“The autopsy is being performed locally,” Andrew informed Natalie. The woman turned to him again, incensed. His wide eyes told Sarah that he had no idea how to cope with the visitor’s barrage of rudeness.
“I want to see—”
“When the autopsy is completed we will make the necessary arrangements,” Sarah repeated in a firm tone, interrupting the tirade. “Ms. Hopski, please understand. We have to rule out unnatural causes of death. Can you understand that?”
Natalie shot Sarah an icy stare. “I can understand your little backwater town is trying to stop me with a lot of red tape. I won’t stand for it. I will call my lawyer if you refuse to grant me permission to see
my—”
“Permission is denied until the autopsy is completed,” Sarah interrupted Natalie. She met the woman's glare with a calm demeanor, remembering every suspect she had ever stared down in a police station. “Ms. Hopski, out of respect for Mr. Hopski, I will ensure that every measure is taken to rule out that he was murdered. Once I rule out murder, I will make the arrangements you have requested. Are we clear?”
“We will be,” Natalie promised. She stood up, holding her black purse, and walked over to the office door. She looked at Sarah with malice. “I have very delicate business matters to attend to, Detective Garland. If you interfere with me, you'll lose your job. That I guarantee.”
“I'm retired,” Sarah fired back with mild humor. “As I told you earlier, right now I'm the acting detective until Detective Spencer returns.”
Natalie stared at Sarah for a few seconds, then stormed out of the office and slammed the door behind her. “Wow, what a woman,” Andrew said in the silence that remained. He stood up and began scratching his legs through the stiffly starched trousers of his uniform. “You ladies have your work cut out for you.”
“When will the results of the autopsy come back?” Sarah asked Andrew.
“A couple of days, maybe tomorrow? Depends. This is a small town, Sarah.”
Amanda shook her fists at the office door. “Oh, I could just punch her lights out!”
“This is a good lesson for you, Amanda. Never take it personally,” Sarah said. “If you let people like Natalie Hopski get under your skin, you let them take control.” Sarah focused back on Andrew. “Where is Ms. Hopski staying?”
“At the lodge in town.”
Sarah nodded her head. “I assume that's where Chet and Milton Hopski will be staying, too?”
“Yep,” Andrew said. “And Mrs. Hopski, the young wife, too.”
“Interesting,” Sarah said.
“Why?” Andrew asked.
“My old friend in Los Angeles informed me that Natalie Hopski and Charlene Nelton can't stand to be in the same room together. And now they are staying at the same lodging.”
“Well, Snow Falls is a small town,” Andrew pointed out. “It’s not like they have much choice, and the lodge really is the nicest place.”
“If I couldn't stand someone I would find another roof to sleep under, by hook or by crook,” Amanda told Andrew. She looked at Sarah. “Are you thinking Clown Woman is in cahoots with Mrs. Gold Digger?”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Sarah said and bit down on her lower lip. Before she could continue, she heard an argument erupt from the lobby. “Here we go,” she said and rushed out of the office just in time to see a tall, skinny woman pointing one trembling, bony finger at Natalie.
“You killed my husband!” Charlene Nelton screamed at Natalie in a hoarse voice.
“Oh, you little diseased, gold-digging brat,” Natalie fired back, advancing on the younger woman with menace, “how dare you accuse me of anything? Who are you to—”
“Just a minute, ladies,” Sarah ran up and stood between the two women, “this is a police station, not a wrestling ring.”
Charlene looked at Sarah unkindly. Sarah saw that the woman's face was boney, as if half-starved. Even by the standards of image-obsessed Los Angeles, Sarah was immediately struck by something in that face. It was the ugliness of the greed and hunger for power in her eyes. “Who are you?”
“Detective Garland,” Sarah introduced herself, offering a friendly handshake as she studied Charlene's hair that had been bleached one too many times and her severe, dark gray dress that was presumably meant to convey power. “Charlene Nelton, I presume?”
“Charlene Hopski,” Charlene replied icily, withdrawing from the handshake after barely touching Sarah’s hand with her own stiff, bony fingers. “My maiden name is Nelton.”
