by C Farren
“You finally answered!” declared Cedric. He sounded like the man who’d found a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. “I’m so happy to hear from you. I’ve been thinking about you so much.”
Do I have to put a restraining order out on you?
“I don’t really have time for this,” said Wren. “You know my dad’s been arrested for murder?”
“I heard. The whole town is talking about it. I’m really sorry. I just thought you might want some help. My brother’s a lawyer in New York. I know you’ll probably go with Reba but Jackson is tough, and his firm could do this for you pro bono.”
Wren was inclined to take up the offer. Jackson was one of the few success stories of Snowflake Bay. Everyone knew about the top law firm he was a partner in and the expensive condo he lived in. He was also known to be quite vicious in the courtroom. Would her father fare better if he had a shark like Jackson on his side? If it meant her father’s freedom, then she’d let Reba go in a heartbeat.
“That would be kind of you if you could get Jackson in,” said Wren, actually glad for Cedric’s help. “It means a lot.”
“We could discuss it further over a late lunch,” Cedric suggested.
Ugh. I’d rather Dad go to jail. ...Free meal?
“Fine,” said Wren, conceding defeat. She didn’t feel like moving, and the barbecue in here smelled delicious. “Do you know where the ‘The Good, the Bad, and the Fabulous’ bar is?”
Cedric went quiet.
“Hello?” said Wren. “Are you still there?”
“Let’s meet there tomorrow,” Cedric answered quietly. “Same time tomorrow?”
“Fine,” said Wren. “See you then.”
Wren looked up to tell Fiona about the call only to find her angel gone. She was dancing on the stage with Dolly, wearing her own gigantic 1980s blonde wig that teetered precariously on her tiny head.
“Why am I surrounded by weirdos?” Wren muttered.
Chapter 13
It took all the courage Wren had in her body to knock on her parents’ door. She was scared she was going to find her mother’s lover answering again. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to scrub that sight from her mind.
Please don’t be Anthony...
Dot opened the door. Her eyes were puffy were crying. She was in her yellow dressing gown and her hair was tied back in a bun. She looked like death warmed up.
“Oh Mum,” said Wren, pulling her in for a hug.
It took a good ten minutes for Dot to calm down, plus another hug and a cup of green tea. Her mother had never been this distressed before. It was a strange experience, seeing someone who’d been so strong all her life act so different.
“Is this karma?” Dot wailed.
They were sat on the back porch on a swing bench. They had their knees covered with a thick woolen blanket to keep out the Fall chill. Dot and Wick’s border collie, Ben, was running around the garden chasing shadows.
“What do you mean?” Wren asked.
She wished Fiona hadn’t gone back to the house. She might have been able to tell her whether karma actually existed.
“Is my affair with Anthony causing all this trouble with Wick?” her mom asked. “Is it karma for my indiscretions?”
Wren sighed. “And what about Dad’s indiscretions? If anybody’s karma is to blame, then it’s his. Not that I believe in any of that.”
“I do love Wick so much. I just wish...I just wish he wouldn’t put his gambling ahead of us.”
Dot leaned into Wren’s shoulder, continuing to cry. Now was the perfect time to ask her mother about what Benedict had hinted at.
“Do you know a man called Benedict Treadaway?” Wren asked.
“He owns a drag bar,” said her mom. “I went there for a bachelorette party once.”
“I don’t mean Benedict Treadaway the drag queen. I mean Benedict Treadaway the illegal gambler.”
Dot took a deep breath. “Oh.”
She stood, letting the blanket fall to the floor. Dot looked away from her, as if trying to hide the emotions on her face.
“Dad also said he had a way to pay him back,” Wren went on. “And then all of a sudden he’s arrested for Garrett’s murder.”
