by Leona Fox
“I think the cops think I killed Rumsfeld,” he blurted out. “And I swear I didn’t, but I would say that, wouldn’t I, even if I had killed him.” He rubbed his face, leaving his hand partially covering his eyes.
Sadie thought she must be getting cynical, because the gesture made her wonder if he were acting.
“Why do you think you’re a suspect?” she asked.
“He was after my job, wasn’t he? And he made my professional life a living hell.” He picked up a small brass bowl from Sadie’s shelf and turned it over and over in his hands.
“That was also true this afternoon. Why do you think the cops are after you now?” she asked.
“I think a cop followed me to my mom’s house,” he said. “And there was someone watching when I left. There is only one reason they would follow me.”
“I can think of at least one other reason,” Sadie said. “And who knows, maybe it’s something neither of us thought of.”
He looked startled. “You mean my mother, don’t you? They think my mother killed Rumsfeld.” His hands balled. “They’d better leave my mother out of this.”
“Calm down, Justin,” she said. “If neither of you are guilty then there’s no need to worry. Chief Woodstone is a good cop. He’ll figure this out.”
“You really think they could suspect my mother?” It was a question and a statement. His face looked blank, as if he had shut down his emotions. “I have to go,” he said. “Sorry to have disturbed you.”
For a couple of minutes Sadie sat staring at the place where Justin had been. Then she called the chief and told him about Justin’s visit.
“He’s easily spooked,” she finished up. “So you may want to go easy. He hasn’t developed any confidence yet and his emotions play him. If you don’t shut him down, you could use that to your advantage.”
“Are you telling me my business, Sadie Barnett?” he asked. He was trying to sound stern, but Sadie could hear the smile in his voice.
“I only do what needs to be done, Chief,” she said.
The chief laughed and rang off, and she wondered if he should be taking her more seriously. No, she decided. That would take the fun out of it.
She set down the phone and turned her attention to her lists, but after a few minutes she realized they would have to wait. She needed to get outside and clear her head. There was too much information rattling around in there. She grabbed Mr. B’s leash and they headed across the street to the park.
They were halfway around the lake when Sadie saw a man approaching. He looked familiar, and she was squinting and trying to figure it out when it occurred to her. It was Alex, former colleague of Victor Rumsfeld. What were the chances of her meeting up with him twice in one day? Then again Seagrove was a small town. It wasn’t difficult to find people you were looking for. Sadie wondered if he was looking for her.
He stopped short when he saw her and pointed a bony finger in her direction.
“You are the woman who called the cops on us today,” he said, “aren’t you?”
“As a matter of fact, I am.” Sadie looked him directly in the eye. “A group of Victor’s coworkers all in one place, that was too good to pass up.”
“Are you his assistant?” he asked.
“No, Mr.… I’m sorry, I don’t know your last name.” She raised her eyebrows at him.
“Pardon my rudeness,” he said and held out his bony, trembling hand. “Alex Wheaten, professor emeritus at Seagrove College.”
Sadie took his hand. “Sadie Barnett,” she said. “And no, I am not chief Woodstone’s assistant. I am his friend. So when I see an opportunity to help him at his job, I take it. I think that makes me a bit of nosy parker.”
“It’s true some people might think that,” he said. “But what does it matter what other people think? Helping a friend is an honorable course to take.”
Sadie was a bit surprised by his words. From the way he acted with his coworkers, she had considered him cranky and unpleasant. But maybe he was something more.
“What are you doing out in the park at this time in the evening, Mr. Wheaten?” she asked. “Isn’t it dinnertime?”
“I don’t live on other people’s schedules,” he said. “I’m perfectly capable of making my own meal when I’m ready for it. On days when I have coffee with the group you saw me with this morning, I rarely eat before 9 PM. I don’t need as much food as I use to.”
“I’ve heard that happens as we age,” Sadie said. “But I haven’t noticed it myself yet.”
“You are far too young to be feeling the effects of age,” Alex said. “Wait another twenty years.”
“Now you’re just disappointing me.” She smiled at him. “I was hoping not to have to wait twenty years before I started to lose a little weight. I’m counting on being svelte in my later years.”
“I will never understand why women desire to be bony and underfed looking,” he said. “You are perfectly fine the way you are.”
“That’s very nice of you to say.” If a bit forward for someone you just met, she thought. “You’re very kind.”
“I’m not kind at all. Surely you heard what I had to say earlier? I was quite cruel, although I didn’t mean to be. I’m afraid I was showing off. Very stupid of me, especially as now I’ve made myself into a suspect.”
“And got your informant in trouble at work as well,” she said.
“Yes, that too. That’s what happens when you let your tongue run away with you,” he said. “You end up hurting people that you don’t want to hurt.”
“I guess it’s a lesson of sorts then,” Sadie said. “Perhaps next time you’ll hold your tongue and let someone else break the bad news.”
