Fries and Alibis

by Trixie Silvertale

  “I could arrest you—”

  “Save it for an actual criminal, Sheriff.” I take my dad’s hand. “Come on. We’re walking out of here until the sheriff comes up with something besides the lies of a cheating hussy.”

  Silas grins briefly and smooths his mustache with a thumb and forefinger before schooling his features back into brooding introspection.

  Jacob looks up and smiles. “Thank you, Mitzy.”

  I pull the door open and hold it for the men as they leave. I look over my shoulder and give Erick a wink. “Oh, and you’re welcome.” I add a little extra wiggle as I strut out of the station.

  Dear lord, baby Jesus, I hope that PI doesn’t have pictures of my dad with Kitty!

  Silas stops on the sidewalk and turns toward me. “I see potential in you, Mitzy.”

  But based on his recent revelation, the comment fills me with more trepidation than pride. “As an investigator?”

  “As many things.” He smiles and leaves us.

  Way to vague it up, Silas.

  Jacob sighs and says, “I could use a burger.”

  My eyes snap from the departing alchemist-attorney to my father. “Did you say that out loud or is my stomach reading minds?”

  He chuckles and slings an arm around my shoulders. “Come on, let’s see if Odell will serve me.”

  “Or me,” I add. My last conversation with Odell didn’t exactly end with balloons and streamers.

  The lunch rush has cleared out and Tally eyes us nervously as we slide into a booth.

  I smile and wave her over.

  She approaches slowly. “Hi, Jacob.”

  “Hi, Tally. It’s good to see you’re still the brightest pin cherry in town.”

  She blushes and pulls a pencil from her flame-red bun. “What can I getcha?”

  He smiles warmly. “We’ll have two cheeseburgers, two cokes, and we’ll split an order of fries.”

  Tally’s eyes widen and she looks at me with concern.

  “I’ll have my own order of fries.”

  She sighs with relief. “That sounds better.”

  Jacob chuckles. “Sorry about that. I suppose I have quite a few things to learn about you. I’ll make a mental note regarding not sharing fries.”

  “If there were a cardinal rule, that would be it.” I sit back and stare at my father. The complications of Cal’s case and the unresolved issues of my dad’s old case all swirl haphazardly in my head. But my mouth takes a different route entirely. “Why did you leave Mom?”

  “Whew!” He swallows. “You get right to the point, huh?”

  “I figure we’ve lost twenty-one years. Why waste time on small talk?”

  “Can’t argue with that.”

  Tally slips the drinks onto the table and hurries away.

  “The truth is, Mitzy, your mom and I never were together. It was a weekend fling and we didn’t even exchange numbers.”

  I unroll my bundle of flatware and stare at the fork.

  “I didn’t find out about you until you were almost five. It was a fluke. I was back in Phoenix on railroad business and I thought about that amazing weekend so many years before and drove up to see the red rocks.”

  I swallow my hurt and fold the corners of my napkin into the center.

  “I went poking around the old haunts I’d explored in Sedona during that college trip—and there you were.”

  I look up for a second, but the emotion bubbles too close to the surface. My napkin requires immediate attention.

  “You and your mother were having ice cream in a place that used to be a sushi bar. I saw your hair—those eyes . . . I knew.”

  I fold the napkin ferociously and force myself to staunch the waterworks. I can’t look at him, but I can’t keep it inside. “Why didn’t you say something to us? I think she was always waiting for you to come back.”

  “Maybe or maybe not. Truth is, she had my name and knew where I was from. If she had wanted me in your life she could’ve tracked me down.”

  I open my mouth to protest, but maybe he’s right. Maybe it was all my childish wish for a father that I projected . . . Too much psychobabble. “Didn’t you want me?”

  His hand shoots across the table and grabs mine. “I was a disaster. It was right after I got back from that trip that Cal fired me. He’d already cut off my allowance when I dropped out of college, so losing the job was the last straw. I made a stupid plan with Darrin. You know the rest.”

  “But Mom died. I was all alone.”

  “I’m not saying I made the right choice, Mitzy. But I couldn’t let you find out that your dad was a convicted murderer. You deserved better.”

