by Dallis Adams
“Lala?” Uma said, knowing her friend was babbling because of nervousness, but not in the mood to calm her.
“Yes?”
“Button your flap.”
“What? Oh. Yes, sorry,” she said after a moment, miming a fastening motion near her lips.
Uma’s heart twisted. Never would she have wished this kind of death on anybody, not even her worst enemy. Especially Doc Elroy, a man she had decided to forgive. A forgiveness that somebody had stolen from her. Sorrow squeezed her heart as well as a low, slow-burning anger. She had been looking forward to finding out more about his studies in England and Scotland. To having him as a guest in her classroom to maybe even give a lesson in the human anatomy. To getting to know him better, and to understand his past and his relationship to her mother and maybe even his relationship to her father. His death had to have been painful, given the look of fear in those sightless eyes. Carefully, she closed the eyes that would never see another sunset. It was her duty to discover who killed him in such a gruesome manner. Who had stolen her chance to forgive.
With a grim bob of her head, Uma concentrated on the scene before her. As always, Lala’s foresight was uncannily true, but it had not given enough information to change anything. “Did your premonition indicate who murdered him?”
Lala stared at the body. “Murder? Are you sure? Couldn’t he have died of natural causes? Or have killed himself? Why is he shirtless?”
“Because he must have been doctoring his wound. And to me it looks like Doc Elroy died of morphine poisoning. But he was shot before he was forced to drink several bottles of his elixir.”
“How do you know?” Lala asked as she suddenly swayed. She steadied herself by grabbing the door jam.
Obviously, Lala wasn’t thinking clearly. Uma reminded herself to be patient. “For one, there’s a bloody bandage on top of his shoulder, which he must have applied himself. Then there’s all the empty bottles.”
“Oh. Right.”
Uma picked up one and sniffed it. A sharp vinegar scent wafted over her nose. “I saw a picture in a medical book that also described the condition. And the doc looks exactly like the daguerreotype in the textbook.” She smelled all of them and discovered the pungent, acerbic scent in each. The last one was different. “His manner of death is an ironic ending for him. I wouldn’t wish a demise this torturous on my worst enemy.”
Lala muttered something under her breath that sounded something like but you did.
Uma ignored her. She didn’t have time to once again explain that her threat was empty. She sniffed the last container again. There was definitely something else in that bottle. Something that smelled like bitter almonds.
“Uma?” Lala fidgeted, shifting her weight from one foot to another.
“What?” she asked, wondering why the doctor would add cyanide to his mixture. Surely he didn’t. She retrieved a vial from the shelf, an unopened one. She uncorked it and sniffed. This one didn’t have the mingled almond scent. Just the sharp vinegar one. When Lala didn’t immediately respond, she turned to look at her.
Lala uttered something in Romanian. Some sort of chant. Her dark eyes seemed to burn a hole right into Uma’s chest, into her very soul. Lala’s face became … pinched, almost gaunt. “Did you do it?”
A buzzing sensation hummed along Uma’s nerve endings as she continued to meet Lala’s gaze. “Do what?”
“Murder Doc Elroy?”
Uma’s eyes widened. Her lower jaw dropped. “Excuse me? How can you ask something like that?”
Lala’s face softened and she let out a big puff of air. “I didn’t think so.”
“And why would you think I was the killer?”
Lala smirked before she rammed her hands down on her slim hips. “Oh, I don’t know. Because you threatened to force his medicines down his throat?”
“I did?” She vaguely recalled yelling something at Doc Elroy when he was giving his spiel. And Cyril’s vague reminder of her threat earlier that day while he sat on the boardwalk in front of Thistle Do Nicely with other Cryptians. She swallowed against her suddenly dry throat. Her temper frequently got her into trouble. And she said things in the heat of the moment that she wouldn’t even remember later. Would she ever learn to think before spouting off whatever popped in her head? “And what was that hocus-pocus stare you gave me just now?”
Lala arched a perfectly sculpted dark brow. “I was looking at your aura and into your soul.”
