by Dani Corlee
"Deputy Maguire, good morning. Please come in." And with an elegant nod led him in over various valuable carpets which softened their steps. After going through the entrance, they came to a large room with a big fireplace and arrived at an elegant veranda with white garden furniture embellished with many plants and autumn flowers.
"I prepared some tea. Please!" He motioned Randy to sit down and help himself to the pastries while he took the teapot and served him a cup of tea and waited for a sign of approval.
The deputy looked at him from top to bottom. "Aren’t you going to sit?" He asked with a frown.
Mr. Banks sighed. "Force of habit, forgive me," he said, and sat on the chair in front of him, serving himself a cup of tea.
Maguire pulled out his pad and began to ask his questions. After a quarter of an hour of conversation, he had a better idea, not so much about the butler, who appeared unrelated to the murder, but about other people and how they were linked to Mrs. Stone.
It was time to question Mr. and Mrs. Jarvis, gardener and maid, respectively.
Mr. Banks went to call them while Maguire remained seated enjoying the day which luckily was mild. The setting was lovely and the view from the veranda wonderful. In front of him was a small manicured lawn and some cherry trees, which must create much-needed shade in summer. A little further on was a grove of several trees, but with space between them, creating a gap so that one could view far below the town of Springsville.
The Jarvis couple arrived together. "If you don't mind I would like to talk to you one by one," Maguire told them.
"Sure," they answered nodding. "I’ll go finish what I was doing," said Mr. Jarvis, still holding his work gloves and gardening shears.
Mrs. Jarvis sat down, but the conversation was rather short. She didn't seem to have anything to do with the killing, plus the fact that the couple was at home at the time of the murder down in the town, and the alibi was convincing even though it was being checked. Neither did Mr. Jarvis have much to say, and the deputy didn’t want to prolong a conversation that was proving fruitless.
He rose to say goodbye, and the butler appeared, as if by magic, just at the right time.
"I forgot to mention something somewhat annoying," he revealed while walking him to the door. During the funeral, it seems that two things disappeared from the house."
"Oh, really?" replied the deputy not too interested. The thefts were not currently a priority, and if someone had wanted to take advantage of the funeral ceremony to take a few things, he could send one of the boys.
"And what would be missing?"
"Two beautiful silver picture frames. One was here, see, on this piece of furniture," said Mr. Banks moving to the cabinet. "And another one upstairs, in the room of Mrs. Stone."
Maguire stopped suddenly. He took one of the frames using a handkerchief and frowning asked. "A frame like this?"
"Yes, that's right. You know, they are of solid silver and hand engraved. "
"Mm ..." mumbled the deputy. "Interesting. And what picture was in the stolen frame here?"
"I'm not sure. The maid says it was an old group photo taken during a picnic."
"I understand. And the other stolen photograph?"
"Photograph? Well, the frame contained a picture of the Mistress’s wedding. The maid remembers that there were the newlyweds along with some other people. A friend and perhaps witnesses, I don't know. "
"But the lady was divorced. Why would she keep a wedding photo out in view? Was she still close to her husband?"
"I should say not, deputy Maguire. Frankly I don’t know what to tell you. I think the Mistress kept it because she had no other pictures of a friend who passed away years ago."
"Where exactly was the stolen one, among those at the entrance?"
"Here, behind this one." The butler pointed to the frames in the front row.
"Has it already been cleaned here after the theft?"
"Of course. We want everything to be as it was before, so that when Miss Mabel and Miss Kendra come to live here, they will find everything in order. Even the frames have already been polished."
"And goodbye fingerprints! In any case, I will send someone to take them, in case there were any left."
The butler sighed. "I doubt it, Sir. We didn’t think, both the furniture and the frames were cleaned to perfection. Does that mean that you can do nothing to find them?"
Maguire shook his head, but they were not the frames that he was thinking about. There was no reason to steal one frame instead of the other. Why did the thief take one that was behind the others, and then climb to the first floor to steal another? Things didn’t make sense. Perhaps it wasn’t the frames they had wanted to take. Maybe there was a clue in the photographs!
Immersed in his thoughts, Maguire left and got into his car, and drove toward to the station.
Mabel looked around. The workshop was picked up and orderly. She had managed to move the two appointments, not without complaints from the customers, and she was, therefore, free to go to the police station as had been requested. She checked the shop again and looked out the windows. "Yes, I'm going now." She said to herself. Surely there was still something to be put in place. She went to the back where she had made a kind of office and looked at the calendar, checking that she had noted the times that appointments had shifted to.
"Yes, perfect," she said. She underlined twice with the red pen the new times in her agenda. Then she went again to the window. The police station wasn’t far away. She could even walk. Maybe a walk would do her good. She looked out the window. Walking at that time of day was quite acceptable. She looked at all the people on the sidewalk with apprehension. Maybe it would be better to go in the car? She took a deep breath. What was wrong with her? She went back to the fitting area and sank into one of the armchairs.
