“About Marti,” I say, recalling the moment when the hoodie was pulled back and I saw her face.
“What you haven’t yet been told is that you were not the first assault victim last night. That honor falls to Marti. As she tells it, she was locking the store up for the night when somebody accosted her from behind, hitting her over the head with goodness knows what, probably one of those balls. She remembers nothing else until the moment she was revived at the hospital, but the rest of the story can be inferred from the evidence.
“The Phantom—that’s my name for this particular miscreant—used Marti’s keys to gain entrance to the store, dragged Marti inside, and pulled matching hoodies off the racks so they’d be dressed identically. I can’t speak as to what pants the Phantom wore, but I presume it was banking on you not getting too good a look with the lights off. I asked Billy to check the inventory of the black hoodies and, as expected, two are unaccounted for. Once Marti was dressed, she was dragged behind the counter and placed where you would later find her.”
“So, you’re saying when this person—the Phantom—stabbed me and ran behind the counter, he or she expected us to throw the ball?”
“Indeed! Now you’re getting it. When Stax threw the ball and shattered the glass case, the Phantom dropped down. You thought you hit a bullseye, but I’m sorry to inform you, Miss Stax, your aim is not as true as you think. The pitch went wild and hit nothing but the glass of the case. Only a direct hit could shatter glass that thick, and the ball was to be found resting inside the case. But none of this mattered in the moment. The Phantom took the fall, abandoned the scissors near Marti’s right hand, and scurried out the front entrance.”
I am beginning to get the picture. “So that’s why the front entrance door was left ajar.”
Stax thrust her stubby finger in front of my face. “And why that big pile of shelves was put where it was! That way, nobody could see him—her—it—escape!”
“Precisely!” Ruby says, excited to see us finally catching on. “Other areas of the room were tossed around a bit to give the impression that Marti lost her mind and ransacked her own store. But all real effort was put into the barricade of sorts that ran from the far counter exit to the front door. Once the significance of the construction occurred to me, the rest fell into place. From where you stood, you would not be able to see the Phantom creep across the floor and out the door.”
“But wait,” I say. “What if Stax had not thrown the ball?”
“Oh, that’s easy. He or she was going to take the dive regardless. You would have assumed Marti slipped in the escape and hit her head.”
She seems to have an answer for everything. Well, almost everything…
“Wait again. You just said ‘he or she’. But don’t you know who the killer is?”
“Oh yes, I know perfectly well who it is. But I’m not playing that card just yet.”
“Building suspense, right? Like in your books,” Stax says.
“That might be a tiny part of it,” Ruby admits, pinching two pruned fingers together. “I’m hoping the guilty party will choose to step forward themselves.”
“Do you know what the purpose was?” I ask.
“You mean why Marlene was murdered? Yes, I have an idea.”
“No, not that. I meant why the charade last night with Marti and myself. Why the note on the door? And the photographs…”
I’d almost forgotten about the photos. Whatever else might be an illusion, those are not. Chase might not be a killer, but he’s certainly a letch.
“The Phantom realized the good detective here is no slouch, and it was only a matter of time before things started to get hot. The purpose of last night was to cast suspicion on Marti, and therefore away from themselves. Similar to Carly’s motive for stabbing your porch.”
“Well, if anyone else is looking to commit a crime, please find yourself another fall guy. My dance card is full.”
Marti clears her throat. “About those photos the police found on my desk. I suppose you all saw them? You should know they aren’t mine. I’ve never seen them before.”
“Oh, honey. You poor thing,” Stax says, pulling Marti in for a hug. Glaring at Chase, she says “Looks like there’s no shortage of villains around here.”
“Villain?” says a confused Marti. “No, Chase explained everything.”
“Oh, I’m sure he did.”
“Easy, Stax,” Chase says. “I’m standing right here.”
“So I see. If you were my husband, standing wouldn’t be an option.”
Ruby giggles. “Chase, would you like to explain the photographs?”
