Just Deserts in Las Vegas

by A. R. Winters

  “What you all haven’t noticed is that the middle-cross bar on the high backed chair is the exact height of the cabin door handle. If placed in the right position, the handle would not be able to be pressed down. And do you know who made those chairs? Abner. He made them deliberately so that he could kill Mrs. Watson in her cabin whenever he decided the time was right.”

  Hunter peered around at everyone around the table. I considered speaking, to correct a few minor points, but when I opened my mouth to do so all that came out was another round of choking coughs.

  “Are you all right?” Nanna asked beside me. Somehow she hadn’t been quite so badly affected, her coughing fits now largely over.

  “Yes,” I croaked out before another round of coughs.

  “Oh, and if that wasn’t enough proof, there’s more.”

  Everyone stared at Hunter again, urging him to go on.

  “Didn’t any of you think it was strange that the doors on the cabins open outward?”

  “What do you mean, babe?” Rachel asked.

  “External doors almost always open inward. So you don’t whack someone on the outside when you fling them open. But you’ll notice that here, they don’t. They open outward. Why would you do that? I’ll tell you why. It’s because you want to have the option of blocking the door from the outside, to keep someone in the cabin. Abner fitted the doors, and built the furniture, all with the express purpose of being able to kill Mrs. Watson to stop the ghost town from ever opening.”

  There were murmured oohs from around the table. I heard Pepper whispering “that’s s’cool” into her phone as she continued to film Hunter.

  “Wow, babe, I always knew you were smart,” Rachel said, rubbing her husband’s hand. He wasn’t done yet, though.

  “And he’s an intelligent guy, our killer, I’ll give him that. He waited until there was a whole group of us here, last weekend, so he could push the blame onto one of us.” Hunter stood up. “Abner is our killer.”

  Everyone stared at the old man, their gazes mixtures of anger, hatred, incredulity, and betrayal.

  “No, I ain’t.”

  Mr. Watson looked at me, eyebrows raised, wanting me to either confirm Hunter’s theory or shoot it down. I held up a hand. “He’s mostly… right…” I couldn’t quite get it all out though, my lungs still being on some kind of strike and refusing to cooperate with the rest of my body. I broke into more coughs.

  “I think he’s wrong.” Everyone’s gaze turned to Ian.

  “Why?” Carl asked with a frown, turning his focus to Ian.

  “I’m not wrong,” Hunter said. “I just laid it all out. There’s no other explanation.”

  “Of course there is,” Ian said. “The evidence you just presented was all circumstantial. That means it’s merely—”

  “We all know what circumstantial means, Einstein.” Hunter turned his head slowly in a sweeping gaze as he spoke so he could address each of us. “But people who complain about evidence being circumstantial don’t know what they’re talking about. Most evidence is circumstantial. And circumstantial evidence is better than any other kind, bar an outright confession. People who think evidence being circumstantial is a bad thing have been watching too many television shows.”

  Most of the people around the table seemed impressed by Hunter’s little monologue.

  I wasn’t. And nor was Ian.

  “Look, buddy, I am a detective, and I’m telling you that evidence doesn’t add up.” Ian slapped his hand on the table. “Tell me this. If Abner’s the killer, why was he up on Tiffany’s roof?”

  Hunter gave him a look of amazement. The kind of amazement you feel when someone’s being particularly, outstandingly, earth-shatteringly stupid.

  “Because he was blocking up her chimney to try and kill her in her cabin, numbskull. He knew she’d almost cracked the case and needed to shut her up before morning.”

  Ian shook his head.

  “Nope. I saw Abner climbing up the ladder onto the roof when I left my cabin. He saw me going for the front door. He pointed up at the roof. I knew what he meant. He—”

  “Did he say something? Huh?” Hunter asked.

  “He’s a man of few words. And I knew what he meant. He meant he was going to climb up onto the roof and unblock the chimney while I tried to get the front door open.”

  Everyone looked at Abner, who gave a little nod that, yes, Ian was right.

