by Joy Avon
Callie said, “Falk is doing great when the sheriff isn’t around. He solved two murders earlier. You can rely on him to look at all the evidence.”
With a sob Mrs. Forrester looked at her. “Easy for you to say—you aren’t under suspicion. Falk wouldn’t ever think you could be involved, since you’re dating him.”
Callie felt her cheeks heat at this remark, which sounded almost like an accusation. As if the idea of them dating was a crime in itself. “We’re just friends.”
It came out quickly, and she wondered for a moment why she was so eager to deny it was anything more. They were dating. Period.
But Ace made such a point of going to other towns on dates, avoiding them being seen together. Did he not see their relationship quite like she did? Would she look silly if it turned out she had expected too much?
Iphy said, “Falk is a very honest and hardworking man, Frederica. You know that. You just have to entrust yourself to his judgment.”
Rubbing her hands, Mrs. Forrester huffed. “Did I hide out here in this dilapidated shack, cold and lonely, for nothing? I called you because I believed you would help me.”
“How? By hiding you from the police? The fact that you ran and didn’t give a statement has only made it worse.” Iphy shook her head at Mrs. Forrester. “I will help you. I will do anything I can to clear your name. But I can’t help you as long as you’re making your own case worse by running from the police. You have to turn yourself in.”
“Then they’ll lock me up.”
“Not necessarily. You can explain to them about the scissors and the argument you had with the victim. You can assure them you won’t leave town. I can’t see Falk throwing you in the cell. You’re not exactly young anymore.”
Mrs. Forrester harrumphed, but she also nodded slowly. “I see what you mean. I can’t run forever. I didn’t even mean to run. I just wanted to avoid being arrested in front of everyone present.”
“That’s understandable,” Iphy assured her. “Now just come with us to the police station and tell Falk you want to make a statement of your own accord. Tell him you never meant to run away but just needed time to calm yourself. He knows normal people aren’t used to murder cases. He’ll understand it got you worked up, and you did a foolish thing.”
Mrs. Forrester sighed.
Callie bet she didn’t like to admit she had done a foolish thing. Even though today was different from any normal day. Frederica Forrester just didn’t make mistakes.
Iphy patted her shoulder. “Come now. It’s cold here. There’s coffee at the police station. You can wash up a bit and have a hot drink, and then you can tell Falk the whole story. I’m sure he will lend a sympathetic ear.”
“If I really have to.” Mrs. Forrester rose to her feet, shoulders slumped.
Iphy said, “We all know you, Frederica. You’re a determined woman who knows her own abilities. You’ll overcome this trouble. Especially as you have friends who will support you through it.”
Mrs. Forrester looked up. Suddenly she smiled. “You came for us back then. We were so afraid, you know. When it got dark and the rain lashed against the windows. Especially Billy. He’d never admit it, but he was so scared. He was almost crying. We all thought we were stuck here for the night. But you came. You didn’t even scold us or yell at us. You just took us home and gave us hot chocolate.”
Iphy smiled back at her. “Maybe the police station will have hot chocolate as well.”
Chapter Seven
At the police station, it was quiet as one might expect on a normal evening in a small town. Callie walked in ahead of Iphy and a reluctant Mrs. Forrester, and caught sight of Falk standing at a colleague’s desk, half leaned over, looking at the monitor of the computer the colleague was working on. The concentration in his expression, the slight tension in his posture, the way he supported his suntanned hand on the edge of the desk—it all etched itself into her memory right away, and she felt a smile creep up.
Ace just loved his job. It was his life, his identity, maybe even the way he was wired. Right now he was completely engrossed in whatever problem was unfolding on that computer screen, and he didn’t even notice that some locals had walked in—that, in fact, the solution to one of his problems had walked in. He could now cancel that APB on the unfortunate library volunteer.
Callie cleared her throat, and Ace looked up. His expression changed for a moment when he saw her, warmth lighting his eyes, but then he discerned Mrs. Forrester behind her and immediately suspicion flashed across his features. He came to the counter and said, “Good evening. What’s this? A committee?”
