by Lin, Harper
“Why did you move out?”
“I was getting too old to live with her,” said Craig. “I needed my own life.”
“Did you feel guilty at all?”
“Of course, but Mom always made me feel guilty about everything that I got used to it. It didn’t affect me the way it would to others.”
“What are you going to do about the inn?”
Craig shrugged. “I don’t know what we’ll do with it yet. We’ll probably sell it.”
“So you don’t want to live at the inn, then?”
“No. My fiance would never allow it.”
“I didn’t know you were engaged,” said Nick.
“Oh, just recently.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thanks.”
“Did your mom know about your engagement?”
There was a slight pause. “No. She didn’t approve of Jasmina. My fiancée is, well, Muslim. My mom is not so…evolved, so she ignores her completely.”
“I see,” Nick said. “Is that why your fiancée doesn’t want to live at the inn?”
“No,” said Craig. “Well, she thinks that the inn is spooky. You know, haunted.”
Nick chuckled. “I keep hearing that. What do you think?”
“Well, I don’t know. Sometimes I do think there are some dark spirits festering in that house. I know that my great grandfather shot himself in the attic.”
“Wow.”
“And once I was going through the records of the inn and found out that two children had died there in the early 1900’s.” Craig paused. “It sounds crazy, but sometimes I did think that I could hear children giggling in the corridors.”
Nick shuddered. “But you never saw them, did you?”
“Nope,” said Craig. “And I never want to. I do wonder if the dark spirits had anything to do with Martha’s death.”
Nick leaned in. “You mean, you think that a ghost killed your mother?”
They were interrupted by the waitress, who came by with their drinks and burgers.
“I don’t know,” said Craig. “But it makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“Er, I’m not sure…”
“I know it does sound a little crazy, but there’s no other way to explain it.”
“When was the last time you saw her?” Nick asked.
“The last time I saw you. For dinner on Christmas Eve. I wanted to visit her on New Year’s Eve too, but I had already spent Christmas dinner without Jasmina and left her at home. I wasn’t going to abandon her on New Year’s too.”
Craig sounded defensive. Maybe he was guilty for being a bad son, unless he was guilty for other reasons.
“So you spent New Year’s Eve with your fiancée?”
“Yeah. We just sat at home and watched TV. Had dinner, you know.” Craig lowered his voice. “So, on that night, you really didn’t hear anything? See anything suspicious?”
Nick shook his head before biting into his bacon burger. “I was out like a light. Wish I did though. I did hear from someone else that a pickup truck was spotted outside of the inn.”
“What?” Craig exclaimed. “Does the police know?”
“Of course they do.” Nick looked at him closely. “Any idea who it could be?”
“A pickup truck?” Craig did some biting and munching of his own. “Why, no. Oh, it could be Edward Herman. He must have a pickup truck.”
“No, it wasn’t him,” said Nick. “He had an alibi.”
“Oh.” More silence and chewing. “Then I don’t know.”
I saw Nick looking at him intensely. He said nothing more. For a while, they ate their lunch and we finished ours and then sat there and waited until they left.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The three of us met back at the car. The snow storm had stopped but it left a thick layer of snow on Sterling’s car that took some time for him to scrape off.
“What do you guys think?” Nick asked when got back into the car.
Sterling started the car. “Something’s definitely weird. Ghosts? That’s what he could come up with?”
“But the guy would be a damn good actor if he could just cry on command like that,” Nick said.
“Maybe he’s just a crazy hysteric,” said Sterling.
“He did sound a little defensive when you asked him where he was on New Year’s Eve,” I said. “Maybe he wasn’t faking. Maybe he was crying out of guilt.”
“When I first questioned him,” said Sterling, “he was also shaking and crying a lot. At the time I thought he was upset about his mother, but now with all this ghost talk, I do question his mental well being.”
Sterling was way too logically sometimes. I changed the subject.
“Let’s go question the fiancée.”
“You and I will go,” said Sterling. “If Nick comes, it’ll be too distracting.”
