by Wendy Byrne
"Sorry, I wanted to make sure I got them all." The woman gave me a handful of notes of various shapes and sizes.
"These can't be mine. You have the wrong person. I don't know anyone here."
"You must know someone. There's a man that's been checking on you every hour or so." She pointed toward the door. "Oh, there he is now." I glanced in the direction she pointed and spotted a guy in his early twenties followed by a woman with a camera in her hand. Before I could register what was going on, the woman raised her camera and clicked.
"I'm from the Winterset Gazette, and I'd like to know what happened today." The guy pulled out a notebook and began to jot down notes while the woman took my picture—over and over again—like I was a model on a photo shoot.
I glanced around, looking for a lifeline, but instead of helping, everyone at the hotel seemed to be staring as if clueless about what to do. I imagine this kind of thing didn't happen around here very often.
"I'm not sure I'm supposed to say anything. You need to talk to Detective Chaz Begay about the situation."
"But you found the body," he said as he continued to jot down notes, despite the fact I hadn't said anything. What could he possibly be writing? His annoying female partner continued to snap pictures while I tried not to fuss with my hair that had gone wonky about six hours ago. More of it was out of the ponytail than had been in there when I'd freshened up. At this point, I really didn't care how grungy I looked. I hated to think that I'd become a pro at this whole discovering-a-dead-body thing, but it felt like I might be on my way since his badgering didn't seem to faze me.
"I shouldn't be talking to you."
"That's what you see on TV, but reality is something different," he said throwing me a little shade with his look.
"I've had a long day, and I'd like to check with the police before I say anything." I walked away, and he ran ahead of me to block my path.
"Just one question for now." He didn't wait for me to respond. "Was the woman dead when you found her?"
Since I didn't think that would be a huge breach, I nodded. "Yes, but that's all I'm saying."
"I heard they already have a suspect. Gus Seibolt. Do you know anything about that?"
"Gus didn't do it." I put my hand over my mouth. Dang, I'd walked right into that. I guess I wasn't as ready for this as I'd thought.
"Is that your opinion, or does that come from the police?" The guy asked the question while the woman snapped her camera.
I made a face, and she snapped a pic of that, too. Great. I expected, after all the photos she'd taken, she'd select that one for the front page of the paper tomorrow. Luckily no one I knew would see it. And in another day, I'd be history in this town. I had confidence nothing this inconsequential would ever make it outside the confines of Winterset.
"You need to stop harassing me." I tried to walk as quickly as I could, but they kept up. If I had a little more energy, I might have run, but I couldn't manage to get my feet to move any faster than they were.
"Did you know Gus? Have you met him before today? Are you covering for him?"
I stopped in my tracks and put my hands on my hips. "I realize you're looking for a story where there is none, but I never met him before today, so that pretty much negates the whole idea I might be covering for him. Don't make up a story when there's nothing to say besides a good woman is dead. I suggest you try to solve that mystery and leave the drama reporting to somebody else."
"I sense some resistance from you."
"Gee, ya think…?" I pushed the elevator button and hoped it would come quick. If not, I'd drag my butt to the stairs and walk up all four flights, despite the fact that my whole body wanted a good soak in Viola's bathtub back in Inez more than I wanted to breathe. Okay, that was dramatic, but you get the picture.
"So I'm right. You're mad that Detective Begay is pushing Gus as a person of interest in this investigation."
"Detective Begay should do his investigation, and I'll do things my way. That's the deal as far as I'm concerned."
"You're looking into this yourself? I did some checking into you while I was waiting and saw that you solved a mystery that had something to do with your father. It seemed you outsmarted the police that time. I expect you're trying to do it this time as well. Am I right?" He muscled his way toward the elevator when the ping sounded. I believed he might actually try to follow me upstairs, in which case I'd scream for security despite my reticence at making a scene.
