by Sarah Fox
Knowing that didn’t stifle my curiosity, though. Not even a little bit.
After Mel returned from her break, I kept catching myself on the verge of asking about her conversation with Jade. Each time, I bit my lip and forced myself to focus on mixing a cocktail or delivering a meal to a waiting customer. The fourth time I ended up in a wrestling match with my curiosity, I accidentally let a pint glass overflow as I was filling it with India pale ale.
“Oh, good Gandalf! Look what I’ve done!” I shook droplets of beer off my fingers and hurried over to the sink to wash my hands.
“Just ask,” Mel said as she passed behind me.
I dried my hands with a towel. “Ask what?”
She slid a glass of whiskey across the bar to a man who handed her some bills in exchange. “You keep shooting glances my way,” she said to me as she opened the cash register. “And you look like you’re about to burst if you don’t say something.” She tucked the bills inside the register and closed it. “I’m guessing you saw me outside with Jade.”
“I didn’t want to pry,” I said. “I’m sorry. I guess Grayson’s right. I really am a nosey Parker.” I couldn’t help glancing around to make sure Grayson hadn’t suddenly materialized to overhear me admitting that.
“Don’t worry about it, Sadie,” Mel said. “I don’t have any secrets. Go ahead and ask whatever you want to ask.”
I grabbed a clean pint glass and filled it more carefully than the last one. “It looked like Jade was leaving town,” I said quietly, so no one else would overhear.
Mel took the freshly poured beer from me and set it on a tray along with three other pints. “She is.”
We had to pause our conversation momentarily to attend to our customers. While Mel delivered the beers to a table occupied by four young men, I popped into the kitchen to pick up burgers and nachos. I delivered the food to a table in the corner and then collected some dirty dishes from another table on my way back to the bar.
“Do the police know she’s leaving?” I asked once I’d deposited the dishes in the kitchen.
Mel was in the midst of mixing up two Evil Stepmother cocktails. “They know, and they don’t care. She’s no longer a suspect.”
“What? Really? Why not?” The questions tumbled out of me in a rush.
Mel smiled for a split second as she added ginger ale to the two glasses. “She was on FaceTime with a friend in Boston when Freddy was killed. It took a while for the cops to check that out and confirm it, but now that they have, they know she didn’t kill Freddy.”
“But then why do they think she lied about you being with her? To help you out?”
Mel gave a grim nod. “They think she still has feelings for me and was trying to keep me out of trouble.”
“Does she still have feelings for you?” I gave myself a mental kick. “That really isn’t any of my business.”
Mel’s smile almost returned. “I think she might, but it doesn’t matter. We’re not getting back together.”
“It sounds like it matters to the police.”
She finished mixing the drinks before saying, “I guess it does.”
I tried not to show my impatience as I waited for her to deliver the cocktails to two women sitting at the far end of the bar.
“So Jade’s in the clear and you’re still in trouble?” I said when she returned.
“That’s about right.” She appeared far calmer than I felt.
“But you haven’t been arrested.” I latched on to that fact. “That’s a good sign.”
“No one’s been arrested yet,” Mel pointed out. “I think they’re waiting on some forensic evidence.”
“Which won’t point to you, since you’re not the killer.”
“My fingerprints will be on the murder weapon.”
“Of course they will, but that doesn’t prove anything. You never tried to hide the fact that it was your ice pick. Maybe someone else’s prints will be on it too.”
“It was cold out that night,” Mel reminded me. “There’s a good chance the killer was wearing gloves.”
Defeat settled its heavy weight across my shoulders. I did my best to shake it off, but Mel’s next statement thwarted my efforts.
“If the forensic evidence doesn’t point at anyone else, I won’t be surprised if I get questioned again.”
“You should get in touch with a lawyer.” I hated saying that. “Just in case.”
“I already have.”
“I was hoping I could clear your name.” I couldn’t keep the disappointment out of my voice. I really thought I could do more for her.
“I appreciate that you want to, Sadie, but it’s not your job.”
Maybe not. But if I didn’t do it, who would?
* * *
The first thing I was aware of the next morning was the fact that I was nervous. It took a few seconds for me to remember why.
It was the day of the Inkwell’s first hockey game.
And most likely our last.
No, no. Think positive, I told myself as I forced myself out of bed.
But when I met my gaze in the bathroom mirror, my hair messy and my eyes bleary with sleepiness, there was no escaping the truth: I knew we had very little chance of winning.
Although he hadn’t come right out and said it, Damien believed that too.
“Cordelia’s a menace on the ice,” he’d said when he turned up for his shift the night before.
I’d cringed, not liking that he described my friend that way, but also unable to deny it.
“We’ll just have to hope she’s more of a menace to the other team than to us,” I’d responded.
“We’re playing for the fun of it, and for community involvement,” I told my reflection, trying my best to sound convincing.
Maybe I could have believed that if we weren’t playing the brewery’s team. I’d always had a competitive streak, and it had served me well when I was a figure skater, but for some reason, Grayson Blake brought out that streak more than anyone or anything else. He thought it would be easy to beat the Inkwell’s team. Remembering that got me fired up.
