by Sandi Scott
9
Ashley bit back a quick reply and waited for Moonbeam to continue.
“That’s why he never wanted to get married. He was already married to another woman!” Moonbeam shook her head. “And this whole time I thought it was me he loved. Only me.”
Ashley paused for a moment. When Moonbeam kept staring at her, Ashley said, “Do you think that somehow the other woman found out and killed him?”
Moonbeam shook her head. “I don’t know. I really don’t know. Like I told you, Sparrow had lots of plots going on. I couldn’t keep track of them all.” She sighed heavily before continuing, “I can tell you one thing, though—whoever did it, they were a planner.”
“How so?” Ashley asked.
“Whoever let the air out of the tire knew that Sparrow wouldn’t be able to change the tire right away. He had to stay with the booth. He’s better at selling things than I am. After a while, I just start shoving the money in the pouch and not really keeping track of where we are or how much change I’ve given out. And they knew that I’m not strong enough to change the tire.”
She lifted one of her arms, showing its wiry strength. Ashley had changed more than one tire in her lifetime. Moonbeam was strong enough; VW tires weren’t that hard to change.
Moonbeam concluded, “So the murderer must have known that Sparrow would have to go out to his van after all the vendors were closed for the night to change the tire.” She leaned closer to Ashley. “It had to be someone pretty tricky to figure out all that.”
Moonbeam might be right, Ashley realized. If someone had let the air out of the tire, and it hadn’t just gone flat, then this might be a case of premeditated murder.
“Are you sure someone let the air out of the tire?”
“Oh, yes,” Moonbeam said. “That was our newest tire. It was in good condition. It might have blown up if we ran over a nail, but it wouldn’t have just gone flat. And when I sneaked over to look at it yesterday… it was slashed.”
That meant that whoever the killer was, it had to be someone who was smart enough to plan ahead and make sure Sparrow had been right where they wanted him—and at a time when they wanted him there. It had to be someone familiar with the festival, who knew that Sparrow wouldn’t have time to change the VW tire until after the festival had closed for the night.
“So, I think that whoever the killer was, they slashed the tire, then came back with a spare tire iron, like a good one that would be easier to use,” Moonbeam said.
“What’s wrong with your tire iron?”
“Oh, it was a real cheap one. If someone had hit Sparrow over the head with it, his thick skull would have broken the tire iron!” She giggled. “He was real hardheaded.”
“I see,” Ashley said.
“Plus, after Detective Luna bagged it up for evidence… he still kept asking me if I had another tire iron, or if I knew where another one was. If Sparrow had been killed with his own tire iron, I think they would have stopped looking. But when I asked the detective about that, he didn’t seem to be listening to me.”
Ashley rolled her eyes. “I’m not surprised. He never listens to me, either.” She looked to Moonbeam for a shared laugh but caught her looking across the park, watching something intently. Ashley looked up and saw a thin man walking toward them. As he drew closer, Ashley found herself trying to figure out how she knew him.
Suddenly, without warning, the man changed course and made a hard-right-angle turn away from the two women. As he turned quickly, a few thick strands of hair flew out and Ashley recognized him—he was the dreadlocked man who had warned Sparrow about the flat tire. That was odd. Had Moonbeam somehow signaled to him not to come over? Was it just a coincidence? What was he doing here?
Ashley wanted to see where he was going, so she said she was starving and offered to come back with something to eat later.
“Oh, no, honey,” Moonbeam said, with a twinkle in her eye. “I’m not broke or homeless. I don’t need charity. Sparrow didn’t leave me poor. We liked living this way… I’m out here mourning for a man I loved, even when he wasn’t the best. I’m not worried about where my next meal is coming from.”
“Good,” Ashley said firmly, even as she wondered where a traveling seller of inexpensive hemp products was really getting his money from. “I’m glad I don’t have to worry about you.”
She and Dizzy said their goodbyes and headed away across the park, trying to see where the man had gone, but he was nowhere in sight. While they walked back to the car, Ashley’s mind was racing. She had not been able to find any physical evidence, and talking to Moonbeam opened up more questions than had been answered.
Was Moonbeam the killer? On paper, Moonbeam was still a strong suspect. Sparrow was a deadbeat who gave her more than enough reasons to make her want him dead: he was cruel to her, hit her, cheated on her. Yet the local police clearly hadn’t found enough evidence to charge her, or she wouldn’t be freely walking around the playground.
Was it Sparrow who had stolen from Ashley?
* * *
That night it was time for her and Ryan’s date at Big Marcel’s.
The restaurant was in an old brick building along Highway 35 as it ran through Bay City. It was almost seven thirty, and the sky had softened a little, with lacy white clouds coming up to cover the western half of the sky.
They got a table near the front windows facing the street and ordered drinks and dinner. Ryan ordered a beer and a Hatch chili burger with an egg and what sounded like an excessive amount of bacon. Ashley waffled between the pepper steak and an ahi tuna plate. She surprised herself by ordering a Monte Cristo with sweet potato fries and a huge glass of white Riesling.
“Fancy,” she announced.
“Delicious,” Ryan said. “That’s all that matters.”