"I'm going to do what I came here to do and then go home. The detective will do his job, and I'll do mine. I'm an artist. Nothing more. Nothing less. Now if you don't mind, I need to get upstairs. As I said earlier—twice, I believe—I've had a rough day and you, frankly, are making it rougher."
"Are you doing an investigation into who killed Ms. Sutherland? Who do you think did it? Do you have any leads? Are you bringing your posse of senior citizens along with you? They're your secret weapon, aren't they? That's how you got it done last time."
The doors to the elevator closed as I slumped against the back, resisting the urge to slither to the floor in a heap. Gee, that went well.
Thank goodness I had reserved my own room at the hotel, although the ladies tried to talk me into sharing their suite. After today, I was in desperate need of alone time, even if it meant I might not be able to get to sleep. Between my first, and hopefully my only, run-in with paparazzi, I needed to decompress.
Before I got to my door, my phone pinged, signaling a text. I was afraid to look at first, worried that the crazy reporter somehow had gotten my phone number. But Viola's name lit the screen. Are you ready to join us in the suite for a little Murder, She Wrote and cards?
Rather than fill her in on my last few minutes, I texted back. I'm wiped. I'm going straight to bed. I doubted I could fall asleep that easily, especially since the visual of the gunshot wound to that poor woman's head was an ever-present memory I'd just as soon forget.
She responded. Don't you be afraid to give me a call if you have some trouble sleeping.
I sent her a thumbs-up emoji. I loved Viola as if she were my very own grandmother. While I didn't know my bio grandmother, as she and my mom had been estranged for as long as I could remember, Viola would be a ringer for a typecast grandmother in a made-for-TV movie.
I stepped inside my room, locked the door, and did a little happy dance for no other reason than I was alone. Just as I was about to toss all those slips of paper into the trash, I spotted a small note that had fluttered to the floor during my spectacular—if I do say so myself—impromptu dance.
When I unfolded it, the words blurred before my eyes.
I need your help. The police are looking for me, but I had nothing to do with Lori's death. Call me if you get a chance. Gus. 555-7181
Should I call now or wait until I have a bit of time to think about the situation? As the Mad Hatter would say to Alice, this whole thing was getting curiouser and curiouser.
CHAPTER FOUR
The ladies knocked on my door around seven in the morning. I pulled the pillow over my head, although I knew ignoring them wouldn't work.
"Just a minute," I called as I shuffled to the door and opened it up to a full-on Qs invasion. Over the last few months, I'd become somewhat accustomed to it—for the most part—but too little sleep and terrifying dreams about getting shot played havoc with my patience.
"We were heading out for breakfast. Are you interested in joining us?" Ramona asked.
"I'm still really tired. And I told Detective Chaz I'd check in with him today. How about if I meet you at the quilt show around noon or so?"
I'll admit, I lied about the whole Detective Chaz thing, but it wasn't outside the realm of possibilities that he'd want to talk to me. Viola looked at me in that way that made me believe she might be able to read my thoughts and knew I'd fibbed. I brushed the idea aside as I hated the thought of lying to my surrogate grandmother.
Physical and emotional exhaustion were causing my brain to refuse
to cooperate. In order to function, I needed a few more hours of sleep. After that, I could contemplate whether or not I should call Gus and/or check in with Detective Chaz and/or convince the Qs to leave this town and never look back. Involving them in my inner turmoil would only make matters worse.
"You didn't get much sleep last night, did you?" Viola held my face in her hands as she smiled and looked into my eyes. Compassion, understanding, as well as a connection that had nothing to do with biology and everything to do with acceptance, were reflected in her gaze. "Girl, you look exhausted. You're running yourself ragged."
The warmth of her touch emboldened me in more ways than I could count since the day we'd met. Somehow, she knew me better than my own mother had and welcomed me, foibles and all. "Rough night. I'll go back to bed and meet you there."
"I expect some people will get there early after they hear about the dead body. We'll probably draw a big crowd, too," Alice added. "There are some weirdoes out there."