“It’s an aspect of my personality that made me quite unpopular as a professor,” he said. “Students avoided me like the plague. At the time, it pleased me. I had more time for my research. But now I see it for the fault it is. Unpleasant people grow old alone, Ms. Barnett. And I wouldn’t even wish that on Victor Rumsfeld, whom I detested.”
“But didn’t kill?” she asked.
“I am not a murderer,” he said. “Perhaps a murderer of character, but not of flesh. I believe in the sanctity of life.”
“And you want me to tell Chief Woodstone?” she asked.
“I would not presume,” he said. “But somehow it bothers me for you to think I was capable of murder.”
“You shouldn’t let what I may or may not be thinking bother you, Mr. Wheaten,” she said. “I have no power over your life whatsoever.”
“True, but still it does,” he said. “Good evening, Ms. Barnett. It is been a pleasure talking with you.” He reached down and scratched Mr. Bradshaw between the ears.
Mr. Bradshaw’s tail was going a mile a minute, and he put his front paws on Mr. Wheaton’s shin. He gave the unsteady hand a lick before returning to Sadie. She wondered if Mr. Bradshaw was losing his touch. Maybe he decided to approve of anyone who would give him a scratch on the head. The thought disappointed her.
Sadie and Mr. Bradshaw were walking briskly down one of the hard-pack paths after their encounter with Alex Wheaten when they noticed Chief Woodstone striding across the grass toward them. They stopped and waited for him to catch up before they continued Mr. B’s sniffing tour of the walkway.
“So what’s up?” Sadie asked.
“You sounded unsettled on the phone,” he said. “I came to make sure you are all right.” He slid his arm across her shoulder and pulled her close.
“I understand why people come to see me when they think they are in trouble,” she said. “They think I have an in with you. Or they want me to tell you something because they are afraid to come to your office. But it lays a burden on me. I needed to get outside and let the fresh air blow it away. I’m fine now.”
“They come to talk to you because you have a sympathetic ear, not because you are linked to me,” he said. “They know you won’t judge them.”
“Of course I judge them,” she said crossly
. “How could I not?”
“But the standard by which you judge people elevates them,” he said. “You don’t hold yourself above others.”
A breeze from the bay caught Sadie by surprise. The day had been so still. She smelled salt and the flowers blooming at the edge of the path. The weight of Zack’s arm across her shoulders was comforting. She smiled.
“Actually,” she said, “I do hold myself above murderers.”
Mr. Bradshaw stuck his nose in a daisy and sniffed.
“Glad to hear it. I think you can safely assume that your moral compass runs truer than a murderer’s does.”
She looked at him in surprise.
“How can you say that? Weren’t you just sitting on my balcony questioning me about a murder weapon?”
“I was trying to make a point about leaving your shop unlocked when no one is there,” he said, “as well as satisfying my boss that I’m taking my job seriously when it comes to you.”
“You are the police chief,” she said. “You don’t answer to anyone.”
“Except Town Council and the mayor,” he said. “They can fire me at whim. So I do try and observe proper police procedure.”
“I expect that would be a good idea even if no one could fire you,” she said. “Changing the subject, where was Victor’s body found? You never told me.” They turned to go back toward the shop and she called Mr. B.
“On the riverbank,” he said. “Head in the water, feet up on the shore. The murder weapon stuck in his jugular. He bled out.”
Sadie thought about that and shivered.
“Fast,” she said. “That’s something.”
“As fast as twenty seconds, according to the doc.” He tightened his arm on her shoulders for a moment.
“How many people would know to stick the peeler into the jugular? Is this a specialist’s crime?” she asked.
“It could be, except anyone can learn how to exsanguinate a person on YouTube. The Internet: a wonderful place where you can learn any nefarious skill you’d like,” he said. “We’ve looked at both funeral homes in the area and haven’t found a connection. But we’re still looking.”
“And you knew about Victor’s response to the way Lance made up Alice for her funeral?” she asked.
“It’s common knowledge,” he said. “And Lance was very calm about it at the time. He said that sometimes the bereaved needs a focus for their grief and anger. Sometimes it happened to be him.”
“Mr. Bradshaw didn’t think it was him either,” she said.
“I’m glad Mr. Bradshaw agrees with me. If he didn’t I’d have to question myself.”
Sadie raised her eyebrows at the chief.
“No, really,” he said. “Mr. Bradshaw has excellent instincts. And I think he can sense when people are guilty.”
“Well then, I guess we can remove Lance from our suspect list,” Sadie said.
“Although he gave me a chill. He gave me such a creepy smile I thought for sure it must be him.” She shivered.
He squeezed her shoulder again. “Let’s talk about something more pleasant. Would you like to have lunch on the beach with me tomorrow?”
“I can’t tomorrow,” Sadie said. “It’s Betty’s day off. I could do dinner though.”
