Twice Dipped Murder

by Daphne DeWitt

  “Really?” I said, my eyebrows dancing upward. I had never thought about Darrin having a partner. In fact, aside from his late wife and the fact that he was self-proclaimed as ‘the best detective in Washington D.C., I never thought about his old life much at all. He just fit in here so well. In a lot of ways, it felt like he had always been here.

  It was strange and maybe even a little childish, but knowing that that wasn’t the case made me feel a little disconnected from him. And I didn’t like that feeling.

  “I’m not sure why you need to wait for her,” I said, letting the ‘her’ come out like it was a curse.

  Darrin stared at me, smirking a little.

  “We don’t know anything about Wanda Sulkin. She says her husband was murdered. Maybe that’s true. If so, then we have to consider the fact that over half of homicides in this country are perpetrated by an immediate family member.”

  “Are you suggesting that Wanda might have something to do with this?” I asked.

  “It wouldn’t be the first time we came across it,” he answered. “Or have you forgotten about Amelia Hoover?”

  My mind flashed back to the days after I first returned, to Peggy’s former assistant and his murderous wife.

  “Of course not,” I answered. “But that’s not the feeling I get from this woman. I think she’s just a grieving widow, nothing more.”

  “And I’m sure that’s why she keeps asking for you,” Darrin said. “But the truth is, your instincts aside, it’s too early for us to know anything for sure.” Darrin looked at the door. “Angie and I have a rapport.”

  “And we don’t?” I asked, a little more hurt than what would have made sense.

  “Of course we do,” he answered. “But Angie and I were partners. We did this sort of thing regularly for five years.” He nodded. “And we always caught our man. Or woman as the case may be.”

  “Wanda didn’t do anything,” I answered. “She might be wrong about her husband being murdered but, if he was, I really don’t think she has anything to do with it.” I shrugged. “Still, if you wanna wait for your old partner to give you a call, I guess that’s up to you.” I blinked. “What’s she, like, the rough and tumble type? Kinda hard?”

  “Um…” Darrin answered. “Not really. She’s actually kind of-”

  The door flew open and in walked the most infuriatingly gorgeous woman I had ever seen in either of my lives. She was leggy, with dark black hair, bright green eyes, and a figure that made me want to bury my face in fresh blackberry pie and never bother coming up for air.

  “Please tell me you’re just a mugging victim,” I mumbled under my breath.

  “You were supposed to call, Angie,” Darrin said, his face relaxing as he caught sight of her.

  Angie rolled her eyes. “Like I’d even have signal here. This is the place people go when Mayberry seems too crowded for them.”

  A flash of anger shot through me. Was it hometown pride or something else? Either way, I didn’t like the feeling.

  “Don’t be like that,” Darrin said, a grin spreading across his face. “You’ll come to like Second Springs. Didn’t you have family here at one point?”

  “Maybe a million years ago,” she answered. “Before they wised up.”

  “If you don’t like this place, I hear the bus to Dalton comes through every Friday,” I said before I could stop myself.

  Angie leveled those bright green eyes at me. “Did I strike a nerve?”

  “Be nice,” Darrin said, looking to her. Turning to me, he added, “You too.”

  He extended his arms between us. “Rita Redoux, meet my old partner, Detective Angie McConnell.”

  “McConnell?” I balked. “Like the mayor?”

  Or my dog who also happened to-at one point- be the mayor.

  “Oh that’s right,” Darrin said. “Rita is something of a history buff. She actually named her dog after your great-great grandfather.”

  “Really?” she asked, eyeing me up and down. “That’s weird.”

  Weird? Did this Jane Come Lately really just call me weird? And all because she thought I named my dog after her dead ancestor who-

  Okay, I could see where she was coming from.

  Turning to Darrin, she asked, “So, what have we got?”

  “A jumper down at the hotel. The wife is in the interrogation room, claiming that she’s sure he was murdered.” Darrin shot off into a sort of clinical rundown of the facts in a tone that I had never heard from him before.

