by Неизвестный
Officer Wiggles noted every detail of the gossip, the idle chatter that had been upgraded to possible evidence in a murder investigation. Once that was done, she looped back to the beginning, asking the same questions but worded differently. I had to admire her technique, which had two benefits: jogging the memory of a witness and providing the opportunity for a guilty party to slip up and contradict herself.
When she asked if I had any questions for her, I did. “Any word yet on the time of death, or the official cause?”
She pressed her lips together. “It’s still early. The coroner has barely gotten him loaded in the van, let alone thawed out. Besides, I couldn’t tell you even if I knew.”
I nodded. “He had marks around his neck. Dark lines, possibly ligature marks. I didn’t see any blood in the snow, so I’m guessing it was strangulation.”
Her metal chair squeaked as she sat back, giving me an appraising look. “How long were you examining the body before the mailman showed up?”
“A few seconds, at the most.” I glanced over at the photo on the computer screen and shuddered as I realized something. “Make sure the pathologist is told about the scarf. If Michaels was strangled, that red scarf could be the murder weapon.”
She nodded slowly. “I was thinking the same thing.”
“Were there any defensive wounds on the body? Tony already told me that on a prior visit to the home, he didn’t see evidence of any struggle.”
She raised one eyebrow. “Tony told you that, did he?”
With that question, the tone of the interview shifted, and the fifty-year-old rookie seemed to be observing me in a new light, not quite as someone on her side of the thin blue line but not as far away as a regular civilian, either.
Testing my theory, I asked, “Do you suppose he was strangled in his sleep?”
“If he’d been married or had a girlfriend, I’d be interviewing her right now and not you.”
That wasn’t much of an answer, but I pressed my luck, rising curiosity making me bold. “Do you have any other suspects? The mail carrier seemed anxious.”
She smirked. “Funny. He said the same thing about you. He suggested you as a prime suspect.”
“Great.” I rolled my eyes. “That’s just what my reputation in this town needs.”
Her smile left her face as rapidly as it had appeared. “What sort of a reputation do you have, exactly?”
“Nothing to do with snowmen or murders, I assure you.” I glanced at the door, willing it to open, and for Tony to tell us to pack up because the crime had been solved already. The door didn’t open.
Officer Wiggles went over my details again, until I felt like a sponge that had been squeezed dry.
Based on her tone, I was almost certain she hated me until she set her pen aside and asked who cut my hair.
“Rose,” I answered. “And she’s great.”
“I knew it,” she said. “Rose gave us almost the same exact haircut.”
“You wear it better than me.”
Officer Wiggles chuckled, her voice warming the entire room. “Nonsense. Yours is much cuter, and fewer grays.” She pushed her chair back but didn’t rise. “Thanks so much for all your help, Stormy.”
“Let me know if I can do anything else.”
She eyed the closed door, leaning in to say softly, “If you think of anything at all, please let me know. Any time. For example, if you think of something, and you’re worried that it might not be useful and you don’t want to bother us, I want you to call me anyway.”
“I’ll let you know if I come up with anything.”
She handed me her card and fixed me with her unwavering cobalt eyes. “Anything at all,” she said, her voice almost pleading, as though her whole career was riding on closing this case. I took the card, which was damp, most likely from her palms. If she’d been nervous, she’d hidden it well.
As we walked through the station, I searched for Tony, but he wasn’t in sight.
We passed the reception desk, where she thanked me again. I reached out to shake her hand, even though she’d been stepping away. She wiped her palm on her hip surreptitiously before the handshake, but it was still damp enough to confirm that underneath her tough exterior, she was nervous.
“You’ve been a big help,” she said.
“I wish I could do more,” I said, and I meant it.
As I stepped outside, into the fresh winter air, the sunshine reached through the clouds to brighten the snow-covered world. My mind was already way ahead of me, racing through possibilities and avenues to investigate. I didn’t plan to do anything that would interfere with the official investigation, or jeopardize my safety, but I’d helped my father with cases before, and I had a few tricks up my sleeve.