“If we’re going down, we’re going down fighting.”
Heartened by the determination I saw in my eyes, I got ready to take on the day, no matter what hockey humiliations it might hold.
After getting dressed, I sent a text message to Teagan, asking how Zoe was doing. She responded a few minutes later. Zoe’s ankle had swollen up, so Teagan had taken her to the medical clinic after our hockey practice. She’d been diagnosed with a sprain, but she was in good spirits and taking it easy for a few days. I asked Teagan to convey my well wishes to her sister and then set my phone aside so I could braid my hair.
I didn’t feel like partaking of any of my usual breakfast foods and I had time to spare, so I decided to treat myself to something from the Village Bean. When I arrived at the coffee shop, it was nearly full of customers chatting over hot drinks and muffins or Danishes. The Winter Carnival was likely responsible for the booming business. That and the fact that it was Monday morning, a time when many people were desperate for caffeine. I had to wait in line behind two other customers, but it didn’t take long for Nettie Jo and her assistant, Ruthie, to fill their orders.
“We had another great meeting the other night,” Nettie Jo said to me when I reached the counter. “I’m so glad I joined the book club.”
“I’m glad you did too,” I said with a smile. “It’s great to hear you’re enjoying the meetings.”
“We all are,” she assured me.
I put in my order for a mocha latte and a white-chocolate cranberry scone.
“Did you hear about the dirt someone dished on Freddy Mancini?” Nettie Jo asked as she dug out my change from the cash register.
My curiosity perked up. “No. What dirt?”
She handed me some coins. “Some reporter from Boston wrote an article about Freddy, basically saying he was an arrogant jerk who was willing to step on anyone to be successful.”<
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“So the reporter wrote the truth?”
A smile flickered on Nettie Jo’s face as she snagged a scone with a set of tongs and put it on a plate. “Well, sure, but the article also made some accusations.”
“What sort of accusations?”
With a smile Ruthie set my mocha latte on the counter and then disappeared into the back.
Nettie Jo continued once she was gone. “Whomever the reporter got his information from said Freddy treated his employees like servants, even harassed some of them. And the article suggests that Freddy got the money to set up his restaurant from the mob.”
I took the plate Nettie Jo handed me. “The mob? Really?”
She shrugged. “That’s what the article implies. Who knows if it’s all true?”
“At least some of it is,” I said. “I didn’t have to spend much time around him to know that he wasn’t a nice guy.”
“I never went near him,” Nettie Jo said. “And I’m kind of glad I didn’t.”
Two women came into the coffee shop and headed for the counter, so I picked up my order and thanked Nettie Jo. I left her serving the new customers and made my way toward the back of the coffee shop. I set my scone and drink on a small table and pulled out one of the two chairs. I’d just settled into it when I glanced at the lone woman at the neighboring table. She had her back to me, but I was pretty sure I recognized her. I leaned to the side to get a glimpse of her profile.
Grabbing my scone and latte, I got up and approached Penny’s table. She had a half-finished latte in front of her, but her attention was focused on her phone as she scrolled through a Web site.
“Hi, Penny. Mind if I join you?”
Her gaze jerked up and she froze for a split second before smiling. “Oh, hi, Sadie. Sure.”
She shoved her phone into her handbag as I pulled out the chair across from her. I slipped out of my jacket and lay it over the back of an empty chair before sitting down. When I got a closer look at Penny, I noticed that her eyes were rimmed with red. Her cheeks were a bit splotchy too. She didn’t have tears in her eyes at the moment, but I was sure she’d been crying recently.
I pretended not to notice. “How are you doing today?”
“I’m all right, thanks.” She wrapped her hands around her cup. “I hear your hockey team has a game today.”
“In a couple of hours. Do you play?”
“Oh, no. I’m not athletic at all. But I might come and watch.”
I tore a piece off my scone. “I guess you know Bobby is playing on the Inkwell’s team. You’re friends with him, right?”
Her cheeks went a bit pink. “Yes, we’re friends. He told me he was filling in for someone last minute.”
“Zoe Trimble. She hurt her ankle at practice.”
“That’s too bad, but I know Bobby’s looking forward to playing.”
I took a moment to savor a bite of my scone and a sip of my latte. “Have you and Bobby known each other your whole lives? You both grew up here in Shady Creek, right?”
“Yes. We weren’t in the same grade at school, but we’ve known each other for a long time. He lived down the street from me when we were kids.”
She took a long drink of her latte, nearly finishing it. She set down her cup and was about to say something when two women at a nearby table broke out into loud laughter. We glanced their way.
“An arrogant jerk who didn’t even know how to do his own laundry,” one of the women chortled.
I realized they were both looking at a tablet set on the table. They laughed again and then lowered their voices. I had a pretty good idea of what they were reading.
I took another bite of scone and turned my attention back to Penny. When I saw a tear trailing down her cheek, I quickly chewed and washed the bite down with a swig of my latte.
“Penny, what’s wrong?” I asked.
She shook her head and wiped away the tear with the back of her hand. She picked up her cup, but her hand trembled, so she set it back down.
