by Ami Diane
Flo stopped winking at Will long enough to say, “And we told you, she’ll just have to repeat everything again for us. So, might as well save her the trouble.”
Next to the old woman, Wink dipped a homemade glazed donut into her coffee. “This is getting to be quite the tradition.”
“Which part?” Ella swirled more creamer into her cup. “The ignoring Chapman part, the making fun of Flo part, or us catching the bad guy part?”
“All of it.”
The sheriff cleared his throat, indicating his patience was wearing as thin as Wink’s Juicy velour tracksuit.
After a heavy breath and another sip of Rose’s watered-down mud, Ella launched into that evening’s events, starting with the discovery of the time discrepancy between the grandfather clock and her phone to ending with Fluffy’s assist.
She left out the part about the high five, figuring she should be allowed that one dignity. Fortunately, Will didn’t chime with that bit either.
When she finished, she slumped back into her chair. “I’m really sorry about the vase, Rose.”
“That’s alright, dear. It was a gift from Jimmy’s mother, and I was never fond of it. Truth be told since she’s no longer with us, I’m not sure why I didn’t relocate the thing to the basement.”
The lower half of Will’s face had the shadowy beginnings of stubble. He ran his hand along it, absently. “So, you figured out Lucky was the killer because of the clocks?”
Ella nodded. “Lou had said Lucky disappeared around 7:20, which adjusting for the time differential would’ve been about 7:15.”
“Right when the note said for Charles to meet in the basement,” Chapman filled in.
She nodded again. “There were, of course, a few other things, such as the night of the party, he’d called my drink a ‘jump stiddy’. I remembered coming across that term whilst researching speakeasies and bootlegging during Prohibition.”
Flo’s beehive bobbed as she made a noise of recognition. “I haven’t heard those words for years.”
“Lastly,” Ella continued, “there were the ink stains on his fingers.”
Will straightened on his stool. “The stains? But how did he get past us after getting fingerprinted?”
“He never got fingerprinted.” Ella looked to Chapman for confirmation before looking back at Will. “Remember the color of all of our fingers after the party? They were all stained black. Lucky’s fingers, however, looked like he’d dipped them in Smurf blood .
“My guess is after he killed Charles and hid in the secret room, he came out again after everyone left that night. Probably while we were sleeping. Then, he noticed everyone’s prints the next day and stained his fingers himself so we wouldn’t notice.”
Will’s expression became the one he used when concentrating on one of his inventions. “Seems like a reasonable assumption.”
A lull in conversation followed before quickly being filled with Wink’s voice. A soggy donut paused midway to her mouth. “What secret room?”
Ella coughed and pushed her ear forward. “How’s that? Secret room? You misheard. I said, ‘Scented doom.’”
“Lucky hid in scented doom? That makes no sense. Have you lost your marbles or something? We should have Pauline check you out for a concussion.”
“You’re really bad at lying, Poodle Head.” Flo shook her head in disgust.
“Well, you try coming up with something that rhymes with ‘secret room’.”
“That’s easy.” Flo’s mouth worked back and forth with silent words. Soon, her forehead creased, and Ella could swear she saw steam coming out of the old woman’s ears.
“Not so easy, is it?”
Flo ignored her.
“That’s enough, you two.” Chapman motioned for them to be quiet then proceeded to inform the others about the hidden speakeasy in the basement.
When he’d finished, Rose’s eyes were large, and her delicate hand clasped the pearls around her neck. “Well, I never… of all the things… so interesting.” She turned to her husband. “Did you know about this?”
“Why would I know about that? The bank never mentioned it when we bought it.”
Rose turned on Flo. “You knew about this? Why did you not tell us?”
Flo’s mouth still worked back and forth on the riddle of “secret room,” her eyes now glazed over.
Wink’s donut dropped with a splash into her coffee. “Oh my goodness, that’s where she’s been hiding her weapons, isn’t it?” Her eyes danced, and she looked from her catatonic friend to Ella.
“Was. And, yes,” Ella confirmed. “It was where she hid her arsenal. She cleared it out shortly after I discovered it, though.”
A flicker of betrayal flashed behind Wink’s eyes but fled just as quickly.
Chapman cleared his throat, getting everyone back on track. “So, Mr. Costello knew about the hidden compartment, used it to hide from Charles at the appointed time, snuck out with one of Flo’s guns, and shot the man in the back.”
“Sneaked,” Ella said.
His steel-gray eyes bored holes into her. “Pardon?”
“Sneaked is the proper past tense form of the verb. Not snuck. You said snuck.”
He opened his mouth, then he snapped it shut, shaking his head.
The linguist in her satisfied, Ella added, “And Lucky wasn’t just a speakeasy patron who knew about the false wall, but he was also friends with Bugsy Schultz.”
“The previous owner?” Jimmy said.
“That’s right, I forgot,” Wink chimed in. “Those two were thick as thieves growing up, but I never saw them much together later on. That’s why it slipped my mind.”
“Around the time Prohibition ended?” After Wink confirmed this, Ella added, “They must’ve had some sort of falling out after that.”
