An Equal Measure of Murder

by B. T. Lord

  “Hey, Edwina,” he greeted the overweight, 69-year-old.

  She turned in her chair and glared at him. Rick immediately flashed his irresistible, megawatt smile. “I’m looking for some information and I thought I’d come to the expert.” The intensity in her eyes lessened a smidge. “There isn’t anyone I know who can find what I need as quickly and efficiently as you.”

  This was the equivalent of throwing a steak to the Rottweiler. Her glare softened. He took a step towards her and widened his smile. “You are the best, Edwina.” To his relief, he saw a slight blush bloom in her sallow cheeks. “I need to know the ownership history of the house at 123 Fern Street.”

  His heart stopped when he saw a frown form on her formidable brow. Had he blown it somehow? Had his charm backfired?

  “Are you sure you’re not looking for information for 124 Fern Street? That’s where John Graham found the hatchet, isn’t it?”

  He inwardly sighed with relief at the same time as he realized that of course she would have heard about the hatchet. Not only had the sight of the Forensics team running around in their white coveralls given it away, but like many in Twin Ponds, gossiping was a second calling to Edwina.

  “We’re checking all the houses in the neighborhood. You can never be too thorough, you know.”

  “All the records are on the internet.”

  “Actually, 123 Fern Street isn’t.”

  Her frown deepened. “Are you sure you looked in the proper places?”

  “We did. But, as you know, the internet can sometimes be unreliable. That’s why you are so valuable. Without you, this town would be lost.”

  He was beginning to gag on his own smarminess. But it was doing the trick.

  Of course, it is. Nobody ever talks to her. Shit, nobody in their right mind would come down here to talk to her. I’m probably the first person down those stairs in the last hundred years.

  Her frown instantly disappeared, replaced by an almost girlish smile that made Rick inwardly recoil. Jeez, had he just created a monster? “You’re too kind,” she gushed as she absently patted her salt and pepper hair. “I should be able to find those for you, no problem.”

  The things I do for this job, he thought as he watched her get up from behind her desk, indicating that he follow her. Walking through the dimly lit maze of shelves that held storage boxes filled with the town’s history, he wondered which section held the files that everyone talked about but had never seen.

  There had long been rumors that somewhere in this dungeon of long forgotten files, there was a box that contained the original source material on the true founders of Twin Ponds – the real witches of Salem, Massachusetts who fled the infamous trials of 1692. Many of the townspeople considered it a legend, but he believed in its veracity. His Native American and French-Canadian heritage opened him up to the possible existence of things that were not of this world. He’d felt the energies of Crow Mountain, where the witches, both male and female, were supposed to have settled. During Samhain, or Halloween as it was now known, there was something positively eerie about the area. It was definitely not a night he would want to be out wandering alone through its dark forests.

  Keeping his eye out for those files, he almost crashed into Edwina when she came to an abrupt halt. He found himself standing before a tall metal shelf on which sat a set of boxes with dates written on them in black marker. Using her fingertip, she traced the dates until she finally found the box she wanted.

  “Ah, here we are. Real estate records from 1946 through 1949.”

  She stepped aside, and Rick hauled the box down, praying it wouldn’t smudge his pristine uniform with dust. To his surprise, it was dust-free.

  “Wow, the box is pretty clean,” he said as he plopped it down on a nearby table.

  “Of course, it is. I inspect and dust every box twice a month. You can never be too careful. These files are important to our history and they cannot be left to rot or to become infested with silverfish or paper lice.”

  “Lice?” he gulped as he stared down frantically at his clothing.

  “Oh, don’t worry, deputy. There has never been one of those nasty little creatures since I’ve been in charge.”

  Nevertheless, Rick made a note of getting his uniform dry cleaned as soon as possible.

  Edwina took the top off the box and briskly flipped through the files.

  “Hmmmm,” she said disapprovingly.

  She went back to the shelf and asked Rick to take down another box. Then another. After a half hour, there were ten boxes piled up on the table, watched over by a very distressed looking Edwina.

