Mystic Pieces

by Ada Bell

  No one was around, but I kept to the shadows as I approached the alley, just in case. If anyone in the neighboring offices was working late and happened to peek outside, I’d rather not be noticed.

  Just as I’d made it to the rear corner of We All Fall Down, headlights swept over the road. I shrank back against the building, trying desperately to dodge out of their reach. The car kept moving, so I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Too soon, it turned out. After about ten feet, the car flipped a U-Turn and came back. This time, without the bright lights shining in my eyes, I recognized the driver instantly.

  “Aly? Is that you?”

  I gulped.

  Chapter 20

  My mind raced. I racked my brains, trying to think of any good reason for walking down a closed business street at eight o’clock at night. Since I didn’t have one, I went on the offensive. “Hey, Rusty. What are you doing here?”

  He gestured across the street. “My place is a couple of blocks that way. I just finished closing up the shop. What about you?”

  “I was…coming to see you.”

  “Uh-huh. That’s good, especially since you had no idea where I live until three seconds ago.”

  Right. Smooth, Aly.

  I sighed. After making the decision to trust him earlier, it was easy to do it again. I told him everything Kevin and I had figured out, ending with, “I want to dig through Benji’s trash to see if he hid the murder weapon in plain sight.”

  “And then see if it gives you a vision of Uncle Earl’s death?”

  “Yeah.”

  Bile rose in my throat at the thought. I hadn’t wanted to ask Rusty to let me into Earl’s house because of my desire to spare him this pain, and now he was going to be with me anyway. Too late, I realized that I should’ve lied.

  To my surprise, Rusty held out his hand. “Come on. We’ll search faster together.”

  I blinked at him. “You’re going to help me?”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know, I thought you’d say something like ‘stay out of this, little lady and leave the detecting to the real men.’”

  He laughed. “Have you been watching old Westerns?”

  My face grew warm. “Maybe. Kyle likes the horses.”

  “Listen, we probably should both go home and call the police. But I know Sheriff Matthews. I know Mayor Banister well enough to believe she put pressure on him to make a quick arrest. He’s not going to admit he made a mistake without hard evidence, and he would never ever throw her under the bus. To some people, saving face is more important than the truth.”

  “What about his nephew?”

  “Doug’s a good man. A great man. But he’s loyal to his uncle, and he won’t go behind the sheriff’s back without a very good reason.”

  “So it’s hopeless?”

  “No. We need to give him one. Let’s see what we find, and then we’ll call Doug.”

  A smile crossed my face. If nothing else, it was nice not to be alone while I did this. I started for the back of the alley.

  Rusty took my hand. His fingers were so warm, I wanted to rub them all over my freezing face.

  “What are you doing?”

  He winked. “Giving us a cover story.”

  Ahhh. Without further argument, I started toward the alley. Rusty followed me to the entrance, then tugged my hand gently.

  I paused. “What?”

  “Slow down.” He lowered his voice. “We’re on a romantic stroll, remember?”

  Right. A romantic stroll toward the garbage cans.

  Funny thing was, this actually would be nice if not for the trash smells and the murder investigation and the looming hypothermia. The moon rode high in the sky, bathing the area in a pale light. Stars peppered the sky, making a beautiful backdrop for lovers taking a moonlit walk. Not to mention the incredibly hot man walking beside me. He was taller than Sam. Thin, but not scrawny.

  It occurred to me that if I were looking for someone to date, the man walking beside me, holding my hand, might make a much better choice than the guy living a hundred miles away who had barely noticed me. After all, did Rusty really have to hold my hand for the two of us to walk toward the bowling alley together? Even if we saw someone, which seemed unlikely, we could say we were on the date without touching. He sure didn’t make any effort to touch me on the two dates we did have.

  I started to tell him that, but them remembered that Rusty was the only thing keeping my fingers warm. This wasn’t the time to rehash our failed romance.