Tony had driven me to the station, so my car was several blocks away, at the vet’s clinic. With the afternoon sun low yet bright, the snow clouds were clearing and it was turning into a balmy day, perfect for some window-shopping along Broad Avenue, where local business owners who hadn’t yet heard the news about Mr. Michaels might have some insight into how the man had become such a nuisance lately.
Chapter 8
In spite of the town’s postcard-perfect appearance, a killer was loose in Misty Falls.
The body was likely headed to the state coroner’s facilities the next town over for the pathologist to determine the cause of death. Pinning down the time from the physical evidence would be impossible, due to the freezing that had halted the body’s decomposition. We’d been experiencing typical weather for late November, with the temperature hovering around or below freezing for the past few weeks. Tony had visited the residence of Mr. Michaels five days earlier to find no one, whereas I’d seen the man two weeks ago and very much alive. That left a nine-day window that would likely get narrowed once the police checked his phone, bank cards, or even something as simple as the date of the oldest flyer in his untouched mail. Unless they nabbed someone in the next day or two, they would release to the local press the basic details along with a plea for witnesses with information to come forward.
We didn’t get many homicides in town. Unlike the law enforcement agencies in larger cities, ours didn’t have dedicated homicide detectives. The case would be worked by uniformed officers who were cross-trained to handle almost any type of crime. A capital murder was shocking, yet the fact that a death was involved in a case didn’t make the procedure of investigation significantly different from that of a theft or arson. The officers on the case, who I assumed would be Milano and his new rookie, would canvas the neighborhood and friends and family of the victim, and then follow up on leads. If everything went well, they’d have it solved by the time my father returned home.
At the thought of my father, I reached for my phone in a hurry, stopping when I checked the time. He would be out of surgery but not yet awake. Besides, he’d promised he would call as soon as he was alert. I’d tried to accompany him for the operation, but he’d insisted I stay behind to make sure my new gift shop was ready for the busy Christmas shopping season. Now, walking down Broad Avenue, I regretted obeying him. If I’d been in the city that morning, I wouldn’t have made the grisly discovery. The body might have remained there, next door, undiscovered until the spring thaw.
Who would do such an awful thing? Who had a motive to wipe out Mr. Michaels? With no wife or girlfriend and no children going after his will or insurance money, that cut out the obvious leads. The killer could be anyone. The entire town of Misty Falls was populated with suspects.
Walking past Masquerade, I lurched to a stop in front of the costume rental store’s window display.
The elaborate diorama was a festive winter scene, constructed on a base of white fabric acting as snow. A female mannequin, wearing a red dress suitable for prom or an equally fancy affair, held a big, white, grinning head in her hands. The headless white body awaited the final touch. The snow-being was evidently a man and not a woman, because he wore a top hat. I fought my gag reflex and reminded my
self that for most people, the scene before me was a happy one, the beheading aspect merely a coincidence. The shop owner would certainly change the window display once the news of Mr. Michaels’ chilly tomb spread throughout town.
But was the winter diorama really just a coincidence? The display snowman, made of carved white foam, wore a black top hat like the one I’d posed in earlier that day. I used my phone to check the hat in my picture, noting the high, flat top, narrow brim, and the slightly concave curve to the crown. The hat in the window matched the one from the crime scene perfectly. I reached into my pocket and touched the two business cards I’d been given at the police station. Officer Peggy Wiggles had told me to call her with anything, but surely she didn’t want to hear about this, the not-so-amazing discovery of a hat at a store that rented costumes and hats.
