by K. J. Emrick
“Flowery writing, isn’t it?” Jerry said. “Almost like poetry.”
Cookie had to agree. “Like you said. This was a different sort of news reporting.”
She read a little further. The fire had jumped sides of the street while firefighters with buckets and horse-drawn carts had tried to battle it down. After a while it became obvious there would be no fighting this blaze. The focus turned to evacuating people. Nearly everyone escaped but the next paper in the files detailed the deaths of two men and a woman, four dogs and two cats.
Jerry went to scroll down the page but Cookie stopped his hand. “Wait, wait. Go back.”
“What did you see?”
She scanned through the yellowed picture of the newspaper page, through the irregular typeset words, until she found it again. The list of the deceased.
“There.” Cookie pointed. “Of the three people who died, which name stands out?”
Jerry put both hands palm down on the table. “Tad Merriam. So, that would be the son that Jozebus and Hester lost in the fire.”
“Right. The death that supposedly sent Jozebus off to sea, grieving for his dead son.”
“But instead, he got killed right after.” Jerry drummed his fingers. “Which is why we think Hester killed Jozebus. Something to do with the fire. I guess we might never know why. Stuff like this gets lost to antiquity. Maybe the fire and the death of her son drove Hester crazy.”
“I don’t know…” Cookie thought about that. “After her husband disappeared—well, died—she went on to be one of the town’s greatest benefactors. That doesn’t sound like the legacy of a crazy woman.”
“Maybe. Like I said, we might never know. My question is more about today. Why was it so important for Rick to take these files from the library? Why keep them? What did they have to do with him?”
“I have no idea,” Cookie said. “By the way, you were right about the mayor coming to see me. She was here earlier.”
“I figured?” he asked in a distracted way. “Sorry I wasn’t here but I had to stay at the station and coordinate things with Rick, er, the body. How’d it go with Quinn?”
“Well, she basically dared me to prove she was responsible for Rick’s murder.”
That caught his attention back from the articles on the screen. “She did what? Did she say she killed him? Did she confess?”
“No,” Cookie grumbled. “That would be too easy. All she did was talk about how she’s smarter than everyone else and I’d never be able to catch her no matter how hard I tried.”
He blinked at her, and then downed half his cup of wine. “That sounds like a confession to me. Not enough to bring to court, but…” A string of swear words made Cookie’s ears burn. “What if we’ve been looking at this wrong? What if Rick didn’t take those newspaper files for himself, but instead he took them for someone else?”
“What on Earth would he do that for?”
“Well, if I was a really smart killer, and I didn’t want anyone to know I was involved, I’d have someone else get those newspaper records, write their name down on the sign out sheet, and take the blame. If I was a really smart killer, that is. Like, for instance, a woman who dared you to prove she did it.” He nodded along as he puzzled it out for himself. “Sure. We went to ask Rick about the newspapers because Kim had his name on the sign out sheet. Whoever wanted to see these newspapers wanted to do it quietly, without anyone knowing it was them. So they asked Rick to do it. No, more like ordered him to do it. I can’t think of anyone Rick would’ve done a personal favor for. Someone would have to order him to do it.”
“That’s crazy, Jerry. Who could order the chief of police to do anything?”
They stared at each other, the answer to the question quickly becoming obvious.
Who could order the police chief to do something? The mayor, that’s who.
Quinn Fieldberg.
Cookie flipped through a few more pages of newspaper. There was more on the fire, but not much. “That still leaves us with why. Is Quinn related to the Merriams?”
“Not that I know of,” Jerry said. “She’s native, and the Merriams came over from England, same as my family did. This fire was only three generations ago. I don’t think it would be possible for a proud, full-blooded Mohawk to be part of the Merriam’s bloodline.”
“So, it looks like we’re back to square one.”
“Yes, it does.” He leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his neck. “I don’t think this is getting us anywhere. I mean, as fascinating as it is to read about the 1912 Presidential election, or how silver rights were being disputed because the landowners didn’t have a Federal permit to mine the land, or how I can go to the local haberdashery for all of my cravat needs, I can’t find anything here that connects a century old murder to this current one.”
He sounded exasperated. Frustration darkened his face and Cookie laid a hand on his knee to let him know she was there for him. He smiled down at her, shrugging his broad shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m feeling the stress of all this, I guess. One day as police chief and I already have to solve a high profile murder and make sure the security for the town festival is in place for tomorrow. Last day, you know. We’ve got the go kart races down Main Street followed by the fireman’s Olympics to mark the anniversary of the big fire, and then we’ve got actual fireworks once it gets dark. I’m stretched a little thin, even with the state police coming in to help. You should have seen the buzz around the office today. Reporters everywhere.”
“I’ll bet. You know, not to change the subject back, but the one thing that connects both of those murders is the cellar. We know someone got into the bakery to look around down there. They got hurt, and I’m just betting they left in a hurry, so they probably didn’t find whatever they were looking for.”
“Mayor Fieldberg is always wearing long dresses,” Jerry pointed out. “Or those pantsuits. That would hide a bruise nicely.”
