by Ami Diane
Yet, she didn’t. Perhaps because she was surrounded by friends, she felt secure. Or maybe because she knew Flo was nearby and that her cache of armaments was somewhere in the mansion.
Ella hoped to make it to the general store before Annie Oakley, a.k.a. Flo, was ready for them to test possible murder weapons, but first, Jimmy needed her help relocating potted plants in the conservatory. While they worked, Rose volunteered to go to the sheriff’s office to inform Chapman about the intruder.
When Jimmy opened the library door, a blur of brown fur and a bushy tail darted inside. Reaching down, Ella hefted the heavy cat into her arms and carried Fluffy to the glass french doors leading into the conservatory.
Jimmy eyed the feline, their antagonistic relationship well known. “He usually chews on the plants.”
“I’ll keep on eye on him.” She kissed the top of Fluffy’s head, and he purred loudly while simultaneously, his large luminous eyes glared at the innkeeper. “He’ll behave while I’m around.”
Jimmy rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything as he opened the doors. A draft of cold air caressed Ella’s skin, and she hugged Fluffy tighter to her chest.
“We need to try to move what pots we can away from the glass walls where it’s too cold. It’s hard to keep the stove going constantly. I’m afraid we’ll run out of wood soon.”
“Have you thought about leaving the doors open into the house?”
“Tried it, but then it bleeds warmth from the rest of the house, and the furnace has to work overtime to keep up.”
Ella eyed the single-paned glass panels. No wonder the frigid outdoor temperature leached so much heat from this section of the manor.
After setting the Maine Coon down, Ella began dragging pots across the tiled floor. Fluffy followed her around at first, a little perturbed he no longer had her attention, but soon grew more interested in batting at vine of wisteria. She kept a close watch on him out of the corner of her eye to be sure he didn’t chew on the plant.
An hour later, her forehead dripped with sweat in spite of the chilly room.
“That should do it.” Jimmy mopped his face with a handkerchief. He bent over the potbelly stove set against the interior wall. “Gotta clean the flue before I build another fire.”
“Want help?”
He insisted that he didn’t and that she should get on with her day.
Outside, the first snowflakes of the day began to fall. Her thoughts instantly turned to the ground outside. Whatever clues the intruder had left behind were out there and would disappear fast.
She asked to borrow his snowshoes then raced to change into her snow gear. In record time, she was at the back door, panting and pulling on her mittens. Jimmy’s snowshoes were outside on the terrace, leaning up against the house, where Will had left them.
Hopping on one foot, she stamped a stubborn heel into her boot and hobbled out the door as the flakes grew thicker. She hurriedly strapped her boots into the snowshoes and clomped across the terrace.
Her experience with the recreational footwear was relegated to what she’d seen in movies, resulting in many near falls as she hiked over several feet of snow. With each shuddering step, her confidence grew until she clipped along at a decent pace. She was certain she looked like a drunk Yeti to the outside observer, but progress was progress.
As she’d seen from the relative warmth inside, there were no footprints out back. Slowly, she edged around the perimeter of the mansion. As she passed the conservatory, she waved at Jimmy before gluing her eyes to the smooth surface around her, searching for any sign of footprints.
Several yards later, the conservatory’s glass wall ended in an abrupt “L” where it joined the house, and she found the third entrance. Bending close to the ground, she inspected the area around the small stoop but found nothing except virgin snow.
Disappointed, she finished her trek around the grounds, ending her loop all the way back at the terrace behind the house. She trudged over to the hole in the snow where the back door was and down the makeshift snow-steps but didn’t go inside. Her chest deflated as she sank onto a snowy step.
Nothing. No extra bootprints unaccounted for. It didn’t make sense.
Unless…
Ella’s hand hovered over the snowshoe. Unless the vandal was already inside the inn.
But that was a short suspect list and every one of them a friend. She immediately dismissed Rose. Her reaction was genuine, and the woman would sooner endure torture than have her kitchen demolished in such a way.