Without taking my eyes off the top hat in the window, I let my thoughts open themselves, unpacking childhood memories. Snapshots whirled, snippets of interactions with the man who’d lived next door, the man who’d seemed old long before he’d gotten old. I could see him clearly in my mind, confiscating everything from dolls to sticks of chalk. I saw Murray Michaels, his deep frown lines radiating across his entire face, like the rays of a dark sun. He was waving a Frisbee and telling me I should have thrown it more carefully. For someone so obsessed with manners, he’d been incredibly rude. That wasn’t shocking, given human nature. Some people become so obsessed with keeping score on the transgressions of others that they forget to observe themselves.
The cranky neighbor wasn’t the type to have a snowman on his lawn, let alone such a dapper-looking one. He had never, as far back as I could remember, put up winter lights or any other seasonal decorations. He didn’t even give away candy on Halloween. One year, he set a stack of old paperback Westerns on his front step along with a sign telling kids to help themselves. Nobody did.
If he’d purchased the top hat himself, something else must have happened to him this November, before he met his end. Had the message from the many Scrooge-themed movies airing that time of year finally gotten through to him, making his wizened heart grow three sizes? Had he decided to change his ways and discover his fun side, starting with building a snowman? Maybe.
Or, if Mr. Michaels didn’t buy a fancy top hat for a holiday display, the killer did. Either way, there weren’t many places in town to buy a top hat, so it must have come from the costume and formalwear store before me.
I stood debating my next move, unseen forces pulling me in opposing directions. Indecision wasn’t a familiar state for me, but there I was, stuck to the snowy sidewalk as though my legs had been frozen in place. If I kept walking toward the vet clinic and my car, I could be home with my feet up and a hot cup of cocoa in my hands by the time my father called to check in. I’d tell him I’d wisely left the sleuthing to the police, and he’d say something ridiculous to make me laugh. On the other hand, I could just pop into the costume shop for a minute and save the police some time.
A woman and her two daughters crossed the street and started walking toward me. The girls were teenagers, old enough to be independent, yet they both held their mother’s hands. The three of them laughed and chatted happily. They wouldn’t be smiling tonight, after hearing the day’s news. The mother would turn off the radio or the TV and usher the sisters off to bed, assuring them that all would be safe, all would be taken care of by the brave men and women who kept their town safe. But the girls would lie awake in their beds, worrying, watching shadows cross the ceiling, imagining knitted scarves tightening around their throats.
The three walked past me and toward the inset door for Masquerade, merrily discussing costumes.
Something flicked on within me. The flame was small, like the pilot light of a furnace. But when I imagined the killer making one of the members of this innocent family into the next victim, my internal fire flickered up to a medium heat.
My boots didn’t move yet, but my body leaned in one direction and then the other. I could do nothing, or I could do something. With people’s lives and happiness at stake, how could I do anything less than everything I could?
I followed the trio into the costume shop.
Chapter 9
Entering Masquerade felt like being swallowed by a whale made of glitter. Within the warm, dim space, racks of costumes covered every vertical surface, taking away the very idea of walls, let alone their angle or color. As my eyes adjusted, details popped into focus, from the flamingo-like feather boas to the shimmering reptilian scales of a display dedicated to sequins.
I spotted the familiar cheerleading supplies and went to them, leaning forward to smell the pompoms as though they were pink chrysanthemums. They smelled of plastic and dust.
“Can I help you with anything?” asked the man working behind the counter. He was so tall and thin; he seemed to be standing sideways even though he wasn’t.
“Just browsing.” I ducked behind a rotating carousel rack of sequined costume ball masks. I looked high and low for more top hats but couldn’t spot any other than the one in the window. If I wanted information, I would need to use that powerful investigative tool, the question. I picked out a glittering purple mask with green feathers and brought it to the counter.
“You’re not browsing,” the thin man said.
“I’m not?” My heart started pounding. The tall man had long fingers, perfect for strangling. His deep-hooded eyes narrowed behind a pair of rectangle-shaped glasses that accentuated the length of his thin face.
“Looks to me like you found what you were seeking.” He offered a thin-lipped smile, flicking his dark, deep-set eyes toward the other customers. His angular chin elevated, he asked, “And how are you lovely ladies? Finding your heart’s desire?”
