Bucket List: Maple Syrup Mysteries

by Emily James

  The way I’d heard the story, Elise tried to break up with Erik, saying she didn’t want her children to get more attached to someone else they might lose if they broke up later on. Losing one father-figure was bad enough. Erik responded by saying if they got married then the kids wouldn’t need to worry about him leaving. Erik loved Arielle and Cameron almost as much as he loved Elise. They hadn’t had a traditional proposal so much as a conversation, but when I thought about it, it suited both their personalities better than an elaborate proposal would have.

  I peeked around Troy. Police personnel were still going in and out of the house like ants bringing back food for winter. “Did you want to tell the chief I’m here?”

  Troy touched the button on his radio that activated the lapel mic clipped to his uniform. Fair Haven had been using the older hand-held style radios when I first came to Fair Haven, but one of the updates Chief McTavish had advocated for was the earpiece speakers and lapel mics to leave the officer’s hands free.

  Troy softly told whoever was on the other end that Mr. Dodd’s lawyer was here and then moved a bit farther away.

  I strode past him to where Clement hunched on the stump chair, staring off into the distance with a look that said he wasn’t actually seeing anything. Up close, I understood why he was a suspect. Red splotches that looked like blood spatter covered his front all the way up to his face. He even had red flecks on his glasses. It wasn’t the kind of pattern you saw on someone who’d been trying to help a victim. It was the kind you saw on the person who attacked the victim.

  Oh please let him not have cut up his employee with one of the chainsaws or axes. Large parts of the museum looked like a serial killer’s dream shopping store—historical chainsaws from as far back as the 1920s, axes of all shapes and sizes, single- and double-man handsaws, and log picks. He would have had no lack of weapons.

  If he had used something from his museum, that was one set of crime scene photos I didn’t want to see.

  Anderson probably wasn’t going to be able to win this case. If I were staying on as Clement’s lawyer, I’d be talking to him about taking a plea bargain if the police arrested him for the murder. Based on his appearance, I had no doubt they would.

  I made sure Troy was far enough away that he wouldn’t overhear us, and then took a seat on another stump chair next to Clement.

  “They’re coming to talk to you next. I know you’re not sure what happened, but I need you to tell me what you think went on.”

  His forehead was moist, and a bead of sweat drizzled its way down his temple and neck to his shirt collar. His collar was darker than the rest of his shirt, like that drizzle of sweat hadn’t been the first. “I haven’t been sleeping much. Almost six months now. The specialists think it’s sporadic fatal insomnia. They’ve given me a year. Eighteen months at best.”

  My mouth felt like someone had stitched it shut. I’d never had anyone tell me they were dying before.

  When we first met, I thought he hadn’t looked well. His skin had a yellow-grey tint, and he had deep purple smears on the inside of his bloodshot eyes. His whole face had a sagging quality. Because he’d often stop in the middle of his sentences and then start up again, I’d suspected micro-seizures. I knew exhaustion could also harm a person’s physical and mental health, but I hadn’t known a condition called fatal insomnia even existed.

  It was a good bet that if I didn’t know about it, the police didn’t either. The pertinent question at the moment was how his condition had played into the problem he now found himself in. “Is that why you can’t remember what happened?”

  “Sort of. I’ve been struggling with increasing paranoia and panic attacks for months now. The doctors said the next stage would be hallucinations. Last night…”

  His words trailed off and he swallowed multiple times as if trying to grab back his escaping thoughts. I waited the same way I had when he’d taken me around his museum, though now with a greater understanding of what was behind it. It hurt something deep inside to see such a bright mind wasting away.

  He blinked rapidly. “Last night, I was in my arm chair, trying to read and hoping to fall asleep for a few minutes before the sun came up. The next thing I remember is a bear coming through the door and rushing me. I grabbed the closest thing I could and fought back.” He shook his head. “Then my wife was screaming and Gordon was on the floor covered in blood.”

  It was a good thing I was already sitting down. My legs wouldn’t have held me up, and falling on my backside wouldn’t have been remotely professional.

