“But why not?” I ask.
“I’m sorry to say, but I don’t believe Marlene is going to come popping her pretty little head into Run For It tomorrow like nothing happened. In twenty-four hours’ time, she’ll be the subject of a missing person investigation. But what’s missing is apt to be found when looked for and I fear when Marlene is found, the case will then be one of homicide.”
I no longer feel hungry. Has writing mysteries for so many years turned this sweet woman morbid? Or has it honed her instincts for the criminal element to such an extent that she possesses almost preternatural powers of observation? I have no way of knowing, not yet. What I do know is she hasn’t answered my question.
“But what does that have to do with me and why should it prevent me from telling the police what I know?”
“My dear, don’t you see? Once they find Marlene, they’ll no longer be looking for her, they’ll be looking for her murderer.”
“I should hope so.”
“They’ll ask questions.”
“Yes?”
“They’ll ask if Marlene made any enemies. If anyone made threats against her. If she’s had a fight with anyone recently.”
“Oh.”
“You see now? Yes, I suppose you do. They’ll think themselves on the trail of a killer and that trail will lead right to your door.”
EIGHT
I shower as fast as I can, anxious to get the sweat and grime off my skin and out of my hair. I normally don’t mind wearing the fruits of my exertion as a badge of honor, but something wrong happened on that trail and I don’t want any part of it to remain on me.
I keep myself moving so I won’t obsess over Ruby’s idea that I am destined to become a murder suspect. If something bad happened to Marlene, then I suppose there’d be no way to avoid it. After all, I fought with her in front of witnesses the day before. And more than once I’ve made flippant comments about murdering her. The actual commission of murder is so far outside my character that I never saw the harm in such ranting. It’s just a way for me to decelerate when Marlene had my engine running hot. In hindsight, it is a terrible coping mechanism that might soon land me in a small room under a hot light.
Meatball is waiting for me in the hall, warbling his request and staring up at me with his beautiful lemon-yellow eyes. I pluck him from the carpet and hold him close, squeezing his soft little body a little tighter than usual. I bury my face into his blue-gray coat and just stand there in the hall, wrapped in my towel, enjoying the comfort that only a trusted pet can provide.
But Meatball has other plans. He tires of my squeezes and jumps from my arms, urging me into the kitchen. It must be treatsie time. I fetch one of his grain-free fish-flavored dental crunch treats and set it on the tiles before him. I can scarcely afford the food and treats I special order for him from the Internet, but there are a few areas in my life on which I refuse to skimp: who I spend my time with, what I feed my cat, and running shoes.
I couldn’t find a parking space outside Read it or Eat It so I stole one from Ye Olde Chocolate Shoppe. On a whim I decide a little dessert might not be out of step in the rather heavy pow wow we are about to have. I open the door, causing the little bell to ring, and prompting a call of ‘Right with you!’ from somewhere in the bowels of Hilda’s chocolate factory. The familiar sing-song voice brings a much-needed smile to my face.
I’d wager not many towns in America have their own chocolatier. That’s a shame. Like so much on Main Street, to see it from the pavement is to step back in time. The frosted window behind which waist-high displays tease with gourmet chocolates stacked top to bottom, the Victorian décor, the period stenciling. I’m convinced I’ll never taste their kind again outside of this shop, unless I should happen to find myself in Europe.
I step into the shop’s quaint parlor and am consumed by the aromas of sugar and lavender and boiling jams. There must be a hundred other scents mingled with these, but my nose is trained by my taste buds to search for these specific aromatics each time I come in.
Amidst the myriad of unique flavor combinations offered in the store, my favorites are dark chocolate filled with a luscious raspberry jam, and a milk chocolate bite infused with more than a mere hint of Lavender. I am also an avid consumer of the marshmallow pops. Two for a buck! I grab six, making sure two are covered in sprinkles. Stax’s preference. Not sure of Ruby’s tastes, I grab two in milk chocolate and two in dark.
