Wine and Punishment

by Sarah Fox

  I didn’t have time to get to the grocery store at the moment, but hopefully Joey would make it over there and get back to me with whatever he found out. I’d mentioned my plan to ask about recent egg purchases to Detective Marquez, but I couldn’t tell if she thought that was a smart idea or not. Maybe someone on the force had already asked the question and she just wasn’t letting on. I wasn’t going to sit back and hope she figured everything out for me, though. I’d put so much into establishing my new life in Shady Creek. I wasn’t about to let it all be taken away from me by some devious person with a grudge against me for who knew what reason.

  Once the vat of soup had arrived and Mel had shown up for her shift, I unlocked the front door and flipped the CLOSED sign to OPEN. It took less than five minutes for the first customers of the day to arrive. Naturally, everyone wanted to talk about the fire. Over the next few hours, I lost track of how many times I answered questions about whether I knew how the fire had started and if it was related to the fire at the antiques shop.

  No, and I don’t know, were my respective answers. I didn’t mind the questions, though, and I had a chance to ask several people if they’d seen any suspicious activity near the shed before the fire broke out. Unfortunately, nobody had noticed anything until the fire was well underway.

  Despite the fact that I didn’t come up with any clues while I worked, I took comfort in being at the Inkwell. As I mixed cocktails for tourists and explained the inspiration behind them, I relaxed and even managed to smile now and then. In the evening, Shontelle arrived, settling on a free stool as I pulled pints for other customers.

  “How are you doing?” she asked me with concern.

  “I’m all right,” I assured her. “A bit angry at whoever’s behind all this, but otherwise okay.”

  “I heard someone grabbed you on your way home from my place the other night. This is getting to be too much, Sadie.”

  “I agree one hundred percent.”

  I delivered the pints to waiting customers, and when I returned, I asked Shontelle if she wanted something to drink.

  “Not tonight, thanks. My mom’s with Kiandra, but I promised I wouldn’t be long. You’re staying with Gilda again tonight, right?”

  “Yes. It looks like I’ll be there until whoever’s out to get me is behind bars.”

  “Good. I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I thought you were here on your own in the middle of the night.” She reached across the bar and gave my arm a squeeze. “Let me know if the police make any progress?”

  I promised I’d tell her anything the police told me, although I wasn’t expecting that to be much.

  Soon after she left, Joey showed up for the interview I’d promised. He asked about the shed fire as well, but he knew as much as I did about it. Talking about Eric left me emotionally drained, but I survived the interview and was glad to have it over and done with.

  Later on, Damien helped me close up and get the place tidied for the next day. He insisted on walking me over to Aunt Gilda’s place afterward, and I appreciated his concern and his company. The streets were deserted by that hour, and if I’d been on my own, I would have expected attackers to leap out at me from every shadow and darkened doorway.

  I wasn’t the least bit surprised when I had trouble falling asleep. Even when I did start to drift off, I’d start awake again, worried that I’d smelled smoke or heard flames crackling. Then I had to tiptoe to the window and stick my head out into the cold night air to get a look at the mill. Every time I checked on it, the place looked still and undisturbed, but that didn’t do much to reassure me.

  Whoever was behind all of the incidents directed at me had to hate me with a passion, and that was unsettling. Why would someone feel so strongly about me?

  I’d mentioned to Detective Marquez that Eleanor Grimes was a suspect in my mind, but the slightest lift of one of her eyebrows had left me feeling like she didn’t think much of that theory. Whoever the guilty party was, I didn’t doubt they’d strike again, and that thought kept me from getting anything more than a couple of hours of restless sleep.

  In the morning, I got up earlier than usual, sick of lying in bed, tossing and turning. I cooked myself a bowl of oatmeal and joined Gilda at the table as she ate some toast with grape jelly.

  “What are you up to today?” Aunt Gilda asked.

