by Ami Diane
A few feet away, Kay popped up from under the cash register with a wad of napkins. She began to stuff them into a holder when the man with the schematics and blue-green eyes walked up to the counter.
Will slipped a fedora over his chocolate-colored, patent leather hair. “That was great food, but don’t tell Grandma Wink I said that. I’m afraid to ask, but what did those pancakes cost me?”
Kay set the napkin holder aside. “The soda fountain’s on the fritz. Wink’ll want you to fix it.”
He whistled. “That’s a steep price for one breakfast.”
Kay batted her long lashes. “Please, Will. It’ll take you two seconds to figure out what’s wrong.”
Ella tried not to stare. The way Kay looked at Will, how she leaned close when he was near, if those two were still exes by the end of the week, then her name wasn't Ella Barton.
Will chuckled. “Come on, don't give me that look. You know I can’t say no to a friend.”
Kay leaned back, her face falling a moment before she recovered. Will didn’t seem to notice, but Ella, having been in that position before, recognized the expression.
The man shifted on his feet, leaned over the counter, and dropped his voice. “Listen, I heard something, and before you get all angry at me, just know I ask because I care.”
Kay crossed her arms. “Okaay…”
Out of the corner of Ella’s eye, she saw Will’s head turn in her direction then to the other patron. His voice dropped to a gravelly, unintelligible whisper. Soon, their conversation became heated, sounding like steam releasing from a pressure cooker. Maybe they were more like normal exes than Ella had thought.
Despite the two’s attempt at keeping their discussion private, snippets of their argument floated over the sizzle of the fryer coming from the kitchen. Ella swam a fry through a pool of ketchup and hummed to herself to try to give them some privacy. When the phrases “not safe” and “too dangerous” were used in close proximity to each other, Ella stopped humming and strained to listen.
Kay was in the middle of whisper-yelling when she stopped abruptly and gasped. Then she shrieked. She stumbled back into a pie stand, sending the covered desserts flying. Crust and glass shattered across the floor.
The waitress’s arms flailed through the air like she fought off an invisible attacker as she screamed, “No! Stop! Get away from me!”
Will vaulted over the counter. “Kay! What’s wrong?!”
Ella jumped up and rushed over. Kayline’s arms stopped flailing, and her hands gripped her stomach. Then, she vomited.
“Kay!” Will sidestepped the mess and grabbed the waitress as her body went limp. “Kayline!”
Ella watched the scene in horror.
“Help!” Will shrieked, bringing her out of her shock.
Ella scrambled over the broken glass and smeared pies as they crunched beneath her snow boots. The cook burst through the kitchen door.
“Call 911!” Ella yelled at him and dropped beside Kay.
First aid training from years before kicked in, and she instructed Will to turn the waitress’s head so she wouldn’t aspirate on the contents spilling out of her mouth.
Will sat on the floor, Kay’s head turned in his lap, as he kept calling her name like a song stuck on repeat.
Ella couldn’t feel Kay’s breath, so her fingers groped the waitress’s neck, searching for a pulse while her own raced.
“Kay, please be okay,” Will pleaded.
Ella couldn’t feel a heartbeat beneath her fingertips, not even faint or arrhythmic like the waitress’s heels. Nothing.
The words left Ella’s lips long before she realized it was she who had spoken them. “She’s dead.”
CHAPTER 4
“AND SHE JUST—fell over? Dead?”
“More like collapsed.” Mounting frustration crept into Ella’s voice.
She was seated in a booth in Grandma’s Kitchen, feeling dazed. The tall man questioning her had introduced himself as Sheriff Chapman but looked and dressed an awful lot like Wyatt Earp.
“And again. It wasn’t just. She waved her arms around, yelling, ‘Get away from me!’”
The sheriff’s derby hat brushed the ceiling, forcing him to duck as he swept the hat off his head with one hand. With the other, he stroked a long, handle-bar mustache, and his eyes narrowed on her. “Did Will put his hands on her?”