  The trash cans were located next to a side door about four feet from the front of the building, so we had approximately two hundred feet to hope no one saw us. The giant letters spelling out “We All Fall Down” on the front of the building cast a red glow on the parking lot at the end of the alley, which the snow reflected back. I felt like someone gazing at the world through rose-colored glasses. The area wasn’t terribly bright, but everything carried a pink tinge. Bizarrely, I wondered if Thelma had picked out the lights.

  We’d walked about two-thirds of the way when Rusty stopped abruptly. He cocked his head toward the front but said nothing.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  Instead of responding, he turned and wrapped me in his arms. So warm. So strong. He smelled like brewed coffee and sugar, two of my favorite things in the world. For a moment, I wanted to forget why we were here and bury my face in his chest.

  Rusty touched my chin, bringing my gaze to his. Before I could ask what he was doing, his lips pressed down on mine.

  Mmmm. That was—well, odd in its timing and lack of finesse, but quite nice nonetheless. Or maybe it had just been too long since I kissed someone. I sank into his arms, opening my mouth beneath the gentle pressure of Rusty’s lips.

  “Why, hello there!”

  A voice cut into my thoughts, and I suddenly realized that the two of us were not alone in this alley. Oh. That explained a lot, actually. Cover story. Right. Rusty wasn’t kissing me because he wanted to. How unfortunate. It was really a very nice kiss. With some regret, I stepped back.

  About fifty feet away stood Julie from On What Grounds?, standing with a guy I didn’t know. Slightly above medium height, muscular, but not in a bodybuilder way. He had short, spiky dark brown hair, a neatly trimmed goatee, and wire-rimmed glasses. When he grinned to have caught me and Rusty kissing, a dimple flashed in each cheek.

  “Hi,” I said. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Aly.”

  “Carlos. Nice to meet you.”

  “Sorry, guys,” Rusty said. “We just got a little carried away.”

  “Aly Reynolds? Is that you?” Julie peered into the darkness. “Rusty, I didn’t realize you were seeing anyone.”

  “It’s our third date,” I blurted out. Technically true, but probably not helpful.

  She winked at me. “Lucky you. Seems to be going well.”

  All the blood rushed into my face. Oh, man. Please let Julie and Carlos not be major gossips. The last thing I needed was for the entire town to hear about me making out with the hot barista in a dark alley.

  Although that would be a better rumor than “works for a murderer,” now that I thought about it.

  Rusty’s hand went to the small of my back, bringing me some peace. He must’ve been able to sense my discomfort. “Hey, guys. We’re just taking the shortcut to the entrance. The night is so beautiful, I got a little distracted.”

  The shortcut? I didn’t know that. Apparently there was no need for stealth if people cut through this alley all the time.

  “You’re here to bowl?” Carlos asked.

  “Yes! I love bowling!” I put as much enthusiasm as I could muster into my response. “My brother is always talking about how much he loves this place and how…shiny…the balls are.”

  Rusty squeezed my hand in an unmistakable “shut up” gesture. Happy to oblige.

  Julie squealed. “Awesome! Now we can play teams!”
/>
  “You’re just relieved that I can’t wipe the floor with you if it’s us against them,” Carlos said.

  “I’d like to see you try!”

  “Sounds great,” Rusty said. “See you in there.”

  I started to protest, but Julie and Carlos disappeared inside before I could get the words out, propelled by the cold into the welcoming warm air of the lobby. Not that it mattered—what was I going to say? Sorry, guys, we can’t bowl with you because I really want to dig around in a week’s worth of garbage before pickup tomorrow.

  “What do we do now?” I whispered to Rusty.

  “Well, if we don’t want them to tell Benji that we’re out here digging in his trash, now we bowl.”

  Chapter 21

  This day was not turning out at all like I’d hoped when I got out of bed this morning. The list of things that had gone off the rails was starting to get ridiculous. Now, on top of everything else, I needed to put on rented shoes—and pray that they wouldn’t decide to tell me anything about a previous wearer.

  For a moment, I thought about trying to get the shoes Earl had worn last, but well (a) he probably owned his own bowling shoes, (b) they wouldn’t fit me, and (c) gross. Also, unless he’d been wearing his bowling shoes when he died, I wouldn’t learn anything. I had to draw the line at dead old guy shoes. Even to solve a murder. At least unless I became really, really desperate.

