In the bright, cruel early morning light, I headed to the sheriff’s office one last time.
Mallard, grey-faced with fatigue, sat at his usual desk. He glanced over at Lester’s desk when I walked in. Out of habit, I supposed.
I couldn’t bear to look at Lester’s desk. To see the torn check from the Widows Brigade still laying there. To see the crumbs of our last shared cinnamon roll. To see the altered photograph of Joey, his dead grandson.
Mallard stood. “Dora, what are you doing here so early?” His uniform, rumpled and stained, now seemed tailored to his body. Not a drop of sweat showed anywhere on him, despite the office being overheated.
I dropped my chin down onto my old parka, the pink one with the faux fur hood, from my high school days. Mallard had taken my blood-splashed apron, as evidence. Red stains that I suspected matched the stains on my soul. I never wanted to see the apron again.
Mallard came over to me and took my arm. Gently, as if he feared I might shatter. “When I have more questions, I’ll call.”
I set down Nance’s purse on his desk. “I’m here to pay off Aunt Maddie’s ticket. Then you can arrest me for killing Lester.”
“Dora, that’s precipitous.” Sheriff Mallard dropped his other hand toward his holster, but never connected. He no longer seemed to need the reassurance of his gun.
“Precipitous? Now that you’re sheriff you use long words? I shot Lester. I killed—I—” I swallowed hard. No tears, not now, not ever. Once I began, I’d never stop.
“There are extenuating circumstances,” Mallard said.
I made a noise deep in my throat.
Mallard gave a small tug on my arm. “Dora, come sit down.”
I pulled away from Mallard’s grasp.
He sighed, returned to his chair and sat down. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Dora, Lester shot and killed Godiva. Godiva was unarmed.”
She deserved to die.
I pressed hard on my aching heart. I realized I touched the same spot on my chest where a few hours before I’d held my apron to Lester’s mortal wound. I dropped my hands. “Lester didn’t plan to kill anyone.”
“I think he did.” Mallard rolled his shoulders in an exhausted motion. “The first lesson Lester taught me was never pigeonhole people. Never judge. Never think of people as right or wrong, criminal or victim.”
My mouth quirked. “Very Buddhist.”
“Dora, listen to me.” He leaned forward in his chair. “Lester forgot his own first lesson. Sometimes grief makes a man go mad. You defended yourself against his madness.”
“I still shot him. He wasn’t pointing his gun at me.”
“At that second? Are you sure? In the middle of a snowstorm? With the Castle tower going up in flames? And Lester set that fire. We found an incendiary device with his fingerprints all over it. He’d planned to kill Godiva and your father and burn the evidence.”
“No, I don’t believe it. I can’t believe Lester—I won’t.”
Mallard scrubbed an eyebrow. “I didn’t want to believe it either. And with Rupert flailing another gun around, it’s a wonder you all didn’t end up dead.”
“Lester fired wide at Rupert.”
“If what you remember is true then why was Lester shot in the chest?”
I closed my eyes to squeeze back my tears. A vision of Lester twisting his body came to me. I opened my eyes. I didn’t want to see. “He turned around after he fired.”
Mallard rubbed his mouth then reached his hand out toward me. “So he committed suicide by Dora? Is that what you want his family to know?”
My hands squeezed each other tight. “No, no.”
“Do you want Lester’s family to know all the details of his destruction? Do you want the town of Starke to know? Don’t you want us all to remember him as before? A good man? A good sheriff? A good father?”
I dropped my chin deeper into my chest. “I killed him, Mallard.”
Mallard stood again. He took a step toward me and stopped. “I know Dora,” he said in a quiet voice. “But I figure it was self-defense or justifiable homicide.”
“You’re not going to arrest me?”
“I won’t let you use the justice system to punish yourself.”
There’s no justice.
Mallard flung both arms wide. “Do you want your aunt to go through the agony of you in jail? Up on charges? If it ever went to trial, which I seriously doubt, she’d lose everything.”
“She’s already lost.”
“Only if she’s lost you.”
I brought my head up and looked Mallard in the eye. “She wants me lost.”
“Dora, no.”
“Yes.” I squatted and opened Nance’s purse.