Jimmy was a harder read. Even if there was some motive that might explain him vandalizing his own kitchen, she couldn’t fathom him doing that to Rose in a million years.
That left the two boarders.
Ella tipped her head back and forth, considering both Flo and Edwin, searching for a possible motive for either. Neither had inquired about the cause of the mess that morning.
Although she wanted to outright dismiss them, she couldn’t. She could easily see Flo doing such a thing, but for the right reasons—what those were, Ella didn’t know. In Flo’s mind, the right reason might simply be that she was sick of Rose’s cooking.
However, that wouldn’t explain the sabotaged pies the day before. The pies were for a good cause. As ornery as she seemed, Flo wasn’t selfish. And, despite their sibling-like relationship, Flo would never harm Wink.
That left Edwin. But what motive could he possibly have? He’d even helped make a pie. Why do that only to ruin it the next day?
A breath hissed out between her teeth and turned into steam in the winter air. Regardless of motive, if she took in evidence alone, she was looking at someone with a size thirteen shoe who had access to both the inn and the diner.
CHAPTER 16
THERE WAS NO point going inside the inn when she was already geared up and armed with her wallet. She trekked around the front again, bending into snow flurries, and trudged up Main Street.
Her thoughts swirled like the driving snow piling around her. The simple fact was, she couldn’t think of a single reason to destroy pies meant for charity.
She approached it from a different angle. What did she know about the intruder at the diner other than their shoe size? She’d had a fleeting glimpse of a dark jacket. Also, the person had been quick—which ruled out either Flo or Edwin.
A weight lifted from Ella’s chest with this realization, and her footsteps quickened. Perhaps the vandal didn’t live at the inn but was simply skilled at hiding their tracks.
She found herself in front of the old building covered in red brick and broken mortar where she’d run into Leif while chasing the vandal. It certainly looked like it had withstood a windstorm, along with dozens of more storms, an earthquake, sun-beating years, and an apocalypse for good measure.
She mentally crossed her fingers and tried the door. It budged and creaked open. Warmth enveloped her. Inside, soft Christmas music played in the background on something that crackled every so often.
After slipping off her gloves, she unhooked the snowshoes and did her best to stomp the snow off her boots. She stepped deeper into the store, feeling like she was entering a time capsule. The saloon-turned-general store was littered with random knickknacks and relics of a bygone era.
The aisle ended in a wagon wheel leaning against an old computer monitor and a Commodore 64—one of the earlier home computer models released in the early 80s.
The deeper she plunged ahead, the more it appeared there’d been little attempt at organization. Albums fraternized with broken television sets, vases, and kitchen utensils.
The only island of order amongst the sea of chaos came by way of a collection of weapons, but she suspected that had more to do with keeping the cache out of the reach of young, curious fingers. A small cannonball rested on the floor below a handful of bayonets, two samurai swords, and several bows and arrows.
She had no doubt Flo knew every last piece on the shelf. Heck, it wouldn’t surprise her if half of it came second-hand
from the crazy woman herself.
Near the back, she finally located the jewelry case. Her fingers pressed against the glass as she scanned the glittering contents for charms.
“Need help with anything?”
Ella jumped and bit back a strangled scream. “Crap on a stick. Why is everyone in this town so sneaky? Are you all retired spies or something?” She stopped and gave the boy a double take. “Actually, that would explain a few things.” Mostly Flo.
The boy grinned and slipped behind the glass case, his ruddy, broken skin suggesting he was still in the throes of his teen years.
“Do you have any charms?”
“Sure do.” He led her further down the counter. Opening the back of the case, he pulled out a small box filled with gold and silver colored charms.
Ella lay her mittens aside and prodded the pieces with her finger, picking one up on occasion and holding it up to the bare bulbs overhead.
“Nice break in the weather, huh?”
