1732135800

by T. C. Wescott

I am so frustrated I can feel the blood swell in my cheeks. What a hypocrite! “And I suppose you’ll tell us this arrest will be someone other than Carly?”

  “Yes and no. You’ll be at the store run tomorrow, will you not?”

  “Yes, I will. But what do you mean by—”

  “Do you happen to know who else will be there? Gretchen, for instance?”

  “No, I think she says she’s laying low until all this is over. Wow, that reminds me. I meant to get her papers back to her. I guess I’ll have to track her down at her dad’s house tomorrow. I’m not looking forward to that.”

  Ruby stiffens in her chair as though struck by an electric current. “What’s this about papers?”

  I tell her about the binder left behind in my spare room.

  “I must have that!” I’d never seen her so intense.

  “I don’t think so, Ruby. It belongs to Gretchen. It’s just blank paper with some random notes. I promise you it has no bearing on the case.”

  “I need to see it. I couldn’t be more serious, Lacy.”

  “Are you telling me you think Gretchen killed Marlene?”

  “I’m not ready to point fingers at anyone, but we’re supposed to be working as a team to gather evidence.”

  “I get that, but come on… Gretchen? She’s the only one of the ‘sneerleaders’, as they’re called, who’s remotely human. If not for her I wouldn’t have known half the things Marlene was saying about me. And what about her times on Chicken Hill? She crushed it! Unlike Carly, she had no chance to stalk Marlene through the woods and kill her. And finally, I’m the one who stood in her apartment and watched her freak out over the break-in at her office—”

  “Oh, and the award of hers you fat-fingered and broke,” Stax stays. “That’s what really freaked her out, right?”

  “Yes, thanks for mentioning that, Stax. My point is I saw the fear in her eyes, the uncertainty, and I may not be an Inspector Butterwell, but I know real terror when I see it. And I don’t think she would have uprooted her life to move in with me just to throw us off her scent. Do you?”

  “Yeah, I thought that was kind of weird, myself,” offers Stax. “I just didn’t want to say anything.”

  “You did say something.”

  “I did? Oh, my bad.”

  “Lacy, I know you consider Gretchen your friend,” Ruby says, her usual calm manner restored, “and far be it from me to cast aspersions. But I believe we are becoming friends as well, are we not?”

  Her words take me by surprise. “Yes, of course we are, or at least I think so.”

  “I’m asking you to trust me. That’s all. I know that’s a lot to ask, given how new our acquaintance is, but I’m asking it nonetheless. Do you feel you can trust me?”

  I feel somewhat stupid for having reacted as I did, though I still believe she is barking up the wrong tree with Gretchen. But I do trust Ruby. For better or worse, I believe she possesses some sort of instinct I don’t. So, I acquiesce. “Yes, I trust you, Ruby. And yes, I’ll show you Gretchen’s papers. But I can’t let you keep them.”

  Ruby puts her hands together in a silent clap. “Oh goody! And I don’t believe it will be necessary for me to take possession of the entire contents of the folder. Do you have it in your car?”

  “No, it’s at home. I can drop it by some time tomorrow.”

  Ruby closes her eyes and wobbles her head back and forth. Not for the first time, I feel like a second-grader trying to sneak in late to class. “No, no, that will not do. I’ll need to see it tonight, as soon as possible. Could I trouble you for a quick ride to your place and back?”

  I have zero interest in playing taxi for Ruby so she can look at a stack of blank paper, but I know I will give in, so I cut to the chase. “Sure, let’s go. You can meet Meatball.”

  Stax throws a hand in the air. “Ooh, can I come?”

  “What, you want to look at Gretchen’s folder, too?”

  “No, I’m out of coffee creamer and I know you always keep plenty of the good stuff.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  The sun is gone and the moon is playing peek-a-boo behind clouds as we travel the few miles to my home. Ruby sits shotgun and Stax makes herself comfortably horizontal in the back seat.

  Stax stares up at the car roof with her arms folded behind her head. “Rubes, I got a question for ya.”

