by J. R. Ripley
I said it was and explained how the man who’d bought his house was dating a friend of mine. “I thought you might enjoy having it here.” Floyd’s eyes were drawn to the window. A couple of finches and a cardinal had already found the pole feeder.
Karl narrowed his eyes at me. He folded his hands across his chest as he leaned back in his seat. “You looked like a criminal out there,” he said with a smile. The ex-chief of police touched a finger to the side of his nose. “And I know criminals.”
I giggled. “I guess I am.” I explained how Millicent Bryant-with-a-T had refused to let me install the feeders. “She insisted I go through the Rolling Acres board of directors.”
“You’re a hoot!” Floyd laughed and slapped the table. Faces turned our way.
“You won’t turn me in, will you, Chief?” I batted my eyes at the retired law enforcement officer.
“Well now,” the old dog said, “I might have to slap the cuffs on you.”
“Karl!” barked Floyd. “Miss Amy is a lady.”
“I know, I know.” Karl waved a hand at his friend. “Me and the bird lady are just having fun.” Karl gave me a wink. “Right?”
I laughed again. “Yes, in fact, I do believe that’s the most fun I’ve had in some time.” I leaned closer to the gents. “It was quite the adrenaline rush, if you know what I mean.”
Floyd toyed with his mustache. “I hope they don’t take them down.”
I looked out into the yard. “Me too.” I explained to Karl and Floyd my plan to provide feeders and birdseed to Rolling Acres and other senior living and retirement facilities.
“Sounds great,” said Floyd Withers. “It looks like you’ve already made some new bird-watching fans.”
I turned. Several seniors had taken up chairs near the window and were avidly watching the growing number of birds. I had an idea. “I’ll bet I can get the Ruby Lake Weekender to write an article on the Seeds for Seniors program and the benefits of bird-watching as an activity.”
“I like it,” said Floyd. “A quality-of-life issue.”
“Me, too,” Karl admitted. “The administration wouldn’t dare remove your feeders then, would they, Amy?”
It was my turn to wink. “That’s the idea.” I thought about the little towhee Derek’s daughter, Maeve, and her friend Will Quiroz had brought to Birds & Bees. Soon, from what the wildlife rehabber had recently told me by phone, Sammy would be free to fly again. Perhaps we’d see him here one day, foraging on the grass below the feeders, in search of fallen seed.
Floyd suggested refreshments and brought three sweating iced teas back to the table, along with a pile of sugar cookies on a plate.
Karl took a healthy swig. He banged the edge of a cookie against the tabletop. “Hard as a rock. Cook says they bake them, but I believe they dig them out of an old mine.” Nonetheless, with a show of force, he bit the cookie in two and swallowed it with a look of satisfaction.
“Speaking of criminal behavior,” I began, “did you hear Annie Get Your Gun has shut down?” Both men nodded. “In fact, the manager of the theater thinks TOTS itself may be permanently shut down by the town.”
“We know,” Floyd said, patting my hand.
Karl swirled his tea, watching the ice cubes dance. “Rolling Acres has a senior night once a year at TOTS.”
“This year,” explained Floyd, “we were going to see your show, Annie.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“We wanted it to be a surprise,” Floyd replied.
Karl added that they’d been informed of the canceled show just that morning. “It’s a bummer.”
“That it is,” I agreed. “But it’s probably a blessing that you don’t have to see me act. Or hear me sing.” I told them what I’d heard about the director quitting and leaving town and Lou fearing for his job.
Karl said he and Lou went way back. “I hate to see him or any man lose his job. Especially a vet.”
I told the guys how I hoped to convince August to stay and find the killer.
“Well, Amy,” said Karl, looking thoughtful, “while you do have a certain feminine charm, I would not recommend you go trying to find a killer.” He flipped another sugar cookie from hand to hand. “You leave that to the professionals.”
I arched my brow. “Even if that professional is Jerry Kennedy?”
Both men snorted in unison like a pair of pionus parrots.