Callie sensed he figured that they were there to plead for Mrs. Forrester’s innocence, and didn’t like it. Annoyance formed in the back of her head that he hadn’t even let them explain why they were there, but was instead ready to jump to conclusions.
Iphy said, “Mrs. Forrester is very sorry she ran off, Deputy. But she was in shock. In fact, she’s still not feeling very well.”
Ace studied the woman a moment and then said, “I can see that. Would you like some coffee?”
“With lots of sugar,” Iphy enthused, putting an arm around Mrs. Forrester and leading her to the plastic chairs where visitors to the station could sit to wait for their turn to file charges or give a statement.
Ace made a gesture as if he wanted to stop them—Callie bet that the visitors’ corner wasn’t the place where he wanted to put Mrs. Forrester right now—but then he stopped himself, shook his head a moment, and went to fetch coffee.
He came back carrying four steaming mugs on a tray. Iphy had sat down beside Mrs. Forrester, and Callie and Ace joined them. Ace passed around the coffee and then sat quietly, waiting for Mrs. Forrester to speak.
Callie suspected he was burning with curiosity over where Mrs. Forrester had been, how she had ended up with Iphy and Callie, and what had really happened between her and the victim that afternoon at Haywood Hall, but he didn’t pose a single question. Callie admired him for his psychological insight, sensing these moments were essential to settle Mrs. Forrester and get her to open up. Not in an interrogation room, where she might felt cornered, but simply here, sitting down over coffee like acquaintances meeting.
“I’m so sorry, Deputy,” Mrs. Forrester said at last. Her face crinkled as if she was close to fresh tears. “I should have come up to you the moment you arrived. I was a coward.” She hung her head.
“I can imagine you were shocked and didn’t even believe it was really happening. But you’re here now, and you came of your own accord. We can talk about it.” Ace sipped his coffee.
Visibly relieved, Mrs. Forrester nodded. “I didn’t kill him. You must believe me. I did handle the scissors and I did argue with him because he wanted to go back on his given word.” She began to explain how the victim had suddenly asked for payment for his participation in the Valentine’s event, and not just cash, but a vase from the house that wasn’t hers to give. How he had even threatened her with a fake email he claimed to be able to produce to prove to Mrs. Finster the vase had been promised and had to be handed over to him.
Ace listened with a deep frown over his eyes.
Callie studied him, his broad shoulders, the gleaming star on his shirt, the changes in his expression as he heard the story and formed questions to ask later. She realized just how much she loved being a part of what he did. But it seemed that the closer they got, the more distant Ace became where his work was concerned, not wanting to involve her in anything he was busy with.
At least, it felt that way sometimes. Mrs. Forrester sighed and clutched her coffee mug. “I can’t believe that he actually threatened me to play along with him. That he could produce an email in which I had allegedly agreed to pass something from the house to him. I don’t understand technology well enough to know if it’s possible to make such an email. He would have to have made it— forged it—as I certainly never sent it to him. I would never do a thing like that.”
Ace sat up, lean
ing his mug on his knee. “Mrs. Forrester, I hate to say this, but your story is hard to accept.”
Although Callie had expected some resistance on Ace’s part—after all, it was his task to question people and see if their statements held water—she cringed under this judgment.
Ace continued, “This man had just had his big break on TV, and he was building a reputation as an expert in his field. Would he resort to such low tactics as putting pressure on a small-town librarian to give him antiques by way of payment for an hour’s work? It seems unlikely.”
Mrs. Forrester glared at him. “Well, it is what happened.” She nodded firmly. “Why would I make it up?”
“You might have had a personal reason to fight with him, and you don’t want to disclose this reason to us.”
Mrs. Forrester tilted her head. “So this whole story I just told you is a fabrication? I tell you, if I had planned to invent a story, I would have chosen a better one. I had enough time for it!” Mrs. Forrester looked angry enough to get to her feet and storm off, and Iphy put a placating hand on her arm.
