by Curry, Edna
“I just made some coffee. Would you like a cup?”
“Sure.”
As I led the way to my kitchen, I glanced at his grim face and couldn’t resist adding, “Did you have a tough day?”
“You could say that.” He sank into a wooden chair at my kitchen table, his back to the wall and laid his clipboard on the table.
“I just did.” I sent him a searching glance and poured two mugs of coffee. “Cream or sugar?” He shook his head, so I sat opposite him and sipped my coffee.
As all the cops that I know seem to do, he surveyed the room, checking out his surroundings. I wondered what he thought of my outdated kitchen. The older couple I’d bought this house from hadn’t done anything to it in years, which is why I’d gotten it for a good price. Someday, when I get a little money ahead, I’ll do some remodeling, but for now, it would have to do. First, I have to get my business off the ground.
The detective didn’t comment on my house, which pleased me. I like a guy who minds his own business and allows others to do the same. “Did you hear about the murder?” he asked.
I barked a short laugh. “In spades. At every job. And at lunch and coffee shop.”
He grinned. “I always forget about the small town grapevine. I suppose the gossip was flying?”
“Of course, Detective. We don’t get much serious crime out here. You’re from Minneapolis?”
“Call me Chance. Everybody’s informal out here. Yeah, I’m from Minneapolis. Most people there don’t even know their next door neighbor. That’s nice in some ways, not in others.”
“I suppose. I’ve never lived in a city, myself,” I said. “I like knowing most of the people I see every day.”
He shifted uneasily in his chair. Pulling his clipboard closer, he said, “About last night. You were on the scene about the time of the murder.”
I felt my jaw drop. “I was? Really? What time was Mildred killed?”
“I’m not sure yet. I’m still waiting for the coroner’s report. But we think soon after the bar closed.”
That made sense. I nodded, cautiously. “What do you want to know?”
“Tell me exactly what happened, as detailed as you can remember.”
“You should have the time Deputy Tom called me.”
He nodded. “He had the time down as two-ten a.m.”
“I was at home, asleep, so had to put on my clothes. I must have left here within maybe five minutes.”
He nodded and wrote on his clipboard.
“I drove the ten miles straight over to Landers. No traffic at that time of the morning, so maybe fifteen minutes? Two thirty? I didn’t look at my watch. The town businesses and apartments were all dark except for their night-lights. Street lights were on, of course.”
“And?”
I repeated my observations of the cars and my client and our conversation as best I could.
“Describe the man,” he said.
“White, early thirties, brown eyes, maybe six foot tall, and slim. I couldn’t see much of his hair in the dark and he had a black baseball cap pulled low over his forehead. He wore old blue jeans and a nice black leather jacket. Expensive looking cowboy boots with a fancy curly design cut into them.”
“What about the car?” Chance asked.
“New Ford sedan, blue and clean,” I said. “I got his license number. It’s on a bill in my briefcase.”
“I’ll need that.” He gave me a surprised, grateful smile, like he hadn’t expected to get any solid evidence from me.
I got up and dug through the paperwork I’d stuffed in my briefcase throughout the day, found the bill I’d started for the guy, but hadn’t finished when he didn’t want one. I handed it to Chance, pointing to the auto license number. “He said he was from Minneapolis. But he sped north on 95 when he left, not south toward the Twin Cities.”
Chance copied the number into his report. “So, maybe he lied? Or just wasn’t headed home.”
“I suppose. Or just drunk and confused.” I swallowed. I shouldn’t have mentioned him being drunk. Would he chastise me for letting the guy drive? But he merely wrote it all down. “He smelled strongly of a bar—you know, that mixture of stale beer, fried foods and sweat that seems to cling to bars? And his speech was pretty slurred, as though he’d been drinking.”
Chance frowned and noted that. “Ben is right, Tom should have waited for an officer to be available,” he said, half to himself. “Anything else?”
“Oh, and as he turned onto the highway, he almost hit the bakery van coming into town. The driver honked at him so he should remember that.”
“Yes, he did. I’ve already talked to bakery driver.”
