by Liz Mugavero
God, she’d better be right about this, or she’d be run out of town. Or at the very least, sued for slander. Or libel. She always got the two mixed up. Helga’s killer would still be on the loose. And Cyril would perhaps end up in prison for a crime he didn’t commit.
No pressure.
She’d seen Jake once, but he’d been busy helping the War Office people haul their weaponry around. He hadn’t seen her, or at least he hadn’t seemed to. Maybe after this was over they could have a real conversation so she could explain Adrian Fox hadn’t been in her kitchen for an unseemly reason so early in the morning. She hoped he would listen.
Her mother was also on-site. Stan had seen her with Falco earlier. Unlike Jake, her mother had seen her. She just hadn’t acknowledged her. Which was also a bitter pill to swallow. Stan knew she had to figure something out on that front, especially if her mother was going to continue residing in Frog Ledge even part-time. But right now she had to focus on her plan going off without a hitch.
Which was getting harder by the minute as her nerves wound tighter and tighter. She was concentrating on her breathing in hopes of calming herself when Tony Falco appeared in front of her, looking apologetic. “Kristan, I’m sorry to bother you, but I need a favor and everyone’s tied up. Can you assist?”
Leave it to Falco to foul things up. She pushed her annoyance away and pasted on a smile. “What do you need?” she asked.
“Can you go get Helga’s cane? We need it for the dedication ceremony and it’s still over at the museum. I have to sign the proclamation and take some pictures, or I’d do it. Would you mind?” He held out a key. “You can slip right in the back door so no one thinks the building is open.”
Stan glanced at her phone. It was twelve thirty-five. She thought fast. She should be able to run over and get in and out before Hatmaker went to unlock the doors for Marty, and she and Pasquale planned to show up. Plenty of time. She might even get to peek at the drawer herself while she was over there.
“Sure,” she said. “I’m on it. Be right back.” She grabbed the key and hurried across the street.
Chapter 42
Stan slipped the key into the lock and pushed the museum’s creaky back door open, reaching for the light switch. Fluorescent glare flooded the room. Shutting the door behind her, she took a few steps forward and peered around the corner into the main room. Everything appeared to be copacetic. The card catalogue still sat where she remembered it, curbing the irrational fear that Carla and crew had liberated it overnight. Breathing a sigh of relief, she hurried over. And did a double take.
“Oh, no . . .”
There was a gaping hole in the second row of the catalogue. She scanned the letters on the cards. The card below the hole had E–F. The card above read C. The D drawer was missing. Which meant Sir Arthur Conan Doyle had been silenced.
She stared at the empty hole, refusing to believe it. They had been so close. But not fast enough.
Mad now, she let loose a string of curses. How could this have happened? She should’ve called Jessie last night instead of this morning. They shouldn’t have waited. Stan thought she might cry. But she had to get Helga’s cane, pull herself together, and walk back out to the party. Then she needed to huddle with Betty and Jessie.
She started back down the hall toward Helga’s desk. But she didn’t make it far. She heard a noise behind her, suspiciously like a lock turning. Before she could turn to look, something hard—like a two-by-four—slammed into her lower back, sending her sprawling on her face. Stars danced behind her eyes and nausea swirled in her belly. She tried to ignore the pain long enough to flip over to defend herself from the next attack.
Stan raised her hands to shield her head, pulled her knees up into her chest, and rolled away. She opened her eyes and tried to focus in front of her.
She saw boots. Expensive ones. The fancy Burberry winter kind. Stan had looked at a pair last year and passed them up in favor of her Uggs. Now she was glad she had. Her eyes traveled up farther, resting on her assailant’s face.
Carla Miller loomed over her, still brandishing her weapon. It looked like a two-by-four. The only difference was the knob in the front, which felt like it had left a dent in her back. It was the card catalogue. Letter D, she was certain.
Looked like her theory had been right. Lot of good that would do her now, facing a deranged woman with a card catalogue as her weapon. Not to mention the historical swords and other paraphernalia scattered around the museum. If only she’d been able to grab Jessie before she ran over here. She had at least another twenty minutes before Marty drove up. She’d better move quick, or she might meet the same fate as Felix Constantine. And Helga.
