Peppermint Breath & an Untimely Death

by Willow Monroe

  “Holy cow,” I said. Adam had to be in his late fifties or maybe even sixty.

  “Took her on a cruise for Christmas. Who ever heard of such a thing?” he added.

  I was sure he really missed having the family all together for the holidays.

  “How long has Mrs. Nettle been gone?” I asked.

  “Let’s see, Tootsie has been gone almost ten years now,” he said with a sad little smile.

  I shook my head. I’d forgotten her real name was Tootsie. “Seems like just yesterday she was answering the phones down at the newspaper office.”

  He seemed to agree. “Taken away much too soon.”

  We were quiet for a moment and then he took a deep breath. “Maybe they’ll come up for Easter. Watching the little ones hunt eggs would be a hoot.”

  “Yes, it would,” I said, sorry I’d brought up Tootsie Nettle.

  “And I might just get each of them baby chicks. That’ll send their prim and proper mama into orbit,” he laughed, then stood up and zipped up his jacket.

  I laughed as well. Adam and his first wife had not made many appearances in Sugar Hill over the past few years but the last time I saw them, they were driving a Mercedes and dressed to the nines. I guess he needed to keep up appearances. And now he’d traded her in for a younger model and started a new family.

  “Mr. Nettle, you be careful out there,” Poppy said as the old mail man headed out the door.

  “Will do,” he promised, saluting her with a gloved hand.

  The midday crew began arriving right after that, starting with our long-time waitress Barbara Ellen. Poppy and I retreated to the office. While she carefully counted and arranged the money so all the bills were pointing in the right direction (don’t ask me why) I sipped coffee.

  “Hey, are you entering the baking competition for the Winter Festival this year?” Poppy asked.

  “Sure am,” I said, never one to back down from a challenge. “Thought I’d change up a cupcake recipe.”

  “I heard a rumor,” Poppy said, whispering as though someone might hear us.

  “What?” I whispered right back.

  “I heard this year’s judging will be on presentation more than taste,” Poppy said, stuffing the money into the blue zippered pouch with the bank’s name emblazoned on the front ‘Sugar Hill First National Bank’. Like there might be a second or third National Bank.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you’re going to have to decorate your cupcakes and have an original, creative presentation,” she explained.

  “You mean like fancy?” I asked, thinking of all those elaborate creations that graced the pages of magazines.

  “Yeah, you know, make them look like a snow man or something,” she continued. “Maybe a cardinal. You know, something seasonal.”

  “That’s nuts. I’m not a baker. I’ve never ‘decorated’ a thing in my life,” I protested.

  Poppy pointed one corner of the blue money bag at me. “Well, you’d better get some practice in. You’ll be doing my wedding cake.”

  “But...”

  “And this is going to be good practice. Plus, you need to add some more blue ribbons to that display case,” Poppy said, standing up. “Now, let’s get to the bank and get our walk finished before Mother Nature drops another ton of snow on us.”

  I was still grumbling about the change in the contest rules when we headed out the back door of the diner, bundled up like snow men. The wind was so cold it made my eyes water and when the train roared past, just as we reached the station and headed downtown, I seriously considered turning back altogether.

  The streets were empty, a strange hushed feeling seemed to have fallen over the town, and the sky overhead was dark gray. A few cars passed us, moving slowly. More cars were parked along the street, covered with snow from the snow plows.

  The bank was as empty as the streets. Mrs. Snyder, with her tightly permed blue hair and round owl glasses was right there at her post. She’d worked at the bank for about a hundred years and part of me wondered if she just lived there. Another part of me wondered why the bank was even open.

  She and Poppy made the transaction, with Poppy unzipping the pouch for her while they talked about receipts and checks and how the new twenties looked really weird. I agreed with them but kept quiet, not wanting to prolong this.

  A stack of flyers about the Winter Festival lay nearby. I picked one up and read through it, discovering that Poppy was indeed correct about the baking contest. I stuffed one in my coat pocket so I could look at it more closely later.

