Bubble Chum

by Wendy Meadows

  He rubs his chin. “It’s an interesting theory, but I’m afraid it’s not as simple as that. Whether she identified you correctly or not might have mattered in the early stages of the investigation, but it doesn’t matter now. We have other evidence that still casts suspicion on you.”

  “What evidence is that?”

  Just then, Ariel comes out of the bookstore with Pauline. Ariel’s face lights up. “Margaret!”

  Pauline’s features change in a heartbeat. She compresses her mouth into a cruel, straight line and shoves Ariel toward the car.

  David turns away. “Thank you for telling me. I’ll look into it. I have to go now. Try to stay out of the investigation, okay?”

  “Wait a second.” I take a step forward.

  David spins around and blocks my path. Pauline grabs Ariel and pushes her into the back seat of the cruiser. In a second, she slams the door. David moves into my way to stop me. “Listen, Margaret. I want you to stay away from Ariel—at least until you clear your name.”

  My heart turns to water watching the people I care about slip farther and farther away from me. “How am I supposed to do that when you won’t listen to me?”

  He waves his hand in my face while he backs away toward the car. “Just stay away from my daughter.”

  My spirit shatters on the ground at my feet. “Please, David, don’t do this to me.”

  He gives one last cruel shake of his head and dives into the driver’s seat. He starts the cruiser and drives away. Neither he nor Pauline will look at me, but Ariel plasters her face to the rear window. One hand presses against the glass, and a look of desperate anguish transforms her normally cheerful face.

  God, what must this be doing to her? She can’t think I’m guilty, surely. I’m certain Pauline thinks I am, but David? How could he seriously think I could kill another human being? Why doesn’t he believe me? Why doesn’t he believe in me the way he always did before? What could turn him against me so fast?

  I stumble back to the candy store to find Zack behind the counter. Patty sweeps in the back room. “Good news, Mom,” Zack chirps. “I have a friend who works in the Crime Lab. His name is Reggie, and I got him to agree to run any tests if you need it.”

  “Thanks, sweetheart,” I tell him, “but I don’t have anything to test at the moment.”

  “Not yet,” he points out, “but you will. As soon as you find something, you pass it to me and I’ll pass it to him. That’s the way it works.”

  I look up at him and smile in spite of myself. “Is that the way it works?”

  “Yep. We’re a team now.”

  I go about my work, but his comments breathe a little much-needed life into my dreary existence. David might not believe me, but at least someone is still in my corner. Maybe things aren’t quite as black as they seem. I still have a few more lifesavers to hold onto in this spinning whirlwind of confusion.

  I slip back to my office and get lost in paperwork. I still have some use in this world, even if I’m not making much progress on the case.

  After closing time, Zack and I walk home together. The house doesn’t offer the same sense of sanctuary since the Forensics people found some smoking gun in here. What did they find? I know they didn’t find drugs in my underwear drawer.

  The instant we get inside, Zack comes up to me with a wicked grin plastered across his face. He rubs his hands together in maniacal glee. “So, Mom, what’s our first move?”

  I look around me in mock astonishment. “I don’t know what your first move is going to be, but I’m going to have dinner and then go to bed.”

  “Aw, come on, Mom!” he chides. “You can’t give up so easily. Come on. We have a mystery to solve here. What’s our first lead to follow up?”

  “You’re not following up any lead, young man,” I tell him. “You just finished a ten-hour shift at the store. You need to rest.”

  “Oh, piffle, Mom!” he exclaims. “I’m on the case with you. Now stop all that talk about dinner and come on. I’ll drive you.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Why did we come back home first if we were only going to go out again?” I ask. “We could have stayed out.”

  “We came back to get the car,” he tells me. “Don’t you have to go back to the Overlook Hotel?”

  I stare at him for a moment. He’s right. What’s stopping me from continuing my own investigation? Nothing. That’s what.