  “The same as usual,” I replied as I stirred melted chocolate chips into my oatmeal. “I’ll mix up some cocktails to start. Mel’s going to look after the table at the festival today. Other than that, I might try to get out for a walk before the Inkwell opens.” And swing by the grocery store while I was at it, I added, only in my mind.

  I would have loved to get out on my bicycle, but the fire had destroyed it, along with the catapult, my lawnmower, and a few other items.

  “Please don’t go walking along any lonely roads,” Aunt Gilda said. “You need to be careful until the police catch the nutjob behind all these terrible things.”

  “I’ll stay in town,” I assured her, and she seemed satisfied. “Can I leave Wimsey here for the day again?”

  “Of course. Both of you are welcome here for as long as it takes to get things back to normal.”

  I got up from the table to give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “Right back at you, sweetheart,” she said. “So you need to make sure you stay in one piece.”

  “I’ll do my very best,” I promised.

  Once I’d finished my breakfast and brushed my teeth, I set off for the mill. The first thing I did was stand before the ruins of the shed, surveying the mess left over from the fire. So much for entering the catapult competition.

  Fortunately, Damien hadn’t left any of his own tools in the shed the last time he worked on the catapult. The only ones destroyed were those that had come with the property when I bought it—a hammer, a wrench, a screwdriver, and a few other basics. Those would be easy enough to replace. My bicycle was a different story. I wasn’t sure if I could buy a new one in town or if I’d need to go farther afield.

  Finding out about that would have to wait for the time being. As much as I already missed my bike, I realized I was more in need of tools at the moment. I backtracked across the footbridge to the wooden sign set on the grass between the road and the creek. The sign itself was fine—which was lucky since I’d paid a lot to have it made—but one of the two posts it was affixed to was broken. I hadn’t noticed if the sign was damaged the day before, but I figured it probably got broken at some point while the firefighters were on the scene.

  There was a second, much smaller shed on the property, near the forest, hidden from view from the road by the mill itself. It was home to my stash of firewood for my woodstove and a few other odd pieces of wood. I sorted through them and found one that would work as a replacement for the signpost, at least until I could find one that matched the other post better.

  All I needed now was a hammer and a couple of nails. Thanks to the fire, I didn’t have either of those things, and the hardware store wouldn’t open for another hour. I was about to leave the task of fixing the sign until later when I realized I might be able to get what I needed elsewhere.

  I cut across the parking lot—empty except for my own car—and up to Rhonda’s front porch. She was an early riser, so I wasn’t worried about waking her. I knocked on the door and peered through the sidelight, but there was no sign of movement from within, and no answer to my knock. I wandered around the back of the house, thinking she might be out in her yard, but she wasn’t. There was a small shed attached to the house, and when I tried the door, it opened with a creak. I knew Rhonda wouldn’t mind me borrowing what I needed, but all I found in the shed was a lawnmower, a stack of firewood, plenty of cobwebs, and a large spider.

  I backed out quickly and shut the door. Maybe Harvey could lend me a hammer. He only lived two doors away from Rhonda, next to the Creekside Inn, so I was able to walk to his place in under a minute. I knoc
ked on his door twice but received no response. As I’d done at Rhonda’s place, I wandered around the back of the house. A large shed—probably more of a workshop—sat near the far edge of the property, the creek gurgling along behind it.

  Harvey was a handyman, so I knew he owned lots of tools, but there was a good chance he kept them locked up.

  Or not.

  When I tried the door of the workshop, it opened easily. That surprised me, although maybe it shouldn’t have. I was in Shady Creek, after all, where some people didn’t even bother to lock their houses.

  Inside the door, I found a light switch and flicked it on. A bank of overhead lights came to life, allowing me to see that a workbench ran along one wall of the shop, an array of tools hanging from pegs on the wall above it. A table saw and a drill press took up much of the middle of the workshop, and lumber, ladders, and all manner of other bits and bobs were stored up against the back wall.

