by C Farren
Wren was about to demand an audience with her father when there was a knock on the front door. Her cat shot out from under the table, excited. She always became frisky whenever someone came. Gracie loved the attention.
It was Keegan.
“Morning,” she said. “What’s up?”
He looked forlorn as he said, “This isn’t a social call, Wren. I’m here to arrest your father for murder.”
Chapter 11
“Are you serious?” Wren demanded.
Keegan looked guilty as he said, “I’m not really supposed to say.” He looked behind him, almost as if afraid of finding his father the sheriff hiding in the bushes. “Fingerprint analysis came back. Your father’s fingerprints were found on the cash register, the store counter, and the front door handle. We found his DNA scattered around as well. We think it’s his sweat.”
She couldn’t believe what was going on. This had to be rubbish. Her father wasn’t a murderer. He was a good man, despite his flaws.
“The results are wrong,” Wren declared. “They have to be.”
“They’re not,” said Keegan. “I’m sorry.”
She stood aside, allowing him to come in. They could sort this out down at the station and her father could be declared innocent.
But what if he did do it?
Her father had no reason to kill Garrett. As far as she knew, they barely knew each other.
“Are you just going to stand there all day or are you going to bring your father to me?” Keegan asked. He cleared his throat. “Sorry for being impatient.”
“I’m sorry too,” said Wren. “I’m just lost in thinking.”
Her father had come to investigate the ruckus downstairs. He stood at the top of the stairs, his hands on the guard rail. He had a somewhat guilty look on his face.
“I know what this is about,” said Wick.
As Keegan began to inform her father of his rights all Wren could think about was the ashamed look on Wick’s face. Did he know he might get arrested? Why? Was it because he had killed Garrett?
Her father was led away, minus the handcuffs.
“I heard it all,” said Fiona, joining her by the open front door. “Do we need to go and get him a lawyer or something?”
“I’ll phone my cousin Reba,” said Wren. “She’ll give us family rates.”
She watched as her father sat in the back of the police car. Keegan gave her a slightly limp wave before he drove away.
“This can’t be happening,” said Wren frenziedly.
Fiona took her hand. “We’ll get through this. I may not know your dad very well, but I know he’s not a murderer.”
“There’s a lot of evidence that says otherwise.”
THE TINY INTERVIEW room at the Snowflake Bay police station was beige. The furniture was old and rusting and there was damp on the walls. It was rarely used to interrogate suspects. Mostly the station cat, Shangela, slept in there. She was there now, curled up on the table, ignoring the awkward silence of the people sat around her.
“When are we going to start?” Wick asked.
“When your lawyer gets here,” Keegan replied.
“I’ve already said I don’t need a lawyer.”
“I want to do this by the book.”
Wick shrugged and continued to stare at the two-way mirror on the side of the wall. He waved.
“Are you sure we’re allowed in here?” Fiona asked, nervous.
“Probably not, but Deputy Stark owes me a favor, and if he wants to spare himself the embarrassment, he’ll do what he’s told.”
Deputy Stark gave her a filthy look before turning his gaze back to the mirror. He was their youngest deputy at only twenty-five. He sported a thick, muscular figure and a soft, brown beard. He was also terminally stupid. Wren owned a photo of him drunkenly taking a pee outside city hall the previous year.
“Is this the first murder you’ve ever investigated?” Fiona asked him.
“I didn’t think there were murders in this town,” the deputy admitted. He was quite devastated by the fact. So was Wren. “My mom is scared witless. She wants me to go home and check her house is safe every night before I go home to my wife. It’s not doing my marriage any good.”
“I’m sure it’s just a one off,” Wren assured him.
Sheriff Rob Fisher was the next person to enter the interview room along with her cousin, Reba King. Reba always looked permanently harassed. Her lavender pant suit was creased and her ginger hair was tied back in a pony tail. She had a pile of papers in her arms which she flung haphazardly onto the table, disturbing the cat, who jumped onto Wick’s lap. Cats always loved her father.
“Uncle Wick,” said Reba, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “I’ve had such a busy morning. The twins have a cough and you know what children are like when they think they’re dying of some silly illness. How are you doing?”
“I’m being accused of murder,” he stated.
She sighed and sat down next to him. She patted the cat briefly before turning to the sheriff and Keegan. Reba was all business now, as sharp as an eagle. She was known as The Terror in the courtroom.
“You can begin,” Reba declared.
Wren grinned. Reba would get the truth out of her father and they’d be out of here in time for lunch. She just fancied a burger and fries.
“Warwick King, where were you between 11pm and 12am the night before last?” Sheriff Fisher asked casually.
“No comment,” said Wick.
“You had to have been somewhere. Surely you can remember?”
“No comment.”
Reba sighed and whispered something in Wick’s ear. He looked at her tersely and she nodded. He took a deep breath, as if ready to reveal something of major importance. Wren felt her heart skip. Was her dad really going to confess to murder? Did she really not know the man at all?
“No comment,” Wick said again.
Reba said impatiently, “Now Uncle Wick...”
“This is my life we’re talking about here,” shouted Wick. “I’m sticking to this and you can’t do anything about it.”