  “Baloney! He fooled you. He was pretending to be helping when in fact he was probably going up there to stuff more things down the chimney. He’d probably just climbed down when you saw him.”

  Ian shook his head. “I don’t buy it. He would have made sure to be well on his way home instead of hanging around.”

  “Some murderers like to watch their victims,” Hunter said with a shrug.

  “Nope, still don’t buy it,” Ian said.

  I coughed again and sucked in another deep breath. I was returning to normal. I’d be able to speak and tell everyone what happened in a moment. I wanted to hear what Ian had to say first though. It seemed like he had cracked it too.

  “What do you think happened?” Carl asked.

  Ian said, “It wasn’t Abner. It was Dylan.”

  There was a series of gasps and everyone’s heads swiveled to look at the guitarist. His eyes had gone wide and his mouth had dropped open. He began shaking his head.

  “No, no, not me. I didn’t do it! I didn’t do anything!”

  “Pepper, how are you feeling?” Ian said, leaning across the table toward her.

  “I… Sleepy.” She stifled a yawn. “Tired.”

  Ian nodded. “And do you know why she’s tired? Because she took a sleeping pill. A sleeping pill Dylan urged her to take.”

  I didn’t know about this. It was new information. It seemed that after Nanna and I had retired for the evening, Ian had kept his eyes and ears open.

  There was a swelling in my chest, and it took me a moment to realize what it was: pride. Pride that Ian, my assistant, was picking so much up on his own. I’d make a professional detective of him yet.

  Of course I had suspected Pepper took a sleeping pill, due to the zombie-like look in her eyes. I’d seen her taking one the week before, so I already knew she was a regular user.

  “Is that true?” Carl asked, eyes locked onto Dylan’s.

  The younger guy shifted uncomfortably in his chair, shoulders hunched, like he was trying to disappear into the simple wooden furniture.

  “She doesn’t sleep well! She needs her pills. Don’t you, Pepper?”

  She slowly nodded. “If you say so, Dylan.”

  That didn’t do much to win anyone over to Dylan’s side of things.

  “What happened is this,” Ian said. “Dylan has been leeching off of Pepper ever since she received her first inheritance. But he knew the money was running out. They’ve been living a lavish lifestyle, in an apartment they can’t afford, chasing dreams that never pay.”

  Pepper, still glassy-eyed, was shaking her head at Ian in a way that looked more wishful than factual.

  “No, that’s not true,” Dylan said. “We’re near the tipping point. Pepper just needs a few thousand more followers. And everyone loves my music. I just need to find the right opportunity.”

  While his guitar playing had been nice enough for campfires, I don’t think anyone here really believed that Dylan was going to be a successful musician. Pepper’s thing was more nebulous—most people don’t know much about becoming an influencer—but a professional musician? Everyone knows music, and everyone knows what it takes. And we all knew that Dylan didn’t have it.

  “So, Dylan realized Pepper needed another inheritance before their money ran out. And she’s only got one grandparent left.” He shook his head in dismay at what he had to say. “So that’s what he did. Last weekend, after giving Pepper a sleeping pill so she wouldn’t wake up and know he was gone, he climbed on Mrs. Watson’s roof and blocked her chimney, and then he blocked her door from opening
so she couldn’t get out. Isn’t that right, Dylan?”

  “No! I swear I didn’t do any of that. And Pepper didn’t inherit the ghost town anyway!”

  “Yes, but you didn’t know that. And there’s still her cash inheritance. You’re probably glad, in fact. Cash is easier to deal with than running a business like Silver Bend.”

  Pepper was staring at Dylan, blinking slowly, trying to process everything. “Is it true?”

  “No!”

  “You did steal my credit card,” Pepper said, pursing her lips.

  “That’s different! That’s not murder. I would never!”

  “We heard you were out here a couple of weeks ago, Dylan,” Ian continued. “You were even seen out on Mrs. Watson’s porch, playing around with the chairs. Testing them to see if they would be able to block the door handles, right?”

  “What?” Dylan did look confused now. “Last week was my first time here.”