  I aimed my sights on the workbench first. A hammer lay on the surface in plain sight, but I had a feeling the tools on and above the workbench were Harvey’s best ones. Maybe he wouldn’t mind me borrowing those, but I decided to take a look around for some spare tools. I spotted a dusty metal toolbox on the floor by the back wall, partially hidden by two-by-fours and a cardboard box full of plastic garbage bags.

  The dust on the top of the toolbox had been disturbed recently, but not by much, so I figured there was a good chance Harvey didn’t use its contents very often. I picked up the toolbox and set it on the workbench before opening the lid. The box was heavy when I lifted it, so I expected it to hold several tools, which it did. What I didn’t expect to find was jewelry mixed in with those tools.

  Strange, I thought as I picked up a gold chain with a heart-shaped pendant hanging from it. Why the heck would Harvey store jewelry in an old toolbox?

  He wouldn’t, I realized, unless he was trying to hide it.

  I dropped the necklace, and it fell back into the toolbox with the other pendants, brooches, bracelets, and rings that were tucked among the hammers and screwdrivers.

  I took a step back from the workbench, my heart thudding so loudly I could hear it beating in my ears. I was no expert, but the necklace and all the other pieces of jewelry looked like they could be antiques.

  Sliding my hand into the pocket of my jeans, I fingered my phone. I considered calling the police, but maybe I was overreacting or jumping to conclusions. Leaving my phone in my pocket, I moved to the back wall of the workshop, opening another metal box. It held nothing but an assortment of drill bits and some long nails. I closed the lid and shifted aside some pieces of lumber. Nothing but dust and cobwebs hid behind them. Still, I kept searching.

  When I reached one of the back corners, I peeked behind some two-by-fours leaning against the wall. Something was tucked behind them, wrapped in an old burlap sack. My mouth went dry, and I had to fight the urge to run out of the shed and all the way back home. I grabbed the object, the feel of it in my hand making my heart boom even harder.

  I carefully unwrapped the burlap sack, already knowing what I’d find. I froze when I had part of the object exposed, not needing to see any more. The blade of the sword gleamed in the workshop’s artificial light. A wave of nausea hit me when I noticed a dark smudge on the blade.

  Dried blood.

  I swallowed hard, quickly rewrapping the sword and setting it back behind the two-by-fours. At least I hadn’t touched anything but the burlap sack. Hopefully that meant I hadn’t contaminated the evidence.

  No longer able or wanting to fight the urge to escape from the workshop, I hurried toward the open door, pulling my phone from my pocket as I went. As I dashed outside, a shadow moved to my left. I tried to turn in that direction but didn’t get a chance. Something hard struck the side of my head, and the world around me dissolved into darkness.

  Chapter 25

  My head ached something fierce.

  That was the first thing I noticed. I wanted to touch a hand to the sorest spot, but I couldn’t get my arm to move. I winced as I bounced and jolted about, every bump briefly intensifying the pain in my head. My neck was bent at an uncomfortable angle, my arms and legs stuffed up against my body.

  I wanted to complain, but all that came out of my mouth was a quiet whimper. My eyes didn’t want to open, but I forced my eyelids up anyway. I regretted it right away, the gray daylight far too bright and only making my head hurt more. I was tempted to let my eyes close again, but when another jolt shifted my body to the left, I realized that something was terribly wrong.

  I struggled to bring myself more fully awake. Tree branches crisscrossed overhead, some evergreens, others with colorful leaves. As I bounced and shifted about, I took in my more immediate surroundings. I was stuffed into the tray of a wheelbarrow, I realized—a rusty and dirty wheelbarrow that was currently being pushed through the forest.

  Although it made the pain even worse, I tipped my head back to get a look at Harvey. Only it wasn’t Harvey pushing the wheelbarrow. It was Rhonda.

  A small sound escaped from me, a mixture of surprise and pain. Rhonda glanced down at me, only for a second, her face grim as she struggled to get the wheelbarrow up a small rise.

  “Rhonda? What are you doing?”

  The wheelbarrow crested the top of the small hill. Stopping for a moment, Rhonda wiped her sleeve across her forehead.