  We hop in the car and burn out to the Hotel. It stands in darkness, and I wait in the hall until I see Marvin come in from the dining room. “Ah, Ms. Nichols,” he breezes. “Mrs. Tripp is in the parlor. If you wish to speak to her, now would be a perfect time.”

  “Thank you again, Marvin. You have my word I won’t create any disturbance for you and your guests.”

  “I’m certain of it.” He bows himself out.

  I never met a more polite, considerate host in my life. That guy really knows how to put a person at ease.

  I make my way to the parlor. There’s only one person in it. A tall, spiky-thin woman with her hair sparkle-sprayed into a dazzling helmet around her head perches in a chair by the fire with her legs crossed. Her sparkle pantyhose match her powder-coated baby-blue pumps.

  She flips the pages of a women’s magazine. She scans each page for a fraction of a second before she tosses the next page across. The leaves make a scraping noise. Other than that, the crackle of flames makes the only other sound.

  I step into the room and sit down on a nearby couch where she has no choice but to see me. Her heavily mascaraed eyes slide once toward my face. She doesn’t look at me again.

  I sit still for a minute trying to decide how to handle this. I can see from her first reaction she doesn’t have a clue who I am. She’s never laid eyes on me in my life.

  After a few minutes, she tosses the magazine on the table with a loud sigh. She flicks her long fingernails against each other in peevish boredom for a second before I take the plunge. “Did you hear some guy died in his room on the second floor?”

  She smacks her lipsticked lips. “I heard.”

  “Can you believe that?” I gush. “Can you believe he just dropped dead in his hotel room? I just don’t know what I would do if I came back to my hotel room and found my husband dead. I mean, how could you keep staying in that same room? I couldn’t do it. I would make the management give me another room.”

  She makes a sour face and looks away. She’s not the only one who can play this game. If she doesn’t recognize me, I can pretend to know nothing about her. Maybe I’ll get her to trip into admitting something about the case.

  She rolls her eyes. “So you’re married to, huh? Another prisoner on the slave galleon of marriage! We’re all going to drown on this sinking yacht, I’m telling you.”

  I widen my eyes at her. “Is your marriage really that bad? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up a painful subject.”

  “I’m not married. Not anymore. I’m free now.”

  “Oh.” I frown. I really don’t know what she’s implying. “So…. you’re not married?”

  “No,” she snaps back. “I’m not married.”

  I pretend to brighten up. “Well, finding your husband dead in your hotel room would give you a shock, wouldn’t it? It’s almost as bad as finding a strange woman in your hotel room.”

  I force a laugh to make myself seem stupid and absolutely oblivious to who I’m talking to.

  Before I get a chance to say anything else, the door opens. Marvin comes into the room. David Graham hovers in the doorway behind him. He scans back and forth between me and Mrs. Tripp.

  Marvin bends toward Mrs. Tripp. “Excuse me, Madam. This is the Police Detective I told you about. He wants to talk to you about the incident in question.”

  She waves her hand at nothing. “You might as well. I’m not doing anything in here.”

  David moves into the parlor. I see my chance and get to my feet. I sidle out of the room without a wo
rd. David Graham is smart enough to figure out for himself that Mrs. Tripp had no clue she was talking to the great and notorious Margaret Nichols, the Private Investigator. She never saw me coming out of any hotel room, especially not her own.

  Marvin stays behind in the parlor with the two of them. I end up in the corridor with no one to see where I’m going or what I’m doing. Now’s my chance to snoop around unsupervised.

  I make my way back to the entrance only to find the front desk deserted. Even better. I slip upstairs and back to the room where I found the body. A strip of yellow cordon tape covers the closed room door. Police Line. Do Not Cross. I’ve heard that before.

  I try the doorknob and it opens. I duck inside and shut the door behind me. Now that I’m in the room, I relax into looking around. What do I hope to find in here? The Forensics Team already went over everything.

