The Gun Also Rises

by Sherry Harris

  Roger took Miss Belle’s hands in his. “I’m sorry to desert you. But my business . . . I hope you understand.”

  She gently pulled her hands away and patted his arm. “Of course I do. Be careful. I’ll let you know if we find anything.”

  “I’ll stay at a hotel tonight and come back in the morning to help search if you haven’t found anything.” Roger nodded to me as he left.

  I wondered if things were as serious as Awesome said, or if he just wanted to keep an eye on Roger. I searched his face, but he had a classic, inscrutable cop face on that gave away nothing. With that face, he was the kind of man who should be playing poker.

  Miss Belle turned to me after closing the door behind Roger. “I’m guessing you’d like to go home to?”

  I did. Desperately. I wanted to be back in my own home, in my own bed. It would make life seem more normal. But I didn’t want to leave Miss Belle alone. And my place wasn’t exactly roomy enough for company.

  “I can’t keep an officer here overnight,” Awesome said. “We’ll increase patrols. But that’s all I can do.”

  That seemed to seal my fate. I tried not to let my shoulders slump.

  Awesome glanced down at his watch. “I need to head out.” He took out a business card and scribbled something on it. “Here’s my personal cell. Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.”

  Miss Belle took it from him. “Thank you.” She turned to me after he left. “I’ll call the agency that sent me Kay to see if they can get someone over here.” She stood straight. “It’s not as if I need a babysitter.”

  “I don’t want you here with a stranger, Miss Belle. Especially because we have no idea if Kay acted alone, which seems unlikely, or if someone—maybe even someone from the agency—was helping her. I can stay.”

  “No. I won’t allow it,” she replied.

  We could probably go back and forth like this for hours. “I have an idea,” I said. “I know a woman who has a cleaning business. Maybe if she isn’t too busy, she could help out for a few days.”

  Miss Belle raised her eyebrows at me.

  “Her name is Frieda Chida.”

  “A rhyming name,” Miss Belle said with a smile.

  “Yes.” I’d like to say it suited her, but she was a bit of a curmudgeon. Frieda was strong and not easily intimidated. “I’ll have to be honest about the circumstances when I call her, though.”

  “Of course. We can’t have someone here thinking it’s business as usual. That sounds like an excellent solution,” Miss Belle said.

  I made a quick call to Frieda. She said she could come around seven. Miss Belle and I continued to work until six thirty. By then, we were almost too tired to move.

  “What do you know about Kay?” I asked Miss Belle.

  She was draped across a tufted couch in her study, and I sat behind her desk in her comfy office chair. We both had glasses of pinot noir in front of us. Even lifting it to my lips seemed like an effort.

  Miss Belle frowned at her wine. “As I told you before, I hired her through an agency. She seemed very pleasant. She agreed to live here, which not all help wants to do anymore, and worked hard while she was here. Although she never seemed very happy.”

  “Which agency?” I asked.

  “It’s one my mother-in-law recommended to me. Let me think a minute; the name will come to me.”

  I took a sip of my wine.

  “It’s the Blackmore Agency for the discerning client in need of staffing.” She laughed. “My former housekeeper called. She said the woman who answered the phone was snootier than my mother-in-law, and that’s saying something.”

  “You told me the day Kay was murdered she had only worked here a couple of weeks.”

  Miss Belle wrinkled her brow. “That’s right. The woman before her worked for me for many years. Losing her was terrible. She was a friend. Almost family. Her husband cared for the grounds until he passed a few years ago. She upped and left with two weeks’ notice.”

  “Did she say why?”

  “She’d planned to move to Key West, Florida, to be with her sister at some point. But left earlier than I expected. There was nothing I could do to change her mind. Believe me, I tried.”

  Key West? Hemingway’s former home. “What was her name?”

  “Rena Accola. Why are you asking about her?”

  I wasn’t sure I should tell Miss Belle about all the thoughts swirling in my head. But Miss Belle was no one’s fool. “The value of the lost manuscripts and book are almost immeasurable.” I took a sip of wine for courage. “What if Kay somehow knew they were here?”