  “Any evidence to corroborate?” Angie asked, matching his tone perfectly.

  “Not yet, but I have officers sweeping the roof and the couple’s hotel room and rental car.”

  “They have a place to rent a car here?” Angie asked, sounding surprised.

  “Of course!” I answered instinctively. “We’re way more cultured than you think.”

  “Where’s the rental place? I might want to question the owner,” she said.

  “It’s-it’s right beside the Piggly Wiggly,” I answered.

  “Right,” she answered. “Well.” She turned to Darrin. “Let’s go get some answers.”

  Darrin started toward the door, and I followed.

  “Wait,” Angie said. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m coming with you,” I said, as though she should have known that.

  She eyed Darrin for a second. “Are you a detective?”

  “No,” I answered.

  “Are you an officer?” she asked.

  “Well, no.”

  “Did you witness a crime? Do you have information pertaining to this that we need to know?”

  “I mean, not in a technical sense.” I shuffled, feeling more stifled by her than I had ever felt by Darrin, even in the early days.

  “Ma’am, who are you?” Angie asked.

  “I’m Rita Redoux. I work at the pie store,” I answered, feeling a little ridiculous at the admission.

  She looked back to Darrin, her eyes rolling so far back that I was sure she could see the top of her head from the inside.

  “I also help solve crimes!” I answered, and the instant the words left my mouth, I realized how ridiculous they sounded…even if they were the truth.

  “Okay then,” Angie sighed. “If we need any pastries, we’ll let you know. Otherwise, I think we’ve got this.”

  “Darrin,” I said, looking right past that horrible woman. “You know I can help you in there. Wanda wants me in there.”

  “This may come as a surprise to you, Rita,” Angie started. “Seeing as how you’re not an actual detective but, as a rule, we don’t usually like giving suspects a wingman when questioning them.”

  “She has a right to have me there,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “No Rita,” Darrin answered regretfully. “She has a right to legal counsel, which she’s refused. And she’s not under arrest. So she really doesn’t have anything to worry about.”

  “Darrin, this is what I do,” I answered, a swell of pride and determination rising in me like the tide. “It’s where I belong.”

  “No, it isn’t.” He shook his head. “I let you do this before, and I shouldn’t have. I let you put yourself in danger because I needed help to solve those past cases. That was wrong. I shouldn’t have leaned on you the way I did. Now that Angie is here, I won’t ever have to do that again. You won’t have to worry about me or making sure this town is okay, Rita. You can have a normal life.” He blinked hard. “Maybe even finally go out on a date with that guy you accepted back at Daniel and Debra’s wedding.”

  I blinked, feeling a little blindsided by the fact that he knew about Sammie and wondering if he had an opinion about it. Still, I wasn’t able to speak as he walked out the door, closing the office behind him.

  How on earth did he know about Sammie, and what did that have to do with this anyway?

  5

  I walked down Main Street, watching my shoes as they knocked across the concrete sidewalk.

  My mind was raci
ng, and I definitely felt the beginnings of a funk coming on.

  Obviously, I didn’t like Angie. But who would? She was cocky and smug, and she thought she was so much better than this town.

  And she took your place.

  No! I pushed that thought down. She had most definitely not taken my place. She was Darrin’s partner back in D.C. They had worked cases like this in the past. If anything, I had taken her place.

  But if that was the case why did I feel so bad?

  Maybe because I hadn’t been able to keep my promise to Wanda.

  Yeah. That must have been it. I told Wanda that I’d be right there with her, that I’d look over things and see if there was anything out of the ordinary. And what did I do? I turned it all over to Darin, and now she was getting the good cop/bad cop treatment and treated like she might be a suspect.

  Instinctively, I took a right, still looking at my shoes.

  The night was warm, especially for this time of year, and the streets were pretty clear, given that the chaos that had come into play after Lionel’s apparent suicide had calmed down.

