by J. R. Ripley
Maybe I’d get to play Nurse Simms yet.
I rang the bell at the back entrance. Officer Pratt peered through the tall, skinny bulletproof glass in the door.
He led us down the narrow corridor that held a couple of small holding cells. I’d personally experienced one of those cells not long after moving back to town. Long story.
The insides of those cells were invisible to us, but I pictured a sullen and cowering Alan Spenner sitting on the hard bench inside one of them.
Chief Kennedy’s desk sits at the back of the room. He likes to keep an eye on his officers. I waved to Larry, who sat at his desk doing something on his computer. For his sake, I hoped he wasn’t playing solitaire.
Dan was nowhere in sight.
“The chief is in a mood,” Officer Pratt said quietly. “I’ll leave you two to it.” He abandoned us, retreating to his desk, where he picked up a set of keys. He jangled the keys and grabbed his hat.
“Tell the chief I’m going on patrol,” Pratt said to Larry.
Jerry Kennedy was yelling into the phone on his desk. “I don’t care! Next time, somebody needs to talk to me first!” He slammed down the receiver. “What do you two want?”
I opened my mouth. Derek placed a calming hand on my upper arm and stepped in front of me. “We’re here to make our statements, Chief.”
Jerry appeared pacified. He glanced around his squad room. “Reynolds!”
“Yes, Chief?”
“You busy?”
“I’m writing up my report for the—”
Jerry did not care what it was for. “It can wait. Take Mr. Harlan’s and Ms. Simms’s statements. I suggest you start with the counselor first. Maybe then you’ll be able to make sense of anything Simms says afterward.”
Derek pulled me away before I could do or say anything stupid. That was probably for the best, no matter how satisfying it might have felt in the heat of the moment.
“Have some coffee and a piece of coffee cake,” Derek suggested, leading me to the refreshment setup on the other side of the room.
“I don’t want any pastry,” I sulked.
“They’ve got bananas and green apples.”
Yuck. “I’ll have coffee cake. Just a small piece.” I pulled loose a corner slab the size of a playing card and nibbled.
Derek took a seat at Larry’s desk after first removing his coat and draping it across his lap.
Mollified by the sugar rush, I plopped two big pieces of coffee cake on a paper plate, filled a sort of clean Ruby Lake PD mug with hot coffee, and placed it on Jerry’s desk.
He looked like he could use a little mollifying, too.
Jerry looked up at me, suspicion in his eyes. “What’s this?”
“You looked like you could use it.”
Jerry frowned but pulled the plate closer.
“Rough night?” I sipped my coffee. It wasn’t bad. That meant Anita or Larry had probably brewed it. Those two knew how to make a decent cup of coffee.
Dan barely knew one end of the coffee maker from the other. As for Jerry, the only coffee he ever considered decent had been that brewed by Cozzens Coffee, a shop at the edge of town—and they had shut down years ago due to a lack of customers.
Jerry was on a coffee wavelength all his own.
Usually, I like my coffee sweetened, but since I was probably far over the Surgeon General’s recommended daily allowance of sugar for the day due to the pastry and pancakes—and it was only nine-fifteen in the morning—I skipped it.
I watched with sugar envy as Jerry ripped open the two packets that I had placed on his plate for him. He poured them into his mug without a care in the world as to what that sugar might be doing to his heart or his teeth.
His eyes locked onto mine. “I like milk.”
“Right. I’ll get that.” I set my coffee on the corner of his desk and hurried to the micro fridge under the refreshment counter.
“None of that soy stuff Anita keeps sneaking in here!” Jerry hollered. “Real milk.”
I brought the pint-sized carton of full-fat milk and watched him pour. In the tiny time I’d been gone, one of his two pieces of coffee cake had disappeared but for a trace of white icing on his upper lip. As if reading my mind, his pink tongue lashed out like a striking viper and destroyed it.
“Have you gotten much out of the prisoner?” I asked, sliding my thigh over the edge of his desk.
