by Meg Macy
“How about I make it look like Glen shot you both, and then killed himself.” She smiled at the thought. “Yeah. He was deranged. So jealous, because Will wanted to seduce his wife and then get an easy deal when you sold him the Silver Leaf. Sounds believable. But how am I gonna explain that Sasha was here as a wit—”
Glen chose that moment to launch himself across the room. He landed on top of her; the second gunshot unnerved me as much as the first. I’d fallen against the side table. My ears rang. Jenny cowered before the sofa, whimpering.
My hand closed over ajar of Debbie’s honey while Carolyn shoved Glen off. He groaned, one hand pressed against his belly. A red stain spread over his shirt.
As she raised the gun, aiming for me, I threw the jar. It smacked her right above the eye. Bounced off her skull and then shattered against the brick of the fireplace. Jenny screamed in terror. I seized a second jar, but Carolyn had collapsed. Scrambling on my knees, I snatched the pistol. Just in case she regained consciousness.
Then I rushed to the kitchen. Grabbed a white towel, raced back, and knelt by Glen’s still body. By now his shirt was soaked with blood. I pressed the towel against his stomach anyway, while Jenny dropped to the floor beside him. She sobbed, hysterical.
“Glen, Glen! Don’t you die on me, not now!”
I’d heard distant sirens but kept pressure on the gunshot wound. Until the door burst open and Detective Mason barged in, followed by Digger Sykes, Bill Hillerman, and two more police officers. I sagged backward. Thank God.
The next half hour was a blur. My head ached from Jenny’s nonstop wailing. The paramedics worked over Glen until they loaded him onto a gurney, raised it, and wheeled him out the door, IV bottle and tube in hand. Mason had shunted me aside when Bill Hillerman offered to escort Jenny to the hospital. She begged to go with Glen in the ambulance, but the cops refused. I shook my head in sorrow, hoping and praying he would pull through.
“Maybe now you understand why I kept telling you to stick to your bears,” Mason said. “Anyone who kills is likely to kill again.”
I gave him a shaky grin. “Okay. I was wrong. But I told you from the start that my uncle was innocent.”
In the living room, Digger Sykes placed handcuffs on Carolyn’s wrists. She’d regained consciousness, although remained groggy from the huge egg-shaped swelling on her temple, and moaned while a second EMS unit placed her on a stretcher and wheeled her out. Digger walked beside them.
“—anything you say may be used against you in a court of law,” he continued, but Carolyn cut him off.
“Shut up!”
“You have the right to consult an attorney—”
She drowned out the rest of his rote speech, screaming, cursing, and blaming me. “All because we didn’t take enough selfies!”
Once Carolyn had been carted away, my nerves finally calmed. Mason waved me over to a dining room chair. I stared at the white padded cushion.
“I’ve gotta go.”
“Bathroom’s around here somewhere.”
“No, that’s—That’s not what I meant. It’s . . . too weird.”
Dizzy, my hands and body shaking, I walked outside and sat on the porch’s top step, head over my knees. I gulped in fresh air. Rested a cheek on one knee. Mason blocked my view of the street, although I could see the cars lined up by the dozen. Neighbors craned their necks, and kids rode back and forth on their bikes.
“Feeling any better?” Mason asked.
I had to answer honestly. “No. Not really.”
The thought of coming that close to dying, at the hands of a woman I’d trusted, gave me the creeps. Watching Carolyn wave a pistol in our faces. Seeing Glen shot and all that bright red blood on his shirt. The red spatters on the immaculate carpet, the sticky honey oozing over the hearth, the shards of glass . . . Even the amber and red footprints the cops and paramedics tracked between the fireplace and the door.
“You need to go to the hospital, get checked out,” Mason said.
A gravelly voice spoke above me. “I’ll take her.”
I raised my head and saw Uncle Ross standing there. “I’ll be fine—”
“Like hell you will,” my uncle said.
I didn’t protest. Not when he pulled me to my feet and led me to his jazzy blue and white Thunderbird. Mason opened the back door. My uncle pushed me onto the white leather seat, which felt cool beneath my fingertips.
“It takes almost being killed to get a ride?” I asked weakly.