“What? No.” Ella sucked in a sweeping breath between her teeth. This was her third time recounting the details of the afternoon for the man. She just wanted to go back to her room at the inn. “It was as if she wasn’t all there mentally. Like she was hallucinating.”
His clear blue eyes watched her from under the brim of his hat for the span of several breaths, making her feel like a specimen under a microscope. “You said she’d been arguing with Will?” his voice drawled, slow but precise.
“I’m sure it was nothing. I wouldn’t even call it an argument—”
“And yet, that’s what you’d called it.” His leathered hand went to his mustache again. “Where you from?”
“Salem.”
“Salem…?”
The question threw her, and she blinked at him for a moment before responding slowly, “Salem, Oregon… the capital… of the state…”
“Hm. Wait here, Miss Barton.”
Ella frowned, watching him saunter over to the cook—a short man with thick eyebrows that nearly met. The sheriff’s cowboy boots clicked over the linoleum floor and stopped. The cook’s hands worried his grease-stained apron, and he stared at the sheriff expectantly.
“Horatio…” Sheriff Chapman addressed him before lowering his voice.
At the far end of the railcar diner, Will sat alone in the corner booth. His fedora rested on the table, forgotten, and his head drooped into his hands, his chocolate locks spilling between his fingers.
Ella’s heart went out to him. Some people wanted to be alone in times of crises, and others needed to know they weren’t alone. Unsure of which type he was, she shuffled over and sank onto the seat across from him.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said softly.
Will lifted his head, his features fraught with emotion. His eyes were pools of blue and green that caught the aging afternoon, but at that moment, they also held pain.
“Thank you.” He dropped his head back into his hands.
When she realized she was staring, she tore her gaze to the white landscape outside the window. A cold crept through the single-pane glass, causing her to snuggle deeper into her sweatshirt.
Outside, a round woman with a coat a couple of sizes too large crossed the street. A bag was hefted over one shoulder, causing her to walk lopsided under its weight. She swung the door to the diner in with a bang, and the bell rattled instead of jingling merrily as she stumbled inside. Snow dropped from her jacket and boots onto the mat, reminding Ella of a dripping ice cream cone.
Sheriff Chapman nodded in greeting to the newcomer. “Over there, Pauline.” His long arm extended towards Kayline’s body. Pauline puffed out heavy breaths and lumbered over.
“Coroner?” Ella asked Will in a low voice.
Across from her, Will’s head rolled back and forth in his hands in a gesture resembling a nod—well, maybe if she was drunk and squinting, it could be perceived as a nod.
“Town coroner. Doctor. Medic. She’s all of them.”
Ella was both impressed and thankful that she didn’t grow up in a small town. “Huh. A woman of many hats.”
“She is not wearing a hat.”
“What? No, I meant—never mind.”
Across Grandma’s Kitchen, Pauline the coroner-doctor-medic plopped her bag down and opened her enormous jacket, revealing dozens of bulging pockets inside and a far less rotund figure underneath.
Soft curses floated from the coroner’s mouth and over the heavy air.
Chapman’s head turned. “Need help, Pauline?”
“No, no. Just can’t find—” Her hand plunged into a different p
ocket, and she let out a noise of triumph as she pulled out a pair of gloves. “There they are.”
Tugging them on, she bent out of sight—the lunch counter mercifully blocking Kay’s body.
A few minutes later, Sheriff Chapman told the cook he could leave. Ella watched with envy as Horatio trudged out into the cold, wondering when it would be her turn. She didn’t know why the sheriff was keeping her there.
Her mind kept replaying Kay’s screams and the way the waitress had stumbled into the pie case. It hurt Ella to think that another human being’s final moments had been gripped in such horror. That poor woman.
All Ella wanted to do was get into her car and drive home and try to erase that afternoon from her mind. As charming as Keystone Village had seemed a few hours ago, witnessing the death of a person tarnished that image considerably.
The coroner moved to the other side of Kay and let out a loud sigh, shaking her head. “Someone tell Mayor Bradford, yet?”