She drank more decaf coffee before resting the cup on the table. “There’s a photo of the pair of them as children hanging up in the north hallway.”
“Teacup boom!” Flo blurted out.
The room fell silent.
Ella reached over, felt the woman’s forehead, then she dragged away Flo’s cup of mud, certain it consisted of more than just coffee beans and water.
“It rhymes with ‘secret room’.”
“Sure. If you’re half deaf, absolutely.”
Flo gave Ella the bird.
“There’s one thing I don’t get,” Ella said to the room, ignoring Flo. “Motive. Why did Lucky kill Charles? Was it a preemptive strike to protect his bar?”
Will’s chin dipped in a slow nod. “It’s the only logical conclusion based on facts.”
“That’s just it, it’s a theory—or is the correct term hypothesis? I always confuse the two.”
“Hypothesis,” Will said.
“Well, it’s a logical hypothesis based on the facts as we know them.” Their eyes connected, and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, the dimples in his cheeks threatening to emerge. A deeper emotion swam in his eyes before he flicked them away.
“Well,” Chapman drawled as he stood and scooped up his derby hat from the counter, “I aim to find out why.”
Monday morning, Ella rolled out of bed to discover the fog had at last lifted. A blue sky blazed overhead, and a late morning sun rose above the forest, scattering jewels of light across the lake.
She smiled, grateful Wink had told her to come in late to work. Her head only throbbed gently as opposed to the marching band drum line it had been the day before.
After pouring a cup of coffee and grabbing a banana, she stepped out onto the terrace. A cool breeze that smelled of sea salt and spring rode the air.
Keystone Village had flashed during the night, sometime, to the promise of amiable weather and whispers of long strolls and late evenings fishing.
After kicking off her slippers, she walked across the cool grass, relishing the feel of the damp blades that brought back rushing memories of when her feet were much smaller and swifter and carried her through summer.
&
nbsp; She sank to the damp earth, ignoring the slight chill and what was happening to her backside, and stared out across the morning. It had been too long since she’d felt the sun’s warm rays, and she didn’t want to miss a single moment of it.
The sun had marched higher and the last drop of coffee had been long gone by the time footsteps sounded across the terrace behind her. The tinkle of spurs whispered on the wind, telling Ella that the newcomer was either one of two people.
She didn’t bother to turn around. A pair of scuffed cowboy boots stepped into view a couple of feet beside her.
“Aiming to turn into a fine day,” Chapman said.
“That it is. I know it’s strange, but for a while there, I feared I’d never see the sun again.”
“A brush with death will do that.”
She twisted her head around and peered up into the sheriff’s brooding face. “What? Oh, no. Just the whole time jumping thing. I thought we’d be stuck in that infernal pre-dawn era forever. No, I wasn’t scared of Lucky killing me.”
“That so?” He stuck something twig-like between his teeth and rolled it around, either a piece of straw or a toothpick, she couldn’t be certain.
After a pause, she said, “Well, maybe a little. Did you get my answer? Did he tell you why he killed Charles?”
“Yep. Wanna take a stroll?” He held out a calloused hand, and she grasped it with a firm grip. In one, smooth motion, he pulled her to her feet.
The grass squeaked underfoot as they ambled towards the walking path around the lake. The swollen body of water had receded enough to expose the circuitous path. The mud had partially hardened which made for easier walking, but she’d still have to wash off her shoes when she returned to the inn. Still, it felt good to walk along the water’s edge once again.
“How much do you know about the two’s acquaintanceship?”
“Charles and Lucky’s? Not much. Charles was trying to buy the bar and didn’t approve of it being in town or of Lucky’s profession.”
“Did you know Mr. Wilson’s son used to work at the Half Penny?”
Ella stopped. “Seriously? Wow. I bet that went over well at family gatherings.” She resumed their leisurely pace.
“Mr. Wilson wasn’t always so against jig juice. Happened after he lost his son.”
“After his son was left behind?”
“Yeah. When Keystone jumped near another town, Mr. Costello said the young Charles Wilson—Junior as everyone called him—volunteered to cross the border and make a run for supplies, mostly ale or other beers difficult to make here. Only, I got the impression Junior’s willingness was rather coerced by our illustrious bar owner. Also, he had his own affinity for the bottle to contend with.
“Regardless, when the town unexpectedly jumped and poor ol’ Junior was stranded behind, Mr. Wilson blamed the bartender for both that and his son’s addiction.”
The victim’s staunch stance against alcohol was beginning to make sense now.
“Mr. Costello claims the candidate was not only planning to burn down his establishment but was gonna make sure the bartender was inside when he did.”
“Do you believe him?”
Chapman’s shoulders rose in a slight, non-committal shrug. “Suppose so. He claims a few others at the bar heard these threats too. Gave me some names to follow up with and corroborate his story.”
“Still… it’s not really self-defense if it’s so pre-emptive, is it? I mean, Charles would’ve to had actively been trying to kill Lucky in the basement the night of the party, otherwise, it’s premeditated, right?”
