Traveling Town Mystery Boxset

by Ami Diane

  The wind whipped snow up from the ground at her and Six the moment they stepped outside. She huddled against the brick for the little shelter it provided while she put the snowshoes on, wishing she had done so inside.

  Beside her, the outlaw squinted into the wind, wearing nothing but his usual hoodie, vest, trousers, and cowboy boots complete with spurs. Her gaze lingered on his boots, and she paid special attention to the prints they left behind. They didn’t match the ones from the break-ins.

  “Where’s Duke?” she asked, looking around for his steed.

  “Back at the barn.”

  “You hiked all the way here on foot without snowshoes?”

  “‘Course not. I got a snowmobile.”

  “Of course you do.” She didn’t ask how he’d acquired it, scared of the answer. After hesitating a moment, she asked, “Do you have somewhere to go tomorrow for Christmas?”

  A raspy chuckle escaped his lips, most of it stolen by the wind. “Don’t worry about me, darlin’. I’ll be fine.”

  He dipped his head in a farewell and strolled through the snow like it was only inches and not feet, like it was Hawaii and not the arctic circle. She shook her head at the display of machoism, hoping he didn’t get frostbite. There was bravado, then there was sensibility. And Six’s pendulum-of-self had swung past bravado into an ego that could fill the town.

  Ella’s thoughts were so preoccupied, she barely registered she’d returned to the inn until she stood on the mat inside, out of her boots, her socks getting soaked.

  As she stripped out of her jacket and snow pants to the layers underneath, Flo materialized from one of the hallways shooting off from the entrance hall.

  “Ready?” The woman’s tower of hair was partially mashed down by earmuffs—not the kind to keep her ears warm, but the kind that warned loud noises were imminent.

  Ella looked from her wet socks to Flo. “I don’t know. Is this what one normally wears to a shooting range?”

  “I don’t think that’s what one normally wears any time.”

  “It is where I’m from.”

  Flo made a face. “Well, that just gives me hope for humanity.” She shouldered past Ella and opened the front door. “Well? You waiting for an engraved invitation? Put your pants back on. I’ll meet you out front. And hurry.” With that, the older woman closed the door with a bang.

  Hurriedly, Ella tugged back on her wet snow pants, gloves, and hat. She ran out the door, still trying to zip up her jacket as she chased after Flo.

  The air nipped at her nose, causing her to breathe into her gloves to warm her face. Flo stood on the sidewalk on tiptoes to see over the berm, staring up the road.

  “What are we waiting for?”

  “That.”

  Ella didn’t see anything, and she began to wonder if Crazy Flo had finally snapped. Then, the deep, throaty rumble of an engine approached—an engine that was on its last leg.

  With a sputtering cough, a rickety snowmobile that was barely more than glorified skis with a motor puttered to a stop in front of the inn.

  Flo clapped her mittens together in excitement and practically bounded her old bones over the snow bank as Wink dismounted off the snowmobile.

  When she realized Ella wasn’t trailing behind her, Flo waved her forward, yelling, “Get your caboose moving. I don’t want my babies getting cold. They’re already set up at the site.”

  Assuming her “babies” were her firearms, Ella had no problem delaying their departure. Her greater concern was their mode of transportation.

  Ella stepped beside the dilapidated vehicle. “Weren’t you borrowing the professor’s?”

  Wink adjusted her hot pink snowsuit and fur cap. “I was, but he needed it back. So, I bought this beauty.” She grinned as she stroked the cracked windshield. “I got a great deal on—”

  “Hold on a second.” Ella circled the mobile. “I recognize this.”

  “No, you don’t.” Wink jumped to the wheel. “Now get on. We’re burning daylight.”

  “Sure I do. This used to be Dot’s.”

  “I don’t know what you’re on about.”

  “Yeah, this was definitely her ancient snowmobile.”

  “It’s not ancient.” Wink tipped up her chin.

  “Wait, didn’t she wreck it?” Ella searched the sky and sorted through her scattered memories of that night. “Yeah, she definitely wrecked it. I remember being relieved it had been put out of its misery.”

