by January Bain
“Yeah, going to buy a few balls myself. I’ve still got a pretty good arm. I just might be the first to dunk your hiney.” Star’s eyes gleamed.
“Yeah, better line up. There’s a few waiting to have that honor. I’d be putting Ace Collins at the top of the list after yesterday’s bear spray incident, hot new sheriff or not. Not to mention Judith will probably sling a few if this new idea for a sigil doesn’t pan out.”
“You driving off possible suitors with pepper spray while I was gone, granddaughter? I didn’t teach you very well now, did I?” A melodic voice rang out behind us and I span around with a leap of joy. Finally!
“Granny! I didn’t hear you come in. You should have called us. I’d have picked you up from the airport.” I rushed to embrace her, the fragrance of lavender emanating from her soft skin soothing my frazzled nerves. I released her to allow my sisters to hug her too. She was looking serene, an invincible sage who saw the world for what it was, and though she found it lacking in character, she made it spin just fine in her sphere. Did I imagine a hint of tiredness about her eyes? We had to step up our game.
“Elsie gave me a lift. She left her car there on purpose. I’ve already been home.”
“Sit down,” I urged her, rushing to prepare a pot of tea. Earl Grey, her favorite.
“Just a quick cup. We’ve got a festival to set up for, sweetings.”
I fixed a pot, added a slice of lemon and bore it back to the table where a flock of magpies—my hyperactive sisters—were haranguing Granny about all the events that had occurred since she’d been gone. I caught the last bit of spilled information about Mrs. Hurst from Tulip’s lips and tried to catch her eye. Enough already.
“Tulip!”
“I found her. It’s my story to tell.”
“It’s not a competition, sweetings.” Granny sighed. “How are you holding up, Charm?” Her soft blue eyes met mine.
“I’m fine.” I gave a quick look around to make sure there was no customer within earshot. “But our new local constable thinks our jam might be at fault.” I hadn’t meant to share the worry, but when Granny was around, I never could seem to help myself. She’d sleuth it out soon enough. It was her way.
“That’s why he was here just now.” She frowned.
“Yes. And we both went to Mrs. Hurst’s last night.”
“So, you saw the body?” She held the teacup in both hands and blew on it to cool it enough to drink.
I nodded over the tight lump in the back of my throat.
“Terrible thing.” Granny shook her head. “I’ve known Anne Hurst for decades. A misunderstood woman and a very unhappy soul.”
Star choked on her coffee and I patted her back absently. Granny continued her tribute. As much as she hated cussin’, she hated speaking ill of the dead more. The practice had become ingrained and was maybe not a bad thing, even if it did set us at odds with the rest of the world on occasion.
“She wasn’t born to the big house and money. I knew her as a child. She came from humble beginnings and made her own way in the world. There’s something to admire in that.”
Star rolled her eyes, but Tulip sniffed and blew her nose.
“Not much to admire about Auntie T.J.,” I said. “Playing handsy with our new Mountie like he’s her prize ox.”
“Big one, is he? And a southern gentleman, I hear. We’ll all have to bone up on our southern expressions. They’ll go well with our Canadian expressions, eh.” A twinkle glinted in her soft blues. “I’ll have a word.” And it would work as well as last time. Not. At. All.
I picked up the empty tray. “I’ve got to cart the treats over to our booth before ten. I could use an extra pair of hands,” I hinted.
“Go—all of you,” Granny directed, shooing us out. “I’ll manage the café. Won’t be many customers with the festival about to start, anyway.”
“Shoot. I’ve got to make sure the apricot jam is safely hidden away until we know more.” Brother, the trouble that new Mountie had brought to town. Not his fault, the fairer side of my brain intervened. Yeah, well the timing is piss-poor, at best.
Fortunately, the jam in question was still in the back. The fancy jars with their decorative labels looked the epitome of wholesome, the nectar inside gleaming golden in the sunlight. I shook my head. Crazy. And that included our new lawman. I would vouch for our product any day.
