Chapter 9: Rescued By Dad

It was so bright outside and the interior of the station so dark I had to blink into the sunlight for a second and, in that moment, ran right into the immovable object that was my dad. He'd come to a halt on the top step and caught me as I squeaked, keeping me upright while I rubbed my nose, sore from the impact with his chest.

"Seriously, warn a girl," I said.

Dad's hand settled around mine and he led me down the steps, longer legs hard to keep up with. I hated that I felt like a little kid running beside her father but that was basically what it amounted to as he dragged me down the street. Dad had stayed fit over the years, not gone to a pot belly like a lot of older men in his generation, so he still felt like the person I was a bit afraid of when I was young. I was imagining the stares and whispers of people we passed, wasn't I?

Oh, Fee.

Half a block from the station I finally jerked my hand out of Dad's and stopped, crossing my arms over my chest and scowling at him because I was in a bad mood already. And being mad at my father for interfering where he wasn't needed, well, that was about right when I finally shook off the daughter complex and regained my independent streak cultivated from a decade outside his influence.

Dad tsked his frustration at me, obviously not happy with my shift in attitude, frowning in return. "What?"

My jaw dropped. "What?" I closed the gap and punched him in the arm. "What was that?"

"That," he growled at me, "was your father rescuing you from being arrested for murder. Because when I heard you were being questioned and hadn't asked for a lawyer," his jaw jumped as he ground the rest out from between clenched teeth, "and realized you'd lost your freaking little mind somewhere between New York and Reading," he exhaled through both nostrils like a bull, "I had to come and save you from yourself."

Toby turned me in, obviously. "I didn't kill anyone," I said. "And I had this under control." Except he was right and I was an idiot but no way-no way-was I telling my dad as much.

"You're just lucky he's too damned arrogant to reach outside his Curtis County jurisdiction and bring the state troopers in." Dad turned and kept walking, forcing me to either run to catch up or lose what he had to say. I chose the former, frustrated and angry I had to but doing it anyway. "Idiot California cop and his damned West coast attitude."

"So, you don't like Crew, is that what you're trying to say?" It was an old reflex, came from being raised by a hard headed and by the book kind of man like Dad. Jokes seemed to diffuse what backtalk just made worse. But he wasn't buying what I was selling today.

"Just don't say anything else to him from now on," Dad said. "Fee." He stopped again, drew a deep breath and nodded to me, sunlight shining on the silver in his precision cut hair, emotions clearly settling and a bit of concern showing past his granite-like stare. Sure sign Dad was really worried. "We both know you didn't kill Pete Wilkins. But you also know from being my kid just how fast things can go to hell if you say the wrong thing at the wrong time to the wrong person."

"I know." I hugged myself a little, found I was shaking suddenly. "I'm sorry, Dad. I just didn't know what to do. The last thing I expected was to wake up to a dead body this morning."

Dad shrugged. "Welcome home, kid."

He walked on again, slower this time.

"Who were those people?" I glanced behind me the block and a half to the sheriff's office, wondering about the woman in the sunglasses, the angry young man now that I was safe. Damned curiosity seemed to have come back in full force now that I was home. In New York I'd managed to quash my natural need to know things in favor of just getting along. But for some reason this town had woken that instinct all over again. Dad could blame himself, if it came to that. Came by it honestly and all.

"Doesn't matter," Dad said, also typical. "Let's just get you home and get your guests sorted."

Maybe it was a sign of weakness, but when Dad offered his hand again I took it and was grateful for the quiet rest of the walk we shared all the way to my front door.

He didn't linger, not when Daisy came flying out the entry and threw herself into my arms, sobbing. I hugged her, turned her physically around to see my father leaving, already halfway across the street while my old best friend incoherently wept on my shoulder. It took a good minute to get her calmed down to the point I could shove her away and shake her a little.

"Daisy," I said. "It's okay."

"It's not." She wailed her denial. "I'm a traitor."

So she'd finally figured that out, had she? Her weeping guilt was her saving grace. "I didn't kill anyone," I said, leading her inside. "So you didn't do anything wrong." I sighed, letting go of my irritation with her, as always. She'd never stayed in my bad books for long, no matter what happened. Because she never did anything out of malice, just innocent enthusiasm. Wished I had more of that myself. "Crew would have found out about my connection somehow. Best probably to get it out now before he could say I tried to hide it."

She hiccupped around her retreating tears, blinking at me, lower lip trembling as her big eyes shone with every single thing in her truly caring heart. "Really? I thought I sent you to the big house." Daisy let out one more sob before clutching me in a giant hug. "Are you okay?" She pushed me away this time, looking me up and down in frantic concern. "Did they hurt you? Did he torture you?" Her voice lowered, conspiracy in her tone.

What did she think happened, exactly? "He just asked me some questions. It's okay. Thanks for taking care of things while I was out." I looked down the hall toward the kitchen. "How many guests did we lose?" Olivia's edict or not, I was likely looking at a big loss of revenue this week. Once word got out, guests would be abandoning Petunia's like rats jumping from a burning ship.

"Not a one." Daisy seemed pleased to be able to offer some good news. "In fact, we've had calls to see if we have openings. Everyone loves a good murder." She winced then. "Sorry, too soon?"

I couldn't help the little bark of a laugh that escaped. Just strung too tight to care anyway. "Not soon enough."

"Oh, Fiona dear, there you are." Just what I needed. I pasted a smile over the desire to exhale in irritation as Peggy hurried into the foyer, Cookie dangling from the crook of her arm. The little dog's perky green hair bow bounced on the top of her tiny head. Petunia offered a single woof of greeting which Cookie met with utter silence, as always.

Peggy didn't seem to notice I wasn't really in the mood to talk about what happened because she hugged me one armed, Cookie's little tongue finding my cheek a moment, the strong scent of peppermints and old wool making my nose twitch before Peggy let me go. The thin but strong hand that grasped my arm shook, her face pinched with concern and I relented as she went on.

"I was so worried about you," Peggy said, "and Daisy couldn't tell me much about where you'd gone or what happened."

I patted her hand, feeling myself release some of the tension I'd clung to the last few hours. "It's going to be okay," I said. "I'm pretty sure it was a tragic accident that killed Mr. Wilkins."

"Oh, how dreadful," Peggy said. "But I don't care about that wretched man, dear." She obviously knew Pete Wilkins, then. I guess I wasn't the only one he'd rubbed the wrong way. No idea why that made me feel better, thinking maybe the whole town hated him. Better than finding the patriarch of Reading drowned in my koi pond. "I was worried about you." She touched my cheek with that same shaking hand, eyes watering. "Iris and I were old friends, Fiona. If she were here she'd be knocking that fool sheriff's head for even considering you were responsible."

From what I remembered about Grandmother Iris, Peggy was right. Made me chuckle this time and that felt good.

"You get yourself sorted," Peggy said. "I know you must have so much to do. But once you find the time, I insist you come for tea. I have some things for you I know your grandmother would have loved for you to keep."

Peggy left on her own accord, waving as she went, and my estimation of her skyrocketed. Nosy, maybe. But she cared, that much was apparent. And I would love to learn more about Grandmother Iris. After this was over.

And after I found out if I still owned Petunia's or not. Or if my father was a murderer.

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