  Gordon’s murder could have been staged and Clement could have been framed. But the odds of that being the case seemed extremely remote.

  Clement tugged on his Grizzly Adams beard. His rapid blinks accelerated.

  I leaned back slightly on my chair. He was trying not to cry. He was afraid that he’d done this, not only because it meant he’d killed someone but also because it meant his disease had progressed. He could see the end of his life, and it wouldn’t be peaceful. It’d be filled with fear until his sanity was gone, and he wouldn’t be able to escape it even in sleep.

  My throat tightened. I’d once thought freezing to death would be the worst way to die. I’d been wrong.

  I’d get him through the next few hours, and then I’d help him transition smoothly to Anderson. Clement needed someone who could argue on his behalf if he wanted to take this to trial. He wouldn’t ever see prison time even if he was found guilty. He didn’t have enough time left on his life, and his last days would be spent in a hospital as his body shut down.

  The best possible outcome seemed to be to try to allow him to spend what good days he might have left in his own home. Taking this to trial, even if he thought he could be guilty, would be the way to do that. I just couldn’t be the one to help him achieve that goal. He’d be found guilty for sure if I tried to argue his case in court. I could make sure he had a good lawyer in Anderson.

  Movement caught my attention, and I glanced up. Chief McTavish came out the side door of the house, followed by a crime scene tech carrying a large brown object in an extra-large evidence bag.

  It looked suspiciously like… “Is that my bucket?”

  3

  Chief McTavish ordered Clement brought down to the station. As they led him past the house, his wife stood off to one side with Officer Quincey Dornbush. Quincey touched the brim of his hat and gave me a little smile. Clement’s wife wouldn’t even look at him.

  I couldn’t decide whether this would be harder on Clement or on her. She’d now be afraid of her husband, and yet if they’d had any kind of a good marriage, she probably felt terrible for telling the police what she’d seen. I knew how I’d feel if Mark was implicated in a murder and all the evidence pointed to him. That would put the strongest relationship to the test. I could only hope I never had to find out what I’d do.

  At the station, while they had Clement sequestered to bag his clothes and collect evidence off his body, I ran a search for sporadic fatal insomnia on my phone. It was definitely a real thing. It was also extremely rare, caused by a mutated protein. Only about a hundred people worldwide had it.

  Based on what Clement had described, he was in stage two of five, which was where hallucinations and panic attacks started to be noticeable to others. There was no known cure for fatal insomnia. There wasn’t even a useful treatment. In seventy-five percent of cases, sleeping pills actually made the condition worse, so most specialists refused to prescribe them.

  There wasn’t much information available, but I read everything I could find until Chief McTavish called me in.

  Clement wanted to tell Chief McTavish that he didn’t know what had happened. While it would have been the truth, it was practically a cliché, and it would have made Chief McTavish more certain he was guilty. Telling him about the dream would have been even worse. I believed Clement, but it sounded like a crazy lie.

  Instead, I convinced Clement to sit quietly and let me do the talking.
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  “Your wife is willing to testify against you.” Chief McTavish, as expected, addressed Clement.

  A lawyer wasn’t personally invested so they couldn’t be goaded. Their client could. McTavish was a good officer, and he knew how to focus on the weakest link, and the spot where his suspect would be most vulnerable.

  “What does that say to you?” McTavish asked.

  If we hadn’t been dealing with a murder, I would have called it cruel. But McTavish was only doing his job the same way I was. As much as I disliked it, I couldn’t hold it against him. The quicker the police found the truth, the quicker they could eliminate suspects and arrest the real killer.

  Thankfully, it’d only be my job until I could turn the case over to Anderson, and all I had to do was not screw it up too badly for him.

  I stretched a hand toward Clement to remind him not to answer, no matter how much it felt like McTavish was scooping his heart out with a spoon. “It says that the Dodds are law-abiding people who want to help.”

  McTavish gave a slow nice-try head shake. “To me it says he’s guilty and his wife knows it. She saw him standing over the body.”