“Kennedy’s been working some with the state team on this one. You may have seen one or two of them around town.” I said I hadn’t. “Maybe they’re gone now. I’ll look into it.” He popped the cookie he’d been toying with into his mouth and talked as he chewed. “I may be retired,” he boasted, “but I do have my sources.”
Floyd added, “Chief Kennedy often asks Karl’s advice. Besides, Kennedy doesn’t feel right withholding info from the old chief.”
Karl nodded. “And from what I hear, our killer is either pretty smart or pretty lucky.” He explained that there were fingerprints all over the scene, but those were all accounted for by the theater’s staff, crew, and cast. “Not a print on that knife you found.”
“Only Patsy Klein’s prints on the gun,” Floyd said, “from what the chief told Karl.”
I told them that Chief Kennedy had told me that as well. “And that was a prop gun,” I reminded them. “Why fire it?”
“Maybe the lady thought she could bluff her killer.” That was Floyd again.
“And it didn’t work,” I said.
“And who was in that locked room with the woman, and how did they get out?”
I nibbled thoughtfully at a cookie. “You know, Nathan Longfellow thinks the theater is haunted.”
Floyd replied. “Nathan Longfellow is crazy. He yelled at me once when I complained about a cut of brisket. I thought he was going to leap over the counter at me.”
“Seriously?”
Floyd nodded. “The manager had to come calm him down. I’d stay away from him, if I were you.”
“Yeah,” added Karl. “He’s a hothead, all right. The police have been called out to disturbances involving him more than once. It wouldn’t surprise me if he was the one behind all this.”
“Maybe.” I told them how I’d learned that Nathan Longfellow more than likely had a personal grudge with Ava Turner. Both men agreed that gave him a pretty good motive.
“Sometimes these things fester in a man’s mind,” said the retired policeman.
“Funny that Nathan Longfellow and Ava Turner ended up living in the same town.”
“Well, Ava is from town, as you know,” Karl explained. “Nathan grew up on a reservation not far from here.”
“What about T-Bone Crawford?”
“The ex-con?” Karl said, eyeing Floyd’s remaining cookie. “Came to town a year or so ago. He hasn’t caused any trouble that I’ve heard.”
“Keep your hands to yourself.” Floyd pulled his cookie to his chest as the old chief’s hand approached within striking distance.
“Do you think Jerry can catch our culprit before he or she kills again?”
Karl shrugged heavily. “The thing with killers is”—he beckoned me closer with his finger—“that until you catch them, there is always the chance they may kill again.”
I leaned back. The truth of the ex-chief’s words was undeniable. Especially if that killer’s intended victim was still walking and talking.
“Speaking of criminals . . .” Karl removed his spectacles and rolled his eyes to the left. “Don’t look now.”
“Uh-oh.” Floyd twirled his mustache.
I set down my tea glass. “What’s the big—” Then I saw Millicent Bryant down at the other side of the activities center chatting with an orderly.
“That’s Ms. Bryant, the administrative assistant,” Floyd whispered.
“I’m not sure she’s going to be happy if she spots me here.” My eyes pleaded with both men. “I didn’t exactly sign in.”
Floyd and Karl discussed strategies. So far, Ms. Bryant was facing aw
ay from me. But if she turned . . .
I didn’t exactly fit the age group she was expecting to see.
“Karl is going to go keep Millicent busy,” explained Floyd. “The kitchen is through that door behind me. You can go out that way.”
I bit my lip. I felt ridiculous letting the woman run me off. Then again, I really did not want to get caught. “Are you sure it will work?” I had my doubts that the old chief could distract the administrative assistant long enough for me to make a clean getaway.
“Are you kidding?” whispered Floyd. “Have you heard the way this guy talks?” He jerked a thumb at his friend. “The man never shuts up.”
I smiled. “You make a good point.”
Floyd pushed back his chair. “Follow me.”
I stood at a crouch. “Wait,” I whispered. “What if she sees the bird feeders?” I glanced anxiously out the window.
“Not to worry,” chortled Karl. “I’ll tell her I made them in shop class.”
“Shop class?” I said, dubiously.
“Okay, I’ll tell her the bird fairy left them last night.”