  Second Springs citizens were probably stuffed into their homes, either talking about how crazy the night had been or how delicious our cupcakes were (hopefully both). And the visitors to Second Springs, those taking part in the dog show, were very likely satisfied to finally be allowed back into the hotel and salvage the rest of their night.

  Which meant that the only people still affected by all of this were Wanda, the police department, the poor coroner, and me.

  “Feeling sorry for yourself?”

  The voice took me by surprise, startling me with its closeness.

  When I turned, I saw an old lady with a huge purple hat on. She was walking a dog and, the instant she stopped speaking, she began whistling a tune.

  “A little,” I admitted. “Is it that obvious?”

  “For me?” she asked, stopping short right before she got to the refrain. “Usually. But you’re always an easy tell anyway, Honeybean.”

  My face got hot. I hated when Charlie did this, just appeared beside me in a different body, wearing a different face. If it wasn’t for the whole ‘Honeybean’ thing (which I still didn’t really understand), I’d have never figured out who was and was not Charlie.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” I scoffed. “It took you long enough. When on earth were you when Lionel Sulkin was falling off the roof of the hotel?”

  “Who said I was on earth?” Charlie asked as the dog (a fluffy looking little poodle) pulled at its leash.

  “Don’t be cute,” I answered. “This is serious. I was caught completely off guard.”

  “Almost like a normal person?” Charlie asked, eyebrows dancing upward irritatingly.

  “I think we can both agree that the normal person aspect of my life was left at the top of the stairs I fell down two and a half years ago,” I said. “When is this going to stop, Charlie? People are dying because of me, so I can do whatever this ‘work’ you’re talking about is. It isn’t fair.”

  “Life isn’t fair,” Charlie answered. “And when did you get so full of yourself, honeybean?”

  “Excuse me?” I asked, pulling to a stop and giving him my best ‘oh no you didn’t’ look.

  “They’re not dying because of you, honeybean,” Charlie answered. “Everyone has their own path. Where it ends for each person walking across this beautiful, blue planet is not your business.”

  “Then what is my business?” I asked, tired of the back and forth.

  “Whatever you think it is,” Charlie quipped.

  “So if I said that I think my business is watching Netflix and gorging myself on nachos supreme?”

  “I would tell you not to forget the sour cream.” Charlie smiled, lipstick smeared across the teeth of the woman whose face Charlie was wearing. “But we both know that isn’t going to happen. You are who you are. Even now, even after being given this second chance, you’re still yourself.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” I answered, narrowing my eyes.

  “Good or bad is inconsequential at the moment. The point is, it’s a thing.”

  “Stop doing that!” I huffed. “Why can’t you just tell me whatever it is you want me to know? You want me to investigate what happened with Lionel? I can do that. You want me to back off and let Angie and Darrin do it? That would rub me the wrong way, but I think I could do that too. I just need to know what to do.”

  Charlie stopped. The poodle also stopped, sniffing around a fire hydrant and doing its business.

  “I can’t tell you that, Honeybean.” Charlie shrugged, the shoulder pads on the purple dress lifting to nearly her cheeks. “Only you know what you have to do.”

  “What about when I don’t?” I asked, shaking my head. “Because, right now, I’m at a loss.”

  “Oh honeybean,” Charlie answered. “I’m sure that isn’t true.” Charlie tugged at the dog’s leash. The poodle gave Charlie an exacerbated look, something very similar to a look Mayor McConnell had given me many times over. “Come on Cleopatra,” Charlie said.

  “Cleopatra?” I asked, looking from Charlie to the dog and back again. “Like, the Cleopatra?”

  “What?” Charlie asked. “Don’t be ridiculous. Cleopatra didn’t come back as a French poodle. At least not this time.”

  Charlie began to walk away, then turned back to me. “Before I leave, I will say one thing though. We always end up where we need to be, whether we realize it or not.”

