“He stepped out to get a kombucha. He needed some energy.” I wanted to crawl in a hole. “Some natural energy.”
He smirked, considered for a moment, then nodded to himself. To my surprise, he let the topic of Barry’s choice of legal representation drop. “Here’s what I can do. Why don’t you get your mom, and I’ll bring Barry in.” He pointed toward the mirror. “I’ll be listening in of course.” His green eyes twinkled again as he cocked that perfectly shaped brow. “I can trust you to stay away from funny business, right?”
“Unfortunately I didn’t come prepared with a nail file. I think we’re good this time.” To my surprise, I heard the tenor of laughter in my voice. “And thank you. I appreciate you allowing us to speak to him.”
“If you want to wait for your lawyer, then—”
We probably should. Gerald might be able to make it where we could have a private conversation, but, I doubted it. We’d be waiting for nothing.
He studied me a bit longer, his smile changing and softening yet again. He started to speak, then stopped with a shake of his head and took a step back. “Get your mom. I’ll be right back.”
Mom burst into tears as soon as Branson shut the door, leaving Barry with us. She wrapped her arms around Barry and shook.
I didn’t resent Barry. Nor had I ever had any feelings of betrayal that Mom had married him so soon after my father’s passing. However, sometimes I wondered whether Dad’s death affected Mom less than it did me. Seeing her now took any notion of that away. She’d always been flighty and silly and tender. But she’d also been a cop’s wife. There wasn’t much she couldn’t handle. This wasn’t the same woman who’d raised me.
For his part, Barry’s eyes were also red-rimmed, and his hands trembled as he smoothed her hair. “It’s okay, my dear. It’s okay.”
I gave them a minute or two, then patted the metal table in the center of the room. “I don’t know how much time Branson—Sergeant Wexler is giving us. So let’s talk.” I waited for Mom and Barry to shuffle over and take seats beside each other, their fingers remaining intertwined. Then I leveled my gaze on Barry. “Trust me, I know you had absolutely nothing to do with this, but I also believe the police have something on you. They wouldn’t be keeping you overnight if they didn’t.”
Mom sucked in a breath and gripped Barry’s hands tighter. “They’re keeping you overnight?”
Barry turned to me. “They are?”
“Yes. Sorry, but they are.” Well, crap, I could’ve handled that better. “They might not have told you that yet, though I’m certain they’ve informed you on why they are holding you on Opal’s murder. What in the world is going on, Barry?”
He glanced between Mom and me. I swore I could see the guilt in his eyes grow as he looked at Mom. My gut twisted.
Apparently Mom could see it too. “Barry?” Her voice trembled. “Surely you didn’t have anything to do with this?”
“Of course not. I would never hurt anyone. Even Opal.”
I cast a fleeting glance toward the two-way mirror, though I’d promised myself I’d give Branson the impression I didn’t care that he was listening in.
Mom relaxed, already convinced. As was I. I couldn’t picture Barry hurting anyone. But neither could I imagine him having that tone regarding anyone who’d just been murdered. There was definitely something there.
I reached out and tapped his arm, holding his attention. “Fill us in.”
Again guilt crossed his face, and he lowered his gaze. “You’re not gonna like this. And I’m sorry.”
Mom flinched but didn’t pull her hand away—some of her old resolve showing through. “Then tell me already and get it over with. Whatever it is, we can’t deal with it until we’re all on the same page.”
“Why don’t we wait for Gerald. He can’t be much longer. He might be able to make it where we have a bit more privacy before we get into this.” Another glance towards the mirror. “How hard is it to find kombucha?”
Barry turned wide eyes on me. “He makes his own. He probably had to drive out to Glenn Haven. He actually lives across the stream from Verona and Zelda.”
Of course he’d live by my stepsisters in a place without cell reception. And of course he’d have to drive all the way there to get his homebrew when Barry needed him. I started to suggest waiting, but really, what was the point? Like Gerald could do anything, even with all natural energy coursing through his veins. “Fine. Go ahead.”
I could swear I heard Branson laughing behind the glass.