Chase bristles. “I hate that it has to be explained at all. It was supposed to be a surprise.”
“Oh, honey, it was a surprise,” Marti says, grabbing his arm. To the rest of us, she says “He was doing it for me.”
“You wanted him to have an affair with Marlene?” asks Stax. “If that’s modern marriage, I think I’ll stay single.”
I did the only thing a person can do when they have a friend like Stax. I pounded my head on the counter.
Chase looks scandalized. “Affair? No! I was going behind Marti’s back, all right, but it was to plan a vacation in January when things slow down at the store. Get her out of Oklahoma for the winter and someplace warm. I was seeing Marlene to discuss travel options.”
“Is that true?” asks Stax.
Bentley nods. “It’s true. I confirmed it with Anderson Petrick today. Even saw the paperwork they’d started.”
I recall what I’d witnessed driving past the agency and couldn’t keep my mouth shut. “I happened to be driving past the travel agency when I saw you leaving, Chase. You and Anderson were having words. It looked pretty heated.”
Chase goes pale and I regret the question. But there are too many loose ends in this case that still needed tying up.
“It was heated. I was heated. And I’m sorry you had to witness that. After Marlene’s murder and the press surrounding it, I knew there’d be negative impact to the store. Marti and I wouldn’t be able to afford the vacation if that happened, so I went to cancel the trip and get my deposit back. Anderson refused to relinquish my deposit money. That’s what the argument was about.”
“Sorry, Chase. My bad. You’re not the big heel I thought,” Stax says with genuine sincerity.
He throws a big, muscled arm around her. “It’s not your fault. Someone was obviously trying to set us up.”
“Enough about the photographs,” I say. “Tell us who the killer is!”
“Funny thing about that,” Bentley says. “Those photos of Chase and Marlene are going to go a long way in proving the case against our suspect.”
Stax squints her eyes suspiciously at Bentley. “You’d better not tell me Chase is the killer after I just apologized to him.”
“No, your apology is valid. The photos are important because we know exactly when and where they were taken, and with the help of the surveillance cameras along Main Street, it won’t be a thing at all to identify the photographer. My guys are working on it as we speak.”
“Because whoever took those pictures is the one who planted them and therefore—”
“The one who attacked Lacy and murdered Marlene, yep.”
“Are you ever going to tell us who it is?” Gretchen asks. “I don’t want to be rude, but I have work I’ve got to do before bed.”
“I thought you quit your job?” asks Ruby.
“I did, but I have a small business of my own, with orders to fill.”
“Yes, the Survival List, is that what it’s called?”
“You’re familiar?”
“I’m a customer. I purchased one of your handmade ghillie suits. I must say, I am quite impressed with your stitching.”
Gretchen looks pleased with the compliment. “Oh, is that right? I’m glad you like it. I won an award for my stitching, you know. But I don’t really see you as the crawling-around-the-forest type.”
“You’r
e correct on that count. I’m more the type who wondered if your materials would match the strange fabric Marti discovered on Chicken Hill when Marlene disappeared. You won’t be surprised to learn they’re both a substance called jute. Oh, the sample Marti collected and gave to me wouldn’t be admissible as evidence, of course. Chain of custody, and all that. But I understand the police collected their own, much larger, sample at the time. Their findings should be quite interesting, indeed.”
“I use jute for some of my items. What of it? A lot of ghillie suits are made with jute and you’d expect to find them in the woods.”
“Not in woods where no hunting is allowed. And how many others use your same award-winning stitching techniques?”
Gretchen is standing next to me and I can make out the corner of her eye twitch and the edges of her mouth pull down as her jaw muscles stiffen. It is like the beginning stages of a physical transformation.
“What are you trying to say?” she asks through gritted teeth.
“Nothing that can’t be proved, dear.”
“And what it is you think you can prove?”
Ruby inhales deeply through her nose, though what she had to say would not require much lung power.
