A white unmarked van pulled in and parked behind the line of vehicles. A woman of perhaps forty, looking sleepy and tousled, got out. I often wondered what people on call in various professions might be in the middle of doing when they got called in. She’d apparently been in bed.
The group addressed her as Doctor, and I realized she was the county coroner. She did a brief exam and asked a number of questions. Then the crime lab guys got a gurney from her van, and in minutes Jerrell Powers was strapped on, on his side, and loaded into the vehicle. I heard the doctor say she would transport him to the Buffalo County Medical Examiner’s Office for an autopsy. Before she left, she joined me at the bench I was sitting on.
The doctor’s kind demeanor was evident when she reached over and put her hand on my shoulder for a moment. “The officers said you were the one who found the victim, and that you didn’t know him. Is that correct?”
“Correct. I only knew of him.”
“It’s quite a shock, I know.” She moved her hand from my shoulder to her pocket, pulled out a card, and gave it to me. “Go home, drink some warm milk, or a hot brandy toddy with some honey, if you have any. Just one, mind you. And don’t hesitate to give our office a call if you need to talk to someone about this. We have a number of good referrals.”
Oh. She thought I might need psychological help to deal with what happened. And maybe I would. “Okay, thanks.”
After Powers’s body was taken away, the crime lab deputies resumed their work. One of them pointed at me. “Someone should give her a ride home.”
Mark and Clint both looked at me like they’d forgotten I was there. Clint came over. “Let’s get you home,” he said.
I’d had a lot of time to think while I waited. “There’s something I should tell you first.”
“Like what?” His internal antennae seemed to sprout from the top of his head.
I told him about the class we’d had at the shop earlier and shared some of the details of the showdown over Jerrell Powers and how I’d stayed to relax before heading for home. “Then, right before I left, I saw a new snow globe on a shelf by the front door. It was snowing.”
He cleared his throat. “Snowing as if someone had given it a shake?”
“Yes.”
“Who else was in the store with you?”
“Just me.”
“And Casper the Friendly Ghost?”
I shrugged.
His eyebrows came together. “It’s an interesting story, I’ll give you that. And there has to be a logical explanation. My question is, why are you telling me about it now?”
“Because it was the same scene I found here at the park. A man was sleeping on a bench with trees and a streetlamp”—I pointed to each—“there, there, and there. There was even a moon at the top of one of the trees.” I pointed again. “But now the moon has moved to over there.” I pointed for the last time.
“Let’s see if I’ve got this straight. You’re alone in your store and a snow globe that matches this scene, one you’ve never seen before, suddenly appears on your shelf and it is snowing—”
“It was made of the same materials we used in our class tonight, or at least something very like them. I know it sounds crazy—”
“And the doors were locked?”
“Actually, I didn’t know if I’d locked the front door or not, but it was locked when I checked it. Before I left the store.”
He crossed his arms on his chest. “When you’re alone in your store late like that you should always—”
“I know, I know.”
“I don’t remember you being much of a risk taker back in high school, Cami.”
“Camryn. That’s my name now.”
“So you fancied up your name in the big city, our nation’s capital, and you got hooked on risky behavior at the same time.”
“I did no such thing.” My face reddened and I was glad for the partial cloak of night but wished that bright moon wasn’t ready to betray me. My mind traveled back to that awful time. . . . The senator’s office had tried to keep the scandal quiet, but there were leaks. Plenty of them. Everyone with access to the Internet could have read the false version of the story that I had tried to seduce a married man, and my boss’s husband, no less. What Clint classified as risky behavior, I guess I would, too.
He turned toward the concrete path. “We’ll swing by your store first. You won’t be able to sleep tonight anyway.”
Good thing he hadn’t gone into medicine; he’d get a zero in bedside manner. “That’s reassuring.”
Clint pointed to his police car. I stood and realized I was still wearing the backpack. I had forgotten all about it. “Anything dangerous in there?” he asked, nodding at my pack.
“Ah, no. You’re welcome to look, though.”
“Nah. Just don’t try anything funny.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or act contrite. “Yes, sir,” was my middle-of-the-road answer.
I had never been in a police car before and had no idea there were so many buttons and blinking lights. How did officers keep them all straight and manage to drive at high speeds besides? Clint typed a message on the laptop computer mounted on his dashboard: Clear the scene for now. En route with one to 18 Central Avenue on follow-up.
I wondered why he’d sent a written message instead of giving the information on the radio, but there must be a reason. I knew a lot of people had police scanners they often tuned into, and it was fine with me that they didn’t know the assistant chief of police was on his way to Curio Finds.
We were at the shop in less than two minutes, and I was overcome by a reluctance to go in search of the evil snow globe. “Something wrong?” Clint asked when he opened his car door and I didn’t move.
“Do you have to ask?” I didn’t want him to know I was afraid. Afraid of too many things to name at that moment. Especially since a mysterious snow globe was at the top of the current list. Something that would not begin to frighten a police officer. I grabbed the door handle, used my waning energy to open it, and stepped onto the sidewalk. I slid my backpack off. “My keys are in here.”
