by J. R. Ripley
“Is that it, Amy?”
“What are you trying to say?”
“I mean,” Derek tugged his collar, “maybe you don’t want to believe Mr. Samuelson’s death was an accident because you would like it to be something more.”
“That’s absurd!”
“Sorry.” Derek reached out and patted my hand.
“I would never wish for anything nasty to happen to anyone!”
“I know. I know. I only meant that you, well, you do seem to like finding mysteries. I mean, you have to admit—”
“I do not like finding mysteries,” I sputtered. “They find me.” I folded my arms over my chest and looked longingly at the display case filled with freshly baked cupcakes.
Derek chuckled. “That they do. Still friends?”
“Of course.” I smiled. “Besides, if you think I let my imagination get the best of me, you should hear what Esther has to say about it all.”
Derek pulled his wallet from the pocket of his charcoal gray suitcoat and laid a tip on the table. “Like what?”
“I tried talking to her about everything, and her less-than-helpful reply was to say that the Lord of Death was responsible.”
Derek laughed as we stood, and he handed me my coat. I picked up the bag of cupcakes I had selected for the store.
Derek held open the door to the bakery, and I stepped out. “I’d like to be there when Chief Kennedy arrests that little voodoo doll and reads him his rights.”
“See you tonight?” Derek’s lips pushed against mine. I tasted espresso. We agreed to have dinner at my place.
I glanced across the street. “Is Mrs. Edmunds back?” I asked as casually as possible.
“No, I’m afraid I’m stuck with the ex for a few more days.”
My lips grazed Derek’s warm cheek. “Say hello for me.”
Derek gave me the oddest look, then walked over to his office. I tried not to think about Amy-the-ex ensconced behind the reception desk.
I wondered if I could throw a cupcake that far.
Then again, why waste a perfectly good cupcake even if I could?
27
Kim surprised me by showing up for work on a scheduled day at her scheduled time. I hung my coat on the coat tree and handed her the paper sack.
“What’s this?”
“Ammunition,” I quipped.
Kim opened the bag and stuck her nose in. “Cupcakes. Great.” She headed for the kitchenette, then spun around accusingly. “Hey! Ammunition?” She shook her head. “I just got that.”
As she stomped off, she added, “My cupcake-throwing days are over, I’ll have you know.”
“Glad to hear it.”
The last thing I felt like doing was scraping cupcake guts off the floor—or, worse, the ceiling and maybe out of the birdseed.
Since she appeared to be in a munching rather than launching mood, I joined her. “Lani came to see me yesterday.”
“That creep?” Kim set a strawberry cupcake on her plate. “What did he want?”
I grabbed a chocolate cupcake, and we carried them to the front counter while I explained what he said was the reason for his visit.
“So you really think he wanted to apologize?”
I shoved a stool next to hers and peeled back the wrapper of my cupcake. These were mini-cupcakes, so I didn’t feel guilty at all about having another so early in the day.
Well, not very.
“It would seem so. Frankly, I’ll be happy to see him gone.”
Kim sucked the frosting off her cupcake.
Personally, I like to start from the bottom up, saving the frosting for last.
“I think Dan will be glad when Lani and his friends leave, too.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Dan says the police have fielded a few calls about them getting a little rowdy around town.”
“For instance?”
“They played a set at the biergarten last night. Paul got upset.”
“Why?”
“Because they didn’t ask permission. They simply set up out in the courtyard and started jamming.”
I laughed. “I wish I’d seen that. I don’t suppose you sat in as vocalist?”
Kim picked up what was left of her cupcake. She looked at it, looked at me, and arched her eyebrow.
I got the meaning. “Sorry.”
“You’d better be,” Kim grumbled as she stuffed the tiny cake in her mouth. She swallowed. “It was Amy-the-ex who talked to Lani and turned him against you?”
“You sound surprised.”
Kim smiled. “I guess I shouldn’t be. Have you told Derek yet?”
“No, and I’m not going to.”
Kim’s eyes grew wide. “Why not? Amy, you’ve got to tell him. That woman means you no good.”
“Because as much pleasure as that might give me, I know it’s wrong.” I tossed my wrapper in the trash and wiped my hands on my apron front. “Amy’s problem is with me. I can’t have her getting mad and fighting with Derek.”
“Why not? I’d pay to watch that.”
“I do not want to be responsible for them not getting along.” I just wished she and I could manage to get along. “Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to Maeve. It’s bad enough her parents are divorced. I don’t want to be the reason that they are fighting.”
“I suppose,” Kim grudgingly admitted after a moment. “What are you going to do about the cabin?”
“I have no idea. I wish I knew what happened the night Gar Samuelson died. I don’t think I can even begin to think about what to do with it until I know the truth. I still can’t imagine Gar driving himself off his dock.”
“The word is,” Kim grabbed my shoulder, “and you did not hear this from me…”
“Spill.”
“The police are pretty sure he was murdered.”
“Why?”
Kim shrugged. “There was something about the wheelchair and the brakes. I don’t know. Dan was telling us a little bit about it. I confess, I was only half listening.”
John Moytoy, a local librarian and recent convert to backyard bird feeding, pulled open the door to the store. “Hi, ladies.”
