Aiden came back in, along with Mayor McConnell (who followed him out to meet the police either through some sense of duty or because he couldn’t stand being around me anymore) and another officer.
The officer had close-cropped blond hair that stuck up into points. He was close enough to my age to disregard any difference and, like Patrick, was one of the few faces I had never seen in Second Springs before.
Not that I was complaining. It wasn’t a particularly bad face. In fact, if it wasn’t for the reason he’d shown up here tonight and the fact that he was walking side by side with my former fiancé, I’d have said he was pretty cute.
Of course, he hadn’t opened his mouth yet.
“Hey, Darrin,” Peggy said, keeping a bit of mournful reverence in her voice.
“What did I say about addressing me when I’m on duty, Peg?” Darrin answered without a hint of sarcasm or Southern accent. Both of which worried me.
“Sorry,” she answered. “Hey, Sheriff Dash.”
Wait though. If he’s the sheriff…
What happened to my dad?
“You can’t be the sheriff!” I yelped instinctively.
Smooth as ever, Rita.
“Is that right?” Sheriff Dash asked, moving toward me and staring at me with piercing blue eyes. “I’m afraid the county says different.”
“Sorry,” I shook my head, remembering the situation I had found myself in. I was an outsider here, and what was more, I had no idea what the world looked like anymore. I had been gone for two years.
“It’s just, I did some research on the town before I came here. I could have sworn your sheriff was named Clarke.”
“Must have been some old research,” Sheriff Dash said, sitting right next to me. Like a politeness machine, Peggy poured him a cup of coffee.
“You still take two sugars?” she asked.
“Three now, but you shouldn’t bother yourself with that,” Sheriff Dash answered. “You’ve got to be more than a little shaken up.”
“It’s no trouble at all,” Peggy said. “It might actually help take my mind off things. Let me get you some Key Lime.”
“Eww,” I crinkled my nose.
“Not a fan?’ Sheriff Dash looked at me, cocking his eyebrow and taking a swig of coffee.
“Key Lime pie is disgusting. It breaks the cardinal rule of dessert. It’s--”
“Not sweet,” Peggy finished, setting the pie in front of the sheriff. “My Rita used to say the exact same thing. That’s uncanny.”
“That is odd,” I said, my eyes darting to the counter.
Darn it, I have to stop doing that.
“So, um, what happened to the old sheriff?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant. “You know, out of curiosity.”
“That’s a curious bit of curiosity,” the new sheriff glanced at me over a chunk of disgusting Key Lime pie.
“What can I say? I’m an enigma,” I shot back uncomfortably.
“He retired last year,” Peggy answered, filling up my coffee.
“That’s an interesting way of putting it,” Sheriff Dash countered.
‘Interesting’? What is that supposed to mean?
“Any clues about what happened to poor Patrick?” Peggy asked, cutting me off before I could dig any further into what caused my dad’s “retirement.”
“A few,” Sheriff Dash answered. “Nothing I want to share quite yet.”
“What about footprints?” I asked, kicking into gear. “We all watched the killer run off. Certainly, he or she left a set of footprints in the woods after they dipped off into them.”
“They did,” Sheriff Dash answered, shoveling up another forkful. Man, he was really digging that pie. “But, so did about sixty other people. Those woods are popular with the high schoolers here. I imagine they practice their kissing skills judging by the number of lip gloss tubes we found out there.”
Color rose in my cheeks. I had been in those woods, too. Aiden and I spent many an afternoon there in high school planning our future together, a future we’d never have now.
“Well, what about fingerprints? “ I stammered, changing the subject. “Did you dust the wrench for prints?”
“It’s clean. I do know how to do my job, Ms. Redoux,” Sheriff Dash answered.
“I suppose that means you’re investigating the ties between this murder and the death of the senior here two years ago?” I glared at him.
If this guy was going to replace my father, I was going to make sure he earned it.
He stared at me for a beat too long. Then, taking another sip of coffee, he said, “We’re investigating all possibilities at the moment.” He stood. “Including new residents who just so happened to show up on the very night this heinous act took place.”
“Don’t go accusing my newest employee of wrongdoing, Darrin,” Peggy said.
“Sheriff Dash,” he corrected.
“Peggy’s right, Sheriff. Rita was with us when Patrick was attacked. There’s no way she could have been involved,” Aiden answered.
“That doesn’t mean she won’t have to come and make a report about what happened, as well as answer a few questions.” Sheriff Dash turned to me. “Don’t worry, they will too.” He motioned to Peggy and Aiden. “Now, can I trust you to come into the police station at 10 A.M tomorrow or do I need to escort you myself?”
“You wouldn’t even know where to find me,” I answered.
“I was the best detective in the whole of Washington D.C., Ms. Redoux. I think I could figure it out.”
“I guess we’ll see,” I countered, staring him right in the baby blues.
“Ten o’clock then. I’ll bring bagels.” He nodded at Peggy and Aiden. “Try to get some sleep guys. Things are all taped off out there, and the area should be squared away by morning. But just to be safe, why don’t you refrain from opening too early. Out of respect.”