He patted his gun and nodded solemnly. Was he actually planning to shoot me if I accidentally pulled something else out instead? Could he really be this much of a jerk all the time, or was he making the extra effort for my benefit?
I fumbled through the inside pocket where I always put the keys. Not there. I searched the other pocket. Not there, either. “I don’t need this right now,” I muttered under my breath.
Clint whipped out his flashlight and turned it on. “Let me put a little light on the subject for you.” One more minute with the man would be a minute too long. “Here.” We both bent over at the same time and ended up cheek to cheek with our eyes peering into the pack. His face was smooth and warm, and if he’d been anyone but Clinton Lonsbury, I would have been tempted to ask for a comforting hug. I felt his jaw move slightly.
My face twitched in return. “Uh, you hold the light and I’ll look.”
“Good idea.” He straightened up immediately.
“Thank you! They were mixed up with some junk on the bottom.”
“Backpack: the new purse.”
I turned the lock on the front door, pushed it open, reached for the panel on the immediate right, and flipped on the light. I blinked against the assault to my eyes. The shop had a surreal feel at that time of night. I walked over to the shelf where I’d seen the snow globe, but it wasn’t there.
“That’s odd. It’s gone.”
“The snow globe with the death scene?” Clint stood close beside me.
“Yes. It was right here.” I touched the empty space.
Clint rested his hand on his gun. “Let me do a walk-through.”
Aside from the main space, which was filled with shelves holding an assortment of items for sale, there was a bathroom, a small storage area, and a smaller office space in the back of the store. The coffee shop sat on the south side of the shared brick wall. It, too
, had a bathroom, but only one storage area, which had once been a kitchen.
It took mere minutes for Clint to search the two shops. “Clear. The back room windows are secure. No sign of a break-in, Cami.”
“Camryn. Well, someone was here after I left.”
“You’re sure the door was locked?”
“Positive.”
“And you’re sure no one was in the store before you left? They could have been hiding in one of the back rooms.”
Eewy eew. “Um, I’d say no, but I guess I can’t swear to it. I know no one was in my bathroom or storeroom because I’d been in both of them right before I discovered the snow globe in the first place. But the other rooms? I mean, I’m pretty sure everyone from the class left, and why would they hide here anyway? Plus, you need a key to lock and unlock my shop door from either the inside or the outside. So even if someone was in the store, they’d need to have a key to lock it after they left.”
Clint pulled the memo pad and pen from his pocket. “And who all has keys?”
“My parents. Pinky—I mean Alice—Nelson. Me. Erin Vickerman. I think my parents gave one to Mark Weston a few years ago. Every once in a while they’d forget to lock up and he’d discover it on one of his evening checks. It was easier to just give him a key so they didn’t have to get out of bed to come down here.” My parents. What were they going to think of all this?
“Makes sense. Anyone else? Past employees?”
I shrugged. “Have to ask my folks.”
“May want to change your locks, just in case.”
Just in case. Didn’t he believe me about the snow globe? Granted, if I were him, I’d have trouble believing it myself. But that raised a very important question. Which one of the trusted key holders had made a snow globe that depicted a murder scene before the murder had even occurred?
The long, emotion-filled day, a downright unbelievable night, and wondering if one of my friends had actually killed a man caught up with me. It seemed like a robe of weariness had dropped on my shoulders, and I leaned against the shop’s front counter for support.
My exhaustion was obvious because Clint said, “Maybe you better sit down while I finish up. Unless you want me to run you home first.”
I straightened my spine a bit. “How much more is there to do?”
“I’m going to check the shelf where you saw the now-missing snow globe and look for fingerprints.”
“Oh. Well, I’m fine, really.” I could pretend a while longer. “I can run a pot of coffee, if you’d like.”
“None for me. You go ahead.”
None for me, either, or I’d be awake the rest of the night for sure. In case the trauma of the evening alone didn’t do it.
I sat down on the swivel stool behind the counter, where I had a decent view of most of the shop and a great view of the Brooks Landing assistant chief of police at work. He was busy with his flashlight looking at shelves from various angles. My parents had a mirror mounted high on the wall in a nook that was partly hidden from view. I studied that for a time. If anyone had been in the shop earlier when I was working on the computer, it would have been impossible for them to hide. In the public shopping area anyway.
Who had left the snow globe on the shelf for me to see before I left for the evening, but had come back to retrieve it before anyone else saw it when the store opened in the morning? What if I had taken it, knowing it didn’t belong there? Had that same person known I’d be walking home that night? And did he or she know me so well that they knew I’d cut through the park and find the body? Or was it all one weird coincidence?
Maybe the person had left the globe accidentally and didn’t expect or want me to see it at all. Maybe that person was watching from somewhere, and when I went to the bathroom, seized the opportunity to try to grab it. But I wasn’t gone as long as they’d hoped, and they’d had to hide beneath one of the shelving units instead. But they could have grabbed the snow globe on the way to their hiding spot. Maybe they had tried and, because they were nervous, couldn’t grip it, and bumped it instead. That’s why it was snowing.