  “Rubes?” replies Ruby. “Sure, Juanita, I’ll answer if I can.”

  I snicker out loud. Stax hates to be called by her Christian name.

  “Ahem. My question is about Carly. Do you really think she’s innocent or were you just busting Lacy’s chops back there?”

  “I do not think she’s innocent. No, not at all.”

  “So, you think she killed Marlene?”

  “I said I don’t think she’s innocent. That’s not to say I think she’s a murderer.”

  “You get how that’s confusing, right?”

  “I do, and I don’t mean to be so evasive. but I prefer to possess all the pieces before I offer my solution to the puzzle. It’s a habit I picked up when I was writing mysteries—never talk about your book until it’s written.”

  “Stax isn’t the only one confused,” I point out. “You were pretty hot on Carly for a while. At least lukewarm. When did you go cold?”

  “Are you asking when it occurred to me she might not be our killer?”

  “Erm… Yes.”

  “That would have been when you woke to find the scissors embedded in your front porch.”

  “What, you don’t believe Carly was the one who did it? You don’t believe me?”

  “No, I do believe you. And that’s why I don’t believe she is our murderer. So, this is your house? It’s so charming! Say, what’s that stuck to your front door? You’re not being evicted, are you?”

  I want Ruby to expound on how Carly managed to clear herself of a scissor murder by creeping around in the middle of the night with scissors, but her comment about eviction and the big piece of pink paper taped to my door now has my full attention.

  I bolt for the porch and am relieved to see it is a handwritten note and not any sort of notice. It reads ‘Meet me at the store—Marti’.

  “It’s kind of late for a store run, isn’t it?” says Stax, who, along with Ruby, followed me up the steps without my hearing.

  “I don’t think it’s a run.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “I have no idea. But I don’t like it.”

  “Peculiar,” observes Ruby. “I recognize that paper and can just make out the lettering on the other side, bleeding through. It’s one of the flyers for the Valentine Run that Run For It sponsored last February.”

  I leave the note in place and open my front door. “Let me show you Gretchen’s folder and then I’ll run you two back to Ruby’s and go see what Marti wants.”

  Stax steps in front of me. “Huh uh, no way. You are not leaving us out of this. Where you go, we go.”

  I look to Ruby. “There’s at least one villain on the loose, dear. And I don’t know about you, but I’m in no position to vouch for this handwriting actually being Marti’s.”

  Neither am I, so I agree we’ll all go together. Inside, I show Ruby the folder Gretchen left while Stax pilfers my coffee creamers.

  I look over Ruby’s shoulder. “Does any of her scribbling hold a particular significance for you?”

  “None whatsoever. It’s more the paper I’m interested in. I’m sure she won’t mind if a sheet is missing, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “A blank sheet? I suppose that won’t hurt.”

  Ruby thanks me with a smile, removes a sheet and daintily folds it into fourths before securing it in her slacks pocket. “This will be another project for me before the run tomorrow.”

  Stax slips a handful of my creamer cups into her pocket and joins Ruby and myself in the living room. “Projects? Why don’t I have any projects?”

  “Do you need projects?” I ask. “You have a store to run.”

 
“Meh, Larry can handle it. That’s what brothers are for.”

  “I have the perfect project for you, Stax,” says a cheerful Ruby, quite happy since she got the paper sample. “We can discuss it on our way to the store.”

  “Lacy, you’ll be happy to hear I have not abandoned investigations into Carly,” says Ruby as we make our way to Run For It. I normally find the dark sky and quiet streets calming on a late evening drive, but Marti’s note left me unnerved. I half-listen to Ruby as she gives Stax her marching orders. “Stax, I’d like you to work your photoshop wonders. Do you have some photographs of Carly?”

  “Maybe if I had a dart board. But yeah, I can pull some off the Internet. Why?”

  “I’d like you to photoshop a wig similar to the one Lacy described onto Carly’s face, maybe from a couple of different angles. Make it as clean as you can and then print out a copy on sturdy paper stock.”

