Murder at Spirit Falls

by Barbara Deese

  A grin grew on Grace’s face. “I like that. Well, I could certainly use a cloak of invisibility for what I want to do next.”

  “Which is—?”

  “Follow Todd Hill, see if he does anything suspicious. Trouble is he’s seen me.”

  Robin nodded, conceding the problem.

  “And, “ Grace leaned forward dramatically. “It’s just possible he’s seen you too.”

  “Me? When?”

  “See if this sounds familiar: a long dark ponytail, beautiful blue eyes. I don’t want to get carried away, but I really think he could be that hunky guy you and Cate were raving about, you know, the one buying liquor for Ross Johnson the very weekend Melissa Dunn went missing.”

  Robin was stunned as she pondered the possibility that Grace had just spent most of an hour conversing with a murderer.

  “So you see?” Grace pleaded. “We need to follow him so we know one way or another.”

  Robin sat in thought before peering back at the grandfather clock in the entryway. “Oh, Gracie,” she moaned, putting her head in her hands. “What are you getting us into?”

  Thrill of a quest lit Grace’s eyes. “It’s got to be tonight. Fred’s got a school board meeting and won’t be home ’til late.” She waited until she saw Robin’s look of resignation.

  Then, with a lopsided grin, Robin said, “Come with me. I just might have a magic cloak or two upstairs.”

  From the linen closet, Robin hauled out a zippered bag and dumped the contents on her bed. Grace pawed through the assortment of hair clips, makeup, wigs, and false eyelashes. “I’ve never seen you in this,” she said, holding up an auburn wig.

  “I wore it only once.” Robin tugged at her own short locks. “To a hospital dinner. I was having fun flipping my long, dark hair around, when that old goat Crippen, the guy Brad bought the practice from, sidled over and leered at me and asked Brad, and I quote, ‘Who’s the dish?’ Before Brad could answer, Crippen leaned over and said to Brad in a stage whisper, “Sorry to hear about your wife’s cancer, but I’m glad to see you’re getting over it. When did she pass away?”

  Grace’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, God, what did you do?”

  “Went in the bathroom and threw up. Here, try it on.”

  Grace looked dubious.

  “Don’t worry, I washed it.”

  Robin helped Grace pin up her own hair before slipping the wig over it. After tucking in stray strands, she said, “Now, take a look.”

  Grace peered at herself in the full-length mirror. The transformation was remarkable. Pirouetting, she sang, “I feel pretty, oh, so pretty.”

  Robin laughed. “Hold still. You need to darken your eyebrows.” Robin reached into the pile and selected a pencil slightly darker than the chin-length curls. “And a different lipstick.” She began rummaging in her walk-in closet. “Try this,” she said, tossing an orange linen jacket at Grace.

  “Who wears orange to go undercover?” She looked at the label and handed the jacket back. “Besides, I haven’t worn a size ten in decades—in case you haven’t noticed.” She cocked her head at her own reflection. The wig did make her look younger. She covered her belly bulge with both hands and stood a little straighter.

  Robin studied the new Grace. “Okay, wear your own clothes, but definitely lose the glasses.”

  Grace took them off. “I guess I don’t have to actually see what I’m doing.” She squinted at the mirror and smiled broadly. “I feel positively clandestine.” Suddenly she turned to Robin. “But what about you? He may have seen you too.”

  In answer, Robin disappeared into the closet and returned wearing black leggings, a black turtleneck and an oversized denim jacket. “Do I look like a middle-aged punk?” she asked as she opened a tube of gel and slicked her hair back, combing two strands into long curves that came out, flapper-like onto her cheeks.

  Grace stared at her. “You don’t even look like you,” she said, her voice conveying awe. “Of course, I’m not wearing my glasses.”

  They stood side by side in front of the mirror.

  “You sure you want to do this?” Grace asked, biting her lip.

  “Oh, yeah,” Robin answered. “I’m sure.”

  As dusk settled, Robin would have felt invisible even without a magic cloak. Alone in her car, she tuned her radio to KOOL 108, laughing out loud when she heard the serendipitous lyrics, The night has a thousand eyes. Soon she was singing along, her fingers tapping out the beat on the steering wheel as she continued to watch the lighted entrance of the coffee shop.