  I blinked. While Ian wasn’t right about everything, that little fact surprised me, assuming Dylan was telling the truth.

  Pepper was nodding. She seemed to be waking up a little now. “He hadn’t been here before. I came out here to see Nanna a few weeks ago. But I didn’t come with Dylan.”

  Everyone stared at Pepper.

  “Who did you come with?” Sally asked.

  “Brad.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Brad stood up, his hands held palms out in front of him, his head whipping left and right, denying accusations that hadn’t even been made yet.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. I just came out here with Pepper to keep her company. Dylan had a gig.”

  After clearing my throat a final time, I finally felt up to speaking. My throat was still raw, but I could talk.

  “That may be true. But beyond that, Brad didn’t have any reason to want Mrs. Watson dead.”

  “Exactly! She was great! I didn’t hurt her—I wouldn’t hurt anyone. I’m a good guy!”

  Now that last sentence was pushing it a bit far. I could maybe be persuaded that Brad was an okay guy when he wasn’t stealing, but good? Nah, that was too much.

  “What were you two doing here?” Carl asked.

  Pepper spoke up. As the sun was rising outside, the glassiness in her eyes was beginning to fade as she began to fully wake up.

  “I wanted to confess something to Nanna. Something from back in my high school days. I was making a video about honesty being the best policy and embracing your faults. Brad came with me to keep me company.”

  Rachel turned her head to stare at Pepper. “What were you confessing?”

  Pepper stared down at the table, not meeting Rachel’s gaze. “It was me who stole the twenty dollars from the ice cream shop.”

  Rachel slapped her hand down on the table. “I knew it! And that explains a few things.”

  “Like what?” Carl asked.

  “Hello?” Hunter said loudly. “Are we forgetting something here? The old man killed Mrs. Watson! We don’t need to hear about high school hijinks—we’ve got a murderer here!”

  “Weren’t me,” Abner said with a little shake of his head. He’d been remarkably quiet considering the accusations that were thrown his way. But that was the kind of person he was, not one for showy displays of emotion.

  Hunter was on his feet, looking around the room for allies to his cause but not finding them anywhere except for his wife. Everyone else seemed to be withholding judgment until more had been revealed.

  I stood up too, resting a hand on the table for support but with my lungs now seeming to be back in fully functional order.

  “Hunter’s wrong. It wasn’t Abner,” I began. I didn’t get much further as Hunter was instantaneous with his retort.

  “Wrong! It was him! It’s the only person that makes sense!”

  “No, I mean, you came up with a method and a motive, but they simply don’t work with a man like Abner. He’s simply not a killer. Are you?”

  “Nope,” Abner said, treating me to the very smallest of upturns in the corner of his mouth, the closest I’d seen to a smile from him since I met him.

  “They all say that,” Hunter said, rolling his eyes. He stepped back from the table and began to pace back and forth.

  “You’re looking pretty flighty there, Hunter.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” he said while continuing to pace.

  “It means it looks like you’re getting ready to run away.”

  Carl slowly turned his gun to point in Hunter’s direction.

  “You’re not thinking of running, are you, son?”

  “Run? Why would I run? I’ve got nothing to hide.”

  “I think you do, Hunter,” I said. “Let’s go over a few things, shall we?”

  “Why don’t you sit back down, boy? All your pacing’s making me nervous.”

  “Sit down, babe. Let’s get this cleared up and then we’ll go home.” Rachel extended a hand to her husband. He looked at it, considered it, and rejected it.

  “This is ridiculous.”

  Hunter turned and launched himself toward the saloon door in a sudden burst of energy.

  “Babe!”

  “Boy!”

  Just before Hunter reached the door to the bar, it flung open, causing all of us to gape in surprise.

  Silhouetted in the doorway was a man in a Stetson hat, a patch over his eye, a telescope in his belt and a rifle hanging in his right hand.

  “Bill!” I shouted.

  “What in all that’s good and—”

  Hunter crashed into Bill, turning his final words into a gasp for breath as the younger man’s shoulder crashed into the older man’s solar plexus.