  Finally, we scarfed up our purple lollipops and headed back out into the snow.

  “Do you really think we should walk today?” I asked, already dreading the one steep hill on the walking trail at the park.

  “I really do,” Poppy said, heading across the street to the park. “The cold air is so invigorating.”

  I had another word for the cold air but kept my mouth shut. Poppy gets upset if her routine gets interrupted so I sighed, watching my breath plume in the cold air in front of my face. Several cars were parked near the park entrance as well, all covered with snow.

  “Okay, then, let’s get this over with.”

  We shuffled through ankle deep snow to the walking path that ran the full perimeter of the park. I think we’d measured it to be about a mile and a half. Usually, when I wasn’t frozen into a popsicle, we walked it three times. Today, I was determined that we were only going to make one trip around.

  With my hood tied securely under my chin, I bowed my head against the wind and jammed my hands into my pockets. Following Poppy, I stayed in the path she made through the snow. It was deeper here and to distract myself from the cold, I made a game out of stepping in her footprints. Her legs are longer than mine so her strides are wider. So, I was huffing and puffing when I heard her say something.

  The wind blew her words away and I looked up. “What?”

  Someone - a man - was coming toward us, bundled up from head to toe against the weather, complete with a long wool coat, the kind cowboys wear. My first thought was that he was smart enough to wear a ski mask to protect his face from the wind and snow. My second thought was that he looked familiar. Of course he did. Why would a stranger be walking around in our local park in this weather? But a positive identity would be impossible with all of those clothes.

  He nodded at us briefly when we passed on the path and continued on.

  “He’s going the wrong way,” Poppy said when I came up alongside of her.

  I wasn’t aware that there was a wrong way. “Yeah, you’ll need to report that to the walking police,” I said.

  Poppy either didn’t hear me or chose to ignore my remark. “He made us a path in the snow,” she said, moving easily into his larger footprints.

  I slogged along behind. When I glanced behind me, I noted the man had done the same, sliding his feet through the path we had made in the snow. We trudged ahead, the wind blowing snow off the trees, stinging my eyes. Everything looked alien, like we had stepped onto another planet or in another time.

  “Look,” Poppy said, having to shout over the wind. “He came out through the trees.”

  The snow covering everything had me disoriented for a moment but I looked to where she pointed. The footsteps we’d been following led off the path into the woods which I knew led to a clearing that used to be a make out spot for teenagers.

  “Wonder why he was over there?” I asked.

  “Maybe looking for a dog or something?” Poppy guessed.

  “If he’d lost a dog, he would have asked us if we’d seen one.”

  “You’re right.”

  “I’m pretty sure he wasn’t over there making out,” I added. I knew it was none of my business, but I really was curious.

  Poppy shot me a wicked look and then burst into giggles.

  “Let’s make sure,” I suggested.

  Anything to get off this boring path, and maybe out of the wind for a l
ittle while.

  “Okay, but not far. I want to get in out of this weather,” Poppy agreed.

  This time I led the way, following the man’s footprints in the snow up into the tree line and beyond. Just inside the ring of trees was a winter wonderland right out of a fairy tale. The fountain was silent but the benches were covered in a thick pristine blanket of snow so white it made me blink. The sky was so dark that the old fashioned looking street lamps were glowing.

  “Isn’t it pretty?” Poppy said from just behind me.

  “It is,” I agreed.

  The footprints continued around the perimeter of the open area as if whoever was there hadn’t wanted to disturb the beauty. Just at the top of a knoll the path moved up into the tree line again and stopped. I followed it to the stopping place, right beside a giant oak and turned back toward the clearing.

  And that’s when I saw that the pristine blanket of snow had been disturbed.

  “Poppy, what is that?” I asked, the wind whipping the words back over my shoulder.

  Not waiting for an answer, I slipped and slid down the bank and crossed the opening to the other side of the clearing.

  That was where I found Mr. Nettle. He looked for all the world like he was trying to make a snow angel.

