Mystic Pieces

by Ada Bell

  I thought fast. “I need to see Kevin before work.”

  She tilted her head at me. “I thought his office was closed on Fridays because he was in Albany.”

  Well, poop. She was right, but I hadn’t expected her to know that.

  I clapped one hand to my forehead in an exaggerated show of exasperation. “Is it Friday? I’m such a dummy. What a week! So... How are you?”

  Too late, I realized I should’ve just told her I was dropping by to water his plants. No one would question that.

  Up close, the dark circles under her puffy eyes were apparent. Why was she walking out of the police station? Filing a report about the person who scared her? Or answering questions about the murder? I’d initially dismissed the idea because she was supposedly at the coffee shop, and she seemed so small. But she was a baker, and bakers grew strong from kneading dough. Add in her self-defense skills, and Julie could be a killer. No one had confirmed seeing her at work on Wednesday.

  A good reason to get away from her, now that I thought about it.

  Element 33 is arsenic. Element 34 is selenium…

  “I’m fine,” she lied. “Just tired.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to ask what she was doing at the police station, but something told me not to give away my suspicions. Not yet. Instead, I smiled sympathetically. “Get some rest.”

  “You, too. Coffee will help.” She paused, checking her phone. “Look at that! Rusty will be waiting for me. Are you heading toward Missing Pieces?”

  “Not yet.” She waited for me to say more. Darn small towns where everyone talked about their business whether people wanted to hear it or not. “I need to go to Town Hall. About...a property issue.”

  “With Mrs. Patel?”

  Great. Of course she knew exactly who my neighbors were. Stupid small town. Things were quickly getting worse. “No, the empty, old mansion behind us. Long, very boring story. See you later!”

  Since she apparently wasn’t going to walk away until I did, I turned and bounced up the stairs to the Town Hall like that had been my destination all along. Oh, well. At least it was warm inside. I could defrost before heading next door to the police station. Maybe they had a side exit.

  I wandered through the building, just killing time until Julie was gone, up one hallway, down another. The water department was housed here, apparently, and the tax authority. Fascinating stuff.

  Finally, I found a hallway leading in the direction of the police station. According to the sign on the wall, this way I could find the mayor’s office, the ladies’ room, and an exit. I started toward the last one.

  As my footsteps clattered against the marble, voices carried to my ears. I skidded to a halt.

  “Tim, this is big. I’m up for re-election soon. If you can’t solve this, I could be facing a primary challenge. We can’t have a murderer on the loose.”

  The mayor. I recognized her voice from TV. Of course her office would be in this building. Tim, Tim. Who was she talking to?

  “I get it. But listen, I can’t just go and arrest anyone without probable cause. We need to make it stick.” The voice was unfamiliar, but since only police could arrest people, she must be talking to Sheriff Matthews. Doug said his first name was Timothy.

  The shadows on the floor told me they stood just around the corner. If either of them moved a couple of feet in this direction, they’d see me.

  I flattened myself against the wall, marveling about how good I’d gotten at listening to private conversations in just a few days. Once upon a time, I’d have walked by without even noticing that they were talking.

  “Be sure it does. The first murderer in twenty years doesn’t get away on my watch.”

  “I’m waiting for the coroner’s report. It takes time. He’s only in town one day a week.”

  A fist banged on the table. “We don’t have time! We need to make an arrest today.”

  “Then get on the phone and tell him that.” As Mayor Banister grew more agitated, Sheriff Matthews sounded increasingly calm. “Right now, I’ve got a man with a head wound and a missing cast iron skillet from his kitchen. That’s not enough.”

  A missing skillet? I didn’t know that. Made sense, though. Earl was found in his kitchen, and cast iron was heavy. Kyle asked me to buy him one for Christmas after seeing it on a cooking show. I had to get the four-inch one. Someone with enough strength to swing a large pan could cause some real damage.

  “What about the car? Thelma saw Olive’s car outside Earl’s house on Wednesday afternoon.”