Hilda Carnegie emerges from the back, wiping her hands on a towel. She welcomes me in her usual delightful manner by calling out my name with such operatic exuberance one can feel her voice as much as hear it. If not for the candy counter separating us I would have hugged her.
I order some of my personal favorites and suggest Hilda select others to add to the bag, informing her I am headed to a get together with a couple of friends from my running group.
“Oh, were you at the run today?” she asks as she wraps a couple of long stem chocolate-dipped strawberries for me.
“Yes, I was. My first trail run.” I cut it off there, not wanting to wade into the quagmire of Marlene’s disappearance.
“Quite strange about Mrs. Petrick, isn’t it? A couple of runners came in a while ago and told me she went missing during the run. Is that right? I can’t conceive of such a thing. Do your friends like nuts? Caramel?”
“Yes, that’d be great. And yes, it’s true. I saw her there myself. She started the run but never crossed the finish line.”
Hilda shakes her head as she deposits the chocolates into tissue wrapping and then into a small, clear bag. “It sounds like black magic to me. Mrs. Petrick was a beautiful woman, but I don’t at all care for how she carries herself.”
I am intrigued. “So, you knew her?”
“Mmph, well enough. She’d come in here from time to time. Not always alone, mind you. Why, she was here just two days ago. Sat with a man right over there.”
There are a few small tables in the shop where patrons can sit and enjoy their chocolates or scones with a warm tea, coffee, or cold drink. She motions to a particular table positioned in the corner under a replica of a Victorian gas lamp.
“Her husband?” I ask.
She shakes her head emphatically now, her eyes wide with scandal. “No, I know Anderson well and it was not him. You must know the fellow I’m talking about, because he’s a runner. He and his wife own that store down the street.”
“Run For it?”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
I’m now the one with Scandal Eyes. “Are you talking about Chase Reynolds?”
“That sounds right. I only met him once when he and his wife first went into business. They came in to introduce themselves. His wife took a liking to my sweets and comes in on occasion, but I’ve only seen him—Chase, is it?—in passing until two days ago when he came in with Mrs. Petrick.”
“Did you happen to hear what they talked about?”
“Oh no, I’m deaf to such things. But I did notice she was awfully cozy towards him.”
That sounds like Marlene.
I pay for my chocolates and thank Hilda for her time and effort. I have too many other things with which to concern myself, such as a meeting I’m in danger of being late for.
I hustle across the street to the bookstore and find Stax’s ‘Closed’ sign turned out and the window blinds pulled. Ruby’s car is parked in a space in front of the store. The door is locked so I knock. The blinds over the big window shuffle a moment before the door opens and Stax peeks out.
“You’re taking this cloak and dagger business pretty seriously,” I say.
“Darn right. If anyone’s going to make me disappear it’s going to be David Blaine. Provided he makes his clothing disappear as well.”
I come in to find Ruby seated at the far corner booth where Stax has three places set with sandwiches and chips.
I didn’t walk fast enough to the table to suit Stax so she got behind me and pushed at my back.
“I’m
trying to be a good hostess and not eat until everybody’s here, but you’re making it hard.”
“Hey, I was getting us dessert.”
I hold up my bag of goodies and Stax salivates. Once at the table I scoot in next to Ruby.
“You saw Hilda, I see,” Ruby says.
“You like chocolates?”
“Love them, when they’re made right. She imports her chocolates from Belgium, did you know that? Absolutely exquisite. It is thoughtful of you to think of us like this.”
I beam and set marshmallow pops and long-stem strawberries next to everyone’s plate. Now it was time to drop my bombshell. “While there I happened to pick up a piece of news about Marlene.”
“No, huh uh,” argues Stax. “Not a word about this Marlene business until that sandwich is in my belly.”
“Yes, quite right,” agrees Ruby. “Discussing stressful matters while eating is terrible for digestion.”
