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Bookman Dead Style Page 19

by Paige Shelton


  “I am fine. You didn’t expect me to come into town and ask for a job. I’m happy to be here.”

  I left, closing and locking the door behind me. The German connections I’d tried to make had distracted me. That uneasy sense that I was missing something came back too. My head was in another world entirely and I almost stumbled off the curb.

  I shook myself out of it and decided to think about it all later. The roads were clear and there wasn’t a cloud in sight, and I had a potential killer / Hollywood superhero to visit. I pulled onto the freeway toward Salt Lake City as the sun arrived full up over the mountain slopes.

  23

  The Utah State Prison sat at the south end of the Salt Lake Valley, just on the west side of Interstate 15 and not far from newer neighborhoods that spread all the way to the Oquirrh mountain range on the west and the Wasatch range on the east. There’d been talk about moving the prison, but I wasn’t sure whether any decisions as to where had been made yet.

  The list of infamous people incarcerated at the facility wasn’t long, but it was definitely creepy. A few of the more notable inmates were killer Gary Gilmore and killer Mark Hacking, who had shot his wife in the head and thrown her body in a Dumpster because he didn’t want to face his lies about being admitted to medical school—he was still there; Ted Bundy, whom everyone seemed to remember, had been there in the 1970s before being extradited to Colorado. And on the uglier side of polygamy, Warren Jeffs, president of his own goofy church, had also spent some time there. Not a good guy at all.

  Killer and Mormon-document forger Mark Hofmann was also still imprisoned there, serving a life sentence. Chester had known one of his victims and we weren’t allowed to discuss that particular evil guy around him because it brought back too many bad memories.

  The sky was as blue in the Salt Lake Valley as it had been up the canyon and the roads were perfectly clear; only a low ledge of snow had accumulated next to the roads or at the ends of parking lots. I found a spot in the prison’s main lot, not far from the guard tower, and went through the visitors’ door. The experience was nothing like my visit to the Star City jail cells.

  Obediently, I showed my identification, signed a sheet of paper guaranteeing that I was who I said I was, and that I was there to see who I said I was there to see. I also agreed to a pat down. The female officer didn’t smile, but she was gentle and didn’t get too touchy-feely.

  I left my bag with the front guard before I went through the metal detector, thankfully not setting off any alarms.

  “This way,” another officer said.

  He held open a door and told me to have a seat in the third chair in the line of five in an otherwise empty room. He said I wasn’t to touch the glass between the prisoner and me and that I was only to talk through the handset that looked like a phone handpiece.

  The gray walls and the old linoleum were beyond stark. The thick, cold glass that would separate me from Matt was almost too big a reminder that I was in a prison with violent criminals.

  The mere idea of the crimes that had been committed to put the people inside the bowels of this building left me second-guessing my decision to make the trip.

  I was further bothered a moment later when Matt Bane came through the door on the other side of the glass. A guard guided him to the chair across from me and said things I couldn’t hear. Matt nodded, his messed-up and dirty hair bouncing with his agreement.

  After the officer left, Matt picked up the handpiece. I did the same on my side.

  “Thank you for coming,” he said, tinny and distant. He looked horrible, but not injured.

  “Sure. You okay?” I said.

  “I’m hanging in there,” he said, the tone of his voice telling me differently.

  “Good.”

  “How was the party?”

  “Fine, Matt, but that feels lousy to say. Nonetheless, thank you for the ticket.”

  “You’re welcome. Did anything strange happen?”

  “Not that I noticed. Not really.”

  On the drive down the canyon, I’d thought about telling Matt that Adele suspected Howie might have had something to do with Cassie’s murder, but I’d decided against it. It was time for me to tell the police things, not these people who had come into my life only recently and whom I strangely seemed to trust, or feel connected to like I did with Matt.

  The hour or so on the road had given me some appropriate moments of introspection and I’d realized that I wasn’t necessarily starstruck. It was that these people were familiar to me. That’s what fame and celebrity did—took strangers and made them seem like your friends, or your enemies. Matt’s superhero image had automatically made me see him as a friend. I only truly realized this when, after seeing him play a heinous killer in Kill Night, I’d started to think of him differently, and definitely not so much as a friend, though still so familiar.

  He nodded. “It was a long shot.”

  “What was a long shot?”

  “I thought maybe the killer would be exposed. Did anyone say anything to you?”

  “Why did you think the killer would be exposed there of all places?”

  Matt shrugged. “Long story. But that might not matter at this point. Flint Magnum is a friend, though. I thought maybe . . .”

  “Has he visited you?”

  “No. Long shot, like I said. Anyway, I actually had another reason for asking you to come see me. Remember when I came into the shop to order the note cards?”

  “Of course.”

  “Remember the pen you gave me?”

  “The shamrock one? Sure.”