Nothing made sense. What kind of a person would make a snow globe of a murder scene? And the more I thought about it, the snow globe must have been made before the murder. I was alone in the shop after the class, and no one else had come in. I went into the back for only a minute or two before I left for the night, but the front door was locked anyway. And not long after that I discovered Powers’s body. Could it have been a completely wild happenstance? One of the snow globe class members had designed a scene that turned out to be true?
I watched Clint work for a few more minutes. He looked like he knew what he was doing, and I was moderately impressed. When I asked if I could do anything to help him, he shot me a look that clearly said, Stay as far away from me and my police work as possible. What he said out loud was, “No, but thanks.” Jiminy Cricket.
Clint tapped his flashlight against his cheek. “Martha Stewart work here, or what?”
“What do you mean?”
“Mr. Clean, maybe?”
“Oh, well, I did wipe off all the glass shelves earlier today.” I glanced up at the clock on the wall to verify it was still the same day. Not yet midnight. The morning was long ago and far away in my memory.
“Are you for hire?” I think he meant it as a compliment, but I felt a little insulted.
“No.”
Clint jutted out his chin. “If there was someone who placed, then later removed, a snow globe from your shelf, they did not leave any fingerprint evidence to prove it.”
If? I would admit to a moment of forgetfulness here or there, but I have never had a hallucination in my life. The “visits” from my parents, mostly my mother, didn’t count. And it wasn’t like I actually saw them; it was more like I knew they were there.
Well, if Assistant Chief Lonsbury did not believe me, he could conduct his own official investigation and I would conduct my own less-official investigation. He had a primary suspect. I’d figure out my own list. May the best man or woman win.
Why drag out this misery any longer? “So, if you’re all done here, then I’m ready to go home.”
He slipped his flashlight into its holder on his duty belt. “Yes. Long day, I’m sure. You have a shrink here in town?”
I sat on my hand to stop myself from throwing a stapler at him.
“No. Why do you ask?” I controlled my voice, which was difficult.
“Seems like maybe you’ve been under a lot of stress, what with what happened in D.C., and then tonight. . . . I just thought some counseling might be a good idea.”
When the coroner had suggested it earlier, I’d thought of it as something to consider. When Clint said essentially the same thing, I wanted to run for the hills. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay.”
The ride home was even tenser than the ride to the shop. The front bucket seats in the police car were not far enough apart for my personal comfort. Clint drove with his left hand and rested his long, muscular right arm on the middle console between our seats. I scrunched my body as close to the passenger door as possible, but it made little difference. He could have easily touched me by simply waving his fingers to the right. Fortunately, he didn’t.
After I’d given him my home address, neither of us spoke until he pulled up in front of my modest 1960s brick Tudor-style home. The motion detection lights on either side of the front door flicked on and lit up the front seat of the car. Both Clint and I flinched at its brightness.
“You bought the McClarity place, huh?” He shifted into park.
“Ah, no. I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying here in Brooks Landing, so I’m renting for now.”
Clint moved his jaw forward slightly. “Well, it’ll at least have to be until our department gets through the murder investigation. You weren’t thinking of leaving anytime real soon, were you?”
I reached for the door handle and pulled. “No. No immediate flight plans.
”
“Is your house locked?”
He would have to ask me that. “No, but—”
“We’ve had one murder in this town already today—”
“I have friends here, unlike Jerrell Powers, who seemed to have made enemies for himself wherever he went.” I got out of the car.
“Like you?”
“Good night.” I remembered my manners. “Oh, and thanks for the ride.” I shut the door.
Clint jumped out from his side. “I’ll go in with you, check things out.”
“Why?”
“It’ll make me feel better.”
This day would never end. Clint followed me to the front door then put his arm in front of me so he could lead the way. He was a man on a mission and it was simply easier to let him do what he felt compelled to do. He turned the knob and pushed open the door. As he stepped inside, he drew his gun. It occurred to me he had been itching to do that since he’d first arrived on the murder scene. Police training, I supposed.
“Wait here,” he whispered over his shoulder. As much as I wanted to follow him, I rested my back against the rough brick exterior wall by the door and waited. It seemed an eternity passed before Clint returned. His gun was back in its holster.
“Come on in, it’s clear.” Gee, thanks for inviting me into my own home, Officer. “You keep your house pretty much spotless, too.”
“Cleaning is like therapy for me.” I’d had no intention of giving him one iota of personal information about myself. Exhaustion must have lowered my defenses.
“Hmm. Looks like you’re in therapy a lot.”
“If there’s nothing else . . .”
Finally he took the hint and walked to the door. “Lock up behind me.”
“Yes, sir.” I did as he’d instructed, then I dropped my backpack on a chair and plopped onto the couch. I turned to lean my back on the armrest and stretched out my legs. The house was still furnished with most of the owner’s furniture. Sandra McClarity had died about two months before my return to Brooks Landing.
She had been one of my favorite people because my birth mother, Berta, had loved her so much. Berta and Sandra McClarity had been best friends from kindergarten until Berta’s death over thirty years before. Sandra had been like an aunt to me while I was growing up, and she’d been privy to secrets I couldn’t tell my real aunt.
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