“Your name is still Nelton,” Natalie barked at Natalie, trying to push around Sarah. “You gold-digging brat—”
“How dare you!” Charlene practically shrieked with indignation, craning her sinewy neck around to stare daggers at Natalie. “I loved my husband and—”
“Love? Oh, don't make me vomit,” Natalie roared back. “You manipulated my father into marrying you.”
“How dare you!” Charlene reached out to slap Natalie. Sarah quickly caught her hand and started to try to calm them down once again, but Charlene wasn’t having it. “Let go of me,” she snapped and viciously yanked her hand away from Sarah.
“Ladies!” Sarah finally shouted in a stern tone that brooked no further interruptions. “Enough. This is a police station. Unless you wish to be booked for public assault, act civil or leave the premises.”
The two women, still heaving with pent-up fury, stood stock-still in the lobby as they each waited for the other to leave first. Finally, Natalie backed away a few steps. But she couldn’t resist one parting shot.
“You need to be brought down a notch,” Natalie warned Sarah. “And I may be just the woman to put you in your place.”
“You may leave now,” Sarah told Natalie, setting her mouth in a grim line. She pointed at the front door. “At once.” She had no more patience for threats, not in her little town, not today, and not ever.
Natalie scowled. “I expect to be contacted with the results of my father's autopsy immediately,” she told Sarah and stormed out of the police station.
Charlene rolled her eyes and said snidely, “You should have let me slap her senseless.”
“No violence,” Sarah warned Charlene.
Charlene drew in a deep breath, patted her hair into place, and smoothed the front of her dress. She turned on an apologetic, simpering smile that made Sarah’s skin crawl, even though she knew this was simply a calculated act. “I would like to see my husband's body now.”
Sarah shook her head. “I’m afraid that’s simply not possible yet. When the official autopsy is completed, I will make the arrangements for a viewing. Until then, we must ask for your patience and understanding.”
Charlene folded her arms together, the fake smile leaving her face. “Can I at least gather my husband's belongings?”
“Not yet,” Sarah said without apology. “This is an investigation and his belongings are evidence.”
“Evidence? An investigation?” Charlene asked, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “It was made clear to me that my husband died from exposure.”
“Possibly,” Sarah explained. “But we must rule out other possibilities, as well.”
“You mean murder?” Charlene asked in an acidic tone. The way her eyes stared out from the bony hollows of her face, a look of withering disdain, was enough to make a flower wilt.
“Yes.”
“Oh please, who would want to murder my husband? My husband was adored by everyone,” Charlene rolled her eyes. “Detective, you're barking up the wrong tree if you believe—”
“Every possibility must be ruled out,” Sarah repeated firmly. “We ask for your patience. Please accept my sincere condolences for the loss of your husband.”
An expression of grief came over Charlene’s face as if cued by the mention of her loss. “Yes, I was devastated when I was informed about my husband’s death. I began asking myself a million questions…” Charlene took a lace handkerchief out of her purse and sniffed as if some tears would fall, but S
arah couldn’t help but see that her eyes remained perfectly dry.
“Did Mr. Hopski tell you he was traveling to Alaska on a hunting trip?” Sarah asked Charlene.
Charlene shook her head no. “My dear husband never told anyone when he went hunting. He would just simply vanish overnight, guns and jackets packed up and his closet a mess.” Charlene wiped at her eyes. “My husband was older than me, of course. He made his fortune and he liked living a certain way, so I never felt that it was my place to ask him about his hunting trips or complain when he would just up and leave.”
Sarah nodded. “Did your husband take medication for his depression?”
Charlene's face went from sad to stony in a split second. “Is that what that bag of fat told you?” she spit out between tightly pressed lips.
Sarah saw out of the corner of her eye as Amanda clamped one hand over her mouth to stifle a helpless laugh and then ran back toward Andrew's office. Andrew quickly followed her, leaving Sarah in the lobby with Charlene. Sarah summoned every ounce of professionalism to keep a straight face. “Uh, yes. I do believe she – Ms. Hopski mentioned that.”
Charlene fumed. “My husband did not suffer from depression, Detective,” she snapped. “My husband may have been older than me, and he certainly had his moods, but his mind was sharp and brilliant. He was certainly not mentally ill, no matter what you might hear from his ungrateful children,” she spat out.
