by Laney Monday
“Look! A red, white, and blue confetti cake mix!”
“That’ll work,” Blythe agreed.
I grabbed an armful of boxes of cake mix and dumped them in the cart. Blythe gave me a disapproving look. She counted and carefully stacked the boxes in the cart, then put half of them back.
“They each make twenty-four cupcakes, Bren.”
“Twenty-four puny little cupcakes!” I put one of the boxes back in, and she gave up arguing about it.
“Should we color the frosting red, white, and blue, or use colored sprinkles?”
“Definitely both,” I said.
Blythe loaded up on frosting while I selected some sprinkles.
“Don’t forget the cupcake papers.”
“Okay.” They were right next to the sprinkles, and I found some with little American flags printed on them. I grabbed a pack to show Blythe. “Look at—”
A strange sound, like a scream cut short, was followed by a horrible crashing. Metal on concrete? Screams broke out near the front of the store.
“The ladder!” Blythe cried. “That sounded like a ladder!”
I dropped the cupcake wrappers and ran for the front door. I stopped short, and Blythe almost ran right into my back. Amy Winebauer, one of the Cherry Bowl’s young clerks, stood there, ashen-faced, in the middle of the automatic doors. “It’s Millie. I think—I think she’s dead!”
3
I raced through the automatic doors.
“Millie’s hurt!” someone shouted. “Help!”
“Did someone call 9-1-1?” I threw the question over my shoulder.
“Got it!” Takashi Staple, the store manager, said.
I turned the corner and there was Millie, prone on the ground, right beside the ladder. She lay face up, in a pool of paint. Except…it wasn’t paint. Well, the blue was paint and the white was paint. But not…
I felt dizzy. Beside me, Blythe let out a little sob. Then she knelt, trembling, and felt for Millie’s pulse. I took a deep breath and steadied myself. “We should try to do CPR. Just in case.” I could do this. I’d done it before. And he didn’t make it. I could do this. But I didn’t want to.
“Let me!” A customer dove in.
“Dr. Collins!” Takashi said. “Thank God you’re here.”
“Dr. Collins is a retired neurosurgeon,” Roberta, another Cherry Bowl employee, told me.
I stepped back, grateful someone else, much more qualified than me, was there.
“How did this happen?” Blythe asked Amy.
“I don’t know. She was just painting. Just a minute ago. It seemed like she had everything under control.” Amy’s voice was even higher than usual, shaking with adrenaline, strained with tension. “She was so happy. I brought her some lemonade, and then I went inside. It was just a minute ago…and then I heard the crash.”
I turned to Amy. “Is this how you found her?”
Amy shook her head. “She was face down, in the paint, with the ladder on top. I threw the ladder off right away and turned her over. I thought she might suffocate in the paint. Do you think I hurt her, turning her over? Do you think I—” Amy started to shake uncontrollably. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
Blythe put an arm around her shoulders.
“No,” I said. “You did the right thing.”
Sirens wailed, louder, nearer, with every second. The dogs of Bonney Bay joined in, a mournful chorus of howls. I wondered if one of them was Will’s chocolate lab, Chloe. Chloe and I were good friends now. Sometimes I borrowed her to go jogging.
A woman came tearing through the parking lot, a sun visor bouncing on her short, graying curls. She held a camera against her chest and her sandals slapped the pavement. A man in khaki shorts with a braided leather belt and a baby blue polo shirt struggled to keep up with her.
“Wait!” he called after her.
But the woman was headed right at us, whether he came with her or not. My stomach did a little flop. Was she related to Millie? Should I try to stop her? Dr. Collins was still trying to perform CPR, and it wasn’t pretty.
But the woman got a few steps closer, and there was a glint in her eye—shock, but also excitement. “I saw him!” she cried.
“You saw who?” I said.
The woman grabbed the camera hanging around her neck and waggled it at me. “I saw him, and I got him, too!”
“Glenda!” The man’s cheeks were flushed bright red, heated with something more than the work of hauling after her. Embarrassment? “Come on now. I didn’t see anything.”