  She started back at the beginning of the first box and systematically went through each one. Another half hour passed. By this time, Rick was ready to forget the whole thing. The air was hot and stuffy, his uniform was damp from sweat and he desperately ached to see the light of day.

  Finally, even Edwina realized it was a losing battle. She flipped back a damp grey curl and glanced at Rick. “I am so sorry, deputy. This has never happened before.”

  “Let me guess. The file is missing.”

  She gave a mournful nod. “I cannot imagine what could have happened to it.”

  “Does anyone else have access to these files.”

  “They most certainly do not. I have the only key. It was designed that way so people wouldn’t walk off or lose any valuable files.”

  But it was obvious someone had. Rick could almost believe it was her. But the look of distress on her face made him veto that thought.

  “It’s always possible someone misfiled the folder before I took over in 1979. Yes, that’s the only plausible explanation. Someone misfiled it before I started work here. I will have to rectify that immediately.”

  Rick threw a dubious look over the cavernous room. “Um, if you’re going to do what I think you’re going to do, that could take years.”

  There was a fanatical gleam in her eye that frightened him. “I have no other choice,” she announced. “Every one of these boxes must be inspected. I will not have that kind of irresponsible messiness under my watch.”

  To his shock, she immediately dove into the monumental task.

  “Um, Edwina, I’ve got to go. Thanks for your help. I really appreciate it,” he said. But it was no use. She was too focused on tracking down the file to pay him any attention.

  Rick slowly backed away and made his way down the corridors. He regretted upsetting her. It was obvious she’d taken the missing file as a personal insult. However, as he dashed up the stairs, it occurred to him that, thanks to his request, she now had job security for as long as it took her to go through every one of the gazillion boxes in her basement kingdom.

  After taking several gulps of fresh air, he turned to his right and headed towards the Mayor’s office. It wouldn’t feel right if he didn’t warn Barnes about what he’d unleashed downstairs.

  He walked through the door labeled Mayor and found his secretary Cheryle sitting at her desk. She’d taken over from the mayor’s previous secretary earlier that year who’d left Twin Ponds under a cloud of suspicion and gossip. Since getting the job, Cheryle had blossomed. She’d gone from a meek, mousy type of individual to a confident woman. Gone were the oversized glasses and frumpy dresses that she’d always hidden behind. Now she wore sleek business suits, had her hair cut in the latest style and applied just enough make-up to light up her face. She’d always had a sweet spot for Rick and smiled coquettishly when she saw him.

  “Deputy Belleveau! Or should I say, Sheriff Belleveau.” She giggled. “What can I do for you today?”

  “I was hoping I could steal a few moments of the Mayor’s time.”

  “Is it urgent?”

  “Not really. Just a little something that’s come up that I’d like his opinion on.”

  “He’s meeting with Selectwoman Abbott right now. They should be wrapping up momentarily.”

  She’d barely finished speaking when the door to the mayor’s office opened and
a stout, full bosomed woman dressed in a fashionable blue suit and black heels stepped out. “I’ll get back to you with the details,” she said to the mayor. She turned and saw Rick standing by Cheryle’s desk.

  “Deputy Belleveau. I hope you’re keeping our streets safe these days.”

  “It’s in my job description,” he replied.

  Her eyes darkened for a moment, not quite sure how to take his comment. Deciding to let it go, she gave a nod of her head and passed by him.

  “The mayor will see you now,” Cheryle spoke up.

  Rick turned his attention back to her. “Thanks, Cheryle.”

  “By the way, how is the Sheriff doing?”

  “Oh, she’s great. Getting stronger and better every day.”

  “Thank goodness. I miss seeing her. Not that you’re not doing a good job…”

  He grinned. “Don’t worry, Cheryle. I miss her too.”