“Shut up.” Uncle Ross slammed the door.
I had to laugh. He stood talking to Detective Mason, so I relaxed and closed my eyes. I had survived, but Mason was right. From now on, I’d stick to selling teddy bears.
Murder wasn’t all fun and games.
Chapter 29
“I feel sorry for Jenny,” I said, stroking Rosie’s silky fur. “Everyone in the village thinks Glen’s a hero for saving his wife and me, and paying with his life. Even though Carolyn talked him into helping her kill Will. Now she’s up for double murder.”
“She’ll probably serve a prison term for the rest of her life,” Maddie said.
We sat with Uncle Ross and my parents around the large kitchen island on Sunday morning. Mom had cooked bacon and eggs, and Maddie had brought coffee and scones from Fresh Grounds. Lenore Russell, the police chief’s wife who ran the Sunshine Café, had sent over a basket of fresh lemon and blueberry muffins, too. A printed note read: “Thanks, from the Chief.” Tom Russell was ecstatic that the case was solved. Silver Hollow could go back to normal, and that was good for everyone’s business.
Glen Woodley had survived surgery but died from complications. Poor Jenny. She’d been betrayed by Will and now was a widow. Her kids also suffered. The whole village was supporting them, but rumors had started that Jenny would sell the Silver Leaf and move back to Wisconsin where her family lived. She didn’t have the heart to keep it going alone. I hoped she would find some sense of peace.
Even my mother had been shocked by my brush with death. “Thank goodness you weren’t killed by that madwoman.” Mom had chosen to sit beside me that morning opposite Maddie. “That was too close, Sasha. Promise us you’ll never do that again.”
“Do what?” I tried to sound innocent, but everyone chimed in.
“No more sleuthing!”
“I’m surprised Detective Mason didn’t mention that you helped solve the case,” Dad said. “I watched the whole press conference on TV. He didn’t say a word about the factory, our shop, or mention your name. At all.”
“That’s a good thing.”
“There’s no such thing as bad publicity. P. T. Barnum believed it, too.”
Uncle Ross poked my shoulder. “Why did you run off without telling me or Maddie what you were up to? Good thing you texted Mason. He couldn’t get you on the phone and then called me. Told me you’d gone to see Carolyn at her house.”
“How was I supposed to know—”
“No excuses,” Maddie interrupted. “I feel horrible enough for Jenny. But losing my only sister? I’d never forgive you, Sash.”
“I feel bad for Vivian Grant,” I said sadly. “Poor Alan. Hooked on heroin and then falling in the river. Pete Fox never came back with his fix Thursday night.”
Dad sipped his coffee. “Any drug would affect Alan’s judgment, for sure.”
“How did you figure out that Carolyn pretended to be drunk?” Maddie asked.
“You know how she loves posting selfies on Facebook. Except there were only a few photos, and none of them were taken by her, either. That seemed odd to me. But I’d mistaken Cissy for Carolyn in that one posted photo.”
“So Teddy Hartman didn’t kill Will,” Uncle Ross said.
“Mason checked on his alibi about fishing. Turns out Hartman left around eight to go back to his hotel,” I said. “The manager saw him arrive, too. Who else had a good motive except Glen? His jealousy is what made him help Carolyn.”
“Revenge often leads to more trouble,�
� Uncle Ross said, and then changed the subject. “So what do we do next? How are we gonna find new sewing staff?”
“I’ve got three lined up so far,” Maddie said, smiling broadly. “All of them with solid experience. I’ll start interviewing tomorrow, and if we can get them started, along with Hilda Schulte, we’ll be able to handle all the orders coming in.”
“But what about opening a boutique? The grunt work in the office here bores you,” I said, “and that’s why you’re doing some freelance artwork. No, don’t give me that look. I saw those cute bears on the labels Debbie is using on her honey jars. You designed them. I know your style.”
“I designed Carolyn’s shop sign, too. The sparkly one, and the labels for the green and red bags she uses. Used, I mean. I bet the Holly Jolly will close for sure.” Maddie shrugged. “I can’t leave you all in the lurch without office help. I’m not ready to open a boutique, either. Maybe next year will be soon enough.”