  Except for the pool of blood turning the snow pink under his head.

  Except for the bullet hole right between his eyes.

  Chapter Three

  “Oh my God!” Poppy wailed from somewhere behind me.

  “Mr. Nettle,” I whispered, kneeling in the deepening snow by his boot. And then louder. “Mr. Nettle.”

  “Starla, he’s dead,” Poppy’s voice of reason right at my ear as I reached out. “Don’t touch him.”

  Jerking my hand back, I stood up. Poppy was already on the phone shouting to Thelma down at the police station that we needed help. It took her a while because Thelma is pretty hard of hearing, but she finally got her point across. Poppy’s breath clouded in front of her face. Then she turned away from me, scanning the woods surrounding us.

  “He’s been shot,” I said, needlessly giving Poppy information.

  “I know,” Poppy said, breathless. “Who? Why?”

  “I can’t imagine,” I told her, gazing down at the lifeless man who had been joking in the diner just that morning. His eyes were open, pale blue, snow gathering on his eyelashes.

  “What if they’re still out there?” Poppy whispered, her voice hushed and shaking. She stepped closer to me, her hand reaching for mine. It was shaking, too.

  Suddenly, a different kind of cold invaded my body. The wind seemed to cut right through my clothing and my eyes began to water again. Looking up at the gunmetal gray sky, I saw nothing but snow. It gathered on Mr. Nettle’s pale cheeks and I had the incredible urge to brush it off.

  “I didn’t hear anything. Did you?” I asked, trying to ignore her first question.

  “No.” Poppy shook her head and squeezed my fingers tight.

  The first wail of a siren broke the stillness of the park. It was coming in our direction fast. Well, as fast as they could with the treacherous streets between us and the police station.

  Finally, she said, “We probably should go back out to the walking path. They won’t know where we are.”

  She was right but I didn’t want to leave Mr. Nettle alone. “You go ahead. I’ll wait here with him.”

  With a solemn nod, Poppy retraced our steps back through the trees out to the walking path. It wasn’t long before red and blue lights flashing through the trees let me know that help had arrived. And soon after that I heard voices and could make out the black and white SUV with ‘Police’ written on the side.

  Poppy led two men, dressed for the cold weather, to where I stood. She simply pointed at Mr. Nettle but looked up at the sky instead.

  And that’s when I saw what looked like a shadow in the trees - with a rifle aimed right at us.

  “Look,” I shouted, pointing.

  The shadow was gone but I heard someone running through the trees.

  “Get down!” one of the officers commanded, leaving no room for argument. Pulling out his gun, already moving in a zig-zag pattern toward the woods. “Get down!” he shouted again.

  I went down like a sack of potatoes and pulled Poppy down with me. She was crying softly and I had a mouth full of snow. This could not be happening. A sniper? Hiding in the woods around a park here in Sugar Hill? There had to be another explanation.

  The two men were off, leaving me and Holly alone with Mr. Nettle.

  “Starla, I just want you to know you’re my very best friend,” Poppy whimpered and squeezed my gloved hand hard.

  “And you’re mine,” I told her.

  “I’m so scared.”

  “It’ll be okay,” I reassured her. “We’re going to be okay.”

  “Mr. Nettle’s not,” Poppy sobbed.

  “I know but the police will get to the bottom of this,” I promised.

  There was more shouting from one officer to the other, echoing through the cold air, and I closed my eyes, waiting for the sound of gunshots. None came.

  I don’t know how long we lay there, face down in the snow. The cold was seeping through my clothes. Poppy had stopped crying. At last we heard voices and one of the officers, the younger one, raced toward us.

  “It’s okay,” he said, practically lifting Poppy to her feet. “It was just kids.”

  “Kids with a rifle?” I gasped, getting to my feet, brushing snow off of my clothes.

  “Toy guns,” the officer said. I recognized him now as Tommy Childers. He looked barely old enough to be out of high school, much less wearing a police uniform and chasing would-be snipers through the woods. “See the orange tips?”