“True.”
“And,” he went on, “she certainly is in good shape. She could have jumped from that shed to your window easy enough.”
“Just what I was thinking. So anyway, if the cellar is the connection…”
He smiled, and finished the rest of his wine. “Then we should go search the cellar for ourselves. All right. I still think this is the worst date I’ve ever taken you on, but let’s go have a look.”
The cellar was still just as creepy in Cookie’s opinion, even empty like this and lit up by the emergency lights.
“When are they coming back for these?” she asked Jerry, motioning to the stanchion lights.
“I’m not going to rush them.” He bent his head to fit under the low ceiling and then turned to offer his hand to help Cookie down. “Until you get some wiring down here we need the lights. So where should we start?”
“I was thinking about that earlier. There’s not much here.” She coughed, putting her hand up over her mouth to help with the dust and musty odor. “Floors, walls, ceiling. We don’t have shovels to dig up the dirt.”
“No,” Jerry agreed, looking around with her. “I’m not looking forward to that.”
“Me either, so let’s do the easy things for now. The rocks in the walls. Let’s see if any of them are loose.”
“Well, well. You have a devious mind, Miss Williams.”
“Heh. I watch a lot of television.”
“No,” he said, squeezing her hand. “You don’t. I know you better than that.”
The stones were all cold and smooth under Cookie’s hands. The gray mortar in between was scratchy and rough. She started at one corner of the walls and moved around to her right, and Jerry started at the opposite side. After a few minutes, she’d done one wall, moving floor to ceiling all along its length. There was nothing loose and nothing to see except dust and more stones. At the corner, she sighed heavily, and started on the next wall.
“Anything?” Jerry called over to her.
“No,” she grumbled. �
��Although I think I’m getting a blister.”
“I’ll kiss it later. There’s still the stones around the staircase, if we don’t find anything… hey. Yeah, hey, come over here. I’ve got a loose one. Right here.”
Cookie hustled over to where he was working at the edges of a nearly diamond-shaped block the size of a soccer ball. She saw it wiggling around its edges, back and forth, and then the lower edge of it came loose and moved a full inch.
Then it stuck.
“Try pushing it back in,” Cookie suggested. “Then pull it out again.”
He looked at her, laughter in his eyes, and then went back to work on the rock. Cookie felt herself blush, but she couldn’t help the smile that crossed her face.
In and out, back and forth, Jerry grunted and heaved and pushed. Sweat popped out on his brow.
Cookie watched him, enjoying the way his body moved. Powerful and attractive and enticing, even at their age.
“You’re enjoying this,” he said, stopping for a breath. “Aren’t you?”
“Mmm-hmm. Try it again. I think it’s close.”
She giggled at the look he gave her.
And then the stone came loose in his hands.
Jerry stumbled backward, still holding the oddly-shaped stone, before he was able to get his footing back. The look of surprise on his face was almost comical as he dropped the heavy block to the floor. It made a low thud against the hard-packed dirt.
Together, the two of them bent down low to look into the space behind the stone.
Jerry blew out a breath. “There’s nothing there.”
Cookie put her hand into the empty space. She felt the rough bite of the mortar, and the cold of the earth in behind. The stone had just been loose because the cellar was old. This wasn’t any kind of special hiding place.
“This is pointless,” Jerry said. “We could spend the next few hours searching and not find anything.”
“Or longer,” Cookie agreed, “but don’t we have to try?”
Jerry stood there, awkwardly hunched over for the height of the ceiling, tapping his hand against his thigh. “Maybe there’s a better way.”
“Better than searching stone by stone?”
“Yes. My dad always used to tell me that you should work smarter, not harder.”
“I’ll definitely agree with that,” she said. “So how do we do this smarter?”
“Well,” he said, “if we can’t find what the mayor is looking for, why don’t we have the mayor come here and show us what it is?”
“Oh, is that all?” Cookie watched as Jerry levered the stone back up from the floor to fit it into place again. “Listen, no offense to your dad and his infinite wisdom but how exactly do you think we’re going to get the mayor to come and point out what she’s looking for?”
“Simple,” he said, with a knowing grin. “We give her a call.”
***
In the dark, the cellar wasn’t just creepy. It was downright spooky.
It was the next morning, and if there had been any windows at all down here there would have been bright sunlight streaming in. Of course, being completely underground meant that was never going to happen. So, Cookie waited in the dark behind the supporting wall around the stairwell. From this position she was concealed, but she would hear when the mayor came downstairs, and she was ready for it.
She was armed with her trusty digital camera.
It wasn’t lost on her that she was standing in the same spot where the chair holding Jozebus Merriam’s skeletal remains had been. It was the only hiding place in the entire cellar, otherwise she wouldn’t have come within twenty feet of the spot. Cookie had already been standing here for a half hour or so, waiting, and she was cursing Jerry for his ingenuity. This whole thing was his plan. Why wasn’t he the one down here waiting?
