A Hopeless Discovery

by Daniel Carson

  “So Lucinda thinks Kip killed her as part of some lovers’ quarrel?”

  “Something like that. But Lucinda doesn’t really believe that. What she really thinks is some drifter killed Wanda and we’ll never find out the truth.”

  Alex ran his finger around the rim of his glass. “After today, I’m beginning to think she’s right.”

  “You spent the whole day at the pumpkin patch—you had to come up with something.”

  Alex shrugged. “Mary and Lucinda pretty much told me what they told you. Though I didn’t find out that detail about Wanda and Kip.”

  “And what about this Kip?”

  “He’s like any number of old farmers I’ve met in my life. Loves what he does. Also hates what he does. He seemed upset that Wanda was dead, so that squares with the theory of them dating at one time. When I asked him if Wanda could be difficult to get along with, he said yes. When I asked him to elaborate, he asked me why. ‘Wanda was both brilliant and hard to get along with. What more do you want me to say?’”

  “I wonder if Kip is right,” I said.

  “In what way?”

  “Each person is telling us the same thing. Brilliant. Hard to get along with. But nothing worth killing for. Occam’s razor: the simplest explanation is usually the right one. Maybe nobody around her did kill her.”

  “Somebody stabbed her and buried her in the pumpkin patch,” Alex said.

  “Yes, but maybe Lucinda is right, and it was some random crazy. Someone just passing through town.”

  “And he picks some old cantankerous pumpkin patch employee as his victim?”

  I nodded. “Maybe that’s exactly what happened. And if so, we’re trying to find connections where there are none, because the whole terrible thing was just random.”

  “If you’re right, and this is a random killing… without physical evidence, we’re never going to solve this case.”

  “So what do we do?” I asked.

  “I like this drinking margaritas line of inquiry we’re currently exploring.”

  “If only we were to bump into some chips and salsa along the way.”

  Alex motioned to the waitress. “I think I can arrange that.”

  We spent the next hour drinking and eating and laughing. Somehow we veered away from the current impossible murder investigation to talk about things a little more personal. Alex told me more about growing up in Salmon and what it was like to go on river rafting trips with his parents or lead tourists on horseback rides. I told him a few of the getting-in-trouble-with-Sheriff-Ed-Kline stories that he hadn’t yet heard.

  I was with a man who made me feel a little bit of everything. Aggravated at times, to be sure. But not on this night. On this night he made me feel comfortable and nervous all at the same time.

  He also made me feel wanted. For the first time since Jimmy.

  When he slipped away to the restroom, I found myself thinking about the night before. Sitting on the couch. When he leaned in and…

  The burst of perfume hit my nose a moment before I heard her nauseating voice.

  “Hope Walker, eating all alone.”

  I looked up to see a woman my age. She had perfect golden blond hair, full lips, and a body that appeared to have been engineered in a laboratory. She was beautiful, in a plastic Barbie doll sort of way. On this night she was wearing ruby-red lipstick, an obscenely low-cut top, and black jeans that appeared to have been painted on. This woman had been my enemy since we were five years old.

  Her name was Gemima Clark.

  “No, Gemima,” I said. “I am not eating alone.”

  She sat down on Alex’s stool and leaned over the table. “I know. I saw you from the bar. You and Sheriff Kramer? Don’t tell me the two of you are dating.”

  I’ll admit, the question caught me off guard. I didn’t know how exactly to answer it. So I went with the truth.

  “No, we’re not dating. We’re just… working on an investigation.”

  “Oh, thank God. I knew it couldn’t be true.”

  “What couldn’t be true?”

  She laughed. “You and Alex, of course. Have you noticed how hot he is?”

  I said nothing.

  “I’ll take that as a yes. But you’re probably still in love with Jimmy, aren’t you?”

  I still said nothing.

  “Well, you won’t catch me pining away for some dead guy. I know that my Patrick’s not coming back. I guess that’s the difference between you and me. I’m just more resilient. Not to mention beautiful. Successful. You get the picture.”