Barry nodded, then took a long slow breath before launching into a story. “Opal had a side business of making edibles.” He fluttered his free hand. “Edibles are baked goods or candy with pot in them. Marijuana.”
“You know Charles was a detective in the drug enforcement unit. I’m well aware of what an edible is, Barry.” Though she still didn’t pull her hand away, Mom’s voice was hard. “You also know how I feel about drug use.”
“I know. I’m sorry. That’s part of why I’ve never told you.” His eyes widened, and he rushed ahead. “And I promise that’s all I do. Just some edibles to help me sleep at night. I’m not addicted to heroin, or meth, or anything like that.”
Mom rolled her eyes. “I know that, stupid. You mean to tell me you’ve been using edibles in our house?”
He nodded. “I’m so sorry. I—”
I tapped the table. “Guys, focus. You can figure that out later. What does this have to do with Opal’s murder? How does consuming edibles get you arrested? I thought pot was legal in Colorado.”
Mom shook her head. “Not in Estes Park. They still don’t allow it to be sold.”
“But is it legal to use it here?”
They both nodded.
I glared at Barry. “Are you telling me you were selling it? You became a drug dealer?” Maybe we should’ve waited for Gerald.
Mom gasped, and Barry shook his head emphatically. “No! Never! I just bought edibles from Opal. Or at least I used to.” He grimaced. “I started buying them from the store in Lyons after Sid died.”
There was a brief knock, and the door opened. Branson stuck his head in. “We need to wrap this up, folks.”
“Give us a few more minutes.” I met Branson’s gaze and softened my tone. “Please.”
He nodded. “Just a few more minutes.” Then he pulled back out and shut the door. He didn’t even smirk. Impressive.
I refocused on Barry. “Cut to the chase. If it’s not illegal to use marijuana here, then you’re not in trouble for it. What’s the catch?”
He turned to Mom, his tone and expression channeling a wounded dog. “A couple of months ago, right after Sid died, Opal threatened to tell you I was one of her customers if I didn’t agree to sell the shop to her.” He shrugged pathetically. “I wrote her and told her that I wouldn’t be threatened or blackmailed, that there was even less chance I’d sell the property to her now, and I would be taking my business elsewhere.”
Mom looked at him expectantly, like there was more to come. But I saw where this was going. “You wrote Opal a note? You actually put it in writing?”
He nodded.
It took substantial effort not to roll my eyes. “So the police have a note from you to Opal, one which announces she was attempting to blackmail you and that you weren’t having it. It also confirms you were at least partially involved in her illegal business.” One part of this didn’t make sense, though I was learning things about Barry that I hadn’t expected, so who knew? “So you were aware she was using the kitchen in Heads and Tails? It makes you a part of it. At least I’m assuming she was making her edibles there. Did you know about the marijuana plants growing in the basement?”
The disgust that crossed his face left no doubt about his sincerity. “No, I most definitely did not. I have no idea how she’s had access to the store. I assumed she was making edibles in her bakery with the rest of the candy. And I’d forgotten the store even had a basement. Though if I recall it right, it was nothing more than a cra
wlspace, not actually a basement.”
Thank goodness for that, at least. Though I wasn’t sure if his awareness could be proven one way or another. Even if they couldn’t get Barry on murder charges, his property was being used as a grow house and distribution center. “Is there any other connection you can think of that would tie you to Opal? Anything at all?”
He considered for a few seconds and then shook his head. “No. I really don’t think so.”
I believed him.
Barry turned to Mom. “Phyllis, I’m so, so sorry. I swear it’s the only secret I’ve been keeping from you. You know I’m nothing more than an old mountain hippie. Some habits are hard to break.” Tears rimmed his eyes once more. “Even for the love of your life.”
Tears slid down Mom’s cheeks, but she straightened and squared her jaw. “This is a discussion for another time. We’ll figure it out.” She sniffed. “Are you going to be okay here tonight?”
“I’m not worried about that. I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Barry glanced over at me. “Will you and Watson stay with your mom tonight? I don’t want her to be alone.”
“Of course we will.”