I didn’t have time to argue. Floyd and Karl were on the move. And when I saw Millicent Bryant-with-a-T begin to stroll my way, so was I.
22
“Derek!” I dropped the mop I’d been using to clean up the pee my customer’s Irish setter had left near the door. Derek looked immaculate in a charcoal-gray suit, expensive Italian loafers, and a crisp white shirt. Only the shadow of stubble along his firm jaw gave him an edge of intrigue.
I, of course, was a wreck. Filthy slacks, soiled shirt, smudged makeup, and tousled hair. Damp shoes.
It had been one of those mornings.
Derek smiled and took the mop from my hands. “It’s good to see you.” There was a small package in his other hand. He held it out. “I brought cupcakes.” He leaned the dirty mop beside the umbrella stand at the door.
I relieved him of the treats. “How nice.” I sniffed the flimsy cardboard box. “C Is For Cupcakes?” C Is For Cupcakes is a cupcake bakery located on the square. I tried to avoid it as much as possible—which wasn’t often.
“Yep. I picked them up fresh on my way over.” The lawyer diligently wiped his feet on the mat.
The man was adorable. His freshly polished shoes glowed while mine reeked of dog urine. Not to mention the floor was covered with dirt, leaves, and bits of birdseed. I was amazed how much loose bird food ended up on the floor each day.
“I hope you like chocolate?”
I laughed. “Come on, the shop’s quiet.” It was after noon, and there was generally a dip in traffic around that time as tourists and locals alike ate lunch. “I’ll put on a fresh pot.”
“So, did you hear the latest?” Derek asked, settling into one of the rockers in the kitchenette at the back of the store.
“No,” I said, between bites of one of the best chocolate espresso cupcakes I’d ever sunk my teeth into. I’d tipped the cupcake over and started at the bottom, saving the buttercream top for last.
“There was a second attempt on Ava Turner’s life.”
I dropped the cupcake. It landed with a soft splat in my lap. I groaned and began wiping.
Derek laughed. “I’d offer to help, but, ah . . .”
I blushed. “I think I’ve got this.” I grabbed a towel and washed up at the sink. Looking down, I noticed I now looked like I’d wet my pants. Could this day get any worse? I looked toward the stairs. “Maybe I should go change?”
“Sit down,” Derek replied. “You look great.”
I fluffed my hair, forgetting that my fingers were covered in chocolate buttercream frosting and cupcake crumbs. Knowing further attempts to salvage my looks were futile, I surrendered. I grabbed a fresh cupcake and rested it carefully on a napkin I set atop my knee. I cleared my throat. “Anyway, you were saying?”
Derek took a sip of his coffee. “It seems somebody took a shot at the actress earlier today.”
“Where?” I asked quickly. “Was she hurt? I mean, she isn’t dead, is she?” If she had been killed, I was certain the Ruby Lake gossiping geese would have spread the word by this time.
“No,” Derek said, shaking his head. “She’s fine.” He explained that Ava had been strolling in her garden after breakfast when shots had been fired. She hadn’t been hit, but a large ceramic ewer had been shattered.
“I tried to warn Jerry that this was going to happen.” I got to my feet. “More coffee?”
Derek nodded and I refilled his cup. “Well, it seems you were right.”
“I don’t suppose they found the shooter?”
“No such luck. Jerry and one of his officers spent hours out there digging for clues. So far, nothing.” Derek bit a cupcake in half and chewed. “At least, that’s what Dad says. And I guess he should know. He’s been in Ruby Lake for years.”
Derek had only returned several months ago, to be nearer his daughter and join his father in his practice. Ben Harlan had been a practicing lawyer for decades. Lawyers have a way of finding out things.
“Does your dad have any idea if the police are any closer to finding out whoever our perpetrator is?”
“You know Jerry better than I do. According to Dad, he says he does. But Dad thinks it’s all bluster.”
I thought so too and said so. I filled Derek in on what I’d been able to learn myself.
“So you think Nathan Longfellow, Eli Wallace, and this T-Bone Crawford are the most likely suspects?”