  Benji stood at the counter, looking exactly as I remembered him. Not wanting to have any interaction with him before rooting through his trash if I could avoid it, I went to the lane beside Julie and Carlos’s while Rusty went to take care of the lane and shoe rental. Our co-bowlers already had their shoes and balls, because apparently owning your own bowling equipment was common here.

  Then I realized that we needed a plan, and we couldn’t plan if we couldn’t speak. It would look weird if we started texting each other. Despite feeling like I might throw up, I told Julie I wanted to order some nachos to give me a reason to go talk to Rusty at the front counter.

  “How do we get out of this?” I whispered. “I can’t bowl.”

  “Relax. Now we have a reason to be here. We’ll bowl two frames, you’ll get a call from ‘Kevin’, and pretend you need to take it outside.”

  “You expect my brother to help me right now?”

  “No. I expect you to be able to fake finding a missed call when you check your phone.”

  Right. I could do that. Especially because Kevin had called at least three times since I hung up on him. This plan wouldn’t require much acting ability on my part. I really did need to talk to him, if for no other reason than to let him know that his car was fine and not to call the police on me.

  “Everything okay?” Benji asked from his spot beside the cash register.

  “Fine! Just wondering if the shoes run true to size,” I lied.

  “No half-sizes. They don’t fit, come back and I’ll swap ‘em out.”

  The next ten minutes crawled, but finally, we got our shoes, chose our balls, and got the electronic scoring system set up. The whole system looked pretty daunting, but Carlos input all our info in about thirty seconds.

  “Wow. Impressive,” I said.

  He shrugged. “We’re here a lot.”

  Apparently bowling was bigger in Shady Grove than I expected. Or, it was the only thing open past sunset other than the diner. Due to some outdated laws, Shady Grove didn’t actually have an operating bar within the city limits. It was legal now, but the first bar opened in town went out of business after the owners got a divorce. The second bar went belly up after a snowstorm took out the roof shortly after opening (thanks largely to some shoddy construction) and the third fell victim to coronavirus. After that, no wanted to take the risk. Bars in the area seemed cursed. I’d thought the curse was a big joke until I’d realized that some people here had psychic powers. Maybe somewhere, a ghost didn’t want the residents of Shady Grove to over-imbibe.

  Once I used the bathroom and picked up my nachos from the food counter, I realized that I wouldn’t be able to avoid putting the rented shoes on any longer. Moment of truth. I swallowed and wiped my palms on my pants.

  “You okay?” Carlos asked.

  “Great! Uh, does anyone have any hand sanitizer?” I didn't know if that would help, but it couldn’t hurt.

  Finally, I braced myself and removed my winter boots, sliding my foot into the left bowling shoe. It felt… like a shoe. Okay. The second shoe went on. Still, I was afraid that standing up and walking might trigger something I didn’t want to experience. This mission was such a mess, and it might be about to get even weirder.

  Rusty insisted that I go first for our team. Realistically, this allowed me to escape outside as soon as possible, but it had the effect of setting off a flurry of butterflies inside my stomach.

  I gulped.

  “What’s wrong?” Julie asked. “Your hands are shaking.”

  “Uh. It’s nothing,” I said. “Just…I don't know how. I’ve never bowled successfully.”

  “How is that possible?” Carlos asked. “It's the only thing to do within twenty miles.”

  I knew there was a reason bowling was so popular! Note to self: open a movie theater. Or a bar. Olive could help me handle some ghosts.

  “Early on, I spent all my time helping my brother. I tend to be a homebody. I like to read, keep to myself. Especially in bad weather.” Which was like half the year in upstate New York.

  “Guess it’s a good thing you met this guy then.” Julie gestured at Rusty. “He’ll definitely get you out of your shell.”

  Right. We were supposed to be on a date. I forced a smile. “Lucky me.”

  “I’m the lucky one,” he said.