As if he’d been listening in, another knock sounded on the door and Branson stepped inside. “I’m sorry, but I really do need to end this now.”
“Thank you. We’re done here.” I smiled at him, genuinely grateful for this small gift. And if I put myself in his shoes, or put my father in his shoes, I didn’t blame Branson for what he was doing. “We’ll call in the morning to see when we can pick him up.”
He hesitated. “Well, that will depend on what we might find—”
“You won’t find anything else.” I intentionally hardened my gaze at him. “And as far as a murderer, you’re wasting your time. Eating a magic brownie before bed and killing someone with a rolling pin are very different things. And again, anyone who’s met Barry for more than a minute, knows that the second one would never be possible.”
Surprisingly, he allowed me to have the last word and nodded as he stepped aside, holding the door open for us.
I stood, then leaned down to kiss Barry on the cheek. “See you tomorrow.” I waited for Barry and Mom to say their goodbyes, then took her hand, and led her out of the police station, intentionally not looking back over my shoulder at Branson.
Just as we walked outside, Gerald rushed toward us. For such a short, round man, he was able to move pretty quickly. I opted to let Mom speak to him while I warmed up the car, otherwise, there might be another murder on our hands.
When we finally pulled out of the police parking lot, Mom finally broke once more, tears streaming, and her frail hands trembling. “I know it’s stupid to say, but I wish your father was here. He’d know what to do. You and I both know that if they can find an easy target to pin this on, they will. You don’t get much more of an easy target than Barry.”
She was right about that. About everything. I took one of my hands off the steering wheel, and clasped hers once again. “I’m not going to let that happen. I promise.”
When Watson and I had driven into town that first evening, I’d taken a wrong turn and entered Estes Park a different way than the usual route. Normally we drove up the Big Thompson Canyon, all the while marveling at the massive stone walls that left a person feeling rather insignificant. Instead we’d entered off Highway Seven, which twisted and turned through the forested mountains and then suddenly opened to such a spectacular view I had to pull the car over and get out.
From high above, safely nestled in the valley of several different mountains was Estes Park. I could see the entire little village. The highway continued down, cut through a huge lake, and then into the heart of Estes Park, the quaint little shops and restaurants the center of it all. Houses and neighborhoods spread out from there to the base of the surrounding mountains. The sky had acted as a huge dome, silvery clouds offering a thick blanket of protection over the town. Snow had been softly falling, and the rays of the dying sun cut through here and there, causing bright patches on the earth below. It looked like Watson and I were entering a magical little world contained in a snow globe. It had been such a good omen to the start of my new life. Of the hope I was pinning on this little town and on the Cozy Corgi.
Now as I stood on the sidewalk looking down the rows of shops, wondering where in the world to begin, I could almost picture myself standing on that outcropping of rock once more. Had it really only been two days ago? Things inside the snow globe weren’t exactly how I’d envisioned. Far from it. I’d left behind my life in Kansas City after multiple betrayals. I never would have dreamed I was trading betrayal for murder.
Even with murder and some of the stores closed for the winter season, I couldn’t deny the town’s charm. It was a storybook. The countless shops that filled several blocks of Elkhorn Avenue were a mix of styles, from mountain chalet to log cabin facade and retro fifties and sixties structures. Maybe retro wasn’t the right term, since these hadn’t been designed to resemble that time period. They’d simply endured over the past six decades. Vintage… that was better than retro any day.
I’d hoped to wake up to find that Mom and I could go down to the station and pick up Barry. No such luck. They were only halfway into their twenty-four-hour cutoff mark, and for some reason, they were going to use Barry as an example. Probably not a fair thought. Branson didn’t seem the type for unnecessary power plays. But what did I know? Although, he had me thinking of him as Branson instead of Sergeant Wexler. That in and of itself was a troubling development.
Mom had opened her collection of wires, strings, beads, and healing crystals. I knew she could get lost in her jewelry making for hours. I couldn’t sit still. Nor did I have any desire to get my cabin arranged. My brain might’ve grown comfortable enough to be on a first-name basis with Branson, but it didn’t mean I trusted him to keep from pinning all of this on Barry if he could. I wouldn’t sit by and watch that happen.