“Because you were were too far away!”
“I was right next to you.”
“But you weren’t looking through the camera.” Glenda tapped the camera and rolled her eyes. “I saw the guy who pushed the ladder.”
Blythe still had her arm around Amy. She looked up and regarded the couple questioningly. “Pushed the ladder?”
“Is that poor woman hurt bad?” Glenda peered at the small crowd around the ladder and the paint mess. And Millie.
Blythe said, “We’re not sure yet. Do you know something about what happened?”
“I know it wasn’t an accident.”
Amy heard that part. She stopped crying and looked at Glenda in horror. “Are you sure?”
“No, no she’s not sure,” the man said hastily. “Come on, honey, we’re on vacation.”
Before he could persuade her to leave, I stepped up with a big, media-worthy smile and held my hand out. No one could turn down an extended hand. Okay, I’d met some jerks who could. But I was betting Glenda here had some basic manners. “I’m Brenna Battle.”
She shook my hand. “Glenda Barton. And this is my husband, Ford.”
Ford gave me a nod and a chagrined, forced smile. “So…you were taking pictures?” I prompted Glenda. “Does that take video?”
“Oh, no, not exactly. I mean, yes, it takes video, but I wasn’t in video mode. I guess I should’ve switched over. Not sure I even know how to use the video part yet. I came to Bonney Bay for the birds and the ghosts, you know?”
Ford whispered something under his breath and averted his eyes. He was clearly mortified. So, his wife was a little nutty. But if she thought someone pushed Millie off that ladder—or, I should say, that ladder out from under Millie—then I wanted to know why.
“So, you think you got a picture of someone pushing the ladder?” I said. I could see the ambulance lights approaching.
“There was an eagle in that tree.” She pointed to a hemlock behind the store. “A real, live eagle! I zoomed in and I was all set for the perfect shot. Then I heard this awful noise, and I wasn’t even thinking. I just followed it with the camera. I don’t know why.”
“Camera’s glued to your eye, that’s why. Might as well have married a cyborg,” Ford muttered.
“Anyway, I saw him clear as day. Wearing a baseball cap and an apron. Do you think it was a ghost? How old is this store? Is it haunted? Was it built on an old Indian graveyard?”
Um, did Native Americans wear baseball caps back in the day? I wanted to say. But I bit my tongue.
Ford wasn’t quite so charitable. He grabbed Glenda’s arm. “For goodness sake, it looks like that poor woman is horribly hurt. Let’s leave these people alone so they can take care of it.”
The ambulance pulled into the Cherry Bowl parking lot. I put my hand on Ford’s arm. He met my eyes and I gave him a look, not threatening but definitely no-nonsense. I pointed at the camera. “Let’s have a quick look first.”
“Of course.” Glenda shrugged Ford off, ducked her head through the loop of the camera strap, and pushed a couple of buttons.
I tried not to look too impatient. Don’t get me wrong, I was glad the ambulance was here for Millie and the paramedics were taking care of her. But the police wouldn’t be far behind. And that might just put an end to my investigation. If these two were just passing through, I might never get another chance to find out if someone really wanted to hurt Millie.
“Ther
e! There he is!” Glenda turned the camera so I could see…
A virtually indefinable blur of color. It was human. But I couldn’t even tell if it was male, let alone any other details.
“What’s the matter?” Glenda said.
“Well, it’s a little blurry. Is there another one?”
Glenda took a pair of glasses, also hanging around her neck, and perched them on her nose. “Oh…I guess it is blurry. But I got a real clear look, and then he ran. I took a picture as soon as I saw what he was doing. I guess the shutter was a little slow.”
“I guess so. So, is there another picture?”
She clicked through several more pictures, and I looked over her shoulder. Branches, branches, pavement, blur. And that was it.
A police cruiser stopped right next to us. It was Will. I pulled the Bartons back a little and let him hurry past. He spoke to one of the paramedics briefly as they moved Millie into the back of the ambulance.