“I can prove you murdered Marlene Petrick.”
TWENTY-SIX
I sat outside atop cold concrete, under a brilliant moon, and watched as my friend was cuffed, read her rights, and loaded into a police cruiser. Diebold got the honor this time.
I don’t want to believe it. When Ruby leveled her accusation, my instinct was again to jump to Gretchen’s defense. But I held back. If someone accused Stax or Ruby of something so heinous, I wouldn’t hesitate for a moment to speak up on their behalf. So, I take some solace in knowing (or choosing to believe) that my subconscious saw beneath Gretchen’s veneer to the dark soul underneath.
When Ruby accused her of the murder, her eyes wanted to shred Ruby and the rest of us to little pieces, but her mouth pointed out she’d had the fastest run time of them all on Chicken Hill and was within everyone’s sight the entire time. I’d observed the same thing before and said as much. Her alibi was perfect. There’s no way she could have murdered Marlene and made her disappear without losing a step in her run.
But Ruby clearly didn’t think it was impossible. All she said in response to Gretchen was ‘The detective has warrants. We’ll find the saw, the wheelbarrow, and everything else.’ The words were Greek to me, but they hit home to Gretchen and her entire face transformed. She went from being my young, freckled ginger-haired running buddy to the nightmarish Phantom Ruby so loved to describe.
I knew then it was true. Gretchen attacked me. She lied to me. I’m not sure which is worse. But nothing she did to Marti or myself trumps the fact that she murdered Marlene. And came to stay with me after, which means I harbored a murderer. I should drywall over the door to the spare room and forget it’s there.
I am sitting on the curb edge of the parking lot and hear a voice behind me say something. I am too lost in my own thoughts to hear it. Something about a friend. I turn. It’s Ruby. She steps off the curb and stands next to me.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“I said she never was your friend.”
“Were you reading my mind?”
“Why does everyone think I’m psychic?”
“Bless you for asking that. Yes, I know she’s not—never was—my friend. I should have seen it sooner.”
“There’s no way you could have. Unless you think like she does. And you don’t.”
“And you do?”
“Darling, I made a good living for many years thinking like a criminal. I’m not proud of it, per se, nor am I ashamed. You shouldn’t feel shame over not thinking like a criminal. If you’re not a writer, or a detective, it’s more a liability than an asset.”
“How did she do it, Ruby?” I sound more pleading than I intended, but I need to know how the guilty party is the person with the best alibi.
Ruby exhales deeply and I see her in the moonlight, not as some superhuman crime fighter with almost paranormal instinct, but for what she is—an elderly woman who’s been on her feet all day sleuthing around town and all evening bringing criminals to justice. She looks exhausted. I decide my curiosity will still be there in the morning.
“On second thought, Ruby, I’m too tired to think any more tonight. Maybe we could all reconvene tomorrow?”
Ruby lays a hand on my shoulder. “That sounds like an evening well spent. But how about we make it just Stax and ourselves. Chase and Marti know all they need to know, and whatever Jessica and Billy would like to learn they’re welcome to learn from their employers.”
I reach a hand up and put it across Ruby’s, which is still resting on my shoulder. We stay like that for a good minute. It was a good minute.
The next day is uneventful. I had to explain to both Caroline and Bill (as well as half the people who called in about their policies) that yes, a young lady was arrested for the murder and yes, I was present, and no, I wasn’t complicit. A photograph of the Run For It parking lot made it into the paper and there I was, sitting on the curb, facing the camera. Chase and Marti won’t be happy about the negative publicity, but with their spirit and work ethic I have complete confidence they’ll rebound stronger than before. And I intend to stick with them and the store.
After work and a light supper, I head over to Ruby’s for the prearranged rap session in her war room. I allow the combined smells of mahogany and old paper to calm me as I sink into one of the big leather chairs. I choose the same one I sat in the previous time. Stax does the same. We’ve staked our territory. I hope it’s a sign we’re forming a tradition of spending more time here.