  “I think you can figure that out,” she said, gripping the wheelbarrow’s handles again.

  I winced as the bouncing and jolting started up again. The pain in my head made it hard to think clearly, but my mind was growing less hazy by the minute.

  “You’re getting rid of me.” As I said the words, fear settled heavily in my stomach. Together with the ceaseless pain in my head, that fear brought on a wave of nausea.

  “Got it in one,” Rhonda said.

  “But I didn’t know you were the killer. I thought Harvey—”

  “Harvey? He hasn’t got the gumption.”

  In my mind, that was a good thing, but Rhonda made it sound like a shortcoming.

  “I thought it was best to hide the sword and jewelry in his workshop until I could get rid of them, though. I didn’t want anyone finding them at my place.”

  “But you had me fooled. Why not let me go on thinking Harvey was the killer?”

  “You would have figured out the truth before long,” she said. “Harvey had no motive, and if you’d asked about the eggs at the grocery store, you’d have known.”

  “You did that too?” I put a hand to my head as the wheelbarrow hit something solid, coming to an abrupt halt.

  Rhonda grunted with effort as she backed up a couple of steps and then charged forward. The wheelbarrow shot past whatever had momentarily blocked it. I gripped the sides to keep myself from sliding around, noting that my limbs were working now.

  “Of course I did,” Rhonda eventually replied.

  “But why?” As I asked the question, I glanced around, trying to assess my situation.

  “Because I wanted you gone, that’s why,” she said. “I wanted you to put the pub up for sale, hopefully for a lower price than you paid for it.”

  “You wanted to buy it,” I said, suddenly understanding.

  “That pub is my life. It should be mine. But you had to come from away and ruin my plans.”

  “But your father owned it. If you wanted it so badly, why didn’t he sell it to you?”

  “Because he wanted more than I could pay him, and he wanted it sooner than I could get any financing. He was so freaking eager to retire to Arizona with his fancy new wife.” Her words practically sizzled with the heat of her anger and resentment.

  I swallowed hard, trying not to let fear and panic smother me. I needed to escape, but I was in such an awkward position that Rhonda would be able to grab me before I could even clamber out of the wheelbarrow.

  Keeping my movements stealthy, I touched my hand to the pocket of my jeans. It was empty. Rhonda must have taken my phone or left it by
Harvey’s workshop. I forced myself to stay calm and think. I needed to keep Rhonda talking to give myself more time.

  “Even if I put the mill up for sale, there are other people who’d want to buy it,” I said.

  “Like Eleanor Grimes?” She snorted. “She doesn’t have the money, and the town’s not about to buy the place when the museum already has a perfectly good home.”

  “Grayson Blake would want to buy it too.”

  She snorted again. “Figures. You newcomers show up and think you can take over the whole town.”

  Through my fear, I felt a pang of sadness. I’d thought Rhonda was my friend, but now I could see that what I’d mistaken for kindness and friendship was really just her attempt to stay involved with the pub she loved so fiercely. No wonder she’d only set fire to the shed and not the mill. She wanted to scare me off, not destroy the business or the main building.

  “But why burn down the antiques store?” I asked as I surreptitiously looked left and right, searching for anything that might help me escape. “Why kill Eric?”

  “I wanted Frank to get fingered for the fire. All those years I worked for him, all the time I dedicated to him and his business, and he laughed in my face when I asked for a raise. He deserved to get tossed in jail. I knew he was planning to tear the place down and put up his boutique hotel. I figured if people knew about that, they’d think he’d burned down the place to collect the insurance before rebuilding.”

  The wheelbarrow jolted over a large bump. I tightened my grip on the sides, slowly and carefully moving my legs into a better position, one that might allow me to spring out of the wheelbarrow if I got the chance.

  “As for your ex . . .” She paused as she pushed at the wheelbarrow. “He saw the light of my flashlight when I was in the shop taking a few things to sell for extra cash. He tried to stop me, so I grabbed the closest sword and went after him when he ran away.”