  That gave me pause. My boss never mentioned leaving the store after me. I’d assumed she’d stayed until closing, which would have put her nowhere near the scene of the crime. Had she lied to me? And if so, did that mean what I thought?

  Sheriff Andrew’s voice cut into my thoughts. “We’re looking into it. She never said it was Olive’s car.”

  “Green Beetle? Come on.” Mayor Banister scoffed. “How many of those are around here?”

  “I understand you’re upset, but we have to do this one by the book. I need to investigate all possibilities. Wait for DMV records, find the murder weapon. Get the coroner’s report. One thing at a time. Most murders aren’t solved in a couple of days.”

  “Then why are you standing in my office?” She spat out. “Get to it.”

  That was my cue to leave. I ducked into the ladies’ room on the other side of the hallway right as footsteps moved toward the spot where I’d been hiding and listening. The door swung shut, and I leaned up against it until my heart stopped pounding.

  Here’s what I now knew:

  Someone killed Earl by hitting him over the head with a heavy object.

  A large cast-iron skillet was missing from Earl’s kitchen.

  A car that might have been Olive’s was parked outside at the time.

  Olive and Earl had an argument right before he died.

  Things weren’t looking good for Olive.

  Once Sheriff Andrew’s footsteps receded, I left the restroom and headed back out into the cold. There was no longer any reason to go to the police station. The coroner’s report wasn’t finished yet. And the main reason I’d wanted the police report was to see what the murder weapon was. Now I knew.

  A cast iron skillet would be easy to wield for someone used to slinging around baking sheets and bowls and mixers. It would also be pretty simple to hide while looking for a way to permanently dispose of it, but I couldn’t exactly go around town knocking on doors and asking to examine people’s kitchens. Where was the power to find lost objects when I needed it?

  The time on my phone told me to stop skulking around listening to conversations and head to work for the day. At least, after what I heard, talking to Olive would naturally be the next step: why hadn’t she told me that she’d gone to Earl’s after he left the shop on Wednesday? What happened while she was there?

  I shivered at the thought of her walking into a murder scene by mistake. If she’d gotten there a bit earlier, she might have been in danger. My brain absolutely refused to consider the other potential implication of Sheriff Andrew’s words. Olive didn’t kill Earl. I couldn’t explain how I knew, but I knew.

  Once I made it inside the store, I stood against the back door for a long moment, soaking up the warmth. My body was numb, not just from the cold, but from everything I’d seen and overheard that morning. Finally, because I didn’t want Olive to come looking for me, I pushed away from the wood and hung up my coat, hat, gloves, and scarf.

  A gust of wind blew the door open, sending an icy chill through the room. Just when I’d stopped feeling like a popsicle. I hurried to shut it before all the warm air leaked out.

  The lock turned uselessly in its socket, spinning around without engaging. Weird. At least the knob clicked into place. That would have to be good enough for now.

  “Hey, Olive,” I said as I entered the main store. “Did you know the back door is broken?”

>   She looked up from her spot behind the counter, where she was on the phone. “I’m so sorry. Are you coming up for the service?... Okay. Yeah…I understand…Listen, I’ve got to go… I love you, too.”

  She must be talking about Earl’s funeral. With everything that had happened, it hadn’t occurred to me that she might want to go. They had known each other a long time.

  After she hung up the phone, Olive turned to me. “Sorry, dear, that was Sam. He’s really broken up about Earl’s death.”

  “Really? They were friends?” Seemed like an odd pairing, but I was the first to admit I barely knew either of them.

  “More than friends,” she said. “Mowing lawns was Sam’s first after-school job when he was twelve years old. He loved it. Later on, he was the one to convince Earl to incorporate, to expand the business. As much as I never liked Earl, he was a good male role model for my son.”

  Ah. Poor guy.

  “That must be hard for him.”

  She nodded. “I wish I could do more. It’s hard having him live so far away.”