Jerry drank. His telephone rattled, but he ignored it. “Mr. Spenner is not the talkative sort.”
“Has he admitted to murdering Yvonne Rice and Gar Samuelson?”
Jerry narrowed his eyes. “What makes you think Gar Samuelson was murdered?”
“Wasn’t he?”
Jerry looked past me. “Where’s Pratt?” he asked Larry.
“Gone on patrol, Chief.”
“You didn’t answer my question, Jerry.”
“That’s because I don’t want to, Simms.”
He pushed my leg off his desk.
I lost my balance. Coffee flew upward from my cup. Unfortunately, it did not come straight down. It went sort of sideways and down the front of Jerry’s shirt.
Jerry cursed. I raced over to the refreshment counter and returned with a handful of paper napkins. Jerry continued cursing while swiping at his shirt.
“Look on the bright side,” I said with a smile, “with that brown shirt, the coffee is going to blend right in.”
Well, except for the bits of wet, white paper napkin that were now ground into the fabric.
Jerry cursed some more as he picked at the white spots.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “That’s gonna wash right out.”
Jerry squeezed his eyes shut.
I could imagine what he was thinking but refused to. What was the point?
Finally, he spoke, his voice controlled and strained. “Did Spenner say anything to you about the murders? You were alone with him for a bit in the cabin. Did he confess to either of the killings?” Jerry leaned closer, his hands gripping the edge of the desk.
“No,” I had to admit. “In fact, he insisted he hadn’t killed anyone.”
Jerry chuckled. “Gee, what a surprise. A convict who says he’s innocent.”
“So you do think he’s your man?”
“I’ve got a theory or three that I do not feel inclined to share with you,” Jerry answered. “Or anybody,” he added loudly.
Why was he looking at Larry when he said that last part?
“Whatever.” I was used to Jerry holding out on me. Probably made him feel macho. And it probably had something to do with me holding out on him during our one disastrous date in high school.
I picked up the remaining piece of coffee cake from the plate on Jerry’s desk and bit it in two.
“Hey!”
“Sorry.” I extended the remaining bit, but he refused it.
“It’s got your germs on it.”
“Really, Jerry? Germs? That didn’t stop you trying to make out with me on our date!”
I’d never seen Jerry’s face turn redder. “Me? You tried to make out with me, Amy Simms!”
“Ha!” I threw back my head. “You were the one who—”
Derek cleared his throat loudly. “Everything okay over there, kids?”
I smiled weakly.
Jerry yanked open a desk drawer and then slammed it shut again, apparently just for the hell of it.
“Look, Jerry, I’ll get you another piece.” But when I turned around, I saw Anita popping the last slice in her mouth.
Jerry shot daggers at me but, hey, that was better than bullets.
It was time to move the subject beyond dates and coffee cake to something safer. Like murder.
“Did Alan Spenner say why he shot Yvonne?” I pressed.
“No, he did no
t.”
“And who called 911 using Yvonne’s cell phone? Was it him? Why would he do that? Did you ask him, Jerry?”
Jerry pressed his knuckles into his temples.
“I’m ready for Ms. Simms now,” Larry called from his desk.
“Thank you, Lord,” mumbled Jerry, eyes to the ceiling.
“Jerry,” I said before leaving him, “do you think it would be all right for me to talk to Spenner?”
“Why would you want to do that?” Derek appeared at my side, his coat draped over his left arm.
“I want to hear what he has to say for himself.”
“I’m not sure that’s appropriate, Amy,” Derek said. “I’m not defending the man, but he is entitled to legal counsel.”
“I suppose…”
“Even if I wanted to say yes,” snarled Jerry, throwing his feet on his desk, “which I don’t, I wouldn’t.”
“Why not?” I huffed.
There were so many things wrong with that sentence, but I let it go. Pointing out Jerry’s deficiencies, as much as I enjoyed the exercise, never helped when I wanted a favor from him.
