by A. Gardner
“This is about the rifle, isn’t it?” He lowered his voice, leaning forward in his chair. “I guess you know who it’s registered to. Dad has been going through great lengths to keep it all hush hush until the bullet that killed Dalton is matched with a gun.”
“How long is that going to take?” I studied his expression and glanced down at his hands. He had a subtle tell every time he lied. He picked at the side of his thumbnail with his pointer finger.
“Days?” Murray took a deep breath and grabbed the donut that had been taunting him the most. “I don’t even care anymore. These are too good.”
“So, what happens if that rifle the sheriff brought in and the bullet that killed Dalton are a match?”
“Nothing good, that’s for sure.” Murray was already two bites in, and a dollop of Bavarian cream sat on his chin. He wiped it away with his sleeve.
“And I assume Cydney interviewed everyone involved in the shootout?”
“Naturally.” Murray gobbled up the rest of the donut in a matter of seconds.
“Can I see the files?”
“Sorry, Essie, that’s where I have to draw the line,” he replied. “They’re locked away in Dad’s desk. Something about a nosy young townie he doesn’t want getting involved this time?”
“At least tell me if he came across anything suspicious,” I pleaded.
Murray wiped his face again and studied the box for his next warm treat. “There was one thing I heard Cydney saying last night.”
“I’m all ears.” I gently touched the box and pushed it closer, insinuating that the entire thing would be his if he told me what I wanted to know.
“You know, tomorrow night is macaroni night and Mom—”
“Murray,” I interrupted. “Focus, okay. What did Cydney say last night?”
A breeze fluttered through the room as the back door opened. Cydney cleared his throat as he strode over to his desk with a permanent smirk on his face. His hair was gelled and neatly parted to the side, and I didn’t spot a single wrinkle on his shirt or slacks. Cydney sat down at his desk and opened every drawer, checking to make sure that nothing looked out of place. I remembered his work time ritual and the time I’d ticked him off for calling his habits a little too OCD for my taste.
“My nose is itching.” Detective Keene stared at his computer screen. “You two must be talking about me.”
“Then your ears would be burning,” I commented. Miso turned his focus to Cydney. He wasn’t a fan of dogs or animals in general. This was why he attracted their attention like honey bees to nectar. Miso tugged at his leash, attempting to trot up to Cydney for a friendly pat.
“Huh?”
“That’s how the expression goes,” I explained. “When your ears get hot, it means someone is talking about you. An itchy nose is something else.”
“Allergies. Allergies are the devil.” Murray nodded, leaning back in his chair and taking a break before devouring another sugary morsel.
“I don’t have allergies. And Essie, what are you doing here?” Cydney finally looked away from his screen, his eyes settling on me. “Sheriff Williams won’t be happy when he gets back and sees you force-feeding his son cream-filled bribes.”
“Ah, but not all of them are cream-filled.” I held up a finger, ignoring the fact that Cydney was right. Running into Sheriff Williams was not on my to-do list. He was most likely in one of his moods. Another murder case, more pressure from the county commissioner to get it all right, the intrusive eyes of the press, and he wasn’t allowed to smoke. Not if he wanted to sleep next to his wife, Sharla.
“I have to agree with Essie on that one.” Murray drummed his fingers on his desk as his eyes darted back and forth to each end of the donut box.
I sighed. Cydney never made anything easy. “You know why I’m here. I talked to my brother-in-law. That rifle of his went missing before Dalton was shot.”
“He never reported anything.” Cydney crossed his arms, pressing his hands underneath his biceps to make them look bigger.
“There wasn’t much time for that,” I improvised. I knew in my gut that Wade wasn’t guilty. Guilty of scarring me for life with his penchant for nudity? Yes. But guilty of murder. No. Definitely not. “I know the fight at the Grizzly makes him look guilty, but he’s not. Someone is using him as a means to kill. He’s being framed.”
