The Iced Princess

by Christine Husom

“It’s just been a nerve-racking week. And we still don’t know who killed Molly.”

  “It’s been tough, all right. Did Molly’s ghost stop talking about her killers in your dreams?”

  “Yes, for the last couple of nights, anyway. And I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “I’m with you on that.”

  “Hello!” I heard Dad call out from Curio Finds.

  “We’re in here,” I yelled back.

  Mom and Dad were all smiles when they walked through the archway and greeted us.

  “So where is it you have to go?” Dad said.

  “Just helping Irene Ryland take care of things. No biggie, but she just wasn’t sure how long it would take. I may not be back by quitting time, so I hope that’s not a problem.”

  “Of course it’s not. You take all the time Irene needs,” Mom said.

  I didn’t like keeping our real mission a secret, but people tended to overreact sometimes. And something told me this might be one of those times. I scooted out of there before anyone asked me more questions. It was possible I’d cave and confess what Irene and I hoped to accomplish on our fact-finding project before our mission even got under way.

  —

  Irene was ready and giddy—or close to it—with the prospect of uncovering the whereabouts of the man who had taken a sizable sum of money from her and bilked her daughter out of thousands upon thousands more. Her disguise brought a smile to my face. She looked like a wealthy socialite who was trying to hide her aging face from the world. She had on her fur coat, knee-high black boots, a reddish auburn wig with too much hair for her small face, and big sunglasses that effectively covered much of what the wig didn’t. With the collar of her coat touching her jawline, all that was visible was her chin, lips, the tip of her nose, and a bit of her cheeks.

  “I hope I look all right,” Irene said.

  “Oh my goodness, you look great. I would never have recognized you.”

  I helped her into my car, and we were on the road to St. Paul with a common goal. We had programmed each other’s numbers in our cell phone contacts so we’d be prepared to call each other if the need arose.

  “Cami, I need to thank you again for letting me tag along. Molly was desperate and did a terrible thing, killing her stepfather. With Troy it’s a different story. I was wrong when I panicked and gave him money to keep quiet about the crime. But then it got worse and worse.”

  Molly, Irene, Troy. They were all victims and criminals at the same time because a man had abused his stepdaughter. “We’ll do our best to help the police locate Troy. The first step is to prove he really is the one who’s getting mail at the address listed in someone else’s name.”

  —

  I took the downtown exit off I-94 and drove to Fifth Street East, but then I discovered the entrance was on Robert Street and dropped Irene off there. There was no parking there, but I was lucky enough to find a spot on Fifth, a half block away. The catch was it was in front of a thirty-minute meter. I dropped coins in it knowing I’d have to add more every half hour.

  Irene was waiting for me near the entrance and pointed. “The post-office boxes are over there.”

  The area was L shaped, and I was surprised it wasn’t much bigger than the one in Brooks Landing. There was a retail area behind double glass doors where clerks were waiting on a few customers. The wall in front of us was covered with mailboxes. They continued around the corner and were in size order, from small to large.

  “Okay, we’ll want to find the one Troy is renting, then we’ll decide where to hang out and keep watch. And let’s hope and pray we don’t get kicked out for loitering.” Although there seemed to be a number of other people who were doing just that.

  “Oh my, I didn’t consider that possibility.”

  “We may have to change our strategies as we go along, especially if it gets to be hours of waiting. Why don’t you stay here and I’ll go find the box so we know exactly where it is.”

  “All right.”

  “Keep your cell phone handy, in case.”

  “It’s in my pocket, and I’ll call to alert you if I see Troy.”

  “Great, and remember to snap a picture if you can.”

  She nodded. “I practiced how to do that at home so I wouldn’t look like I was taking a picture.”

  “Very good, Irene. I wish I had thought of that.”

  I headed over to the section with the boxes and located the right one around the corner. When I was headed back to join Irene, my phone rang. “He’s here,” was all Irene said before the phone went dead.