I hesitated, not wanting to get the delivery guy in trouble, but then ventured, “I thought it was an odd time for the bakery truck to be in town, so I watched him for a bit. He unlocked the bar and took trays of stuff inside. Isn’t it kind of odd for him to have a key to the bar?”
Chance shrugged. “Apparently not. The bakery has a very early morning route. He’s had the key for years without a problem.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I got a list of his customers from the bakery owner and had a deputy talk to everyone on his route. He made all his deliveries on time, so he had to have left the bar within minutes.”
“It wouldn’t take long to shoot Mildred and grab the money.”
“True.” His mouth twisted in a wry grin.
“But the delivery guy’s not a suspect?”
Chance sighed and his brown eyes gazed at me, troubled. “Everyone’s a suspect until we can solve the murder.”
I swallowed hard and squeaked out, “Even me?”
He nodded. “Sorry.”
“I should have taken Ardis’ advice and turned off my phone at night,” I grumbled under my breath.
“What?” Chance said, frowning at me.
“Nothing.”
“Do you own a gun?”
“A gun?” I squeaked. “Of course not. I’m just a locksmith. I don’t need a gun.” Though sometimes, I’ve wished I had one, just for back-up, you understand.
Chance glanced at me. “So, you left while the bakery guy was still there?”
“Yes. I knew Mildred had an alarm, and it didn’t go off when he went inside, so I decided if he had a key and knew the alarm code, he must have permission to be there, even if it was in the middle of the night. So I went back home.”
“You never went into the bar?”
“No, I told you, it was closed and dark.”
“You’re a locksmith. You could have gone in without a key.”
My jaw dropped. “Now you sound like an amateur. I thought cops knew at least a bit about this stuff.”
He actually blushed. “Well, I do, but…”
I glared at him. “I’d have to pick the lock or drill it out to get in without a key. And I’d need the codes to disarm the system or have to know what kind of alarm it was and how to disable it, by cutting wires or something. It wasn’t ruined, was it?”
“Not that I know of. I’ll have to check on that.” He made another note on his clipboard.
“Alarm systems aren’t all alike, you know.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t install the system for Mildred?”
I shook my head and drank my coffee. “No, some outfit out of the Twin Cities put it in for her.”
“Why didn’t she have you do that?” He eyed me over his mug and sipped his coffee.
“Because she put that system in before I opened my business here. Besides, I haven’t gotten into doing alarm systems yet. I mainly do lockouts, rekeying, and installing regular locks or repairing them, stuff like that.”
“But I saw you working on a safety deposit box at the bank last week.”
My heart sped up. He’d noticed me before I’d even met him? Cool! “True. But that’s not an alarm system, just a special lock. A customer had lost their key, so the bank asked me to drill the box to open it for them. Then they have
to put in a new lock.”
“I see. If you think of anything else that might help, give me a call. Here’s my card.”
He handed it to me and rose. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“You’re welcome,” I said. I walked him to the door and watched him stride out to his car and climb in. With a sigh, I locked the door after him. Too bad a hunk like him was so suspicious.
Yikes. I was involved in a murder case. My stomach roiled in dismay as I put our mugs in the dishwasher and unplugged the coffeepot.
I was so damned tired. I went to my bedroom and dropped on top of my bed. I’d brush my teeth and get into my pajamas in a minute.
I hated controversy in any form. I’m a peaceful kind of person and usually take the easy way out of problems. Would I have to testify in court? The very thought of it made me ill.
Chapter 3
I awoke to the doorbell ringing. Sunshine slanting across the blue flowered bedspread told me I’d fallen asleep on top of my bed without ever getting undressed. I sat up as the doorbell rang again, insistently.
A glance in the mirror above my dresser revealed a sleep creased, blotchy face and brown hair standing on end. With a groan, I forced my stiff body to my feet and yelled, “Coming! Keep your pants on.”