  “I think the killer took it.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s another long shot, but I just remembered something last night. When I found my sister . . . well, she was dead by then. But that pen you gave me. I gave it to her right after you gave it to me. She was bugging me as we were walking back to the hotel. I gave it to her as a good-luck thing for some meeting she was going to. She thought it was cute. She put it down the front of her shirt.”

  “Like in her cleavage or something?”

  “Yes. Well, sort of. She was wearing a high-necked dress. She unbuttoned one of the top buttons and slipped it through the buttonhole.” He touched the middle of his chest. “It was just there. She liked it. She said she wouldn’t take it out until the meeting was over.”

  “What was the meeting?”

  “That’s the big mystery. I think the police are trying to find out where she went too.”

  “No one knew?”

  “Only Cassie and whoever she was having the meeting with.”

  I thought back to something Jodie had told me. “And you thought she came back from the meeting with someone else. That’s what you told the police.”

  “I did. I thought I heard voices, more than just Cassie’s.”

  “Male or female?”

  “Female.”

  “Huh,” I said, thinking about the scream. “So, you don’t think the pen was still on your sister.”

  “I know it wasn’t. Well, I didn’t see it, don’t remember seeing it. It was a terrible moment, though. I could have missed it.”

  “She might have given it to someone else, or it might have fallen out of the dress.”

  He shook his head. “I really don’t think she gave it to anyone. She was very superstitious. She loved that kind of stuff.”

  “Maybe it was in the room somewhere.”

  “It’s possible. But no one is listening to me. I’m finally meeting with an attorney later today, but I wondered if you’d ask the police in Star City to check it out.”

  I looked at Matt through the thick, extremely clean glass. Was he onto something or was he just grasping at straws?

  “I can do that.”

  “Thank you.” The relief that relaxed his features made
me want to cry.

  “Did Howie come see you?” I asked.

  “No, but he got a message to me that an attorney was on the way. The message said that he wasn’t allowed to come see me in Star City. You mentioned that might have been a rule or something. You must have talked to him.”

  “Only briefly.” I wondered if Howie had been subject to Creighton’s rule or if he’d just been making an excuse to not see Matt.

  I couldn’t stop myself. I cleared my throat. “I think Adele thinks Howie might have killed your sister.”

  A half smile pulled at his mouth. “So something did happen at the party?”

  “Not really. Kind of. Well, just that.”

  “Did she confront Howie?”

  “Not that I saw. I overheard her telling Nell.”

  Matt frowned. “I see.”

  “What?”

  “It’s pretty childish, but I was hoping to get a visit from Nell at some point too. Hasn’t happened. Maybe she tried and wasn’t allowed in either.”

  “You really care for her?”

  “Yep. A lot of good that’s going to do me.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. That’s a stupid thing to think about, but maybe thinking about Nell is just something I do to forget where I am.”

  “Maybe. Nell doesn’t think Howie’s a killer. What do you think?”

  “I have no idea what to think, Clare. I can’t believe I’m in here. This isn’t a role I ever hoped for.”

  “No one does. If you’re innocent, you’ll be released.”

  “I am innocent. I don’t think I’m being framed, but I think the killer got away with murder and I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  I thought a minute. “So you don’t think someone is trying to make you look guilty?”

  “Just wrong place, wrong time. I mean, really, if I’d come upon someone with blood and the murder weapon on them, my automatic thought would have been that they were the killer, or might have been at least. There was no other evidence, I guess. That’s why I wonder about the pen. It might be evidence, but the police might not realize it.”

  “Do you think the killer is worried about your freedom?”

  “Doubtful. They’re probably happy because at least someone else looks guilty.”

  “Is it really possible to act that well?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Are there good enough actors to fool everyone into thinking they were innocent of murder?” A bad trick question, I knew, but I watched him closely to see if I could discover anything, even if I wasn’t sure exactly what it was.

  He thought a moment. I was surprised his answer wasn’t automatic. “A good actor has to convince him- or herself of the role first. Then it’s easier. I’m not sure someone could fully accept killing someone else unless they were a complete sociopath. And that happens, of course. Acting the role of a killer would have to be much different from acting like you weren’t one.”

  “Which might be the case here.”

  “Of course.”

  Dammit, I thought. I still wanted to trust that Matt Bane was telling the truth.

  “I’ll talk to the police about the pen. Today.”

  “Thank you. That would be helpful. I’ll tell my attorney too. At least it’s better than nothing.” He tried to smile, but it was such a sad expression on his already sad face that he quickly gave up trying.

  There wasn’t much else to talk about, so when the guard came over and told Matt his time was up, we both hung up our handsets and left our plastic chairs with very little ceremony.

  I glanced at my watch as I made it back out to the parking lot. I had plenty of time to stop and talk to Jodie. I couldn’t help but take a minute to look up at the clear blue sky and notice that the sun had taken a modicum of chill off the winter air. It was going to be a beautiful day and I was eternally grateful I would get to enjoy it from this side of the prison walls.

  24

  “A pen, huh? A shamrock pen.” Jodie put the end of her own cheap pen in her mouth and chewed.