“You’re not going to tell me how your fingerprints and DNA got all over the inside of the coffee shop, on places where they shouldn’t have been?” Keegan asked, talking for the first time since the interview started. “Maybe you touched them earlier in the day?”
“No comment,” said Wick.
Wren couldn’t take any more of this. She banged on the two-way mirror and shouted at her father to tell the truth, that he didn’t do anything. This was only making his guilt that much more obvious.
“Don’t do that,” said Deputy Stark.
“What’s he doing?” said Wren. “He obviously didn’t do this!”
“Then why not tell the truth?” said the deputy. “He definitely did it. He just doesn’t want to implicate himself.”
Wren felt like punching him. Her father was not guilty. She had to make him tell the truth, and so she banged on the two-way mirror again.
“Stop that!” shouted the deputy.
“Tell the truth!” Wren screamed. Everyone inside the interview room was looking at the mirror now. “Tell the truth!”
The mirror cracked, groaned like a coffin lid, and fell forward. It hit the hard concrete floor of the interview room, smashing instantly. Wren grinned sheepishly at the sheriff, who looked at her like she’d just burned down his house.
“Whoops,” she said.
FIONA SMILED POLITELY, grabbed Wren’s hand, and pulled her away. They needed to get out of there before anything else happened. She’d never been so embarrassed in all her life.
“No, no,” Wren called, rushing back. “Dad! Dad! Why are you saying this? Tell them the truth! Tell them where you were that night!”
Wick turned away from her, pretending she didn’t exist.
“Get them out of there Deputy Stark!” the sheriff cried. “Now!”
The deputy ushered them out of the side room, not accepting no for an answer. Wren
tried to sneak past him but Stark was a big man. His arms were as thick as tree trunks.
“I have to talk to him!” Wren protested. “I can get him to tell the truth!”
“Leave him be,” said Fiona. “He’ll tell the truth when he’s ready.”
Wren gave her a treacherous look before storming away. Fiona considered following her but knew it wouldn’t do any good. She needed time to let off some steam.
Why is Wick being like this? What is he hiding?
Fiona stood by the interview room door, looking inside. Wick caught her eye for a moment. Shame and embarrassment were written all over his face. He looked like a guilty man.
“No,” she whispered. “No...”
THE BENCH OUTSIDE THE police station was brick hard but Wren ignored it. She had to sit down and think things through. Her head was a mess. Half of her thought her father was guilty and the other didn’t know what to think. If she’d watched this police interview on a cop show she would’ve assumed the perp was guilty. Why should the fact that the suspect was her father change anything?
“Your father killed my husband!”
Wren looked up to find a vengeful Katie standing in front of her. The woman looked like she was on the verge of starting a fight.
I can take her.
“My father didn’t do this,” Wren protested, standing up to face the woman. “He’s innocent.”
Katie smirked. “You don’t sound too sure about that.”
The insolent, smarmy smile on the woman’s face made Wren want to punch her.
“You know what? I actually did question my father’s guilt back there. For a second, I thought he had to have done it, because why would he clam up? Now I know for sure he didn’t do it. That man is not a murderer. He’s hiding something but it’s not that he killed Garrett. I trust my father completely.” Wren hesitated before adding, “Well, not completely. He has his issues. But I know with every fiber of my being that he didn’t kill Garrett.”
“DNA evidence doesn’t lie.”
The vile woman was right about that. DNA evidence didn’t lie, yet there had to be a reason her father’s DNA was all over the coffee shop. Had he popped in to find her, or gone to see Garrett? Had he gone there to confront Jordan because he knew the man was sleeping with his daughter?
Katie pointed a finger towards Wren. “And stay away from my son. You’re old enough to be his mother.”
“What can I say?” said Wren. “He likes me.”
Katie took a deep breath and said, “I’ll see your psychopath father locked up for this.”
“Your words have less poison in them than your Botox filled lips.”
Wren crossed her legs and ignored the woman as she strode indignantly into the police station. She felt good. People like Katie got on her nerves. It was a pleasure to bring them tumbling down off their pedestal.
Perhaps Katie killed her husband? They do say the spouse is always the first to be suspected.
Fiona sat down beside her. “I have an idea.”
“We have to prove my father is innocent,” Wren declared.
“I know. Which is why we wait until Wick is put back in his cell and I flit us both in there so we can talk to him. Maybe he’ll be so shocked he’ll tell us the truth.”
“Can you flit while with another person?”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
Fiona took her hands. They were shaking with terror. This did not fill Wren with confidence.
“Are we going to appear in a wall?” Wren asked dryly.
Fiona shrugged. “At least it will be a painless death. Probably.”
Wren closed her eyes, waiting for something to happen. Would it hurt? Would her internal organs end up in the wrong place? Would she end up with three ears?
She tentatively opened an eye. They hadn’t moved.
“Have you got stage fright?” Wren asked.
“I can’t do it,” Fiona admitted. She was on the verge of tears. “I thought I could do it but I’m useless.”
“If you think you can’t do it then don’t even attempt it. I want to live.”