“That’s what you said two years ago,” Mom pointed out. “Madeline Ann Silverman, you’re quitting the office. Your dad will find someone to keep the books. You’re too talented to be stuck behind a desk unless it’s a table for design work. We didn’t pay for your art degree to let it go to waste.”
“But I love working here in the shop!”
“I’m going to talk to Barbara Davison about renting the Holly Jolly once that’s all cleared out. You can rename it, of course, whatever you want. Something cute and clever. Either a design studio or a boutique. I’ll help you find all the inventory.”
“We’d be up against Cissy Davison’s The Time Turner.” Maddie sounded doubtful.
“And I know she plans on closing it after she gets married. The corner building is a perfect spot. You can hire someone to manage it, like Sasha manages the Silver Bear, and then freelance, too. That would keep you happy.”
“And we’ll still need you to do our fliers, the picnic poems, and other stuff,” Dad said. “Like that teddy party Sasha’s got in the works.”
“The Cran-beary Tea Party,” I corrected him. “We’ll pay you, Mads, instead of your working for free. I know exactly who to hire for doing the books. Guess who called yesterday morning? She read about all that’s happened this past week here in the village, in the newspapers, and was worried sick.”
My parents looked puzzled, although Uncle Ross grumbled under his breath. I knew Aunt Eve had called him first, but he hadn’t given her enough details beyond what she’d read. She kept us on the phone for three hours.
“Aunt Evie wants to move back from Chicago,” Maddie said with a huge grin. “I said we’d help find her a job. She’s certainly qualified to work in the office.”
Dad slapped the table. “Hired! She helped set up the books when we started.”
“What’s the story from back then?” I asked, curious. “We both thought you and Mom opened the Silver Bear Shop and Factory together.”
“We did, but Eve got a little too pushy. In my opinion,” Mom said. “And your father supported her ideas and never listened to me—”
“That’s not true!”
“Yes, it was,” Uncle Ross said. “Even I thought you two were a bit chummy. That’s not why Eve and I split, though. She’s too good for me. I’m a crotchety old skank. I know it. Eve refused to put up with me any longer.”
“Water under the bridge,” Mom said. “That was so long ago.”
“After Eve and Ross divorced, I figured you girls could learn the ropes,” Dad added. “After all, the business is our legacy to you both.”
Maddie jumped up and hugged him. “We’re grateful. Of course we are! I love the idea of hiring Aunt Eve. She’s neat and a lot of fun. I hope she can do the books for my boutique whenever I get the chance to open it.”
“And she’s the one who urged the experienced sewers to call us.” I held up my bandaged thumb. “Perfect timing. I can go back to selling and guiding tours. I’m not cut out to battle with a needle on those machines.”
“You got that right,” my uncle said sourly.
“So that’s what happened?” Mom clucked her tongue. “I could have tried my hand at it these last few days. I am so tired of listening to Barbara Davison going on and on about poor Carolyn, and how badly Will treated her. As if that matters!”
My swollen thumb throbbed at the memory of Carolyn ranting about her dead husband. In fact, I had yet to recover from Friday’s confrontation. We all needed to relax. Despite how the phone kept ringing and orders for bears had come pouring in over the Internet since the press conference; I’d let my father handle the shop for a few days, and customers new and old were delighted. Perhaps Dad was right. Even bad publicity could be good in the long run.
Rosie suddenly rushed to the door, barking like mad. My sister slid off her chair. “Someone must be here. That’s a car horn—”
We all trooped outside, although I shut the screen before Rosie could escape. My heart broke at her sorrowful face, but I didn’t want her jumping on any guests. I also couldn’t buckle on her harness and leash with my bandaged thumb. I hurried after the others to the drive. A truck had pulled in beside the house. Jay Kirby climbed out, his light brown hair mussed, a three days’ growth on his face. He smiled at me and waved a hand, as if in recognition.
I vaguely remembered him from years ago, when I had signed up for high school woodshop. But I’d dropped the class halfway through the term, having clobbered my thumb with a hammer. The same one now clad in a thick bandage. He waggled his own thumb with a broad smile.