  Flo climbed onto the cushion behind Wink. The two of them together swallowed the only seat which left Ella to stand in the back on a platform barely bigger than her feet and appeared to have been welded on recently.

  She eyed it suspiciously. “If it was wrecked, then how’d you get it?”

  Wink rolled her eyes. “Does it matter? Hope on, dear, before my backside freezes to the seat.”

  Something in the way Wink avoided her gaze and was rushing Ella to get on sent all sorts of internal alarms wailing.

  “Oh no. Lou salvaged it, didn’t he? You got it off him?”

  Wink pressed her lips together and rubbed her sleeve over a small scratch in the windshield, completely ignoring the large one that ran down the middle.

  Ella shook her head and stumbled back. “No freaking way am I getting on. That thing was already destined for a junkyard before he got his greasy paws on it.”

  Flo poked Wink’s back. “You didn’t tell me that lush fixed this puppy up.”

  “Who else would? And you’re one to talk, calling someone else a lush.” Wink hissed out air from her lungs. “Would you two quite griping? I rode all the way here. It’s fine.”

  “You rode all the way here, from where?” Ella asked, feeling clarification was important in this instance.

  Wink mumbled something, and Ella forced her ear forward.

  “What was that? I didn’t catch that.”

  “I rode over from his shop.”

  “That’s three blocks. You rode three blocks.” Ella closed her eyes, sure today was only going to get worse. “Fine. Whatever. That’s two blocks farther than I made it in the car he sold me.”

  Before she could stop herself, she climbed onto the dubious microscopic platform. The engine coughed, sputtered, then died. A second and several “dash-it-alls” later, the engine sputtered to life again.

  The vehicle edged forward as shy as a teen at a dance then took off like a shot. Ella gripped Flo’s shoulders for dear life, wondering what she had gotten herself into.

  CHAPTER 17

  “IN ALL MY—” Ella counted on her fingers but gave up a half-second later. “—thirty-odd years, I never pictured spending part of Christmas Eve at a homemade gun range.”

  Flo hefted an alarmingly large gun across the snow and spoke between grunts. “You asked.”

  “To my everlasting regret, yes. Yes, I did.”

  Ella wasn’t sure what was more concerning. The fact that they were in a clearing in the middle of the forest, coincidentally, the very one in which she’d witnessed Leif and Erik’s sword fighting during her flight of death with Wink. The fact that there was a folding table in front of her that creaked under the weight of several weapons that would’ve put the firearms section of a Cabela’s to shame. Or the fact that Flo didn’t wear her glasses and kept bumping into things.

  Ella watched her friend bumble through the snow as she set up targets. Flo had obviously gone to great lengths creating a safe, suitable range, with an unknown backdrop, freezing temperatures, and no proper eye protection that Ella could see. And to really punch up the safety factor, Flo wore a white coat that blended in with the snow.

  “I’m confused,” Ella said to Wink, who was busy unloading a heavy-looking bag from under the seat of the snowmobile. “I mean, more than usual. What’s she setting targets up for? I thought we were going to test various firearms on watermelons?”

  “We are.” Wink reached into the bag and retrieved a mid-sized melon. It was a little underripe for Ella’s liking, but she figured
it didn’t matter since they would be riddling it with bullets. “But Flo also wants to test out one of her new prototypes.”

  The diner owner hefted the watermelon across the snow and motioned for Ella to do the same with another.

  “And you’re okay with this?” Somehow, Flo had carved out a path in the snow beforehand, and Ella’s boots only sank a few inches atop hard snow.

  “‘Course not. But, if she’s going to blow something up, better out here with a minimal chance of damage or forest fires.”

  “Sure, sure. And the fact that we’re a few miles away from medical help isn’t at all concerning?”

  “Nothing Betsy can’t handle.”

  They stopped short and looked back at the table, judging the distance.

  “Betsy…?”

  Wink tipped her head towards the decrepit snowmobile.

  “You’re giving it a name, now? That’s fine. I would’ve gone with something cooler, like, The Cyclone or Blade Runner.” Ella gasped at her own genius. “Blade Runner, get it? I just thought of that.”