I nodded, since her fascination with dead people made me question why she threw shade at others. Then again, I expected as much from this crew. Maybe the closer a person got to death, the more intrigued they became about the subject.
"Since it doesn't open until three, I'll still have plenty of time to do some re-arranging of the exhibits if I have to. I'll meet you there around twelve, and we can go somewhere for lunch afterward." That would give me enough time to sleep and maybe call Gus.
"I heard they have a great assortment of sweets at the breakfast bar downstairs," Ramona said. That's all the incentive the ladies needed to leave me alone once again. Blissful peace.
I wasn't lying when I said I had a hard time sleeping. The whole experience yesterday was like a Bruce Willis action film on steroids. When had my life turned into one of those Die Hard movies? And when would it stop?
In order to put an end to this, I needed to get to the bottom of it ASAP. Without thinking about it, I dialed the number Gus had left.
"Hello." His voice sounded tentative as if he wasn't sure he should answer.
I hesitated a second before the words finally came out. "Gus, this is Izzy."
"Thank God you called. The police want to talk to me, but I'm scared. Nobody believes an ex-con. Lori was the only person in town who stood by me after the accident. She convinced me I wasn't a loser." He sucked in a shaky breath. "I'll never survive if I go back to prison, especially for something I didn't do." It sounded like he was close to tears as his voice trembled.
"Maybe if you talked to Detective Begay, you could straighten it all out."
"It doesn't work that way around here. This is a town where everyone judges you by your past. There's no way I can get a fair shot at proving my innocence. I'm begging you. You've got to help me. You're my last hope."
His words endeared me as I'd experienced something similar in New York during my divorce. I needed an ally then like Gus needed one now.
"I'm not sure what I can do, Gus." I chewed my lip trying to decide if I wanted to dip my toes into this mess or jump in full-steam ahead. Of course, I didn't do anything halfway. "How about if I go with you and talk to Detective Begay?"
"You don't understand what it's like to be me. I had my fate sealed long ago as the town drunk. Nobody trusts me, and nobody believes me. Well, except for you. You've got to find a way to help me. You're my only hope. Please don't give up on me like everyone else has."
I gulped. "How about you think about likely suspects, and we can talk later?"
"Alright. Let's meet behind the Quilt Museum at eleven."
I agreed, and we both hung up. Now I had to strategize how best to proceed and still fly under the radar of Chaz.
But I had a feeling the situation was about to get a whole lot worse. The tingle in my gut told me that was true. Well, that and the text I'd just received from Chaz asking me to come in for some more questions. Apparently, no good lie goes unpunished.
* * *
"Thanks for coming in," Chaz said, like I really had a choice whether to show or not. I guess it was the normal cop-speak as they gave people the illusion that they had some power during a criminal investigation. Fat chance. If I hadn't responded or hadn't shown up, I had no doubt he'd probably have me arrested.
And can I say, my new role as a dead-body-finder aficionado kind of sucks.
While his smile seemed genuine as he stood and shook my hand, a sense of intensity reflected in his eyes like the last time I'd seen him. It didn't come and go like most people. This guy was twenty-four/seven intensity. Chaz had a weird combination of sternness balanced with a dose of charm—like he could turn one off and switch over to the other.
I chewed on the corner of my lip and hoped he didn't have any mind-reading skills. I surely didn't want him to know about my earlier conversation with Gus. Well, at least not until I talked to Gus first.
He nodded. "Gus was right. Her name is Lori Sutherland. She was actually born in Inez and flitted back and forth between Winterset and there."
"I had no idea there was a connection to Inez." I'd have to ask the Qs if they'd heard any gossip about her. Being the queens of gossip, if they didn't know, they'd know somebody who did.
He tapped his pen against his clutter-free desk and pulled out a picture from the file and handed it to me. "Here's the most recent picture I have on file from the DMV. Have you ever seen her in Inez?"
I stared at the woman in the picture. My mind had blanked yesterday in terms of facial features or hair color, with my only focus being the gaping gunshot wound in her forehead.