I grabbed my hairbrush and ran it through my short hair as I padded down the hall, the hardwood floor cold under my feet. Had Chance come by to ask more questions? Sheriff Ben? I peeked through the small window and saw my friend, Darcy. I didn’t feel in the least like talking, but I opened the door anyway.
Darcy and I go way back to grade school. We’ve been best friends since I rescued her from Jimmy Joe, our playground bully, one cold, winter day. He’d chased her down and had her on the ground, screaming, as he rubbed snow in her face. Yelling words I wasn’t supposed to know, I jumped on Jimmy Joe’s back and punched his ears until he released Darcy, shoved me off and ran.
Using the long tails of my hand-knitted wool scarf, I wiped the snow and tears from Darcy’s face and helped her to her feet. We hugged and swore to stay together to protect each other from Jimmy Joe. He never bothered either of us again.
Now Darcy shivered and stepped inside my house, bringing the scents of rain, flowery perfume and hospital disinfectant with her. “It’s about time. It’s cold outside this morning. Your petunias are frozen. I think fall is really here.” She eyed me critically. “I see you just woke up. I thought you usually get up early.”
“Mm hm. Usually.” I yawned. “Are you just getting off work?”
“Yes. Had the graveyard shift. Ugh.” Still in her nurse’s uniform, she moved on into my kitchen, pulled off her coat and draped it over a ladder-back chair. “You look like hell.”
I winced. “Gee, thanks. I needed that. I’ll start some coffee.”
She grabbed me and turned me back toward my bedroom. “I’ll make breakfast. You get in the shower. Then we’ll talk.”
No use arguing with Darcy. She’s an RN and used to having her orders obeyed. Obviously, she’d heard about the murder and was anxious to hear what I knew.
“Okay.” I sighed and ambled back down the hall to my bathroom. I took a quick, hot shower and shampooed my hair. I had to admit, I did feel better. I got out my hair dryer and snapped it on. Luckily, my short style just needs a quick brushing and it falls into place.
Wide awake now, I could smell coffee and bacon as I dried my hair and brushed it. My stomach growled as I slipped into clean jeans and a red blouse. That bright color always makes me feel cheerful somehow, and today I needed cheering.
I went back to the kitchen. Darcy had opened the red and white checked curtains at the window over the sink, so sunlight shone in, brightening the room. I’d painted the walls a soft yellow last summer. Scarlet canisters accented the cheerful theme. The happy decor failed to raise my mood this morning.
Darcy poured my coffee as I sat at the old-fashioned wooden table. She dished up the bacon, eggs and toast, slapped down the plates and sat opposite me. “Eat, eat.”
I stared at the food. “Don’t you know eggs and bacon are bad for you?”
She shrugged. “Comfort food. Besides, I burn all the fat off running around at the hospital. It doesn’t have a prayer of staying in me long enough to clog my arteries. I didn’t have time for a break tonight, so I’m starving. And it was all I could find in your fridge.” She dug in.
“Suppose I need to go grocery shopping again,” I muttered and picked up my fork.
We ate in silence for a minute, then Darcy said, “So, what gives? I heard Mildred at the Lilliput Bar got shot Wednesday night. Rumor has it, you were in the area at the time.”
I sighed and drank some coffee. “Only because the sheriff’s dispatcher called me to open a drunk’s car.”
I gave her a quick rundown on what had occurred the night before last.
“So you finally meet our area’s newest eligible bachelor and he puts you on his suspect list instead of in his little black datebook?” Darcy chuckled and stuffed more eggs in her mouth. She and I had discussed the newest hunk to move to our area before.
“It’s not funny. You know I hate trouble of any kind. It makes my stomach churn.”
Darcy reached out a comforting hand and patted mine. “I know, honey. I was only kidding.”
“Besides,” I said, “I was only in the parking lot out back, not inside the bar. I don’t know anything about what happened inside.”
“So Chance isn’t going to find your fingerprints on anything inside there?”
I snorted. “Of course not. You know I seldom go there. I haven’t been inside the place for months, not since I…I…damn.” I stopped and felt the blood drain from my face. I’d forgotten. I had been there recently.
