairing and detailing.”

  “Excellent. Is this
your Sportster?”

  “Of course.”

  “It’s a nice bike.”

  “Thanks.”

  “How’s it run?”

  “It serves me well.”

  “Glad to hear it. Is anyone else working here with you?”

  “Why does anyone else need to be working with me?”

  Tully surveyed her stance: shoulders back, chin tilted, eyes defiant. Without warning she’d crushed the ball across the net in a return that baffled him. He wondered where the hostility came from. Their first encounter at the gas station had started off on the wrong foot and had then fizzled out when she had seemed to recognize him. Maybe getting her away from CeCe and the others would help him figure her out.

  “Based on our brief encounter yesterday, ma’am, I’m pretty certain you don’t need anyone at all.”

  Her face flinched in a smile before turning to Charlie and motioning to the notebook he held.

  “I didn’t see anything, Officer. I’ve been putting in long hours to get my shop ready for the holiday weekend. I was out early this morning, but I didn’t see any of this happening.” She strode to the doorway and picked up Dolores’s smashed mailbox. “I could hammer this out, if you’d like. You’d need to repaint it, but I could get it smoothed out a bit and—”

  “She doesn’t want some banged-up mailbox,” CeCe said. Dolores shushed CeCe before smiling at Faith.

  “Yes, I’d appreciate that, Faith. Thank you for offering.”

  Faith smiled before moving toward her shop, mailbox under one arm and store keys in hand.

  Charlie turned his attention to Dolores and CeCe, asking them to show him around inside. Meanwhile, Tully followed Faith.

  “How long have you been repairing motorcycles?” he asked. Her entire persona from her outfit to her Sportster to her edgy attitude conveyed a message that she had something to prove. But the fact that she could repair motorcycles and open a business on her own made him think she didn’t have to.

  She fiddled with the key in the lock.

  “My uncle taught me years ago.”

  “Does he live in Roseley?”

  “Not now. Anyway, working on bikes is all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

  “You’re in the right place.” She paused at his suggestion.

  “Why do you say that?”

  He gently reached for her keys. “May I?” She eased her hand away, letting the key ring hang in the lock. He worked the lock as best as he could. “A lot of folks around here ride.”

  “Not according to Mrs. Takes.”

  “Did she say that?”

  “No. But she has some negative biases about people who do.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s apparent she doesn’t like riders...or, I guess, me.”

  He shrugged. “She has a lot of negative opinions about a lot of things and always has. I wouldn’t take it personally.” He continued, keeping his tone light, “Where are you staying?”

  “If business is good, I’ll be here most of the time.”

  “And if business is bad?”

  She leaned against the door frame, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

  “I haven’t found a permanent place yet. Gonna wait and see how things go.”

  “With your shop?” She nodded, but the tone in her voice clued him in to something else. “It’s always wise to be prudent.” Tully made his way to his truck, retrieving something from the cab. He returned with a spray can of WD-40. After a few squirts, the lock clicked easily. He pushed the door open, motioning for Faith to enter first.

  “This is it,” she said, flicking on the overhead lights. The fluorescent bulbs cast few shadows around the room as there wasn’t much in the shop aside from a short counter, tool chest and a handful of cardboard packing boxes.

  “Are you still moving in?”

  She breathed a sigh of pride. “I don’t need much.”

  It qualified as the understatement of the year. The place was spotless and the few things she did have were well organized.

  “Does this place have a name yet?”

  “I haven’t decided.”

  “When do you open?”

  “Fourth of July.”

  “Then you need a name.”

  She tipped her head thoughtfully. “I was thinking of calling it Heart Motorcycles.”

  He recalled the heart tattoo on her shoulder, though it was currently covered by the leather jacket she was tucked into.

  “Any special meaning behind that?” he asked. Her lips parted in surprise. He could tell she was piecing together an answer instead of recalling the truth.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Your heart tattoo made me curious.”

  “Do you have x-ray vision, Detective?” He could sense amusement in her expression. As she wiggled out of her jacket to give him another look at her tattoo, a sexy thought crossed his mind as he sadly shook his head to convey he didn’t. She hung her jacket on a hook. “You were paying more attention yesterday than I thought.”