“Your father is not a murderer,” Dot insisted. She turned back to her daughter, her eyes wide. “But he was a highly renowned thief in his day. So was I.” She grinned mischievously. “We were seventeen, childhood sweethearts. We skipped Snowflake Bay to go and live in Boston because we wanted to be independent. It wasn’t long until we got involved with this gang and pretty soon we were running the show. Nothing petty like simple burglary, but high-end stuff. We stole from the rich and gave to ourselves. It was such a turn on.” She smiled again. “Those were magical days. Then we got too ahead of ourselves and tried to rob a gold exchange. We got caught almost straight away and sentenced to twenty years in prison.”
“You went to jail?”
“We both got parole after ten years and got married the day we were released. You were conceived that very night. The day after we moved back to Snowflake Bay to be near the rest of the family. We’ve been happy-ish ever since.”
This was the most convoluted story that Wren had ever heard, and yet it made sense. Her parents were thieves.
“Are you shocked?” Dot asked. “I’d be shocked.”
“I’m very shocked,” Wren admitted. “And I’ll process it all with a tub of ice cream later. But I don’t see what this has to do with Dad and Benedict Treadaway.”
“This is only a guess, but...”
It all slotted together like the pieces of a puzzle. Wren knew what was going on, or at least part of it. The realization didn’t make her feel any better. Far from it.
“Dad is behind the spate of burglaries in Snowflake Bay,” said Wren. “He’s turned back to his old life of crime to pay back Benedict.”
Dot didn’t answer her.
“That’s why his fingerprints and DNA are all over the coffee shop, especially the cash register. He was robbing the place. He must’ve come across Garrett, thinking the place was empty, and then he...” Wren shook her head. “No. Dad didn’t kill him. He’d never resort to murder, not even if he was desperate to cover up his tracks.”
She didn’t like the fact that her father was robbing from his own town, but it was better than murder. Just.
“Does Dad have his own desk or drawer or special place in the house?” Wren asked. “Maybe we can find something to confirm whether he really has gone back to his old ways.”
“He loves to sit in his garden shed and watch football,” said Dot. She smiled. “He was always so happy whenever he got to spend time alone.”
The shed was large, made from sturdy wood. Inside was a ratty old couch and a 50-inch flat screen TV. There was gardening equipment hooked onto one of the walls. They looked unused.
Where would he hide something?
There were several drawers. Inside she found old copies of TV Guide and ancient betting slips. On the shelves were just old tins of paint, bottles of turpentine and her father’s cooking trophies from the local bake-offs they had at the town hall. The man loved baking.
“I can’t find a thing,” said Dot. She sat down on the sofa. “This is quite comfy. No wonder he likes it in here.”
Wren walked across to join her mother, the boards creaking under her. Suspicious, she kneeled down on the floor.
An idea came to her. “This would be a cliché, but they are clichés for a reason.”
She grabbed a screwdriver from the rack on the wall. She pried open the wooden board with ease.
Too easy, almost as if it had been opened recently.
“Bingo,” Wren declared.
They pulled out everything from under the floorboard and placed it in a pile on the couch. It was damning evidence of her father’s recent foray back into burglary – lock picking kit; black balaclava; bundles of money; bags of gold and silver jewelry. There was even a pack of Lotto scratch cards.
It took them a while to count the money. There was at least fifty grand, all in various used notes.
“We can pay off Benedict with this,” said Wren.
“It’s stolen money,” Dot insisted crossly. “It’s not right.”
“You really don’t have the high ground here.”
“Your father stole from local businesses, from friends, from people we see every day when we walk about town. I’m not sure I could look any of them in the face ever again if we didn’t find some way to return this money.”
She knew her mom was right. Doing the right thing was better than profiting from a crime. Besides, she trusted Benedict not to murder her father for not paying him. She wasn’t quite sure why but she trusted him. Maybe it was the high heels?
Wren made a decision. “Let me handle this.”
Chapter 14
“What’s taking them so long?”