  I still had the phone to my ear when a man I recognized rounded the corner and almost ran into me. It was the man who’d been into our shops and acted so strangely, looking around without uttering a word. That was Troy? My face must have registered disbelief or fear or uncertainty or all three, because that’s how I felt.

  His eyes opened wide when they landed on my face and he placed who I was. He didn’t know was why I was there, for a few seconds, anyway. And if I had been smoother, he may have chalked it up to coincidence. I pulled the phone from my ear and hit the camera icon then tried to act like I was dialing a number when I snapped a picture. He didn’t buy it. He lunged for my phone, but I stuck it in my coat pocket before he snatched it out of my hand.

  “Give that to me,” he said and threw his arms around me.

  “If you don’t let me go, I’ll scream for someone to call the police.”

  I said the magic scare word—“police”—and he dropped his arms, turned tail, and took off. As I watched him run, all of a sudden Irene was there standing in his path. And then she risked life and limb by doing something I would never have predicted. Just before Troy reached her, she turned and bent over. He didn’t have time to react, much less dodge her, and tripped. He did a nose dive across Irene’s back, somersaulted, and landed on his backside.

  He lay there for a while like he was trying to come to his wits. It was long enough for Irene to stand up, regain her balance, direct her phone at his face, and snap a picture. And long enough for a number of people to close in on him and ask if he was okay. But not long enough to get law enforcement there, even if I’d thought to dial 911. I’d hung back with the gathering crowd, gawking in stunned surprise.

  Troy finally rolled over on his stomach and pushed himself to his feet. He took off running, full speed. It was then I yelled, “Help! Did anyone call nine-one-one?” I got a bunch of head shakes and shrugs. I had a little trouble getting my phone out of my pocket with my shaking, sweating hand, but I managed.

  “I did. I called nine-one-one,” Irene told me.

  “It looks like he got away,” a man in the crowd said.

  “What did he do?” a woman asked.

  “He stole something,” I said as I took Irene’s arm and guided her away from the people and any further questions.

  Two St. Paul Police officers were there a minute later, and Irene flagged them down. “What’s the complaint?” the younger male officer asked.

  Irene went through the whole litany of who Troy Ryland was and the crimes he’d committed. She explained how we were hoping to discover whether it was really him renting the box under a false name. Irene showed the officers the photo on her phone.

  The older officer took the phone from her hands, studied it, and nodded. “Yeah, we got an attempt to locate, apprehend, and detain on Troy Ryland. Can you send this photo to my phone since it’s the real deal?”

  “Will you do it?” Irene asked.

  “With your permission, sure,” he said, and he completed the task in no time. He handed the phone back to Irene. “We’ll need your names, birthdates, and addresses to complete our reports.”

  We spent some time with the officers, answering their questions. When they’d finished, the older officer shook his head at Irene and me. “I want you both to think t
wice before you do anything like this again. And then don’t do it.”

  I nodded, agreeing in theory, anyway. Irene said, “Yes, Officer.” She gave them the impression she had put me up to the whole thing. I was about to clear up the misconception when Irene put her arm in mine and guided me away from them.

  When we were back in my car, I noticed the meter had run out. Irene removed her sunglasses and let out a big breath of air. “My heart is still thumping a little bit.”

  “Irene, not that I ever wanted you in harm’s way like that, but the way you tripped Troy was amazing.”

  “I didn’t know how else to stop him. I have been filled with so much anger at Troy for too many years. And if it turns out he poisoned Molly, I don’t know how I’ll go on.”

  I reached over and gave her hand a light squeeze, then I started the engine and we were on our way back to Brooks Landing. “You know, Irene, now that the police know the name Troy has been using—to get the post-office box at least—they should be able to find him.”

  “When I leaned over and took his picture, he didn’t even notice that. And I know he didn’t recognize me.”

  “That’s a good thing. He seemed pretty anxious to get out of there, that’s for sure.”