  I meander through the room studying every detail, but I make sure not to touch anything. It looks like any normal hotel room except that no one is staying in it at the moment. All the victim’s effects and his wife’s personal things are gone.

  I go into the bathroom and find exactly nothing, not even a fingerprint in toothpaste. What’s the point? The Forensics Team would have found any fingerprints. If they found a fingerprint at the crime scene, David Graham wouldn’t be after me right now.

  I give up and turn back to the door when I see it. A long, thin table stands against the wall by the room door. I didn’t notice it when I first walked in, but I notice it now that I turn to go.

  I stroll over to it. My pulse pounds when I see a box tray of Christmas candy on the table labeled, Nichols Candy Store.

  It can’t be. How could the victim or his wife buy a box of these sweets from my store without me knowing it? Is that how the wife is claiming she knows what I look like? One of them could have bought it when Zack or Patty was working.

  I ease over to it, but I hang back like it’s some kind of poisonous snake. These candies can’t be poison if the victim died of an injection. I peer down into the box. Yes, I know these candies well. Shapes of reindeer and pointy-roofed houses and wrapped presents sit in individual crinkly plastic forms. Another cellophane wrapper twists around each piece to keep them fresh.

  Each wrapper has a unique number along one edge to identify the lot and batch. With that number, I can track down the package barcode. I can look it up on my inventory database and find out exactly who purchased it from my store.

  I put out my hand and pluck one of the house candies out of the tray. I slip it into my pocket still wrapped and make my escape.

  10

  Zack parks in front of the candy store and we both go inside to find Patty manning the counter. “How are things, Patty?” I ask. “I’m sorry we left you on your own for so long.”

  “It was nothing,” she replies. “You didn’t have to come back here. I can handle a full shift without you guys hanging around.”

  “I have a few things to do here, anyway,” I tell her. “I’ll be in my office.”

  I grab the inventory book from under the register and take it to my office. When I get there, I settle myself in front of my computer and take out the candy. I unwrap it and type the identification number into my spreadsheet search bar.

  Zack wanders in. “What are you up to, Mom?”

  “Hey, sweetie. I found this candy at the crime scene. I’m using the serial number to find out who bought it.”

  He frowns at the wrapper. “Nichols Candy Store. That’s odd. I would remember some strange tourists buying that candy.”

  “That’s what I thought, but one of these trays was in the victim’s room. That’s one of the reasons David thinks I had something to do with it. He thinks I knew either the victim or his wife from before and that’s why I was in the guy’s room the night before he died.”

  “That’s nonsense,” he snaps. “Anybody could have bought that candy.”

  “Anybody could have, but only one person did. Once we find out who bought it, we’ll know who killed Mr. Tripp.”

  He leans on my chair arm and watches me work over the computer. I run the number into the spreadsheet and come out with the barcode. Then I cross-reference it with the receipts to bring up the customer name.

  The receipt blinks onto the screen. I scan up to the name in the corner, and a cold chill runs up my spine. David Graham. Down at the bottom of the page, the receipt lists the credit card information he used to pay for the candy. I frown at the screen. That can’t be right.

  Zack leans in and reads it. “That’s impossible.”

  “There must be some mistake. I’ll run it again.”

  I go through the whole process and come up with the same result. I shake the confusion out of my head. “There has to be a logical explanation for this.”

  Zack straightens up. He shrugs his shoulders inside his shirt. Ever so slowly, he swings the office door shut before he murmurs low to me. “You don’t think he had something to do with this, do you?”

  I make a face up at him. “Are you telling me Detective David Graham bought this candy and planted at the crime scene to implicate me? I doubt it.”

  “How do you explain it, then?”

  I don’t want to think about it, especially not when I remember the day he bought the candy. He didn’t buy the candy. Ariel bought it. David just paid for it right before the two of them went for their hike.

  So how did the candy wind up in the victim’s hotel room? This receipt proves one thing. I didn’t bring the candy to the victim’s room the night before he died. Someone else must have done it, but who?