  We could do more. We could find out who killed Earl, bring Sam some closure, and take suspicion off his mother. Based on the conversation I overheard at City Hall, police weren’t even looking at anyone else. Which reminded me—I still needed to ask Olive about her visit to Earl’s house on Wednesday afternoon.

  Before I could open my mouth, the bells jingled as the front door swung open. For the second time in two days, we watched a police officer step slowly and deliberately across the threshold, into the store. This time it wasn’t Doug, the young and relatively-easy-going deputy. Sheriff Matthews stepped onto the Welcome mat, along with an officer I’d never seen before. I shivered at the rush of cold air swirling through the room.

  “Welcome to Missing Pieces,” Olive said. “Good morning.”

  “Thank you. Sorry we can’t say the same,” Sheriff Matthews said.

  “You can’t say good morning?” Olive asked. “What’s going on?”

  Sheriff Matthews held up a sheet of paper. “We’ve got a warrant to search the premises.”

  “What? How?” I said.

  He barely glanced at me. “You and your employee will have to stay outside until we’re done. My nephew is waiting, and he can answer any questions.”

  Olive took the paper and scanned it once, twice. “You want to look for the murder weapon? Here?”

  Oh, dear. Our supply of housewares took up a quarter of the far wall. Plenty of those things could be used to murder someone, just like in any kitchen shop. Pots, pans, vases, skillets…and Earl was hit over the head with a skillet. A chill went down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold air blowing through the still-open door.

  I didn’t for a second believe that whatever killed Earl would be found inside Missing Pieces. But I heard Mayor Banister in the back of my head, urging the sheriff to arrest someone, anyone. Olive was already a suspect, and now they were guaranteed to find something in the shop that could easily double as a murder weapon. Her fingerprints would be on everything.

  Sheriff Matthews wasn’t likely to listen to me, so I went straight outside to Doug while the other officer pulled on rubber gloves and began to search. “What’s going on? There’s no evidence that Olive had anything to do with this.”

  “Uncle Tim’s got a warrant that says otherwise.”

  “I don’t understand.” Items clanged inside, and I cringed. They were destroying Olive’s livelihood in there, all because the Mayor wanted to be re-elected.

  He studied me for a long moment, and then he sighed. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but we got an anonymous tip.”

  “A tip?”

  “Someone said that if we looked inside the store, we’d find the murder weapon.”

  “Of course you would! Doug, we have an entire wall of household goods. We also sell antique crossbows in there. Knives, guns. Half the items in the store could be used to kill someone, if you tried hard enough.”

  A surge of voices went up inside the store. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but a moment later, Sheriff Matthews appeared in the doorway, holding a large cast-iron skillet in his gloved hands.

  “This is stupid,” I said. “All cast-iron skillets look the same. We’ve got the exact same one at my brother’s house.” Just about one-fifth of the size.

  “Oh, you do?” Sheriff Matthews turned the skillet in his hands. “And is yours engraved with ‘Earl and Nicole, May 4, 1984’?”

  Olive gasped.

  My mouth fell open. I couldn’t speak. There had to be a reasonable explanation. Earl must’ve donated the pan. Or Nicole. Who was Nicole?

  Time slowed. Sheriff Matthews stepped down out of the doorway and moved toward us. I wanted to run, wanted to hide. Wanted to do anything other than continue to witness this moment.

  When he reached Doug, Sheriff Matthews handed him the skillet. I hadn’t noticed earlier that he also wore gloves. “Bag this, please.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Then he turned to the two of us. “Olive Green, you’re under arrest for the murder of Earl Parker.”

  Chapter 12

  No. This couldn’t be happening.

  My mind reeled as Sheriff Matthews recited the litany of rights I’d heard on a million cop shows. Someone must’ve set this up. It was too big a coincidence. First, the mayor insists that police arrest someone, and then they find the murder weapon in our store? Based on an anonymous tip. I didn’t buy it. Of all the reasons to believe Olive didn’t kill Earl, she wasn’t stupid enough to try to sell the murder weapon after the fact. Not when she could’ve just wiped off the handle and left it on Earl’s stove.