“Since what?” Darcy asked suspiciously, drinking her coffee.
In a small voice, I said, “Since Mildred had me open her filing cabinet and replace the lock on it a couple of months ago.”
“You didn’t wear gloves?”
My cup clinked into the saucer. ”Are you nuts? Of course, I didn’t wear gloves. How could I work with gloves on? Besides, I have nothing to hide. A customer asks me to do a job and I do it. I’m not breaking and entering, for goodness sake.”
Darcy put out a hand. “Whoa. My point is, will the cops find your prints at the murder scene?”
I shrugged. “I suppose they will. But Jack and Reggie know I was there before. And my bill will be in Mildred’s files and my name in her list of checks.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Anyway, wouldn’t you think my prints would be covered up by others by now?” I got up and refilled our cups.
“I hope so.” Darcy sipped her coffee. “So has Chance questioned you yet?”
I nodded. “He came here to question me last night, on Sheriff Ben’s orders. I’m on his list of suspects. Can you believe that?”
“I’m sorry, Honey. Don’t worry, it’ll all work out. They’ll find the real culprit.” She put down her cup and came around the table to give me a hug.
“Maybe. But he doesn’t trust me, Darcy. That’s what hurts.”
“You need to give him time to get to know you, don’t you think?”
“Maybe.” I stared into my coffee.
***
Just before noon the next day, Chance watched Deputy Roger stride into the Flame Restaurant. Roger glanced to the back corner booth, their usual meeting place, and wove through the crowded room to take a seat opposite Chance.
Roger smiled at the dark-haired young waitress who immediately appeared with a pot of hot coffee and poured him a cupful.
She grinned back. “Are we on for tonight?”
Roger shook his head. “Sorry, Nell. I can’t make it.”
“Humph.” She glared disbelievingly at him, pulled an order pad from her apron pocket. “Want your usual?”
“That’s fine.” There were quite a few customers in the coffee shop. Now most of them quieted, probably straining to hear any new details the officer
s might reveal about the murder, the most exciting thing to have happened in Landers in quite a while.
Nell hurried back to the kitchen. Roger drank some coffee, then turned to Chance, lowering his voice. “Did you learn much this morning?”
Chance bit into his hamburger and shook his head. He’d already explained to a half-dozen people in the past half-hour that he had nothing new to report. “Mostly, I ran into dead ends. How about you? Did the bakery van driver’s story check out?” Apparently their low exchange had caused people to give up on trying to eavesdrop. The buzz of conversation in the room resumed.
“Yeah. His next stop was the 24 hour grocery on top of the hill. I talked to the night manager who checked him in. He arrived there and at his other stops on time. Nobody saw anything unusual in his clothes or behavior, either.”
Nell brought Roger’s cheeseburger and fries, poured them more coffee, slapped down their bill and hurried on to her next customers.
Chance watched her leave and grinned. “Did you two have a tiff? You didn’t pay her the attention you usually do.”
Roger shrugged. “She’s mad ’cause she wanted me to take her to the casino tonight and I said no.”
Chance raised an eyebrow. “She spends too much at the slot machines?”
“Like lots of others. I wouldn’t mind if she only wasted her own money, but…”
“She expects you to give her money to gamble with if you take her there?” Chance guessed.
“Yeah, and I can’t afford it,” Roger mumbled. He dug into his food. After a minute, he asked, “Did you trace Cassie’s client’s license number?”
Chance grimaced and drank his coffee. “Yeah. Stolen plates. Belonged to a junked car from a lot in the Twin Cities.
Roger snorted. “That figures.”
“Question is,” Chance mused, “if the guy had nothing to hide, why did he have stolen plates on an almost new vehicle?”
Roger shrugged. “Stolen car? Avoiding buying the license? Dealing drugs? Who knows?”
“Or our murderer,” Chance said grimly. “He didn’t want a bill from Cassie after she opened his car, even after she explained he could get reimbursed from the company because his car was still under warranty. She said he didn’t give her his name and he paid cash from a wad of bills. That sounds like he didn’t want to be identified.”