Ella glanced through the dusty window, nodded, then returned to inspecting the heart-shaped charm.
“Sal says another storm’s coming in. A real big one.”
“I heard. Let’s hope the barber is better at cutting hair than predicting the weather. Although, it’ll be nice having a white Christmas.”
“True. Last year was disappointing.”
She glanced up from the box with interest. “I wasn’t here last year.”
“Oh. Well, the town was in some desert or something. Pyramids and everything.”
Her eyebrows arched. “That’s cool.”
“Cool? No, it was hot.”
Ella laughed. “No, I meant—never mind.” She held up two charms: a rolling pin and a Christmas tree, both signifying her first holiday with the innkeeper. “How much for these?” They seemed like they were more than just plated.
His shoulder lifted in a half-shrug. “Ten dollars. We also accept goods or services.”
“Ten dollars?” Her mouth stayed open as she mentally calculated her scant earnings at the diner. She was still used to the inflation of her era, the disappointing shock of her first paycheck from Grandma’s Kitchen had smarted. “What sort of trade did you have in mind? Bulbs? Batteries? Labor?”
“Hmm, well, we ain’t looking for extra help around here….”
Just then, a man emerged from behind a Greek statue, appearing like he’d stepped straight from a Civil War photograph of a Union Army officer. He wore a deep blue coat with brass fittings and insignia on his shoulders atop trousers the color of a summer sky.
She took in the fascinating General Custer getup, wondering if the man was struggling to acclimate to the village life, couldn’t find clothes that fit, or was really attached to the uniform.
“How much you want for this bayonet, boy?”
“Be right there, Colonel,” the kid called. He looked at Ella expectantly, and she waved him away.
“I’ll just pay the cash. Go help him. It’ll take me a moment to dig it out.”
She dug into the folds of her sweatshirt without having to strip off any layers while he went to help the colonel. What should have been a few gymnastics maneuvers turned into a pretzel move that rivaled the most experienced yogi, resulting in her right arm caught in the left sleeve of her sweatshirt.
A voice beside her as deep and rough as a busted carburetor said, “Didn’t take you for the exhibitionistic type, darlin’.”
Ella twisted around to find Six Shooter leering at her. “Oh hey. You mind helping?” His eyes glinted, and she felt obligated to add, “Help pull my arm out, that is. Get your mind out of the gutter.”
It came as no surprise that he appeared confused by the turn of phrase, but he obliged all the same. When she was properly freed from her cloth straitjacket, she held several dollar bills in hand, her face lifted in triumph.
“Worth it,” she muttered.
“Surprised to see you in here.” The outlaw’s spurs jangled as he leaned his tall frame against the glass case, his faded gray Stetson hat bent low, hiding his eyes in shadows. “Woulda thought it wasn’t fancy enough for your taste.”
She looked down at her sweatshirt and second-hand snow pants. “Yep, that’s me. Classy and sassy.”
After stacking the rest of the money on the case, she waited for the boy to see if she needed a receipt or something.
She could feel Six’s eyes on her, and she slid her gaze to meet his. “What?”
His sharp, brooding features twisted into a smirk. “Nothin’.”
A knot formed in her stomach, wondering if that look meant what she suspected it meant. Sure, they were friends now—or on their way to it—but she hoped she wasn’t sending him mixed signals.
He pulled out a pocket knife, flipped it open, and dug at a hangnail.
“That’s gross.”
His lips twitched as he turned the blade towards the glass and started marking it. Ella’s hand shot out and grabbed his hand, yanking it away.
“Six!” she hissed, her eyes darting around for the store clerk, who, thankfully, was still preoccupied with the colonel.
“What? Just wanted to commemorate this occasion.”
“The occasion of meeting in a general store?” She began to miss the old Six, the one who’d either ignored her or tried to kill her.
He shrugged, his dark eyes dancing under the brim of his hat. The random act of vandalism wasn’t surprising coming from the outlaw, but it did get the wheels turning in her head.