  “What changed?”

  He tilts his head.

  “Why did you agree to meet me now?”

  “According to Silas I didn’t have a choice. He said either I come with him or he would give you my address. The way he described your, um, tenacity . . . Let’s just say I wanted to come quietly and on my own terms.”

  The food arrives and a tense silence hangs between us as I mow through my fries. I lick the salt off my fingers and stare at my living, breathing father. “Maybe you did make the right choice.”

  He sets his burger down slowly and looks at me with decades of pain in his eyes.

  “Isadora said that everything in my life led me to this point.” I chuckle coldly. “I can tell you that my life in Sedona was nothing to brag about. I ran out on three months’ back rent and a bunch of other unpaid bills when Silas delivered the money and the will.”

  “You should pay those bills.” He waves the words away. “Not the point. Please finish what you were saying.”

  “I don’t know what I was saying. All I know is that I’m here. You’re here. We’re both innocent of murder, and I’m going to prove it.”

  He smiles broadly and his eyes spill over with pride. “Like I said, there doesn’t appear to be any saying ‘no’ to you.”

  We share a conspiratorial laugh and finish our burgers.

  I turn to wave to Tally and see Odell walking toward the table.

  My freshly gobbled burger and fries churn.

  My dad grips the edge of the table, and his knuckles whiten as he pushes back into the red vinyl bench seat.

  Odell puts up both hands. “I come in peace, Jacob.”

  My dad relaxes his grip.

  I don’t care whether he comes in a coat of many colors, I don’t like being taken for a ride. “Why didn’t you tell me about the fight you had with Cal?”

  Odell’s gaze snaps to me. “Boy, you don’t miss a thing. Not a darn thing.”

  I purse my lips and stare insistently.

  “The truth is always the best defense, kid. I knew it made me look guilty.”

  “No wonder you were being so nice to me when they threw me in the slammer!”

  Jacob leans forward. “What? When?”

  I wave him off. “Did you do it?”

  Odell’s eyes widen and his brow creases. “Murder Cal? You serious, kid?”

  “Yes. You have more motive than me. He was trying to take the bookshop, the diner—all your memories of Myrtle. Did you kill him or not?”

  “He didn’t know about Isadora’s will. He assumed she’d been irresponsible, as was her tendency, and thought he’d buy it up ’fore it went on the auction block.”

  I throw up my hands in frustration. “So?”

  “I knew what she’d done—in her will. He was trying to take the bookshop from you, but I couldn’t tell him until Silas found you. I’m old, Mitzy. Too old to be slinging burgers in a diner every day. If he was only after the diner, I probably would’ve taken the money and left town for good. But he was gonna take the bookshop from you.”

  “But you didn’t even know me.”

  “I knew Myrtle or Isadora, or whatever you wanna call her. I knew how much she regretted never meeting you and how much it meant to her to think that you would get to know her through her bookshop.”

  Oh, if Odell only knew the
half of it.

  “I couldn’t let him do it.” Odell smacks his right fist into his left palm.

  “Are you saying you did kill him?” Jacob blurts the accusation and gets to his feet.

  “No. No.” Odell waves his hands and takes a step back. “I’m saying Myrtle and I rebuilt our relationship when she was ill. I thought if I could keep that bookshop for Mitzy, I could make up for all the ugliness the first time around.”

  Jacob nods slowly. “My dad could be pretty vindictive.”

  I look from Odell to Jacob. “Do you believe him, Dad?”

  Before Jacob can answer, Odell jumps in. “I’ll call Sheriff Harper right now and make a statement if you think it’ll make a difference.”

  I slap my hand on the table. “Since my dad is their latest suspect, I’ll take your offer. The more suspects on the list, the better.” I point to the phone on the wall behind the counter. “Thanks, Odell. It would mean a lot to Isadora.”

  Odell hesitates, but he marches over and makes the call.

  I pat my dad on the shoulder and we turn to leave.

  “Hey, Mitzy,” calls Odell.

  I glance back.

