Murder's No Votive Confidence

by Christin Brecher

  Peter had his shark kite up and running in no time. He had also bought one for me. A bomber plane. I hadn’t flown a kite since my mom and I had raced each other up and down the beach one September weekend after school had started when I was about seven or eight. Since I’d left for college, my mom had taken off to resume her worldly travels, and I sometimes missed those impulsive outings she’d plan.

  “Race you,” I said.

  “From where to where?” said Peter.

  I looked across the empty field that ended on a high cliff over the harbor.

  “From here to that tree,” I said and pointed across the field. “And be careful of the dog poo.”

  We placed our kites on the ground in front of us.

  “One, two, three,” I said and started to run.

  The wind was still hearty and my kite took off immediately. I was off and running across the field in no time. The wind whipped through my hair. I knew it would look like a hornet’s nest when I reached the finish line, but the exercise felt great after the day I’d had and something about a kite in my hand gave me a feeling I could do anything. I let out a cheer, and relished the fact that everything about it was the opposite of Mrs. Sterling’s scream this morning. My cry was one that said, “watch out world.”

  Behind me, the four dogs barked wildly. I turned around to see if they were joyfully following my lead.

  They were not.

  “Crap,” I said, out of breath. I stopped running and watched the scene behind me as my kite smacked into the tree that was our finish line.

  Peter had not had the same joyful run as I’d had. Rather than follow me, the dogs had tackled him to the ground as they’d tried to catch his kite. The animals were now wildly entangled in his kite strings. Their owners were running toward him with unhappy faces.

  I watched as Peter frantically untangled the dogs as their barks turned to growls. The moment Peter freed them, he dashed across the field toward me with the dogs, once more hot on his trail. Peter waved his hands for me to run. Where, I could not say, but he surprised me by leaping onto the tree and shimmying up its trunk. Not easy. These are pitch pine trees. Not the kind you decorate for Christmas, but not your typical climbing tree either.

  “Come on,” he said. He reached a hand down to me from a tree limb.

  I knew that two of the dogs were over ten years old and wouldn’t make it across the field, but Peter’s fear was comically overkill. I reached up to grab his hand, and with a good initial pull, I was able to get my footing to join him.

  “I hate dogs,” he said. He peeked through the branches to confirm he had escaped. The dogs’ owners were busy putting leashes on them and looking at us like we were crazy. Peter’s kite was picked up by the wind and disappeared over the horizon.

  There was one main branch at climber’s height and we were both standing on it. Unfortunately, our combined weight was a lot for the branch and I noticed it was beginning to crack. Peter noticed it, too, and jumped to a branch above us that looked much stronger. As he did, our tree limb cracked. In a moment, I felt my perch disappear. I was sure I was about to plummet to the ground. It was a sort of slo-mo experience, where I was thinking about what part of me was about to break as I was processing what was happening.

  Slapping me back into the moment, however, was Peter’s tight grip on my hand, which I guess I’d waved above my head in fear as I’d started to fall. The next thing I knew, I was dangling from his hand as he sat on the limb above.

  “Pull up your feet,” he said.

  “Are you crazy?” I said. “Drop me.”

  “You’ll hurt yourself.” He had a point. “Come on. You can do it. Pull your feet up.”

  I took a breath. My hand was getting sweaty, so I didn’t have a lot of time to debate the pros and cons. I looked up to Peter, and decided I could reach the branch.

  Part of my amazing feat most definitely had to do with the fact that I didn’t want to look any more ridiculous than I already did. I miraculously pulled my feet above my head. Next thing I knew, they were looped around the limb. With a little more help from Peter, I was upright on a thicker, stronger branch.

  “So,” I said, wiping a leaf from my hair and pulling it back into what I hoped was some semblance of order.

  “So,” said Peter, looking proud of me. “I’ve never given an interview in a tree before.”

  “How are we going to get back down?” I asked. Now that the branch below us had broken, we were high up with little way of lowering ourselves.