“Of course,” Peggy said.
“And, Ms. Redoux, I’ll be expecting to see you there as well.” He winked. “Don’t make me come looking for you.”
That night was anything but restful. Peggy showed me to the furnished room in the back building, which, to its credit, was a complete studio with mini kitchenette, a sitting area, and a bed that pulled out from the wall. There was even my own private bathroom, albeit one that was separated from the rest of the studio with a thin curtain. But hey, dead girls can’t be too picky these days.
Still, I didn’t sleep much. I must have come across the only dog in the world that was afraid of the dark, because Mayor McConnell absolutely refused to let me turn the lights off, barking up a storm anytime I tried.
It likely wouldn’t have made much difference, though. My mind was spinning from the events of the day. Add that to the fact that I just didn’t feel comfortable in this body and I tossed and turned half the night.
It was so strange, the feeling of having legs that were longer than the ones I was used to, hair that was thicker than what used to reside on my head, and eyes that were just a bit sharper than before.
When 2:00 am rolled around, with Mayor McConnell giving me the stink eye, I finally gave up the fight.
I pulled myself out of bed and powered on the laptop that was inside one of the suitcases Charlie gifted me, along with the truck.
My heart sped as I waited for it to boot up. Once the browser was open, I went to work.
Part of me always felt like a cop, though Dad refused to even entertain the idea.
“It’s just too dangerous,” he’d always tell me. “You’ll get yourself killed. Why not just get a regular job and stay safe?”
Poor Dad. Even that didn’t work out.
After losing his daughter on a pie run, he’d likely reconsidered his stance on that. But, it didn’t matter now. I was where I was, and I was going to do what I had to do in order to make sure that whoever was killing people in Second Springs never got to lay a wrench beside another victim.
I Googled “Wrench, Murder, Second Springs,” but nothing about
my death came up. Mrs. Hoover did show up about halfway down the page. Apparently, they’d found her body a few minutes after they found mine. She was in the bushes beside her house. She had likely hidden there when someone broke in, and she never saw the blunt object that struck the back of her head coming.
My death was ruled an accident, though talking to Peggy told me everything I needed to know about what the people around here thought of that -- no evidence didn’t mean no crime. Any sheriff’s daughter could tell you that much.
With my finger hesitating a bit too long over the touch pad, I clicked the link that led to the article on my murder.
Thankfully, there was no picture of my body; just the old photo I took the day I placed third in the Second Springs Annual Junior Talent Competition.
If I’d have known that was the picture they were going to use, I’d have done something other than tap dancing.
This wasn’t doing me any good. This information was public, and public information got combed through by people every day. If there were answers to be had in this, someone would have solved these murders years ago.
I needed to get into the police database where the good stuff was. Hopefully, Dad’s account was still active.
My mind touched on what Sheriff Dash had said about his retirement earlier, but I shook that off. I couldn’t let myself get bogged down in that right now. There would be plenty of time to deal with that after this murder was solved. Besides, I couldn’t manage to work up the nerve to see Dad just yet. Just the thought of what he had been through broke my heart. A stranger bawling in his arms was probably the last thing he needed.
Still, I took a second to Google his name and the word retirement. Of the handful of hits that came up, most were about my unsolved murder. The few that centered on his retirement only said that he had served his community well, and was retreating to private life.
No luck there. So I turned my attention back to the matter at hand.
I tried logging into his account, something I had done countless times in my old life. But the screen read “Not a Known User.”
Sheriff Dash must have erased him from the system when he took over. Still, I had one more chance.
If Harvey still worked with the police force, his name would be in the system. And, though I wasn’t privileged to his password, that guy was about as hard to read as a Dick and Jane book.
I typed in his name.
Bingo!
Typing in the password bar, I wrote Helen, his mom’s name.
Incorrect! Two more failed attempts will result in your account being locked and reviewed.
I’d better be careful. So I typed the next one, hoping his password was Atlanta-Falcons, his favorite sports team. I don’t know why guys are so fixated on naming everything after the teams they like, but it was a surefire way to make sure none of your personal information ever stayed safe.
No luck, though.
Incorrect! One more failed attempt will result in your account being locked and reviewed
Here we go. Last chance. I’d better make this one count.
I stared at the screen for a beat, thinking about Harvey and about the kind of person he was.
A smile slid across my face as the answer came to me. I typed it quickly across the pad.
Bubblegum, the name of his Siamese cat.
I wasn’t even a little surprised when the site opened up to me.
I love you, Harvey, you wonderful, predictable man.
I got to work, starting the business of digging around the police department’s secure server. Then something strange happened.
The screen went out of focus and, when it returned all the information was replaced, by a virtual slice of Key Lime pie.
It spun around as a light jingle played from the speakers.
Then underneath, a message that absolutely had to come from Sheriff Dash typed itself underneath.
Don’t forget 10 AM sharp ;)
Sincerely, the best Detective in Washington D.C.
