Murder and Sweet Shortbread

by Tom Soule

  Finally, Sarah said, "I want to join in the search. I want to help find my friend."

  Her mother seemed to think about it. But her father interjected, "It's not safe, Sarah honey. If Michelle was..." His words trailed off. Sarah knew he feared the worst possible scenario. The nightmare scenario that no one would believe.

  "Wait, you don't think..."

  "I want you to stay at home, Sarah. I'm sure this is all a big misunderstanding."

  As her mother pulled up to the curb to let her out, Sarah exited the vehicle and hurried inside the house. She stared out in the living room window as her father yelled through the window, "We'll call you as soon as we know something!"

  When Sarah could no longer sit still, she began pacing the room. She thought about grabbing a snack from the refrigerator but decided against it. She wanted to keep her weight down before college in the fall.

  But after 20 minutes of struggling to read in her bedroom, Sarah was fed up. She couldn't just sit here and do nothing while the rest of the town was out looking for one of the only friends she had. She walked to her dresser and changed into a pair of track pants, then pulled a light sweater over her head because the temperatures had cooled a bit outside. Finally, she grabbed her flashlight from her backpack and headed back out into the night.

  Typically, this senior high school student would study the fireflies as they lit up the darkness. Tonight, all she wanted to do was find her friend. But she didn't know where to start. No one had told her where the search party had gathered.

  Sarah reached into her pocket and pulled out her iPhone. Perhaps she could call the police department and find out. But the battery was dead. She'd forgotten to charge it before going to the pizzeria.

  She was alone. The street was empty and quiet. Sarah walked down Carter Road with her head up and her eyes alert. It was hard to believe there could be danger in this beautiful town. Then she saw flashing red and blue lights rapidly approaching from down the street. Before long she spotted Officer Edgar Morton, the young man on the Flintstone City police force she knew well. His squad car screeched to a halt at the curb. Sarah hurried to the driver's side window.

  "Officer Morton, what's going on? Please tell me they've found Michelle."

  Officer Morton looked away and wiped sweat from his forehead. Clearly, it had been a long night, and the officer was beginning to show signs of exhaustion. His usual bright brown eyes appeared dull and preoccupied. His hands were fidgety, suggesting a recent caffeine overload. And Officer Morton appeared far shorter in height than he usually did, though his bulging gut was just as visible. Sarah knew the news was terrible.

  "You're not going to believe it, Sarah," Officer Morton said. We just found Michelle buried in a shallow grave by the cemetery."

  Sarah's jaw dropped open. It wasn't just that Michelle had been murdered, but the fact that she'd been found in a graveyard. A place where the dead were expected to remain in peace.

  And then finally, reality replaced the denial. Sarah broke down into tears, sinking to her knees right there on the sidewalk. She didn't even feel Officer Morton's soothing hands on her shoulders.

  Five days later, Sarah woke up groggy. Usually, one to sleep well, that morning she felt as if she had spent the night sleeping on a piece of metal. Her back and shoulders ached, and she felt as if she hadn't gotten much sleep at all. Downstairs, she could smell the coffee and pancakes her mother made every morning.

  But Sarah was barely hungry. As her mother placed a plate of pancakes in front of her, Sarah could smell the fresh scent of her mother's perfume. Her hair wasn't as wet as it usually was, proving that she'd awakened early. Sarah nibbled at her food before her mother finally spoke.

  "The Mayor will be holding a meeting about Michelle this morning, honey. You're more than welcome to come along with us, of course."

  "How did she die?" Sarah asked. "Who killed her? Why Michelle? What could she have possibly done wrong?"

  "I know you have a lot of questions, honey. I'm sure the police will answer them soon enough."

  Sarah wasn't so confident. With so few violent crimes in Flintstone, the police department might not be equipped to handle this crisis. More often than not, the officers spent their time solving little problems around the neighborhood. They assisted in the resolution of minor arguments, and every once in a while, they'd investigate minor vandalism or destruction of property complaint. But murder? No, that wasn't something that happened in Flintstone.

