by Blair Merrin
I see the snow globe coming in just enough time to reach over and pull Phil to the side by an arm. It crashes to the ground at his feet, the smelly water spraying up onto his boots. His hand instinctively jerks to the gun at his belt. Near his left shoe is a figurine of a tiny horse-drawn carriage, free from its watery prison.
“To answer your question, Phil,” I say nonchalantly, “I’m pretty sure the ghost of Pietro just chucked a snow globe your way.”
His eyes still wide and his hand still on his holster, Phil shakes his head. “Well, I guess that’s Bandit Hills for ya.”
CHAPTER 10
At lunchtime I head down to Tank’s, not for food, but for a cup of coffee or two to get me through the rest of the day. It’s surprisingly vacant, only a few tables here and there and mostly locals.
“What’s the deal?” I ask April as I slide into an empty stool at the counter.
“News travels fast,” she tells me. “Seems folks like ghost stories and murders when they’re less… fresh. Most of the tourists hightailed it out of here when they heard about poor Pietro.” She sets a cup of coffee in front of me.
“It’s that obvious, huh?” I ask with a smile.
“Nah, I just know you,” she lies.
I haven’t looked in a mirror today for fear of the bags under my eyes. I sip at the mug and let the caffeine work its magic. My brain starts working again, and I find myself thinking again about Xander, and the statue, and the knife, when there’s a soft tap on my shoulder.
“Hey,” Dash sits on the stool beside me. “Phil contracted me on the case today.”
“Good. Go get ‘em, tiger.”
“Look, I’m sorry for what I said the other night. It was stupid.”
“It was,” I agree. “But… I should haven’t asked you to lie again. That was stupid too.”
He puts his hand on mine. “We can be stupid together.”
I try to hold in my laugh and instead I snort. “Okay. Let’s do that. Hey, did I tell you the police asked me for an alibi?”
He smiles. “Phil told me that Pietro tried to brain him with a snow globe.”
“That’s a bit of an exaggeration, but yeah.”
“You’re not actually a suspect, you know.”
“It’s more exciting if I think I am,” I insist. “Is Xander still topping your list?”
Dash sighs. “Considering that it’s a very short list, unfortunately, yes.”
“Why unfortunately?”
“Because I’m not so sure anymore. It’s all too… neat. As much as I dislike the guy—which is a whole lot, by the way—”
“I gathered, yeah.”
“He seems like a smart guy, and it would be far too careless of him to put the murder weapon somewhere that someone else could find it and turn it in, you know?”
“Ooh, do you think it was a set-up? Like someone is trying to frame him?”
“Maybe. I don’t know yet.”
“Well…” I start. Dash raises an eyebrow. “In the interest of full disclosure,” I tell him, “No lying or omitting… Xander said something strange in the store today. He told me that he wouldn’t be able to submit to a DNA test.”
“Huh. That’s not suspicious or anything. Did he say why not?”
“No, that’s when Applegate came in.”
“He was there too? Man, that guy rubs me the wrong way.”
“Believe me, I know. Who else is on your very short list?”
“Just you.” He grins.
“Funny. So what’s your next move, Kojak?”
“I’m going to go chat with Bonnie again. Ask her some questions that the others might not have thought of.” Before I can say anything, he rolls his eyes. “Yes. You can come. We both know you’re going to anyway.”
“Oh, Dash, you know just what to say to make a girl happy.”
CHAPTER 11
Bonnie serves us tea while we sit in the living room of her cozy home, which is a legit log cabin that her late husband built with his father when he was just a teenager. It sits on the edge of the ranch close to the road, about fifty yards from the barn. Between that and the cabin is a modular home that Bonnie had installed a decade ago, which was where Pietro had lived until a few days ago.
“I’m sorry,” she tells us, “but we’ll have to keep this brief. With Pietro gone and Garrett sick, there are a million things to do around here, and just me and Steven to do them.”
Steven is Bonnie’s only son, a young man in his twenties who moved back to the ranch to help his mom after his father passed.
“Certainly,” Dash says. He flips open a tiny spiral-bound notebook and pulls a pen from his pocket. “I know Phil and Sharon already asked you a lot of questions, so I only have a few.”
“Fire away,” Bonnie tells him.
“How was Pietro’s demeanor in the days leading up to… his passing?”
She shrugs. “Same as always. He was a quiet man, mostly kept to himself. He was always pleasant to chat with, and never said more than needed to be said. There wasn’t anything particularly out of the ordinary…” She scrunches up her face and thinks. “Although, come to think of it, two days before we found him, apparently he and Applegate had a bit of an altercation.”
“An altercation?” Dash parrots. “Like a fistfight?”
“No, nothing that severe. I was in the house at the time, so I couldn’t give you details. Garrett told me later that Applegate had said some unkind words about Pietro’s heritage, and Pietro grabbed at him. Garrett pulled him away. That was all. Really, it was so minor that it slipped my mind.”
