by Tonya Kappes
“You are the devil, Bernadette Butler.” She grabbed the box and motioned for me to sit down. She reached to the farthest corner of her desk, retrieving a file. “I’m not sure what you heard”—she put air quotes on the word “heard”—“but while you keep me company”—she took the plastic fork and snagged a big piece of the cake—“I’ll tell you what we know since I know you’re not going to stop snooping,” she mumbled after she put the forkful in her mouth.
“Oh Vita, you know me well.” I took a breath and looked around. “Angela not here?”
“Nope.” She opened the file and flipped it around. “As you can see, Simon Little didn’t have an ounce of bourbon in his system. He had a belly full of sports drink with a nice little mixture of sleeping pills. Only…” She took another bite and moved her finger to the file where they’d gotten Doctor Hunter’s patient notes documented. “Doc Hunter has never given him a prescription for sleeping pills or pain pills.”
“There you are.”
I jumped, cursing under my breath as Sheriff Angela Hafley came up behind me.
“Oh, settle down.” She looked at me and motioned for me to sit back down. “We know you by now and figured you’d be in here once you heard Simon was murdered. I told Vita to keep an eye out for you.” She lifted her chin. “Nothing for me? I like sweets.”
“I-I…um…” I stammered for words, unsure of what was going on. “I can bring you some tomorrow.”
“I’m teasing.” She reached in front of me and took the file. “I’ll take it from here, Vita. You enjoy that cake while I take Bernadette back into the interrogation room.” She waved the folder for me to follow her.
Vita shrugged and stuffed another big bite in her mouth when I got up and walked by her with big eyes, trying to tell her that I knew she’d set me up this whole time, making me believe I had bribed her. Darn Vita.
“What all did Vita tell you?” Angela had me sit across from her once we made it into the small room with the large glass window where others could watch and listen to what was going on at any given moment.
“She just finished telling me how he didn’t have bourbon in his system and the doctor never prescribed him pills.” I left it to a minimum. My eyes adjusted to the low lighting in the room. They sure did need a remodel to the old department.
“Did she tell you that there was bourbon in his mouth?” She opened the file and shoved it across the table to me.
“No.” My head jerked up. My jaw dropped, then the shock set in. “Are you telling me that someone had put the bourbon in his mouth after he was dead?”
“I think someone he knew was with him. There was no struggle. I believe his medication for his hands were on his desk. Someone came in. I think he left the room, and someone slipped a bunch of pills into the dark purple sports drink. The note on the computer written by him”—she put “him” in air quotes—“said he took the pills and downed the full bottle of bourbon to make sure it done the trick. There was no bourbon in his stomach.”
She stood up and walked over to the small table in the corner with various bagged items on top of it. I realized it was all the evidence from the scene.
“You can see a little sediment in the bottom.” She held up the bag with the practically empty sports drink. “We did a few experiments today. We crushed up the number of sleeping pills it would take to kill Simon per his height and weight. We got the same purple sports drink, and if the pills were crushed very fine, it would be impossible for him to see unless he held it up to look into it.” She put the evidence bag back on the table. “Why would he do that if he trusted the person he was with?”
“What about the pill bottle I kicked when I found him?” I wanted to know who that belonged to.
“It was his medication. Empty. So that makes me think the killer set the scene after he passed out, then stopped breathing.” Angela reached over the table and pointed to the area where she’d started to recreate the scene.
“You think the killer had the pills already crushed and knew he drank the sports drink. Or maybe brought the bourbon, which he doesn’t drink, for them to have together.” I recalled Peaches telling me about Simon being gluten intolerant. “And he’s allergic to gluten.” It looked like I’d about knocked her over with a feather. “What? You didn’t know?”
“No. Which means Peaches Partin might not be his killer.”
“Why do you think she’d kill him?” I asked. “She dated him for a long time, and she’d know if he was gluten intolerant. It’s not just some alcohol; it can be food too. They were very serious from what Peaches had told me. So, whoever killed Simon didn’t know he was gluten intolerant because he’d never drink it. And it’s one reason why he and Peaches broke up.”
“His gluten-free diet?” Angela questioned.
“No. Her drinking because he didn’t drink.” I told her about Peaches and her history.
“Peaches should be here in an hour or so with Tim Crouse.” Angela was no different than most law enforcement officers when it came to the idea that when suspects lawyered up, they were hiding something.
But I believed, in this case, Peaches knew, and she’d said it earlier that she felt she was the suspect since her fingerprints were all over the place.
“Only Peaches’s prints were on the bottle?” I asked.
“There weren’t any prints on the bottle.” Angela’s brows rose. “The only prints we found besides Nick’s and Simon’s were on the post office box, and those were Peaches.”
“The return to sender box.” I groaned and felt my shoulders fall. “I was supposed to pick that up from her at her shop, and I completely forgot. Now I’m upset that she did go back to the post office and—” I abruptly stopped talking.
Nick Kirby popped into my head.
His prints were all over since he also worked there. I couldn’t help but recall the look on his face when I was holding the certified letter for Simon.