  “We’ll figure something out,” he said. Peter looked down to assess the situation, but he didn’t look particularly concerned.

  At that moment, my phone pinged a message from Andy.

  Thanks for caring about the murder, by the way. I just don’t want to have to come save you, too, he said.

  I responded:

  Please bring a rope and meet me at the large tree at Tupancy Links.

  I hit send and hoped Andy was nearby.

  “Here,” said Peter, clearing some branches by the tree trunk, where one of the curvy limbs was widest. “This should be a comfy seat.”

  It was. With the branches fanning around us and the midafternoon sun peeking through a cloud, I wasn’t too cold either. As I settled into my nest, I noticed Peter reach into his pocket and pull out, of all things, his notebook.

  “My turn. Where did you work before this?” I asked.

  “Alaska,” he said. “Small paper, small town. I like small towns.”

  “Why’d you leave?” I asked, wondering if he, too, got the small-town February blues.

  “I’m not sure the story would impress you,” said Peter.

  “I’m up a tree with you. I’m fairly sure nothing will shock me.”

  “Fair enough,” he said. “I got caught breaking in to the mayor’s house looking into a story my paper had not sanctioned. I thought the mayor was up to some no-good business, and I wanted to check it out before pitching the idea. The police found me. They asked the paper to corroborate my story, which they could not. The rest is history.”

  “Your first investigative report,” I said.

  Peter smiled proudly.

  “Were you right?” I said. “About the mayor?”

  “As a matter of fact,” he said. “They asked the guy who replaced me to look into the story and sure enough, I was right. That’s how I got the job here. Otherwise, I’d have had to find a new profession. Close call.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” I said, looking to the ground far below me.

  “If you don’t mind my asking, what was it like to see Simon Sterling on the ground?”

  I thought a moment.

  “It was ugly. I watched everything as if it were a movie.”

  “What did your candle look like?”

  “The break was pretty clean. The wick held the two pieces together,” I said. Immediately, I regretted the detail and decided to change the angle of my story. “My candles were hand designed with a signature scent for the couple. They are one-of-a-kind and highly sought after by people getting married. In fact, I have orders for seven candles this summer.” So, I fudged. Peter did not need to know that my orders were dropping.

  “What was everyone doing after they saw the body?” Peter said.

  I knew it was my turn to ask the questions, but I described the scene to him. Jessica and Mrs. Sterling on the floor, talking about her father. Joe running in to comfort Jessica. Tony and Bill behind him. I left out the fact that Maude fainted.

  “What did Bill do?”

  “Nothing at all suspicious,” I said. “He comforted Maude.”

  “Yet he’s a killer,” said Peter.

  “That’s ridiculous,” I said. “Have you met Bill? He’s salt of the earth.”

  “I hear he gambles.”

  “Bill does not gamble,” I said.

  “You wanted me to tell you what I know,” said Peter. He flipped the pages of his notebook. “He gambles. The police told me he wen
t to Gambler’s Anonymous.”

  “How do they know that?” I said, still incredulous.

  Peter shrugged. “Someone on the police force gave him a ride one day, I think.”

  I leaned my head against the tree. I wondered if having a gambling problem and serving drinks during the poker match might have been too much for Bill to handle. I could see how Bill might have made a wager, lost unfairly to a con man, and then lost his temper. I still could not believe he’d intended to murder Simon, but the evidence against him was growing. I decided right then that I needed to speak with Bill before I took another step forward.

  Chapter 12

  “Stella?” I heard my name echo across the field. I pulled the branches in front of me aside and saw Andy walking across the field, holding a rope and looking confused.

  “We’re rescued!” I said to Peter.

  “Yay,” he said, not looking entirely pleased.

  “Over here,” I said. I shook the branches so Andy could see some sign of life.

  Andy stopped as if he were not sure what he was seeing. I rattled the branch and shouted again.

  He shook his head and headed our way.

  “What are you doing?” Andy started, but stopped when he saw I was not alone.