“That is true. Frederica had enough time to think things over while she was at the cannery.”
“Cannery?” Ace asked, puzzled.
Mrs. Forrester snorted. “I know hiding places around Heart’s Harbor you’ve never heard of, young man. I came here to speak with you of my own accord. Else you would have spent some time looking for me.”
Callie was worried a moment Ace would get mad at the woman’s tone, but she saw his brown eyes twinkle as if her feistiness amused him. “I’m just trying to explain to you that your story might seem unbelievable and make your position in this case very difficult,” he said. “Your prints are on the weapon, and you argued with the victim shortly before he died. I don’t see who else might have had a reason.”
“There were so many people there,” Mrs. Forrester objected. “This man had been on TV, and we advertised his presence there. Someone might have come over especially to see him.”
“And kill him with a pair of scissors that were conveniently at hand and marked with a local person’s fingerprints, to divert suspicion to someone else?” Ace sounded incredulous. He shook his head, got up, and went to refill his coffee mug.
“He does have a point,” Iphy said with a worried expression. “If someone came in from the outside, not knowing Haywood Hall and how the event was set up, where the expert might be and that a weapon would be at hand, how could he or she have planned the murder? That just doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe someone came to confront the expert about something,” Callie suggested, “and the altercation got out of hand. The scissors were lying there, put aside after being used, and the killer grabbed them and struck out. It need not have been premeditated.”
“True.” Iphy nodded. “That does sound better.”
Ace was just on his way back over to them when the phone rang, and the other deputy answered. He listened a moment and then waved at Ace. “A deputy from a nearby town thinks he saw Mrs. Forrester. She’s having pancakes in the local diner. With an unknown man. He thinks the guy might be an accomplice to the murder. Should he arrest them both?”
Callie bit her lip in an attempt not to start laughing.
Ace flushed. “No, Mrs. Forrester is right here.” He pointed at the woman. The other deputy, who apparently didn’t know her, looked surprised, then puzzled. “But we have an APB out for her, right?”
“Yes, cancel that,” Ace said, waving a hand. “And please let those people eat their pancakes in peace.”
Callie didn’t dare look at Iphy for fear they’d both burst out laughing.
Ace came back to them with long strides. He sat down and said, “No more APB, Mrs. Forrester, but you are still in a tight spot.”
“Iphy just had a great idea,” Mrs. Forrester said, and Iphy explained her suggestion for how the murder could have occurred without premeditation.
Ace listened patiently, but Callie just saw him mentally shaking his head at them.
When Iphy was done, Ace said, “To accept that an outsider murdered our victim, I have to have motive for the murder. Like I just said, this was a well-respected man.”
“But not a pleasant man,” Mrs. Forrester objected. “He was curt and condescending, and he outright yelled at his poor assistant.”
“Yes,” Callie said, “did you manage to talk to him? Could he perhaps tell you something about threats against his employer? Altercations he might have had over something he appraised?” She was thinking up options off the top of her head, but it could be possible. Especially if he had been a man with a temper like Mrs. Forrester suggested, he might have made enemies.
Ace said, “The assistant was very upset by the murder and just about passed out. The local doctor had a look at him and gave him a sedative to calm him down; then one of my colleagues drove him to his hotel so he could rest up before giving a statement. The doctor told me that pressing someone under shock to make a statement right away can distort his memory of the event and lead to unintentional lies. So I will have to speak to him later, once he has slept a bit and can think clearly.”
Iphy glanced at Callie, and she had the impression her great-aunt had an idea. But Iphy didn’t say anything.
Ace looked at Mrs. Forrester. “I’ll have to take a formal statement. We don’t need to do it in the interrogation room, but in the sheriff’s office. What do you say?” Mrs. Forrester nodded. “I’m telling the truth, so I’m happy to make it formal, sign it and all.” She waited a moment and then asked in a small voice, “I can go home after that, can’t I? I don’t need to spend the night here?”