Stan crab-crawled far enough back that Carla would probably miss if she tried to clobber her again, and tried to ignore the throbbing pain in her back. “It’s no use, Carla. Everyone knows what you did to Helga. Your own mother-in-law. It’s too late to try to cover it up.”
Carla chuckled. “You’re delusional. I’m the next mayor’s wife. My husband has served on this council for years. You think anyone would believe your story? You don’t even know what you’re talking about.” She tossed the drawer on the floor with a resounding thud and reached into her pocket. When her hand emerged, it held a small black revolver.
Stan’s head spun as she registered both the gun and Carla’s words. Mayor? She had Don running for mayor in her mind? The next election wasn’t even for a year and a half. And where had she gotten a gun? Come on, Marty, Jessie. Wasn’t anyone ever early anymore?
“It doesn’t matter if you get rid of the drawer. Arthur confessed to Felix Constantine. He told the police everything, including your threats. It’s over, Carla. Make it easy on the rest of your family. Think about your kids,” Stan said.
Carla hesitated for a split second, then rage filled her face. “I’m getting rid of this godforsaken piece of evidence that’s plagued my family for years. And we’ll keep our rightful place in this town. You’re not stopping me, that’s for sure. You have no idea how hard we’ve worked to get to this place. I’m not letting anyone stand in our way. Don has a long political career ahead of him, and no one’s taking it away from us. Now, get up.” She nearly spat the words. The gun jumped with every word.
Stan kept her eyes on it, her throat dry, heart pounding. “I’m not stopping you, but the police will. Trooper Pasquale will be here any minute.” Stan hoped. Unsteadily, she forced her legs to move and got up, holding on to the nearest piece of furniture. Her back screamed in pain. She’d never thought about how lethal those silly drawers could be.
“You’re bluffing,” Carla snapped. “Nobody really cared about what happened sixty years ago as much as my poor, dead mother-in-law thought they did.” She chuckled, and the sound sent chills down Stan’s spine. “God, I hated that woman from the day I met her. Bossy, demanding, critical battle-ax. You have no idea how satisfying it was to shove her down those stairs, even though technically I wasn’t planning on it. Now, let’s go. I need to be rid of you before my hauler gets here. They won’t find you in the basement for a while.”
This woman was stark raving mad. She was going to shoot her in the basement and leave her body there. Where was the cavalry?
“Where’s Don?” Stan asked, still trying to stall for time. “Does he know what you did?”
“My useless husband? Probably somewhere in a corner, crying over his mommy, the wuss. His mommy, who made my life a living hell. Always nagging and complaining. Carla, your sauce is bland. Carla, your laundry basket is overflowing. Carla, why do you need another designer bag with my son’s hard-earned money?” she mimicked. “On and on and on, every day. And Don never defended me. Never told her to shut her mouth. She was trying to turn my boys against me, too. She’s lucky she made it to eighty-seven. Now it’s my turn to get some attention.”
A sound from outside caught Stan’s ear. The unmistakable rumble of a truck engine in the back parking lot. Marty was here. Which meant Jessie wasn’
t far behind. Carla was toast.
She just didn’t realize it yet.
Carla heard the sound, too, and froze. “Move,” she barked. “Now. To the basement.”
Stan obliged. Carla shoved her forward, the gun jammed into the small of her back, propelling her down the hallway toward the back of the museum. Her mind raced. Her palms were damp with fear. She needed to stay away from the stairs leading to the basement. Carla probably planned to shoot her at the top, let her fall, and shut the door behind her, then fluff her hair and greet Marty.
No way. This full-of-herself, designer-label wacko wasn’t going to win. Stan’s eyes fell on Helga’s purple cane, still resting on its hook, and calculated the distance to it at the same time a rap sounded on the back door. About five feet, give or take.
“Hey, Carla? It’s Marty.” His voice was muffled through the wood.