“Hey, where were you last night?”
“Depends on when.”
“I don’t know. After eleven and before seven this morning.”
He tipped his head up to the ceiling in thought. “Let’s see… I was gettin’ snow off my roof till midnight. Then, I went to Silas’s barn and let his horses out. After that, I left a present for ol’ Chapman on his doorstep.” He winked.
“Good Lord, don’t you sleep?” She shook her head. “Did you at any time go to the inn?”
“Nope. Got no reason to. Unless you want me to stop by in the middle of the night?”
“What—no. God, no. Never.” She stopped. “Probably said that a little too emphatically, huh?”
He scratched at the stubble covering his jaw before digging into his vest and pulling out a rolled cigarette. He was a hard read, and she couldn’t tell if she’d offended him or not.
“What about Erik?” she asked, changing the subject.
“What ‘bout him?” He lit the end and puffed.
She batted her hand through the air, trying to clear the smoke away from her face. “Should you be doing that in here?” She coughed then remembered that it wasn’t until recent years that one couldn’t light up a cancer stick anywhere. “Anyway, did you know Erik?”
“Not personally.”
“Never talked to him?”
“Kinda hard to when you don’t understand a word he says.”
“Right.”
Ella teetered on her feet in awkward silence. The colonel was now fixing the bayonet on a weapon, and the clerk was arguing with him to do it outside.
She smacked her lips together and drummed her fingers on the jewelry case. “So, not even like a monosyllable conversation? Like grunts between two, shall we say, less than sociable people? You didn’t go hunting together or anything?”
He blew a thick cloud of smoke in her face, and she coughed again. “No.”
The store clerk appeared and rescued her from any more stilted conversation. His eyes darted to the outlaw before he counted out her change and wrote out a receipt. As he handed over the yellow paper, his eyes flitted to Six again, the boy’s face tense. Something told Ella he didn’t want Six there but was too scared to say so.
She tugged on the cowboy’s sleeve. “Walk me out.”
“I think you’ve mistaken me for a gentleman.”
“Trust me, I haven’t. But walk me out, anyway.”
She thanked the boy and dragged Six towards the door. After a few steps, s
he stopped beside the old computer and pointed at the large, boxy monitor.
“Hey, how much for these?”
The clerk’s face scrunched up. “That old TV? It don’t work. Been sitting there for five years.”
“It’s not a TV. It’s a computer monitor. How did you get it, anyhow?”
“I wasn’t working here then, but my boss told me one of the stranded families living on the west side left when we flashed back to their time. They just up and left, ran outta here. Left all their stuff. That there”—he nodded at the computer—“is the last of their belongings. The rest’s been sold off. No one knows what to do with the busted thing.”
The mint condition Commodore 64 was just like the one she played on when she was young. The lower end model had cost around six hundred dollars at the time, something her parents had scrimped and saved for. But she wasn’t curious about it for the nostalgia.
Knowing its true worth, she made an offer that made his eyes pop open.
“What you want an ol’ piece of junk like that for? We got some TVs over there that work.”
“But I want this one. And I want that keyboard with it.” She jabbed a finger at the actual hardware for the computer.
Six leaned in, filling her nostrils with the scent of tobacco and barn. “You crazy, woman? Why you offering higher than the askin’ price?”
“Because it’s what’s right.”
“But there ain’t no demand for it, as they say. It’s just sittin’ pretty, gathering dust.”
She considered this and the free market, barter system that Keystone thrived on.
“She’ll pay you a hundred and not a cent more,” Six said to the clerk. “For whatever reason, this woman wants that piece of junk. If you ask me, she’s a bit touched.” He pointed to his temple. “You’d be a fool not to accept her offer, boy.”
The clerk slowly nodded, scratching at a pimple, still confused. Ella asked if she could put it on some kind of layaway plan until she had it paid off. After he took down her information and deposit, she left the store with a spring in her step.