  “Is there a point?” I said.

  “To this conversation?”

  “To your existence.”

  She laughed. “Oh, just that I’m thinking about getting back out there. I’m not getting any younger. Time to find a man I can grow with. You know, handsome, brave, stable. Someone like… someone like… Alex Kramer.”

  She winked at me, then popped up and skittered away before I could kill her. She walked away in that exaggerated way models do where their hips and butt sway back and forth like a pendulum. I could really use Dominic and his spitwads right about now.

  Actually, that gave me an idea for my next bedtime story. “Gemima Versus Dominic’s Old Dead Arm.”

  I was daydreaming about all the things Dominic’s Old Dead Arm would do to Gemima when Alex returned to his seat.

  He took one look at me and said, “Uh-oh.”

  “Uh-oh what?”

  “When I left, you were smiling and laughing. And now… uh-oh. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong,” I lied.

  “In my experience, when women say nothing’s wrong, it usually means something’s wrong.”

  “And in my experience, when a woman tells you nothing is wrong, it usually means she doesn’t want to talk about it.”

  Alex stiffened up. “Okay, I get it. Do you need to leave?”

  I shook my head and downed the last of my margarita. “What I need is something stronger to drink.” I caught the waitress’s attention. “Jameson, neat. And make it a double.”

  Now Alex looked concerned. “I know you just said you don’t want to talk about it… but are you sure?”

  “Yes, Alex, I’m sure. But you know what I would like to talk about? Last night. On the couch. About other women. Have you ever been in a serious relationship?”

  Now he was looking uncomfortable. “Why does it matter?”

  “Why does it matter? Because it matters, okay? Because I’m a woman and…” I let out a sigh.

  “And what?”

  “And nothing.”

  “I don’t know what just happened.”

  “I don’t either.”

  I leaned back, my arms folded, angry at myself that I’d let Gemima make me so angry. When the waitress brought me my whiskey, I downed it like a shot.

  Alex was clearly confused, which upset me even more. I was a woman who liked a man. I thought he liked me too. He knew about Jimmy—about what I’d been through. So if he’d been in love, if he’d thought about getting married, I wanted to know about that. Because I was feeling something with him I hadn’t felt since Jimmy, and I didn’t want to get hurt again. I’d left Hopeless to get away from all the hurt.

  I couldn’t go through that again.

  “Do you want to dance?” he said.

  Oh my God, men were idiots.

  “I’m going to the bathroom.”

  I stared in the mirror and took a deep breath. Come on, Hope, snap out of it. Gemima is not Alex’s fault. Jimmy is not Alex’s fault. Tell him you’re sorry. Have a good night. Salvage this.

  I made up my mind. I would walk right up to Alex, grab his hand, and take him on the dance floor.

  But when I stepped out of the bathroom, I saw Gemima right next to him, chatting him up. He spotted me and waved. And then Gemima turned toward me and smiled.

  It was a smile I’d seen before.

  She leaned over, cupped her hand behind Alex’s head, and loc
ked her lips onto his.

  My heart sank to the floor. I jogged to my seat and grabbed my purse just as Alex pushed Gemima away.

  Gemima licked her lips and winked at me. “It was every bit as good as I thought it would be.”

  Leave, Hope. Leave now.

  I turned for the door because I just needed to get the hell out of there. And then she said something else. Something that made my world stop.

  “Just like Jimmy.”

  I dropped my purse, spun around, and punched Gemima Clark as hard as I possibly could.

  Chapter Sixteen

  My right fist caught Gemima squarely on her jaw, launching her backward into the table, where she and the margarita pitcher and glasses all crashed to the floor. She screamed bloody murder while she clawed at the air with her hands like she was a drowning woman trying to swim.

  Alex looked at me like I was some kind of crazy person, then he bent down, grabbed Gemima, and helped her to her feet.

  She lunged at me, and I was ready with a straight right.

  Lucky for Gemima, Sheriff Kramer caught her inches before I connected with her nose.