Carla hesitated, clearly unsure what to do first. Stan grabbed the split-second advantage. She dove to the ground and flung herself into the space under Helga’s desk, flattening herself against the wood. She heard Carla hiss out a breath, heard her footsteps as she moved closer to the door, and then her normal, saccharine-sweet, I’m-not-going-to-kill-anyone voice. “Coming, Marty, give me one second, honey, would you? I’ll come out.”
Stan inched farther under the desk. She noticed Helga’s chair had wheels. Perfect.
“Sure thing,” Marty called agreeably.
“Great.” Carla’s voice changed as she focused on her other situation. “Now you’re dead.”
That’s what she thinks. Stan shoved the chair forward with all her might, catching Carla off guard. As Carla stumbled aside, trying to avoid it, Stan leaped up, grabbed Helga’s cane off the wall, and brought it down full force on Carla’s hand, knocking the gun to the floor.
Carla screamed in indignation. Stan could see her calculating in her head—should she go after the gun or go after Stan?
Stan didn’t give her a chance to think about it. She swung again, planting her feet and putting all her power behind it, as Carla rushed at her. This time she hit her in the side of the head. Carla crumpled to the ground, stunned, just as the door opened and Marty, Betty, and Jessie all ran in. On their heels was Dale Hatmaker.
Jessie took one look at Carla Miller on the ground and shook her head. “You can’t even follow directions when they’re your own?” she asked Stan.
“I didn’t mean to mess it up,” Stan said. “Tony Falco asked me to come over and get Helga’s cane. Which ironically I just used on her. She killed Helga. I was right.”
Dale Hatmaker paled. “She did what?”
Stan narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t play dumb. You were in on it.”
“Me?” Hatmaker’s eyes almost popped out of his head. He held up his hands and looked at Jessie. “She and Don asked me to help get the museum in order, that’s all. I had no idea . . .”
“Go sit over there until I figure out what to do with you,” Pasquale told him. She pulled her radio out. “You can send two cars,” she said. “Somebody needs to get Don Miller in for questioning, too. And find someone to take care of his kids. Lovely.” She shook her head. “Talk about family values.” She disconnected.
From the floor, Carla moaned.
“Regardless, I guess my plan worked,” Stan said to Jessie.
“Not exactly how it was supposed to,” Jessie reminded her.
“That wasn’t my fault!”
“It never is.” Jessie turned as her backup, Trooper Lou and another guy Stan hadn’t seen before, raced into the building. “About time, folks. The murder suspect is over there.” Jessie pointed to Carla, who was trying to sit up, still dazed. “And take him in for questioning.” She indicated Hatmaker, still sitting on the floor, face ashen. Stan watched as they cuffed Carla and took her out of the building. She was glad it was over, but for the Millers, it was just beginning. Those two little boys, Donald and Derek, would have a long road ahead of them.
Jessie turned to walk out, then paused and looked back at Stan. “Thank you.”
Stan glanced over her shoulder. “Me?”
“Yes, you,” Jessie said impatiently. “You brought Helga justice. Thank you.” And she followed her colleagues out the door, leaving Stan with her mouth open.
Chapter 43
The weather had finally started to turn around. It felt like spring even though it was a tad early. Thankfully, the snow had mostly melted with the recent warm spurt, so they could reach the gazebo on the green. Winter could stick around for another month or more, if it wanted to be a jerk. But this Valentine’s Day was beautiful.
Stan stepped back and admired her work. She had spent the morning setting up for Gus and Lila’s wedding. The gazebo on the green was decorated with white streamers and bows. A high table inside it held the strawberry-flavored, heart-shaped wedding cake, which had come out even better than awesome, if she did say so herself. The triple-decker cake had three sizes of hearts, the bottom two slightly raised on cake stands so they could all have the fancy ribbon frosting. A plastic Shih Tzu and Irish setter dressed in wedding clothes stood on the top layer. Stan had taken about a thousand pictures of this cake for her Pawsitively Organic Facebook page. Eating it would be a shame. Two smaller tables sat on either side of the wedding cake table, one with an assortment of her best pupcakes, the other with a platter of regular treats, also in assorted flavors. A smaller platter held cat treats for Dede’s felines, Mittens and Diamond. Lastly, a table set slightly apart held a platter of fruit, cheese, and crackers for the human guests.