We enjoy our cold sandwiches (Larry is generous with the good stuff) and chips and nibble at our chocolates while making small talk about our personal performances at Chicken Hill. When Ruby pulls out a legal note pad and two sharpened pencils, I know it is time for discussion.
“If you two would be so kind as to humor an old lady,” began Ruby as though delivering a prepared speech, “I would like to officiate the proceedings and I suggest to be most efficient with our time, we should stick to schedule as closely as possible.”
“Schedule?” I ask, unaware we have such a thing.
“Yes, I’ve prepared a simple schedule. It’s to this effect—First, we discuss the What (that is to say what we believe may have happened), then the How (how we believe it happened), and finally, if we’re so bold, we tackle the Who (the person or persons responsible). Is this agreeable?”
It is hard to argue with Ruby, not only because she makes sense, but because she is so cute. Each time she defines a point she is making, she’ll grip her glasses by one arm, lower them down her nose, and look up at you.
“Very agreeable, Ruby. Stax?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Splendid,” says Ruby, pleased by the lack of objection. “Miss Stax, would you please start us off by telling us what you believe happened.”
Stax looks stunned, as though selected from a crowd of a thousand and not a ragtag group of three. “What I believe?”
“Yes, dear. I’m sure you’ve given it some thought.”
“Well, yeah. I have as a matter of fact. What I figure happened is Marlene started the run like the rest of us, but instead of finishing it like the rest of us did she disappeared—POOF!—off the face of the earth.”
“Really? That’s what you’ve come up with?” I ask.
“Well, yeah! You got something better?”
She has me there.
Ruby rested her pencil. I guess she didn’t think Stax’s scenario worth recording.
“Stax is not wrong, but I think what she offered could best be described as an oversimplification of the facts.”
I am surprised. “Are you saying you agree with Stax? You think Marlene simply disappeared?’
“Not simply, my dear. There is nothing simple about what happened to Marlene. And she didn’t disappear, she couldn’t have. A person can’t just disappear. But they can cease to appear, and that’s what I believe happened to Marlene. She ceased to appear.”
Stax takes her Buddy Holly glasses off and waves them over her head. “Let the record show I do not disagree with what you just said, Miss Ruby.”
“I’m gratified to hear that, Miss Stax.”
“Let the record also reflect I cannot disagree or agree with what you said because I didn’t understand a single world of it.”
On that Stax and I agree.
“In simpler terms,” continued Ruby, “Marlene did not disappear. She was physically there, or somewhere, but when people looked for her, they were not able to see her. That’s what I meant by ceased to appear.”
Interesting. “Do you mean she was hiding?”
Ruby wobbles her head back and forth as though considering the suggestion. However, I suspect this is more for my benefit than anything. She no doubt considered the idea and discarded it while we were still standing on the park green.
“I don’t think so, dear. People who want to disappear tend to look for the least conspicuous time and means to do so, not the most conspicuous. We must assume whatever happened to Marlene was not of her own making.”
“Okay, I think I’m getting it,” Stax says. “You think she was abducted, right? Someone grabbed her off the trail and pulled her out of the park, right?”
I held my soda to my lips but don’t drink. “But how easy would that be? He couldn’t take her out the main way because Marti and at least a half a dozen people were out there at all times. Not to mention the news cameras.”
“We’re getting ahead of schedule,” cautioned Ruby. “We’re only discussing the What. ‘How’ will have to wait. So, to frame the question properly, what Stax suggested is Marlene might have been escorted out of the park by her abductor. Is that correct?”
“That’s right. Why not?”
“Let’s explore the possibility,” Ruby says while scribbling something on her notepad. “Lacy already observed Marlene could not have left the park in the traditional way or else she’d have been seen. I’m not familiar with Chicken Hill but I did pay attention on my walk today and the highest points provided a good view of the surrounding terrain. Did you two notice this?”