“Huh,” is all Dash says.
“Hey, Ma,” Steven calls gently from the doorway. He’s tall like his father was and blond-haired like his mother. “I need to give Franklin his meds. Can you give me a hand real quick?”
“Sure.” To us she says, “This will only take a moment.”
As soon as she’s gone, I turn to Dash and whisper, “What do you think?”
Dash looks at me innocently, which means he’s hiding something. “About what?”
“Don’t act dumb. About this altercation. Is Applegate making your list?”
Dash shrugs. “He doesn’t have a motive. There’s definitely something about him—several things—that I don’t like, but I don’t think Pietro’s actions warranted murder.”
Something sparked in my mind from one of my earlier interactions with the unpleasant fellow. “Applegate’s a blowhard, to be sure, but he said something to me the other day… he said, ‘Everyone can be bought.’ Seems to me like the kind of guy that acts with his wallet, not a knife.”
“Yeah. Besides, if it was him, why would he still be hanging around here? I figure he’d be on the first flight back to the city to hide behind an armada of lawyers. Especially now that they’re testing the alleged murder weapon.”
I can’t help but sulk a little. There’s nothing I’d like more than for Applegate to be imprisoned in Bandit Hills—the very town he’s trying to buy out. I don’t know. Maybe he’ll get caught jaywalking or something.
Bonnie returns a couple of minutes later. “Sorry about that. Franklin is doing very well, considering the injury. Xander has helped quite a bit with that. If he wasn’t around, we probably would have had to put the poor horse down. Anyway, where were we?”
I notice that Dash’s eyes squint a little at the mention of Xander, and I’m sure he’ll have some snarky comment on the matter later. I take the temporary distraction as an opportunity.
“Bonnie,” I ask, “don’t you think it was a bit strange for Applegate to show up at practically the same time that Pietro was found?”
Bonnie snorts. “Not especially. That guy’s been showing up at the ranch every day that he’s been here. The first day, when he offered to buy the ranch, I told him no, and he bought Franklin as a consolation. Every day since, he’s come up using Franklin as an excuse, and each time he offers me a higher price for the ranch.” She shakes her head. “He just doesn’t get
it. I’d rather be a useful woman than a rich woman.”
I understand her position. My store isn’t my whole life, but in a lot of ways it gives me purpose. I’m not sure what I would do if I didn’t have it, or if I had enough money to do nothing. I’d probably go crazy with boredom.
Dash leans over to me and whispers, “You can’t ask leading questions like that.”
“Sorry. I didn’t take Interrogation 101.”
He clears his throat. “So you said that Garrett intervened between Pietro and Applegate. Can we talk with him, get the story straight from the source?”
“Sure, but you’ll have to go to his house,” Bonnie says. “He’s been sick for the last two days. I’ll give you his address.”
“I’d appreciate it, thanks. How was the relationship between Pietro and Xander Cruz?”
Bonnie appears taken aback by the question. She thinks for a moment, and then says, “I couldn’t tell you. I don’t think they really had a relationship, per se. Xander would come if I called him, do his thing, and then leave. I can’t honestly recall them ever talking, other than exchanging brief pleasantries.”
I feel a tingle or relief. If Xander never even spoke to Pietro, what motive would he have to kill him?
“Just one more thing, Bonnie.” Dash pulls out his phone and navigates to a photo. “Do you recognize this weapon?” He shows her a picture of the knife.
“No, can’t say I’ve ever seen it before.” She scrutinizes the dirty blade and her eyes widen. “Wait, is that… was that the weapon?”
“We don’t know for sure yet. It was recovered elsewhere, and the police are doing a DNA test on it as we speak.”
Bonnie blinks a few times. I guess seeing the potential murder weapon brings a new level of realism to the whole thing. I mean, someone dying is one thing, but people die. Someone being murdered, knowing that their life was taken by another… that’s a whole other trauma.
“Thank you, Bonnie,” Dash says as he rises. “As soon as we know something, we’ll be in touch.”
Once we’re back in the car, I can’t help but blurt out, “See? Xander doesn’t have a motive.”
“Not that we know of,” Dash counters. “We’re going to head over to Garrett’s place and chat with him. Find out what he knows; get another angle.”
“You really think this altercation with Applegate is worth pursuing?” I ask.
“Maybe. But I’d still like to get his take on Xander Cruz. And maybe see how Pietro and Bonnie were getting along before the murder.”
My jaw drops. “Dash, you can’t be serious! Bonnie?”
“Look,” he tells me gingerly. “We can’t rule anyone out. It happened on her property.”
“It’s Bonnie,” I say flatly. “She buys ceramic chickens and plastic lawn ornaments from my shop.”
He’s quiet for a moment, and then he asks, “Why do you think Phil took me on for this case?”
I have to admit, I haven’t really thought about it. “Because you’re a good investigator?” I guess.
