by Ami Diane
She shot daggers at the little girl stalking towards her. Far be it from Ella to be scared of a human being who didn’t even reach her chest, but something in the way Sally crept forward reminded Ella of the Exorcist.
“Where’s a priest when you need one?” she muttered.
Another cookie, dark brown in color, hit the girl in the side of the head.
“Ow,” she squealed, speaking for the first time, as she turned towards the source.
Flo reached into her cloud of hair and whipped out another of Ella’s throwing cookies. “Get back from her and no one gets hurt.”
Sally hissed—actually hissed—like a cat and rounded on the old woman in a way that was going to give Ella nightmares for weeks. To her credit, Flo didn’t flinch. She launched another cookie, but it sailed high over the kid’s head. From somewhere across the room, Ella heard a shout and a cup being knocked over.
Reaching into her pocket, Flo pulled something out. She held it aloft and sprayed it towards Sally. For a horrifying moment, Ella feared it was pepper spray.
“Look out!” she warned anyone in the vicinity.
But the coughing and stinging of the eyes never came. What did hit Ella’s nostrils was the most pungent odor ever, something between a skunk and a used diaper. Flo had taken the “perfume” from Ella’s room and used it as her secret weapon.
Sally dropped her food and covered her face. “What is that?” She spat on the ground then ran, crying something about telling her mommy.
Flo whirled the assault perfume in her hand like it was a gun and holstered it in her pocket. “Not bad. I think I might keep this stuff.”
Grinning, Ella followed her, singing her praises the whole way to their table. The innkeepers and Wink had been unable to find an unoccupied table, so they’d been forced to sit in the overflow seating outside. It felt like an early autumn evening, and Ella was grateful for the football padding’s extra warmth.
After setting down her plate, she took off the helmet while Wink divvied up their food.
“Ah,” Flo leaned back, “the spoils of war.”
“You all see Lou get trampled?” Jimmy asked the group.
Rose turned in her chair. “Is he okay?”
“Sure, sure. Broken arm, I think, but you know the lush. He was two sheets to the wind, so he probably didn’t feel a thing.”
Flo nodded knowingly. “That is the nice thing about drinking.”
Ella exchanged an eye roll with Wink. “When you die, can Pauline do an autopsy on you to see how pickled your liver is?”
Flo retrieved another burnt cookie and threw it at Ella. It went wide and knocked Jimmy’s glass of water off the table.
After they settled into their food, the conversation ambled between topics—mostly about whose lemon bars tasted better. As the evening wore on, the air turned colder, forcing Ella to keep the football gear on.
She tuned out the conversation and watched the tree overhead shiver. It was a small thing, but she was going to miss having more defined seasons. Soon, it would be Christmas, and who knew where they’d be, whether it’d be snowy or sweltering.
Music from more than one stringed instrument floated through the open side door of the church. After they scraped the bottoms of their plates, the group drifted back into the packed sanctuary, following the music and laughter.
Now in the warm building, Ella discreetly discarded the football gear, slipping it into her bag, and left it by the door.
On stage, a piano had been rolled out from backstage, and a man in a three-piece suit leaned over the keys, playing a ragtime number. Some of the tables and chairs had been stacked against a wall, leaving space enough in front for a dance floor. It wasn’t long before dresses were swishing, and men in fedoras and ties were moving in time to the music.
Ella couldn’t help but smile. It came easy to feel sorry for herself for being trapped in Keystone, to dwell on what she’d lost, that she often overlooked what she had gained.
Before her was living history. She was experiencing the society and culture of her parents’ youth, getting to hear old languages, see forests and dunes and Vikings.
After the tune ended, another upbeat one began. A woman with pin curls and red lips sashayed onto the stage, dragging the mic stand with her. She began singing a few sultry bars, her voice as smooth and rich as Rosemary Clooney.
While Jimmy and Rose disappeared across the dance floor, Flo batted her lashes at a poor chap at least two decades her junior.