Nick grinned. “Why? Because I’m an international sex symbol?”
“Please,” Sterling sneered. “You’re just not needed. I’m dropping you at the Wild house.”
“Fine,” said Nick. “But if you ask me, it’s not Craig.”
“And how would you know that?” said Sterling.
“It’s a little thing called instinct.”
Sterling snorted. “We’ll see.”
“Let’s make a bet,” said Nick. “If I’m right, Emma belongs with me.”
My mouth hung open. “Nick! Don’t drag me into this. I’m not something that you can just bet on.”
“I agree,” said Sterling. “Have some respect, Nick. Besides, Craig is definitely involved. I don’t even have to look at his face to know that guilt is written all over it.”
“And how would you know that?” Nick asked.
“It’s a little thing called years of experience.”
After we dropped Nick off, Sterling and I went straight to the apartment building where Craig lived with his girlfriend. The concierge let us in after Sterling showed him his badge. Fortunately, Jasmina was home when we knocked.
“Yes?” She poked her head from the crack of the door.
She was pretty, with dark eyes lined and full lashes, dewy chocolate skin and shiny long black hair. No wonder Craig would rather live with her than with his mother.
“I’m detective Sterling and this is my partner Emma. We’re here to ask you some questions about your fiancé.”
Jasmina frowned. “fiancé? How did you know that we were engaged?
“Can we please come in?” I asked.
She stared at me for a second. “Do I know you?”
Then recognition flashed in her eyes. “Oh, you look exactly like Emma Wild, the singer.”
“I get that a lot,” I said.
“And didn’t you say your name is Emma too?’
“A coincidence.” I smiled.
She opened the door and let us in.
“I’m sorry about the mess,” she said. “I would’ve cleaned if I knew I would have company.”
The apartment was spotless. I didn’t know what mess she was referring to. The living room was spacious with huge windows facing a park. She sat down on a beige sofa while Sterling sat on the couch. I remained standing.
“Where were you on New Year’s Eve?” Sterling began.
“Here,” she said. “In this apartment.”
“And where was Craig Owens?”
“Here, with me.”
“At any point, did he leave this apartment?” Sterling asked.
“No. We were here the entire evening. We ate dinner, watched the countdown, then went to sleep. What’s this about?”
“Have you ever visited his mother, Martha Owens?”
Jasmina’s face twitched, or was I just imagining things?
“I did see her about a month ago, but not since.”
“And what did you think of her?”
Jasmina paused. “Is this about her murder?”
Sterling nodded.
“Well, she wasn’t exactly happy to see me. She didn’t approve of me,
because of my…race. I didn’t stay long.”
“And you hadn’t seen her since?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“What was Craig’s relationship like with his mother?” asked Sterling.
“Are you here because you suspect Craig for killing his own mother?”
“We’ll be asking the questions,” said Sterling.
Jasmine looked agitated and shot him a dirty look, but she answered anyway.
“His mother was a little overbearing, but Craig would never hurt her. He would never hurt a fly.”
“The same Craig Owens who broke a man’s nose in a bar fight?”
“That was ages ago,” said Jasmina.
“So you knew about that?”
“Yes. He was in college, and drunk. He was young back then. It doesn’t mean that he’s a murderer. Like I said, Craig was with me all night. He loves his mother. He would never do anything like that.”
I paced in the living room behind the couch Sterling was sitting in, observing the apartment. I looked out the window, down into the parking lot. A vehicle stuck out to me, but I didn’t want to interrupt yet.
“Are you a knitter?” I asked Jasmina.
She had a knitting bag beside the sofa. It looked like she was starting a scarf with a familiar pattern.
“Yes,” Jasmina said. “Is that a crime too?”
I didn’t say anything. She sounded defensive, but she had every right to be.
Just then, there were footsteps down the hallway. The door opened and Craig burst in and slammed the door behind him.
“Jasmina!” he said. “They know about the pickup truck. We have to get rid of it!”