“The company is nice, too,” she said.
“That it is.”
The two of them held hands across the table. Ashley found herself tightening her grip on Ryan’s warm, protective hand. When she’d been with her ex-boyfriend, Serge, he had made her feel like the entire world revolved around her. It was exhilarating, but it had always made her feel self-conscious. Who was this magnificent woman that Serge supposedly worshiped, along with the ground that she walked on? Who was this goddess that he had put up on a pedestal?
Whoever she was, she was beautiful and perfect, and Ashley had never met her. She had constantly felt like she was putting on a show for Serge, trying to live up to his image of her.
Then that had all come crashing down around her in Paris when she had found out that he had been using her as a cover for illegal hacking operations. When the cops narrowed in on the suspect who had stolen millions of dollars, the signs had all pointed toward her.
Then Serge tried to convince her to say that she had done it.
He had expected her to take the blame for him. She would only be in French prison for a few months, he’d said—they always took it easy on women, especially beautiful women like her.
She’d hung up on him and given the police all the information she’d had on him, their projects, and the company they were supposedly working for but instead had been robbing blind.
Serge had been a con man. And instead of bringing his partner in on the con, he had used her from day one. She was a better hacker than he was; she had been the reason that he’d been able to pull his plans off at all. But she had been so naïve. She had wanted to show off to Serge… it hadn’t even occurred to her that he might be lying to her about the company hiring them in the first place.
It had taken her a long time to want to touch a computer again. It had taken her an even longer time to realize that Serge had never thought she was perfect, or wonderful, or that she deserved to have the world revolve around her. She was just easier to manipulate that way.
“What’s on your mind?” Ryan asked.
“Do you think I’m perfect?” she asked.
He snorted.
It was silly, but she felt tears
welling up in her eyes, and her hand started to shake. “Thank you.” She grabbed her napkin and dabbed at her eyes before she could smear what little makeup she’d put on for the night.
Ryan opened his mouth to say something, then hesitated. Their server, a small man who moved like a dancer, brought their drinks and asked them if they needed anything else for the moment. It felt like a horrible intrusion. When the server left, Ryan immediately grabbed his beer glass and took a sip.
“You were about to say something,” Ashley said.
“I, uh… how’s the case coming?” he said. “I hope you’re being careful.”
Ashley smiled. “Thank you for asking. For now, most of the action is in my head. I just can’t seem to figure out what’s bugging me about Moonbeam.”
“Sparrow Soulbrother’s girlfriend, right?”
“Yes,” Ashley said. “She has every reason to want that loser dead, more reasons than anyone else, but I saw her at the park today and I think she is actually mourning him.”
“Love is strange,” Ryan said.
“Love doesn’t give black eyes,” Ashley said. “And hers hasn’t faded at all. I talked to her at the park this morning, and she had some interesting ideas about why the tire was flat on Sparrow’s van. It makes me wonder if maybe she hired someone else to get the job done.”
“Does a woman like Moonbeam even know someone who could do that?”
“Well, I think we all know someone who knows someone who knows someone who could get the job done if our lives depended on it. Don’t you?”
Ryan smiled a bit, and then his eyes squinted and drifted up to the ceiling, lost in thought. After nearly a minute of silence, he smiled broadly. “Maybe,” he admitted. “I do have a cousin who hangs with some shady characters that might be one of those someones who just might be able to get something like a murder done. Or maybe she just wanted to send Sparrow a message and things went badly.”
“Anything is possible,” said Ashley. “It is even possible that Moonbeam might be hanging with shady characters herself. I smelled marijuana on her today when I saw her at the park, and while I know she’s been through a lot, there was no mistaking her glassy eyes.”
“Drugs?” Ryan asked.
“Well, at least pot. She as much as admitted it to me.” Ashley said.
“That’s interesting,” said Ryan. “All weekend, the other volunteers and I were catching whiffs here and there. Then on the morning of the murder, Gordon called us all in for a meeting to tell us to be on the lookout for drug deals. He had reason to believe that one of the vendors was selling the stuff from their booth.”
“Drug deals!” laughed Ashley. “How would you even know what they look like? It’s not like that was part of the volunteer training you guys got, was it?”
“It’s actually not too hard to spot. Two people who know each other well enough to exchange a small package for some cash without saying much and without drawing much attention to themselves.”
“Oh my,” said Ashley. “That’s it! That’s what Betty was doing!”
“You mean Betty from the food cart? The Betty you’re supposed to be working with?”
“Yes. Twice I saw her get Thank You bags from someone and then give them a food container in exchange.”
“Isn’t that what you did all weekend too?” Ryan asked.
“Well, yes. Except my customers handed me cash—not Thank You bags. And most people open their food right away from a food cart, either to add condiments or check that everything is there or, in my case, because they can’t wait another moment to eat! Neither of the people I saw exchange packages with Betty did more than peek in the container and, come to think of it, didn’t grab any utensils or napkins.”
“Hmmm. That certainly sounds like it might fit the description,” said Ryan. “Betty seems so nice, though. I’m sort of surprised. Who were the people doing the exchanges with her?”