  I shut down my computer and put the candy and wrapper in my desk drawer. Whatever this means, I can’t follow it up right now. I can’t think about it without my world falling apart.

  I go back out to the counter and start working on my next gingerbread house. Only a few days remain to finish everything for the Winter Carnival. Patty goes home and Zack puts on his apron. I’m in the middle of sticking gumdrops to the roof when Sabrina walks in.

  “How many more gingerbread houses are you going to do, Margaret?” she asks. “I need some walk-in space. I need to know how much more space to leave for you.”

  “I’m going to finish this gingerbread house and one more,” I tell her. “If I’m taking up too much space, let me know and I’ll make other arrangements. I’m sure I could put at least two in Stacy’s walk-in next door.”

  “No, you don’t!” Sabrina fires back. “I have room for them all. I just needed to know so I could plan accordingly.”

  “Are you sure you have enough room?” I ask. “Don’t sell your cakes short to make room for my gingerbread houses.”

  “Don’t you worry about me. I’ll manage. You just concentrate on getting your gingerbread houses done in time.”

  I laugh and start to come back with a snappy response when the doorbells jangle. All three of us look up as David Graham walks in.

  Sabrina backs away. “I better make myself scarce.”

  “You don’t have to,” I tell her. “What can we do for you, Detective?”

  As I anticipated, he doesn’t take that epithet as a joke. He squares his shoulders at me. “I need to talk to you about something, Margaret. It’s important.”

  I pick up another gumdrop, smear frosting on the underside, and stick it to the gingerbread roof. “If it’s that important, you can talk to me about it here. I don’t have anything to hide from my son or from Sabrina.”

  He glances at Sabrina. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Let’s go somewhere a little more private.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. What could be worse than being accused of a murder I didn’t commit? Tell me now.”

  He purses his lips and his eyes flash. “Did you take something from the crime scene just now when you were at the Overlook Hotel?”

  My head shoots up. The instant I make eye contact with him, I see the truth written there. He knows all about it. There’s no sense lying about it now. “Yes, I did.”


  “Where is it?” he asks. “What did you do with it?”

  “I didn’t destroy it if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s in my desk drawer.”

  “Go get it.” His voice gives me no chance to wiggle out of this.

  I wipe my hands on a rag and go get the candy and wrapper. When I return to the front counter, I find him wearing a pair of latex gloves. He holds open a Ziploc bag to me, and I drop the candy and wrapper into it.

  He seals the bag and puts it in his pocket before stripping off his gloves. “I didn’t want to do this out here in front of Zack and Sabrina, but I have to place you under arrest.”

  Sabrina screams. Zack blurts out, “What for?”

  “For first degree murder and obstruction of justice.” David addresses these awful words to me alone. “You don’t seem to understand the effort I’ve made to keep you out of jail. I could have arrested you the other day when we searched your house, but I didn’t.”

  “You said that before,” I pointed out. “You still won’t tell me what evidence you found to implicate me.”

  “We found the syringe that was used to kill Mr. Tripp,” he replies. “It still had half a barrel full of the belladonna extract, and we found a droplet of his blood in the needle itself. We DNA matched it to the victim. My Captain wanted me to arrest you, but I managed to keep you clear based on your reputation around this town. Now I can’t do that anymore. You contaminated a crime scene and tampered with evidence. I have no choice but to arrest you. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

  He takes hold of my elbow and steers me around the counter. Zack piles in to intervene. “Tell him, Mom. Don’t let him do this. Tell him what you found.”

  David looks at him. “Tell me what?”

  I round on Zack. “Don’t say a word, Zachary. Not one word.”

  David draws me around the counter to where he stands. He turns my back to him and takes out his handcuffs. “Don’t do this, Mom!” Zack cries. “Don’t go along with this. Tell him. Tell him right now, or I will.”