  “Are we pounding the pavement again? I can make some free time but even my pushover brother has his limits.”

  “No, nothing like that. I have a very short list of shops I’d like to personally visit.”

  “Okay, no problem. I’ll get to it tonight before I hit the sack. Hey, is that Marti’s car?”

  I’m relieved to see Marti’s car in the parking lot of Run For It. There is something not right about the note on my door. Marti has my cell number, so why not call or text me? It occurs to me I may be walking into a trap.

  “What do you suppose she wants with you?” Ruby asks.

  I park next to Marti’s car. Ours are the only vehicles in the lot. “I really don’t know. If I had to guess I’d say it’s about Marlene, or maybe she needs an extra run leader. You guys stay here. I’m sure I won’t be long.”

  “Have you flipped your wig?” says Stax, hoisting herself up and opening the door. “I’m not about to let you have all the fun yourself.”

  This is Stax’s way of looking out for me without admitting what she is doing. “Come on, then.”

  Ruby stays put. “I’ll be your eyes on the outside.”

  I can see she is serious. She is still suspicious about the evening summons to the closed store. “All right. Feel free to come in at any time if we’re running long.”

  Although the store has a street entrance, out of habit we walk around to the side entrance that faces the main parking lot. It’s as though a black filter is lowered over my eyes as we step under the overhang and lose the moonlight. My foot comes into contact with something and I feel it give and roll away. I ask what it is and Stax bends to grab it.

  “It’s one of those massage balls.” She hands it to me. “It looks like there’s a couple more of them down here.” I know what it is as soon as I feel it. The store makes a good profit selling various massage tools for runners to use to combat their tight, aching muscles. Although I prefer the sticks with multiple edged rollers, some people like buying the deep tissue massage balls, which are about the size of a baseball, only smooth, and made of hard rubber with something denser in the center, which makes them heavy and balanced.

  “I don’t like this,” I say. The store’s inventory should be inside the store.

  She retrieves two more balls from the concrete walkway in front of the door. “Me either. But these might come in handy.”

  “Marti? Hi, it’s Lacy,” I say upon opening the door. It is dark inside so I hesitate to enter, hoping to hear her cheerful voice ring out from somewhere in the shadows. I am met with dead silence. And there is something wrong about the shadows, something unfamiliar.

  “I think we should leave and call the police,” I whisper.

  “And tell them what? That the closed store on Main Street has its lights off? Let’s at least check it out first.”

  So, we enter. We step a few paces into the store and stop. The counter and registers are to our right and the door leading into the offices where I had my meetings with both Chase and Luke are to our left.

  “What the heck happened here?” asks Stax. The moonlight comes through the front windows across the storeroom from us, silhouetting the racks and shelves. As my eyes adjust to the new light I can see what’s concerning Stax. Many of the clothing racks and central shoe shelves are toppled over. “Lace, do you see this?”

  I know we are not alone. It is a knowledge, not a sense, and I know whatever is in here with us is not friendly. I hear a commotion behind me, a door swinging open. The air around me is disturbed. I feel the pressure of impact, of someone running into me, and then pain. There is someone breathing down my neck and they hold a threatening pair of sharp, shiny scissors. I hear someone yelling ‘I’ve been stabbed! I’ve been stabbed!’

  It’s me.

  A figure in a dark hoodie flies by me and darts behind the sales counter, the little gate swinging in its wake. I drop the massage ball and grab for my left arm. I’ve been stabbed.

  I am preoccupied by my injury when I hear Stax yell out ‘Hey!’ and I notice her make a sudden move. My ears shake with the unmistakable sound of glass shattering. Lots of it. The figure goes down out of sight at the far end of the counter.

  “Got him!” yells Stax.

  “You got him? With what?”

  She holds up a massage ball. “With one of these! Hey, are you hurt?”

  “Yeah, I think so. My arm—”

  “Let me turn on a light.”

  She reaches over the counter rail and flips on the overhead lights. The darkness around me turns to bright yellow and I see my injury for the first time. My shirt sleeve is torn and bloody, but assuming the scissors weren’t dipped in flesh-eating bacteria, it’s little more than a superficial cut.