“Moonbeam, for one. And some young white guy that I kept seeing. In fact, I saw him at the park today. It was odd. It was like he was coming over to talk to Moonbeam, but then, without any warning, he totally changed the direction he was walking and was gone.”
“Let’s see,” said Ryan. “Exchanges that are close, but not close enough to food purchases. A near confession from Moonbeam. And suspicious behavior. It makes sense. They could be the ones selling the drugs.”
“Maybe that’s why Sparrow got killed,” said Ashley. “Maybe it had to do with the drugs somehow?”
Ryan took a long gulp of beer, frowning. Then he said, “Ash. I know you don’t like me to tell you what to do, but this thing is getting complicated. A possible out-of-town drug ring that murdered a man violently? That scares me. And with what we suspect now, I’m worried about you doing this event with Betty.”
Ashley took a deep breath, smiled, and said, “I know you’re worried about me, and that’s sweet. But I’ll be fine. The event with Betty is a huge party, with a hundred guests right there on the property. If something were going to happen, it wouldn’t be there. I think it’ll be a chance for me to gather some more information. And, if it makes you feel any better, I can bring Dizzy.”
“Ashley, you know I love that mutt, but she would do absolutely nothing to make me feel better.”
Ashley laughed and picked up a quarter of her Monte Cristo, dunked it into the small dish of raspberry jam on her plate, and ate it with her hands, chasing it down with a sip of wine. “I guess Dizzy doesn’t come off as the fiercest dog, but she’s a great sleuth. I feel terrible for abandoning her all weekend. Even though she was with me most of the day today, I was completely distracted.”
He chuckled. “How did talking to the credit union about the theft this weekend go?”
She shook her head. “It’s complicated.”
10
“Tell me,” Ryan invited.
She explained about the different patterns in the thefts—hers versus everyone else’s that weekend. “The manager said that he was turning the case over to an investigative team as a separate case. And he said that it was going to take more time.”
The more she talked about it, the more annoyed and even angry she felt. She wanted to find out who had run through those extra charges and ripped her off. She was tired of wondering who she could trust and who she couldn’t.
Ryan said, “How much more time? Did he say?”
She shook her head. “It’s not a huge loss, but I’ve being trying to put every extra dollar into the food truck fund with Patty. I suppose I need to be patient. I saw Coyote as I was leaving the manager’s office, and he was really upset too, something about having to pay back the debt from accounts in his name that he hadn’t opened.”
“You know what,” Ryan said. “You are not hearing me say any of this, but I’m going to see if some of my old hacking tricks might be able to get me some insight about what is going on.”
“Thank you, but no. It’s just a minor setback, and I wouldn’t want you getting caught over something like this,” she said. “I’m still not sure if the thefts and murder are linked. If other people were getting ripped off, maybe Sparrow was into bigger theft and stole from the wrong person. It could be dangerous.”
He raised an eyebrow. “So, it’s perfectly safe for you to get involved, but not me?”
She rolled her eyes. He was such a smartass.
He said, “It’s okay. I’m not going to do anything, just guess a few passwords and look around. But you didn’t hear any of this from me, right?”
“Hear what?” Ashley smiled.
He put down his sandwich and took her hand. His hand was a little greasy from all the butter soaking the toasted bread, but it had been a messy kind of day.
A little rush of heat ran up her spine at the touch of his hand.
* * *
When Ryan dropped her off at her house, she half expected him to ask if he could come in for a while—or at least to get out of the car and kiss her.
But it was not to be. He was qui
et on the way home, thoughtful, really. And when he pulled up at the house, it was like he had forgotten they were dating. The past few weeks seemed to have melted away, and they were back to their former friendship without ever having moved forward. Old habits took over.
“Have a great night,” he said cheerfully, with a neutral smile on his face.
“I will,” she said, opening the door and sliding out. She waved at him, then closed the door and dug around in her pocket for her keys. He waited until she had unlocked the door and waved again. He waved back and she went inside the house and turned the lights on in the kitchen.
Dizzy gave a short, questioning bark from inside her kennel.
“What is going on, Dizzy?” she said and turned back toward the door. She looked out of a side panel of glass and saw Ryan still sitting in his car, looking as puzzled as she felt. Then he backed out of her driveway and drove off, obviously shaking his head.
For a second Ashley didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. They’d been following the same routine for years, even though there had been a two-year gap in the middle while she was with Serge in Paris and then studying as a pastry chef.
The whole time, he’d been smiling and waving and supporting her every move with the same look on his face.
He must have been hiding his feelings for a long time.
She watched at the window until his taillights disappeared, then leaned her back against the door. “Oh, Dizzy. I’m an idiot.”
Dizzy shook herself all over, making Ashley laugh. “What’s that, Dizzy? Do you know of a way to make it up to him? Will giving Dizzy a treat make it all better?”
Dizzy clicked her jaws together and swished her tail on the floor of the kennel.
Ashley let her out and gave her two peanut butter treats. The two of them watched David Suchet drink cocoa and twirl his mustache as Poirot. “Why must the English conceal even their most impeccable emotions?” he asked as the Orient Express rolled through Europe and then into her sleep.