  “You saw what she did!” Gemima screamed. “Everyone saw what she did! Arrest her, Sheriff! She assaulted me. Arrest her!”

  “Whatever,” I said. “You had it coming.” I picked up my purse. I was done with Gemima Clark, and at least for tonight, I was done with Alex Kramer.

  “Stop,” said a commanding voice. Alex’s voice.

  I ignored it and kept on walking. There were footsteps behind me, followed by another “Stop!” and a firm hand on my shoulder. “Stop, Hope. I said stop.”

  I spun around. “Yeah, well, here’s the thing, Alex. I don’t belong to you—and you’re not my boyfriend.”

  “But I am your sheriff. Hope, you can’t go around punching people in the face.”

  “So sue me.”

  “No!” screamed Gemima. “Don’t sue her—arrest her! I want to press charges.”

  I laughed in her face. “Good luck with that. Listen, Alex, I’m sorry for making a scene, I really am, but I’m not sorry for punching her. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going home to forget this night ever happened.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “I do.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, Hope, but you can’t go home.”

  “What? You’re gonna make me apologize to her?”

  “Hope, I’m the sheriff. Me and fifty other people just watched you punch Gemima. If she wants to press charges, there’s really nothing I can do.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m sorry, Hope, but you have to come with me. You’re under arrest.”

  No matter how much Gemima insisted, Alex didn’t put cuffs on me. But he did perp-walk me out of the Taco House, down Main Street, and to the sheriff’s office.

  Neither of us said anything. There wasn’t anything to say.

  I did punch her. Everyone saw it.

  And both Alex and I knew why I punched her.

  I was pissed at myself for letting Gemima get to me like that. And I was embarrassed that I liked Alex so much that she could get to me with something so stupid.

  Alex ushered me into his office and had me take a seat in an old wooden chair. “I have to process you, then I have to contact the judge to see when he can get you into court.”

  I said nothing.

  “I need to take your fingerprints, Hope.”

  “Check the file,” I said softly.

  “Oh… because of Sheriff Kline. Right.”

  Alex rifled the file cabinet, pulled out my file, and quietly started some paperwork.

  “Do I have to spend the night in jail?” I asked without looking at him.

  He shrugged. “I’ll call Judge Thurmond and see what he wants me to do.” He spent a couple more minutes filling out the arrest form, then he dialed the number for Judge Thurmond and the two of them discussed what to do next. It didn’t take long before Alex said, “I understand,” followed by “Right away, Judge,” and “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Then he turned to me. “Word travels fast, and Granny apparently knows the drill.”

  “She already talked to Judge Thurmond?”

  “Seems he’s nursing a drink at the Library as we speak.”

  “And?”

  “I’m to release you straightaway to Granny.”

  “And that’s the end of it?” I said weakly.

  “Not unless I can get Gemima to drop the charges. You’ll be arraigned in Judge Thurmond’s court tomorrow afternoon at two o’clock, at which point you’ll enter a plea. You’ll probably want a lawyer for that.”

  “I’m not getting a lawyer.”

  “Hope, I’d really advise you to get a lawyer.”

  I sat there quietly.

  “If you plead not guilty, then the city prosecutor might offer you a plea deal or he might take this to trial. Do you have any questions?”

  I shook my head.

  “Do you have anything to say?”

  I said nothing. But I raised my head and fixed my eyes on his. They were still green and brilliant, but at the moment they held no power over me. I was angry. I was embarrassed. And I wanted to leave.

  The door flew open and Granny and her Boise State Football sweatshirt charged in like an old blue mama bear. She went straight for Alex. “Why the hell did you arrest my Hope?”

  “Because, Granny, she punched Gemima Clark in front of me and an entire restaurant full of people.”

  “Sounds to me like she did a public service.”

  “That’s not what the law says.”

  “Interesting. Tell me this, Sheriff Kramer: in your limited experience with my granddaughter, does she go around punching people?”

  “Not that I’m aware,” said Alex.

  “Then it seems logical to ask the question—why would she do such a thing?”

