Robert B. Parker’s Buried Secrets

Nine

Daisy heard about the trouble over at Phil Burton’s house. She was a friend to Jesse and his officers. She knew that they didn’t always take the time to take care of themselves. So even though she gave them all a lot of crap when they came into her café, she always took care of them.

She told her latest hire, a completely dim-witted kid named Jordyn who was baffled by everything from the cash register to the coffee maker, to watch the place for a while. The breakfast rush was down to only a few people lingering over their coffees. She hoped Jordyn could handle that. Daisy loaded up her car with muffins and pastries and big catering jugs of coffee and drove out to the Burton house.

She saw the police tape and the state crime scene crew filing in and out of the house carrying junk. One of the techs was pushing a wheelbarrow with a half-deflated tire. She wondered if that was part of their equipment or if it had been buried in the house with all the other stuff piling up on the lawn.

Daisy stared at all the junk, wide-eyed. She had no idea how that mountain of trash had fit inside Burton’s place. She saw Peter Perkins disappear around a stack of cardboard boxes, and she stepped onto the lawn, prepared to call out to him.

But someone shouted at her first.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Don’t move!”

Daisy froze. In one arm she had three boxes of muffins. In her other hand she had a jug of coffee.

The crime scene techs were frozen, too. Everyone turned to look at her.

She turned to look in the direction of the voice.

And saw a cop in a Paradise PD uniform charging at her, face red, hand on his holster.

“I said don’t fucking move!” he shouted again. “Drop what’s in your hands! Do it! Now!”

Daisy looked at him, confused. Surely he couldn’t be talking to her. She looked behind her — nobody there — and back at him again. It would have been comical if the cop didn’t stomp to the edge of the tape and shout in her face.

“Are you deaf? I said drop it! Now!”

Daisy was not about to dump three dozen muffins and a pot of perfectly good coffee onto the ground. She never liked to waste food.

“Now, hold on—” she began, trying to smile.

She didn’t get any further. The cop cut her off. “Is this funny to you? I gave you an order. Put the goddamn stuff down and let me see your goddamn hands.”

And then he unsnapped the holster on his gun and put his hand on it, like he was prepared to take it out right there.

It took only a second, but the moment stretched for what seemed like forever as Daisy tried to process what was happening.

Daisy had been in Paradise for so long, she had gone from pain-in-the-ass troublemaker to beloved institutional figure. She once had to be prepared to fight anyone — sometimes literally — who made bigoted comments about her sexuality or her rainbow flag over her business. Now she was more or less accepted. Although over the last few years, she had seen more of the bigots mouthing off, like they’d suddenly been given a hall pass out of detention and were running all over the place.

But all the time Jesse had been chief of the Paradise PD, she’d known the cops had her back. Jesse wouldn’t have it any other way. He treated people like people. Everyone. Didn’t matter who. She loved him a little for that.

And now there was this kid, this kid she’d never even seen before, screaming at her and putting a hand on his gun.

She was, for once in her life, speechless.

Peter Perkins rushed over to see what all the shouting was about.

“Hey,” he said. “Hey. New guy.”

The young cop turned and glared at Peter as if he might draw down on him, too.

Daisy was suddenly aware of how old and frail Peter looked. He was supposed to retire a while ago. His face was lined and his hair was gray. The kid looked like he ate fifty-pound weights like pancakes.

“Sorry,” Peter said, smiling. “Don’t know your name yet.”

The young cop snorted. “It’s Tate.”

“First or last?”

His eyes narrowed. “What?”

“Is that your first or last name?” Peter said, still quiet and gentle.

“Uh. Last.” The young cop finally seemed to realize that all work had stopped on the crime scene. Everyone was staring.

“Right. Okay. Officer Tate. This is Daisy. She’s a local business owner here in Paradise. Daisy’s café. You been?”

“What?”

“Have you been?”

“No,” Tate said, eyes still locked on Daisy.

“Really? You’re missing out. Best food in town,” Peter said. “I’m sure the chief would have taken you to Daisy’s and introduced you if he’d had time. Anyway, she’s a friend. She makes a point of bringing us coffee and snacks when we’re working a big case.”

The young cop — Tate, Daisy thought, his name is Tate, and she repeated it to herself so she wouldn’t forget — scowled again. “She shouldn’t approach an active crime scene with stuff in her hands. Or cross the line.”

“Did she cross the line?” Peter asked, still very gentle. He looked pointedly at the crime scene tape.

Daisy was a couple of feet away, on the other side.

Tate went red in the face again. “She approached a crime scene. I was doing my job.”

“She’s bringing coffee and muffins,” Peter said. “She does it all the time. You didn’t know.”

“I was doing my job,” Tate said again, but his voice was smaller now. He looked deeply uncomfortable.

Peter lifted the crime scene tape.

“Daisy,” he said. “Thank you for bringing the food. It’s really nice of you and we always appreciate it. And I can see you’ve met our newest recruit.”

He was trying to laugh it off. Tate still glared at her like she belonged in cuffs.

If Jesse had been here, Daisy might have said something funny and sharp. Like, “Did you think I was smuggling a bomb in the blueberry muffins?” Something to make it funny, to defuse the tension.

But inside, Daisy still felt cold. He’d gone for his gun.

He’d gone for his gun.

So she didn’t feel like making jokes.

“I wasn’t the one who crossed a line here, Peter,” she said, her voice still shaking a little despite her best efforts.

Peter threw Tate a significant look. Tate caught it. “Sorry,” he mumbled, glancing away from her. “I didn’t know.”

Daisy didn’t say anything to him. The adrenaline washed out of her now, leaving her legs a little rubbery and her arms weak.

She passed the boxes and the coffee to Peter.

Then she turned and walked away without another word.

She could feel everyone’s eyes on her as she went to her car. She still had another three boxes of pastries and a couple more jugs of coffee in the back.

She left them there, started her car, and carefully drove away, headed to her café.

They all watched her go. She didn’t care.

For the first time ever, she felt like a criminal in Paradise.

And she had no idea what to do about it.