  “But she didn’t see him kill the victim.”

  “Look,” Chief McTavish made sure to catch Clement’s gaze and mine before continuing, “this case isn’t complicated. If the blood on Mr. Dodd comes back as a match for Gordon Albright, I’ll be making the arrest for Albright’s murder. There are no other possible suspects here. We have a witness who came upon the scene moments after the crime. I’m too busy to waste time arguing in circles, so this is your last chance. If he confesses now, I’ll speak to the DA about not asking for the harshest penalty the way he otherwise would given the brutality of the attack.”

  Clement leaned toward me. “If I did this, I should be locked away,” he whispered.

  It was the if that made me hesitate. I wasn’t comfortable giving up and letting them book him for a crime he didn’t remember committing, especially considering how short his life expectancy was. Going to trial would buy us time.

  I shifted so that I could speak directly into Clement’s ear. “If you did this, you should be in a mental health facility or a hospital, not in prison. First, we need to be sure you’re the one responsible.”

  Besides, the police always made a case seem more solid than it usually was.

  I folded my hands on top of the table. “Hypothetically, let’s assume my client did kill Gordon Albright. It still isn’t murder. Michigan has castle doctrine. There’s no duty to retreat before using deadly force on an intruder in your own home. Gordon Albright was in the Dodds’ home, in the dark. He didn’t live there. If my client woke up to see an intruder, he was within his legal right to act to defend himself.”

  Clement twitched beside me. Chief McTavish’s gaze dipped in his direction. He’d spotted it too.

  And I could think of only one thing it could mean. Gordon Albright wasn’t an intruder in their home. He’d been invited.

  “You’re welcome to argue that in the preliminary hearing,” Chief McTavish said, “but I think I like our chances.”

  4

  Never make assumptions, my dad always said. It’ll end in you looking the fool.

  I’m sure if Anderson had already been on the case, he wouldn’t have made the same mistake. I’d grown up with my dad and been trained by my dad, but Anderson practically wanted to be him.

  Both of them would be shaking their heads in dismay at me now.

  The police could hold a person for up to twenty-four hours before they had to either charge them with a crime or release them. Chief McTavish made it clear he planned to detain Clement, and that if they didn’t have the blood results back by tomorrow, he’d apply to have the hold extended due to the severity of the crime.

  Before Chief McTavish took Clement to the holding cells, I insisted on a minute alone with him and confirmed what I already knew. Gordon had been invited. Apparently, he came every morning at that time for breakfast. Chief McTavish would know it too as soon as he asked Clement’s wife and then the castle defense would be null.

  Since Anderson hadn’t called me back, I tried his office as soon as I reached my car. His receptionist told me he was in court all day. Given that it was only noon, I couldn’t wait around the police station to introduce him to Clement. I’d have to wait to pass the case over.

  Which meant I should go back to Sugarwood. I’d had a full day of work ahead of me before Clement called. Nancy and I were supposed to be packaging up the maple syrup lollipops molded in the shape of maple leafs for a wedding consignment order. Then Nancy and Stacey had asked to meet with me about expanding our product line. Even though Stacey was supposed to be on maternity leave and still hadn’t told me if she planned to stay on at Suagrwood afterward, she and Nancy had all kinds of ideas about maple nougats and maple syrup fruit spreads and maple syrup truffles. Nancy promised to provide me with tasting samples.

  I pulled my car out onto the road. I dug around inside myself trying to find the same excitement for working at Sugarwood that I heard when Nancy and Stacey talked—the same excitement I’d felt driving up to the museum this morning. All I felt thinking about a day of logistical and product meetings was tired.

  Then again, if I couldn’t find a way to practice as a lawyer without failing my clients in court, I might end up working at Sugarwood for the rest of my days. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. I did enjoy testing the maple syrup products. I definitely enjoyed traipsing around the woods, which was good considering I needed the exercise after testing the maple syrup products.

  And if Stacey turned down the assistant manager position and Russ’ health failed, I’d have no choice.