  “Peter Bailey,” said Peter with a wave. “I’ve just started at the Inky Mirror. First story I’m going to write is about the rabid dogs who chased us up this tree.”

  Peter might have expected a laugh, but he didn’t get one. Andy folded his arms.

  “Just throw me the rope,” I said.

  “Don’t forget the kite,” Andy said.

  I looked above me and noticed my bomber kite lodged above.

  “I can’t reach it,” I said.

  Andy threw the rope to me, which I caught. Peter pulled at the kite strings.

  “She’s right,” he said. “It’s pretty well tangled.”

  “Figure it out,” said Andy. “Can’t let kite strings fly into the harbor. They get wrapped around the seagull’s legs.”

  I felt really bad for the seagulls when I thought about Peter’s kite that had flown away. Peter must have, too, because he reached above him and pulled hard to release mine. I secured the rope Andy had thrown us around the tree limb and tied it tightly.

  “Go,” I told Peter.

  “After you,” he said and gallantly handed the rope back to me.

  “I’m busy with actual work down here,” said Andy. “Hurry up, please.”

  I shimmied to the ground and Peter followed right behind me.

  “This makes sense,” said Andy when we’d landed. “I got a call from Mrs. Hendricks that two drunken FIGAWI partiers had attacked her dog. She’s down at the station right now. Stella, perhaps you’d like to explain the situation to her. I guess she didn’t recognize you with the kite and all. She’s pretty upset. You know Bitters has a bad hip.”

  “I know,” I said and pulled another leaf from my hair.

  “I didn’t see your car in the lot,” said Andy. “I’ll give you a lift.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and I meant it. I was really happy that Andy had offered me the chance to calm down Mrs. Hendricks. I didn’t need another bad story attached to my name today and he knew it.

  “You two know each other?” said Peter.

  “Everyone knows each other,” I said. With both men on either side of me, I wished, for once, I did not live on a small island. That made no sense and I knew it. Andy was a friend. A friend with a girlfriend. Nonetheless, the moment was odd.

  “I’ll call you later,” said Peter before I got into Andy’s car.

  “Stella has a boyfriend,” said Andy when he closed his own door.

  I smiled a silly grin, and looked out the window. The weird moment had passed. And he was right. I was definitely on my way to something with Peter Bailey. I also realized I was on my way to Bill Duffy’s new lodgings.

  A few minutes later, I was in the police headquarters on mid-island, face-to-face with Mrs. Hendricks. She gave me a hard time for a little while, because she likes to be that way, but in the end, we left as friends and she was even laughing a little at my expense. I did not mind. I’d rather have a comical story about me than one in which I’m a vandal.

  Our interview took place in a small conference room. Once Mrs. Hendricks had assured me she would not press any charges against me or Peter, she asked Andy for an escort to her car. She used to be his piano teacher and apparently, he did her favorite rendition of Ode to Joy. He flashed me a look that told me to stay put because he wasn’t done with me. I nodded.

  The moment they left, however, I opened the conference door and looked down the corridor to the jail cells. Usually they are empty. Once in a while, they have a visitor. When they do, the prisoners are usually left alone in their cells. Today, however, a policeman stood guard in front of the hall. The man was big; he was missing a front tooth. He wasn’t the kind of guy you would ever want to meet in a dark alley.

  “Psst,” I said in his direction.

  The guy smiled a big gappy smile at me.

  “Hiya, Stella,” he said.

  “Hi, Ace. How’s Bill?”

  He shook his head, sadly.

  “Not good,” he said. “I think he was crying.”

  “Let me see him,” I said. I still had one foot in the conference room in case Andy returned. Unless I was able to get in, I wasn’t going to risk getting in trouble again today.

  “I can’t,” Ace said.

  “Yes, you can,” I said. “Come on.”

  “Bellamy’s orders,” said Ace. “He said only Bill’s lawyer can see him.”

  “Who’s his lawyer?” I was no lawyer, but I’d taken a freshman Intro to Law class in college. I wondered if that counted for something.