Lucille? She called mentally.
Hello! Her friend quickly replied.
Are you busy?
Not particularly. Do you need something?
No, I was wondering if you'd like to take a walk. I have to go to the police station, and I thought maybe ...
Just wait I’ll be there. She said blowing a bubble of chewing gum and almost instantly found herself in front of her friend.
"Everything okay?" She asked seeing Mabel sitting in the little fitting room as if to hide.
"Yes, Yes. It's just that I didn't want to go alone. I want to walk, but I thought it would be more fun to walk and chat with you."
"Oh, I see," said Lucille raising an eyebrow. It wasn't a secret that Mabel didn’t admit to herself that she had a problem.
"Let’s go, so you can tell me all the gossip about the deputy and why you have to go to the station. By the way, what’s he like this deputy? I know that he just recently moved into town. Is he cute?" And winking she took Mabel’s arm.
"Come on! I didn’t even look at him ..."
Chatting all the while, they arrived rather quickly at the police station.
"Will it take long? I'll wait here, okay?"
Mabel nodded. Losing her nerve again, she went in alone and asked for the deputy.
"I’m sorry, he is out on an investigation." Answered the agent. "Is it about the murder of Mr. Hopkins? Wait, I’ll take the fingerprints and then call the Sheriff."
Mabel looked with apprehension at the ink pad, even though she knew perfectly well that she could totally cancel any trace just with a snap of her fingers.
After the annoying procedure, she was led to sit at a table in a small room. The white neon light was very strong and bothered her. She looked at the walls which showed the ravages of time. There were stains here and there, and paint was gray and peeling in several places. The place had an air of neglect that gave it a sense of sadness.
"Hello," said the Sheriff coming in and sitting at the other side of the table. His look promised nothing positive and Mabel shuddered.
"Nervous?" The Sheriff noticed with a satisfied smile, convincing himself even more of the girl�
�s guilt. "So, give me your version of the facts," he went on.
"Of what exactly? I already told everything to the deputy. " Mabel looked at him puzzled, getting more and more nervous.
"Tell me specifically about the angry quarrel you had with the dead man."
An angry quarrel with the dead man? How can you quarrel with a dead man? She wanted to ask.
Instead, she just said. "No, there was no angry quarrel. Only a very brief argument to which I didn't give too much importance because he asked me something crazy; that is to immediately sell him 50% of the company which my aunt had just left to me, claiming that he owned the remaining 50% already, something which the lawyer knows nothing about. Naturally I said no. And that's it. She wiped her hands on her dress, realizing she had stained it with the fingerprint ink.
"You know what I think?" the Sheriff asked her, leaning on the desk that divided them. "I think you know a lot more than you want us to believe and that you’re taking us for a ride. Come on, admit it. Your motive is apparent to all. "
Mabel sat with her mouth gaping open. "What do you mean? I don't understand your point."
"I’d like to know how you would have reacted when Hopkins had asserted his rights, and you could no longer get your hands on the entire company. I want to get," raising his voice," to the point that you could no longer have the company the way you wanted. I’d like to know, "he stood up, always looking at her, towering over her, "how, that night, you got into that man’s room in order to kill him. How’d you do it? Did you promise to sell him the company? Or was it other lascivious promises?"
He gave a harsh push back on his chair and Mabel, already very shaken by the direction that the situation was taking, jumped at the noise. The Sheriff quickly got closer, continuing to talk to her from behind, while leaning on the back of her chair. Mabel tried to turn around but to no avail. He looked down and hissed at her from behind. "It will not be difficult to prove that you had the motive and the opportunity, as well as the weapon."
Mabel felt cold shivers start from her head and go all the way down her back. "Murder weapon?" She tried to protest. "I am not even sure how he died!"
"Give me a break! You have several plants in your shop. I'm sure we will find some weed killer. I'm waiting for the coroner's report and after that the team, that I have already dispatched, will go over everything in your shop and apartment," the sheriff lied. "It’s clear that you’re the killer, and I’ll soon have your confession."
"What?" Mabel's voice was choked. It's a nightmare! She thought. "I haven't done anything!" She protested again, wondering if there was still at home some used herbicide for the weeds that, from time to time, infested the pots in front of the shop windows. She prayed that she had thrown away the package a long time ago.
"For now you’re under arrest. Nicholas!" He shouted, opening the door of the room. "Come take this young lady and put her in the cell."
Visibly shaken, Mabel wiped her face wet with perspiration. "But you cannot lock me up for no reason!" She tried to protest.
The Sheriff snorted. "And you can't tell me what I can and can't do."
Lucille! She screamed mentally.
Hey, what's the matter? Lucille had not missed the alarm in her friend’s voice.
They're arresting me for murder!
What? They’re crazy? Wait, I'm coming in.
Lucille ran up the steps to the entrance, side by side with a young man who she looked at out of the corner of her eye.
