Traveling Town Mystery Boxset

by Ami Diane

  After a deep breath, she asked the old man what land they were from, first in Romanian, then in her best, halting Marwari.

  He seemed to get the gist of what she was asking and responded.

  “What’d he say?” the sheriff asked.

  She bit her lip. “He’s either asking how this strange place came to appear so suddenly in this region or where the nearest donut shop is. My guess is the first one.”

  “Tell him we’ve always been here and don’t say more. When you find out where and when they’re from, tell them they need to leave.”

  Ella did her best to interpret this information. The old man’s eyes squinted at one point, and she feared she’d accidentally called his mother a goat.

  Back and forth they went in painstakingly slow conversation. Many of the bystanders had dispersed to find something more entertaining to watch—probably to watch paint dry or something.

  Near the end, Ella was able to ascertain that the group had, in fact, moved into the region, which best she could figure out was modern-day Romania for her.

  “So, what year is it?” Chapman asked. He’d been surprisingly patient.

  Ella watched his features in the shadow of his hat. “About 1243 AD.”

  He rounded and stared at the distant, brown hills, muttering something under his breath she couldn’t catch. It seemed a long while before he faced her again. “Okay. Very well. Now we know where we are. Please, tell them to leave as soon as possible.”

  She bit the inside of her cheek before turning to the leader and relaying the sheriff’s wishes—or attempting to, anyway. There were more charades involved than actual words, but she was confident she got her point across.

  When she’d first arrived to the village, she’d taken the requests for her to leave as rude and a general lack of hospitality. But that was before she knew Keystone’s dirty, little secret.

  Now, she was the one telling someone else to leave. She had to remind herself it was in their best interest. Also, Keystone didn’t have the resources for fifty or so more residents. Still, it turned her stomach and left a bad taste in her mouth like the words were made of one of Rose’s gelatin molds.

  The man’s bushy brows knitted, and he adjusted his gaze to Chapman, seeming to sense where the hostility originated. The man spoke rapidly, and Ella had to gesture for him to slow down a couple times.

  With each phrase she was able to understand, her unease grew.

  “What’s he saying?” Chapman asked.

  “They’re trying to flee the region from bad men. I can’t get more than that. They’ve been traveling for many days and are weary. They’re asking to set up camp for the night.”

  Her eyes wandered to the rest of the travelers, settling on a young boy. His large brown eyes peeked out from behind his mother’s tattered dress.

  Beside Ella, Chapman’s hands worked over his mustache. An emotion flickered behind his steely eyes.

  “One day.” He held up a finger for emphasis.

  The old man bobbed his head, and a weight seemed to lift from his shoulders.

  Chapman climbed back onto his Appaloosa. “Tell ‘em we’ll escort them to where they can set up camp.”

  She bit back a sigh. “Sure, sure. No problem. Want me to translate the U.S. Constitution for them, too?”

  When her sarcasm failed to get a reaction, she did her best to relay the information with a mix of Marwari, Rajasthani, Romanian, and Sanskrit for good measure. Nothing stuck. The designated leader’s face pinched in confusion, and he glanced at the sheriff.

  Chapman pantomimed for the old man and his caravan to follow him. The man nodded enthusiastically and fired out words to the rest of his group. As one unit, they managed to turn around, with much ado on part of the wagons, and followed the sheriff back south, in the direction of the park.

  “Well sure, I could’ve acted that out too, but where’s the fun in that?” Ella said to anyone nearby who was listening. No one was.

  With the spectacle gone, the remaining bystanders began to disperse. Across the street, two figures lingered on the sidewalk. Will stood in front of Jenny’s salon, hands in the pockets of his slacks, talking to Jenny. After a laugh that carried across the street, the salon owner flipped a strand of blonde hair over her shoulder, glancing in Ella’s direction.

  Ella rolled her eyes and tried to ignore the seed of jealousy that was beginning to germinate any time Will was near his “friend.”