  “My buddy DeVine says that ’bout the only valid explanation for the absence of rifling on the second bullet woulda been a thing called a sabot.”

  And that’s a Yahtzee for me! A surge of warmth surrounds my heart. “Thanks, Odell.”

  “Anytime, kid.”

  Dad and I walk out the door and I turn toward the bookshop.

  He pulls away and stands on the sidewalk, chewing the inside of his cheek in an all too familiar way.

  “What’s up?” I ask.

  “This is where we say goodnight, I guess. I’ll head back to my hotel and meet you for break—”

  “Are you pulling my leg? As far as I’m concerned this day is never going to end. You’re coming back to the bookshop and we’re having a sleepover.”

  He laughs. “A sleepover? You sure?”

  “Uh, yeah.” I look up and down the street. “Where can we get popcorn, Red Vines, ice cream, and possibly pie?”

  “Follow me.” His arm beckons. “There’s a Piggly Wiggly on 4th.”

  “Is that a store or a livestock barn?”

  He laughs so hard he chokes a little.

  I pat him on the back and feel happy all over.

  Chapter 25

  Back at the apartment, Dad and I set up camp on the thick Persian rug. He is also sufficiently impressed by the candle handle and the secret phone booth.

  I run down to the microwave in the back room and pop two bags of popcorn.

  When I return to the apartment, I interrupt a standoff between Pyewacket and Dad.

  “Is that thing yours?” asks Dad.

  “That is Pyewacket. Grams said he’s a caracal. He was her rescue and he’s spoiled rotten.” I toss a hot bag of popcorn to Jacob and turn my attention to the furry beast. “Pye, Dad’s cool. If you don’t back down, I will ‘forget’ to give you Fruity Puffs in the morning.”

  Pyewacket shakes his hackles down, twitches his ear tufts, and yawns.

  Dad looks at me. “That can’t be the original Pyewacket? But does he talk, too?”

  “What?” I chuckle and shake my head.

  “Hey, your ghost grandmother haunts this place and apparently communicates with you. Why would it be so strange if that wildcat talked?”

  “You got me there.” I shrug. “I have no idea if he’s ‘original’ or not. And if he talks, he doesn’t talk to me, but he seems to understand when I talk to him.” I toss a piece of popped corn toward Pye. His powerful hind legs propel him through the air and he snatches the fluffy white projectile with ease.

  “I’d hate to be a sparrow in his line of sight.”

  “Or an eyeball,” I mumble.

  “What’s that?” Dad leans on the stack of pillows under his arm.

  I quickly explain how Cal was discovered in the alley behind the bookshop. I skim over the gory details of Pye’s involvement. I need several Red Vines to calm my stomach.

  “What was Cal doing in the alley?”

  “Oh, he definitely wasn’t killed in the alley. The ME at county confirmed that he was killed somewhere else. The body was frozen to obscure time of death.” I shiver.

  “Someone was definitely trying to set you up.” Jacob sits up and crunches absently on a handful of popcorn.

  “Me? Why would they want to set me up? No one in this town even knows me.”

  “But they know me.”

  “Huh?” Pyewacket rubs against me and I scratch between his ears. “So were they framing you?”

  “All I know is that I wasn’t having an affair with Kitty, and I had no idea that Cal was changing his will. One set of facts makes me look guilty and the other points toward innocence.” He munches on another handful of popcorn.

  I reach for my bag and discover Pye’s head shoved so far into the bag that his tufts are all that’s showing. “Pye! You little thief!” I swat at his tan backside.

  He shakes the bag off and popcorn flies everywhere.

  Jacob laughs so hard his eyes water.

  I want to be furious, but the sound of my dad’s laughter warms my heart. I chuckle and start to collect the scattered kernels.

  “Here, let me help.” He grabs a trash can and picks up a handful.

  I wave my hands. “Hey, don’t throw it away! I plan on eating that.” I pass him the popcorn bag. “Put ’em back in here. I’m not terribly fussy when it comes to my snack foods.”

  We get the mess under control just as Grams makes an appearance.

  She clutches her pearls and dabs at her eyes. “I never thought I’d see this day! Dear, do you think Jacob would like to look at some photo albums?” She swirls nervously above my dad.