“It’s nothing.” She rummaged through her handbag until she came up with a crumpled tissue.
“It doesn’t look like nothing,” I said quietly. “Is it upsetting for you to hear the things people say about Freddy?”
She shook her head, adamant. “No, it’s all true, after all. Well, maybe not the part about the mob. I think the reporter made that up. But the rest of it’s true.”
She scrunched her eyes shut as another tear escaped.
“Then what’s wrong?” I asked gently.
She dabbed at the tear with the tissue and glanced around, as if worried she might be overheard.
Then she leaned closer and confessed in a distraught whisper, “I’ve done something terrible.”
Chapter 16
I pushed the remains of my scone aside, my appetite slinking away.
“You killed Freddy?” I asked, my voice barely audible.
Although I’d already suspected she might have been the one to stab Freddy with Mel’s ice pick, my voice betrayed how horrified I was to find myself sitting across from someone confessing to murder.
Penny’s eyes widened to a startling size. “No!”
She said it so loudly that a few glances skittered our way.
Her cheeks turned bright pink and she stared at the tabletop. When all the gazes we’d drawn had focused elsewhere, she wrapped her hands tightly around her cup and lowered her voice. “Of course I didn’t kill him. I could never do such a thing.”
“But you said you did something terrible,” I reminded her.
“And I did. Just . . . not that.”
I waited for her to elaborate, but instead she closed her eyes and began crying silently.
I reached across the table and squeezed her arm. “What is it, Penny? If you didn’t kill him, then surely whatever you’ve done can’t be too bad.”
“It’s still pretty awful.” She wiped her face with her tissue and drew in a deep, shuddery breath. The tears in her eyes subsided and she seemed to gather control of herself. “I spoke to a reporter about Freddy.”
I turned those words over in my mind, connecting some dots. “The reporter who wrote the article everyone’s talking about today?”
Penny nodded, staring into her cup. “It was a terrible thing to do. I wish I’d kept quiet, but now it’s too late to change things.”
“How did you end up talking to the reporter?”
“There were a few of them here from out of town to cover the ice-sculpting competition. Really, to cover Freddy’s participation in the competition. He was well known in Boston’s foodie circles and he’d won several ice sculpture competitions across the country.”
“I remember seeing the reporters on the green,” I said. “They did seem to be focused on Freddy, and he looked like he enjoyed the attention.”
“He always did like to be in the spotlight.” Penny turned her cup in a slow circle. “I went over to say hi to him. We didn’t part on the best of terms years ago when we broke up—when he dumped me—but I wanted to know what he’d say when he saw me face to face. I should have let it be, but I couldn’t, you know?”
I nodded, staying quiet, not wanting to interrupt her narrative.
“Freddy pretended he didn’t know me. I could see in his eyes that he did, of course. But he wanted me to feel like I wasn’t even worth remembering. We were together for seven years and he wanted me to believe he didn’t recognize me.” She gulped down the last of her latte and set the cup down hard, her grip on the handle so tight that her knuckles turned white. “I was so stunned at the time that I just turned and walked away. But one of the reporters had overheard. He approached me, saying he wanted to write an article about Freddy. The real Freddy. He’d seen the way Freddy had brushed me off and guessed that there was some history between us. By then I was angry, so I agreed to meet the reporter that night, out at the diner by the highway.”
“So you weren’t at home with a headache that night,” I said, even though I’d already k
nown that.
Penny glanced up briefly, sheepish. “I lied about that. By the time I was driving home from the diner, I already regretted telling the reporter all those things about Freddy. Everything I said was true, but I still shouldn’t have talked to the man. And then the next morning I found out Freddy had been killed. I felt terrible. What I’d done seemed even worse with him dead. And when the police wanted to question me, I got so scared. So I lied. I thought if the police knew how angry I’d been at Freddy, they’d think I killed him.”
“But the police know you lied,” I said. “You were seen driving past the green right around the time Freddy was killed.”
Penny’s shoulders drooped. “I figured that was what happened. I should have known better than to lie. And now I’ve made it worse.”
“How so?”
“The police questioned me again. Mostly about my alibi. They were trying to trip me up, to get me to change my story. I should have come clean, but I stuck with the lie. When they let me go . . .”
She closed her eyes as she fought off a fresh wave of tears.
“You asked Bobby to tell the police that he was with you that evening, to confirm that you were at home.”
Penny’s eyes flew open and she stared at me with surprise. “How do you know that?”
“I overheard Bobby when he was talking to you on his phone yesterday.”
Penny dropped her face into her hands. “I never should have pulled poor Bobby into this mess. He’s always so good to me and now I’ve gone and put him in hot water right along with me.”
“It’s not too late to set things right,” I said.
“I’m pretty sure it is.”
“It’ll look better if you go to the police rather than having them come to you about your alibi again.”
“I know, but . . .” She trailed off and shook her head. Avoiding my gaze, she grabbed her handbag and pushed back her chair. “Thanks for listening, Sadie.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked as she rushed to pull on her jacket.
“I’m really not sure.”