“Tomorrow night is the wedding, remember? And the night after that is Victor Rumsfeld’s wake. I need to be there in case the murderer shows his hand.”
“Really?” Sadie asked. “That’s actually a thing? I thought it was TV nonsense.”
“Yeah. It really is. Not that I think it will happen in this case, but I need to be there if it does. The mayor asked me to be there personally. Not just a police presence, me in particular.”
“That’s flattering. We could do lunch the day after that.” She looked at him for confirmation.
He shook his head. “That won’t work for me. How about Sunday?”
She smiled. “Sunday lunch it is.”
Chapter Four
Early the next morning, Sadie and Mr. Bradshaw were in the bakery next door indulging in their first cup of coffee of the day. Well, Sadie was drinking her first cup of coffee. Mr. Bradshaw had eaten his dog biscuit and had his front feet up on the low windows sill so he could keep an eye on the street outside. Sadie watched him while chatting with John, the bakery’s owner, who had joined her at the table.
The door clicked shut as a customer came in, and John jumped up to serve him. It was a youngish man in army fatigues, and he took his coffee to the table next to Sadie’s. She smiled at him and then focused on the almond and chocolate croissant John had made especially for her. Mr. Bradshaw approached and before Sadie could stop him had his paws on the younger man’s knees.
“Mr. Bradshaw!” Sadie said. “Get down right now. I’m so sorry. He isn’t usually this rude.”
The soldier scratched Mr. B under the chin. “That’s all right,” he said. “I like dogs. Did you say his name was Mr. Bradshaw?”
Sadie nodded.
He patted his lap and said, “Do you want to come up?”
Mr. Bradshaw hopped into his lap and licked his face. Sadie was torn. On one hand this was strictly against the rules. On the other hand the young man seemed to be enjoying it. In the end, she let Mr. Bradshaw be. The soldier had offered his lap to Mr. B after all.
“Are we hosting military maneuvers here in Seagrove?” Sadie asked.
“No, ma’am,” he said. “I’m in town for a funeral.” He took a drink of coffee, careful not to spill any on Mr. B.
“Victor Rumsfeld?” she asked.
John put a fresh cup of coffee in front of her and sat back down at the table to drink his own cup.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Only I’m mostly here to see my buddies. I didn’t much like Professor Rumsfeld.”
“From what I understand you aren’t alone in that,” she said. She half stood and reached her hand out to him. “Sadie Barnett.”
He took her hand in a firm grip. “Anthony Benetti,” he said. “You can call me Tony.” He stood and offered his hand to John as well.
“John Baker,” John said, and the men locked hands for a moment.
Tony smiled but didn’t say the obvious.
“Yes, I know,” John said. “John Baker who owns the bakery. But it’s what I like to do. I suppose I could change my name.”
“Don’t be silly,” Sadie said. “It’s destiny. And you can call the shop John Bakers. I noticed you haven’t put out a sign yet.”
“I was thinking of just calling it The Bakery,” John said. “I mean there’s only one in town, right? People are just going to say let’s stop by the bakery anyway. Might as well make it official.”
“I guess so,” Sadie said, “but I like John Bakers better, probably because I thought of it.” She turned to Tony. “You were telling me why you didn’t like Victor Rumsfeld.”
Tony blushed. “I’d kind of hoped we’d moved on from that.” He slid his hand over Mr. Bradshaw again, his head down, hiding his face.
“Don’t mind me,” Sadie said. “I’m a nosy old biddy. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”
“Actually,” Tony said, “I think I’d like to. If I get if off my chest maybe I can move on and enjoy seeing my army buddies. A bunch of us were in ROTC at the college, and we were all going off to Afghanistan together, but I wasn’t doing so well in my classes. I pulled my shit together and passed except in his class. Rumsfeld failed me and I didn’t get shipped out with my buddies. I spent the summer retaking the class with a different teacher—he gave me an A. I swear Rumsfeld just failed me because we didn’t see eye to eye. Anyway, I ended up in a different unit. My best friend, Bolo, died. If I’d been in his unit where I was supposed to be, I know I could have protected him. I blame Rumsfeld for his death. I should have been there.”
“I’m sorry,” Sadie said. “It’s hard to lose a friend like that.”
“Yeah,” Tony said. “And I told his mom I’d look out for him.”
“You got to
find a way to lose that guilt, young man,” John said. “It’ll eat you up inside.”
“Yeah,” Tony said. “If it was only that easy.” He looked down at the table. “I’ve got to see Bolo’s mom this week too.” He sighed. “I don’t know what to say to her.”
“Well that depends,” Sadie said. “If you are willing to take on a second mom, then offer to do the kinds of things you do for your mom. That’s what she’ll be missing. If you don’t have time, or can’t sustain that kind of effort, then just tell her how sorry you are, and how you wish you could have been there to protect him. You can’t do more than that.”