  “That sounds wonderful, Grams.”

  Jacob stiffens and his eyes dart left and right. “She’s here? Now? Is she by me?”

  I laugh a little. “Sorry, Dad. I’m so used to her popping in and out now, I forget to announce her entrances.” I point to a spot above and to the left. “She’s right there.”

  He looks over his shoulder and smiles. “Hey, Mom.”

  She rushes toward him and he shivers.

  “I felt something cold. Is that her?” His skin is peppered with goosebumps.

  “That’s her.” I look at my own arms and shrug. “I don’t get the chills from her. Never did. I saw her right away, and we could talk. Maybe it’s because I can see her?”

  “I’m sure that’s it, dear.” Grams nods her head and floats away from my shivering dad. “Ask him about the albums.”

  “Oh, right. Grams asked if you’d like to look at photo albums?”

  “That sounds great.”

  “Over here, honey.” Grams swooshes over to a built-in bookcase and gestures to a row of volumes.

  I grab a couple and return to the floor next to my dad.

  The first album is ancient. The pages are black construction paper with tiny red paper corners stuck to the pages. Each black-and-white photo is tucked snuggly into a group of four corner-holders.

  Jacob runs his fingers along the page. “I think this is Cal as a baby, but I don’t recognize anyone else.”

  Grams swirls closer.

  The hair on my dad’s arm stands up.

  “Those are Cal’s grandparents. And that boy pulling the wagon is Cal’s older brother. He was killed in Vietnam.” Grams sniffles.

  I touch the image of the young boy. “How sad.”

  Dad looks at me. “What’s sad?”

  Oh, right. I’m the only one who can hear the ghost. I repeat the story about Cal’s older brother.

  Jacob touches the picture and shakes his head. “He never talked about it, but it definitely explains his obsession with making the family railroad successful.”

  We work our way through the album, Grams giving me the stories and me sharing them with my dad. It’s a strange and emotional history lesson.

  As the sna
cks run low and my eyelids grow heavy, I close the fourth album. “I’m beat, Dad. Mind if I grab a few before the sun comes up?”

  “Sure,” he says. His voice sounds sad.

  “Is everything all right?”

  He takes my hand in his large strong one and squeezes gently. “I guess part of me is afraid that if I close my eyes, you’ll be gone when I open them up. Dreams like this are what kept me sane all those years in prison, but I never thought for a minute it could be real.”

  I throw my arms around him. “It’s real. I’m not an orphan and you’re not in prison. It’s real, and tomorrow we’re going to show this town what happens when you cross the Duncans.”

  “And Mitzy Moon,” says Dad with a chuckle.

  Chapter 26

  After a perfect breakfast at the diner, Jacob and I walk down to the sheriff’s station.

  The waiting area is nearly empty. Apparently the weekday Pin Cherry Festival activities aren’t as well attended as opening weekend.

  A swarthy little man with a messy black mustache, five-o-clock shadow at nine in the morning, and a paunch hanging way over his belt, catches my eye.

  “You Jackson?”

  He looks up. “Who wants to know?”

  I smile and cross my arms. “Seems like the conversation isn’t over after all.”

  Jackson scowls at me and leans forward.

  I don’t like the way he’s looking at me.

  My dad steps up and adds his prison-tough presence to my side.

  Jackson’s eyes widen. “You’re the son. Jacob Duncan.”

  I’m not sure if it’s a good or bad thing that he recognizes my dad.

  “Why did my grandfather hire you?” I ask, hoping to catch him off balance.

  The pint-sized PI looks around nervously. “It’s not safe. I’m telling you right now, leave it alone.”

  My dad leans down and growls, “Are you threatening my little girl?”

  I never felt so happy to be called a little girl in my entire life.

  “It’s not me you need to worry about.”

  “Mr. Jackson, the sheriff will see you now,” the Furious-Monkeys-playing clerk announces.

  Sheriff Erick takes one look at me and strides into the waiting area. “Moon, I told you to let this go. Leave the investigation to the professionals.”