He was dressed comfortably in dark trousers, a black chamois shirt, and gray moccasins. His jet-black hair was pulled back in a crisp ponytail. He could trace his family back to the Cherokee Indians who had lived on these lands long before European settlers arrived and staked their claims.
“I’ll be right with you.” I waved. “There are fresh cupcakes in back.”
“Thanks.” John went in search of sugar.
“So everything is going okay with you and Dan and—” I hesitated to say the name of She Whose Name Shall Not Be Spoken, so I said, “Dan’s houseguest?”
Kim actually smiled, and it didn’t seem forced or sarcastic at all.
“It’s sweet really, I mean, after everything that’s happened,” Kim was saying. “We’ve been hanging out.”
“You and Paula?”
“The three of us. They are being so nice to me.”
“Sure, be nice to the crazy lady.”
Kim’s mouth fell open. “Oh, no,” she groaned. “That’s what it is, isn’t it? Be nice to the crazy woman who throws cupcakes.”
“Don’t forget ‘and sees a psychologist.’”
Kim frowned. “Thanks for reminding me.”
“Hey,” I said, sliding off my stool and going to see how I could help John, “what are friends for?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.” Kim grabbed her purse and left.
I frowned. One of these days I would learn to keep my big mouth shut.
“Are you looking for anything special today, John?”
“I’d like to get one of those birding journals,” John replied. He was stoo
ped over, perusing the bookshelves. “I thought I should get more methodical about what I see and when, if I am going to take this hobby seriously.”
“Wrong aisle.” I helped him up. “Come on, John. The journals are this way. Do you want—” I stopped suddenly.
John slammed into my back. “Sorry, Amy.” He massaged his nose.
“That’s okay. My fault.” I moved in slow motion to a rack of bird journals of varying sizes and designs.
“This looks good.” The librarian grabbed a thick, spiral-bound book with a brown cloth cover. “Is everything all right, Amy?”
“Gar Samuelson kept a diary.”
“The man who drowned?”
“He told me himself. He said that the world comes to him and that he writes it all down.” I shook my head from side to side. “Or something like that.”
“Is that important?”
I scratched the top of my head. “I’m not sure. I don’t remember seeing a diary when I was in his cabin the other day.” Then again, the place was a mess. And I had not been looking for anything specific.
Maybe it was about time I did.
“Hopefully, the birds will flock to me, and I can jot them down in here.” John thumped the book against his palm. “It will save me a lot of walking.”
28
Kim returned to work a couple hours later. We were pleasantly busy, but the thought of Gar Samuelson’s diary never left my mind. Where it might be and what it might contain nagged at me like a splinter under my fingernail.
It was late afternoon when I finally had some free time.
Kim promised to hold down the fort. I wanted a second look at Gar’s cabin, soon to be my cabin.
I still had the keys on the hook by the back door. I grabbed them and headed out in the van. Waiting for the light to change so I could turn onto Lake Shore Drive, I noticed a police car. I slid my sunglasses down my nose for a better look.
Officer Larry Reynolds was parked at the curb outside Otelia’s Chocolates. Every officer on the force knew that Otelia has a soft spot for the town’s men in uniform. They had helped her through a rough patch, along with my assistance.
Any time one of them had a sweet tooth, they parked outside Otelia’s shop. Sooner or later, she was bound to come outside and offer up a free treat.
The light changed, and I parallel parked behind Larry and climbed out.
Today had been no exception. An open half-pound box of peanut butter–dark chocolate fudge sat upon on the passenger seat of the squad car.
Larry’s window rolled down silently as I approached. “Hello, Amy. Have you got a sweet tooth, too?” He handed me the box.
“Always,” I confessed, taking a medium-sized piece. “But it was you I was coming to see.”
“Me?” Larry squirmed.
I leaned against the car door and bit into the soft fudge. “What’s the latest news on Ms. Rice’s murder? Has Spenner broken down and confessed?”
Larry unbuckled his seat belt and lowered the volume on his radio. “You didn’t hear this from me?”
I rested a hand over my heart. “I never do. Promise.”
“Okay.” Larry looked up the road before saying anything further. “The chief got a telephone call from the state police. Alan Spenner couldn’t have shot Yvonne Rice.”
“What? Why not?” Even though I had had my doubts, I was expecting—hoping—to be proven wrong.
“Spenner was attending a cockfight in another county.”
“A cockfight? Are you sure?”
“Yep.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“That it is,” Larry said. “But it’s also true. The man was there in front of a dozen witnesses.”
“Reliable witnesses? I mean, what kind of people attend cockfights?”
Larry shrugged. “Reliable enough, apparently. Spenner is on his way to a maximum-security prison cell.”
“Which puts us back at square one.” I chomped down on my fudge.
“Us?”
“You know what I mean. What about the gun that was used to shoot Yvonne Rice? I don’t suppose it has turned up.”
“Nope.” Larry popped a square of fudge on his tongue and rolled it around from cheek to cheek. “A gun was found, but it wasn’t the murder weapon.”
“Really?”
“It belonged to Yvonne’s brother.”