“Not yet.” The hard lines in Sheriff Chapman’s expression deepened. “Not ‘till I have more to tell him.” He strolled over and hovered above Pauline, recounting a shortened version of what had happened. When he’d finished, he asked, “So, what do you think?”
“About what?”
“The body, Pauline.”
“Oh, right. Too soon to say. My first notion is an allergic reaction. See the rash here?”
The sheriff craned his neck to where the coroner indicated. Ella couldn’t see clearly but assumed Pauline was showing him Kay’s arms.
“That’s from poison oak,” Ella called out. Both sets of eyes turned to her and blinked. “Uh, she told me she had it.”
“Interesting.” Chapman’s expression said it was anything but interesting. “You failed to mention that before, Miss Barton.”
Ella lifted her tired shoulders in a shrug. “Forgot.”
He continued to stare, long after Pauline returned her attention to the body. He seemed to be sizing her up, scrutinizing her. Finally, he looked away, but his expression didn’t say if she’d been found wanting.
“If this rash is, in fact, caused by poison oak,” Pauline said, “I’m not sure what we’re dealing with. I’m not seeing any swelling. And it was too quick to be a virus. With such a sudden onset of symptoms, along with the delirium…” She shook her head. “Won’t know more until I can do some blood work. She allergic to anything?”
The sheriff straightened and peered across the diner. “Was Kay allergic to anything, Will?”
Slowly, Will’s head rose, and he stared at the sheriff with a blank expression. “Nickel. She couldn’t wear the necklace I gave her for our anniversary.” He kept his head up, but his eyes dropped to the Formica tabletop and its pocked surface.
Pauline worked her way around to Kay’s feet, and her lips pressed into a thin line.
“What is it?” Sheriff Chapman asked.
“Some sticky stuff on her soles. Looks like tree sap.” The woman brought her thick shoulders up in a shrug before continuing on to the other side.
The sheriff lowered to a squat beside the coroner—no easy feat given his height and age—then popped back up a moment later, holding a small, metallic object in his hands. “What’s this?”
Ella glanced between the device and Will. The color drained from his face.
“Nothing.”
“Don’t look like nothing to me, Will.” The sheriff pointed to a section on the object. “This gold, here?”
A crevice formed between Will’s eyebrows. “Just a coil of it. It’s the best conductive wiring I could find. I ran out of copper. “
“Is it just a coating?”
“Yes,” Will said, drawing out the word. His skin now took on a greenish hue.
“What’s the material underneath?”
Will’s face morphed into one of horror, his eyes wild. “N-n-nickel. But her skin couldn’t have had contact with it.”
The sheriff cradled the device in one hand and grabbed his derby hat from off of the lunch counter. “Alright. Come along. Both of you.”
Ella tensed and exchanged a glance with Will. “Where?”
“To the office to talk some more.”
She relaxed some. An office didn’t sound so bad. Then, she noticed they way Will’s hands clenched and the fear in his eyes.
“But we didn’t do anything,” he said.
“That’s what I gotta find out. Stand up.” The sheriff’s face was all hard lines and granite again, leaving no room for discussion.
Ella slid out of the booth, trembling slightly. He was just going to question them further. No need to panic just yet.
The trauma of that afternoon had dulled her mind. As she tugged her jacket over her sweatshirt and slipped on her gloves, it finally hit her.
Unless Kayline had been struck by a sudden brain aneurysm that caused paranoia and delusions, her death wasn’t an accident. And the fact that Sheriff Chapman wanted to question them further meant he suspected that too.
A cold dread swept over Ella. Was this really happening? Was she really a suspect for the murder of someone she’d just met and tried to save?
She sucked in a breath and reassured herself that the sheriff was just doing his job. He’d simply ask her a few questions then release her when he realized she wasn’t involved.
After tucking Will’s device into his jacket, Sheriff Chapman grabbed each of their elbows in a firm grip and escorted them onto the street. A late afternoon sun shone over the glittering snow like a dying ember trying to warm the air. Ella could feel the cold seeping through her jacket, chilling her bones and creeping into her heart.