  The door swung open and Grace emerged. She strode across the street in an unintentionally comical imitation of a runway model.

  Robin lowered the window and took the plastic cup of iced cappuccino Grace handed her.

  “He’s still in there.” Grace said breathlessly as she opened the passenger door and got in.

  “Does it look like he’ll be heading out anytime soon?”

  “Yeah, I think he’s getting ready to leave.”

  “I just hope it’s soon. All that lemonade.” Robin squirmed.

  “You’d better use the bathroom here. Hurry.”

  Two songs later, Grace suddenly sat forward and squinted to see Todd stepping into the circle of light at the coffee shop’s front door, Robin right behind him.

  Todd turned toward the parking lot and Robin veered toward her car. Sliding behind the steering wheel, she let out a pent up breath. “It’s not him.”

  Grace’s face fell. “Are you sure?”

  “He’s nice looking, but very midwestern. Our Hunk was exotic.”

  “Rats.”

  Their eyes were fixed on him until the young man vanished into the darkness of the unlit parking lot.

  Robin turned the ignition switch and Grace cocked her head in the direction of the parking lot. “There.” She pointed at an old Honda Civic hatchback easing onto the street. “Follow him!” she commanded. “But not too close, we don’t want him to make us.”

  “Make us? Geez, put you into a wig and your whole vocabulary changes.” Robin allowed one car to pass before pulling out into traffic.

  “What’s his address again?” Robin followed him when he turned east onto University.

  “His address? Ahh … something to do with a president.” Grace’s brow furrowed. “Drat, I can’t remember. It was in North Minneapolis, though.”

  “Nordeast? If he’s going home, he’s taking the scenic route, because we’re going in the opposite direction.”

  “Gun it. The light’s changing.”

  With a look of determination, Robin stepped on the gas, and her car flew through the intersection just as the light turned red. She was grinning like a maniac.

  They followed the Honda into Roseville where it turned into the parking lot of a three-story brick apartment building. Slowing the car as they passed the driveway, Robin continued to the corner where she made a U-turn.

  “What do you think? Do we dare go into the parking lot?”

  “Why not?” Robin turned her wheel. The expression on her face was unruffled, as if it was perfectly natural to drive all over creation at night, wearing disguises and following strangers.

  Grace’s pulse was racing. “There. He’s still in the car. Park over there where we can watch him.” With impatience, Grace wiggled her fingers, urging Robin on.

  “How’s this?”

  “Perfect.”

  Robin stopped near the back of the lot and cut the lights. The anemic security lighting of the apartment complex rendered cars, pavement, Dumpster, and bushes various shades of gray. They were fairly invisible, but, then, so was pretty much everything else.

  “I don’t get it,” Grace said several minutes later. “He’s just sitting there looking at the building.” His presence was scarcely discernable, and Grace hoped that gave her and Robin cover as well.

  “It looks like he’s waiting for someone. Why doesn’t he just go up to the door?”

  After a long pause, Grace said, �
�One of us has to walk by him to see what he’s up to.”

  Another silence was broken by Robin’s heavy sigh. “Fine, I’ll go.”

  “Okay, just pretend you’re walking up to the building and then double back.”

  Robin got out and, with a casual stride, circled behind the other parked cars. Grace’s eyes widened when she saw Robin stop when she was even with the Honda.

  “What are you doing? Keep walking,” Grace said under her breath.

  As if by telepathy, Robin moved on and then was out of sight.

  Alone, Grace fidgeted. Then, without warning, Robin appeared at her open window and Grace yelped.

  “He’s just sitting there,” Robin whispered. “He’s resting with his head on the steering wheel and his shoulders were shaking, like he was sobbing.”

  “He was crying?

  Robin nodded.

  “I wonder who lives here.”

  They looked at each other and said, simultaneously, “Melissa.”

  Looking up, they were distressed to see Todd slipping through the building’s rear entrance. A few moments later, the lights in a corner apartment on the second floor came on.