When the song wound down, Ella said, “Before I lose Flo to husband number whatever, do either of you mind if I update Chapman about Stan? Mostly about the ‘Save Twin Hills’ campaign.” She directed her gaze at Wink.
“Yeah, yeah,” Flo said, patting her arm and missing, hitting her face. “Do whatever you need to. I’ll see you later.” She drifted towards the middle-aged man, who spotted the shark, grabbed some gal’s hand, and dragged her towards the stage.
Ella and Wink stood quietly a moment, watching Flo search the crowd.
“Did I tell you I stopped by Jonas’s?” Ella asked. She quickly told the diner owner about her visit, including seeing him fishing the morning after the storm.
“Hm, it’s a little strange, especially right after a storm, but not really suspicious.”
“Agreed. But I do find it interesting. Anyway, do you mind if I talk to Chapman?”
Wink shook her pink head. “‘Course not. When you do, see if he knows who the skeleton is yet.”
Ella smiled at her neon-haired friend, who thought so similarly to how she did.
After scanning the room for another couple of minutes, she finally spotted Sheriff Chapman’s tall frame next to Will, scavenging through the remains on the buffet tables. They appeared in deep conversation, their heads bent and their eyes searching everywhere but the food in front of them.
Both men nodded when they spotted her. It was rare to see them without hats, and their pomade-ladened hair shone in the light.
“Evening, Miss Barton,” the sheriff drawled before picking up a scrawny chicken leg. It was obvious why it’d been left behind after the fray. He eyed the lack of meat and replaced it on the tray. On stage, the music changed to a lively tune involving a fiddle and a woman using spoons to keep time.
“Evening.” Ella smiled at both of them. “Sorry, to interrupt, but I was wondering if I could talk to you, Sheriff?”
His mustache bristled, and his eyes darted over to Will.
“Actually, I don’t mind if Will hears. I just thought I’d give you an update.”
“An update?” The sheriff abandoned a roll he’d been inspecting with a large bite taken out of it.
“You know, on anything I might find or overhear related to Stan…”
His broad hand scooped up a handful of carrots, and he plopped them onto his plate before waving her on to proceed.
She launched into a short recount of what she’d seen at Stan’s house, that he was suspected of having an affair with Dot, and Jonas’s claim that Stan wanted the increased power for himself. She finished with the committee to save Twin Hills.
While she’d been speaking, his face showed as much interest as hers did while watching a political debate. The corned beef on his plate held more of his attention than what she was saying.
Will, on the other hand, stood riveted, his lean pickings of potato salad and rolls untouched.
“And Jonas is on this committee?” The inventor’s sea-green eyes stared at her, and she nodded.
“Hm,” Chapman finally said, “all that’s certainly interesting.”
“Interesting? That’s it?”
“Well, what else would it be?”
“What about questioning Dot? Or talking to Mrs. Tanner? If he was having an affair, that would be a good motive—”
“Already talked with her. Believe it or not, I do know what I’m doing. She wasn’t the jealous type—if he was, in fact, having an affair. But other than gossip and them scant observations you ma
de that can be explained off as simple housekeeping, Miss Barton, it’s unsubstantiated. ” His eyes narrowed slightly.
Ella bit the inside of her cheek, already on the sheriff’s less-than-favorable side. Besides, she still had a bitter taste in her mouth from the lemon squares.
“What about Jonas?”
“Already talked to him, too. Claims he wasn’t on the lake that night.”
“Okay, but can anyone verify that?”
“No.”
“No wife?”
The sheriff looked away, and Will rubbed his jaw. “His wife was a volunteer a few months back. She left for supplies and had only been gone a couple of hours when the town jumped. She was stranded in England in the 1700s.”
Ella’s shoulders and hopes deflated a little as her eyes absently stared at Rose’s gelatin mold behind the two men. It wobbled in time to the music, surprisingly partially eaten.
“Wow, that sucks.” It made the farmer’s prickly behavior more understandable. A part of her heart broke for the man, and she wished she’d been a little nicer. “Wait, but he was at the lake fishing. At least the morning after the storm. Remember, Will?”