Uma rolled her eyes. She didn’t need Lala to play her psychic role right now. She needed answers. And she had a strange feeling that she was running out of time. “Yeah, right. Don’t you know me by now?”
“I do. But I believe anybody is capable of anything given the right motive — to protect, or to avenge their loved ones. You threatened Doc Elroy with bodily harm. Because your threat turned into a fact and is staring me in the face.” She gestured toward the dead body. “I had to read into your mind, to make sure for myself if your aura was pure. And yes, you did issue the very threat that ended up killing Doc Elroy. But yes, your aura is very bright. You could never do anything like this.”
Even though Lala read her aura and now believed in her integrity, Uma still hurt. That Lala would ask if she’d murdered the man — no matter what Uma had thought or said about the degenerate — caused a pain near her heart. Forget about whatever so-called spell Lala claimed she used to discern Uma’s innocence. Not that Uma would ever believe in magic. But Lala did occasionally surprise her with her premonitions, even though Uma chalked it up to chance.
Whatever the face-tightening and gaze-piercing tactic Lala was, Uma decided she didn’t have to put up with it. She rolled her eyes to cover her hurt, a weakness she couldn’t afford. “Whatever. You know me better than that. I speak in anger, and usually the first thing that pops into my head. Most the time I don’t even remember. But I usually say something that reflects what I feel the culprit deserves. In a theoretical sense. Not literally.”
“I know. I’m so sorry I doubted you. I never will again. I promise.”
“Whatever floats your boat. Tell me,” Uma said after waiting a couple of beats.
Lala opened her mouth as if to say something more. Looking miserable, she bit her lip and then her shoulders slumped. “Yes? What do you want to know?”
Uma studied her friend. “What would you have done if my so-called aura was dark? If I told you that I had killed him?”
Lala shrugged. “I would have helped you hide the body.”
A cozy sensation heated the place where she’d grown cold, the place near her heart. “What? You would?”
“Of course. I’m your friend. So is my mother your friend. And others, like Gildie and Thora. We would all help you hide the body.”
“You would have?” Still shocked, Uma could only stare.
“Yes,” Lala answered, suddenly giving Uma’s shoulder a squeeze. “That’s what friends are for.”
Truly? She’d been close to many of her stepsisters. But would any of them help her hide a body? Somehow, she didn’t think so. Heat stung the backs of her eyes as she returned Lala’s hug.
She wondered if Jack would. After all, he was the law. And hiding a murdered body would be the epitome of law-breaking. Would he choose her over his job? Not that she would ever purposely break the law. And not that she would ever want him to make such a decision. He believed in the law. Choosing her over the law could very well break apart their marriage.
“Even Jack would help protect you from being thrown in prison, if it came to that,” Lala said, as if reading her mind. “But there are others who don’t know you that well. They heard your threat. They will be suspicious and speculate whether you are the wrongdoer. What you said was very public. I’m afraid your mouth will be your undoing.”
“Nonsense. Surely my actions speak louder than my words. I believe in upholding the law. Good grief, I’m married to the Sheriff.” Uma leaned over the body. Something bothered her about it. Then she saw red marks o
n the throat.
“You can’t simply dismiss what’s coming,” Lala said, irritation making her tone harsh. “I’ve told you that your wayward mouth would get you in trouble. I’ve seen it happen in the tarot cards.”
“No sense in worrying about what’s to come,” Uma replied, not believing in tarot card reading. Not that she would remind Lala of that. Especially since she’d discounted the cards to Lala before. “I’ll deal with any accusations if or when it happens.” She grabbed a writing implement from a small desk and used it to lift the dead man’s swollen tongue to look underneath. Why, she didn’t know. And she didn’t know what else to do other than to look for clues. She had no idea what to look for. Tilting her head, she peered at the soft underside of the lower lip.
“What in all that’s holy are you doing?”
“I’m trying to find out as much as I can about his demise. Obviously there was a struggle. If I can figure out what exactly happened, maybe I can figure out the culprit’s identity. I don’t want to be the murderer’s scapegoat.”
Lala put a hand on Uma’s shoulder. “But before you do anything that might incriminate you further, don’t you think I should get Jack?”