Oblivious to the thunderous pounding of my heart, the woman answered that she was fine and continued to shop, sorting through a rack of ballerina costumes. One of her teen daughters held a phone in her hand and stared at me with round eyes, like a baby owl. Had she gotten the bad news already?
The thin man clicked on a keyboard with skeletal fingers. “Still snowing out there?” he asked.
“The snow’s letting up now.” I meant to set the feathered mask on the counter, but my body disobeyed; I took a step back, clutching the mask to my chest. The man was familiar, a long-time Misty Falls resident. I knew his name but couldn’t think of it because my imagination was too busy picturing his long fingers in action, wrapping a red scarf around people’s throats before choking them.
“You can hang onto that if you like,” he said, nodding at the mask clutched to my chest like a tiny, glittering shield. “I know the code for those masks by heart.” He tapped away at his keyboard as he hummed a tune, the sort of tune that would be a perfect accompaniment for strangling someone.
What was his name? He’d owned the costume shop for years and used to come to the high school often, delivering uniforms. We girls called him something that was both cruel and funny. Creepy Jeepers. We called him Creepy Jeepers because his long-fingered hands moved like spiders, and his real name was something similar.
I set the mask on the counter, glad to have the counter between us, though with the height of him, he could have easily reached those long arms across to strangle me. What was his name? And what had possessed me to go barging around town looking for leads on a murder case? Unlike the police, I had nothing for self-protection snapped to my belt, and the scariest thing inside my purse was an unflattering orange shade of lipstick.
“I’m glad the snow’s let up,” he said. “It’s a balmy day out there. Perfect for building a snowman.”
“A snowman?” My mouth got sticky, but the opening was too good for me not to press on with my original goal. “Funny you should mention a snowman. I was just outside admiring your window display. Do you arrange that yourself, or is there someone you hire, and if so, do they use your materials or supply their own?”
His tongue darted out between his thin lips, wetting them. “You ought t
o know all about that, Miss Day.”
Miss Day? The way he pronounced my name, it sounded as though he was saying “mistake.” The thought occurred to me that perhaps he was right, and coming into the store seeking clues had been a mistake. The woman shopping with her daughters called out a polite goodbye and left the store, leaving me alone with Creepy Jeepers. At least his real name finally came to me.
“Leo Jenkins,” I said. “Remind me. Why would I know all about your window displays?”
He pulled off his rectangular eyeglasses, leaving scarlet indentations on the bridge of his fine nose. He started cleaning the lenses with a handkerchief.
“Pam Bochenek does my window displays,” he said. “She’s a crafty woman, that Pam. She’s living with your father, isn’t she?”
“Oh, of course. Yes, she’s living with him, temporarily, I think.”
“You think?” Eyebrows in the shape of two flattened bugs rode up, bunching the waxy skin of his forehead. “I hope she gives you a discount on her work.”
“She offered,” I said vaguely. My father’s girlfriend had been hounding me to let her create the displays for my gift shop, but I’d done everything myself, claiming I needed the practice. Pam had a strong work ethic, but her taste was a bit off. She couldn’t tell the difference between things that were so unusual they were cute, like certain breeds of wrinkly pets, and things that were just ugly, like the orange lipstick she’d gifted me with the week before.
Leo Jenkins said, “In fact, Pam was by here earlier this morning to say hello and chat about this and that.” He tilted his rectangular head to the side and donned his equally rectangular glasses. “If you ask me, your new haircut is charming. It really suits your features. You’ve grown up so much since your cheerleader days.”
“Thank you.” I ruffled the hair at the back of my head. It would take a while longer to get used to small-town life and everyone knowing everyone else’s business, not to mention being around people who remembered me as a cheerleader. Those had been busy days, between my studies and after-school activities. I’d also been in the school band, so I’d seen a lot of Leo Jenkins for the uniforms.