The ambulance doors shut. “Back away, everyone. This way.” Riggins moved the group of shaken co-workers and onlookers off to the side, away from the ladder and paint and out of the ambulance’s way.
We all stood there for a moment, watching the ambulance pull away. I don’t think I was the only one desperately praying that Millie would be alright.
Riggins nodded at me. “Brenna.” There was a little bit of uncertainty, a little bit of hope in those eyes. Those honest eyes. They got me every time. I didn’t think I’d ever met another man who could wear how he felt so clearly, without looking like a wimp or a sap. It was like there was a special kind of strength underneath it all. He was strong enough to be who he was, to feel what he felt, and to let people know it.
“Will.” What was he doing with someone like me? Sure, I’d aways liked to think of myself as tough. And I was, when pushed. I wouldn’t just take things. I wouldn’t be messed with. And I knew how to push myself. But I tended to just spread that type of toughness like frosting over a not-so-great piece of cake.
Cake that threatened to crumble at the slightest touch. My icing wasn’t just the icing on the cake, it was what was holding it together. You know when the cake’s a little dry and you scrape the top a little too hard as you spread the frosting and it ends up just a mess and full of crumbs? That was what I felt like, looking into Will’s eyes just then. Like no amount of sprinkles could cover it up and I might as well just start over. But how can you start over? How can you just bake—I mean make—yourself into a different person?
Like I said, I couldn’t bake. So I went for a mountain of frosting. “Thanks for coming. It’s really good to see you.” Oh, that was smooth. Real smooth, Brenna. How about, Sorry I was a pain? I could do it. I could apologize. People did it all the time. It was no big deal. “No!” I cried.
Will started, then followed my gaze. Amy was tearfully gathering Millie’s scattered paint brushes.
“What?” Amy blinked through her tears. “I’m just cleaning up. I have to do something. Besides, Millie’s going to need these…”
“Sorry, Amy,” I said gently, “but we should leave everything so it can be documented. Just in case.”
Amy rose shakily and nodded. “In case it’s a crime scene. Who would do that? Who would do this to Millie?”
“Crime scene?” Will said.
“There’s a woman here who might have seen something suspicious,” I told him.
“Who?”
“She’s right—” I whirled around, arm extended, ready to point her out. Gone! Glenda and Ford Barton were gone.
4
“Oh, no. They can’t!” I cried.
“There!” Blythe pointed down the street. Glenda and Ford were hustling away.
“You spooked them,” I told Will. “You secure the crime scene. I’ll go get them.”
“Brenna!” Will protested.
But I ignored him and sprinted after them like a madwoman. I skidded to a stop right in front of them, cutting off their escape. I grinned, and they looked terrified. I probably looked like a wild-eyed lunatic. I toned down the grin. I knew I should have them talk to the police, but I figured I’d try to get whatever I could out of them first, just in case.
“Hi,” I said. “The ambulance took Millie—the woman who fell. I think it would really help if we knew where to reach you, just in case anyone has questions. The doctors, her family…”
“Look, this is our vacation. I’m sorry somebody got hurt, but there’s nothing we can do about that and we just want to enjoy ourselves.” Ford seemed ready to bolt.
That guy was seriously committed to this whole vacation thing. Sheesh. What a selfish jerk. Millie could be dying. I put a muzzle on my impatience and gave him the most reassuring look I could muster. No way were these guys going to talk to the police. And I wouldn’t be surprised if Ford convinced Glenda to leave Bonney Bay and take their vacation elsewhere. I had to keep them here in town. I didn’t know how long they planned on staying, but Glenda had said they’d just arrived. Without clear evidence of foul play, it was unlikely the police would round them up right now.
And what if they did? Would they clam up, just so they could get out of here and finish their vacation somewhere else?
I said, “Of course you’re here to enjoy yourselves. That’s why I appreciate your concern for Millie so much. Thanks for taking the time to come over and show me your picture, Glenda. I’ll bet you’ll get some real beauties if you hang around here for a while. Are you planning on any whale watching?”
