“It’s a site for the festival. Anyone who’s attending can upload pictures or video that they shoot. It’s fun. Marion and I were just watching video of a comedian who’d had a little too much to drink and decided it was time to share some personal information to a crowd of onlookers.”
“Anyone can put stuff up here?” I said.
“Sure,” Marion said. “Why, do you want to put something up?”
“No, but is there any way to search for things by location or time?”
“Um, not by location, but things are up there in the order they’re added,” Toby said. “It’s how lots of us writers look for things we might want to track down.”
“So what’s on there now is live?” I asked.
“Yep, and it will switch out if someone tries to upload something else,” Toby said.
Just before I pulled my eyes away from the screen to call Jodie, I caught the image of someone who looked familiar. I returned my attention to the screen.
He wasn’t wearing a white ski coat, but a black one this time. His facial features were fairly indistinct, except for some thick 1970s glasses that looked immediately familiar. Without the 1970s hair, he resembled the guy with the white ski coat more than the guy with the handkerchief, but his—their—features suddenly became obvious to me. I was seeing the man who’d claimed to be John Nelson and Zeb Conner. I had no idea how he’d done what he’d done or why, but there was no doubt in my mind they were the same person. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it before, but the glasses and the wigs and the fake facial hair had made all the difference.
Not only had he not left town, but he was close by. The bar he emerged from was just across Main Street, not far from The Fountain.
“You want a story?” I said to Toby as I moved around him.
“Yeah.”
“Come with me,” I said. “Marion, you watch the shop.”
“But . . . ,” Marion said.
“Watch the shop, Marion,” I said over my shoulder as Toby and I ran out through the front door.
26
“You’re where?” Jodie said into the phone. I heard the muffled movements of her standing up and gathering her keys.
“We’re walking down Main Street, from Bygone Alley, east side. He’s looking in the window of the leather shop.”
“Clare, just get back to The Rescued Word. I’ll handle it from here.”
“He hasn’t even noticed us, Jodie. We’re staying back far enough.”
“Who’s ‘we’?”
“Toby and me. The blog writer.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake. I’m on my way.”
The call was disconnected. Toby and I were trailing behind John/Zeb by a few stores. He hadn’t looked toward us once. Even with the cold wind and snow, the pedestrian traffic was thick enough that we could probably hide well enough, but the fog from our combined anxious breathing was a little bigger than everyone else’s and I was afraid that might give us away.
“Look in the window,” I said to Toby.
“Of the post office?” Toby said after he noticed which building we were next to.
“Whatever.”
“Okay.”
“All right, come on,” I said a second later.
I tried to remain casual. I did my best to dodge the foot traffic while keeping my eyes on the prize, but we were going to have to get closer to make sure we didn’t lose him.
“He is gutsy,” I said.
“Who? What are we doing?” Toby asked as he kept up with my unpredictable footwork.
“Just stay with me and keep your eyes on that guy up there. The one with the black coat and thick glasses.”
Toby craned his neck. “Okay, I think I got him.”
A bunch of things happened at once just as we made a big forward move to close the gap between us and John/Zeb. Jodie’s siren sounded loud and clear—the noise pealed up from the bottom of the hill; the crowd somehow parted so that the man we were following had a direct line of vision to us if he happened to turn around and look; and like I had experienced a few times in my life, his inner radar must have told him to do exactly that. He knew something was up and he somehow knew to look in our direction. Right at me, in fact.
I thought he might be surprised to see me, but there was no sign of that. Instead, he smirked at me and then nodded as if to tell me, “Well played,” before he turned again and started running down the hill.
I made some sort of disgusted and annoyed sound before I started to follow him.
“Wait. You want to chase him?” Toby said, keeping pace with me.
“Just watch where he goes. And look for the police car so we can show Jodie.”
“Okay,” Toby said.
“There’s Jodie,” I said. “You keep your eyes on that guy.”
I darted to the curb and waved Jodie to a stop. Festivalgoers hadn’t been deterred by us, but the scene we were causing was annoying to some and curious to others, who probably thought it was some stunt for the festival.
“He’s over there!” I pointed down the hill and searched for Toby. “Where is he?”
“He turned right at the bottom of the street,” Toby said.
In quick maneuvers that included screeching tires and more sirens, Jodie had the police car turned around and zipping down the hill before I could try to jump in the car with her.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think that running down there would do much good,” Toby said.
“It’s okay,” I said as I watched Jodie turn right. As I pulled my eyes away from the back of the car, I thought I caught a glimpse of the man, on the other side of the street as if he’d turned left, not right.
I craned my neck to get a better look, but by then and with the continuously dynamic crowd, I couldn’t distinguish one person or one black winter coat from another. Had I imagined seeing him across the street? Had Toby really watched where he’d gone? I couldn’t help but feel a small thread of suspicion about the blog writer. I shook it off.
“Come on, let’s go back to the shop. I want to take another look at that Web site.”
“Sure. Sorry,” Toby said again.
“Don’t worry about it. The police will get him.”