  Alex said nothing.

  “I guess it makes me curious. What on earth was Gemima doing right before that moment… that would make my Hope punch her?”

  Alex wilted in front of her. News travels fast in Hopeless, and of course Granny already knew the answer to her question. That’s why she asked it.

  I could tell by Granny’s face that she was a special kind of angry tonight. And in my experience, it was not good to make Granny angry. “Good night, Sheriff Kramer,” she finally said.

  I stood up to follow Granny out the door, but Alex stopped me.

  “Hope, you have to understand. Tonight, what you saw… it was nothing.”

  “Ahh. But you had to arrest me because a person can’t just punch somebody else. I mean, to do so is assault, right?’

  “Right,” he said.

  “And I’m guessing when you say it was nothing, you’re talking about the part where Gemima kissed you.”

  “Exactly.”

  “You didn’t ask for it. You didn’t want it,” I said.

  “Right!” Alex agreed.

  “I wonder what they call it when someone just kisses you for no reason and with no consent? I think they call that assault, don’t they?”

  Without waiting for a response, I turned and left.

  Granny didn’t even bother taking me back to my apartment at the Library. She knew better. She drove me back to her house, the house I grew up in, and I went right up to my old bedroom, fell onto the bed, covered my head with my pillow, and screamed. When I’d gotten that out of my system, I curled up into a ball and looked at the half moon that had taken up residence outside my window. I thought about Jimmy and Alex and my life back in Portland, and I thought about being back here with Granny and Katie. I thought about the guy who was interested in me for a TV show. And I thought about Gemima and how crazy she made me. I thought about punching her. I’d let her get to me. I shouldn’t have punched her. Even though it felt so good.

  But mostly I thought about how it made me feel to see Gemima kissing Alex. The image enraged me to a degree that surprised me; I couldn’t believe
that I felt that strongly about Alex.

  And that was the part that really scared me. I wasn’t ready to feel that way about Alex. To feel that way about anyone.

  At some point, I realized that I was not going to fall asleep, so I went to the bathroom. Then I stumbled downstairs and found Granny sitting at the end of the couch, sound asleep, the TV still on. I looked down at her and thanked God for my grandmother. Then I turned off the TV, lay on the couch next to her, and nestled my head on her comfortable lap. I closed my eyes and whispered, “I love you, Granny.”

  A hand stroked my hair, making me feel like I was seven years old again. And her voice whispered, “I love you too.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Granny’s snoring woke me up early the next morning. I slipped out of her grasp, covered her with a blanket, and tiptoed out of her house. It had been quite a while since I’d gotten up this early, but I had no intention of going back to sleep.

  I was embarrassed.

  And I was mad.

  So I was going to rely on the usual medication. Coffee, a shower, and work. Plenty of work.

  I walked back to Main Street and found my car still parked outside the Taco House. I drove toward tourist town and waited outside A Hopeless Cup until six a.m., when the “open” sign finally clicked on.

  I found Nick getting things ready behind the counter. He frowned as soon as I walked in. I was not in the mood for Nick—or anybody from Gen Z for that matter.

  “White mocha latte,” I said. No banter today.

  I sat down in the middle of the shop to drink my coffee alone. Nick ignored me and I ignored him. Finally I got up the nerve to check my phone.

  I had a single text from Alex from last night. Late last night.

  Can we talk?

  The answer of course was no. But he was in law enforcement—he could figure that much out on his own.

  I also had a text from Mark Pendergast, the TV guy. A reminder that he’d be heading back through Hopeless on Saturday. Definitely want to meet for dinner, he said.

  I had no idea how to respond.

  Instead I clicked on April’s old text, the one with her sketch of the creepy woman who’d visited Mr. Clowder. I looked at that image more closely. High cheekbones, soulless ice-gray eyes. A winning combination if I’d ever seen one. I had no idea if this woman was connected to Percy’s death, but she was the only lead I had. And since I had no leads on Wanda’s murder, and I needed to work today…