  As she took a step towards Grandma’s Kitchen, the stream of passersby parted like a curtain. Six stood dead-center in front of the door, tall and lean, barring her entrance.

  “Hey there, darlin’.” The outlaw grabbed a wad of tobacco from a leather pouch then produced a small paper and began rolling his own cigarette. “Been a while.”

  She swallowed. “Heh, yeah. Long time, no see. That’s a saying we have where I’m from. So… how was prison? Well, I guess here it’s not prison per se—even though you should’ve—never mind. How was jail? Still smell like the pits of hell?”

  Six didn’t respond. He stuck the cigarette between his chapped lips and lit it. A shadow of scruff covered his cheeks and joined at his chin, pronouncing the shadows under his eyes. She couldn’t remember if his current state of hygiene was standard Six or a holdover from his time behind bars.

  She puffed out her cheeks and rocked back on her heels. “Anyway, good talking to you.”

  Ella attempted to sidestep him. He mirrored her movement.

  “Look, Jesse—”

  “Six.”

  “Whatever. I have to get back to work.”

  “We need to talk,” his voice growled.

  “No. No, I think I’m good.” She tried to squeeze past him again. His hand shot out and gripped her elbow like a vice.

  “Well, I want to talk.”

  Ella’s chest tightened, and she strained to pull away. “Look, Howdy Doody, unless you want your chicken nuggets—” she glanced down at his pants in case it wasn’t clear “—up near your stomach, I suggest you let me go.”

  She held his glare and matched it with her own, hoping he hadn’t caught the tremble in her voice.

  His fingers slid from her elbow, and some of the feeling tingled back to life. He puffed out a lung-full of smoke right into her face.

  “Something wrong?” a warm, familiar voice asked. Will stepped up beside Ella.

  “Ain’t nothing to concern yourself with, fart catcher.” Six narrowed his eyes. “This is between me and the lady.”

  “Fart catcher?” Ella glanced sideways at Will. “I think he just insulted you.”

  “I believe he did. And I’m offended.”

  “You look offended.”

  Six’s hand dropped to his holster.

  Ella held her hands up in appeasement. “Alright, alright. But I don’t know what there is to talk about. You’re the one who tried to kill me. Whatever problems you blame me for are by your hand, not mine.”

  The outlaw’s spurs jangled as he took a step closer. Both she and Will tensed. The scent of barn and tobacco rolled off Six, filling the narrow gap between them. “I had a great thing goin’ before you showed up. You made things much worse.”

  His expression morphed into something more complacent, and he took a step back. “I just wanted to chat. No harm in that. Not like I’d hurt you.”

  With a parting wink, he brushed past her, causing chills to crawl over her skin.

  “You alright?” Will asked, his gaze following Six.

  “Fine. How is it you always show up at the right time?”

  “I just sense when you’re in danger, I guess.” The corners of his mouth lifted.

  “Like the Bat-Signal.”

  The corners of his mouth turned down. “Bats send out a signal that warn of danger?”

  “One does. Well, he’s not really a bat, and the signal isn’t to warn of danger so much as to call him to danger.” She cleared her throat. “But that’s neither here nor there.”

  He follo
wed her inside, and she poured them each a cup of coffee that came out almost as thick as mud. She added extra cream to hers as they chatted about the newcomers, and she filled in the blanks of conversation he hadn’t been able to overhear.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Will said. “Before our guests arrived, Chapman and I were talking about my diving equipment. He asked me to dive into the lake where my boat was anchored and look around. See if there’s anything to glean that’d tell us how a man drowned while sitting in a boat.”

  “I get to come along, right? Since our first dive went belly up.” She winced. “You know what I mean.”

  “If you bring breakfast.” His hand slid across the counter suddenly. “To clarify, I mean, Wink’s banana bread because your baking…”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “It leaves something to be desired.”

  “Got it.”

  “Frankly, I’m surprised Wink lets you near her kitchen.”