True, maybe I didn’t know what I was doing, but I wasn’t entirely clueless either. My father had been a detective, my ex-husband a police officer, and my best friend and I had built a multimillion-dollar publishing house solely focused on mystery novels. I could do this.
I pushed aside the tiny voice that whispered I hadn’t seen the signs of my husband’s affair nor had I realized all those years later that my best friend was getting ready to shove me out of our business. I couldn’t dwell on those things, or I wouldn’t have a chance of being a lick of help to Barry.
At the end of the day, it didn’t matter if I knew how to do this or even if I could do it. I simply had to.
But where to start? I wasn’t sure why, but I felt like the answer was somewhere in one of the shops. Maybe simply because downtown was where Opal had been murdered, but anyway, it seemed as good a place as any. That didn’t narrow it down too much. Which shop screamed, “We sell clues about murder”? The shop with knitting supplies, the taffy pulling store, the bread bakery, the T-shirt seller, the magic shop that sat right behind the large wooden waterwheel? I discarded the last notion quickly. At least not yet. Officer Green’s brother. I couldn’t handle any more hostility, at least not so early in the morning. I stared at the waterwheel, though. The river that cut through town was frozen, so the wheel wasn’t turning. I knew the feeling. My wheels weren’t turning either.
I glanced down at Watson. “I need you to take over, buddy. I’m making emotional connections with the waterwheel. I can’t be trusted.” I gestured with his leash down the street. “Lead on.”
Watson twitched his ears, sniffed the air, then headed out. I was relieved when he passed the magic shop. It would’ve been just my luck for it to be his first choice. We passed store after store, not pausing at the Native American jewelry shop, the toy store, or scrapbook supply. To my surprise, Watson only wedged his nose under the doorframe of the delicatessen and gave a great sniff before moving on. The same was true with the cheese shop.
Though the sky was bright, it was cloudy, and th
e day was cold. It lacked the biting humidity that made the winter in Missouri so much worse, but I still pulled my jacket a little tighter around me. “It doesn’t have to be the perfect place, Watson. We just have to start somewhere. Somewhere warm.”
He didn’t bother looking back and kept right on trotting down the sidewalk. A couple of tourists paused and started to reach out to pet him, but Watson angled away and avoided their outstretched fingers.
I gave an apologetic smile. “Sorry, he’s grumpy before coffee in the morning.”
They laughed good-naturedly, then ducked into a dress shop.
Coffee! No wonder my brain was foggy. I’d been so antsy to get going I hadn’t even taken the time to make a pot. There was a coffee shop a little farther down. We’d stop there.
We were three shops away from caffeine salvation when Watson paused, lifted his nose in the air, then backtracked a few paces and stood in front of a door. I glanced up at the sign, Cabin and Hearth.
“Here? Really?” I pointed the way we’d been headed. “We almost made it to coffee.”
Watson blinked.
So be it, I was the moron who told my dog to lead the way. The least I could do was actually listen to him when he played his part. “Fine. Have it your way.” I pulled open the door, allowing Watson to walk in, and then I followed. The scent of spiced cider wafted over me, instantly making me feel warmer.
A quick glance around threw me off for a second. I’d stepped inside of someone’s home. Someone’s expensive home. The sensation passed quickly, as the layout wasn’t quite right. A large canopy bed made of massive logs sat next to a driftwood bench upholstered in fawn-colored leather. Lamps made of artfully aged metal had cutouts of elk and wolves and glowed amber through their stained glass shades.
There was a commotion somewhere in the back, and a short round woman with cotton-candy, white hair and wearing a gingham dress popped out from behind a display of river rocks that been painted to look like cats. “Hi there, dear! I thought I heard someone come in.” Her eyes widened as she took in my height and then warmed at the sight of Watson. “Well, aren’t you just the cutest little thing?” She sank to her knees and held out both hands toward Watson. He barely hesitated before accepting her affection.
Cruel Candy (Cozy Corgi Mysteries Book 1) Page 6