“Yep.” Toby rubbed his finger under his nose. And didn’t look me in the eye.
“I didn’t see him anywhere,” Jodie said as she walked through the shop’s front door, peeling her coat off along the way. She was extra warm-blooded after a chase of any sort and always peeled immediately when coming in from the cold. “But I spread the word. Others will be looking for him.”
“I wish we could have followed him better,” I said. Out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw Toby’s shoulders twitch with uncertainty.
“I’m glad you didn’t. There’s no need to put yourself in the way of potential danger. Now, what do you have for me?” She plopped her coat on the front counter. The small breeze the maneuver stirred up was scented with the Mexican food that she must have had for a meal recently.
“This site,” I said as I signaled her around the counter. Toby and Marion moved behind us.
“That looks like the chairlift over by . . . that’s it. That’s the chairlift. This is live?” Jodie said.
“Yes, and it’s mostly archived. Visitors to the festival take their own pictures and videos and post them online for everyone to see,” I said.
“And you think somewhere in there will be Cassie’s killer?” Jodie said as she quickly picked up on where my mind had gone. She grabbed the mouse and scrutinized the screen.
“There’s a chance that somewhere in there is a picture of Cassie walking into The Fountain after whatever meeting she had. Maybe someone was with her. Maybe you can see who, and maybe that will somehow help.”
“Okay,” Jodie said distractedly.
The rest of us remained sile
nt as she worked through the site.
Finally, she said, “You might have something here. I’ll get our tech geeks on it.”
“Yeah?” I said.
Jodie laughed. “Yeah, you’re too smart for your own good sometimes, Clare, but this is a good and safe way to contribute.”
“Thanks. I wouldn’t have known about it except for Toby and Marion.”
“Right.” Jodie didn’t hide the suspicious glance she sent Toby. He looked momentarily uneasy, but Marion missed it.
Jodie didn’t even have all the information I had, but she was suspicious of everyone, so I wasn’t sure I should put any stock into it anyway.
“All righty, then. I’m getting back to work. Temperature’s falling fast out there. We’ll encounter too much inebriation this evening. But, Clare, know that we’re on this. All of it.”
“Thanks.”
Jodie moved around the counter, picked up her coat, and left the store, having to work hard to close the door against the harsh wind.
Distractedly I followed behind and looked out the window. Dark clouds blanketed the sky; pedestrians leaned over, holding their collars closed and keeping their heads down. I looked up at Baskerville on the ledge. He looked down at me, obviously hoping I’d make the right decision.
I turned around again. “We’re closing early. Let’s all go home. Toby, where are you staying?”
“He can come over to my house,” Marion said.
My brother’s face flashed in my mind. It held a look of horror and it was aimed toward me when he learned that I was the one who let a boy go home with Marion while he was still at work.
“No. Toby, you’re coming with me. Marion, we’ll take you home first.”
I turned to look out the window again. I made a few calls, confirming that Chester was safe at his girlfriend’s, that Seth would come over to my house later—if he could make it home through the storm, which he was fairly certain he’d be able to handle. I also called Jimmy and told him the plans. He said he was already on his way home from a business trip in Ogden. I gathered Baskerville. He didn’t come home with me often, but I didn’t want him alone if Chester couldn’t make it back to the shop and his apartment in a timely manner.
It was time to batten down the hatches.
27
“There’s someone coming up your porch steps,” Toby said. He’d been watching the storm outside my front windows.
“Probably Seth.”
“I don’t think so.”
I came around the half wall that separated the kitchen from the front room.
“It’s probably someone I know who needs to get in and out of the cold. Let them in.”
Toby pulled the door open and a tall person clad in all-black winter gear, topped off with long blond hair, rode the cold inside.
“Nell?” I said when she unwrapped the scarf around her face.
“Hi, Clare,” she said with a brief smile and rosy cheeks.
“Nell Sterling?” Toby said with a squeaky voice.
“Pleased to meet you.” She extended her gloved hand, which he shook a long beat and a big gulp later.
“You . . . are stunning,” he said.
“Thank you.”
But Nell Sterling didn’t have time to be stunning. She was there for something else.
“Clare. I hope you don’t mind. Since I caught you spying on me, I knew where you lived. I tried to call the police, but no one answered. I don’t quite understand how no one could answer, but it happened. I know one of your friends is an officer. I came over to see if you would try to call her cell phone for me.”
“Sure, but why?”
“Adele is leaving town.”
“Why would the police need to know that?”
“Because I think there’s a chance she killed Cassie.”
“What? Why?”
Nell frowned and blinked a couple of times. “I’ve been thinking about it. She was jealous of everyone in Matt’s life, and she thought it was weird that Cassie wanted to be one of Matt’s wives in that polygamy project we’re working on.”
“That would have been really weird,” I said. “But murder?”
“Yeah. No doubt weird, but Adele took it . . . well, she took Cassie’s ambition personally, I think.”
“Wait. She thinks Howie had something to do with Cassie’s murder. You don’t think Howie had anything to do with it?” I said.