"I don't think so. But I've only lived in Inez for about six months. And the only hot spot I've ever visited was Otis's Bar, and that was only once." The woman looked so normal in the picture—kind of pretty, but her hard life reflected in the premature lines on her face. Why would she be dead wearing a musty old fur coat and stuffed inside a moving box?
"She's not the bar type but had a problem with relationships—in that she always chose the wrong men."
"You think an ex might have killed her?"
"Could be." He gave me the standard noncommittal answer I'd expected. "I don't think it was a stranger. Gus Seibolt dated her awhile back after he first got out of prison. And was seen with her a couple of days ago having a heated discussion."
I schooled my expression to not reflect the internal jumble of thoughts ping-ponging around my brain, especially after my conversation with Gus last night. "But if he'd put her in that truck to hide her body, he wouldn't have shown up for work that day, assuming she hadn't been dead that long." I was frantically working on the premise that he was innocent. And the more information I got from Chaz, the more I could communicate to Gus and hopefully allay his fears.
"Unless he wanted to appear innocent. The body hadn't been dead long, as rigor hadn't set in, although I don't have an official timeline from the coroner yet. But I still have to wonder why he'd run away. Maybe he had an idea of who might have done it, but he didn't want to divulge either out of fear or for some other reason."
Although I suspected he was playing me a bit, I gave him a tight smile and hoped he didn't ask me something I had to lie about. While I was getting better at hiding my lies, I had a feeling not much got past him.
"I can ask the ladies if they knew Lori. She seems a lot younger than them, but those women know everybody within a fifty-mile-radius, so I wouldn't be too surprised." I stood after glancing at my watch. "Speaking of which, I told them I'd meet them at the Quilt Museum shortly, so I'd better get going."
"Just a few more questions. Have you thought any more on the person or persons you spotted when you pulled into the parking spot? Were they rushing away or casually walking? Are you sure it was two men, or do you think it might have been a man and a woman?"
I thought about his question, which was a good distraction from my worries. In the end, bringing up even the smallest of details proved to be elusive. For some reason, my normal attention to detail was on the fritz. "I'm not sure. I think
there might have been two people, and they were dressed alike, but as to sizes or gender, I can't help you with that."
"Were they holding hands like a couple?"
I wasn't sure where he was going with this, and I was curious enough to wonder if he had somebody in mind but knew better than to ask. "I'm sorry I didn't pay that much attention to them."
"Sometimes memories have a way surfacing later, so I'd appreciate it if you would give me a call if you think of something."
"No problem." I got up to leave.
"And if any of the ladies did know Lori, maybe they could come by and talk to me."
"Believe me, I couldn't keep them away if I wanted to." I started to move toward the door, and he stopped me with a hand on my arm. When I turned to look at him, he was staring right into my eyes—that intensity blasting me like some kind of cop super power.
"And if you hear any word from Gus, I'd appreciate if you'd let me know. I'd like to talk to him."
I gave him a smile that hopefully didn't look as fake as it felt. "I can't imagine why he'd talk to me. It's not like we're BFFs or anything. I talked to him for all of five minutes." I needed to stop myself as I'd started rambling—a sure sign I was lying or nervous or a combination of the two.
"What you know about Gus—" He held up his hand when I started to interrupt. "He's different than what you think. That's all I'm going to say for now."
With that, I walked out the door, more and more convinced it was a really bad plan for me to go to meet Gus at all. Then again, that never stopped me from doing something stupid before.
* * *
I'd be revisiting the scene of the crime but figured there'd be enough people around to keep me safe if any kind of crisis erupted. So, at five minutes past eleven, I got out of my car, pulled up my hoodie as rain had begun to sprinkle, and rushed between the buildings to the back, all while hoping Gus hadn't given up on me. I suppressed thoughts of yesterday and focused on finding more information, even through the accompanying jitters. You would have thought I'd be over that kind of nonsense by now.