  "They couldn't possibly be prepared," Sarah spoke her mind.

  Her mother tried not to show her anger. "Sarah, don't say things like that. The police know exactly what they're doing. Finish your food. You know how important breakfast is."

  Sarah ate quietly. Then her older brother Justin entered the kitchen. Tall and lanky, he played quarterback for a nearby college football team. Sarah always thought he looked more like a skateboarder than a football player. Immediately, she noticed that Justin seemed unfazed about Michelle's murder.

  "Justin, why are you in such a good mood?" she asked her older brother. "Don't you care about what happened?"

  "Ofcourse I care," Justin said dismissively. "Mom, me and some of the guys are headed out of town after the game tonight."

  Justin lived out of town in a nearby city. He was close to graduating cum laude, from the college he attended. So, it made perfect sense that yesterday evening's events didn't bother him as much. But Sarah was angry that he seemed so nonchalant.

  "What do you get out of playing such a ridiculous game?" she asked, her eyes flashing in anger. "It's not right that football players make millions of dollars running up and down a field."

  Justin laughed. "Maybe I should just quit and be a marine biologist," he said with a sneer. Sarah knew he was mocking her. She got up from her chair and washed her plate in the sink.

  "You two need to get along," her father called from downstairs. He occasionally slept in the basement when he wanted to be alone in his man cave. Sarah was confident that she lived with a dysfunctional family.

  She returned to her bedroom and tried to focus on some reading. But it was no use. She couldn't understand why Michelle had been killed. And she was saddened by the fact that her only friend was gone forever. It was bad enough she felt alone all the time; now she indeed had no one else to turn to. No one else but Carla the librarian, at least.

  A few hours passed before Sarah finally changed into something more presentable for the town meeting. She decided on a pretty white blouse and a nice skirt. She hated dressing up, but in the honor of Michelle, she would take pride in her appearance. Aside from her mother and father, she was the only one who had ever complimented her looks.

  Ten minutes later, the family—minus Justin-- left the house and began the 15-minute drive to the town center. Sarah sat quietly in the back seat and looked out the window. Even though the sun shone brightly and the weather was warmer, Sarah felt cold and empty inside. Everywhere she looked outside, she saw sadness and pity.

  Residents of Flintstone walked towards the town center. Some held hands and whispered prayers among themselves. Others moved towards the meeting in silence. It was a dark day for a town that had enjoyed such a high-spirited festival just a few days earlier.

  Sarah and her parents arrived at the town hall and took seats in the back. Sarah wished she could have sat up front. She deserved to have a prominent position at the meeting, considering she felt more strongly about the death than anyone else. She waited sadly, fighting back tears as Mayor Hanes finally entered the building and took the podium.

  "Ladies and gentlemen of Flintstone. It is with deep regret that I share the news that Mrs. Michelle Johnson of Pluto's Pizzeria was poisoned to death. Her pizza was laced with trace elements of arsenous oxide that the Forensic unit concluded was found in her pizza slice. It took the forensic team less than a day to come to this conclusion. We, the people of Flintstone, all know that Mrs. Johnson was a terrific woman, well-loved by family, friends, and quite si
mply, everyone she had ever come into contact with."

  The mayor waited silently. Many of the town residents cried softly. Sarah could no longer resist the urge, and she wiped a tear away from her cheek.

  "The Flintstone City Police Department will be investigating her death as a murder. I know all of you find it hard to believe something like this could actually happen here in this lovely town. But I say without a doubt that Mrs. Johnson was indeed killed shortly after she left the restaurant. That's all the details the police are offering right now."

  The Mayor continued to discuss funeral planning. Many of the attendants offered to help the grieving family pay for the expenses. A proper memorial service was planned. Grievance counselors would be assigned to the community center.

  Sarah felt that no one seemed very interested in finding out what really happened. Even if the police wouldn't talk about it, she expected at least a question or two surrounding the circumstances of her death. But there were none.