  14

  I dropped Irene off at her house, surprised it wasn’t quite three o’clock. I headed to the shops so Mom and Dad could go home. What I hadn’t expected when I walked into Curio Finds was the stern look on my Mom’s face and the sterner look on my Dad’s. “What?”

  Mom filled me in. “Assistant Chief Clinton Lonsbury stopped by a few minutes ago, hoping to catch you. And he seemed upset.”

  “More than seemed; he was downright steaming,” Dad said.

  My earlier thought about people overreacting came back to haunt me. “Did he say why?”

  “He said he needed to talk to you about the shenanigans you and Irene Ryland pulled today,” Mom said.

  “Shenanigans?”

  “That’s what he said,” Dad confirmed. “He wants you to call him.”

  Pinky picked that moment to poke her head in our shop. “Cami, you’re here.” She took in the picture my parents and I must have presented. “I take it you got the message to call you know who.”

  I nodded then looked at my parents. “Thank you for filling in for me. Feel free to take off.”

  “I think we’ll hang around until after you talk to our assistant chief, make sure everything is okay,” Dad said.

  Great, just great. Well, they’d find out sooner or later. “All right.” I glanced over at Pinky.

  She lifted her hands. “I have nowhere to be anytime soon.”

  I used the shop phone and dialed Clint’s number. “It’s Camryn.”

  “I see you’re calling from your shop. I’ll be right there,” he said and hung up.

  “Clint’s on his way,” I announced to the snoopers, then I switched subjects. “So how has business been today?”

  “It came in waves,” Mom said.

  The bell on Pinky’s door dinged. “Oh sure, now I get customers,” she said quietly. Dad followed her, probably to offer his help.

  “Clint is an intense man at times, isn’t he?” Mom said.

  “Yes, he is.” Most of the time, it seemed to me. Mom and I studied each other a minute. “I meant to tell you earlier that you are looking better all the time, Mom.”

  “Thank you, Cami. I feel pretty good. A little tired, maybe, but I have the rest of the day to laze around before I go to bed.” She smiled, appreciating her own dry sense of humor.

  I gave her a hug, grateful for her steadfast love and support. It was at that moment Clint walked into Curio Finds. As I stepped back, he nodded at Mom then stared at me. “Have a minute, Camryn?”

  “Yes, maybe even two.”

  Mom thought that was worth a grin; Clint did not. “Do you want to go into the back room?”

  “No, it’s all right. Mom can listen in.” The truth was, I figured Clint would temper his response with her being there.

  And I think he tried to for a second or so. “Camryn, what in tarnation were you and Irene Ryland thinking when you went to St. Paul looking for Troy Ryland? He’s a known felon and potentially dangerous.”

  Mom’s smile turned upside down. “What is Clint talking about, Cami?”

  Clint didn’t appear to hear her. “Imagine my surprise when I got a call from Sergeant Morse detailing all the drama at the downtown post office this afternoon.”

  “What drama?” Mom asked.

  Dad and Pinky both crept into Curio Finds. Clint’s voice carried well, even when he tried to keep it low.

  I held up my hands. “Okay. It’s true, Irene and I went on a little mission, hoping to find out if Troy Ryland was still around. And it turns out his post-office box was rented under a false name. We had no intention of getting close to him. I thought it would be a giant place, but it wasn’t at all.

  “Irene and I planned to position ourselves so we could get a picture of him to show the police. That’s all. And then he saw me, and I sort of panicked and tried to take his picture. And he recognized me because he had been in our shops.”

  I turned to Pinky, who was standing with her arms across her chest. “Pinky, you know the guy who came in the other day, the one who was acting strange?”

  Pinky half shrugged. She hadn’t seen him.

  I left out the details about my little scuffle with Troy. “Anyway, he started to run away, and Irene tripped him and snapped his picture with her phone before he took off. The police came and took our statements and are looking for Troy. We—and Irene, especially—got the answer we were hoping for. Troy is still the holder of that P.O. box.”