He was panting because he’d been running and in such a daze that he didn’t notice Sterling and me sitting at the side of the living room.
“So you do drive a pickup truck,” Sterling said, standing up.
When Craig saw us, his face turned pale. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” Sterling said. “You went to visit your mom on New Year’s Eve, but a simple visit turned into an argument and you killed your mother in the midst of it. Then you covered it up by wiping your fingerprints from the knitting needle, cleaned the place up and ran.”
Craig sat down and began to cry again. I’d never seen a man cry so much in my life.
“It was me,” Craig said. “I did it. I killed my mother.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Nobody said anything for a moment. Craig was crying on the floor and everyone froze, watching him break down.
“It was an accident,” said Craig. “We got into an argument. I felt bad about leaving her alone on New Year’s Eve, but when I got there, she was angry.”
“And you stabbed her?” I asked.
Sterling took out a pair of handcuffs and went over to handcuff Craig, but I stopped him.
“I’m still not convinced it is Craig,” I said.
“But he just confessed,” said Sterling.
“Yes, but what was Jasmina doing there on New Year’s Eve?”
Jasmina looked shocked. Sounds came out of her mouth, but she couldn’t speak.
“It was your pickup truck, wasn’t it?” I said. “And your scarf that I found in the bottom of Martha’s trash can in the kitchen. You went with Craig to Martha’s inn, and gave her a present, but Martha didn’t want it, did she? She insulted you, and you reached for the needle and struck her in the chest. Then you cleaned away the evidence, didn’t you?”
Jasmina began to sob herself. “Yes, it was me. Craig was just trying to cover for me. I killed Martha.”
“Jasmina didn’t mean to do it!” Craig exclaimed. “We had both been drinking, and she doesn’t handle her liquor well. When my mom lunged at her, she was only trying to defend herself.”
Jasmina hung her head and buried her face in her palms. We waited until she calmed down and then she spoke.
“Craig and I have been together for two years. Martha had never accepted me. She just wanted to control Craig and keep him chained to her side. I was sick and tired watching her emasculate him. She just saw me as a threat, but I tried to get along with her for Craig’s sake. On New Year’s Eve we hadn’t planned on visiting her, but at the last minute, we felt bad for leaving her alone. Craig’s car was in the shop, so we took my truck.”
“Why do you have a pickup truck anyway?” asked Sterling.
“It was my dad’s,” said Jasmina. “He passed away last year and left it to me. I thought that New Year’s Eve might be a good time to talk to Martha again, so she would give us the blessing to get married. The new year was a time to put past disagreements behind us. Craig valued her approval and I guess I did too. I brought along a scarf I knitted, because I knew that she appreciated homemade knits. If she didn’t want it, she could at least donate it to the sick children along with the things that she made. But no, Martha had to get nasty about it. She spat on my scarf and threw it in the trash! She called me horrible, racist names and attacked me, my family, and my religion. Then she called Craig a traitor, calling him a loser for resorting to being with someone like me…”
Jasmina continued to sob and Craig stumbled over to hug her.
“It was all too much for me to take,” she said between the tears. “Martha was getting aggressive, yelling and coming closer that in my tipsy state, I thought she was going to attack me, so I grabbed the closest thing I could find and, and—“
She sobbed into Craig’s chest. Craig stroked her head and whispered, “It’s okay, it’s okay.”
“Why didn’t you just come forward?” said Sterling. “You would’ve had a much lighter sentence.”
“We got scared,” said Craig. “I didn’t want Jasmina in jail. We wanted to get married and start a life together. So I told her that we should clean up and nobody would know.”
“But you tried to blame it on the dairy farmer!” I said.
“It was stupid,” said Craig, “but we were desperate. I never liked that bastard Herman anyway. He laid his hands on my mother!”
“But ghosts, for chrissake,” Sterling exclaimed. “You tried to blame your mother’s murder on ghosts!”
“That house is haunted,” said Jasmina. “I’ll never step foot in it again.”