“What are you thinking?” Angela reached across the table and took the file back, closing it.
“I’m wondering if you’re going to ask me to be a consultant again.” I was getting good at making things up on the fly.
My true answer would’ve been that I was thinking Nick Kirby was the killer and had the most motive, plus he was at the post office and took Peaches back to Tranquility Wellness. Mmhhmm… how convenient.
“I do think it went well last time, though I didn’t like how you put yourself in danger in the end, so this time I think we should have more open communication where you just send me the little tidbits as you get them.” It was her way of telling me that she didn’t like how I kept the clues I’d heard close to the cuff and gave them to her all at once.
“No problem,” I agreed and used my hands on the table to push up to standing. “I must be getting the rest of the mail delivered.” I hoisted my bag up on my shoulder and made sure the strap band was securely in place and perfectly resting on my shoulder muscle so it was comfortable for the walk to the garage.
Nick Kirby was next on my list.
Chapter 13
The sun’s glow touched down into my soul. The closer I got to the garage, the warmer I felt about getting to the heart of Simon Little’s death and who killed him.
Images of his face when he talked about the Dupuytren’s contracture made my heart ache, but as soon as he mentioned the motorcycle part he’d patented and intended to make, it put a sense of ease into his body language.
His audible sigh of relief as he told me about how it would help pay for his surgery, and how he’d planned to get back to work on the cars in the garage along with Nick, played out in my head like the breeze as it swept across the tall grass in the fields between the garage and the funeral home.
That gentle rustling of the grass was replaced with the sounds of arguing between a man and a woman.
Not that I was trying to tiptoe upon anyone, though I might’ve used that technique, but I wanted to get close enough so I could see exactly who and what they we
re fussing about.
Instead of going into the open garage door, I crept along the side of the building and around so I could be on the outside wall. I knew Nick’s voice as the male. The woman’s voice was vaguely familiar, but I was unable to recall who it might be.
I put both hands on the strap of the mailbag, not only to steady the bag from going forward when I bent down and leaned in to listen, but also to steady myself from falling over and keep my hands from shaking.
Deep breath in, I thought, repeating what Peaches was teaching us in class. If the promises of Doctor Hunter about yoga and stress relief going hand in hand were true, right now I was counting on that breath to help me stay calm, cool, and collected.
“I told you the sheriff came to my house today.” The woman’s shaky voice matched the manic pacing she was doing. “I got behind the couch and hid. Do you know I didn’t answer the door because they were going to question me? I told you this whole thing was no good, but you couldn’t stop yourself.”
“I told you it is for our future, our life. And you had no problem slipping me the final plans.” I could see the smirk on Nick’s face as he responded to the woman, whose back was to me. “We knew that if we got caught, we’d have to pay the consequences.”
Consequences? I gulped and closed my eyes, easing back around the corner of the garage. I slid down the wall and sat on the hot blacktop as I tried to catch my breath and figure out what exactly I needed to do.
No doubt in my mind that they were talking about Simon.
“You had no issue with this when he was alive. Now that he’s dead, we can move forward with no one and nothing in the way. You’re going to have to put on a brave face as the grieving girlfriend.” Nick had no problem calling attention to the woman’s weakness.
“Girlfriend?” I curled my lips together when I realized I’d whispered out loud.
Put on a brave face as the grieving girlfriend. My eyes shot open. I pulled the strap over my head and took the bag off to set it up against the wall. On hands and knees, I crawled back to the corner and, carefully, slowly, eased around to let one eyeball get a look to see if it was Sarah Hodge.
Nick stepped out of the way and moved toward the front of the garage, leaving room for her to turn around.
“Sarah.” My heart fell into my hands and knees when I jerked back around the corner, resting my back against the wall as the worry started to go straight to my head. I could feel the stress crawl up my jaw, making it tense, before the tense feeling slithered up to the wrinkles on my forehead where it would settle. Soon, I’d get a big fat headache.
Deep breaths, deep breaths, I continued to repeat the mantra that was not helping and took deep breaths in my mouth, then out my nose, before I realized I wasn’t doing it right. Then I switched it to breathe in the nose and out the mouth.
“Bernadette?” I heard someone call my name out. “Are you okay? Do I need to call the life squad?”
“Oh! Nick!” I gulped. “Sarah.” My eyes shot open when I saw both of them staring down at me, their bodies in shadow from the sun.
“You’re sweating.” Sarah stepped a little closer, coming into view. “Nick, this isn’t good. She does this in yoga, and I swear the woman is going to have a heart attack. Are you having a heart attack?” she asked me in quite a loud voice.
“She’s not deaf.” Nick bent down and got in my face. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I waved them off and moved because they were sucking up all the air I needed to process the fact that I heard they killed Simon.
Maybe they didn’t say that, but they sure did do something awful that had to do with him. And what was more awful than killing him?
“I’m having a hot flash.” I pushed myself up onto my feet and felt Nick’s hand grab underneath my arm to help me. “Don’t touch me,” I snapped at him and grabbed my mail carrier bag, hoisting it back over my shoulder.