Mallard started at the sight of the stacked and bound hundreds.
“Fifteen hundred, right?” I asked.
Mallard passed his hand over his face until he reached his mouth. Maybe he feared what he’d say next. “Where did you get that? No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”
I peeled off fifteen bills. I stood up and held the money out to Mallard. “Take it. Release Aunt Maddie. Then arrest me for receiving money for stolen property.”
He dropped his hand. “No.”
“To what? Releasing my aunt or arresting me?”
Mallard reached out and took the money from me. He dropped it back into Nance’s purse. “Both. Maybe if the investigation shows—no, no, it’s all over.” He shook his head. “Lester said being a good sheriff was about knowing people first and the law second. I’m forgiving the ticket. And forgetting the rest.”
“What about the Noira?” Not that I cared. I never wanted to see that evil horror again.
Mallard snorted. “That’s been resolved.” He rolled his eyes. “Boy, has that been resolved.”
“I suspected this,” I said. “You’ve turned into a good Sheriff of Starke.”
Mallard blushed and a tiny drop of sweat formed on his brow. Nice to see a moist touch of the old Mallard.
I picked up my suitcase and Nance’s purse. The purse was the heavier of the two.
Mallard frowned at my suitcase. “Where are you going?”
“Away.” I opened the office door.
“Where do I find you if when I need you for questioning?”
I turned back, one foot out the door. “Find me like you’re trying to find my father now.” A cold breeze lifted my words and chilled my heart.
Last night no one, not Mallard, not a state policeman, not Jeff or James, no matter how I pleaded, had started a search for Rupert. Not at night, not in the middle of a snowstorm.
“Your father’s a survivor.”
“My father was a fool and a coward.”
Mallard took my arm again. “Dora, you can’t leave Starke. What about your Aunt Maddie?”
“Let go.”
“You need to remain in Starke while the investigation is ongoing.” Mallard’s every word warned police business.
“I’ll be working at the All Jewelry Factory Outlet in Boise. You can find me there. If anywhere.”
I left.
“Dora?” Mallard’s voice came from behind me.
I kept walking. Away.
FORTY-ONE
A squeak greeted me as I wrestled myself, Nance’s purse, and my old suitcase into Mama Chin’s. On the old countertop rested a shiny new cage. Inside, Fat Freddy squatted on his haunches. He grasped the cage bars and poked his whiskery nose out through the bars. His nose twitched in protest to his incarceration.
“Did Mallard jail you as a material witness?” I asked him.
He gave a hopeful rat look at the cage door.
Mama Chin roared out the kitchen door. “We’re closed.” She paused mid-step when she saw me. “Oh, it’s you, Dora,” she said in a much softer tone. “Dora, I—”
I took a step away from her. “If you’re closed, lock the front door,” I said in a sharp, angry voice. I slammed my lips shut. Mama Chin deserved better than my dumping my an
ger at myself on her.
Mama Chin frowned. “I can’t,” she said in a more normal tone, “the contractors need to come and go.”
I raised both eyebrows.
“Mrs. McGarrity outed Freddy to the Dog Developers.”
My eyebrows stayed up.
“I got thrown out of the mall.” Mama Chin stuck a finger in Freddy’s cage and stroked his white head. “Luckily, Henry’s saner than those dogs. He said, long as I keep old Freddy in a cage away from the kitchen—”
Freddy squeaked at the word “kitchen.”
“Sorry old rat,” Mama Chin said, “you needed to go on a diet anyway.”
I set my suitcase down and perched on the edge. “I’m sorry. I’ll be gone soon. I promise.” I slumped over and stared at the floor. “I need to meet Nance here and then Tony’s picking me up.”
I’d blackmailed a ride from Tony on his weekly supply run to Boise. When he’d refused at first, I’d threatened to tell Maureen about a certain bad habit he had at the age of five. Always had a stopped up nose, Tony, and an inelegant way of dealing with the problem.
“For what? To go where?” Mama Chin demanded.
“Away.”
“Away? What kind of an answer is—”
“None of your business, Mama Chin.” I bit my lower lip.
“None of? Hmpfh.” Mama Chin turned and stomped into the kitchen.