I opened a bottom cupboard, stacking the jars way in the back. No point in making things worse by not following standard procedure. Constable Ace Collins had been here one day and was already proving the biggest thorn in my side. I didn’t have one iota of sympathy left for the bear spray incident now. We were more than even. The man had insulted my cooking, and no one got away with that.
Straightening, I picked up a large plastic-covered tray of assorted cookies then hurried out of the back door, headed for my jeep that I’d parked there to make the process easier. The fairgrounds were on the outskirts of town near the high school and too far away to schlep the cookies on foot.
My two fellow triplets trooped after me, handing off the trays to store on the backseat. “Meet you there.” I waved to them and turned the key to start the motor. Nothing. No, don’t fail me now, Thor. A quick prayer, a love pat on the dash and the motor turned over. Pays to be nice to man-made objects.
Breathing a sigh of relief, I directed the jeep into traffic and followed the lineup of vehicles headed to the fairgrounds.
The decorating committee must have worked all night. Flowing white banners, bunches of colorful balloons and streamers dancing gaily in the breeze all screamed funfair. The biggest banner, Welcome to the ‘Eh Neighbor Festival, was strung over the road from two hydro poles. Oh boy, I wouldn’t want the job of shinning up there. If one of the volunteer firemen spotted that infraction, it guaranteed a bruhaha of major proportions. But, not my problem today.
I disembarked and picked up two stacked trays. I’d need to make a few trips, but Tulip and Star should be along shortly if they ever got their act together. Grumbling to myself, I slammed Thor’s door closed with a determined foot and strode over to our waiting booth set in the middle of the action. The delicious fragrances threading the air enticed me. I took a deep, appreciative breath. The odor of fried treats, pizza, the barbecue pit with meat roasting on the spit—a glorious bouquet of flavors that made my mouth water in anticipation. My stomach rumbled, agreeing wholeheartedly it was past eating time. My step quickened.
After stacking the trays on the ten-foot counter that ran the length of our gaily painted booth—glittery gold stars on a midnight-blue background courtesy of Star—I got down to the work of setting up. With my sis being one of the main attractions, singing with her band at regular intervals all day long, we were going to be hard-pressed to cover all the bases. And then there was that darn dunk tank thing right after lunch…
I glanced over to where a community crew was finishing up the money-maker, filling the large steel tank below the drop chair with ice-cold water. Shuddering, I took a sip of the hot coffee I’d packed and nabbed myself a chocolate chip brownie cookie from the tray. Between nibbles, I sipped more delicious coffee.
“I’d offer to take your hour, but I’ve discovered I’ve been signed up for my own slot, called ‘get the new guy’. Not certain my heart can take an hour of being shocked by freezing water.”
I’d missed Ace’s arrival. “Wait until they add the buckets of ice.”
“They do that?” His dark brown eyes widened in dismay.
Touché, Constable. I snorted. “Not usually, but I could always have a word with them. When’s your shift start?”
“Can’t wait to get your chance at soaking me, eh.”
“No way I’d miss that opportunity, Sheriff. So, low man on the totem pole gets corralled for the job. You could always bow out. You have an investigation to run, after all.”
“I can give up an hour for the good of the town.”
“I teach a self-defense course on Monday nights. Any chance
of you giving up another hour to show us a few of your tactical techniques?”
He gave me a quick glance.
“Why, is that a look of surprise in your eyes, Officer?”
“No, no, I think that’s great.” He shrugged. “Sure, count me in.”
“Ah, are there any new developments in the case?” I asked, casually. “Want a cookie?” I gestured at the tray.
He shook his head. I squinted at him and he picked one up, the same kind as mine. At least he had good taste. He took a bite.
“Good cookie.” He took another quick bite, swallowed and continued. “It’s early days. Not entirely certain if we even have a murder on our hands yet. Other explanations are entirely possible. There was no sign of a struggle, other than by the victim when she fell to the floor. Seizures have many causes, anything from a brain tumor to a blood clot. Perhaps a drug interaction. Won’t know until I get the results of the autopsy.”