  As he entered the mayor’s office, he shook off his dislike of the selectwoman. Laurel Abbott was the latest in a long line of family members who’d served on Twin Pond’s Governing Council. Although not as rich as Doc, the Abbotts were better off than most inhabitants in Clarke County. Her much older husband was a retired District judge who spent his days perfecting his prized orchids in a greenhouse that was twice the size of Rick’s bungalow. He at least was approachable and down to earth. Rick, however, found Mrs. Abbott snooty and arrogant. He suspected she harbored a prejudice against him because he was part Native American, a fact that definitely kept her off his Christmas Card list.

  He found the mayor seated behind his massive desk.

  “So, deputy, what can I do for you?” he said in his booming voice.

  “What do you know about 123 Fern Street?”

  “Does this have anything to do with the hatchet found over there?”

  “I’m not sure.” He told him about Emmy’s discovery of the missing information on the internet, followed by the discovery of the missing file in the basement. Barnes’ eyes widened in dismay when he finished.

  “Good Lord, you mean to tell me Edwina couldn’t find the file?”

  “Nope. It’s completely gone.”

  The mayor narrowed his eyes at the deputy. “Do you realize what you’ve done?” Before Rick could answer, he continued. “She turns seventy next month. That’s mandatory retirement age. I was finally going to be able to let her go. But now, she’ll never leave. Not until she finds that damned file.”

  “You could always stop paying her.”

  “It won’t matter. She’ll come in anyway. When she couldn’t find the file, she acted like it was a personal insult, didn’t she?” Rick nodded. Barnes groaned.

  “You could take away the key,” the deputy suggested.

  Barnes fixed him with a sober look. “Are you willing to be the one to wrestle the key away from her?” Rick grimaced. “Exactly. She’ll never vacate that basement until she finds that folder.”

  “I’m really sorry, Mayor. I was simply trying to find the missing information.”

  “Why is it so imperative you find out who lived at 123 Fern Street?” Rick outlined his and Emmy’s hypothesis. “That’s not much to go on.”

  “Don’t you think it’s strange that all the records that detail who bought the homes after they were built in 1946 are easily found except for that one house? The one house, by the way, that happens to be across the street from the Grahams’ house where we found the bloody hatchet.”

  “I suppose it is a bit out of the ordinary.” He sat back in his chair. “But why are you making such a fuss? That hatchet could have been used on an animal for all we know.”

  Rick met his eye. “Actually, it wasn’t. Forensics called yesterday. It’s human hair. In fact, they found traces of human hair from several victims.”

  Barnes’ chair came forward so quickly, the deputy thought it would boomerang the mayor over his desk and onto the floor.

  “What?” he gasped.

  “That’s why we needed to find the file. Forensics said the hatchet was manufactured by a company that went out of business in 1949 and the baby blanket’s fibers date it to at least the late 1930s. Emmy is tracking down all the owners in that neighborhood from 1946 to the present. It may just be a waste of time – maybe none of them are the killers. But without the information on 123 Fern Street, we can’t produce a complete picture.”

  “I think you’re right, Deputy. I think you and Emmy are wasting valuable time and assets. Even if you eventually find the missing information, you can’t possibly believe the killer is still alive.”

  At that moment, Rick knew exactly what Barnes was implying. Part of him was aghast, while part of him knew this was typical Bill Barnes.

  Twin Ponds had already suffered through the trauma of having a serial killer in their midst – the first serial killer in their history. No one wanted a second serial killer to taint their town. Especially its mayor.

  “My advice is that you let this go.”

  “What about the victims?” Rick asked. “Don’t they deserve justice?”

  “You don’t even know who the victims are. At this point in time, you may never know who they are.” Barnes took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Look, I know how difficult it’s been for you to try and fill Cammie’s shoes. What happened was – well – it was unfortunate and very painful, not only for her, but for the town as well. My suggestion is that you forget about the hatchet and carry on as best you can until she gets back.”

  Rick Belleveau was a man who rarely lost his temper. He’d always considered strong emotions getting in the way of diffusing a situation peacefully and calmly. However, Barnes’ insinuation incensed him. He slowly got to his feet and stared down at the rotund, florid faced man.