  “What does that have to do with Rena?”

  “Maybe someone paid her off to leave. So Kay would be in a position to find the manuscripts.”

  Miss Belle took a big gulp of her wine and peered at me over the rim. “That seems pretty far-fetched. If I didn’t know the manuscripts were here, how would anyone else?”

  I shook my head. “It does sound a bit crazy. How long a gap was there between the time Rena quit and the time Kay started?”

  Miss Belle scrunched up her forehead. “About a month. I had temporary help in the meantime.”

  “Are you still in touch with Rena?”

  “We exchange an occasional email. I’ll text her email address to you. If you think it will help.”

  I nodded

  Miss Belle whipped out her phone and quickly sent me a text. For someone her age, she handled the phone as well as any teen.

  My phone buzzed seconds later with the text. “Do you know anything else about Kay? Did she live nearby, or have any family around?”

  “I assumed she lived close, but I don’t know that for sure. Kay wasn’t chatty. Really, all I had was her first and last name.”

  “Do you have any paperwork with her social security number or home address?”

  “I wish I did, but the agency took care of all that.”

  “Hmmm. I don’t suppose they’ll be willing to give any of that up.”

  “I’m sure they won’t.”

  “What exactly were Kay’s duties?”

  “Greeting guests, cleaning, some light cooking, that sort of thing.”

  “Did she act as a secretary?”

  “No. I answered the phone and replied to any mail, virtual or of the snail mail variety.”

  “What about friends of yours who’ve been here in the past month or so? Maybe even before. Anything unusual?” I asked.

  “I had my bridge club over about three weeks ago. But that certainly wasn’t unusual. I’ve known those women forever.” Miss Belle frowned as she thought. “People stop by. But other than Kay, nothing out of the ordinary.”

  “Did Kay have anyone over?” I asked.

  “Not that I know of. But it’s a big house, and I’m not always home. I suppose she could have had someone over.”

  There was no way of knowing who. I’d run out of questions. “Maybe there’s something more in the news.” For a few minutes, we concentrated on our phones. “Nothing,” I said. “Her name hasn’t been released yet because they’re still trying to notify her family.”

  The doorbell rang. “That must be Frieda,” I said.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Frieda arrived at seven. Miss Belle seemed a little startled when she saw Frieda but covered it well. Frieda was of good German stock. Sturdy legs, thick ankles, and it looked like she could hold eight beer mugs in each hand without breaking a sweat. Quite a contrast to the slim, styled Kay. Frieda still had pink streaks in her hair, but she looked a bit less defeated than the last time I’d seen her. I held back a smile, trying to picture her in an outfit like Kay had worn.

  After the introductions, we settled around the kitchen island with more sweet tea for me, decaffeinated coffee for Miss Belle, and full strength for Frieda. She looked around the kitchen, as if she was judging the cleanliness. A frown made me think she didn’t approve. Although I had no idea what could trouble her, the place looked spotless to me.
/>   We explained the situation to Frieda. She didn’t even flinch or look concerned during the whole story.

  “I’ll call my son-in-law to come over too if you don’t mind. He works security over on base and ain’t afraid of nothin’.” She studied Miss Belle. “Between the two of us, you’ll be safer than a tortoise in its shell.”

  That made me feel as if I could finally go home. When I’d left almost sixty hours ago, I hadn’t dreamed I’d be gone this long. I stood. “I’ll be back in the morning. And Frieda, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call. Even if it’s in the middle of the night.”

  We walked to the door together.

  “Thanks for thinking of me,” Frieda said. “I know I can be a bit cantankerous.”

  I smiled at that. “Thanks for coming.” I glanced back down the hall.

  “Go on,” Frieda said. “I’ll take care of her.”

  * * *

  I decided to take a circuitous route home, just to make sure no one had followed me. That route included a stop at Bedford Farms Ice Cream. I figured after all I’d been through, I deserved a treat. Instead of my usual kiddie-sized cup, I ordered a small. It contained two softball-size scoops of Almond Joy, my favorite. Most places you’d get more of a golf ball–size scoop, but I was fine with this.