And our morning, so far, wasn’t off to a good start.
“Because the state police have hauled Alan Spenner’s butt off. So if you would like to have a little chat with him, I suggest you first go have a nice chat with them.”
Jerry pointed to the station door. “If you leave now, you just might make it before nightfall to Charlotte, which is where they took him.”
Dan Sutton came through the back door with Ross Barnswallow limping along at his side.
I formed a question with my eyebrow. Dan gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head in reply.
“There you are, Sutton.” Jerry’s feet hit the ground. “Have any trouble?”
“No.”
“Good.” Jerry shooed me away. “Give your statement to Officer Reynolds, Ms. Simms. Then you are free to leave.” Jerry was suddenly all business. “In fact, I insist that you do.”
“Being here was not my idea, Jerry. I’ll be happy to go.” I turned to Ross Barnswallow. “Good morning, Ross. How are you? I see Jerry has dragged you downtown, too?”
“Hi, Amy. Derek.” Ross thrust his hands in the deep pockets of his wool coat.
“Here to make your statement?” I asked. “That was crazy last night, wasn’t it? Where’s Pep?”
“Back at the cabin. Murray said he’d keep an eye on him.”
Larry shouted my name.
“Be right there.” I dropped my hand onto Ross’s shoulder. The poor fellow looked like he had barely slept. Unless I was mistaken, he was wearing the same clothing I had seen him in the night before.
“Hang in there,” I said. “Jerry’s bark is worse than his bite.” I fetched him a cup of coffee and threw in some sugar.
“Thanks.” Ross gulped gratefully. He didn’t look like he had shaved in days.
“Is the media still out outside?” Chief Kennedy asked Dan.
“I’m afraid so.”
Jerry drummed his hands on his desktop. “Tell them to leave.”
Dan dared a smile. “I’m not sure they will listen. Especially Violet Wilcox. You know how she gets.”
Jerry snorted. “Tell them they’ve got five minutes. If they aren’t all gone, each and every one of them will be spending twenty-four hours in a cell with each other. And I’ll impound all those expensive vehicles they’ve got illegally parked on my street.”
“Yes, Chief.” Dan saluted and left the way he had come.
As Larry led me to his desk, I heard Jerry say, “Have a seat, Mr. Barnswallow. Then explain to me why you failed to share with us your relationship to Alan Spenner.”
My head spun around so fast I thought it might achieve liftoff. “You know Alan Spenner, Ross?”
Ross looked troubled.
“How?”
“I’ll ask the questions, Simms,” Chief Kennedy snapped.
Larry dragged me away. “Come on, Amy. Have a seat.” He motioned to the chair across from his desk.
I tried to tune Larry out as he questioned me. I grunted a lot of yeses, nos, and I don’t knows. I might have been confessing to murder myself.
I tilted my ear toward Jerry and Ross.
“If you lean over any farther, you’ll hit the floor!” Jerry hollered. “Get her statement in the interview room, Reynolds.”
With no choice but to follow Larry, I mouthed for Derek to pay attention to whatever was going on.
I’d grill him later.
I scooted into a hard chair across the table from Larry. He set his notebook on the table, along with a digital recorder. “Be right back, Amy,” he said. He patted his pockets. “Forgot my pen.”
“No problem.” Once Larry left the room, I found my finger reaching for the button on the small, beige intercom on the table. Again, from experience, I knew that the intercom connected the room to a companion intercom on the corner of each officer’s desk, including Jerry’s.
If memory served, turning on one switched on the others.
I accidentally hit the on switch. And not so accidentally leaned closer for a listen.
Chief Kennedy was talking. “Why did you hide your previous relationship with Alan Spenner, Mr. Barnswallow?”
“Yes, why?” I whispered. Oops. I clammed up. I strained my ears.
The intercom went dead.
A few seconds later, Larry’s face loomed in front of me.
I smiled.
He didn’t.