Goosebumps erupted all over my body. My worst worry was the blue skin that I hesitated to mention and draw undue attention to. I’d read Sparkling Cyanide, and blue skin was a hallmark of a drug that caused an agonizing death. Had someone put cyanide in Mrs. Hurst’s food or drink? And if so, who? The list of suspects was not going to be short. I needed to take this seriously, now, before fingers got pointed. My gut said it might be up to me to solve. I knew the town. I could interrogate people without them realizing my intentions.
“When was she last seen alive?”
“In the morning, leaving your place. Did you get along with Mrs. Hurst? Not finding too many people in town who speak well of her. And most just clam up when her name’s mentioned.”
“Ah, sure. We got along for the most part. Not an easy woman, but she’s—was—a good customer,” I self-corrected. “Always buying our jam in bulk. Loved a good discount.” I made myself chuckle as if I found it charming. Not. “What are you getting at?”
“Nothing really. Just making conversation.”
“Yeah, right. Okay. Straight goods. She was not well-loved, though the evidence is entirely circumstantial that she sold the soul of her firstborn to the devil. She never had a kind thing to say about anyone. Ever. But you didn’t hear it from me.”
“Hmm. Why did she come to the café yesterday morning?”
“She’d lost something. Wanted my help.” I glanced at him, taking in the chiseled jawline and the brooding Heathcliff eyes. He wore faded jeans this morning, hanging off trim hips. A red T-shirt stretched tight over his Bigfoot-sized chest. The shirt was neatly tucked into his pants, buckled with a silver engraved buckle with a bull image engraved on it, along with the year 2015. Had he been a rodeo bull-riding champion?
“Why would she think you could help?”
I sighed, letting out a long hiss of air between pursed lips. This was territory I didn’t want to get into. Like a cop would ever understand.
“My sisters and I all have areas of expertise. Star’s a wiz at the tarot card readings and Tulip divines dreams for clients.”
“And what is your gift, Charm, other than the obvious?” He leaned in closer, pushing a strand of hair that had broken loose of my hastily constructed braid behind my ear. His eyes locked with mine and my heart stuttered. I was suddenly glad I’d taken the time to apply a light floral scent instead of yesterday’s bug spray. Oh, and a bit of makeup.
I looked away first. I took a gasp of air, my eyes searching into the distance. “I’m a tracker. I help people find things.”
“What does that mean exactly? A tracker?”
“It means I see visions in my head. Then I can tell people where they lost something!” My anger at being grilled boiled over. Great. Now he’d think I was certifiable.
I chanced a glance. His brown eyes had widened and in the depths swam curiosity and surprise. But no condemnation. At least, not yet.
“What did you see that morning?” He kept staring at me and I chewed on my bottom lip. Nervous, I wanted to step back, but an invisible force pinned my feet to the ground.
“I saw her pearls. She’d lost them and was blaming her maid.” I shook my head at the loathsome idea. Suzanna was a good person and it was terrible that she’d been slandered. “They were behind her dresser in the bedroom.”
“That was all you saw?” Why was a Mountie taking me seriously?
“I—yeah, that was it.” No way was I going there, to the dark force I’d experienced surrounding the woman. That would sound crazy. I crossed my heart automatically with a gesture for forgiveness for lying and opened my eyes to find him still staring at me.
“You’re certain?”
“You believe me—about my being able to track?” Misdirection works wonders.
“Why shouldn’t I? The world constantly amazes me. So much we are never made party to, just being human with our limited capacity. Besides, I’m a big fan of Brian Green’s theories. I’ve read The Elegant Universe—twice. Also, The Hidden Reality, The Fabric of the Cosmos, Icarus at the Edge of Time.” He ticked them off on his fingers as he named each one. “Oh, and I’ve watched all his PBS television specials. And I’m also partial to Michio Kaku’s Parallel Worlds. Oh, not to forget Carl Sagan and Kip Thorne.”
“Me too! Hard to choose between them. Are you for real?” A lawman who read books about our amazing universe by a Pulitzer Prize finalist and by other great names in physics? Something we had in common, a love of reading and big ideas. Note to self, tread lightly and don’t underestimate this guy.
