by B. T. Lord
“Maybe,” he answered. He leaned over in a conspiratorial way even though there was no one to overhear. Her heart hammered against her chest to have him so close. If she shifted her weight, her cheek would be resting against his. She inwardly sighed. Would a fifth cookie inspire him to kiss her?
“Guess who was out plowing last night until the wee hours of the morning?”
Emmy thought for a moment before dropping her jaw in shock.
“No!” she exclaimed.
“Yep,” Rick countered. “Now I’m not saying Cammie did me proud or anything. But they were together for a long time. And the most important thing is that they didn’t kill each other.”
“Do you think they’re back together?”
Rick shrugged. “I’m not sure they ever broke up. I mean, yeah, the dude is a little pissed. Can’t really blame him, y’know? His main squeeze throwing him in the hoosegow can make any guy just a little ticked. But the fact that she let him out to plow shows that she at least believes he’s innocent. Shit, if she thought he really was a murderer, we’d still be under six feet of snow.”
Emmy considered his words and realized he had a point. Before she could savor his nearness to her, he abruptly got up and returned to his desk. With a sad little shake of her head, she turned back to tracking down whatever she could on Eli’s will. However, she came upon something else quite by chance that drew all her attention. She was immediately on it like a bloodhound on a scent. Another hour flew by. When the last piece finally fell into place after what seemed like endless searching, she sat back in her chair and let out a triumphant shriek.
“Rick! Hurry, come here!”
He crossed back to her desk and leaned in behind her. Once again her heart did a dance as she smelled his cologne and luxuriated in his hand resting on her shoulder.
“Look what I found,” she said proudly. Rick read for a few minutes, then let out a whistle.
“Yowza,” he murmured.
“Wait until the sheriff sees this! If last night didn’t make her day, this will!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Cammie rolled over onto her back and stared at the ceiling. She’d gotten a total of two and a half hours sleep. Her body was exhausted, but her mind was acting as if it was jacked up on gallons of caffeine.
She ached in a way she hadn’t ached since she was eighteen. It was an ache that festered deep down inside – the kind that couldn’t be relieved with a pill or a drink. It was an ache that she’d spent the last year denying and that was now staring her in the face.
It was pissing her off.
Sitting next to Jace for all those hours had been wonderful. And tortuous. And so many other emotions that were so jumbled up in her belly, she’d never disentangle them. So far, she’d been able to hold onto the mask of investigating police officer. Remote, logical and intrepid. But lying here last night, alone in a bed that suddenly felt too big, the mask slipped and she was bare. There was no one to pretend to, including herself.
In the privacy of her cabin, she was forced to admit that she was lonely and worried and doubtful and all those wretched little thoughts that cut away at her confidence that always looked so insurmountable in the darkness. She missed Jace so much it actually hurt. And now that he wasn’t going to be able to make the arraignment, he was going to miss playing the hockey game, which meant she’d have to deal with the Wrath of Bill Barnes.
She sighed and turned her face towards the window. There were still snowflakes falling, though nothing to compare with the previous night’s blizzard. Time to get up, shower, change into her uniform, slide the mask back on and secure it tightly so it wouldn’t slip in the light of day.
By the time Cammie walked into headquarters almost an hour later, Emmy was ready to burst. She literally dragged the sheriff into the interrogation room and sat smiling at her. A moment later, Rick entered. The two of them sat side by side smiling at Cammie.
“You’re staring at me,” she said, her eyes darting back and forth suspiciously between the two. “I haven’t had my coffee yet and you’re staring at me.”
“You’re gonna forget about your coffee in a minute, trust me on this,” Rick chirped in excitement.
“The last time you asked me to trust you on anything, Eli Kelley walked into Zee’s and screwed up my life.”
“Okay, forget about that one. This time, however, trust me.” He nudged Emmy with his elbow. “Go on, Em. Tell the sheriff what you found.”
Emmy opened up the manila folder she’d placed in front of her and removed the top sheet. She slid it along the table towards Cammie.
“What’s this?” she asked as she looked down at what looked like a newspaper article.
“Read it.”
Cammie scanned the lines.
“Last night, Eli Kelley showed once again that he doesn’t deserve to be on the same ice that once hosted the talents of Gretzky, Orr, Lafleur, Hull. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. He’s a phony pure and simple. He’s more concerned with Hollywood than he is with the NHL.”
The rest of the article was more of the same. Emmy slid four more articles at her and they too showed a hostility towards Eli that Cammie had never seen before. She whistled under her breath.
“Wow, that’s a bit much, isn’t it?”
“I was able to pull up articles from the time Eli first turned pro. In the beginning, the writer liked Mr. Kelley. He praised him, even calling him the next Wayne Gretzky. But six years later, the articles completely changed. I looked up Eli’s career. He had the usual ups and downs, but nothing that would cause this writer’s vicious attacks on him.”
Cammie looked back to the copies lying in front of her. “I’ve read articles by sportswriters who took a player to task for performing badly in a particular game. But these are personal. I’m surprised his newspaper let him write this stuff.”
Rick shrugged. “It sold papers. People love a personal feud, especially when it’s played out in the public eye.”