“Still having fun with tools, I see.” Kirby’s black T-shirt had sawdust clinging to it, and so did his ragged jeans. He wore hiking boots, though, not sandals. “I brought your new mailbox. Hope it’s what you had in mind.”
Maddie clapped her hands in excitement. “I can’t wait to see it.”
“James John Kirby. Been a long time,” Dad said, and shook his outstretched hand with vigor. “Your dad had that small farm on Townhall Road, right? Heard you set up shop as a carpenter besides doing all these wood carvings.”
Jay nodded. “Still on the farm out that way, except my parents retired. I’m using the barn as my studio. You need something?”
“A small room inside the factory to enclose our stuffing machine. With shelves for the cotton fiber we use. Name your price.”
He lowered the truck bed’s tailgate. “I’ll work up an estimate.”
“Good. I don’t want anyone viewing a murder scene.” Dad slapped the truck’s metal. “We’re not running a little shop of horrors on Theodore Lane.”
I squinted in the bright sunshine, watching Jay Kirby lug a tarpaulin-wrapped item out of the truck and set it on the ground. When he pressed a button on his jackknife, the blade shot out. Then he cut the thick twine in several places and removed the canvas covering. We all gasped in delight to see the darling brown carved bear, about four feet tall, standing on a metal mailbox. On either side of it—her, since it was a mother bear—two smaller bears cavorted on all fours. The box was far too large to have been placed inside the bear’s mouth.
“I thought it was supposed to be a teddy bear, not a realistic bear,” Mom said, “although at least the mama bear is smiling.”
Jay glanced at me. “If you don’t like it—”
“We love it,” I said firmly. “The two baby bears are a perfect fit for our shop selling toys for children. Visiting kids will think it’s adorable.”
Uncle Ross examined the squared four- or five-foot stump of wood, the mailbox mounted on it, and the carved trio of bears atop that. He scratched his jaw. “How are you gonna stick that into the ground?”
“With this.” He brought out a long metal pole. “Goes right up the stump’s center. Keeps it stable and should last awhile.”
“Then I’ll set bricks all around that wooden mount. The next car that smashes into our mailbox will wrap around it like a taco shell!”
“I’d set it farther from the curb. Mailman could pull in the drive a bit, and deliver tha
t way. Up to you, though,” Jay said. “I sent out a post digger yesterday, but no one was around to get your okay. He went ahead with it over here.”
“Let’s get cracking then,” Uncle Ross said.
Jay Kirby tugged a dusty bag from the truck bed, a bucket, and a stick crusted with old cement. Maddie, Mom, and I walked back to the house.
“I still wish it looked more like a teddy bear,” Mom said.
“I bet if he’d done that, and stuck the box in the mouth, it would have scared all the little kids,” I said with a laugh. “What a dumb idea. It wasn’t Maddie’s design, you ought to know she could do better. That was all mine.”
“Everyone in Silver Hollow will love this mailbox,” Maddie said. Mom went ahead of us into the house, but my sister hung back. “Jay Kirby is pretty hot. Isn’t he your age? And single.”
I knew exactly what she meant, given the rising tone in her voice. “I’m too busy to worry about anything but the shop. We’ve got to get started on the designs for the printed menus, the place cards, the tags on the table centerpieces—and our tea party is the first kickoff of the whole Oktobear Fest for the village. Summer’s almost gone, you know. You’ve got less than a month to get everything done.”
“Come on. Maybe he’ll teach you how to hold a hammer the right way.”
Since she was teasing, I ignored that. We’d be too busy for anything but putting our plans into action. No time for mayhem or murder. I crossed my fingers.
Things were getting back to normal, and we had no worries facing us. Aunt Eve would arrive soon, and that meant Maddie would be busy showing her how she’d been running the office and keeping the books. Uncle Ross was happier, with a bigger sewing staff. And I’d soon take back managing the shop from Dad. He needed to take it easy, since his cough lingered.
Life was good. Until Flynn Hanson’s Mercedes screeched to a halt on the street. He pulled in around the group near the new mailbox, pushed up his shades, and then leaned out the open window.
“Hey, Sasha,” Flynn called out, waving. “Got a minute?”
I groaned aloud.