Jules, too, studied the bandage, but instead of thanking him, she said, “At least he ate something. The poor thing was starving.”
He tipped his head. “Pardon?”
She gave him a look that said her meaning should be obvious. “The kitten. He ran from me earlier this morning. I put the tuna out hoping he’d come back and eat. Didn’t you see how thin he was?”
“Can’t say I noticed that while you were dodging claws.” After removing his hat, he set it on the table and sat in the chair across from her. Studying the way her chestnut hair framed her delicate heart-shaped face, he clicked open his pen again. As he pulled out his notepad, he asked, “So what time was it when you arrived this morning?”
The roll of her eyes told him she was unhappy with the transition to his investigative duties. She sighed, then said, “Early. About six thirty.”
“Did you notice anything unusual when you arrived?”
“Besides a starving stray kitten at the back door, you mean?” she asked, her tone full of attitude.
“Yes. Besides the kitten. Although I’ll want to interview Mr. Scratchy next. No telling what he saw before you arrived.” He couldn’t stop the grin that tugged his cheek. Despite her sarcasm toward him, he saw something softer below the surface. Her concern for the cat, for example. She had a soft heart, despite the hard shell she presented to him. And ducking her verbal darts reminded him of the give-and-take that was common between him and his five siblings. He could joust and tease with the best.
Did her cheek just dimple with the beginning of a smile? He was almost certain he’d seen a hint of amusement before she’d turned her face away and assumed her resistant arms-folded position again. “No. I didn’t see anything suspicious. I came in the store and started setting up as usual.”
“Okay.” He made a note of her reply. “When did you become aware of the body outside?”
“When that tourist family came back into the store screaming for me to call the police.”
“What time was that?”
She gave him an exasperated look. “Didn’t check the clock. Sorry. Maybe you could consult the 911 recording for a time stamp. Huh?”
He jerked a serious nod. “A very good suggestion. Thank you.”
She snorted and looked away again.
“Did you go out to see the body at that point?”
Jules sighed. “I did. I called 911 after I went out to see the body for myself. Mainly I wanted to verify the man was deadbefore I raised the alarm. I’ve had drunks sleep off a bender in the parking lot before.”
“And how did you verify that the man was dead?” he asked, taking down her comment.
She shot him another expression that said his question was stupid. Despite the grim tenor of the glare, he was intrigued with the glint of intelligence and spark of mettle in the emerald depths of her eyes. His body stirred as if answering a battle cry, a challenge to match wits or win her over. A whisper in his ear exhorted him to seduce her.
“I knew by looking at him. Did you see his pale skin? His glazed eyes and fixed stare?” Her description of the dead body grounded him quickly. He was here to do a job, not find a date.
His grip tightened on his pen. “Did you touch him?”
Her face reflected revulsion. “Lord, no! Why would I want to do that? Gross!”
“Just clarifying for the record. We have to establish a history regarding the evidence. Do you know the man? Can you tell me who he is?”
“Nope.”
Cal tapped his pen against the pad, disappointed by that dead end. And what did he think? He’d waltz out here, ask a few questions and have all the answers presented on a silver platter? That he’d have the case tied up with a ribbon by lunchtime?
He flipped the page on his notepad and changed angles. “How long have you worked at the gift shop, Ms. Bailey?”
“Only a couple of months. And I’d like to keep my job. Do you mind if we move this interrogation out to the sales floor?”
“Actually, I think it would be wise to close the shop for at least a while. The forensic team will need the whole area around the body cordoned off until they can gather all traces of evidence. For example, how did the dead body get there? Are there tire tracks or footprints?”
“You should ask the guy that was with him,” she said.
Callum looked up at her and frowned, replaying what she’d said mentally. “Come again?”