Chapman nodded.
“And he knew about the speakeasy because of Bugsy?”
“More than that. He was a bootlegger. Since Colorado was early to adopt Prohibition, Mr. Schultz enlisted his help to run jig juice up from New Mexico.”
Ella churned over this bit of information. “From my understanding of where the town used to be located, that wouldn’t have been too far of a drive.”
They strolled a few paces in amiable silence while water lapped at the shoreline a few feet off to Ella’s right. They’d long since passed the docks and were now in the shadows of Twin Hills. The sun rose between the green slopes, too far below the hills to gild the landscape yet. It reminded her of her discovery about their location in relation to the town border.
Houses and cottages rose on their left as the path followed Lake Drive.
Ella broke the silence first. “What about Sal? His behavior that night was shady. He bypassed questioning. Also, his alibi…” She frowned, still unable to make sense of the twists between his story and Patience’s story.
“Well, as it turns out, Ms. Chilton isn’t so fond of the accommodations provided in my office.”
“Shocking.”
“She was rather forthcoming this morning once she saw what I gave her for breakfast.”
Ella grimaced. “You didn’t try to serve her those cowboy grits of yours, did you?”
His mustache flickered.
“It’s like eating inedible sand—which sounds redundant to say because sand, as a whole, isn’t normally ingested. But I’m just trying to emphasize how bad it is.”
“Would you like to hear what she had to say or not?”
Ella cleared her throat. “Please, continue.”
“The night of the party, after Ms. Chilton had exchanged words with our victim, she went into the dining room for food.”
Ella nodded, knowing as much.
“But when she stepped inside, she discovered our acting mayor and salon owner… let’s see, how did she put it? ‘They were making love in the corner.’”
The sound of squelching mud filled the air as Ella halted. “Sal? And Jenny?”
“Yes.”
“Jenny and Sal?”
“Yes.”
“Together? Having intercourse in the dining room?” Her mouth hung open. “Wait, no. That’s not what she meant. I forgot ‘making love’ went through a semantic shift in the early twentieth century. It’s still gross, the thought of the two of them going at it like teenagers.”
Ella tried to picture the scene, then she tried to un-picture it. True, there was a bit of an age gap—twenty years if she were to guess—but what she struggled to reconcile was their personalities. However, the more she thought about it, the more the pairing made sense. He held power in the town; Jenny struck her as someone who gravitated toward the limelight.
“Sal swore Councilwoman Chilton to secrecy. When Wink came flying around the corner in search of Pauline, he followed and heard their conversation. Then, he high-tailed it out of there, not wanting to be questioned about his whereabouts during the time of the murder.”
“That’s how he slipped questioning. He got out just before we set up our net.”
Chapman nodded.
By now, they had rounded more than half of the lake. The quaint houses had given way to the sweeping forest and the beginnings of the town park.
All of her questions answered, Ella lapsed into silence, ruminating over the details of it all. So much brokenness and death. And alcohol had played no small part. Maybe Charles had been on to something. Then again, if the town turned dry, Flo would burn it to the ground in protest.
It took Ella a moment to register the dull roar floating on the breeze. It seemed to be coming from the park, and she squinted ahead. Beneath a tall, bare oak tree at the edge of the lake, a figure bent over a contraption.
As they drew near, Will’s outline resolved, along with a metallic object with straps, similar to a backpack. At first, she thought it was his homemade scuba tank, but this invention had two protuberances at the bottom that looked suspiciously like mufflers.
They greeted the inventor.
Chapman tipped the brim of his hat up to see the device more clearly. “Whatcha got here, Will?”
“A jet pack.” The inventor’s grin spread from ear to ear.
Ella stared at him. “You made a rocket? A rocket that you plan to strap to yo
ur back?”
His smile wavered. “Yes. I was going to take it for a test flight over the water.”
“Oh, no you don’t. I’ve seen The Rocketeer. How many of your test burns have caught fire?”
He brushed his hand over the back of his neck. “The last five have been successful.”
“Nice dancing around the question, Fred Astaire.” She dropped her hands from where they’d been resting on her hips. Drat, if his enthusiasm wasn’t infectious. “Will you at least wear a helmet?”
He grinned and pointed at one she’d overlooked lying at the foot of the tree.
Without another word, she began marching along the trail.
“Where are you going?” he called after her.
“To get your boat ready. I have a feeling I’m going to be fishing you out of the lake.” Her back was to him, and she knew he couldn’t see her smile. Soon, if he wasn’t going to ask her out on a date, she would ask him—1950s social conventions could eat it.
Will and Chapman’s conversation melded with the sounds of the lake as the sun broke over the hills. Golden gems sparkled on the water, and she breathed in the scent of a spring day, awaiting this new adventure in a town full of weirdos.
TRAVELING TOWN MYSTERIES
PERILS
AND
PLUNDER
AMI DIANE
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organization, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2019 Ami Diane
All rights reserved.
Printed and bound in USA. First Printing March 2019
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author, except by reviewers who may quote brief passages
(200 words or fewer) in a review.