24
Deemed guilty by association by Jerry, Derek was ejected with me.
After being booted out of the Ruby Lake PD, I invited Derek for a bird walk around the lake and an early lunch, but he had work to do. Back to the office he went.
I had work to do, too, but I was more interested in what was going on with the Alan Spenner situation and the two murders. Because I was certain that Gar Samuelson had been murdered just as surely as Yvonne had.
The methods may not have been the same. But the results were.
I needed to think.
Why was Chief Kennedy so interested in Ross Barnswallow? Perhaps more importantly, what sort of previous relationship with Alan Spenner did Ross have?
Esther was alone in the store. By alone I mean the only employee and not a customer in sight.
Despite the blow to our bottom line, that suited me just fine. I climbed the stairs to my apartment and booted up the laptop at the kitchen table.
It was time for some serious digging.
I dug back through the years, scanning article after article on Alan Spenner and Ross Barnswallow. There were the usual stories about Mr. Spenner’s exploits, and there was absolutely nothing on Ross.
It wasn’t until I hit on the search engine’s images option that I got lucky. It was a picture of Ross standing outside a government building of some sort.
Only the scanned newspaper article wasn’t calling him Ross Barnswallow. No, they were calling him Ross Barnard.
I tilted the screen for a better look. Was I mistaken?
A little younger, a little thinner. Definitely better groomed.
Still, there was no doubt about it: Ross Barnswallow was Ross Barnard.
And this Ross Barnard had been one of Alan Spenner’s victims. The man on the screen, the same man who owned a cottage at Webber’s Pond, which was where Alan Spenner was hiding out and subsequently captured, had been the person Spenner had taken a baseball bat to.
I about fell out of my chair.
What was going on?
And how on earth were Yvonne Rice and Gar Samuelson caught up in all this? Had they been innocent bystanders? Been in the wrong place at the wrong time?
What was Alan Spenner doing at Webber’s Pond?
Then it struck me.
> There could be only one answer.
I slammed the lid on the laptop and poured myself a drink.
Alan Spenner had very nearly beaten Ross Barnswallow aka Barnard to death once. He had escaped from prison only to come to Ruby Lake to finish the job he’d started.
Lucky for Ross, the man had been captured before he could follow through on that plan.
I needed somebody to talk to.
I drove to Kim’s place. Her car was in the drive. I parked behind it and strolled around to the backyard. There was no point grabbing the key beneath the flowerpot because I could see my best friend milling about in the kitchen.
I climbed the rear stoop and peeked in the window. Kim’s hair was done up loosely atop her head and held in place with a skinny red hair band. She was leaning over, peeking in the oven window, her backside to me.
I rapped on the door and let myself inside.
Kim spun around. She wore a rumpled purple sweat suit that I was pretty sure belonged to my old boyfriend’s new girlfriend. A pair of heavy wool socks covered her feet.
“Hi, Amy. I’m making brownies.”
“So I see.” I sniffed. “And smell.” I was hungry all over again, despite the big lunch I had indulged in. “Aren’t those Cindy’s clothes you’re wearing?”
Kim plucked at the sweatshirt. “Yeah, how did you know?”
“I recognized the Juicy behind.”
Kim colored. The kitchen timer went off. Kim slipped on an oven mitt and pulled out a tray of dark chocolate brownies. She transferred the tray to a wire rack. “Hungry?”
“You won’t catch me saying no to a brownie.”
“I thought not.” Kim fanned the glove across the top of the tray. “I’m afraid these are going to need to cool a while. How about a glass of wine?”
“Thanks.” I bent over the tray and took a whiff. “They look a little funny, but they do smell good.” I turned to Kim. “I don’t recall you ever baking brownies before. In fact, I don’t recall you ever baking.”
“I’m trying something new,” Kim said somewhat defensively. She pushed the wire rack closer to the window and farther from me.
I grinned. “Trying to impress Dan with your homemaking skills?”