  I carried it to a bench and watched as people swarmed up to the outdoor window where you ordered and swarmed out with ice cream, frappés—what the rest of the world called shakes—and even ice cream pies and cakes. People called to one another, chatted in groups, kids ran around their parents, and teens flirted. But I didn’t spot a soul I knew, which made me sad. Maybe that’s why I had really come here, to find someone to talk to, to feel normal, to shake off what happened.

  After I finished my ice cream, I continued my rambling drive back toward my house. Well, it wasn’t really my house; it was Stella’s. But I loved my little apartment and was glad to climb the steps up to my second-floor unit. I’d painted the wide-planked floor white, thrown down an Oriental rug I’d found at a garage sale, the trunk I used as a coffee table sat on top of it. The couch, another garage sale find, a couple of end tables, and my grandmother’s rocking chair were the only other furnishings in the living room. It could use one more comfy chair, but I hadn’t found the perfect one yet.

  After a quick shower and throwing on clean clothes, I looked out the window over at the town common. The Congregational Church sat tall and straight, a white beacon of light at the south end of the common. Its bell started ringing. Nine o’clock. When I’d first moved here, the bells marking the hours drove me nuts, but now they added a nice rhythm to my life. I craned my head to look across the street from the common. I could see lights on at Paint and Wine, my friend Carol’s shop. I decided to swing by to see what she was up to. That was such a lie. I just didn’t want to be alone yet. I trotted back down the stairs, out onto the sidewalk, and into the humid night air.

  * * *

  The door was locked when I got there, but there were still lights on in the back of the store, where Carol painted for pleasure. I rapped hard on the glass window. I didn’t want to walk down the dark alley behind the store to knock on the back door. Moments later, Carol spotted me, nose pressed against the glass, and came to let me in.

  Carol looked like Artist Barbie tonight, with a paint brush in her hand. She was tall, thin, and always looked stylish, even when she was in her store alone painting. Tonight, she had on wedge-heeled sandals and a black linen sheath.

  “Come to the back with me. I’m painting tonight,” Carol said after giving me a quick hug.

  “As if the paint brush in your hand didn’t give that away,” I said.

  Carol laughed. We walked through the front part of her store, with its long tables and stools where she held classes for groups who wanted to learn to paint or just to come have fun with their friends. This summer, she’d started teaching kids how to paint in the mornings when the store was slow, because most groups wanted to come when they could drink wine and paint.

  Carol sat on a stool with a blue cushion on it. Before her was a large canvas with an impressionist-style harbor scene with lobster boats, fishermen and -women. A motorboat was stranded on the mud flats at low tide. It was a working harbor, not the one the tourists paid attention to. No tours, ice cream stands, or sailboats moored here.

  “I love it,” I said. I sat behind her on a chaise longue, adjusting a few of the many plump pillows on it. Carol and I had met not long after I’d met CJ. Like CJ, her husband, Brad, had been stationed at the Defense Language Institute in Monterey. Our friendship had spanned twenty years, many moves, and long separations until we were all stationed here a few years ago.

  “We went to Rockport a couple of weeks ago. Brad’s mom came up for a few days and we had a romantic getaway. The house we rented overlooked this harbor.”

  That made me realize I hadn’t hung out with Carol for a couple of weeks. It wasn’t like I’d been avoiding her and her happy family. Who wouldn’t want a loving husband with three boisterous children, twin nine-year-old boys and her seven-year-old daughter? Me, my subconscious shouted. But summer is my busiest time of year, I told it.

  “I’ve been trying to give you some space,” Carol said. “But it hurts when you withdraw like you have.” She said all that with her back to me. She dabbed some blue paint onto the canvas filling in the sky.

  Okay, so maybe I had been avoiding them. “I’ve been busy.” It sounded lame even to me. “You’re right, though. It’s just hard to see everyone so happy when I still feel so miserable.”

  Carol turned around to face me. “I’m sorry you’re miserable.”