"Officer, Officer, excuse me, but I'm here for Mabel Norwood, who came about the case of Errol Hopkins’ murder. I’ve been waiting a long time, and she hasn’t come out yet," She said to the officer at the front desk.
"I’m sorry the young lady has been taken into custody," he said. And then turning to the young man who had come with her he said. "Hi, Randy."
"What do you mean in custody?" Lucille and the deputy answered almost in unison and then looked at each other.
"What happened?" asked the deputy frowning.
"I don't know," replied the officer. "The sheriff wanted to interrogate her and then told me to put her in jail."
The deputy’s eyes were burning. His jaw tightened, and clenching his fist in anger, he asked, "Where is the Sheriff now?"
"He must be in his office. Unless he went out for a drive while I was taking the girl down. "
Lucille looked at Randy who returned her look without saying anything. The man seemed to be considering something.
Then, he quickly headed for the offices.
"If you don't mind I’ll wait here," Lucille said with a sweet smile to the intake officer while she reactivated her magical powers to hear the conversation between the deputy and the sheriff.
I’m here, Mabel, stay calm.
Easy for you to say! She heard her answer.
Let me hear what's going on.
“Why have you arrested Mabel Norwood?" Randy's tone was dry.
"Because she is obviously the culprit." the Sheriff replied with conceit.
"It's not obvious at all. There is absolutely no evidence. "
"The prosecutor will make that decision and it is up to the jury to decide her guilt."
"Do you really want this to be brought to trial?"
"Listen, young man. I was resolving cases when you were still in diapers. I have a reputation to uphold in this town. Nothing has ever happened here, and I intend to make it clear to everyone that when something happens, I'll solve it right away, and nobody will escape."
Randy let out a sarcastic sound. "Not escape? A person who has nothing to do with it?"
"That’s what you say. So prove it to me."
"Sheriff, are you kidding? I’m not the one to prove otherwise, but we have to prove that a suspect is guilty, and here we're not capable of that. She wasn’t the one, I tell you. "
“I’ve made my decision. The case is closed." The Sheriff pounded on his desk, making the few objects he had there jump, and gave him a grim look.
Randy went out of the Sheriff's office nearly slamming the door. The contempt he felt for the man was evident on his face. This man, now close to retirement, had no interest in justice or in the smooth running of the town’s police station.
Soon after he went back and said to the Sheriff.
"Look, I had a thought. Give me 72 hours and I’ll bring you the killer, whoever it is. My honor and my career depend on it. Consider the consequences to the rest of your working life if you are making a mistake."
The Sheriff looked at the ceiling. "I'm telling you very straight," he said standing and pointing a finger in Randy’s face. If the girl gets away, you’ll pay for it. 72 hours only. Then I lock her up again."
The deputy ran to the cells to release Mabel. He was proud that he had succeeded in reasoning with the Sheriff. A challenge was always a challenge especially for himself. He had wanted this job only as a springboard to launch his public career. A town that was so easy to run seemed a perfect place to quickly become sheriff and then continue to climb. He had planned all this for some time. Could a thing like this defeat his efforts and put spokes between his wheels? What would become of his career if he couldn’t prove Mabel’s innocence? He realized suddenly that what really mattered to him was to free her.
He arrived at the cell practically running and couldn't hide a smile when he saw her and said proudly. "I'm getting you out."
"But the Sheriff said ..." She began hesitantly.
"Forget that old bear. I cooled his anger. But now it's up to me to find the really guilty one." Unconsciously he stood a bit straighter.
Mabel looked at him and smiled gratefully. "Thank you so much," she murmured.
He suddenly had the urge to hug her and protect her.
CHAPTER 6
Like every other morning, Mabel got up early, now eager to get to work on her fashion designs. Only the dark circles under her eyes betrayed the sleepless night due to her concerns. She got ready to go down to her workroom. That day she would work on an
evening dress for a starlet who was appearing in a successful television series produced by a local station. Who knows, fantasized Mabel. Maybe she’ll be noticed by some famous Director and will be hired in Hollywood. If she’s happy with my clothes, maybe she’ll continue to have them made by me and make me famous!
She looked at the cabinet where several rolls of fabric were stacked, studying them one by one. Then she pointed her finger at one of them which took flight, hovered in mid-air and stopped right in front of her. Mabel gently touched the shiny purple fabric and nodded with satisfaction. She waved the fabric gracefully in front of a mannequin on which it slowly settled. Always waving her hands in the air, she shaped the cloth as if it were clay, creating a first version, the beginning of the dress. She stepped slightly away from the mannequin to see the effect, took a look at the drawing she had done with the customer days before, and continued to orchestrate in the air the effects of her work, slowly murmuring ancient words, creating a play of iridescent colors; a mixture of purple and red. In the middle of her dreams, she heard the phone ring and cringed with fright, as the fabric got darker and darker. Typically the phone meant new customers, but with what had happened in recent days, she was afraid it might mean bad news.