“That’s one theory,” Cydney responded. “But there are others too. I have to think about every possibility, including the fact that your brother-in-law was out for revenge. It’s my job.”
“Then at least let me help you get to the bottom of this.”
“I’m sorry, who’s the detective here?” Cydney raised his thin brows and looked around the room. “I can handle it. When I need a diet plan or someone to tell me to eat more greens, I’ll come and see you.”
Time to shake things up, I guess.
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that highly offensive comment and remind you that I work with other health and wellness professionals,” I said, holding back a scowl. “Taryn included.”
“Don’t do that.” He rolled his eyes. “Don’t throw your hot friend in my face. That’s such a chick move.”
“So, what she said to me this morning concerning a certain small-town detective is of no interest to you?” I tilted my head, holding a steady gaze and praying that my backup plan was working. Taryn was the only chip I held when it came to prying information out of Cydney—aka Detective Stickler.
“She didn’t tell you anything. You’re bluffing.” He narrowed his eyes, studying every inch of my face.
“Am I?” I didn’t move a muscle. Technically, Taryn had told me something. And technically, it did revolve around Cydney. “You’ve got a lead. What is it? Who is it?”
“Your brother-in-law.”
“Nope.” I shook my head. “I’m talking about the other thing.”
Murray’s sudden coughing cut through the tension like a steak knife.
“Sorry.” He dropped his latest donut and hit his chest. “It’s all that dang powdered sugar. It went the wrong way.”
“Murray, what did you say?” Cydney wrinkled his nose in disgust as he watched Murray cough some more, scarf down another bite of donut, and then cough again.
“Don’t get all dramatic.” Murray took a deep breath and glanced down at the rest of his powdered sugar–covered donut. “I was just telling Essie what you said last night.”
“Why would you tell her that?” Cydney slapped his hand on his desk.
“Well, um—”
“My observations are between me and the other officers working the case,” he went on. “Essie doesn’t need to know that all of those shootout boys are lying about something.”
“You see, uh. . .” Murray cleared his throat and moved on to a less mischievous donut. “I didn’t exactly get that far. Sir.”
“What do you mean they’re lying about something?” I questioned him. I finally had some new information I could work with. If Booney or Breck Adley was hiding something, I would be able to find out what it was. Old Man Simpkins was a lost cause.
“I’ve said too much.” Cydney waved his hands in front of him. “Nope. I’m not saying anything else.”
“Not even for an inside scoop on your favorite personal trainer?”
Cydney paused before shaking his head some more.
“If I want to talk to Taryn, I’ll talk to her. I’m not a five-year-old.”
Could’ve fooled me.
“Fine.” I pulled Miso closer to me and eyed the rest of the donuts. “You can have those. A peace offering.”
Murray winked at me as I turned to leave.
Despite Cydney’s snideness, which had come as no surprise, I had all of the information I needed to move forward. I knew that the sheriff was holding off on blowing the whistle on Wade too early. I knew that someone had stolen his hunting rifle to commit murder, and I knew that the men involved in the fatal shootout were all hiding something.
I
glanced down at Miso as sunshine beat down on my head. “I think we need to make another trip to the bakery.”
Chapter 9
We’re kind of a big dill.
I laughed when I caught sight of one of Ada’s latest signs hanging in the window of the Bison Creek Bakery. I guessed that her mother hadn’t seen it yet. She’d drawn the line when Ada hung a sign on the door saying Frost This. Small-town living wasn’t her cup of tea, but she’d spent all of her twenties and all of her money trying to make a name for herself as an artist in New York City.
Since coming home, she’d gotten a little more bitter every day.
The Bison Creek Bakery had a cozy little storefront that faced the center of Canyon Street, which meant the Adleys watched the daily ruckus on the street like it was the nightly news. Trays of fruit-filled turnovers, cookies, cupcakes, and morning pastries greeted me when I stepped inside the quaint cottage-like bakery and waited in line with Miso. I was on my way home for the day, and I’d planned on a tea and a chat before heading over to the Painted Deer.