Oh, that’s right, she reminded herself sarcastically. It was because he was upstairs hiding in the bakery, waiting for the mayor to show up there and follow her down here, and catch her in the act of uncovering whatever was hidden here in the secret cellar. How chivalrous of Jerry to hide upstairs in the nice clean bakery and let her be the one to hide down here in the dark.
Although to be fair, he’d tried to get her to leave while he stayed here alone, and she’d turned him down flat. Her speech about how she was a grown woman and could take care of herself had probably been what earned her a spot standing in a dark and chilly place that she hadn’t even known existed just three days ago.
To pass the time while she waited Cookie had tried every stone in the walls around the stairs. Not a single one of them was loose. It looked like they actually would have to start digging up the floor if this didn’t work. Then again, she might have to face the fact that there wasn’t anything down here to find after all, and that their original thought had been correct. Someone had snuck in here just to take a few pictures and sell them to the news outlets.
That didn’t sound right to her. She was sure there was something down here, somewhere…
The secret door at the top of the stairs opened, rasping on rusty hinges.
Cookie held her breath and edged over more, listening for the telltale sound of someone coming closer. When she heard the echoes of footsteps on the stone stairs, she leaned out around the corner of her hiding spot, just enough to see the light from above spilling out along the floor, and raised her camera.
“Cookie?”
Jerry’s voice caught her off-guard, but then she let out the breath she was holding and came around to the stairs. She met him at the bottom. “Jerry, what are you doing down here? You’re supposed to be making the call to the mayor and then waiting for her to come here.”
He nodded, his face a mix of shadows and odd angles in the muted illumination from above. He bent down to the floor, to the tangle of wires coming off a heavy-duty portable battery on wheels, and flicked the switch that turned the lights on all around them. “I called, but Quinn wasn’t there. I left a message.”
“A message?” she asked, stringing her hand through the wrist strap on the camera to let it dangle from her hand. “So how are we supposed to know if she’s even coming?”
“Simple. I told her that I was just leaving the Kiss the Cook bakery after doing a security check, like a good chief of police should, and it was empty. I also mentioned that you were with me and we were going down to watch the go-kart races. All of that adds up to the perfect opportunity for her to sneak in here again. She’ll take the bait.”
“Then what are you doing down here?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “I missed you. Figured we had a little bit of time before the message got to her so I came down here to give you something.”
“Oh?” she said, putting her fists on her hips. “And what did you have to give me that was so important it couldn’t wait until we caught Quinn Fieldberg red handed?”
“This.”
Leaning over further, holding onto the edge of the stairway wall for support, he kissed her cheek. “You going to be okay down here?”
“After my big strong man came down to kiss me?” she beamed. “How could I not be?”
He stroked her cheek with his fingertips. “I love you, Karen Williams.”
“I love you, too,” she told him, her voice breathless as her heart hammered out a staccato rhythm fueled by the twin adrenaline rushes of trying to catch a killer, and knowing she was engaged to this wonderful man.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll be upstairs. Get ready. I won’t be able to signal you when I see her without giving myself away, so just… be ready.”
“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” She caught his hand and held him there at the bottom of the stairs. “We’ve still got a few minutes you said. I want another kiss.”
She didn’t have to ask him twice. His lips found hers, and in spite of the awkwardness of the low ceiling, the moment couldn’t have been sweeter.
They stole a few more seconds for themselves that way. Behind him the stairway led up to the kit
chen. In a few minutes, he’d have to go back up there, but maybe this secret cellar wasn’t so bad. Standing here, eyes half closed, letting herself melt in the heat of that kiss, Cookie could imagine herself making good use of this space.
The light dimmed as she closed her eyes a little further…
A shadow loomed behind Jerry and Cookie recoiled, stepping hastily back, raising a hand to point, behind him. She tried to get the words out… look behind you, look behind you!
Before she could say anything though, the shadow swung an arm up holding something heavy and round and when it connected with the back of Jerry’s head it made the most awful sound that Cookie had ever heard.
Jerry’s mouth fell open. His eyelids fluttered. His whole body went slack, and he crumpled to the dirt floor like a marionette with its strings cut.
“Wow,” the shadowy figure said, stepping down further into the lights below. “I never knew frying pans could come in so handy. No wonder you run a bakery, Cookie.”
She stared at the figure.
It wasn’t the mayor.
Chapter Nine
“Now,” Selectman Archibald Winters said, “this is unfortunate.”
He tossed the frying pan aside as he stepped over Jerry’s unconscious body. He didn’t have to stoop like Jerry did to avoid hitting the ceiling, but the top of his head brushed against the beams. His long dark hair was in a ponytail this morning. There was a rip in his t-shirt, Cookie noticed, and she could only hope that he’d hurt himself getting in through her window again.
It occurred to her, suddenly, that this was the man who had given her the permits to build that shed at the back of her building. The same shed that served as the first step to getting in that second story window.
“It was you,” she hissed, still backing away from him. “You snuck into my bakery? You killed Rick Santimaw? Why?”