Was there any sort of weapon I could use in my bag? I tried to think of anything. Nothing. Just rubber bands around stacks of mail, which I guess I could shoot them off my finger if it came down to needing something as self-defense. Not that it would seriously hurt them, but they did sting when they hit the skin.
“Whoa!” He threw his hands up in the air.
“She’s in menopause, and women don’t like to be touched during menopause,” Sarah spouted off like she knew what menopause was in her late twenty-something-year-old body.
“Let’s get this straight.” I shook a finger at both of them. “I’m fine. I was delivering the mail and decided to take a break. This wall looked like a good spot for a snack.” I dug into my mail carrier bag to grab anything I had in there to eat. If I could pretend the lie was true, maybe they’d believe me and not realize I’d heard all the horrible details of their conversation.
“Are those duck pellets?” Sarah’s nose curled when she noticed the bag I’d taken out. I’d stuffed a handful into my mouth.
“No.” I shook my head and tried not to gag at the awful duck pellets. “It’s a new form of protein and magnesium for leg and joint health since I walk so much.”
The saliva in my mouth was sparse. I tried and tried to gulp the stuff down.
“Let me get you a water.” Sarah hurried back around the building.
“Where’s Gerome today?” Nick asked.
“He’s off.” I gripped my strap with both hands and took a few steps sideways, figuring I could take off running to the back of the building if it came down to that.
“Where is it?” Nick asked.
“Where’s what?” I questioned him and looked at the cup in Sarah’s hand as she came around the corner.
“My mail.” He tilted his head and paused, giving me a questioning look.
“Here. Drink this.” Sarah shoved the cup of water toward me. “She’s probably not thinking clearly with the menopause.” She tried to whisper it to him, but I clearly heard her.
“I’m not drinking your poison.” I smacked the cup out of her hand just as Gerome in his LLV drove right on up.
“I thought you said Gerome was off.” Nick’s observation caused my chest to tighten, my muscles to tense, and my feet to feel like lead when I bolted around them with all the energy I had in me to get to Gerome.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” I gushed and grabbed Gerome’s arm where his hands were still gripped on the wheel of his mail carrier truck.
“Hey, man.” Nick gave a solid chin nod to Gerome. “I think something is wrong with her.”
I noticed Gerome had given me a once-over.
“There’s nothing wrong with me. You’re the killer.” I started to spit out accusations on how I heard them talking and how they had Simon out of the way. “Be the good grieving girlfriend,” I said in a snide and condescending way.
Nick and Sarah stood there with their mouths gaping open, not saying a word, like they were in shock. I’d figured them out. Before I could get it all out, the postmaster had pulled up in his car, dragging me back to the post office.
Chapter 14
“Suspension?” My mom hurried around the counter of the Wallflower Diner, where I’d gone to get some sort of comfort food. “Bernie, what on earth did you do?” She eased down onto the stool next to me and put her arms around me.
I needed this more than food. I started to cry. A fifty-year-old woman crying on her mother’s shoulder. I was pitiful.
“Lost my mind.” I shook my head when I replayed all the crazy I’d hung out to dry right there on the gas station property.
“I’m going to get you an appointment with Doctor Hunter right now,” she insisted before giving me one more bear hug sealed with a kiss on the top of my head. “Barry, you get her a cup of coffee!” she hollered down the counter to my dad.
My dad leaned over from his stool and looked down the counter.
“I’m fine, dad.” I gave a slight wave before I wiped the tears off my cheeks.
My assuring him I was fine wasn’t enough. His eyes narrowed and
he stood up, walking down with a stalking movement.
“I’m gonna take care of that boy once and for all.” He tugged on the suspenders clipped on his jeans and hoisted them up more around his thick waist. “Barbara, I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going? Who are you taking care of?” I questioned.
“Mac Tabor. I heard you two were back together, and I loved that boy like my own until he started going out on you with Lucy Drake. Now that I see you in this state, it just gives me a reason to do what I need to do to that boy.” My dad wrung a fist in the palm of his hand.
“Dad, first off, I’d like to see you fistfight with anyone at your age. Secondly, it’s not Mac.” I patted the empty stool next to me.
“Menopause.” My mom had no shame as she hollered it out the kitchen pass-through.
“Oh.” His facial features softened. “In that case, I’ll let you talk to your mother.”
“Coffee! Get her coffee!” Mom screamed the direction at him.
He did exactly like she told him to do, and I thanked him just as she put down a biscuit smothered in chocolate gravy in front of me.
“This calls for two biscuits before you get on down to your appointment with Doctor Hunter.” Mom took a fork and took her own bite off my plate. “I’m a good cook.”
“Yes, you are.” I couldn’t help but take a big bite myself. “But I don’t have an appointment with Doctor Hunter.”
“Yes, you do. I called in my favor when you were discussing with your dad.” She had a way with words.
“Barbara, is this your daughter?” A woman with short dark hair approached us. She had on nice pale-yellow linen suit with a white lily pinned on the lapel.