“Lani?”
“Yeah. It was the weapon he said had gone missing. He gave us permission to search his property. The chief found the handgun buried in Lani’s van.” Jerry chuckled. “That and a bag of weed.”
“Uh-oh. Lani stopped by the store yesterday. He didn’t say anything about being in trouble for drugs.”
“He’s not.” Larry’s tongue was coated in chocolate.
“I’m surprised.”
“Me, too. Chief Kennedy is not arresting Lani, because of what he’s been through. He gave him a stern warning, though. Besides, he claimed he was leaving town, and I think the chief would just as soon he did.”
I nodded. “That confirms what Lani told me yesterday. I don’t think he’s warming up to our town.”
“I can’t say that I blame him, can you?”
I couldn’t and said so. “You’ve got a little fudge on your upper lip.”
Larry rolled his tongue awkwardly around the outside of his mouth. “The chief isn’t too happy either. Especially since he’s got nothing on Barnswallow. The state police are coming tomorrow to take a crack at him. The chief is convinced that Barnswallow holds the key to everything.”
It was beginning to look that way.
“He’s not cooperating?”
“He’s talking plenty. The chief doesn’t believe a word he says.” Larry held out the fudge to me. I declined. He popped a square in his mouth. “Barnswallow has a criminal record himself.”
“So I heard. Maybe he’s reformed.”
“Maybe,” Larry agreed. “But a man can’t be in two places at once.”
“What do you mean?”
Larry bobbed his chin. “Speak of the Devil.”
I turned to see Ross going into the post office next door. He was bundled up in a floppy brown suede coat and baggy blue jeans. Pep was not with him.
Larry refastened his seat belt. “I’ve got to get back on patrol.”
I banged on the roof of the car. “Thanks for the fudge.”
Larry waved as his foot stomped down on the gas, revving the engine as he deftly pulled into the line of traffic.
I was parked a little too close to a fire hydrant, but Ross was too close to pass up and the cabin could wait. Besides, I’d only be a minute.
I strolled inside Ruby Lake’s small post office. Ross stood in line behind several other customers. Only one clerk manned the counter. Ross didn’t notice my approach. “Ross, what a surprise.” It was toasty inside. I unbuttoned my jacket.
“Amy, hi.” He held a letter in his hand. I couldn’t make out who it was addressed to.
“I was just talking to Larry. You’ll never guess what he told me.”
“Who’s Larry?”
“Officer Reynolds.”
Ross nodded and rubbed the letter against the bridge of his nose.
“He said that your friend, Alan Spenner, has an alibi for Yvonne’s murder.” I realized too late that I probably should have kept Larry’s name out of the conversation.
Ross frowned as if he’d just swallowed dirt. “Alan Spenner is not my friend.”
The people in line in front of us and now behind us looked at us with questioning eyes and big ears. Ross noticed, too. He pulled me out of line, through the inside door and out to where the rental PO boxes and a weighing device were held.
“What do you want, Amy?”
“Nothing. I came to buy stamps.”
R
oss’s response was a dubious look.
“Okay, I’d like to know who killed Yvonne and why. I’d like to know how Gar ended up in Webber’s Pond.” I folded my arms across my chest. “And I’d like to know what your relationship to Alan Spenner is.”
Ross shifted uneasily as a customer opened her PO box, slid out a couple pieces of mail, then relocked the box and left.
“How can you be friends with the man who almost beat you to death?”
“I told you, he’s not my friend,” hissed Ross. He shoved his letter inside his coat.
“Then why did you protect him?”
Ross sighed and leaned against the bank of PO boxes. “Because I loved his daughter.” He hung his head, avoiding eye contact. “I owed it to her.”
“His daughter?” I thought back to what Jerry had told me. “So you and Spenner’s daughter were lovers, and Spenner didn’t want you seeing her anymore. That’s when he beat you up.”
“That’s the gist of it. Carrie and I were going to run away together. Start fresh. Spenner didn’t like it. He didn’t like his little girl moving away.”
“Where is she now?” I inquired softly.
“Dead,” he whispered.
“I am so sorry.” I squeezed Ross Barnswallow’s shoulder.
“Carrie left a letter,” Ross said, sounding almost like he was in a trance. “She couldn’t bear living with him, and she couldn’t bear living without me.”
“She killed herself?” I pulled my hand away and noticed that I had left behind a fudgy handprint on his coat.
Ross nodded. “In her letter, she asked that her father and I make amends. You cannot imagine how much I hated him.” Barnswallow’s eyes were tearing up. “But I loved her more. When her father showed up at my cabin, I had no choice but to hide him. For her.”
I felt a sudden chill. “Do the police know all this?”
“Yes, I told them everything. Chief Kennedy would like to pin Yvonne’s murder on me.” Ross smiled. “But he can’t.”
“You have an alibi, too?”
Ross sniffed and wiped his nose with his coat sleeve. “I was on the phone with Polly.”
“Who’s Polly?”
“Polly Christian. She’s my girlfriend. She works at the medical center. She called me when I returned from Yvonne’s housewarming party. Polly had been unable to go because she had a shift that night. We spoke for a good forty minutes.”