Iphy said, “Of course not. There’s no need to lock a woman your age in a cell. The deputy will understand that you’re not running away.”
Ace said, “But that’s exactly what she did earlier today.” Mrs. Forrester sighed and sat with slumped shoulders.
Ace looked her over. Then he glanced at Callie. Callie made a “come on” gesture with both her hands.
Ace sighed. “After you make your statement, you can go home, provided you promise to stay around Heart’s Harbor. No more ‘I panicked and I took off to think about it,’ or you will be locked up. Understand?”
“Perfectly,” Mrs. Forrester said, something of her primness returning as she rose to her feet and marched to the door of the sheriff’s office. “Shall we, then?”
Ace rolled his eyes at Callie, but she did detect a hint of a smile. He was a good man at heart, who didn’t want to put an elderly lady in jail. Thing was, to keep Mrs. Forrester out of further trouble, there had to be another suspect to offer to the police. Someone who might have wanted to kill the presumptuous book appraiser.
Iphy took Callie’s arm and called after Ace, “Good night, Deputy. Thanks so much for seeing us. Always a pleasure to talk to you.” and she dragged Callie along to the door.
Callie felt distinctly like Iphy was up to something, and Ace also seemed to sense it as he stared after them with narrowed eyes.
Outside, Iphy said in a low whisper, “That assistant must know more about people who didn’t like the victim. We have to talk to him.” She walked to the car. “The Cliff Hotel it is.”
Callie rushed after her. “You can’t do that. Ace hasn’t even had a chance to talk to him. He’s entitled to the first statement. You just heard how worried he is that the statement might get perverted and could contain unintentional lies. That assistant has to sleep off his shock and then talk to Ace.”
“What I’m after isn’t a statement about the murder,” Iphy corrected. “Just some factual information so we can hunt down other suspects. We can’t keep Mrs. Forrester out of trouble just by smiling at Ace Falk.” Iphy gave Callie a look from under her lashes. “Not even you.”
Callie flushed at what felt like a bit of a jibe, even when coming from her own great-aunt.
Iphy hopped into the car, buckled up, and reached to turn the ignition on.
Callie scooted in beside her, sighing
, “Ace won’t be happy about this. I don’t want to risk a fight with him.”
Iphy glanced at her. “All couples fight sometimes.”
“Yes, but I don’t want him to feel that I’m hampering him in his job. It means the world to him.”
“You mean it might mean more to him than you do?”
Callie clenched her jaw. “I wouldn’t have put it quite like that.”
Iphy laughed softly. “Don’t worry, darling. If you don’t want to come into the hotel to speak to the assistant, I’ll do it alone. You can tell Ace you didn’t agree with me and told me so, but that I did it anyway because I’m a stubborn old woman who made a promise to help Mrs. Forrester.”
Callie exhaled. “It’s not going to make much difference to him whether I was actually there or not. Just the fact that you got to the assistant before he could …”
Iphy glanced at her as she steered the car through the dark night. “If it doesn’t make much of a difference, you might as well come along. Two see more than one. I’m curious about the young man’s feelings. Judging by what Mrs. Forrester told us, he was bullied by his boss. Why would he faint upon hearing the man was dead?”
“Well, not liking your boss isn’t the same as wishing him dead,” Callie objected. “We all know people who are a bit much, and wish them away sometimes, but then to find out he actually died—stabbed too— that is kind of gruesome. Maybe this assistant is a sensitive type?”
Iphy nodded. “Who knows? We’ll find out soon enough.”
Chapter Eight
The Cliff Hotel was a beautiful Art Deco building with revolving doors, behind which porters in red uniforms waited to carry people’s luggage, direct them to the elevators, or answer queries. The man who stopped them as they came in, a tall individual with a big black moustache, looked doubtful when Iphy asked about the assistant of Mr. King.
“If you do not know his room number,” he said in a weighty tone, “we are not allowed to give it to you. Privacy and all that.”