  I looked to where he was pointing. The other officer was speaking sternly to two boys about ten years old dressed from head to toe in camo. They carried what looked like assault rifles and they did, indeed, have an orange tip.

  “That’s so we can tell right away that they’re toys,” Tommy explained, struggling to catch his breath.

  At last the boys were dismissed. Shamefaced, they turned and trudged through the snow back down to the walking path. I could only imagine the stories they were going to tell their friends.

  As the second officer reached us, huffing and puffing in the cold air, I recognized him as Andy Sykes. Fresh out of the academy, he’d been on our police force maybe six months. Behind me, Tommy knelt in the snow at Mr. Nettle’s foot just like I had done earlier. He was clearly at a loss as to what to do next.

  The blood stain surrounding Mr. Nettle’s head and shoulders was turning pink in the snow.

  Andy squatted near Mr. Nettle, pulled off a heavy, leather glove and checked for a pulse. Then he turned to Tommy and shook his head. Obviously Andy Sykes knew his way around a dead body.

  “He’s dead.” He sounded pretty sure of himself. “I don’t see a weapon but it could be underneath him.”

  “Suicide?” I said before I could stop myself. “Mr. Nettle?”

  “I just want to be sure and cover all the angles, Miss Starla,” he said, flashing a quick smile in my direction. His stubbled cheeks were red from the wind and cold.

  “Go back to the vehicle and notify the state boys. We don’t have a police chief anymore and I’m not experienced enough to handle this. They’re going to have to take over,” he instructed his partner. “I’ll secure the perimeter.”

  Tommy stood up and nodded He was white as a ghost and looked thankful for something to do.

  “I guess you might want to contact the coroner’s office, too. It’s too late for rescue.”

  Then Andy turned to me. “Once I get the area secure, I’ll have to ask you ladies some questions. Please don’t leave.”

  Poppy and I huddled together against the snow that was coming down harder than before.

  Tommy returned shortly and the three of us stood and watched as Andy slogged through the deepening snow, expertly stringing yellow crime sc
ene tape around the closest trees and benches. When that was complete, Andy began taking pictures from all angles with his cell phone.

  “Did you ladies notice any footprints close to the body?” Andy asked, breathless.

  Both of us shook our heads.

  Andy nodded. “Just wanted to make sure. I didn’t see any either.”

  “We didn’t hear anything either,” I volunteered.

  “We were all bundled up and walking and talking so we might have missed something,” Poppy finished with a shrug.

  “Perfectly understandable,” Andy assured us. “Did you see anyone?”

  Poppy and I looked at each other.

  “A man, I think,” I said.

  “A man?”

  “Yes, he was walking the wrong way on the path,” Poppy told him.

  “So, coming toward you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you recognize him at all?” Andy asked.

  Both of us shook our heads again.

  “He was dressed for the weather, all bundled up, even wearing a ski mask,” I offered. “He didn’t act like he knew us.”

  “So there should be some kind of footprints leading to...” Andy muttered to himself.

  “Leading to here,” I told him. “When we passed each other, we stepped over into the path he’d made in the snow and he walked in ours. When we saw where his lead, we followed it just to see...” I explained, pointing to where we’d come through the trees.

  At that point, I realized we had destroyed any footprint evidence there might have been. “Oh, no...”

  “Okay, no worries,” Andy said, but disappointment was evident on his face.

  Another vehicle arrived, engine grumbling. The white of the coroner’s van looked kind of a sickly yellow against the bright snow. Andy nodded to Tommy who climbed the bank and met the newcomers at the tree line.

  “Let’s get you ladies out of this cold,” Andy said, gently.

  Poppy and I held hands, helping each other up the bank and back into the trees. Andy hung back and I saw him speak to the doctor. Together they walked over to Mr. Nettle’s body. The corner squatted in the snow and gently rolled him to the side. I couldn’t see what was there but Andy shook his head, patted the coroner on one sloping shoulder and followed us up the bank.