Stax is so relaxed in her chair that I suspect she’s fallen asleep waiting for Ruby and her tray of hors d’oeuvres. Then she speaks.
“Did that detective ask you out yet? Because he should.”
“No, Stax. He hasn’t.”
“Stupid.”
“Maybe.”
“Have you asked him out?”
“No.”
“Stupid.”
“Maybe.”
The door swings open and in floats Ruby, humming a song and bouncing at the knees. It is as though all the weight of the world has been lifted from her shoulders. In some ways, I suppose it has.
She offers us a tray of shrimp remoulade deviled eggs, which, in spite of their name, are to die for. We establish a pattern of not talking ‘business’ while we eat, but the eggs are so good they don’t hold us up for long.
“I understand you have some questions for me?” asks Ruby.
“Understate much?” Stax says with a mouthful of remoulade.
Ruby looks perplexed. “I don’t follow.”
I touch her arm. “She means yes, we have a bunch of questions for you.”
Ruby pours us each a cup of hot caffeine-free cinnamon tea. “I suppose you want to know why Gretchen did it?”
I am most curious about how she pulled it off, but if Ruby wants to start at why, I am fine with that.
“Gretchen Herring came into this world as Gretchen Ross,” Ruby begins. “Ross was her absentee father’s name. A crook who spent more time in jail than out. Her mother, an orphan, did all she could for young Gretchen, including take her to work with her when need be. That’s precisely what happened on the evening of June 23rd in the year two-thousand Anno Domini. Kayleigh Cook had to work the 1pm to closing shift at the hair salon and brought young Gretchen with her.”
“Gretchen was Kayleigh’s daughter,” I heard myself say.
“Oh snap,” Stax says. “You mean she saw—”
“Her mother murdered?” continues Ruby. “Yes, I’m afraid she did.”
“How tragic,” I say. In spite of what she’s done, I can’t help but feel sorry for what she experienced. Nobody should have to see their mother murdered. “But wait a minute. If she saw her mom, then—”
Stax snaps her fingers. “She must have seen the m
urderer as well.”
Ruby put her hands together over her heart. “You girls make me proud. Such fast learners! Yes, Gretchen believed her mission was to avenge the death of her mother… by killing her murderer.”
“Marlene?” I shout. In the name of decency, I won’t mention Stax’s choice of words in this moment. Suffice it to say she was more surprised than myself. “Are you sure?”
Ruby slowly shakes her head. “No, I’m not. I’m not sure about anything other than Gretchen was present that night. My private investigator turned up this little nugget. She told investigators at the time she’d seen nothing. I’m inclined to believe that was the truth and what Gretchen believes now is a product of her malignant mind. But who knows? She may, even at the age of four, have been plotting her eventual revenge.
“In any event, vengeance for her mother’s death is only a part of Gretchen’s motive. There’s the man she calls her father, who is actually her uncle, and I daresay he falls short of both distinctions. Detective Bentley told me he has quite the reputation at the police station.”
“He’s a criminal?” I ask.
“Yes, more or less. But he could have learned a thing or two from Gretchen. She’s one of the most calculating criminals I’m aware of. Gretchen hated living with the man and blamed her poor fortune on Marlene.”
“Gretchen?” Stax says. “I always thought she was all foam, no beer.”
“Is that a reference to her intelligence?” asks Ruby. “I can’t speak to that, but as to her cunning, I hope we never meet her equal. It’s no coincidence she ended up working for the Petricks. She finagled her way in there. She’s been driving a wedge between Marlene and anyone who came into her sphere ever since. And nobody was any the wiser.”
“How can you know that?” I ask.
“Remember how you told me you knew all the nasty things Marlene and Carly were saying behind your back?”
“Yes, Gretchen told me. But…oh.”
Ruby gave me a knowing wink. “And I’d wager she was in Marlene’s ear with similar tales about you.”
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