  “Hunter! No!” Rachel shouted.

  But he was beyond reason. He yanked the rifle out of Bill’s hands and turned around, wrapping an arm around Bill’s waist to keep the winded man upright and putting his body in-between himself and Carl’s gun.

  “Hunter,” Carl said, his voice frigid. “Last chance. Sit down. Now.”

  He almost looked like he was going to do it. Almost, but instead he raised the rifle, grabbing the barrel of it with the arm wrapped around Bill and putting his other on the trigger.

  Carl fired a shot way over Hunter’s head, disappearing into the woodwork and raining down a small amount of sawdust. It was a warning.

  Hunter responded in kind, squeezing the trigger of the rifle. But Hunter’s shot wasn’t a warning.

  I watched, breathless as his finger curled in slow motion, pulling the trigger inward. I hoped the gun wasn’t loaded or that the safety mechanism was still on.

  Nope.

  It was locked and loaded and ready for action, and the moment Hunter’s finger completed its curl, the rifle let out an almighty crack, launching a bullet in Carl’s direction.

  “Argh!” Carl shouted as his own firearm clattered to the ground. Through the kind of luck that Hunter, along with half the gamblers in Vegas, did not deserve, the rifle bullet had crashed into the gun, knocking it flying and scraping Carl’s hand as it flew relentlessly forward to bury itself into the hardwood front of the saloon’s bar.

  Hunter gave Bill a shove, knocking him stumbling forward before he crashed into a wooden support column and managed to grab it to steady himself. Hunter was out the door in an instant, yells and screams following him.

  “Babe! No!”

  “Get back here!”

  But he was gone.

  Our ears ringing from the two gunshots, we all stared at the open door that Hunter had flown out of. That was not how I wanted things to go down.

  “Mornin’, Bill,” Abner said amiably.

  Bill pushed himself up straight, wheezed a couple of times, and then tipped his hat toward Abner. “Mornin’.”

  The rest of us stared at the pair of them in something akin to disbelief. How could they greet each other so calmly after all that had happened?

  Around the table, Simone and Rachel were both sobbing. Pepper was staring slack-jawed and the sleeping
pill she took the night before seemed to be kicking back in again.

  Carl was holding his hand up, a handkerchief now wrapped around it.

  “Are you okay?” I asked him.

  “I’ll live. Guess I won’t be doing any shooting with this hand for a while though.”

  “Untie me, would ya?” Abner asked.

  Carl nodded and Ian immediately hurried behind the old man and began to cut away at the tape with one of the saloon’s knives.

  When the tape was off, Abner stood up and walked over to Bill.

  “Fancy going for a hunt?”

  Bill stared at him for several seconds. Finally, he gave an almost imperceptible nod. “Nice mornin’ for it.”

  The two old men began to shuffle toward the door.

  “Guys?” I called. “Wait up. We’re coming too.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  There were four of us and two horses. Abner and Bill both had their steeds tied up just down the street, and we were on our way to mount up. Our little posse of four was going hunting.

  “Where’d you come from, Bill?” I asked him as we walked toward the horses. They were tied up next to each other outside the long closed-down General Store, one white, one chestnut.

  He tapped the telescope on his belt. “Looked out this morning, to see how y’all were doing. But it didn’t look too good. Every cabin door was open, and the sun barely peeking its head above the horizon. That ain’t right, I says to myself. City slickers don’t get up that early. Not all of them at once, anyhow. I said to myself, Bill, something ain’t right. So I came down to do a bit of investigating of my own.”

  “Good looking out,” Abner growled. “You growin’ a brain in your old age?”

  Bill chuckled at Abner but didn’t answer, simply shaking his head in amusement at the insult.

  “How are we going to find him?” I asked.

  Abner and Bill glanced at each other, swapping information without needing to open their mouths, or even do much more than flick their eyes. They both almost smiled.

  “Tracks. We’ll mosey on around town, see where they lead. Y’all are sure he’s not driving off?”