  “No, no. I got it.” Ella’s eyes flicked to the counter. “And I’m not allowed to be in there unsupervised.” She took a long slurp of sludge. “You’ll bring the coffee?”

  He set his cup aside and responded a little too enthusiastically for her liking. “Yes, definitely.”

  CHAPTER 9

  LIKE A REPEAT of Monday, Ella awoke early on Thursday to meet Will at the docks. She hoped the day would differ in that they wouldn’t find a dead body.

  With one of Wink’s loaves of moist banana bread wrapped in a dish towel, she made her way to the lake, gnawing on a thick slice as she went. Fortunately, it only took a few minutes to hike to the docks, otherwise, she’d worry about showing up empty-handed, save for a crumb-covered dish towel.

  The air nipped at her skin, causing her to burrow tighter into her down jacket. The rainforest would have been preferable weather for diving to this.

  Will stood in front of his rowboat, either waiting for her or guarding it against being stolen, she couldn’t be certain. He wore his fedora hat again over a trench coat, looking very Humphrey Bogart.

  They grunted morning greetings as he handed her a thermos lid already filled with steaming coffee. She swapped this treasure for the banana bread. He eyed the shortened loaf with its broken-off end but didn’t say anything.

  She took a cautious sip from the lid before accepting the generous chunk of bread he held out to her. While they ate and drank in comfortable silence, they watched the water.

  After their hunger had been satiated and the caffeine kicked in, they climbed into his boat. Ella handed over the precious thermos and snatched the oars this time. He opened his mouth to argue, then seemed to think better of it, instead, pouring out more coffee into the thermos lid-turned-cup.

  The oars splashed through the water in her unskilled hands, but the exercise felt good on her cold muscles.

  “You know,” she said, breaking the comfortable silence, “they make boats with motors.”

  “Too noisy. Just because something can be made, doesn’t mean it should.”

  “Says the inventor obsessed with my cell phone.”

  His ears reddened under his fedora. “Sometimes when you move too fast, you miss things.”

  She repositioned her feet around the mass of diving gear between their benches. “Speaking of missing things…” She formulated her next sentence carefully. “Do you miss your home?”

  His eyebrows scrunched together. “Chicago?”

  “Yeah. I mean, did you leave anyone special behind? Family?” She didn’t voice the question that truly concerned her.

  He didn’t respond for a long time, instead, focusing on the cluster of cottages on Lake Drive. “Yes.” She waited for him to continue, but he’d grown interested in the tops of his shoes.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Was it—”

  “Forgive me, but can we change the subject?”

  Ella was taken aback by the question. He was usually so open. But it was no business of hers, so she didn’t press. She knew how painful it was to talk about what or who got left behind. She wondered if, like some wounds, it festered over time or simply became a dull ache.

  She paused mid-stroke, the oars dribbling water. After surveying their position, he nodded in approval, and she pulled in the oars.

  “This looks about right.” He took off his hat, laid it beside him on the small, worn wooden seat, and proceeded to take off his jacket.

  Underneath, he wore old-fashioned swim trunks with horizontal stripes and a tight-fitting, black shirt.

  “You sure you’re going to be warm enough?”

  He looked down at his attire. “It was the best I could do. Don’t want to get bogged down by layers.”

  She did her best to help him “gear up,” which mostly consisted of him shrugging on a vest that had been a life jacket in its former life but he’d made into a buoyancy compensator device. It was made of thick, rubbery material with bladder pockets glued on for positive buoyancy.

  Next came the old propane tank-turned-dive tank. Black tubes like tentacles snaked from it to the bladders on his vest.

  He squatted low in the boat, distributing his weight, and she helped lift it so it nestled between his shoulder blades. Homemade straps made of the same material as his vest wrapped around the tank and his shoulders like a backpack.

  She eyed it warily. “Looks corroded.”

  “Just a little exterior rust.” He turned around, facing her, and nearly toppled backward. After he’d regained his balance, she helped strap the front.