Wren and Dot were hiding behind a large bush in the park. They’d placed an anonymous call to the police and told them they’d leave the stolen money and merchandise underneath the bench nearest the bandstand. The police had yet to turn up, and it had been an hour. She was pretty sure if the police didn’t claim it then someone else would. Wren would wrestle whoever tried to grab the bag to the ground if need be.
“Perhaps they’re busy,” Dot suggested.
“This murder really threw them,” said Wren. “Maybe you’re right.”
“They’re not used to dealing with anything more serious than a missing rabbit.”
“Keegan has a sharp mind. I know he can do this.”
Someone tapped on Wren’s shoulder.
“I thought I recognized your voice,” said Keegan. It sounded like a reprimand. “You should’ve downloaded one of those voice changing apps.”
Wren blushed. “Keegan...”
“Let’s sit down and you can tell me everything.”
Dot shrugged. The game was up.
JUNIPER STUDIED THE living room with revulsion and shook her head.
“I don’t like it,” the head angel admitted. “Wren has very poor taste.”
Fiona crossed her arms, trying not to scowl or show she was annoyed. When she’d received the telepathic summons from Juniper, she became very frustrated. The murder case was starting to get interesting and she hated to miss out on anything. Besides, it was way more fun than being an angel life coach.
Did I really think that?
“What brings you to visit?” Fiona asked. “I’m kind of busy.”
“I had work to do on Earth and decided to pop in and see how you’re doing.” Juniper wiped her finger across the tip of a shelf. It came away caked in dust. “You seemed to be in quite the panic when you last visited.”
“I got over it,” said Fiona. “You know what I’m like! I worried over nothing.”
Juniper gave her a look that spoke volumes. Fiona cleared her throat and hurried into the kitchen, her boss following. She started to fill the kettle.
“Tea?” Fiona asked.
“Would you like to be transferred to another case?” Juniper inquired. “Is that why you’re acting so odd?”
“No.” She sighed heavily. “It’s not that.”
“I may have a reputation as a fearsome angel, but I do care. Speak to me.”
Fiona leaned against the kitchen counter as the kettle boiled.
“I found myself enjoying things down here too much,” Fiona admitted. She lingered a little. “And then I realized that it could be over at any time. As soon as Wren sorts her life out I’ll be sent back to Heaven.”
Juniper nodded. “You don’t want to leave her.”
“It’s not just her. It’s everything here, in this town. She has a family and friends and a place to live that’s special. I had none of that.” She sighed again. “I was brought up in Atlanta by a rubbish dad and escaped by marrying the first man who took an interest in me. I thought things would change, but Richie was always working. So, I tried nursing. That was where I felt I came into my own! I loved helping people. It gave me a purpose. And then when I fell pregnant...”
“Raking up the past is bad for an angel. It does you no good. I was burned to death as a witch. If I kept thinking about that time, I’d end up insane, and you know what happens to insane angels.”
Fiona gulped. She did know what happened to insane angels. They became demons.
“Should I just get on with my job, not think of the past, and be a good girl?” Fiona asked.
“Nobody’s saying you have to stop enjoying your job, but you have to slightly detach yourself from it. I know it’s hard, especially considering who Wren is, but it’s the best thing to do.”
The kettle started to whistle just as Juniper flitted away. Fiona realized the angel was absolutely right. She had to be professional about this. It was just a job, nothing more. If she’d become attached to every patient she’d had when she was a nurse it would’ve driven her mad. Wren was just another client.
But she’s not, is she?
KEEGAN NODDED, TAKING it all in without protest. He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t make any disappointed faces. He just listened.
“I could arrest you for this,” he told them.
“You already know you won’t,” Dot insisted. “Otherwise we’d be in handcuffs right about now.”
“Don’t tempt me,” said Keegan.
Wren felt like everyone passing by was watching them, looking for the bag of money and stolen items. It reminded her of the time she was in the school Nativity play and had forgotten her lines.
“Why are you being so kind?” Wren asked.