  “I never wanted to be Acting Sheriff. In fact, if Cammie decided never to return, the last thing I would do is run to take her place.” Rick placed both hands on the mayor’s desk and leaned forward. “Just so we’re clear, I’m not conducting this investigation to prove anything to anyone, or to feed my ego. I’m conducting this investigation because I owe it – the town owes it - to the victims who met their deaths at the end of that hatchet. They deserve to have their killer found. And I intend to do just that, regardless of what you say.”

  “Now see here--” Barnes blustered.

  “You want my badge? Ask for it and it’s yours. But I’m not backing down. Not until I figure out who owned the hatchet, who was killed with the hatchet, and why it was buried in John Graham’s shed.”

  Without waiting for a response, Rick turned and let himself out of the office. He stormed past Cheryle without saying good-bye and didn’t stop until he stood outside Town Hall. There, he paused and took a deep breath.

  “Screw you, Barnes,” he whispered under his breath. He then whipped out his cell and dialed HQ.

  “Twin Ponds Sheriff’s Department,” Emmy answered.

  “I hope you have some more cocoa and whipped cream,” he said as he started down the street.

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m a deputy on the edge.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Cammie slowly trudged through the wet sand. With a light misty rain falling, Jace had opted to stay behind and help his uncle do maintenance on one of the hotel’s vehicles. Although she treasured his company, on this day she was glad to be by herself. The mist created a fog-like condition that added an almost mystical aura to her surroundings. The sounds of the waves were muffled behind a curtain of ethereal white, making her feel as though she were walking through a dream.

  It was a good dream though. For the first time in weeks, she felt herself pulling away from the nightmare shroud that had enveloped her. Picking her way across the mounds of seaweed brought up by the recent storm, she pondered the reasons why she was finally seeing a light at the end of the long, dark tunnel. Part of it surely had to do with the discovery of the mannequin. Once she and Ellis informed Glenn and Maud, she saw a marked difference in their behavior towards her. N
ow they knew she wasn’t crazy.

  The other part had to do with the investigation itself. She’d unexpectedly found herself caught up in the thrill of the chase – the part of any case where she had to take the individual puzzle pieces and assemble them into a cohesive pattern to figure out what was going on. After what had happened, she was afraid she’d never feel that excitement again. But it was still there, pulsating just beneath the surface.

  Slowly walking along the surf just far enough away to keep a wave from coming up and soaking her jeans, she found herself relishing the solitude and the eeriness of the barely discernible ocean and sand dunes that flitted in and out of the gray murkiness. Her only companions were the seagulls as they swooped and cawed above her. Littering the sand here and there were the remains of empty crab shells that once served as a meal for the large sea birds.

  She took in deep breaths of the refreshing sea air and felt the wetness of the mist against her cheeks. She was enjoying the unsettled weather and tried to be – as Paul Langevin would always tell her – in the moment. Listening to the surf muted by the fog, she found herself thinking about Ellis Martin. Working with him, trading ideas and theories made her think of the cases she’d worked on with Rick and Emmy. The most rewarding moments in each one of those investigations, besides apprehending the perpetrator, was sitting down with her staff and picking apart every clue, listening to their points of view and merging them with her own. She loved nothing more than working with intelligent people who could think outside the box. Deputy Ellis Martin was definitely one of those people.

  Her mind drifted towards the Twin Ponds Sheriff’s Department. A pique of guilt arose when she realized she hadn’t called Rick yet. He hadn’t called either, but she hadn’t expected him to. No doubt he was reluctant to intrude upon, for want of a better word, her convalescence. It was up to her to break the ice and pick up the phone.

  Yet she hadn’t. Was it because she didn’t want him thinking she was checking up on him? She knew Rick wasn’t completely comfortable being in the top job. She’d always had more confidence in him than he had in himself. And should he stumble, sensible, competent Emmy was there to bolster him up.