  “Hey,” Flo called out, trudging back down the range, “stagger your melons every five yards.”

  Ella grinned. “What do you want me to do with my melons?”

  Flo’s body may have given up on her, but her mind was sharp as the hunting knife Ella had seen in her purse. “The watermelons, you nut job. Those melons—” Flo pointed at Ella’s chest “—I’d like covered a bit more often. A proper-fitting blouse wouldn’t hurt you none, either.”

  “At least hers haven’t traveled south, yet,” Wink said.

  Flo helped them space their two watermelons approximately five yards apart. As she bent down, she grunted, “At least I got some at all next to those mosquito bites of yours.”

  While they walked back to the bag to retrieve three more melons, Ella gave Wink a Reader’s Digest version of the break-in at the diner.

  “It was the same vandal, I’m sure. The size and tread match on the footprints. You wouldn’t happen to know what size shoe Horatio wears, would you?”

  “About ten and a half.” When Ella looked at her funny, she added, “I helped him at the clothing bank when he was first stranded. The size stuck because it was the same as my Donald.”

  After placing her second watermelon, Ella straightened, massaged her back, then squinted at Flo. “Hey, I thought you wanted five yards between each one?”

  “I do. What of it?”

  “That’s not five yards. That’s, like, three feet from Wink’s.” Ella pointed at the other light green fruit to the woman’s left.

  Wink’s breath puffed out like a steam engine. “Florence Henderson, where are your glasses?”

  “Didn’t need ‘em.”

  “Your inability to see a few feet in front of you begs to differ.”

  Ella shook her head. “Sure, why wouldn’t you need to see when shooting?”

  “Relax, will ya, you two? I got it covered.”

  “I’m brimming with confidence,” Ella said as she and Wink exchanged eye rolls.

  As Ella placed a third melon about five yards closer than her previous one, she watched the two older women traipse through the snow, her heart swelling with gratitude. Before arriving in Keystone, if she’d asked any of her friends to help her set up a shooting range to test one of her hair-brained theories, they would’ve scoffed and told her to see a therapist.

  Despite their antics, the two women in front of her were some of the finest she’d met, built of fortitude and gumption and loyalty.

  All around them, the pine and fir trees bent, laden with snow. A breathy stillness settled in the clearing, broken only by the crunch of boots over snow and Flo and Wink’s bickering. If the sky was falling down around them, they’d still argue whether or not it was blue.

  The weather continued to cooperate—for how much longer, she couldn’t be certain. Tiny flakes fell over her sleeves like grains of sugar.

  When Thing One and Thing Two returned to the armament table, Ella asked about the backdrop. “Aren’t their cabins nearby?” She was pretty sure Leif’s wasn’t too far from where they stood as the crow flies.

  Flo unclasped an ammunition box stocked to the brim. “We’re facing East. Nothing between us and that new mountain range.”

  Wink fidgeted with her pink hair, tucking it back under her hat. “But you did warn Leif, didn’t you?”

  “Uh, sure.”

  Wink’s lips pinched together. The thought of the Norseman hearing the ruckus they were about to make and his reaction to it filled Ella with dread.

  “It’ll be fine. It’s nothing he’s not used to out here.” Flo unzipped a duffel bag, and two of Ella’s greater concerns were alleviated.

  Flo handed over protective glasses that were scratched in all the wrong places. Putting her own on, the older woman explained how hers had the prescription built in.

  After breathing on hers, Ella attempted to wipe away a stubborn smudge only to realize the smudge was tiny abrasions. “I didn’t know they made safety glasses with the prescriptions in the 1950s.”

  “They didn’t. Bought these off Harold’s estate when he bought the farm.”

  Ella wasn’t sure who Harold was, one of Flo’s many husbands possibly. “But the prescription’s close to yours, right?”

  Flo shrugged.

  “Also, silly question, are we supposed to be able to see the watermelons?” She hadn’t noticed it until now, but the heavy fruit had sunk in the more recent, powdered snow, only a couple inches visible on each one.