“By boat or shore?” asked Chapman.
“Shore,” Will said.
“Ah, then who’s to say he’d been on the lake within the last few hours?”
Will scraped up potato salad with his fork. “I’m still trying to work out how he drowned in my boat. Alone.”
“He couldn’t have been alone.” Chapman dumped his plate in the nearby wash bin. Since the town didn’t get supplies very often, paper plates and plastic utensils were a luxury they didn’t have. “There had to be someone else out there, and Miss Barton just didn’t see them.”
Her pride nettled slightly with his words, but she realized he was right. The defensive wounds suggested Stan had fought with someone.
“Maybe someone drowned him in the lake, and he was already dead when I looked out,” she thought aloud. That meant the person she’d seen would’ve been the killer.
“Probably. This case has got me all balled up.” Chapman’s eyes roamed, watching the frivolity that had swelled from the dance floor to between tables. Some of the dancers were getting wild with their moves, knocking into chairs and generally re-enacting the rumble scene from West Side Story.
If Stan had drowned in the lake, that meant the killer would’ve had to haul his body back into Will’s boat. Then, what, swim to shore? It was a considerable distance from the center of the lake to the shore, but doable, she supposed if the killer was really in shape.
“Miss Barton, you said Dr. Kaufman was on this Twin Hills committee, yeah?”
Ella blinked at Chapman. “Who’s Dr. Kaufman?”
“The professor,” Will explained then glanced pointedly at Chapman, “but no one ever calls him that.”
“Except old cowboys, right?” Ella grinned at both of them. Chapman didn’t seem the least bit amused.
“I was planning on visiting Dr. Kaufman in the morning. I suppose that’s one more thing I gotta bring up.” Chapman let out a heavy breath and tugged at the end of his mustache. “That’s a conversation I ain’t lookin’ forward to, to be honest. He’s not what you’d call loquacious.”
“I would never call someone loquacious. In fact, I don’t think anyone would ever use that word to describe another person,” Ella said. “Will? You ever call someone loquacious?”
Will glanced at her, not taking the bait. “I can go with you, Sheriff, if you want. He’d be more apt to open up if I’m there.”
Chapman sized up the inventor then gave a decisive nod. “Much appreciated, Will. Might get more than two sentences with him that way.”
“Can I go?” Ella asked.
“No.”
“At least take a moment to think about it.”
“Just did. Still, no.”
“I’ll hang out in the driveway. He won’t even know I’m there.” Ella didn’t even bother hiding the whine in her voice.
Not only did she plan on eavesdropping on their conversation, but she’d also been wanting to get a better look at the professor’s house. The closest she’d gotten to it was from the road winding up to Wink’s house.
“It would be nice having her there,” Will said. “She might be able to look around while we’re talking.”
The struggle was evident in Chapman’s eyes, his face, and his overall glare at her.
“You know you want to.” Ella batted her eyes, doing her best impression of Flo. “I know you secretly want me around.”
“What is wrong with your face? Are you having a stroke?” The sheriff let out a long-suffering sigh. “Fine, you can come with us. But I expect both of you to allow me to ask the questions.”
“Of course,” Will said at the same time Ella responded with, “Yes, sir.”
The sheriff shook his head, muttering something about getting too old, and walked away. After he left, Ella thanked Will for insisting she come along. They chatted idly while she led him to her tray of cookies, then she explained how useful they’d been.
While he told her about his latest invention, they ambled through the side doors. The music faded enough they no longer had to raise their voices to be heard.
Despite the crispness in the air, Ella felt warm inside. She burrowed deeper into her sweater. In one fluid motion, Will shrugged out of his jacket and draped it around her shoulders, cocooning her in instant heat and the smell of sandalwood. All thoughts of dead bodies, traveling towns, and stalking outlaws drifted from her mind as they moved over the grass, crunching through leaves, and talking into the night.