I glanced at the old clock cleaned, repaired and re-hung on the wall. Nance always showed up on time and often early, especially if the meeting entailed her getting money. Where was she?
Nance flung open the front door.
She wore a vast orange fur coat. Even on her tall figure, it reached past her knees. And so thick it made skinny Nance bulky. That answered my question of what she’d wear during snow season. She carried an enormous purse I’d never seen before, this one in brilliant orange faux fur.
She limped inside. A tiny bandage covered the tear on her earlobe. Sunglasses covered most of her black eye. Her head seemed to float on top of the oversized fur coat.
I sunk lower on my old suitcase. My heart strummed in misery. Everyone I cared about I’d hurt. Nance wouldn’t be in pain if I’d only done Right Action when Rupert first handed me the necklace. My actions. My fault. My guilt.
The swinging kitchen door opened. A scent of warm yeasty dough and cinnamon wafted out. Mama Chin followed the aroma and stood in the doorway. She pointed at me. “Talk some sense into her,” she said to Nance. She stormed back into the kitchen and started banging pots and pans.
Nance placed a hand on her chest. “As a Buddhist, I would never presume to proselytize.”
My eyebrows rose. “You’re wearing a fur coat.”
Nance stroked the coat. Bits of fur fluttered. “This was my grandmother’s. These vicunas have been dead for a hundred years.” Nance’s logic, an immovable force. “Still has a lot of good wear in it.” Nance batted at a large bit of fluff.
“You’re late,” I said. A touch of anger still colored those two words. I couldn’t help myself. I needed to get gone.
Nance limped over to me. “I’m never late. You were early.” She pointed at my suitcase. “Oh good, you brought something to put your reward in, how wise.”
“What?” I’d miss Nance and how she always held conversations that started somewhere in the middle or the end.
Nance grabbed her old lion-clasp purse beside me.
“Ouch.” She winced. “Who knew a cracked rib could hurt so much?” She unclasped the lion’s jaws and started pulling out bundles of cash.
I sat back on the suitcase. “Nance, what are you doing?” Not that I expected an answer.
“The police didn’t find it, I did. Though that sweaty policeman kept yelling at me to get out of the crime scene.”
“Found what?” I struggled to catch up.
“The necklace. I found it, in the snow, shining in the sun.” Nance counted the bills with quick flicks of her fingers. “The Noira wanted me to find it.”
I leaned back, away from Nance and her money and her mad obsession. “Nance, you can’t keep the Noira. It’s stolen, it’s evil, it’s covered in blood.” Fresh blood. Lester’s blood.
“I wanted the Noira with all my heart.” Nance looked down at her long-fingered hands and the money. Then she smiled at me. “But my soul heard your truth about the karma of the Noira.”
“My truth?” Nance had listened to me?
“And, lo and behold, there’s a twenty-five thousand dollar reward offered by The National Art Jewelry Museum for recovery of the necklace. Who knew?” Nance ducked her head. “Well, I knew. But I was too nuts about the Noira.” With both hands she held a couple of sheaves of bills. “There. There’s your reward, all thirty thousand dollars.”
Mama Chin chose that moment to open the kitchen door again. She stared at the cash. She shook her head and said, “My cinnamon rolls are going to burn,” before she stepped back into the kitchen.
“No.” I held my hands up and pushed away the air. “You recovered the necklace.”
Nance put the cash bundles down on a box next to me. “Desire is one way of suffering, Dora. You taught me that. Sometimes a teacher becomes a student.”
“No.” I ran my hands over my face and paused. I peeked at Nance through my fingers. “You said the reward was twenty-five thousand.”
“The rest of the money is for saving my life, my soul, my spirit. Thank you for helping me on my path.”
To my amazement, Nance placed her hands together and bowed to me. Well, tried to bow, her thick coat and busted rib prevented anything more than a small pathetic and courageous attempt.
I didn’t acknowledge the gesture. “I’m not a Buddhist anymore, Nance. I never was.”
“Everybody’s a Buddhist, they just don’t know it,” Nance said. Her logic again.
I dropped my head and closed my eyes. “What I’ve done—”
“Doesn’t matter. That policeman with the duck name wouldn’t tell me what happened, but whatever it was, it’s over. You’ve moved down your path.”