“No, but I am planning on some ghost watching. Have you heard of alternate dimensions? Maybe that man came out of one and—”
“Glenda!” Ford said sharply.
“I know what you two need. A nice, relaxing dessert. Maybe a few drinks. Have you tried Augustine’s?”
“Oh, no,” Glenda said. “We already had dinner and dessert at the inn tonight.”
“Blackberry inn?” I guessed.
“How’d you know?” Ford said.
“It’s the perfect place for ghost-watching.” If you believed their made-up hype.
“Did you know that ghosts were tied to a murder here recently?” Glenda whispered conspiratorially. “And they killed some poor writer to shut her up.”
Was that how the ghost-watch-o-sphere had spun it online? It didn’t surprise me. I’d learned a few weeks ago, when a man died in one of Bonney Bay’s most historic—and supposedly haunted—houses, that there was a whole, crazy world of ghost-watchers online. And a lot of them were obsessed with Bonney Bay. The proprietors of Blackberry Inn had used that to great advantage, even though their house had no real history of haunting lore.
“Well, enjoy the Blackberry Inn. It’s a wonderful place to stay.” Because there are no ghosts. I shook their hands again. “It was great meeting you!”
“Same here,” Glenda said enthusiastically.
But Ford just grimaced. I ran back to the store, where Will was still waiting for backup and standing guard over the fallen ladder and the surrounding evidence.
“Well?” Will said. “What’s this about a crime scene? Where are my witnesses?”
“Headed that way.” I gestured down the street, toward Blackberry Inn. “Look, I have their names, and they’re staying at Blackberry Inn. I’m afraid they might leave if we harass them.”
“You mean if we go running after them like you just did?”
My face got hot. “You don’t know what they saw. She showed me a picture,” I added in desperation.
“A picture?”
I told him about the picture, about Glenda and what she’d seen.
“She was a little weird,” Takashi put in.
Who asked you? I wanted to say. She was my only witness, the only one who might have proof that Millie’s fall hadn’t been an accident.
And then Blythe nodded her head in agreement with Takashi. “She thought it might have been a ghost.”
I gave shot her a look of reproach.
“Oh,” Will said. “One of those tour
ists.”
I said, “But still, there was someone there. It was blurry, but you could tell it was a person. Someone knows something about why Millie fell.”
“Could you see the ladder in the picture?” Will asked.
“Well…no…”
Okay, so there really wasn’t any proof that the picture even had anything to do with the ladder. But, “That was with my naked eye, in the little screen. You might be able to see more if it’s blown up, enhanced.”
Will nodded. “Okay. I already called for backup. I’ll get this area secured and then I’ll go over to Blackberry Inn and have a little talk with them.”
“Just don’t scare them off.”
Will gave me a look. Unfortunately, I’d seen that look a few times before.
I said, “Right. You know how to do your job. Of course.”
“Let’s hope this Glenda lady was just a little excited and it was really a terrible accident,” Will said.
I nodded. The last thing we needed in Bonney Bay was another violent crime.
5
The next afternoon, I stood in front of the big floor fan Will had brought over, undid my belt, and flapped my gi open. “Ah, this brings back memories. Italy, Central America. At least there’s only two of us. I don’t have to fight for a spot by the fan.”
“And at least we have decent laundry facilities.”
“True. It’s definitely less stinky.” Blythe knew all about some of the judo camps I’d attended with the top competitors in the world, before I set my hopes of Olympic gold aside and decided to leave our home in Arizona and open up my own judo school for kids.
For some reason, Italians just didn’t do dryers, and they washed most of their clothes by hand. Judo gis are thick and heavy, very hard to wash or dry without equally heavy machinery. Which was not provided for the camp participants. We resorted to hanging sweat-soaked gis in the sun and spritzing them with Febreeze. When the camps were over, we packed our unwashed gis between scented dryer sheets and hauled them home. Woe to the person who first opened that duffel bag!