Cammie looked to the byline and frowned. “Eddie Paltrow. Where have I heard that name before?”
“Maybe you’ve read his columns in the past,” Rick pointed out.
“I definitely would have remembered these,” she responded, slowly shaking his head. “No, there’s something about that name.”
Emmy slid another piece of paper towards her, her face bright with anticipation. “Maybe this will help.”
It was a photo. As soon as Cammie saw it, she caught her breath.
“That’s the guy who tried to ambush me in Zee’s yesterday!” she exclaimed as Eddie’s picture smiled back at her. She quickly filled the two in on what had occurred in Zee’s the day before.
“He’s been hanging around outside with the rest of the reporters. In fact, he’s been one of the most aggressive in trying to get in here and see you.”
Emmy leaned forward, her eyes sparkling. Cammie looked up and saw her expression.
“You got something else, don’t you?”
“The best part, sheriff. I had a hunch about him and you always tell me to follow my hunches. I checked airline schedules, car rentals, even Amtrak.” Her smile broadened. “Mr. Paltrow was booked on a flight from Chicago to Bangor November 3rd.”
Cammie’s smile matched Emmy’s. “That’s two days before Eli died.”
“Exactly. I know he made it to Bangor because I found his car reservation. He picked up a Toyota Camry at 2:30 pm on the 3rd.”
“Emmy, you’re a genius. I’m sure I don’t have to ask if you know where he’s staying right now.” The young woman smiled. “Give him a call and tell him I’d like to see him. Don’t tell him what it’s for. Let him think it’s for an interview. In the meantime, I’ve got a little homework to do.”
Cammie rubbed her hands together. For the first time since discovering Eli’s body, she was filled with hope again.
This may turn out to be a great day after all.
The lure of an interview with the elusive sheriff w
orked better than they expected. Paltrow was at headquarters barely ten minutes after Emmy phoned. The young receptionist seated him in the interrogation room, served him coffee and left just as Cammie entered the room. In her hand she held the manila envelope that contained the copies of Paltrow’s articles. She closed the door behind her and took a seat opposite Paltrow. His strands of hair were once again combed carefully across his balding head, and he still resembled a rat.
“I have to admit, I was surprised by your secretary’s phone call,” he started as he laid out a tape recorder and a small pad of paper in front of him.
“Just wanted to show that Twin Ponds really is a friendly town.”
“Does your bodyguard know that?”
Cammie glanced at Paltrow’s recorder and saw it wasn’t on. She laughed. “It’s been a crazy couple of days as you can expect. Zee was simply being protective of my privacy.”
“Tell him next time you see him that I didn’t appreciate picking stale lettuce from my parka. It was brand new and it took me forever to get the stains out.”
Rat-like and vain too. Her conclusion was confirmed when he took out a small mirror, a comb and carefully fixed his hair. When he was done, he put everything back into his pockets and took a sip of coffee.
“Mmmm. That’s surprisingly good.”
“We may be in the middle of nowhere, Mr. Paltrow, but we’re not uncivilized.”
That sounded like news to him. He took another long sip, then flipped open his notebook. “I hope you don’t mind if I record our interview. It helps when I’m writing everything up.”
“I don’t mind, if you don’t mind me recording our session while I ask you a couple of questions.” She pointed up at the video recorder in the corner of the ceiling.
Paltrow’s face creased into suspicion. She expected any moment to have him sniff the air like a rodent.
“What’s this all about?” he demanded.
“Nothing major. When I’m done, you can ask me whatever you want.”
He fell silent for a moment. “So. Tit for tat.”
“In a manner of speaking.”
He thought it over for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders. “Sure. Why not? I can’t imagine what you’d want to ask me about anyway.” Cammie pressed the record button under the table and the red light on the recorder immediately came on.
“Would you state your full name please?”
“Edward Ralph Paltrow.”
“What is your occupation, Mr. Paltrow?”
“I’m a sportswriter for the Chicago Telegraph.”
“How long have you worked there?”
“Twenty-one years.”
“Of all the sports you cover, which would you say is your favorite?”
“Oh, no problem. Hockey for sure.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, in the old days, you didn’t have to know how to skate. All you needed to know how to do was knock someone down on the ice. It’s evolved, though. Yeah, you still have the goon element, though it’s nothing like it used to be. Now, some of those guys out there are like artists on ice. The way they handle the puck, the way they glide across the surface. I swear, sometimes, it’s like watching a ballet.” He winked at her. “A ballet, that is, with blood and fights.” He paused. “I heard you were once a pretty good hockey player yourself.”
“I was.”
“Then you know what I’m talking about.”
She did. And he was right. There were moments, when she connected with the puck and was gliding up ice with her teammates around her, that it felt like a ballet. With blood and fights.
She slid the manila folder across the table towards him. “Did you write these articles?”
He opened up the folder and scanned through the pages. He closed the folder and slid it back towards her.
“Yeah. It’s what I do. I’m a sportswriter, remember?”
“I noticed that, unlike most if not all of your other articles, you were particularly savage in your coverage of Eli.”
He shrugged again. “He was a lousy player.”