“I see,” Sarah finally said, reserving her thoughts. “Well, the autopsy report will tell us if your husband had any medication in his system.”
Charlene quickly glanced down at her feet and then back up at Sarah. “Well, if my husband was on any medication for depression, I wasn't aware of it.”
“I would have thought a wife would know about her husband’s medical issues,” Sarah queried.
“Are you trying to suggest that I was a bad wife?” she fired back.
“No,” Sarah said in a calm voice, “I'm stating that if you are lying to me, the autopsy will show it.”
“How dare you suggest—!”
“You may leave now, too,” Sarah said and pointed at the front door. “I'll be in touch.”
“You better be,” Charlene demanded. “I'm staying at—”
“I'm aware,” Sarah assured Charlene, ushering her firmly toward the door.
Charlene stopped at the threshold, holding the handle of the lobby door, and stared at Sarah. Sarah wasn't the type of woman you wanted to match wits with. However, Charlene drew herself up to her full height, even though she wavered like a twig on her too-high heels. She was a spoiled young woman, used to getting everything she wanted. “Maybe you do need to be brought down a notch,” she said in a snide undertone. “As if this town isn’t low enough as it is.”
“You may leave,” Sarah said in a tougher tone.
Charlene rolled her eyes at Sarah. “Whatever, I'm out of here,” she said and walked out the door.
Sarah walked over to the front door, looked out the nearby window, and watched Charlene march up to a flashy red BMW, jump into the front seat and speed away. She spotted Natalie sitting across the street in a black Lincoln Town Car. Natalie drove away as soon as Charlene was down the road. “Interesting,” Sarah said, and walked back to Andrew's office. “You two,” she said and rolled her eyes at her friends.
“Bag of fat?” Andrew burst out laughing again. Amanda joined in. “Oh, wait till the wife hears about that one!”
Amanda slapped her knee. “I thought I was going to die laughing! It’s like the circus is in town. Oh my, I can't breathe.”
Sarah shook her head and grinned. She leaned back against the office door and waited for her friends to laugh it out. “Well, that Laurel and Hardy nightmare pair might seem like a laughing matter, but they need to be taken seriously.”
Amanda tried to stop laughing but couldn't. Andrew wiped tears from his eyes. “My side hurts,” he said and grabbed his ribs. “Who knew Los Angeles folk talked like that?”
“Alright, you two,” Sarah said, “let's try to focus.” But as soon as she said those words, Amanda made a face and gestured with her hands in a pouf above her head, mimicking Natalie’s outrageous hair, and Sarah burst out laughing herself. “I guess it was kinda funny.”
“A real female Laurel and Hardy,” Amanda laughed.
“The circus is definitely in town,” Andrew laughed even harder. They all doubled up anew.
Even Sarah laughed until it hurt, and then finally took a calming breath. “Okay,” she said and wiped tears from her eyes, “we need to focus—”
Before Sarah could finish her sentence, the door to the office burst open and a short man with a comically round, portly belly appeared, wearing an expensive-looking but rumpled gray, pinstriped suit and a gray fedora that had seen better days. He had the chewed-up end of a fat cigar in his mouth and a face that looked like a prize fighter after a heavyweight title match – rough, wary, but used to winning. He snatched the cigar end from his mouth as he looked the three of them up and down quickly. “My name is Milton Hopski. Which one of you is in charge?”
Andrew took one look at Milton and bolted up from his chair and left the office. Amanda took off after him. “You'll have to excuse my friends, they, uh, have important work to take care of,” Sarah told Milton as she bit back the laugh that she knew her friends were hiding in the hall to let out. “Please, come in. My name is Detective Garland. I'm the acting detective until Detective Spencer returns from New York.”
Milton stepped further into Andrew's office so that his bulk blocked the door. He took a slow, appraising look at Sarah and smiled. “Say, detective, maybe you and I can have dinner tonight. It sure is cold up here in Alaska, but I like it hot.” Milton tossed Sarah a flirty wink.
“Oh my,” Sarah whispered and hurried to put Andrew's desk between them before he could approach any nearer. Milton’s smile widened as he started chatting up the pretty female detective.