  Finally, with no more excuses for stalling, I pushed myself off the bench and went to grab a ball. My eyes never left the shoes, not even when I bumped into the weird metal contraption with all the balls sitting on it.

  Nothing happened. They were regular shoes, after all. Oh, thank goodness. I remembered how to breathe.

  “Here, let me show you.” Rusty picked up my ball and tested it in his hand. “Okay, first of all, this is a ball for children.”

  “It seemed easy to throw.”

  “It weighs three pounds.”

  “I can lift three pounds,” I said reasonably.

  “You’re rolling it down the lane, not chucking it one-handed,” Julie said. “Here, take mine.”

  Her shiny pink ball boasted an eight on the side, which I initially mistook for an infinity symbol. That wouldn’t make much sense, though, unless she owned a magic bowling ball that adjusted its weight to each user.

  That would be cool.

  Taking the ball, I slid my fingers into the holes, noting how much less constrictive it felt than the lighter one. Now that I knew my first choice was designed for children, that made sense. Kyle had tiny fingers.

  Rusty walked me to the…space in front of where you bowl. The area probably had a name. I didn’t know what it was. “Look, it’s pretty simple. All you have to do is take three steps, swing the ball back, swing forward, and release.”

  “Right. I can do that.”

  “You’re not breathing.”

  Funny how the thought of throwing a bowling ball in front of three other people terrified me in a way that digging through trash in a dark alley looking for a murder weapon while the alleged murderer stood less than twenty yards away did not.

  I inhaled as long as I could and immediately felt less dizzy. Rusty took the ball gently from my hands. “Watch. Line up your shot. Sight the ball on the middle pin. Three steps. One, two, three. Release.”

  As he spoke he moved toward the lane, coming down into a crouch. On the count of three, he showed me how to place the ball on the ground so it would roll into the pins. He made it look so graceful, more like dancing ballet than bowling.

  “Do a practice run. Here, take the ball.”

  “Okay, than
ks.” I held the ball in front of me almost like a shield. This was ridiculous. All I had to do was toss the darn thing and then I could find out if Benji killed Earl. It didn’t even have to knock any of the pins down. We weren’t here to win at bowling.

  “You can do it!” Carlos called encouragingly from his seat beside Julie.

  I shot him a wan smile. Practice run. I could do this. Mimicking Rusty’s movements, I swung the arm holding the ball back. My wrist swept forward.

  The world around me tilted.

  I stood in a strange room. Black and white tile covered the floor under my feet. I knew that tile, having seen it in Thelma’s kitchen earlier. Then I saw a wooden table, a large bald head. The man wasn’t facing me, but it wasn’t Thelma’s table. She had a floral tablecloth this place didn’t. Same floors, same counters, same appliances. Different house. Meaning they were probably located in the same neighborhood.

  On the table sat the same items as in the police photos. A cauldron. Chicken feathers. Candles and powdered rose thorn. This had to be Earl’s house, his table.

  The ball entered my vision, blocking my view of whoever sat at the table. As if moving of their own volition, my feet traveled across the floor. The ball moved upward, out of the edges of my vision. Too late, I realized what was about to happen. I tried to scream out a warning, but the words stuck in my throat. The ball raised over my head, only inches behind the man who I now realized must be Earl.

  My arms fell.

  With a scream, I dropped the ball. The murder weapon.

  Julie’s ball.

  It narrowly avoided crushing my foot and rolled away. I barely noticed. Another flash hit me. Not a vision, a memory. The day I met Maria, Julie was in her studio, taking private self-defense lessons. I didn’t hear the entire conversation, but she had definitely been afraid of someone. A person who no longer posed a threat to her. Julie was at the police station earlier, around the same time they got a tip about where to find the cast iron skillet. Doug never said how the tip was given, or even that he didn’t know where it came from—only that it was anonymous. Julie was a baker. Strong arms, and it would’ve been easy for her to hide the cast iron skillet with the other baking stuff inside On What Grounds?’s kitchen until she had time to break into Missing Pieces to hide it. She was also the person who made me suspect Thelma.