Good question. She cringed at the thought of Jack having to ride to her rescue again because of her wayward tongue. Last week Uma had the fortune … or perhaps misfortune … to see her first tattoo on the Leonardo the Lion Tamer’s bicep. She was fascinated by the mark, asking why he’d gotten a tattoo of a rat, never intending to offend the man. Upset and humiliated, Leo had threatened to bar her from his show. No matter what she said, he refused to listen to her apology. Only when Jack got involved did the Lion Tamer finally listen. Once Jack assured the Cojocaru performer that Uma was only teasing, and that the tattoo still looked like a lion, Leo was appeased. Then Jack had pulled Uma aside to explain to her that the Lion Tamer’s muscles had diminished, which made the tattoo shrink, causing the picture to look more like a rat instead of a lion. The Lion Tamer was too sensitive, in Uma’s opinion. But most men tended to have egos that were easily hurt.
Two weeks before that, Uma had stumbled upon a small red fox with its foot caught in a trap. The poor thing mewled so pitifully that she couldn’t leave it. She decided to take it to class, invite Catalina to the schoolhouse and have her instruct the children on how to mend a broken bone. Marco Dragavei, the hunter and owner of the handmade trap, was furious when he discovered what Uma had done. Jack took time off to hunt and replaced the fox with two quail, which appeased Marco.
No, she didn’t want to bother Jack. At least, not until she checked over Doc’s body and discovered some clues on her own. She wanted to show Jack she wasn’t helpless, that she didn’t need him to always bail her out of trouble.
She studied Doc’s graying, lifeless features. “His lip is cut, as if by his own teeth. And look at his throat. It’s scraped. I bet bruises will develop in a day or so.”
“So?”
“Hopefully finger-shaped bruises that will be too large to be mine,” she emphasized. She lifted his right arm by its sleeve. “Rigor mortus hasn’t set in, which means he died recently.”
“How do you know that?”
“Through the readings of Barnaby X. Peabody’s medical journals in Madam Wigg’s library at the orphanage.”
“Oh. I understand,” Lala said with a snort. “Just a little light reading on the side.”
“Hmm.” Uma ignored Lala’s derisive tone. Instead, she withdrew a handkerchief from her pocket and turned his head so she could better see his neck. Bruising definitely could be seen from ear to ear.
Lala cleared her throat. “Should you be touching a dead body?”
“If I want to find out who killed him, I should,” she replied, continuing to study the body’s hands. “Especially since the culprit tried to make it look like it was me who did it.”
Just then, a woman let out a blood-curdling scream that seemed to last forever.
Ears ringing, she turned to see Angela Wicket as she finally wound down her awful screech. Face pale, Angela staggered and then latched onto the door frame as if to keep from falling. “Is … is Doc Elroy d-dead?”
Uma jiggled her earlobe and opened her mouth wide in a pretend yawn, hoping that would get rid of the ringing caused by Angela’s ungodly screeching. A stab of pain hit the back of her skull, which was a sign of a headache to come. “Does he look dead? Blue-gray complexion? Tongue swollen and hanging out of his mouth? Eyes vacant? Of course he’s dead.”
Angela made a gagging sound.
“Uma.” Lala slapped Uma’s arm, and then turned toward Angela. “I’m sorry because I know you must have been close to him. But yes, I’m afraid Doc Elroy has passed on to the stars.”
Angela turned her unfocused gaze toward Uma. Then she blinked and her eyes narrowed. “You killed him. Just like you threatened to do.”
“Please,” Uma replied with a scoff. “I didn’t kill Doc Elroy. Spare me the theatrics because they won’t work on me. I’m not one of your marks to get drawn in by your fake stories.”
It was as if Uma’s words went right over the young woman’s head. “You said you would hold him down and make him drink his medicines. And I heard you say something just now about bruising on his neck,” she added, although she kept her gaze averted from the body. “Murderess.”
“Just because I said I would kill him if he didn’t leave Cryptic Cove doesn’t mean I actually did it. I say a lot of things in the heat of the moment.”