“Next.” The familiar sound of Ada’s monotonous voice rang through the bakery. I took a step forward in line until it was my turn. Ada’s plain expression didn’t change, but she quickly grabbed a to-go cup. “Let me guess. Herbal tea? Or have you finally given in to caffeine?”
“My New Year’s resolution is still going,” I replied.
“I don’t know how anybody wakes up in the morning without caffeine,” Ada said, flicking a strand of hair out of her face. Her latest color was a shade of brown that looked like a gingerbread cookie next to her white studded earrings. “You must drink powdered unicorn or some other magical crap.”
“The longer you go without it, the easier it gets,” I admitted, although I’d almost caved several times. I missed iced coffees in the spring and summer.
“Good for you.” She pressed together a set of plump, gray lips.
“New lip color?”
“Haven’t you heard of the gray lip?” Ada touched her matte pout with an aqua nail. “You need to get out more. You should convince that boyfriend of yours to take you to Denver on the weekends. Lemon berry today? Maybe an iced winter spice for old times’ sake?”
“I’ll have your mint one,” I replied. “Iced. And I have to confess I didn’t just come here for tea.”
“Oh.” Ada nodded slowly and glanced over her shoulder. “You’re one of those customers.”
“Huh?”
“You’re here to see my brother, right?” Ada paused.
“Well, yeah.”
“Mom is elbow deep in pineapple pie right now, and she’s convinced there’s going to be a coconut shortage,” Ada explained. “You can find Breck at the corner market.”
“Okay.” I narrowed my eyes, playing along with whatever game she was playing. Ada pulled her focus to the front door as it chimed, letting in a group of laughing customers. “It’s your sign.”
“My mom will rip it down as soon as she sees it, but I keep telling her my signs bring in customers.” She shrugged as she prepared my iced tea. “Sweetener or your usual herb water?”
“One pump. I especially love the illustrated pickle. I mean, the face you put on it is so life-like.” The smell of warm cookies straight from the oven made my stomach rumble. My visits to the bakery were torture. But I always walked away feeling a weird sense of pride that I hadn’t given in to the crazy chubster within. Most days.
“Modeled after my brother, the ultimate dill of them all,” Ada responded. “What can I say, I need a creative outlet.” She handed me my tea and rang it up on the register.
“Thanks.”
“The rest is with Breck. He only takes cash just so you know.” Ada swiped my card and handed me a receipt. “And if he starts acting like a creepy little perv, please remind him that our side business is legal.” She shrugged. “I mean, I’m pretty sure it is. Yeah. Yeah, it is.”
* * *
I followed Ada’s instructions and found Breck Adley leaning against the wall outside of the corner market. He looked up at every person who walked in and out, showing off a toothy grin that did come across as creepy and stalkerish. Ada had been right. Miso wagged his tail as we approached him. My stomach tied itself in knots. I had no idea what to expect, since I hadn’t seen Breck Adley since high school. He was older, and he lived in the city.
“Hi there.”
Breck glanced up and down the street before pointing at himself.
“You’re talking to me?” he asked, gently touching the rim of his ear.
“Are you surprised?”
“No.” He shook his head, his fingertips brushing the rim of his ear again.
I’d seen the nervous habit once before when my mom had to change a flat for the first time. It had just been her, Joy, and me in the car. I was in sixth grade and Joy had been begging my mom to take us into the city so we could walk around the mall. Dad had called it a day of pointless loitering.
This is Breck’s first rodeo.
“Ada sent me.” I played along with her little game.
“Oh.” Breck let out a sigh of relief and waved a hand. “Come with me.”
He turned a corner into a less visible spot just off of Canyon Street. I held tight to Miso’s leash, wondering the odds of him biting Breck if something went wrong. I still didn’t know what to expect, and Ada’s comment about their side hustle being legal didn’t make me feel any better.