  “It’s not every day someone around here yells at me.” Faith frowned as if misunderstood.

  “I didn’t yell at you.”

  “I wouldn’t call it flirting.” He strode to her tool chest. The polished chrome tools were laid perfectly in the open drawer. Faith followed behind. From the corner of his eye, he could tell she watched each one of his movements like a hawk. “Who did you think I was yesterday?”

  She stopped short at his question, redirecting her attention back toward the counter.

  “I didn’t think you were anyone. I’ve only just moved here.”

  “Have we met before?”

  “Gee, that’s a strange question.”

  “Yours is a strange answer.”

  It bothered him that he still couldn’t place her. He was normally so good with faces, names too for that matter. Nothing about her triggered a memory. He knew she was certainly someone he would not easily forget, but still he could recall nothing.

  She moved around the counter, putting the Formica surface between them. It was a classic maneuver to distance herself from his question. Most people did similar things subconsciously when they wanted to escape a conversation, but good manners prevented them from doing so.

  He slid his hands into his front trouser pockets and strolled up to the counter. She swallowed.

  “I think Heart Motorcycles is a good name.”

  “You do?” He could tell she wasn’t sure if she believed him. He nodded. “Thanks,” she said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  The silence expanded between them like a balloon filling with air. A flicker of light caught his attention, pulling his focus to a delicate heart charm dangling around her neck. It was tiny, almost something no one would notice, except the light streaming in from the front window had caught it. The dainty necklace was out of place compared with the rest of the edgy apparel she wore, and for reasons he couldn’t put his finger on, he thought it was something worth noting.

  “Tully?” Charlie rapped lightly on the door. “I took down Dolores’s statement, and I have to get over to The Copper Kettle. Gemma locked her keys in her car again.”

  Tully faced Faith. “It was nice to meet you, Ms. Fitzpatrick.”

  “Faith,” she offered and walked him to the door. “Thank you, Detective.”

  He paused on the curb. “For what?”

  She contemplated his question with a shrug. “For fixing my lock, of course.”

  “It was my pleasure.” He knew he meant it. “Good luck with your grand opening, Ms. Fitzpatrick.”

  “Faith.”

  He smiled. “Welcome to Roseley.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  FAITH PULLED INTO her uncle’s driveway, slowly easing her motorcycle to a stop. The loose gravel and small p
otholes brought a scowl to her face every time she had to drive her motorcycle over them, but she’d have to tolerate it until she found an apartment of her own.

  In the backyard, Caroline lay sprawled out in a lawn chair as Trig flipped burgers at the grill.

  “You’d think Uncle Gus would pave this driveway at some point,” Faith said. “Those tiny rocks are going to do a number on my paint job by the time summer is over.”

  “Nah. Dad would never spend money on something like that. Not when he could spend the money on new fishing lures.” Trig smiled the same devilish grin as his dad’s. “How’s the shop?”

  “I need to paint the logo on the front window but I’m close to being finished.”

  “Are you still going with the name Heart Motorcycles?”

  She grinned. “You both know how important the heart logo is to me.”

  “Even if it’s too girlie for you?” he chortled. Faith rolled her eyes. “Why not name it something tough or cool?” Trig asked. “You want something that will make guys check it out.”

  “Guys will like the name just fine, thanks.” She really wasn’t so certain. Aside from Trig, the only other guy she knew in town was Detective McTully, and he had seemed to like it. He didn’t strike her as a man who said things only to say them. Nor did he seem like a man who would tell a lie to make her feel better. She appreciated the honesty.

  Caroline rolled a cold soda can along her forehead, chanting, “I love my brother. I love my brother.”

  “She’s cross because I was teasing her before you got here,” Trig said. “It’s my brotherly duty to give her a hard time any chance I get. Although, Faith, I hear you’re the one I should be teasing.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Trig flashed his wicked smile again. “I heard you saw your old crush today.”

  The temperature of Faith’s cheeks rose ten notches as Trig chuckled.