I slammed the laptop shut, sighing and shaking my head, a little upset and a little freaked out.
But also, I was a little impressed.
6
Morning came early in Second Springs. It always had, at least since opening the pie shop. After all, those crusts don’t brown themselves, and people don’t like to wait for their sweets around these parts.
But Sheriff Dash (cocky troublemaker that he was) told Peggy not to open the doors too early today. Turns out, murder puts a foul taste in people’s mouths. And, since she believed me to be a brand new employee and not the co-founder that I actually was, I wasn’t in any position to try and convince her otherwise.
So, while I rose with the sun like always, I didn’t have much to do but sit around and feel sorry for myself. Luckily for me, I had a lot of ammunition in that particular barrel.
I marched down to the pond. Mayor McConnell was apparently the type of dog that liked to sleep in because he growled at me when I tried to rouse him.
Some partner in crime he was!
I didn’t need him, though. I knew where I was going and I knew what I was going to do when I got there.
The infamous second spring of Second Springs. The first one dried up sometime in the 1920s, but this one flowed ever faithfully toward Dalton. I used to it relax and clear my mind all the time. I did it when Dad finally told me about the day my mom died. I did it right after Aiden proposed. Why, I did it just two weeks ago, when...
Wait. That wasn’t two weeks ago. It may have felt like that to me, but to everyone else, two whole years had passed.
It was like going to sleep and waking up in some sort of alternate universe. Everyone was the same, but they were different somehow. Though I felt the same, I was the most different of all.
I leaned forward on my bench, looking at my reflection in the flowing water.
Who was this woman? The red hair, the full cheeks, the seemingly endless parade of floral clothing. Had she been a person? Had this body belonged to someone else before or had it been custom made for me?
I had so many questions, and absolutely no one with any answers.
“You should take a picture. It’ll last longer,” a kid said from beside me.
I jerked a little, startled that he had managed to get this close without me hearing him. He was a dark haired kid of about twelve on a bicycle with snot coming out of his nose and scratched up knees. Obviously, the rough and tumble sort.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, blinking.
“You should keep some other things in mind too, though I doubt you will,” he said, wiping his nose with his sleeve.
“What? I asked, twitching my mouth to the side.
“It’s just, you’re definitely the stubborn type, honeybean.” The kid rode around me in a circle.
“Ch-Charlie?” I asked, furrowing my brow.
“Didn’t take you as long as I thought it would.” He settled in front of me, grinning with two missing teeth.
“Well, you don’t look the same,” I answered, still trying to wrap my head around the way all of this worked.
“I never do,” he said.
“Neither do I, apparently,” I said, glancing at my reflection again. It was strange knowing that the old man who drove me to Second Springs was now speaking to me from the mouth of a twelve-year-old boy. But hey, my dog used to be the mayor and I used to be dead.
Strange things abound.
“What can I help you with, Charlie?” I asked, as he started circling me again.
“Wrong question,” he said in a sing-song voice.
“Okay, what can you help me with?” I asked.
“Still not right,” he said, pulling to a stop in front of me. “I’m not the one who needs help, and neither are you.” He turned his head and looked behind him.
A woman sat on a far off bench with her hands clasped at her waist, looking at the ground.
“Her?” I asked.
“To start with,” he answered
, and then darted off on the bike.
“Charlie!” I yelled, but I knew he wouldn’t stop. Because it turned out that, in addition to being mysterious, this guy was really stubborn too.
Walking over to the woman, my head began to fill with questions and concerns. What was I going to say to her? How was I going to explain myself?
Hey there, I’m the former sheriff’s dead daughter reincarnated, and that little boy I was just talking to was my spirit guide. He said you might need my help. Also, no, craziness does not run in my family.
“Is this seat taken?” I asked when I got near enough to the woman.
Her only answer was to head shake no, still looking at the ground.
I settled beside her, straightening my dress, and trying to think of something to say.
“I’m Rita. I’m new in town.” I extended my hand, but she didn’t take it. “If you don’t mind me saying, you look sort of down.”
“I’m Angela and, no offense, Rita,” the woman said, “but I came here to be alone.”
“Of course,” I stammered, feeling in the way and sorry for her loss. “I’m sorry. I’ll get out of your hair.”
I stood and starting walking away.
Sorry, Charlie.
“Why’d you come here?” she asked from over my shoulder.
I turned. “I told you because you look down.”
“No.” She shook her head. “Why’d you move here? You said you were new. I just don’t understand why anyone would come to this place.”
“It is sort of quiet around here,” I conceded, walking back toward her.
“My husband loved that; the quiet,” she said, tears filling her eyes. “He loved all of this, and I loved him. So I came here.” She wiped a fresh tear from her cheek. “And now he’s dead.”
“Patrick…” I muttered, my mouth dropping.
“You knew him?” Angela asked, her eyes widening.
“I sort of worked with him,” I answered. “I was at the shop last night.”
“You saw him?!” Now the tears came hard and heavy. “Was he in pain? Did he suffer?”
Twice Baked Murder Page 4