Far away in New York City, Conrad poured himself a cup of coffee and began wondering how Sarah was making out back home. “I'm sure she's doing fine,” he told himself, not realizing that at that very moment, Milton Hopski was scheming to make Sarah his sixth wife.
Chapter 3
Spring Brings Strange People
Milton Hopski eased toward Andrew's desk. “Now, don't be shy,” he coaxed Sarah and patted one of the brown chairs in front of the desk. “Come and sit down by Milton and let's talk.”
Sarah couldn't believe her eyes. This strange little man with a round stomach sticking out from the rumpled jacket of his mobster suit was flirting with her. Good grief. Spring usually brought strange, randy creatures out of the hills in a normal year, but strange people? This took the cake, she thought to herself. “Mr. Hopski—”
“Please, call me Milton, hot stuff. And might I add, that dress you're wearing...rawr,” Milton made a flirty growling sound and winked at Sarah again.
“Uh...thank you,” Sarah said, wondering how she was going to deal with the wolf standing before her. “Mr. Hopski—Milton, on behalf of the city of Snow Falls, please accept our deepest condolences to you and your family for your loss.”
Milton shrugged his shoulders and tossed one hand in dismissal. “My old man was older than the hills, babe. It was only a matter of time before he kicked the bucket, eh?”
“Uh, yes, I suppose,” Sarah agreed. “Still, a tragic ending.”
Chastened, Milton pulled a sad face and took the fedora hat off, revealing a nearly bald head. A few stringy gray hairs stood here and there like lost soldiers. “My old man lived a long life. Now he's taken his last voyage. That's the way of things,” Milton told Sarah with a shrug of his shoulders, popping his hat back on his head.
She thought of the elderly man’s last moments on the frozen mountain, and the terrible cold that must have enveloped him. She shivered a little, glad that the dark winter had at last passed into spring, even if it had brought the Hopskis to Snow Falls. “God is the beginning and the
end of all things and all men, Mr. Hopski. Death is not to be taken lightly.”
Milton stared at Sarah. “Say, you're okay,” he smiled.
Sarah could tell that Milton wasn't a bad guy – confused and eccentric, yes; but not bad. In fact, the man was oddly charming in his old-fashioned mannerisms, if she ignored his over-the-top flirting. She smiled. “Thanks.”
“So, what about that dinner, huh? Let me take you out, Detective.”
“Uh…sorry,” Sarah replied, amused by his sudden shift back to flirting. “You’re very nice to offer, but I'm recently divorced and kinda licking my wounds right now.”
“I've been dropped by five wives. Take it from an expert: in time, you’ll grow numb,” Milton explained. “Best way to get over being dropped is to get right back in the saddle, too,” he winked.
Sarah smiled. Milton was a persistent little fellow. “I'll remember that. In the meantime, I am still the acting detective on this case and will need to ask you a few questions.”
“Anything for you, doll.” Milton plopped down in a chair. “Fire away.”
Sarah eased down into Andrew's desk chair. “Did your father, the older Mr. Hopski, suffer from depression?”
“Pop?” Milton asked and then laughed. “Pop was a prime candidate for the looney farm. No disrespect intended. If you didn't learn Pop's moods you were in for some hard hits. But hey, Pop was one of a kind. Sure, he was moody, but he was brilliant and clever. He knew when to buy up the land and he made a sweet profit from it, every time. And he sold so many of those lousy mansions to the rich and famous…more like the 'Spoiled and Rotten' if you ask me. Pop knew how to play people like a fiddle and make a pretty penny in the process.”
Sarah nodded her head as she took down a few quick notes on the paper in front of her. “And Mr. Hopski also was a skilled hunter, from what I was told?”
Milton twirled the fedora hat on his right finger, lost in a memory. “Pop used to say he could pick off a gazelle at five hundred meters without blinking an eye,” he said in a proud voice. “Pop fought the Germans in World War II, you know.” Milton stopped twirling the fedora hat and his smile dropped from his face. “I think it was the war that messed with his brain, you know. Before my mother died she told me a lot of stories about Pop and the war.”
Spring into Murder (Alaska Cozy Mystery Book 5) Page 4