  The meeting lasted a full two hours. Sarah thought about asking her parents if she could go to the library. She no longer felt comfortable being alone in her bedroom and needed a place where someone knew what she was going through. And under the circumstances, she wasn't surprised to hear herself lie to her parents for the first time ever.

  "I'm going to Joshua's for a while," she said.

  It was an outrageous lie. Though Sarah was known to be good to others, she had considered Michelle, one of her only friends. Everyone else was just an acquaintance. She felt like an outsider, a social outcast. So instead of heading to Joshua's, she walked further downtown to Clara's library. She could explain later if her parents caught her in the lie.

  The more Sarah was alone, the more motivated she became to learn the truth. It was what Michelle would have wanted. Learning what really happened would give her the confidence she needed and so desperately wanted. The skills she picked up from reading detective books would come in quite handy.

  She entered the library a few minutes later. Overwhelmed with determination, Sarah struggled to keep her composure as she headed for the front desk. She smiled at Clara, the wise elderly woman who worked as a librarian in a library very few people visited. Her large eyeglasses looked as if they were no longer effective, considering Clara's constant tendency to squint. But Sarah noticed the librarian appeared far brighter in spirits than everyone else that day.

  The wise woman knew something of value. Sarah's eyes widened as she read the message.

  CHAPTER THREE

  "Honesty is the best policy." Benjamin Franklin

  The next day, Sarah reread Franklin's famous words over and over. This was how Clara communicated with people, and Sarah loved it. Studying famous quotes was something she had long enjoyed learning while attending Flintstone High.

  Sarah read the note once more and tried to decipher what the eccentric librarian was trying to explain.

  Honesty is the best policy, isn't it, Sarah wondered as the librarian walked quietly away towards the ladies' room. What did Benjamin Franklin have to do with trying to solve Michelle's murder?

  It didn't take her long to figure it out. Clearly, someone wasn't telling the truth here. Chances were, they were leaving out important details. And the city police chief, Benjamin Robertson, lived on Franklin Street. Perhaps the word policy factored into this message as well, though Sarah couldn't be sure.

  Sarah didn't wait around for Clara to return from the restroom. She wouldn't have anything else to offer now anyway. And there were always hidden meanings in her messages that couldn't be clearly answered. Over the last four years, Sarah had learned to trust her instincts.

  She checked her watch as she bent down to retie her sneakers. It was just before noon, and even though it was Saturday morning, Mr. Robertson would be awake and eager to listen to anything involving Michelle's murder. Especially if what Sarah had to offer made his upcoming work week a little easier.

  Sarah decided not to walk the half mile over to Franklin Street. Instead, she half-ran, half-walked back home, grabbed her 21- speed bicycle and rode it to Chief Robertson's residence. It was an 8-minute ride, and Sarah used the time to breathe deep, collect her thoughts, and try to ease her body. She was stressed from all the tragedy, and her body still ached from last night's poor sleep.

  She arrived on Franklin Street and rested her bike beside a group of trash cans on the sidewalk. Like much of the town, the neighborhood was quiet, empty, and lonely. But she noticed Chief Robertson sweeping his front porch. Tall and heavy, he appeared nearly identical to his closest colleague, Officer Morton, except he was a lot older. Some of the town residents liked to tease the two officers and compare their physiques.

  Chief Robertson had just mowed his lawn, and Sarah stopped for a moment to admire his handiwork.

  "You like that, young lady?" the chief called out from the deck. He didn't know her name. Why should he?

  "Yes I do, Chief," Sarah said as she approached his front yard. She tried to appear as professional as possible. After all, she needed him to take her seriously. "If you don't mind, I'd like a moment of your time, sir."

  Robertson stopped sweeping and looked up. "Sure, come on up and have a seat," he said. "Can I get you a glass of lemonade?"

  Sarah considered the offer. Then she remembered that Michelle had apparently been poisoned by one of her own pizzas. She politely refused the drink as she sat in a rocking chair.