  Stax inspects my wound. “Bah, it’s nothing. Won’t even scar. And here I thought you were getting disemboweled or something.”

  “Stax, I was just stabbed! I’m sorry if I’m not bloody enough for you, but that was terrifying. And it hurts!”

  “You’re right, I take it back. Better you than me. We’ll need to get you looked at, but first…”

  She tugs at the sleeve of my uninjured arm and motions forward with her head. I’m clueless as to what she is getting at. “What?”

  “What do you think?”

  “You mean the hoodie guy? Yeah, I think we should get out of here before he wakes up.”

  “No chance. I’ve still got this ball and as you’ve seen I’m not afraid to use it. I’m going in for a look-see.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Yes, I am!”

  Before I can protest further Stax is pushing open the gate allowing access to the area behind the sales counter. I suppose I could have grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her out the door we came in, but something in me had to know—craved to know—who was behind the nightmare we’d all be living lately. So, I follow her behind the counter.

  As we creep closer to where the dark figure is lying face down and motionless, I take note of how different the store looks now. Nearest me, there is broken glass all over the floor from a display case behind the counter. This must have been what I heard after Stax threw her massage ball. I can see we are dealing with a madman as only someone out of their mind would wreak this kind of havoc, pilfering the store and piling the shelves and racks into some sort of a barricade.

  The street side front door is propped half open for some reason. I hear the glass crunching under my feet. We are standing next to the intruder who, as far as we can tell, is knocked unconscious. Scissors lay where they landed, about a foot in front of the person’s right hand. Whoever it is, he or she is not a large person.

  Stax puts her finger to her mouth, motioning to remain quiet, then bends into a kneeling position. I mirror her motions until we are kneeling on either side of the prostrate figure. I let Stax know the next move is all hers.

  For all her bravado, Stax is white as a sheet and for a moment I worry I’ll soon be kneeling over two unconscious bodies. But she keeps it together and reaches her hand forward, slowly, as though the Phantom might jump and bite her. Once
she has a two-fingered grip on the rim of the hood, she pulls back a little, and then—

  “Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit,” she says. The look of surprise on her face sends shivers down my spine.

  “What? Who is it?” I ask.

  “Take a look for yourself.” Stax pulls the hoodie back and I lean forward. I hear the side door open behind us and Ruby’s voice call out, asking if everything is all right. But I don’t answer her. I can’t look away. I am transfixed on the face of the person who stalked Marlene, who murdered her, and who vandalized my home. It is a face I’ve looked on fondly so many times before.

  The face of Marti Reynolds.

  TWENTY-TWO

  My legs dangle off the back of the ambulance as the EMT dresses my injury. The steel bed is cold through my jeans, but I am grateful for the distraction from the pain in my arm. I’m also grateful for the news that the stab was not deep or long enough to necessitate stitches. Now, if only I could turn back time and make It Carly’s face and not Marti’s I saw when Stax lifted that hood.

  “You all done with her?” Luke…err…Detective Bentley materialized from behind the ambulance and addressed the tech who had just finished wrapping my arm.

  “All done, detective. As long as she keeps an eye out for infection and sees her primary care doctor in a few days, she’ll be right as rain.”

  Yeah, I almost got murdered less than an hour ago. I’ll be fine.

  “Lacy, are you good to talk?” Bentley says, his eyes warm and comforting. I’m glad he’s here.

  “Let’s see. Yes, it appears neither my tongue nor my vocal cords were injured in the kerfuffle this evening. What do you want to know?”

  “Are you sure it’s ‘kerfuffle’ and not ‘kerfluffle’, with an ‘L’ in the middle?”

  “Not according to spell check.”

  “Wow, so that’s a word you use on a regular basis.”

  “Only when a good friend attacks me with a sharp object.”

  “About that. I’ve talked with Ms. Best and Ms. Maplethorpe.”

  “And now you need my statement?”