  Grace jumped from the car and raced toward the building. Robin almost collided with her when they reached the door. It was locked.

  “Now what?”

  Robin took in the scene. “If I could just get—Wait!” She sprinted back across the lot to the double Dumpster. “Come help me,” she called hoarsely. “If we stand on this, I bet we can see right into the apartment.”

  One hand on her hip, Grace looked incredulous. “How about if you get up there and I’ll stand guard.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “And exactly how are you going to get on top of the Dumpster?”

  “Shhh! We don’t want to attract attention.” Robin tried to look stern, but she felt on the verge of a giggle fit. Grabbing a recycling bin, she placed it upside down, mounted it and threw herself at the covered half of the Dumpster, landing with a belly flop, half on, half off the lid. Her fingers barely grasped the inner edge of the lid. “Oh, gross!” she wailed.

  Rushing to her, Grace snorted loudly and clapped both hands over her mouth.

  “Help me.” Robin’s feet flailed in the air.

  “Well then, stop kicking.” Grace braced her hands against Robin’s rear and pushed, moving her all of two inches.

  “Hey!” Robin rasped. “Thrilling as that was, I’m still draped over a garbage can and it smells like—oh, God, I don’t even want to think about what’s in here.”

  Grace stepped back. “Great view.”

  “Wanna trade places?” Robin felt Grace grab her feet.

  “Okay, let me give you a push.”

  Robin, unprepared for the shove, felt her knees buckle.

  “Oh, for crying out loud! Work with me!” Grace still gripped her feet. “Make your legs stiff. Good. Now, on the count of three, pull yourself forward. One, twooo, ooomph.”

  With the combined effort, Robin slid … and kept sliding—head first into the open half of the Dumpster.

  “Oh, my God!” Grace’s concern turned to a screech of laughter as Robin righted herself, sputtering and swearing with only her head visible over the top of the Dumpster.

  Grace, borrowed wig askew, gawked at her helplessly. “Oops! Now how are you going to get out?”

  “Now you think of it.” Robin saw, in the dim light, that her fall had exploded several plastic bags, now gaping to reveal potato peelings, mushy lettuce, coffee grounds, and other sordid goo.

  “You weren’t supposed to do a nosedive into the garbage.”

  “Are you suggesting I did it on purpose?” With an audible shudder, she brushed at her clothing. Then she ducked down and began to pile the more substantial bags of garbage against the Dumpster’s side.

  All the while, Grace kept hopping up, trying to get a better look.

  “Stop bouncing and give me a hand.” Like an aging ballerina, Robin stuck one leg in the air, managing to hook a heel over the edge, working it forward to a position she’d last achieved on the monkey bars in grade school.

  “Hold on, the lights just went out.”

  They held their breath as the door swung open and a silhouette appeared in the wedge of light.

  “Don’t move a muscle.” With those words, Grace ducked for cover, leaving her friend in a position that guaranteed a trip to the chiropractor.

  Robin shut her eyes when Todd came heart-stoppingly close to where she perched in the garbage bin. When she heard his car engine start, she opened her eyes and saw the Honda leave.

  Only then did Grace reemerge from shadow. “Stick your hands out,” she instructed.

  “I can’t,” came a groan from the Dumpster.

  “Come on, work with me.”

  “Where have I heard that before?” Robin clung to the Dumpster’s edge, her legs shaking uncontrollably. “You’ll have to get a forklift.”

  “You’re coming out.” Seizing Robin’s arms, she again counted “One … two … threeee.”

  Accompanied by grunts and groans, they maneuvered Robin to straddle the edge, where she balanced briefly and precariously, emitting a raspy squawk. Suddenly she pitched forward, and together they tumbled to the ground.

  “Ow!” Grace yelped, rolling Robin to one side and standing. “Now let’s get out of here.”

  Robin came to her feet painfully. “Wait, my shoes.”

  “Forget the freakin’ shoes.” Grace tugged her arm and they bolted for the car, where she immediately rolled her windows down. “What is that god-awful smell?”

  Slowly, with exaggerated pronunciation, Robin answered her. “Eau de Fish.”