  “What’re you talking about? You can see ‘em.” Flo pointed in the direction of Twin Hills, several feet from the nearest fruit.

  With a nudge, Ella guided the old woman’s hand a few degrees East.

  “So, you can see ‘em,” Flo said.

  “I can see their general shape, which apparently is far more than you can see. I thought those glasses had a prescription?”

  “They do. I was just testing you.”

  Wink pulled out two more sets of earmuffs from the duffel bag that matched Flo’s. “Was Harold far-sighted?”

  “Didn’t ask, but I think so.”

  “You’re near-sighted.”

  “So?” Flo thunked several boxes of ammunition onto the table.

  Wink’s voice oozed with annoyance. “So, it’s actually worse with you wearing them than not. This is just like that time we got chased by a polar bear.”

  “I saved us, didn’t I?”

  “Only because you caused an avalanche that buried half the town.”

  Ella glanced in the direction of the craggy rocks, wondering if they should be concerned about something similar happening.

  Before the two older women could continue their argument, Ella cut in and reminded them that if the barber Sal was right about the weather, they didn’t have much longer.

  They settled in behind the table. After donning both hearing protection and eyewear, Flo fired the first shot—and the next several successive ones until she finally hit a watermelon.

  They approached the fruit, rolling it out of its nestled spot. As they did, chunks of its innards fell out. Ella grimaced and tried to avoid thinking about Erik’s head wound.

  Wink’s mouth moved.

  “What?” Ella shouted.

  Reaching over, Flo shoved Ella’s earmuffs aside. “Take off your ear protection, feather brains.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “I said,” Wink continued, “that this has an exit wound. We gotta try again.”

  Ella began to lead the way back. “Only maybe one of us should fire the next round.”

  “Why?” Flo’s tone turned to acid, and Ella made a mental note about how sensitive the crazy woman was about her aim.

  “Because,” she said, glancing over at the several hundred rounds of ammunition, “I’m not sure we have enough if you kept at it.” After a withering glare from Flo, she added, “It’s the glasses, I’m sure.”

  That seemed to assuage the woman’s pride,
and she acquiesced, letting Ella take the next firearm.

  Ella raised it, aimed, took the safety off, then paused. “Wait.” Her hands lowered as she flipped the safety with her thumb. “Remember when we found Erik? When Chapman was interviewing Flo, we surveyed the site, and Will spotted that broken bough?”

  She exchanged the weapon for her cellphone, flitting through her gallery of photos and videos until she found what she was looking for. As Flo and Wink bent their heads over the phone, Ella pulled up the picture she’d taken then played the video so they’d have more of an idea of scale. When the broken branch came into view, she paused it.

  “That was about, what, sixty yards from the body?” She looked to Wink for confirmation.

  “If that’s so,” Flo said, “then the killer wouldn’t have to be that good of a shot. Doesn’t take much skill at that range with a twenty-inch barrel.”

  Nodding, Wink scanned their targets. “Then that’s where we need to place the watermelons.”

  After relocating the fruit, Ella fired the next weapon. It, too, made an exit wound. Firearm by firearm, they repeated the process, checking their target each time, until they were nearing the end of their melon supply.

  While Wink and Ella were setting up the last batch from the bag and picking their way through the fruity carnage for suitable spots to place the new ones, Flo, who’d been complaining about watching them have all the fun, tested one of her inter-dimensional prototype weapons. It was boxy and not one of the devices Ella had spotted in her room.

  Wink and Ella returned to the table and watched the theater that was Flo. She was her own brand of entertainment, replacing Ella’s need for TV—almost.

  After several presses of the button on top of her device and bouts of diving for cover, Flo trudged up to the box and kicked it. It let out a noise between a beep and a burp, spat out smoke, then the lights on the front faded.

  Quite suddenly, a flame shot out the back. Flo dived to the ground. The industrial blow torch-sized flame focused its cone-of-fire barrage on a nearby tree limb.

  Just as abruptly as it had begun, the flame sputtered out. The unsuspecting branch dripped with melted snow, smoke curling up from the now exposed, charred needles.