“The Howie I was talking about earlier?” Toby said.
We ignored him.
Nell shook her head and sighed. “No, I don’t. Howie and I are together. A couple. The world doesn’t know. Matt doesn’t know. We hoped to keep it quiet, but after what Adele said to me at the party last night, we decided to tell the police—soon. We didn’t think Adele would leave today, and we just hadn’t worked up the nerve. I know it’s dumb—our relationship being front-page entertainment news is much less important than Matt’s freedom, but . . . well, I don’t want to be so caught up in all this gossip stuff, but I’m afraid I let it get to me. Against my better judgment. And Adele might be innocent, but she’s leaving and I think the police need to know. And . . . I just think she might have. . . . Well, I don’t think Matt could have.”
“How do you know she’s leaving? Where’s Howie?”
“I don’t know where Howie is, and I had someone at The Fountain watching Adele for me. I thought she might try to run before I could get the answers Howie and I have been searching for. The guy from The Fountain called me about fifteen minutes ago, but the phone went dead before we could disconnect. Adele might already be gone.”
I didn’t have time to think through anything Nell had just said. If her story was wonky, it was a risk I was willing to take. If she was setting Adele up to move suspicion away from herself or Howie, then I hoped the truth would eventually become clear. I pulled out my phone and hit Jodie’s speed dial number. The tone went dead.
“Oh, no, the storm,” I said. “The weather can take out phones—cell and landlines—up here if it gets bad. We’re still just a small mountain town.”
“Damn. All right, I’ll go see if I can stop her,” Nell said.
“We’ll go with you,” I said as I grabbed my coat and hoped Toby did the same. I glanced at Baskerville, who’d become lord and master of the couch by curling up on the top of one of the throw pillows. Without uncurling even a little, he eyed me with his own version of raised eyebrows. He couldn’t believe anyone would go outside in the storm. It was difficult to disagree with him, but at least I was pretty sure he wouldn’t mind the time alone.
Nell, Toby, and I were out the door and standing on the sidewalk in front of my house only a few seconds later. Actually, not standing as much as battling against the forces of the wind and blowing snow.
“It looks like the sidewalk and road are still kind of crowded with people, no matter how cold it is out here,” Nell said from behind the scarf she’d rewound around her head. The wind took her voice up the hill.
I’d become used to the hardiness of our winter visitors.
“We’ll be better off walking than driving. Quickly,” I said.
“Do you want me to do something different? Try to get ahold of someone?” Toby said as we began our frozen trek down the slope of the sidewalk.
I looked at him. If he had some ulterior motive, I couldn’t read what it was.
“No, just come with us.”
I had no idea what we were going to do once we got to the hotel. We couldn’t stop Adele from leaving if that’s what she wanted to do.
As we moved around people and through small crowds, I couldn’t help but wonder why staying inside by a roaring fire and with steaming mugs of something hadn’t occurred to all these people.
We zigged and zagged, keeping our heads down so the wind wouldn’t take the skin off the exposed parts of our fac
es.
When we were directly outside The Fountain, Adele, a taxicab driver, and three pieces of luggage burst through the front door.
“This way, miss,” the driver said. He hadn’t found a spot directly in front of the hotel, but about twenty feet down the hill.
“Adele! You’re Adele White!” a voice called from a gathering of young people.
To her credit, Adele replaced the hurried, irritated look on her face with a friendly patience, or at least as friendly as it could be as she was being pelted by snow that had turned icy and wind that had only gotten brusquer.
“Hi,” she said.
“Could we get pictures?” the same voice said. It belonged to a young woman who wore thick black eyeliner and short, spiky black hair—two of the spikes stuck out from the front of her knit hat, so I just assumed there were more under there.
The camera phones came out and got to work.
“How about an autograph? Here. Sign my arm.” A boy who matched the girl when it came to makeup and hairstyle stuck out his arm and yanked up his sleeve, exposing his skin to the cold.
“Sure. You have a pen?” Adele said as she moved forward.
“Uh. Anyone have a pen?”
“It’s okay. I do,” Adele said. She reached into her front coat pocket and pulled out a pen.
“Uh-oh,” I said.
“What’s that?” Toby said.
The shamrock on the top of the pen was bent, but there was no question that it had come from The Rescued Word. I thought back to when she’d come into the store. I was certain I hadn’t given her her own pen. Her eyes had moved over the counter, and maybe they’d even lingered on the cup that held the pens, but I knew I hadn’t given her one and I knew I hadn’t seen her take one. I suddenly had a crystal clear memory that she hadn’t known about the note cards—I had planted that seed myself.
“Adele!” I said.
Adele hadn’t noticed us before my exclamation. No one had. We were just background. But with my raised voice, she turned and found me in the crowd.
“The pen?” I said.
Adele looked at the pen, at me, at the pen again, and then at the ground. She didn’t know how the pen gave her away, but she knew she was guilty of something, and the tone of my simple question had clued her in that I’d somehow figured her out. She looked up, scowled, and said, “Sorry, folks, I’m late for a plane. Gotta go.”
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