CHAPTER 5
THE JAIL DOOR slammed shut on Ella’s cell.
“Seriously?!” She gripped the cold metal bars. “You said we were just going to talk some more! You can’t lock me up!”
Sheriff Chapman stuck his thumbs in his belt loops. “And this is how I can question you further without fear of you running away. Until Pauline tells me Kayline’s death was from natural causes, you’re both suspects.”
“With what evidence?!” Ella sputtered. “You can’t do this! It’s illegal!”
She wasn’t actually sure it was, but it seemed like the right thing to say. Wasn’t there something about being held for up to twenty-four hours then he’d have to either charge her or let her go? She wished she had paid more attention while watching Law and Order.
“Is it?” Chapman tipped his head slightly and stroked his mustache like a cartoon villain, only she didn’t think he was doing it ironically. “Huh. Well, here in Keystone Village, we do things a little differently.”
“Different than the law?” Ella glared at him. The sheriff ignored the question and sauntered over to his desk. She shook the bars and let out a frustrated growl. “This is one crazy, messed up town.”
When her breathing had evened and she was confident fire wouldn’t come out of her mouth, she took in her surroundings. The six-by-six jail cell was one of two in the small, brick building that housed the sheriff’s office. The bars were marred, rusted in places, and the red bricks chipped and faded. The place looked like it was part of a museum exhibit for the American frontier.
In the corner, a cast iron stove crackled with a fire that made the office toasty and gave off a whiff of smoke reminiscent of a campfire. If she’d been on the other side of the metal bars, she would’ve found it comforting.
Just thinking about being on the inside of the cell, got her worked up again. “Why is there even a sheriff’s office in town, anyway?” she hollered over at Chapman despite the fact that he was within spitting distance. “Where’s the local police station? Can I talk with one of their officers instead?”
He slipped his hat off and dropped it on his desk. When he spoke, his voice was harsh, like sandpaper over gravel. “I told you, Miss Barton, we do things differently here.”
“I noticed.” That earned a glare from the stony man.
Satisfied she’d gotten some kind of reacti
on out of him, Ella plopped onto the lone cot in the cell. It smelled of sweat, tobacco, and vomit.
She coughed and turned her nose up. When that didn’t work, she lifted her sweatshirt over her nostrils.
Will sat on his cot in his own cell, facing her. He noticed her breathing into her clothing, and his mouth twitched. Some of the heaviness in his features lifted.
“Whatever you’re smelling, I assure you, mine’s worse.”
She doubted it. She was pretty sure she was going to have to burn her clothes. But he had just lost a friend, so she let him win and gave him a thumbs up.
Taking a deep breath, she pulled the sweatshirt respirator down and said to Chapman, “You know, a coat of paint would do wonders for the aesthetics in here.”
“And some curtains,” Will added.
“Oh, curtains. Good idea. And maybe, just thinking out loud here, a couple of new cots. You know, ones less fragrant—not that I mind Eu de Pew.” She smiled at her own joke and looked at Will. “Get it?”
His eyebrows said he didn’t.
He looked over at the sheriff. “I can taste it. Do you get it? I can taste this smell. It tastes like…” He snapped his fingers, searching for the words.
“Tastes like a night gone wrong in Vegas,” Ella helped.
“Enough,” Chapman growled. His mustache bristled, and he glared at both of them.
Good. Maybe she couldn’t do anything at the moment about being stuck behind bars, but she could do her best to make him miserable and regret putting her there.
The idea that someone suspected her of harming another human being burned a fire in her gut, further fueled by the sheriff’s handling of the situation.
“So, about those questions…?”
Chapman leaned back in his chair and remained silent.
Ella’s head dropped back against the bars. “There weren’t any more questions, were there?”
“Nope. Just waiting till I get some answers from our coroner.”
Ella’s shoulders drooped. Kay’s death was strange, sure, but that didn’t mean someone had killed her. Did it? Ella replayed the events leading up to Kayline’s death. The more she thought about it, the more she agreed that an allergic reaction didn’t fit the symptoms.