I said nothing. A brush of fur caressed my cheek. I raised my head to see Nance, her smile small and sad. “You deserve the reward.”
“It’s blood money.”
“Yes, yes, it is,” Nance said. “The Noira curse bloodied everyone it touched. Including us.” She sighed. The shoulders of the fur coat barely moved. “It’s far better that it is in a museum, safely locked away behind unbreakable glass.”
“No.” I reached out my hand to knock the money off the box.
Nance caught my hand. She gave me a sharp look. “Dora, it’s karma. You can’t control lives. The past is gone forever.” Nance squeezed my hand. “You can’t fix what’s happened with guilt.”
I gulped down bile. Nance didn’t know my crime. I pulled away. “Give the money to Aunt Maddie.”
“Give me what money?” my aunt said from where she stood in the open doorway. The icy cold wind blew her old gardening coat out around her. She stopped in the open doorway and stared at the stacks of cash. An icy breeze blew snow inside.
“Shut the door. I have to pay for the heat,” Mama Chin called. She poked her head around the kitchen door. When she saw Aunt Maddie she gave a sharp nod. “’Bout time you got here.” She disappeared back into the kitchen.
Aunt Maddie slammed the door behind her. It rattled in the frame. She stormed up to Nance. She raised a bandaged hand and pointed her index finger an inch from Nance’s face.
Nance took a tentative, limping step back.
“Now look you, you wealthy weird person you,” my aunt said. “Dora is not your employee and you’re not buying my store and you’re not giving us a loan or any money so Dora can leave.”
Nance took another step away from my aunt’s vicinity. “I’m only giving Dora her due.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort.”
Nance took another step back.
Aunt Maddie picked up a stack of hundreds and flapped the stac
k at Nance. “You take back your slave money.”
“Employee? Store? Slave? Oh, no. I’m buying the Castle. Without that nasty tower, it’s a great place.” Nance grinned at us. “I’m your competition.” With that, Nance grabbed up her purses and scuttled to the glass front door. Outside, she bumped full bulk into Mrs. McGarrity. Behind Mrs. McGarrity crowded Mrs. McDay and Mrs. McChin.
Mrs. McGarrity wore an enormous quilted and embroidered coat that increased her size to that of a small grizzly. Next to her, Bark also wore a be-laced monstrosity. He hung his little head—with ear warmers on his stand-up fox ears—embarrassed.
They all danced a slippery sideways dance until Nance gave in and stepped out into the street and around the Widows Brigade. Mrs. McGarrity looked into the restaurant, saw Freddie in his cage and opened the front door and her mouth.
Aunt Maddie shook the money at her. “Out.”
Mrs. McGarrity paused, mouth open. Bark strained on his lacy leash to reach Freddie, who cowered in the corner of his cage. Mrs. McGarrity looked from Aunt Maddie to me and back again to Aunt Maddie. She shut her mouth, pulled Bark out, and shut the door.
I stood up. “You’re back,” I said to Aunt Maddie.
My aunt tossed her few thousand back onto the box. “I never left.”
I nodded at the wad of cash. “Take it, Aunt Maddie.”
She tossed it onto the box. A twenty fluttered over the edge onto the floor. “I’ve been looking all over town for you.”
“Save the store.” I picked up my suitcase.
My aunt placed her hands on her hips. “What’s all this nonsense about you leaving?”
I looked outside where the Widows Brigade lined up along the front picture window. Mrs. McDay pressed her face against the window, the cherries on her hat crushed. She gave a little wave. I didn’t wave back.
I started toward the front door.
“Dora?”
“I love you, Aunt Maddie.”
My aunt grabbed my parka sleeve. “Dora, no, wait.”
“I have to go.”
Aunt Maddie held me fast. “No, listen—”
“No. I’m done.” I tugged.
“Stop your pity party,” my aunt snapped.
I stared at her.
She dropped my sleeve. “I didn’t mean that. No, yes I did. But I really meant—” Aunt Maddie looked down at her old green coat. She fiddled with a button that half-hung off. “Dora, I-I need your help.”
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