“Well, that’s true; I am awesome. But that’s not quite it. Phil and his deputies are good cops, but this case… it’s very likely that whoever killed Pietro could be a friend or neighbor. He brought me on because he wanted someone to be more… objective than they might be.” He stares at the steering wheel.
“So… just because Phil wouldn’t consider Bonnie as a suspect, you feel like you have to?”
“No. I just can’t rule anyone out just because they seem unlikely.” Finally he looks up at me. “I understand if you don’t want to continue on with me.”
“It’s okay. I get it. Besides,” I smile thinly, “what’s my alternative? Go back to the shop and have Pietro break more of my stuff? No thank you. Something tells me I’m where I’m supposed to be.”
“Alright then. Let’s roll.” He grins and starts the car.
CHAPTER 12
The address that Bonnie gave us leads to a single-story ranch-style home about a half-mile from downtown. I follow Dash to the front door and he knocks on it gently.
“That’s not how they do it,” I tell him, and I bang on the door brusquely with a fist.
“Cassie!” he scolds me. “Not everything is like the movies.”
In response, I shout, “Police! Open up!”
“Oh, my gosh,” Dash groans. “Garrett?” he calls loudly. “It’s Dash Hamilton. Are you home?”
“There’s no car in the carport,” I note. “Maybe he’s out.”
“He’s supposed to be sick.”
“Maybe he went to the pharmacy?”
Dash knocks again, so I mosey around the side of the house and find a window with the blinds open. I cup my hands around my eyes and peer in. The window looks in on a bedroom, presumably Pietro’s.
“Dash!” I call. “Come take a look!”
Dash comes around and checks it out. The drawers of the bureau are all open, one of them actually completely out and overturned on the floor. The bed is unmade, and all the lights are off.
“Looks like he got robbed or something,” I suggest.
“I don’t think so. No signs of forced entry. It looks to me like he packed in a hurry.”
“You think he skipped town?”
Dash doesn’t answer; he’s already on his cell phone. “Phil, it’s Dash. I’m over at Garrett Fitzwilliams’ place, and it looks like he’s run off. Uh-huh. Thanks.” He hangs up. “Phil will run the plates and put out an APB to the adjacent towns and staties.”
“They’re not going to arrest him, are they?”
“No, but being wanted for questioning in relation to a murder, and then running off quick like this is suspicion enough to at least bring him back to Bandit Hills. If they can find him.”
***
When we pull up to the shop about ten minutes later, Mom is waiting on the sidewalk outside with her cell phone in her hand, pacing nervously. As soon as I get out of the car, her expression quickly turns to anger.
“Cassandra Anne Cleary, where have you been? I’ve been calling and calling, you have no idea what’s been going on, I was worried sick—”
“Whoa, Mom, slow down,” I tell her. I check my phone; seems that my battery died sometime during the afternoon. “Phone died, sorry. What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong? I’ll show you what’s wrong.” She spins on a heel and we follow her into the store. My shoes immediately crunch on broken glass.
“Holy. Moley.” I survey the scene.
Broken ornaments, shattered ceramics… in one corner, what was once a wooden rocking horse has been splintered to pieces. Xerxes, perched atop the counter, stares back at me wide-eyed, not at all his usual chill self. Nearly every horse-related item I had in the whole store has been broken, thrown, dashed, or otherwise destroyed.
“Is there something you want to tell me?” Mom demands.
“I’m sorry. I should have warned you, but I didn’t think he was going to be so… active, without me here.”
“Who’s ‘he’?” she asks.
A deep female voice rings out behind us. “The ghost… of Pietro, the ill-fated ranch hand!” Marla June belts out melodramatically.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Aw, Mom, you called Marla?” I sigh.
“I didn’t know who else to call!” Mom protests.
Marla paces the store with her hands out, her long green dress trailing behind her. “Mm, yes… I feel his presence. He is angry indeed.” She glances over at us knowingly. “The angry ones are usually the most destructive.”
See, here’s the thing about Marla: A couple of months ago, she was little more than our resident kook. Everyone in Bandit Hills knew she was a big ol’ phony, but we let it go because she has a flair for the theatrical and could really give the tourists a show. Her daughter April would charm travelers at the diner, chat them up, and then send them along to Marla for a “psychic” consultation. Marla would then take the information that April had gathered, throw in a bit of old-fash
ioned cold-reading, and she’d have them oohing and aahing in no time flat. Then, last month, a witch sort of possessed Marla in the middle of a séance, and we mistook it as a spirit trying to communicate with us. After we—and I mean me and Dash—solved the murder, we had to use Marla’s “abilities” as an excuse, because we couldn’t well tell the police that we had met the murderer in person but couldn’t do anything about it because she had made a voodoo doll of me and was using it to as leverage to get back her own voodoo doll that her ex-boyfriend had made in an effort to get rid of her.