“You need to put this stuff back under the shed and wait for your father to confess,” Keegan explained. “Otherwise he may go down for murder.”
“Except he’ll go down for burglary instead, and with his criminal record he could go down for a long time!” Dot’s face was red, her lips quivering. “I will not let that happen!”
“He could die of old age in prison if he gets life for murder,” Keegan reminded them. “Would you prefer that?”
Dot’s rage was boiling over, and Keegan’s understanding and patience was being sorely tested. She knew she had to be the middle ground here. She could sort this.
“We’ll put the money and the valuables back under the shed,” said Wren. It was the sensible thing to do, but it still felt like a failed plan. “But let me talk to my dad. I can convince him to tell the truth.”
“I suppose I could allow that,” Keegan conceded.
“Hmm.” Dot eyed Keegan suspiciously. “I’ve never trusted a cop.”
Wren slapped her mother’s hand. She was being rude.
“Do you truly believe Dad didn’t do this?” Wren asked him. “I want to know you believe him.”
“I know your father really well. He was my mentor when I was kid and I joined the Snowflake Bay Amateur Dramatics Society. He’s not a killer.”
Something passed over Keegan’s face. Wren was sure he was keeping something hidden from them.
“Mom, go home,” said Wren. “Keegan and I can take care of this.”
Dot nodded. “I think I need a nap anyway. All this is really making me tired.” Her mother walked away, leaving the two of them alone.
“You already knew about my parents and their pasts,” Wren stated.
Keegan grinned. “I can’t keep anything hidden from you. Yeah, I already knew. Wick told me when I was fifteen. I was confused about who I was, and he offered up a secret to try and make me open up.”
“Dad knew you were gay all the way back then?”
“He was the only person I had to confide in.”
Wren had always known her father and Keegan were close, but this was something different. Wick had been Keegan’s confidante for nearly twenty years.
Dad knew Keegan was gay when I went on that date with him.
“I found Wick’s stash when I was searching his property,” Keegan admitted. “I stopped the other deputies from searching in the shed.
I couldn’t let them find it. Now I realize how stupid that was. If they’d found it Wick would’ve had to confess to the burglary and he wouldn’t be up for murder.”
“He was at the scene of the crime. The police would only have his word that he didn’t kill Garrett.”
“I know that.”
Wren managed a smile and leaned into Keegan’s shoulder.
“This is a right mess,” she admitted. It was so convoluted she almost smiled. “Whatever we do, Dad will end up in prison, and we can’t prove he didn’t kill Garrett.”
“Then we prove it,” said Keegan. “I prove it.”
They talked a little more about how hopeless it was. There were no CCTV cameras in the shop. Wick’s fingerprints were the only ones on the murder weapon, the silver tips jar. Nobody had seen anybody else leave or enter the premises as Garrett’s time of death was late at night.
“Wait,” said Wren. She was appalled nobody had even considered this. “Dad’s fingerprints were the only fingerprints on the tips jar?”
“Yes,” Keegan answered. “That’s right.”
“That doesn’t make sense. I touched it that day. So did Jordan, Garrett and Aarna.”
“Garrett most likely cleaned it before he was murdered.”
Wren groaned. He was right. Then again, the real murderer could’ve cleaned it to cover up their own tracks. There was no way to be sure. They needed rock hard proof to prove her father’s innocence.
“I’m only at the beginning of this,” she admitted. “I can’t expect to solve it straight away.”
“You’re planning on solving this?” Keegan asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Maybe.”
She’d watched TV shows and read books about amateur sleuths before. She was a huge fan of Murder, She Wrote and the indomitable Jessica Fletcher. The local police never took the interference of meddling spinsters very lightly. Wren and Keegan may have been close friends, perhaps best friends, but she didn’t want to ruin things by causing him aggravation.
But if meant clearing my father of murder I’d annoy the hell out of him, friend or no friend. Family comes first.