Now, if only the dogs didn’t go racing in there and knocking everything over.
“This is the bomb,” Izzy said, jumping off her stool. Stan had coerced her into helping set up, and she’d just finished tying white balloons on the fence a couple of the town maintenance staff had put up for the event. No one wanted any dogs running off, but they also wouldn’t have as much fun on leash the entire time. “Where are they going to exchange vows?”
“I think right in front of the gazebo.” Stan glanced around to check the space out and saw Brenna standing by the fence, alone, watching them.
“Who’s reading them?”
“Dede, most likely. She has some doggie reverend coming.” Stan ignored Izzy’s snicker and glanced at her watch. “Can you hold down the fort for a minute while I get my dogs? I just want to make sure nothing happens to the cake.”
Izzy grinned. “Are you going to let anyone eat it later? These guys are just waiting for their chance.” She indicated her three dogs, sitting like angels in the grass, watching carefully. They fully understood that special treats were in their near future.
“Maybe.” Stan winked. She walked over to where Brenna stood. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Brenna shifted from one foot to the other and shoved her hands in her pockets. “It, uh, looks great out here.”
“Thanks. It does, doesn’t it?” Stan nodded in approval. “How are you?”
“Crappy.” Brenna took a miserable breath and blew it out. “I’m sorry, Stan. I acted like a jerk. I shouldn’t have gotten upset at you.”
“Bren, it’s okay,” Stan said. “I should’ve told you guys about the investigation. I chickened out.”
“I’m still sorry,” Brenna said.
“Okay. So am I.” Stan hugged her.
“And we owe you one. You brought Helga’s killer to justice. Thank you,” Brenna said, stepping back.
Same thing Jessie had said. “It wasn’t just me,” Stan said.
“You cared enough to figure it out, though.”
“Of course I care.” Stan looked away. “I care a lot. About all of you.” And right now it was killing her that she and Jake weren’t back on secure footing yet.
“I didn’t really take the job, you know,” Brenna said.
Stan smiled. “No?”
“Nope, so I, uh, wondered if I could have my job with you back?” Brenna asked hopefully.
“Can you start today?” Stan asked
, and Brenna smiled, her first real smile since they’d started talking.
“You bet.”
“Good. Go help Izzy, then. I’m just running home to get the dogs.”
Brenna obliged and Stan hurried across the street to her house. She’d just clipped the leashes on her dogs’ collars when a van pulled up in her driveway. Curious, she looked outside. Adrian Fox got out and walked to the door.
She opened it. “Hi.”
“Hi. I wanted to tell you we’re leaving.”
Stan wasn’t sure how she felt about that. “Come in for a second. No ghosts?” she asked as he stepped inside.
Fox hesitated. “There’s something on those tapes. But with everything that’s gone on, I’m going to sit on it for a while. We’ll reach out to Izzy in a few weeks and see what she wants to do.”
Stan nodded. “That’s nice of you. It was really great to meet you. I always wanted to go on a ghost hunt. Thanks for making that happen.”
Fox smiled. “Anytime.” He paused, then muttered something that sounded like “screw it” and pulled Stan into his arms. He skillfully kissed her, then let her go, leaving her staring at him in shock. He cocked his head. “Anything?”
Stan thought about that for a minute, then shook her head. “Nothing.”
Fox smiled. “Worth a shot. Take care, Stan.” And he slipped out the door, to his car, back to his superhero bad-boy world.
Stan watched him go. Meeting him had been amazing. And while he had some superhero traits, he was really just a regular guy. Nothing like Jake, who was way better than a superhero. And a better kisser. Now she just had to make everything right with him. As soon as this wedding was over, she would tackle that.
“Come on, guys, let’s do this.” She hurried back across the street with the dogs just as Dede drove up. Stan waved at her as she parked on the street and got out of her car, the bride and groom trotting obediently after her.