CHAPTER 17
ELLA POURED THE last drops of coffee from the percolator into the chipped thermos, causing steam to curl up from the narrow opening. Despite getting to sleep in, her mouth opened in a wide yawn. Since most of the townsfolk tended to skip breakfast at Grandma’s Kitchen the day after a potluck, Wink had told her to come in later.
Ella’s hand ran over the tightening waist of her yoga pants, regretting some of the calories she’d consumed at the previous night’s festivities. It was her typical post-meal coma and guilt.
After grabbing an apple instead of one of the homemade donuts calling her name, she slipped out the back door and down the terrace steps. The conservatory glass winked in the morning dew.
A few yards away, the mass of fur that was Fluffy sat on his haunches under the tall oak tree behind the inn. His tail swished back and forth in the damp grass, and his ears twitched as he stared up into the ochre leaves.
“Whatcha got there?” she called out to the feline.
Her fingers itched to entangle them in his soft fur, but she was already running late to get to the sheriff’s. As it was, she feared he might leave for the professor’s without her.
Fluffy’s left ear twitched, the only acknowledgment he had heard her. The leaves in the tree quivered, and she heard a familiar, distinct chittering from within. Ella froze mid-step, glanced at her watch, then jogged over to the tree.
“Fluffy, I don’t have time for this. You can’t be terrorizing Chester. Not this early in the morning.”
She wondered why the rodent wasn’t in the diner with his owner. After scooping up the massive Maine Coon, she glanced up in the branches at the gray squirrel. His tail curled over a brightly colored clown suit.
Fluffy squirmed in her arms as she quickly deposited him just inside the inn. The door slammed shut, and she raced across the grass.
“You owe me! Again!” she threw over her shoulder at the oak tree.
A couple walking the trail around the lake shot her a furtive glance before quickening their steps.
Cutting down an alley to Main, Ella burst through the front door of the station. The knob banged into the brick wall making her wince. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the dim lighting.
Near his aged desk that probably belonged in a museum, Chapman’s hands buckled his belt and holster over his hips. He didn’t acknowledge her, but sh
e knew by her grand entrance there was no way he had’t heard her come in.
Will stood from one of the scuffed chairs. “I was worried you wouldn’t make it.”
“Yeah, sorry. I got detained.”
His blue-green eyes lingered on the thermos in her hands, causing her to hug it tighter against her chest.
After scooping up his derby hat, Chapman slipped it over his gray hair, hiding his features in shadow.
Will inhaled loudly, his nose drawing closer to her. “That coffee sure smells good.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” She unscrewed the lid, sniffed the steam, then took a gingerly sip, instantly killing multitudes of taste buds. Her eyes began to water, but she arranged her face into a smile.
“You alright, El?”
“Hm? Yeah, just fine.” The fire had spread to her throat. She coughed and blinked rapidly. “Yep, tastes great.”
“A little hot?”
“Like the underworld.”
She surrendered the thermos to him in favor of the apple in her pocket.
“Eat on the way.” Chapman held the door open, letting cold air and actual sunlight into the dusky room.
On the sidewalk, Ella eyed the Appaloosa horse tied to a hitching post. “Are Will and I riding shotgun on that thing? I’m not opposed, but it might get cozy. I call not-the-caboose.”
Chapman frowned at her. “I’m not bringing a shotgun.”
“I get that reference,” Will said with pride. The aroma of coffee wafted from the thermos lid in his hands, and she wondered if he had a tongue made of iron.
Will’s 1948 Chevy crunched over the gravel as he pulled his pickup to the front of a skinny, tall house. Despite the fact that they weren’t on a horse, she’d been right about the “cozy” transportation. Only, it felt less cozy and more sardine-like.
Ella’s shoulders hunched near her ears, her body crammed between the two large men. All the way there, she had to listen to Chapman grill them about letting him do his job. Since Will’s role was to make the professor feel more comfortable, he was allowed a little leeway, but Ella was to hang back and say nothing.