“I’ve failed you. You deserve a fully trained angel, not some trainee who can’t even flit properly.”
Wren pulled out a Kleenex from her pocket and handed it to Fiona. The angel blew her nose loudly.
“Why do you think he wouldn’t say anything?” Fiona asked. She tried to hand back her used Kleenex but Wren shook her head. “It was weird.”
“He didn’t murder Garrett, but he did do something,” Wren admitted. “I’ve seen that shame filled look on him many a time, and it usually has something to do with gambling.”
Fiona laughed. “Maybe he was gambling away his house at the time of the murder and was too ashamed to admit it.”
The angel stopped laughing when Wren gave her a grave look. Had they hit the nail on the head? Had her father done something really, really stupid due to his gambling habit?
Chapter 12
It took Wren less than a minute to find Benedict Treadaway on Google. He owned a Western themed bar a mile or so out of town on the way to the city. She must have passed it hundreds of times while driving down the freeway. She could detect barbecue sauce and the lilting tones of Dolly Parton serenading from a mile away. The place looked like fun.
“Are we ready for this?” Wren asked, nervous. “We’re heading into the lion’s den here.”
“Surely he can’t be that bad,” Fiona insisted.
“This man is terrifying. He’s a gangster of some sort. I wouldn’t be surprised if we got shot the minute we walked in.”
“You’re very pessimistic.”
Wren ignored her and headed for the door. She took a deep breath, put her hand on the handle, and pushed.
The place was almost empty. A few men in their early thirties were lounging by the bar, drinking. A Japanese Dolly Parton lookalike was on a small stage near the back, lip-synching to Nine to Five. There was an abandoned Bucking Bronco with a giant pink cowboy hat on its head. It was all very normal.
“What can I do you for?” someone asked.
It was a man dressed as Reba McIntyre. He looked fabulous.
“Is this a drag bar?” Wren asked.
“You’re not here to spout Bible verses and tell us we’re going to hell, are you?” the drag queen asked. “If you are, let me sit down first. These heels are killing me.”
Wren turned to Fiona, only to find her wandering off to listen to the Dolly impersonator. The angel was finding the whole concept of drag highly amusing. Wren had watched Drag Race for years and been to many drag shows with Keegan. She’d seen it all.
“You’re Wick’s daughter.” The drag queen smiled and said, “I’m Bieber McIntyre, but you might know me as Benedict Treadaway. I own The Good, the Bad, and the Fabulous.”
Wren squinted her eyes, trying to find the imposing muscle man gangster under the dress, fake boobs, make-up and wig. He was there, but barely. She couldn’t hide the fact of how astonished she was. He made a pretty good woman.
He looks better than me in a dress.
“You look good,” Wren admitted.
Benedict bowed. “Thank you. I know.”
Now that the pleasantries were over it was time for business.
“My father is in jail,” said Wren. She tried to use her intimidating voice. “What did you make him do?”
“What do you mean?” Benedict asked. “What’s happened to Wick?”
They sat down at a table by themselves. Benedict ordered them two glasses of water from a Shania Twain lookalike. He smiled and crossed his legs, revealing a pair of white lace panties.
He’s tucked...
Wren explained about her father’s incarceration and the murder of Garrett. Benedict’s shock was so complete he pulled his wig off.
“Wick isn’t a murderer,” said Benedict. “He’s an idiotic gambler who won’t take no for answer, but he isn’t a murderer. Stupid man.”
“So, you didn�
�t have him murder Garrett to settle his debt?” Wren demanded.
This man didn’t scare her, not when he was wearing lipstick and fake lashes.
“I run a secret card game out back every night,” he admitted. “I’m not in the habit of having people killed.”
“What happens when people can’t afford to pay their debts?” Wren asked.
He fished inside the pocket on his dress and took out a cellphone. He placed it on the table.
“This phone has my accounts on it,” he explained. “If someone can’t pay what they owe I set up a payment scheme. People usually pay eventually. I may look tall and imposing, and I can act scary when I want, but I’m a pacifist. Usually just playing the role of a hard man is enough.”
“Dad said he was going to pay you back.”
“He obviously can’t now.”
“And you’re not going to have him killed?”
The drinks arrived. Wren drank hers down in one gulp. She was still feeling a little nervous.
“Do you know how he was going to pay you back?” Wren asked.
Benedict shrugged. “Beats me, but...”
“But what?”
“You should talk to your mother about it. I only know what I’ve pieced together from the bits Wick has told me over the years. You probably wouldn’t believe me anyway unless it came straight from the horse’s mouth.”
Wren was about to inquire further when Benedict, or Bieber McIntyre as she was known, walked away to serve another customer. Fiona was standing in front of the stage, smiling and clapping along to Dolly Parton. She was having the time of her life, oblivious to anything else.
What has my mother got to do with this?
“Drag is so much fun!” Fiona declared, rushing over to her like an excited schoolgirl. “We have to come back here again!”
“They have drag in Heaven?” Wren asked.
“Of course they have drag in Heaven! It would be hell without it.”
Wren was about to suggest they leave when her phone rang. She answered it without looking who the caller was. Big mistake.