  “You’re saying the end justified the means?” Clint said.

  “All I’m saying is Irene will be very relieved when Troy Ryland is arrested.”

  Pinky moved in close to me, put her arm around my waist, and came to my defense. “What’s done is done. And we’ll all feel better when they catch that hoodlum, right?”

  Clint didn’t agree with her, but he didn’t say he disagreed either.

  —

  I climbed into bed that night mulling over the day. In retrospect, staking out the St. Paul Post Office in search of Troy Ryland was not the smartest thing I had ever done. If I had to do over again, I would not have involved Irene. I’d have asked my friend Mark to come with me instead.

  I was completely caught off guard when Troy recognized me. My sense of panic caused me to do something dumb. Irene had kept her wits about her and come through with flying colors. Ultimately, though, we had uncovered valuable information to help the police. Yes, Clint, I didn’t admit it to you in person, but I’m convinced the end did justify the means.

  Troy would likely be arrested soon, and Irene would have the satisfaction of knowing that. I fell asleep with a deep sense of relief. Molly paid me another ghostly dream visit a few hours later. It shouldn’t have been surprising, since I thought about her most of my waking hours.

  She was different—calmer, not quite as distressed as she’d been in her prior visits. I was in Curio Finds with Irene when Molly suddenly appeared. Irene didn’t seem to see or hear Molly when she said, “The killers were here. Did you see them?” The killers? I looked around, but Irene was the only other person there. Molly brushed her hand on her mother’s shoulder, smiled, and disappeared. Irene hadn’t noticed a thing.

  When I woke up, I wasn’t quite as alarmed as I’d been the other times. Either I was getting used to the ethereal Molly visiting me in my sleep, or I was comforted knowing I wasn’t alone with her and a bunch of people I couldn’t identify. Irene was there with me, too.

  I rolled over and pulled the covers up to my ears. Molly, the police are after Troy. It’s just a question of time before they find him. I smiled into my pillow. It wasn’t bad enough that I
talked to myself and my deceased parents; I’d also fallen into the habit of trying to send telepathic messages to the spirit of Molly Dalton.

  —

  On Wednesday morning, Pinky called me early. “Cami, I can’t stand it anymore. I noticed a light in your shop, and it’s that bathroom light again. I thought the electrician fixed it.”

  I sat up and rubbed my eyelids so I could open them all the way. “He said there was nothing to fix. What in the world is going on with that thing?”

  “I think it must be Molly’s ghost. One of my customers was talking about that yesterday, and Erin said the same thing on the night Molly died. When people die suddenly like that their spirits stick around because they don’t know they’re dead.”

  “Let’s not get into that again, Pink.” I got up and headed to the bathroom. “I’ll be down there in a little bit.”

  —

  Pinky raised her hands when I walked into her shop. “The light went off right after I talked to you. If it’s not Molly, then it’s got to be the wiring.”

  “If it happens again, we’ll get Allen back to do another check.”

  A group of coffee seekers came in and put an end to our conversation. I went into Curio Finds, hung up my coat and purse, then peeked in the bathroom before I went back to help Pinky with orders. When the rush was over, I was on my way back to Curio Finds when my eyes fell on a shiny penny lying on the floor by Pinky’s service counter. I bent over and picked it up then asked the two young women standing nearby, “Did either one of you drop this?”

  One of them said, “It’s yours.” She pointed at the penny I was holding between my pointer finger and thumb. “Hey, you got a heads-up.”

  I smiled and stuck the penny in my pocket. A heads-up? I hadn’t heard that phrase in reference to finding pennies before. My birth mother had recited to me more than once the old ditty, “Find a penny, pick it up, and all the day you’ll have good luck.” For some reason my young mind had latched onto the phrase like it was my own. But the more I tossed the two phrases around in my mind, “heads-up” made more sense given the experiences I’d had.