  And suddenly, all the tension dissolved in uproarious laughter.

  Across town from where Robin took a lengthy shower with perfumed soap, Martin raised his garage door and wheeled the garbage bin through the gates and to the street.

  “What the hell took so long?”

  “Jesus, you scared me!” Martin clutched his shirt as he spun around, giving a sigh of relief when he recognized Ross stepping out of the shadows. “You trying to give me a coronary?”

  “I’ve been waiting in your bushes for fifteen fucking minutes.” Ross lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply before letting the smoke out in a long stream. “What kept you?”

  “I had to wait until Brenda went upstairs.” Martin glanced up at the darkened second-floor window.

  “To take the trash out?”

  Martin shrugged and continued down the drive, positioning the bin at the curb before returning.

  Pulling something from the pocket of his jeans, Ross handed it to Martin. “That’s the last of it, at least until that asshole José returns my calls. I don’t know what his game is, but I don’t trust that slimeball.” He took another drag and flicked the butt onto the driveway. “Have the police talked to you any more about Melissa?”

  At the sound of her name, Martin’s eyes stung. “Just that they’ve identified her, um, her body.”

  “Any theories?”

  Martin shook his head. “They said the Wisconsin authorities think she may have fallen on the rocks.”

  Ross grunted and lit another cigarette. “I got a call from George. Seems the sheriff hauled him in for more questioning.”

  “That handyman? What’d he tell them?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Why’d he call you?”

  Ross flicked his cigarette butt into the bushes. “He wanted advice, and then he asked if I’d find him a good lawyer.”

  “Why do you even mess with that nonentity?”

  “I owe him. He saved my ass.”

  Martin blinked, remembering the story. “But that was way back in high school.”

  Ross sighed heavily and raised his shoulders in a shrug. Yes, it was way back in high school—it had just been a kid’s prank. After downing a couple of six-packs, the two eighteen-year-olds, Ross and his buddy Al, had set out to paint their school colors on the water towe
r just before Homecoming. But Al had slipped coming down the ladder and fallen the last thirty feet to the concrete below. Ross had panicked and run. From the two cans of paint and two brushes, the police surmised Al had not been alone when he’d fallen to his death.

  But just when Ross had thought he was screwed for good, a miraculous thing happened. Lurking outside the locker room after football practice one day was George Wellman, a dorky hanger-on who seemed to think Ross was his friend. “I know it was you,” Wellman had whispered. “I saw the whole thing, but don’t worry, I won’t tell.” After that, Wellman had begun cozying up to him, slapping him on the shoulder when they passed in the hall, hanging around his locker, and inserting himself into his social life. Hell, they’d even doubledated, with Ross, of course, providing the girl.

  What Ross hadn’t expected was that when George had been questioned, he’d told a half-truth, saying he’d seen it all, telling in detail how Al had gone up—by himself—and had slipped to his death. The school board concluded that George Wellman must have been the second painter and voted to expel him, and in those days, being eighteen and not in school put a guy in a uniform. In George’s case, that uniform accompanied him to Vietnam.

  “What the hell did they want from Wellman?” Martin’s question jerked Ross back to the current predicament.

  “Seems they found Melissa’s bracelet in his trailer.”

  “What?”

  “They had him dead to rights. George says it was some fancy custom-made job.”

  “Silver and gold?”

  Ross held up his hands to indicate he didn’t know.

  “Crap! Sounds like the one I gave her.” Martin’s voice cracked. “How the hell did he wind up with it?”

  “He claims he found it along the road and, judging from the fact he wasn’t calling from jail, they must’ve believed him.”

  “Oh, Jesus.”

  “Get a grip.”

  “She was so young, so beautiful.” Martin paused. “I never even told her I loved her.”

  “There’s nothing you can do about it now. ”

  They stared at each other in the dim light before Martin’s head swung in the direction of the upstairs window. “I’d better get back inside before Brenda gets suspicious.” Pain on his face was evident. “You know, despite all I’ve done to the contrary, I don’t want to hurt my wife. She’s a good woman.”