  I waved my hand at her, trying to wave away her sympathy. “I knew I made the right decision regarding CJ. You know how hard we tried to reconcile.” Carol nodded. “But then he took that job in Florida without talking to me about it.”

  “That was terrible,” Carol said.

  “But I’d been planning for our life here. I hadn’t talked to him about that either. Not that he gave me the chance. I’ve second-guessed myself plenty of times since then.” Especially late at night when there wasn’t anyone to talk to.

  “You said everyone is happy. Who is everyone?”

  “You, Stella, the DiNapolis.”

  “You know Brad and I have had our ups and downs.”

  “But you managed to keep it together, unlike CJ and me.”

  “You need to quit beating yourself up about that.”

  “It’s hard not to.”

  “Did you ever think that CJ made selfish decisions? That he was more concerned about him than you?” Carol continued to paint, adding more splashes of bright blue to the sky.

  “I—” I hadn’t thought of it that way. I’d been blaming myself since he left. “It just seems as if we should have been able to work it out. We’d been married twenty years. Now it’s all wasted.”

  “So meeting me was a waste? Ending up here was a waste?”

  Carol didn’t say it in a mean way, but in a way that made me think. Her next brushstroke was sure and strong. I stretched my legs out on the chaise longue. I wished I felt the confidence with which Carol was painting. That I knew what needed to happen next in my life the way she knew which color went where. “I guess wasted is the wrong word. I wouldn’t take back most of what happened. We loved each other. We just couldn’t manage to keep loving each other.”

  “I never thought you guys loving each other was the problem.”

  I thought for a moment. “You might be right.”

  Carol put down her paintbrush. “Let’s have a glass of wine.” She went to a small fridge tucked in one corner of the room. I shivered for a moment, thinking of the man who’d died back here last fall. It didn’t bother Carol. She had redecorated and had someone come and do a cleansing, complete with a sage burning.

  Carol poured two glasses of wine. She tucked the bottle under her arm and carried the glasses over. “It’s not a failure to realize something isn’t
working any longer and to move on. I want you both to be happy, and neither of you have been for the past year and a half.”

  Brad and CJ were almost as good friends as Carol and me. Who knows what she’d heard from CJ’s side of things. It made me sad that he’d been so unhappy too, and that I’d been the cause. I moved my legs so Carol could sit down on the other end of the chaise. Carol handed me the bottle of wine. I looked at the label. It was a bottle of Meritage from a winery in Virginia called Paradise Springs.

  I took a sip. “I don’t want to turn your store into Paint and Whine again.” It had been my nickname for the place right after CJ and I split up the first time.

  “It’s not whining. It’s dealing with all of that stuff you’ve bottled up. You can work twenty-four hours a day. But that wouldn’t make all of the thoughts swirling through your head go away.”

  I took another drink, let the fruity goodness swirl through me. “You’re right. It’s easier to ignore it all than face it.” I put down my glass. “I’ll do better.”

  Carol nodded. “Did you hear there was another murder in town?”

  I froze. I guess my involvement hadn’t gone public yet.

  “What?” Carol asked. She put down her wineglass too. “Don’t tell me you’re somehow mixed up in it?”

  I nodded. “I am. Can you believe it?”

  “Saying yes, I can, probably isn’t a good thing.”

  I managed to laugh, which was way better than crying. I felt if I started, I might actually cry me a river. I needed to go home and get some sleep.

  “I know better than to ask you what happened at this point. But are you okay?”

  “It’s been a long couple of days. When I saw the store still looked open, I buzzed right over. I needed a friend.” Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. I took another drink of wine. “I’ve barely even been home since it all happened.”

  Carol’s phone buzzed. She looked down at it and frowned. “You aren’t going to like this.” She passed her phone to me.

  Brad had sent her a link from an online paper. “Local Woman Involved in Murder.” I clicked the link and saw that Kay’s name had been released, and that I was mentioned as having discovered her body. I was relieved to see no mention had been made of the missing manuscripts or the limited-edition book. I handed Carol her phone back.