  “Yes, you know like the ones on our counter. We got them in early for Saint Patrick’s Day. Shamrocks on the top. Chester thought they were atrocious, but Marion likes them. We’re giving them away.”

  “I didn’t notice the shamrock pens in the store.”

  “Did you find any in the room? Have you seen anyone in Matt’s circle with one?”

  “No, regarding finding one in the room. I haven’t been looking otherwise, so I can’t be totally sure, but I don’t think so. They probably won’t be a popular item until March.”

  “I doubt they’ll ever be completely popular, but you’re right about March being a better time to spot them.”

  “Besides, that’s not necessarily an indication of a killer. There are too many other variables involved.”

  “Right, but maybe.”

  “I’ll keep my eyes open.”

  I looked at her as she chewed. I didn’t think I’d told her something that would catch a killer necessarily, but I knew she’d put a little muscle behind it.

  She hadn’t been bothered that I’d gone to visit Matt. She thought it was bizarre that I cared so much that I’d even take a call from him, let alone hop in my car and take a trip to the prison, but she wasn’t angry about it.

  “Want to tell me what you found in the hotel room?” I said.

  “No.”

  “Please. A hint?”

  Jodie released the pen from its torture. It had already been deformed, but it was worse now. She leaned her elbows on the desk and moved closer to me. I leaned closer to her.

  “Beads,” she whispered.

  “Beads?” I whispered back.

  “Yep, from some sort of fancy-schmancy piece of jewelry. We think either a necklace or a bracelet.”

  “Where did you find them?”

  “On the ground underneath the window of the room that held the murder victim. And—” She stopped abruptly.

  “You can’t stop now!” I said, still keeping my voice quiet.

  Jodie’s eyebrows came together, but after a pause she continued. “Some fabric. A piece was stuck on the outside of the window frame. Something got torn.”

  “Color?”

  “Brown.”

  “Not helpful.”

  “It would have only been less helpful if it had been black. That’s everyone’s favorite color around here during the festival.”

  “Somebody did go out the window, then?”

  “Best guess is yes.”

  “Where did they go after they went out the window?”

  Jodie shrugged. “We don’t know. There are remnants of footprints in the snow and mud, but we can’t get anything from them and they might be too old anyway. The people at the hotel don’t man the front desk very well and they have no inside security cameras, just ones outside. We think the person went up to the roof and then came down later, out through the main doors, when the coast became clear again. We don’t think anyone got in between the buildings to leave. Too tight of a space.”

  “What was on the cameras outside?”

  “There’s one from the downslope angle, but not one from the upslope. We’re going over them, but we can’t see anyone leaving the hotel soon after the murder.”

  “Entering before, maybe with Cassie?”

  “Good question, Clare, but not entering either. Unfortunately, there’s that missing-camera-from-the-upslope problem. Not a good view.”

  I thought a little longer. “You were looking for something at the party. Were you looking for torn clothing?”

  “No.” Jodie smiled. “But we would have been all over it if we’d seen any torn brown clothing.” She lifted her head and looked around. No one was paying attention to us. “We were checking jewelry. It was a huge long sho
t that we’d see something that matched the beads we found or were a similar style or something, but it was worth the effort, we thought. And the party was fun.”

  “It was,” I said distractedly.

  “What?”

  “I can’t think of one person I’ve seen in the last five days who wore beaded jewelry.”

  “Expensive beaded jewelry.”

  “Expensive or cheap. I’ll keep my eyes open too.”

  “Right. Clare, that’s fine, but your first move is to call me if you have any suspicions about anyone. Got it?”

  “Of course.” I took a pen out of her pen cup, checked that it hadn’t been masticated, and then spun it back and forth in between my finger and thumb. “Adele thinks Howie might have been the killer.”

  Jodie blinked. “Okay. Well, so much for calling me first. How do you know this?”

  I explained the other of my hallway eavesdropping excursions and my conversation with Nell. Jodie wasn’t impressed.

  “He’s under no suspicion at all,” Jodie said.

  “Why? He was there.”

  “Still. No indication he was the killer. We checked into things. You’ll have to trust us on that one.”

  “I do.”

  Jodie smiled. “I have a little good news, though.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “We have a line on the guy who claimed to be John Nelson, mystery thief of money in ribbon tins.”

  “Tell me.”

  “If we’ve got the right intel, he’s a grifter, a con artist. He scammed three local businesses before he even visited The Rescued Word. He’s really good.”

  “He must be. He must be psychic too. To know there was money in the tin.”

  “Yeah, that one’s got us baffled, but we’ll ask him when we catch him, and we’ll catch him.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “He’s arrogant and getting careless. The festival is a great chance to take advantage of people and businesses. He won’t leave until it’s over.”

  The phone on Jodie’s desk rang. The noise was so loud and we’d been speaking so quietly that I jolted. Jodie smiled again.

 

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