  I sighed heavily again, being intentionally loud as Charlie walked away, cementing the uselessness that I figured I’d find from him…regardless of the body he came to me in.

  “What is that even supposed to mean?” I asked, talking to myself.

  I started back on my way and then realized where I was.

  “Oh wow,” I said. “I’m in front of my old house.”

  I had intended to go home and, with my mind filled with all of the nonsense that had been going on tonight, I went on autopilot. And that autopilot brought me here; to my father’s house, to the home I’d grown up in, to the place I lived right up until the night I died.

  And then Charlie’s words made sense to me.

  “Who says you can’t go home again?” I muttered and started toward my old yard.

  I felt so confident as I strolled toward my old front porch. Dad didn’t know me as myself, of course. I would never out him through that again, not when I had no idea what was going to happen to me after my ‘work’ was finished. But that didn’t mean I didn’t have a relationship with the man who knew me as Rita Redoux. We had grown sort of close in the five or so months since my return. We weren’t father/daughter close obviously, but I had to imagine he’d welcome a surprise visit from me, even this late at night.

  Suddenly, I started to feel better. Dad would know what to say. He would know what to do. Things might be changing for me now. I may have lost the pie shop. I may have lost Aiden. Darrin might have found a way to work around me, but Dad would be the same. I knew that as well as I knew the back of my hand. Well, my old hand anyway. I’d find steadiness with him. I’d find peace. Good old Dad, where there would be no surprises to mess with me.

  I heard noise on the front porch, something shuffling as I neared it.

  I squinted and then gasped when I saw it.

  My father was on the front porch with a woman…with Aiden’s mom Barbara.

  And they were making out like teenagers in the backseat of a Honda.

  So much for steady.

  6

  “I just don’t know why you didn’t tell me. That’s all I’m saying,” I said to Peggy as I rolled the dough for our third apple pie of the morning.

  Turns out the townspeople of Second Springs took my offer of free pie and coffee last night very seriously and as a result, Peggy and I were working extra hard to keep up with the demand. Even though she’d just found out about it this morning.

  “Tell you about what?” she asked, scrunc
hing her nose at me and bringing a slice of chocolate banana cream and tropical delight to table six.

  “You know what,” I muttered, tossing the rolling pin aside and pressing the dough into a pan for baking.

  “This is about Sheriff Clarke and Ms. Chessman again?” She sighed. “You can’t be serious.” She shook her head.

  To be fair, I had managed to bring the conversation back to Dad and Aiden’s mom at least three times during the morning.

  Peggy talked about the weather. I talked about Dad and Aiden’s mom.

  Peggy talked about driving down to Cold Creek this weekend to pick up some fresh fruit from the farmer’s market. I talked about Dad and Aiden’s mom.

  Peggy talked about last night’s episode of The Bachelor. I talked about how stupid that guy was to let the sweet blond go while that crazy redhead was still in the mix.

  …and then I talked about Dad and Aiden’s mom.

  I was beginning to sound like a broken record but, in my defense, my dad had never even once shown any kind of interest in a woman the whole time I was growing up. Sure, as I got older, I realized he must have been capable of those kinds of feelings. But he never did anything about it. So I just assumed that he had reserved that side of himself for my mother and, since she was gone now, he had put that part in a box and stored it up on a shelf somewhere.

  I never imagined he would dust that box off. It never even crossed my mind.

  I wasn’t necessarily upset, just taken aback, as it was. Dad was moving on, and that was okay, but he was moving on with Aiden’s mom. And that was icky.

  Aiden’s mom always hated me, the old me anyway. She always thought her precious little boy could do better, that I was holding him back from his higher calling of being a doctor, a healer.

  She figured he was better off without me and, looking at Peggy, I wasn’t sure that she was wrong.

  “I mean, serious how?” I asked, quirking my mouth to the side.

  “He’s a grown man, Rita and, without being too forward, you barely know him. I didn’t think you’d care who he was and was not dating. Even if you did, it’s not really any of your business.”