  The memory of Russ struggling to breathe turned my stomach into a heavy ball that felt too big for the space my body had to hold it.

  Since he didn’t have any family, we’d talked about him needing to choose someone who’d be able to help him and make decisions for him as he aged. I hadn’t realized when I brought it up that I’d be the one he asked. Right now, all that meant was I was on file at the pharmacy as being allowed to pick-up medications and speak to the pharmacist on his behalf. I’d picked up his high blood pressure medication before when I was in town running errands.

  Even though Russ hadn’t asked me to pick anything up this time, I had to do something. If he wasn’t taking a newly prescribed medication, he was putting himself at greater risk. I couldn’t make him take it. I couldn’t make him take better care of himself. But I wouldn’t sit by and watch him slowly kill himself either.

  Sugarwood business could wait an extra ten minutes.

  I took a left at the next stop light instead of going right to head back to Sugarwood. I’d just swing by the pharmacy and make sure Russ had picked up any medications his doctor called in.

  Like most businesses in Fair Haven, the pharmacy wasn’t part of a big chain. The large red-and-white sign on the front of the building carried the name Dr. Horton’s Drug Store.

  Also like most businesses in Fair Haven that catered to locals rather than tourists, it didn’t have a cutesy name. I did know now, though, that the owner not only wasn’t a doctor, his name also wasn’t Horton. It was an inside joke for the locals. Horton was a character in the children’s book Horton Hears a Who by Dr. Seuss, who also hadn’t been a doctor at all. The owner’s real name was Victor Kristoffersen—a last name so long it wouldn’t have fit on the small sign even if he had wanted to use it.

  I entered the store. Saul Emmitt, the pharmacist, was the only one behind the pharmacy counter as usual. Last spring, when he’d needed major reconstructive back surgery, he hadn’t even taken the full medical leave of absence his doctor recommended. Mr. Kristoffersen himself filled in for a couple of weeks despite being semi-retired, but I suspected Saul was his only employee. Dr. Horton’s closed on the weekends even, which was something I still hadn’t adapted to, coming from a city where many pharmacies stayed open 24-7.

  Saul drove his electr
ic wheelchair out and around the counter. He’d started doing that after the failed surgery left him mostly paralyzed. If I’d had to guess, I would have said that he didn’t like feeling hidden and small. He hadn’t specifically told me that, but he had mentioned casually at one point that, when Mr. Kristoffersen finally decided to sell him the business, the first thing he planned to do was remodel the store to drop the counters down. He didn’t want to spend the next fifteen to twenty years of his working life dealing with counters that were too high for a man in a wheelchair.

  “Nice to see you again, Nicole. Are you dropping off or picking up?”

  “Picking up.” The words stuck a little in my throat. Hopefully Russ wouldn’t be too angry at me. “For Russ.”

  He wheeled back around. “Something did come in almost a week ago now. I left a couple messages for Russ. I was starting to worry his number had changed.”

  My suspicions had been right then. His doctor prescribed him something new, and he was avoiding it, either because of the cost or because Russ was a bit of a hypochondriac who was more afraid of the side effects of medication than of the condition the medication was meant to treat.

  Saul bent forward to look through the drawers of prescriptions ready for pick-up, and his head disappeared from view. “I hear you decided to stay in Fair Haven rather than moving back to DC,” his disembodied voice said.

  If I wasn’t certain it was impossible, I would have thought Fair Haven residents were telepathic with how effectively they were able to spread news. “We did. It was a joint decision between Mark and me.”

  “What do you plan to do here for a job?”

  It was an innocent enough question, but I’d been personally wresting with it for so long that whenever someone else asked, it felt almost accusatory, like they thought I was either going to go on unemployment when I should be working or I was going to steal a job from a local who didn’t have other options. Most people who asked didn’t mean either of those things. In fact, most people who asked saw me as a local now and hadn’t wanted me to leave Fair Haven. I still felt censure in the question because it seemed like I should have it figured out by now.