We both nod ‘yes’ but to tell the truth my eyes were on my feet the entire time I traveled uphill. However, the nod satisfies Ruby, who continues describing the terrain.
“The main entrance and parking lot are to the south. To the north and the west one would have to traverse the canyon and then climb the rocky hills on its other side, which would leave them visible for some minutes to all the passing runners. So that must be counted out. To the east there’s a wire fence, much taller than the more decorative wooden fence along the trail. This end of the park is not open to the public, but I suppose if someone were agile enough he might be able to traverse it. However, when you add a second body to the mix—Marlene’s—it rather does up the ante, don’t you think?”
Stax shakes her head. “No, that couldn’t be it. I’ve seen that side of the hill from down below. There used to be a fruit stand on that dirt road my parents liked to go to. That fence is there because when you get past it there’s a sheer drop of at least a dozen feet.”
Ruby clicks her tongue. “Oh my, that wouldn’t do at all.”
“Unless he rappelled,” I offer weakly.
Ruby and Stax seem to actually ponder the idea, so I say “Guys, I’m joking.”
“It’s no joke, Lacy,” Ruby says. “In a situation like this no idea is too incredible to at least consider. However, I agree that attempting to rappel with a hostage, conscious or otherwise, seems a little farfetched.”
Stax scratches at her forehead. “So where does that leave us?’
Ruby finishes her notes, lays down her pencil, and looks back and forth between Stax and myself. “The question is ‘Where does that leave Marlene’?”
Her tone gives me chills, but I forge ahead. “And where might that be?”
“Isn’t it clear? Why, she’s still there.”
“Where?’
“Somewhere on Chicken Hill.”
NINE
I about jump from the table. “What, you think she’s still on the hill? We’ve got to get out there and look for her!”
“We’ll do no such thing.” Ruby doesn’t raise her voice, but there is a finality to her words. Nevertheless, I need a darn good reason to abandon a person in need, so I persist.
“If you believe Marlene is trapped there on the hill then why are we not there right now? Why didn’t you speak up when the cops were there?”
“Because, my dear, Marlene is dead. That much is clear.”
“Wait,” Stax says, “how do you know? I me
an, you’re obviously smart and all, but how could you know if she’s dead or alive?”
“If she were alive she’d have walked off the hill by now.”
“Not if she is hurt.”
“Then she would have called for help.”
“What if she’s not conscious?”
“The search parties would have found her. Wherever she is, she’s not visible, which means she’s been hidden. Accident has been ruled out, and a moment ago we were able to rule out abduction. What’s left for options but foul play?”
“Ummmmm,” stammered Stax as she searched for another alternative. “Suicide!”
“In which case, she’d still be dead.”
“Okay, so she’s dead,” I say, exhausted from the exchange. “She still deserves to be found. And we have a couple hours of daylight left.”
“I’m an old lady, dear, and on a bad day a stiff wind can blow me over. But, on a strong day, I assure you I am quite formidable when of a mind. Today’s a strong day and I’m of a mind to keep you as far as possible from that hill.”
Stax touches my arm. “Yeah, Stretch, I kind of agree with her.”
“I can’t believe this!”
“Listen, Wonder Woman,” continues Stax, “you heard what the cop said. Stay out of the woods or else risk leaving something behind they can find and use against us. Now, I ain’t worried about myself. Okay, I’m a little worried about myself. But mainly, I’m thinking of you. You had to go and pick a fight with Marlene yesterday, so now you’re going to be a suspect when they do find her. All the worse if you’re the one who finds her.”
“What about you, Stax? You got louder with her than I did.”
“Yeah, but I do that with everybody. And besides, you’ve made a lot of comments here and there about killing her and stuff. Not that I think you would! But still, you said it.”
“You have, too!”
“Yeah, but duh, I say that stuff all the time. It’s not out of character for me. It kind of is for you.”
I want to argue that death threats are not at all out of character for me, but it occurs to me I’ll be arguing at cross purposes.
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