  “Will, this duct tape wasn’t here before.”

  “It’s fine. Just needed to reinforce the straps.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but he’d already snapped the clasp closed and was shuffling back to his seat.

  For weights, he wore a belt with bricks tied to it. They were knotted in such a way as to allow for a quick release. All he had to do was tug on them, and they’d drop off, hopefully after he drained his vest of air, allowing for a smooth ascent to the surface.

  Ella dug around and brought up his mask, handing it to him. It dug into his forehead and refused to go any further.

  “That’s strange,” he muttered. Tugging it off, he adjusted the straps then slipped it back on. “Must be the temperature changes messing with the rubber.

  Once the mask was in place, he teetered on his feet, his arms outstretched.

  “How do I look?” Even through the mask, the pride in his voice was evident.

  “You ever see Creature from the Black Lagoon? No? Then, you look great.”

  With each step he took, the boat rocked, forcing both of them to sit. He shifted awkwardly, trying to figure out the best way to get into the water.

  “You could just roll off the side,” she suggested.

  His lips pinched together in concentration, and a chocolate lock broke loose from his slick-backed, patent leather hair. Finally, he nodded, grabbing the homemade mouthpiece that looked like it had come from an old snorkel. It, too, was connected to the tank.

  She turned the knob on the top of the tank, watching the welded-on gauge beside it.

  After testing the air flow, he pulled the mouthpiece out so he could talk. “I’ve tested the gear underwater in a feed tank. It should work. If all goes well, I’m estimating to be down there no longer than five minutes—just enough to test the equipment—before I come back up. I’ll check in then dive down again and search the sediment like Chapman wanted.”

  “Sounds like a plan. I think you’ll be limited by the temperature, though.” She eyed his sole layer of clothing then the dark water.

  The excitement in his eyes was infectious, dampened by their purpose for being there. She knew from experience how exciting a first dive was. It was like discovering a new world, being an explorer in a new frontier.

  But they were there to look for clues of a man’s murder.

  He shot her a tight smile. “Very well. Here goes.”

  With a grace only a dashing inventor from 1920s Chicago could muster, Wil
l splashed over the side of the rowboat. It rocked heavily, and her hands scrambled for purchase.

  The moment the danger of swimming with the fishes passed, she leaned out as far as she dared.

  Treading water, Will gave her a thumbs up then deflated the bladders in the vest. The water surface bubbled as he slipped beneath it. His hair floated around his head like a halo before the shadows swallowed him.

  Ella’s stomach knotted as she pulled her cell phone out and kept an eye on the time, splitting her attention between it and the inky water. If his prototype was successful, maybe he could build a second one for her. If she was going to have a recreational activity in Keystone, she much preferred diving underwater over sailing through the air.

  Across the lake, the Romani had pitched tents in a circle at the park with their carts and animals around the edges. Several of the wagons seemed to double as living quarters.

  Children darted around, chasing each other from the water to the forest then back again. Meanwhile, some of the adults had taken to bathing in the lake. Ella grinned, hoping she’d be there when the sheriff found out.

  The moment of levity quickly faded as she looked back at the agitated surface five feet out from the boat. Her reflection stared back, flushed from the cold, eyes full of concern.

  Ella glanced at the clock. It had been six minutes.

  Her hands fidgeted for something to do. She assured herself that if there had been trouble, he would’ve popped back up. Maybe he’d found something in the muck.

  Suddenly, the trickle of bubbles became a boiling storm. Her hand’s gripped the sides of the boat as she waited for him to surface.

  Another minute passed, feeling like an hour. Ella tore off her jacket and kicked off her shoes. She had one toe in the frigid water when his head broke the surface.

  Ella grabbed her chest. “What happened? You nearly made me get my hair wet.” She pointed at her curly hair. “Do you know what that would do to this? I’d look like Flo.” Despite her joking, her heart hammered in her ears.