“Yeah, not much else to do during a cold Canadian night in the dead of winter. But I’ll have to do more than dunk you in the water tank if you breathe a word of this to my staff sergeant.” A killer smile accompanied his joking threat.
“If you don’t dunk me, I promise not to tell.” I returned his grin, adding, “And a belated welcome. It’s nice to have another certifiable bookworm in Snowy Lake. I’m just waiting for the geniuses of the world to invent the ultimate equation that explains everything. Someone needs to pull another Einstein.”
The look he shared with me was priceless. It paid to have read any book I could get my hands on. Our librarian was eclectic—I’d give Miriam that distinction—bringing in books on a variety of subjects meant to expand Snowy Lake’s residents’ horizons.
“Truce?” He held out his hand.
When I took it for a quick shake, my world literally imploded. A bright light flashed across my mind and coalesced into an image. Oh, boy. I was sunk.
Chapter Six
“Sorry I’m late.” Tulip steamed up to our booth, trays of treats stacked in her arms and looking harried beyond belief. “Ivana was in a state this morning. Something about not being invited personally to the ’Eh Neighbor Festival.”
Ace raised his eyebrows quizzically, as if he found the information surprising. “Ivana?”
“You really don’t want to know. If I don’t personally invite her to everything, she throws a hissy fit.” I shook my head. “Must be a Russian thing. I mean, everyone is invited to the festival. It’s a public event, for heaven’s sake.”
“Well, explain that to her, please,” Tulip muttered, setting her trays in position on the counter. “Granny calmed her down with an offer of tea and cookies, but I’d expect to hear more about it later.”
“You remember to bring the cash box?” I asked.
“Shoot. Another trip to the café.” Tulip made an about-face and took off at a gallop.
“I’ll catch up with you later.” Ace gave me a last lingering smile, leaving with a quick stride. The view going was as nice as the one coming, but I had no time to linger on how fine the man looked in his jeans. I had plans to make. Getting back into Mrs. Hurst’s house before it was considered a crime scene and taped off—my first priority. Maybe something there would incriminate a person or two and narrow the field from the whole darn town full of suspects.
Mrs. June Smith, the only woman in town who insisted on being called Mrs. at all times, strode up to our booth just as I’d taken a big bi
te of a peanut butter cookie. I smiled cautiously over the mouthful of crumbs.
“You have something on your lip, dear.”
I mumbled my thanks, grabbed a napkin and set the cookie aside. Her determined look this morning said she was staying for a visit. Okay, she’d cornered her quarry fair and square.
“I heard your sister Tulip found the poor woman while delivering jam.” She shook her head. “Terrible thing.” Her eyes gleamed with interest under her white sunhat. The banker’s wife wore a simple blue sheath dress, her brown hair tied with a matching bow at the nape of her neck. She was in her early fifties, with her two children having moved or escaped to Alberta. Her oldest daughter, Alison, had suffered for years under the illusion she had to be perfect, even changing universities in her misguided effort to obtain the best grades possible for her mother. She was so desperate for them. I remembered being told she’d cheated on a test in high school and her mother had hotly contested the accusation against Alison, getting the black mark expunged. I expected that if I searched for a top ten list of control freaks, I’d find Mrs. June Smith’s photo and stats.
“Yes, it is. She was such a wonderful contributor to our town. Why, just the amount of coin alone she spent at the café is going to be sorely missed.” I looked away and picked up a clean rag and, praying I wouldn’t be struck by lightning, systematically wiped the counter free of any speck of dust that might have landed in the last ten minutes.
“They say she was found in a terrible state, blue in the face and everything. Did you notice anything amiss, dear? Killer leave any clues at all?” Other than a body? Of course, she knew I’d been there. Duh. But even for a town busybody, she had an inordinate amount of interest in this case. Almost ghoulish.
“I can’t say.” I made the gesture of buttoning my lips with my fingers. “But I really need to take a quick break. I left something back at the café. Would you be able to help me out?” Her eyes glazed over and she took a step backward. “Just for a few minutes until Tulip gets back? You can take a half-dozen cookies for your trouble. I know Fred loves the peanut butter ones.”