  Beside me, my boss must’ve been in as much shock as I was, because she hadn’t moved or blinked since Sheriff Matthews’s proclamation.

  “Olive, I’m going to need you to come with me,” he said.

  “We’ve known each other for forty years. Tim, I can’t have heard you right.”

  “Let’s not make this a bigger scene than it has to be. I’m going to cuff you and put you in the back of my car. Then we’re going to drive to the police station.”

  “No cuffs. Please.” I made my plea to Doug, who’d finished whatever he needed to do with the skillet. “She’ll get in the car willingly, won’t you?”

  She nodded.

  Sheriff Matthews studied her. Other shop doors opened, and people started to filter out onto the sidewalk. Somehow, someone must’ve figured out what was going on. The whole town would be here soon at this rate. Poor Olive needed to go if she didn’t want everyone to witness her humiliation.

  “Don’t say a word to anyone,” I said as Doug moved Olive toward the car. “I’ll call Kevin.”

  She turned her head toward me. “Call Maria for me? Please.”

  “I will,” I promised. “Don’t worry, Olive. We’ll get you out of there as soon as we can.”

  By the time I got off the phone with my brother, the store was hopping. People had clearly heard what happened and were coming in to see if Olive was behind the register as usual or if the rumors were true. I both hated and understood them.

  Until last week, the biggest news since I’d moved to Shady Grove was the debate over who owned the Changs’ cat. That was a rough divorce. It made the front page of the Shady Grove Gazette, which said more about the lack of news in our town than the level of interest people had in the case. Still, rubbernecking sure felt better on the other side.

  There was no way I could call Maria now, with people all over the store, waiting to overhear any bit of gossip. Instead I texted Kevin, asking him to contact Olive’s wife for me. He replied immediately, which at least gave me one less thing to worry about.

  Poor Olive. She must be freaking out.

  Meanwhile, I berated myself for not finding that stupid skillet myself. If I’d known the stupid murder weapon was in the store, I could have put my hands on it already and solved this whole thing. T
heoretically.

  A little voice in the back of my head kept saying: what if?

  What if Olive really did kill Earl? What if she’d brought the pan back here and hidden it in the store?

  What if Sheriff Matthews only made the arrest because Mayor Banister was putting pressure on him?

  Then how did the pan get into our kitchenware section?

  Good question. That one I couldn’t answer.

  By the time the store cleared out a few hours later, I was completely exhausted. The only thing I wanted was to close the doors and go home and go to bed. I wouldn’t, of course. I’d made a commitment. But I did sit down and check my phone to see if there was any word from Kevin. Three new texts awaited.

  Kevin: My friend Jake is on his way to see Olive now. He’s a defense lawyer in Willow Falls. Should be there soon.

  Kevin: Mrs. Patel got Kyle from preschool, no problem. She can watch him until four.

  Unknown: Aly, it’s Sam. I got your number from Mama. Driving up now. Call me when you get a chance?

  Under ordinary circumstances, that third message would have been ignored. I didn’t call people. In fact, my outgoing voice mail message said, “I don’t check this. Text me.” But Sam was driving, and I preferred to talk to him before he finished the drive from New York City to Shady Grove, so I made an exception.

  “Hey,” I said as soon as he answered. “How is she?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to her yet.”

  “I thought she gave you my number.”

  “No. Mama gave me your number. Mom is the one in jail.”

  “Right. Sorry. Anyway, what’s up?”

  “First, thank you for being there to take over the store today.”

  “No problem. It’s literally my job,” I said. “I just didn’t anticipate being the one in charge during my first week. My brother Kevin sent a lawyer to talk to your mom. He’s probably already there.”

  “Thank you so much,” he said. “Do you know what happened?”

  I relayed the morning’s events, including most of the conversation at Town Hall. “Hey, that reminds me. I didn’t get a chance to ask earlier. Does your mom own a green Beetle?”