  Ace shrugged.

  “He hasn’t called anyone yet.”

  I walked down the hall.

  “If Bellamy asks,” I said, “tell him I was pitching for the job. Let me in.”

  “You’re a hoot, Stella,” said Ace, smiling. Ace is always so easily amused. He opened the cell and let me in, but Bill did not move. He lay in a fetal position on his cot, his back toward me.

  “Bill,” I whispered. “It’s Stella Wright. You OK?”

  He turned and squinted at me.

  “Stella?”

  “How’re you doing?” I said, and sat beside him.

  The jail cell was probably pretty nice compared to most, but its steel bench, cold bars, and bare, windowless walls gave me the creeps.

  Bill sat up and rubbed his head.

  “How’s Maude?” he said.

  “She’ll be better once we get your name cleared and get you out of here,” I said.

  Bill stared at his feet and didn’t say a word.

  “Bill,” I said with a pit in my stomach. “You didn’t kill that guy, right?”

  He took a deep breath, and looked at me with the most uncomfortable expression.

  “I’m not without sin,” said Bill as my blood froze, “but I didn’t kill that guy.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” I said, feeling a little light-headed. “But why’d you have his money on you?”

  “Just because the bastard had a bad ending, I shouldn’t stand up for what’s mine?” he said.

  “What’s yours?” I asked.

  “I can’t say,” he said. He dropped his head in his hands.

  “Tell me what happened, Bill,” I said.

  “What happened is that I made a deal with the devil,” said Bill through some tears, “and now I’m paying for it.”

  I lent him my sleeve, which he took to dry his eyes.

  “Stella,” he said. “I’m going to tell you something, and you need to promise me you won’t tell a soul.”

  “That’s asking a lot,” I said.

  “I’m in a tough spot,” he said.

  I felt like that was the understatement of the century, but I held my tongue and waited for him to continue.

  “Last night,” he sa
id. He exhaled deeply. “Last night.” He looked at me desperately. “I love my wife more than I love my own life.”

  “I know.”

  “She’s a better woman than I’ve ever been a man. And all I’ve ever wanted to do is make her happy and proud of me. But, Stella, I’m a flawed guy.”

  I wasn’t sure where he was going with this.

  “Last night, I broke every promise I’ve ever made to Maude.”

  “Oh jeez, Bill,” I said. “There’s another woman involved?”

  “No!” Bill shouted at me with the first sign of fight in him I’d seen yet. “Jesus, Stella. Aren’t you listening to what I’m saying?”

  “Who knows what you’re saying, Bill? You’re making no sense. What happened last night? Just spit it out.”

  “Fine,” he said. “Last night, before that jerk Sterling and the other two—who seem like perfectly nice guys—started to play cards, Sterling approached me. He made me a deal.”

  “Go on.” I felt like we were about to make some headway and I didn’t want him to stop.

  “He suggested I, you know.” Bill clenched his fists and banged them on the bench. They echoed.

  “I don’t know. What was the deal, Bill?” I was afraid I was about to lose him.

  “The table the guys were at was round, you know? And from where I was pouring, I could see the hands of Joe and Tony.”

  He gave me a meaningful look and sat back. I could tell he was relieved to have shared the information with another human being.

  “Not that easy,” I said. “I need the whole story.”

  Bill closed his eyes.

  “He told me he’d give me half of his winnings if I’d give him a nod when one of the guys was bluffing.”

  “You helped Simon cheat at cards?” I said.

  “Yes, I did.”

  Now I really was confused. Bill the Cheater. Was this the same guy who had answered an emergency call during Thanksgiving one year to fix our oven?

  “The guy was persuasive. He was so good with words,” said Bill in his defense. “It wasn’t gambling, but I felt I was somehow in on the game. Before I really thought it through, I’d agreed. See, Maude and I are about to celebrate our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. She’s had her eye on one of those gold lightship basket brooches with a diamond in it. The one they sell at the jewelry store down by Aunt Leah’s Fudge.”