I shrugged. “Any one of them could have done it. They certainly had opportunity. And the means.” I explained about the knife connection and how one man was a butcher, the other a taxidermist, and the third a biker with a nasty-looking blade on his belt.
“All we need now is a candlestick maker,” Derek said with a soft chuckle.
“Hey, come on,” I said. “Don’t make fun of me. Isn’t that all it takes?” Heck, they could have all been in on it together, the same way the mayor, the sleazy car dealer, and the town coot were trying to get me kicked me out of my house.
“That’s what all the cop shows and lawyers say,” he said with a smile. “But what about motive?”
I admitted I hadn’t quite puzzled that out. “And now August Mantooth is leaving town.”
“Dad told me that the show had been canceled. Tough break.”
I had a sudden realization. “Maybe that’s the real reason why the director canceled Annie and is leaving town!” Derek looked at me questioningly. “Because he’s guilty and trying to make his getaway.” I slapped my knees. “I should tell Jerry.”
“Go ahead if you want to, but it isn’t much to go on. I can’t see him arresting or even getting Mantooth to stick around without something solid to charge him with.”
I frowned. “You may be right,” I admitted, “but if—”
My words were interrupted by a very loud crash that shook the house.
Derek came to his feet. “What on earth was that?”
“Ignore that,” I said, waving for him to sit back down. “That’s the construction going on at the brew pub or, rather, biergarten,” I said with a roll of my eyes, “next door.”
“Ruby Lake’s getting a biergarten?” He looked pleased.
“Yes, we are.” I didn’t share his enthusiasm and did not feel like going into all the machinations and permutations and problems the establishing of such a business was causing me. Nor did I want to discuss the other major problem it brought. My old boyfriend, Bigelow the gigolo.
There was a second bang and then silence. I scanned the wall my house shared with the business next door. No holes. No cracks. Always a good sign.
I set my mug in the sink and was giving it a quick rinse as the chime alerted me to the fact that I had a customer. Derek rose and stood close at my side. “Listen, Amy,” he began, “I was wondering if you would—”
Craig appeared out of nowhere, dressed, as he frequently did, in designer jeans and a black T-shirt. “Hi, Amy,” he said, throwing hi
s arms around me. I caught a whiff of cologne and sawdust. “Sorry about the racket. I told Paul to try to get the crew not to put that slab for the fire pit so close to the wall.”
Suddenly he stopped, seeming to notice Derek for the first time. Craig thrust out his hand. “Craig Bigelow.”
I crawled out of Craig’s arms and put myself well out of harm’s way.
“Derek Harlan.” Derek looked at me for some answers.
“Craig is one of the partners in the business going in next door.”
“The biergarten.” Derek smiled. “Amy was telling me all about it. I’ll look forward to being a customer.”
“Yeah,” Craig said. “Did she also tell you that she and I are living together?”
Derek didn’t blink, but I could tell the announcement had struck a nerve. It struck a nerve in me, too. “We are not living together,” I said.
“Paul and I are living in the apartment on the second floor until we get things settled,” my ex-boyfriend explained, though nobody was asking. “But Amy and I were together for six years, so who knows?” The idiot winked at me, then turned to Derek. “I might just end up sleeping on the top floor, right, Amy?”
“Not in a million years, Craig.”
Derek made a show of looking at his watch. “I’ve got an appointment. Nice to meet you, Craig. Good seeing you again, Amy,” he said rather stiffly.
“Wait,” I said. “You wanted to ask me something?”
“It wasn’t important.”
I watched Derek walk out the door. “You drove him off, Craig.”
“What?” Craig looked genuinely surprised. “Him? You’re interested in that guy?”
“None of your business.” I frowned as I watched Derek get in his car at the curb. What had he been about to ask me? Was he going to ask me out on a date? Now I might never know.
“Hey,” said Craig, reaching a hand toward the cupcake box, “cupcakes. Mind if I—”
I slapped his hand away. “Those are for the customers. Go away.”
Craig rubbed his hand. “But Amy—”
“Now,” I insisted, “before I decide to raise your rent.”
Craig stomped off in a snit, but there was no peace for me yet.