“It’s true,” Lala said. “Just the other day she said she was going to stuff my mouth with hay because I didn’t tell her she had a spinach leaf stuck to her front tooth. Everybody thought she’d lost said tooth.”
“Which shows what a good friend you are,” she said to Lala with a scoff. “And did I stuff your mouth with hay?”
“Naw, of course not.” Lala’s laugh was rather strained.
“If I acted on every threat that I uttered, I would be a mass murderer.”
“Only if a person could die from eating hay.”
“Not helping, Lala,” Uma muttered as she watched Angela’s face get more flushed. “Angela, didn’t I hear you say you were going to strangle your boyfriend … what’s his name? Oh, yeah. Cyril Eley. You said if he didn’t stop complimenting you, you were going to strangle him. If he ends up strangled, will I think you did it, just because you said something in anger? No,” Uma answered for her.
“Cyril isn’t my boyfriend.”
Of all the things Angela could have latched onto — mainly, Angela’s threat to strangle her co-worker — the boyfriend comment was the least important. Before Uma could respond further, the tall man she’d noticed earlier that day walked around the corner of the caravan. White hair sprouting from his sharp widow’s peak glistened against his tan forehead. His gaze seemed to see every detail in a glance — the body, Uma and the fact that she was still holding the three empty bottles of morphine. He stabbed her with ice-blue eyes and then pulled out a pair of handcuffs. When he did, she saw the star pinned on his vest. A beautiful gold star within a circle that was embossed with leafy scroll etchings. Among the etchings were the letters U. S. Marshal. “Uma MacKissick.”
“Yes?”
“You are under arrest for the murder of Doctor Elroy Hancock.”
Ten
Jack turned the key until the mechanism clicked, locking Creed Bloom inside the far cell.
Brows bunching, Creed stuck out his lower lip. “How long are you gonna pen me up in here?”
“A week. Maybe more.” He hung the ring of keys on a nail by his desk. “For assault and battery. You gave Chuck a split lip.” Chuck Egan Kincaid. The man was pompous and annoying, and Jack secretly believed the copper foundry owner brought a lot of problems on himself with his holier-than-thou attitude. But, of course, Jack couldn’t tell Creed that.
Creed showed his pearly whites in an infectious grin. “I did split that tyrant’s lip, didn’t I.”
“It’s nothing to be p
roud of,” Jack admonished the man with a shake of his head. “You will stay in this cell as long as it takes for you to realize that hitting your boss is not the answer. You’ve got to think before you act. Come to me if you think you aren’t being paid enough, or if you have some other complaint … with anybody. But no punching, which is essentially taking the law into your own hands.”
The front door opened.
“You’re starting to sound like an old woman,” Creed whined, ignoring the newcomer.
“Men can be nags, too.”
At the sound of Uma’s voice, Jack smiled and glanced over his shoulder, opening his mouth to respond. The words dammed in his throat as he took her in. Her arms were drawn forward. Her wrists? Trapped in handcuffs. Van Spivey, Marshal of California Northern Territory, prodded her forward from behind. “Marshal Spivey. What the hell is going on? Why is my wife wearing handcuffs?”
Spivey turned his ice-blue gaze toward Jack. “I’m arresting your wife, Uma MacKissick, for the murder of Doc Elroy. I found her at Doc Elroy’s medicinal caravan, leaning over the body after she’d done the deed. He was obviously poisoned in the manner she threatened to kill him just a few hours ago.”
“And I told him that Uma and I found the body together,” Lala retorted. “That Doc Elroy was already dead when we got to his caravan. And that Uma was with me. Did he listen? No.”
Marshal Spivey shook his head at Lala, and then ignored her. Instead, he nudged Uma. “Angela Wicket said you were doing something to the victim’s mouth.”
Uma did one of her classic eye-rolls. “I was looking for clues, which is something you should be doing.” She looked at Jack. “I told the Marshal that the handcuffs weren’t necessary. Even though I’m not the culprit, because I didn’t kill poor Doc Elroy, that I wasn’t going to try to escape by using one of my defensive moves.”
The Marshal snorted. “Your wife thinks she can take me down.”
