A Vonnie Vines Mystery

Chapter 5

The side door banged behind me as my ass hit it. There wasn't a body on the kitchen floor, but my mind still conjured the image I saw when I peeked in her window earlier.

"Oh s**t, is right," a deep male voice answered my earlier exclamation.

I took a step back but hit the wooden door a second time and not an easy exit that appeared magically after I wished for it.

My gaze met and stayed fixed on Detective Anderson, the only detective in Pelican Bay. Where was his car outside? I swore all the vehicles drove away before I walked in.

Fear gripped my chest as I grappled to find an explanation for why I found myself in a dead woman's home. Would he believe me if I said I slept walked here?

Probably not.

Anderson stood from where he'd taken a seat at the small eat-in breakfast table. His tan trench coat covered most of his outfit, but didn't hide the big police badge he had looped around his neck.

"What are you doing here, Vonnie?" he asked.

Hm. What was I doing there? I needed a story, and fast.

"I came to see my client. Jalinda." Don't mention she's dead. Don't mention she's dead. That's one explanation I didn't want to make. "Have you seen her?"

"Do you often break and enter into clients' homes?" His gaze searched mine, waiting for me to crack, but Katie Kadish trained me herself. He had to do better if he wanted to catch me in a lie.

"The door wasn't locked." I twisted my head around to motion to the handle.

Anderson's eyes narrowed. "Have you forgotten how to knock?"

Right. The knocking. Damn.

My time was on a short fuse before Anderson kicked me out, so I hesitated between each answer, taking time to review the evidence left in the room. Sadly, there wasn't much. The Jones' kept a clean kitchen, the countertops and other surfaces void of materials. Unless the police took things as evidence, but they never cleaned up this well with past scenes.

"What happened to Jalinda?" I asked, giving myself time to review the make and model of the appliances.

"Dead."

I swallowed hard, doing my best to pretend I didn't see her on the kitchen floor or later carried out in a body bag.

"Who called 911?" I asked, sweeping the toes of my shoes over the tiles. They were spotless. Not a drop of blood on them.

Meaning?

The murder wasn't messy. Not a knife or head wound. Probably not a gunshot.

Anderson stepped closer and into my line of sight, like he was trying to stop me from reviewing the room. "She was on the phone with her mother."

I nodded. Probably heard her drop to the floor. What a horrible way to go. Hearing your daughter and not being close enough to help her.

With one step to my left, I reviewed the cabinets in the kitchen. No blood droplets. Pelican Bay PD didn't clean up that well, for sure. Definitely no splatter then.

So who or what killed Jalinda Jones?

A thick cologne hit my senses, and I lifted my head to Anderson's thick chest inches from me. "Why didn't you call in the dead body, Vonnie?"

Shit. How much did he actually know, and how much was he reading from my movements? Had I given myself away somehow?

"That is your car out front, right?" he added before I decided on my course of action.

Damn it. The car did me in. Why did I have to get all flashy?

Oh, right? I'm me.

And who turned down a gorgeous brand-new vehicle when it's offered to you for free? I did not have that much willpower. Shoot me. Free Camaros were a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

"I saw the lights as I walked up to her door." Not a total lie. "I wasn't here long enough to kill her and you know I'm not dumb enough to return to the scene of a crime if I committed it."

"Damn it, Vonnie." He crossed his arms over his chest and glared.

If Anderson wasn't a real cop, he definitely could have played one on TV. He had the bone structure to be prime time. Too bad it did nothing for me. I was already hung up on one bossy man. I didn't need to add a second one to the mix.

"This isn't one of yours and Katy's games. You can't play PI on this case."

"Excuse me?" I asked, glaring right back at him and crossing my arms in a matching stance. "I'm a real private investigator."

"You are not."

Well... he had a point. Per the state of Maine, I wasn't technically a private investigator. But I was in training to be one. Filled out all the legal paperwork and everything. He could take his patriarchy bullshit and shove it somewhere dark and between two cheeks.

"I have almost a thousand hours logged with Mick Darcy, my mentor. I'm more than halfway through my certification, and once I have those hours, I will be a real PI." What will he say to me then?

Anderson snorted. "Mick Darcy is a hack. He takes money from his clients and provides no real training. We should run him out of this state."

My teeth ground together. Okay, some of his words were true. Mick definitely took my money and basically called me on the phone once per week. He'd been to my office once and then charged me more for the milage. But Anderson left out huge parts. Important parts. I didn't need Mick to train me because I had an associate's degree in Criminal Justice and had the tutelage of Katy.

Hell, I probably had more experience than a few police recruits. I'd seen the young cops they were bringing in. They were babies-no older than me-and they all had a p***s. Imagine that.

Men.

Anderson leaned up against the counter, all cocky like, and I used his distraction to peek into the living room. Nothing disturbed. No sign of a struggle.

Interesting.

The only item that seemed out of place, or not properly stored behind a covered door, was a small planner. One that could easily slip into a purse. By the pink color, I assumed it belonged to Jalinda. I inched closer, hoping to get a peek if I kept Anderson occupied.

"What am I going to do with you?" Anderson groaned and ran a hand through his hair. He turned, giving me his back as if he needed a moment to count to one hundred, and I used it as my chance to move.

In one big swoop, I leaned over the counter, snatched the date book, and then drooped it in the top of my big puffy coat. It hit my waistline, and I positioned a hand beneath it so it wouldn't fall out.

Anderson whipped around, but by the time he did, I'd found a spot and leaned casually against the counter like he was earlier.

"This is serious business, Vonnie."

The planner slid down further and I repositioned my hand to stop a corner from slipping out. "I know. Someone is dead."

"Don't take off your coat! You are not staying."

"I know!" Ugh. Men. Did he think I wanted to spend my evening hanging out with him, trying to hide a stolen planner?

Anderson slipped past me, bumping my shoulder. A move that might have pissed me off in the past, but I was too busy worrying about the planner to notice. He marched right to the side door and held it open, ushering me out with a Vanna White arm sweep.

I walked out, not turning back to give him the chance to see the spoils of my theft, but didn't miss his words as he yelled them at me halfway down the driveway.

"I'm serious, Vonnie. This time I will have you arrested if I find out you're hiding something or get involved."

Men. Talk about overdramatic.

Of course, I was getting involved. I was already involved.

I just had to make sure Anderson didn't find out about said involvement.

Easy peasy.

**

Did I tell Anderson I wouldn't get involved?

No.

Did I promise to stay away?

Also no.

Therefore, when I approached the Jones' home the next morning, I didn't have a shred of guilt. The best-only-detective in Pelican Bay needed to learn to get things in writing. Not a single police officer took the time to swath the place in crime scene tape nor was a single sexy SEAL nearby either.

The place was basically easy pickings.

Easy, but also suspicious.