“As a sportswriter, you must be aware that Eli Kelley won many of the most prodigious awards in the NHL. He won the Conn Smythe and Art Ross three times, and of course, the Stanley Cup. Twice.”
Paltrow shifted in his seat. “He was lucky.”
“Lucky?”
“He had excellent players around him. Talented teammates always make another player shine.”
“Would you say the same for Wayne Gretzky?”
“Shit, you can’t compare the two. Gretzky was magic on ice. Kelley was just a punk hustler who got lucky.” He leaned in and sneered at her. “You of all people should know that.”
Cammie refused to take the bait. She continued her questioning calmly and professionally. She reached for her second manila folder and slid it towards him.
“It’s interesting you say that. Because in these articles, all written before 2006, you actually compared Eli to Gretzky. More than once.”
She noticed that Paltrow refused to open the folder as he had the other.
“What happened in 2006 to alter your opinion of him, Mr. Paltrow? It couldn’t just have been his playing. He made it all the way to the playoffs despite being…” She paused as she opened the first folder and took out of the articles and began to read from it, ‘more concerned with Hollywood than with the NHL.’ That’s quite a jump in opinion, Mr. Paltrow.”
By now his coke glasses were fixed intently on her. “I see what your game is. You’re trying to free your boyfriend and you’re fishing for another suspect.”
“Actually, I’m just curious about the sudden change in your opinion of Eli. I have to ask these questions of everyone, otherwise I wouldn’t be doing my job.”
“Look, I wasn’t even around when Eli was murdered.”
“Where were you on November 3rd?”
“I was in Boston covering the Hawks/Bruins game.”
“That game was Saturday night, two days before Eli was killed.”
“I stayed an extra day to cover the Celtics.”
“But the Celtics weren’t playing the Chicago Bulls. They were playing the Los Angeles Lakers. Do you cover the Lakers too?”
He calmly met her gaze. “I’m a fan.”
“Mmmm. I wonder you didn’t get in trouble with your bosses.”
“What do you mean?”
Cammie leaned forward slightly. “I would have thought they’d want you to cover the Bulls that night in Florida, especially when they managed to come back from a twenty point deficit in the fourth quarter and blow away the Miami Heat, who were favored to win.”
His rat eyes narrowed. “You seem to know your sports, don’t you, Sheriff?”
She grinned. “I’m a fan.”
That and the quick homework she’d done before he arrived.
“So Mr. Paltrow, are you telling me that you spent the night of November 3rd in Boston watching the Celtics and Lakers play?”
There was a very slight hesitation that could easily have been missed. But Cammie saw it. And smiled.
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“I don’t suppose you’d still have your ticket stub on you, would you?”
Paltrow took another sip of his coffee. “I was a guest of the management,” he replied smoothly.
“Perks of the job, huh?”
“Yeah, you might say that.”
“Funny. I looked in the Telegraph and I didn’t see your article on the Hawks/Bruins game. Or even a write-up on the Celtics/Lakers game. Your bosses must be very accommodating to send you halfway across the country to cover a game that you don’t write about. In fact, a game you didn’t even attend since on November 3rd, you were booked on a flight to Bangor.”
Paltrow abruptly pushed back from the table and stood up, knocking the coffee over and spilling it near the folder with the positive articles about Eli. Reacting quickly, she managed to snatch it away just in time.
“I don’t have to
answer any more of your questions, Sheriff. I know my rights. I suggest you look elsewhere for a scapegoat.”
He gathered his recorder and pad and shoved them into his pocket, but not before Cammie noticed how badly his hands were shaking. He stomped out of the room, leaving Cammie pensive. A few moments later, both Rick and Emmy entered.
“Brother, did you piss him off!” Rick exclaimed. “He flew out of here like a bat out of hell!”
“I really rattled him with the flight information. I think I may know who can help me sort it out.”
She started towards her office to make a phone call, when Rick stopped her.
“We just got word that Jace is going to be arraigned this afternoon at two o’clock. Mark is on his way with the attorney even as we speak.”
Cammie sighed. “I’m not surprised. Barnes would have taken a dog sled to Augusta to make sure the attorney gets here in time to get Jace out for tonight’s game.”
“You’re not going tonight, right?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“As soon as you make up your mind, let me know. I’ll need time to set up the snipers if you go.”
Cammie stopped short in the corridor and swung around to face him. “Snipers?” she asked incredulously.
“With the way Twin Ponds is feeling about you, you’re going to need extra protection. In order to do that, I need a heads up so I can get everything organized.” He turned to Emmy. “Your cousin Oren and his friend Hutch Lansing are pretty good with rifles, aren’t they? You think they’d do it?”
“I could ask.”
Cammie threw her arms up in horror. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Are you crazy? There’s no way I’m going to allow you to put men with loaded rifles in an open crowd!”
“We need to keep you safe. And if you insist on going into a group of hostiles—“
She moaned. “You’ve been watching war movies again, haven’t you?”
“Look, we don’t need another Custer’s Last Stand here, you know what I’m saying?”
“Okay, okay. I won’t go to the game tonight. Therefore, under no circumstances are you to put armed men anywhere. Got that?”