“You were one of the gunfighters at the shootout, weren’t you?” I tried to sound casual but Breck immediately hung his head, which didn’t make his lanky figure look more appealing.
“I hope you weren’t there,” he added.
“Sadly, yes.”
“Forget about it, or it might haunt you forever,” he replied. “That’s my advice.”
“That might be tough since I walk down Canyon Street every day on my way to work.”
Breck stopped and narrowed his eyes, looking me up and down. “You’re a local? Sorry, I didn’t realize.”
“You know me.” I shook my head. “My family has lived here my whole life.”
“Wait a minute.” Breck squinted, focusing on my face. “Okay. It’s coming to me. Yeah. Gwenessa?”
“I go by Essie now—”
“You look totally different,” he exclaimed. “Dang.” His wandering eyes made my skin crawl.
“I’m supposed to steer you away from anything that makes you seem like a perv,” I added, folding my arms and covering my chest as best as I could.
“No wonder I didn’t recognize you,” he went on. “You’re a babe now. You must have lost like a hundred pounds.”
“Thirty,” I corrected. “Only thirty. I ate my feelings in high school.”
“Sure.” Breck’s demeanor shifted from a nervous guy pimping a shady side hustle to a man interested in more than just business. “Say, are you seeing anyone?”
“Yep.” I cleared my throat. “Look, I came here to—”
“Oh, of course, where are my manners?” Breck reached into his pocket and pulled out a plastic bag. “For you, it’s on the house. Don’t tell my sister, though.”
He dropped the dainty plastic bag in my hand. Miso jumped for it but I moved it up to the light just in time to study the small chocolate truffle. Ada’s side business confused me even more. Breck nodded, grinning proudly.
“Chocolate?”
“Ain’t she beautiful?” Breck clapped his hands together like a pleased parent. “It’ll last you a few days unless you plan on getting real crazy. Perhaps you would like some company?”
“Why don’t you sell these at the bakery?” I continued turning the piece of chocolate over in my hand.
“My mom won’t allow it,” Breck explained. “She says that selling edibles would stain the family name. I told her we would make a ton of money, but she doesn’t seem to care about that. Maybe when Ada and I start raking in the dough, she’ll see things our way.”
“Edibles,” I repeated. “Right.�
��
“Made with the best cannabis around.” He grinned, placing his hands on his scrawny hips.
I handed the chocolate truffle back to him. Joy would have hated me for it, especially since it was free. Breck frowned and studied the specimen.
“I’m more interested in the shootout,” I stated. “Did you know Dalton?”
“Please don’t tell me you work for the sheriff.” Breck threw his hands in the air like all was lost. “I’ve gone to great lengths to keep all of this discreet.”
“I’m not sure why you need to.” I shrugged. “Ada was right. It’s not illegal.”
“What do you want me to say?” Breck touched the edge of his ear and stared at me the same way Ada did when I asked her how her day was going. “The shootout was horrible. I wish I could forget it.”
“Why were you even a part of it?”
“I’ve been in town more often than usual lately, and Booney noticed,” he explained. “He talked me into it.” He took a deep breath, slightly raising his voice. “Those guns were checked thoroughly. All I had to do was show up, say a few lines, reach for the stars, and all that crap.” He scratched the side of his head, his memories of the incident making him seem more and more hyper.
Not a user of his own products?
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out that way.”
Miso barked in agreement.
“I thought he was kidding at first.” Breck rubbed his eyes incessantly. “He hit the ground, and no one knew if they should clap or scream. I’m not even sure who fired the shot. I swear that bullet came out of nowhere.” He closed his eyes, breathing in short bursts.
“It’s okay.” I hesitated to calm him down. But the more his chest moved up and down like a bouncy ball, the more I couldn’t resist. I placed a hand on his shoulder. “Just breathe. I’m sure you’ve heard that many times before, but it works. This wasn’t your fault. You did what you were supposed to. Like you said, your gun was checked before the show.”
He scratched his head again. “Essie, I’m a terrible person.”