  "Sir, the reason I came to you today is that I don't think the town of Flintstone is taking Michelle's death very seriously."

  The chief frowned. "What do you mean?"

  "Well, it seems as if everyone just kind of wants to move on and forget about it."

  "It's going to be extremely difficult if not impossible for us to solve this case. We don't have the resources or the manpower. No witnesses, no forensics to go off, no fresh leads."

  "But how can you be certain?"

  "I've been an officer of the law for a long time. I started my career in New York City. I know what it looks like when an investigation is leading nowhere."

  "So..."

  Chief Robertson's eyes narrowed, and his face darkened. "You know I'm not going to lie to you. I suspected that people like yourself will want to go digging into this. The problem is there are things you don't know. Are you aware of the damage you'll cause by turning this into a spectacle?"

  Sarah's eyes flashed with rage. This was hard to believe. Michelle had been one of the finest women the town had ever seen. Why wouldn't the police do everything they could to solve her murder?

  "Please elaborate, sir," she finally said. "Michelle was my only friend. I want to know what you know."

  The police chief mulled it over. Realizing it couldn't hurt, he said, "We read through Mrs. Johnson's personal diary."

  "We saw that she'd been having a lot of personal problems, things she kept from her family and friends. Towards the end of the diary, she explicitly states she doesn't want people digging too deeply if something happens to her."

  "What kind of personal problems was she having?" Sarah asked impatiently.

  "You won't give in, will you?"

  Sarah crossed her arms and leaned back in the rocking chair. She already knew what kind of "personal problems" Michelle had experienced. She'd shared a few of them with her, and she had done the same.

  "Okay, okay. She didn't go into too much detail, but it was clear she was deeply distressed over mistakes she was making in her life. And before you ask, her family wants to honor her request. They're planning on getting rid of the diary eventually."

  Sarah resisted the urge to throw her hands up in disgust. "What if she wasn't the one who wrote that entry? What if she had been forced to write it? Couldn't there have been more going on here?"

  The police chief held up his hand. "I'm truly sorry for your loss, miss. I'm well aware of how good Mrs. Johnson was. I've met her quite a few times, and my kids went to her restaurant for pizza on Fridays. But investigating this case as
a murder might be impossible."

  "Then why did you tell the entire town that you would? You were there right beside the mayor. You didn't object to anything he said."

  "We did that for the grieving people Michelle left behind," the chief said firmly.

  Sarah was hurt. Angry. What a betrayal, she thought.

  "Chief, I have the right to make sure this town doesn't forget Michelle. I'm not satisfied with just a memorial service."

  "You can't do anything illegal, Sarah. If people call and say, you're harassing them..."

  "I won't."

  "And it won't be long before the town council takes a vote on how to deal with it."

  "Politics in Flintstone."

  "Go figure."

  Sarah returned to the sidewalk and got back onto her bike. She took a long way home, so she had more time to think peacefully. Last semester, she'd studied some basic journalism and mass communication. The power of the media couldn't be underestimated here. Even if the Flintstone Gazette wouldn't feature a story, she could type up newsletters, deliver pamphlets door-to-door, even give speeches around town if necessary.

  It seemed like a good plan. "I'm going to find out what you wanted me to know," Sarah whispered quietly to herself as she wiped a tear from her eye. "I won't let you down, Michelle."

  Sarah arrived home around one in the afternoon. She kicked off her sneakers at the front door and carried them upstairs to her room. Her mother was gone to a weekend church function. Her older brother—who she was still mad at—was away with his buddies before the big game. And she could hear her father watching television from downstairs. His steady, whistling breathing indicated he'd fallen asleep not long ago.

  Sarah shut the door to her bedroom and turned the lock. She wanted to make as much progress on her project as possible before people started getting in the way. She took out a stack of computer paper and a notebook, then switched on her old desktop and grabbed her lucky pen. She took a moment to read the words inscribed along her favorite writing utensil, an old Christmas gift from Carla.