by Ami Diane
“Or one of us,” Wink added.
“Yes, or that.”
Flo called them both names and insulted their lineage.
“Hop on, El,” Wink said. “I’ll take you the rest of the way to Chapman’s.”
“No, that’s okay. I’ll hike it.”
“It’s three blocks,” Flo cut in. “Her young bones can manage. Meanwhile, we’re sitting her flapping our gums, and I can’t feel my backside anymore.”
“It’s still there,” Wink said, “unfortunately.”
Ella waved at them, mostly to head off any more arguing. “Flo, I’ll help you stash your guns when I get back.”
“Nice try, poodle head.”
“Caught that, did you?”
Wink waved farewell before putting the vehicle in gear and driving off. Since there wasn’t room in the narrow, plowed lane to turn around, Ella guessed she’d circle a block in order to turn south on Main Street.
Ella kicked in a foothold and mounted the berm. Carefully, she slid down the other side. She had a whole three blocks to come up with an explanation for how she came upon the information she had.
By the time her boots found the station’s front door, she’d failed to invent anything reasonable. She’d just have to wing it, relying on her charm and silver tongue.
Inside, she found the place more depressing than usual, this mostly due to the half-lit string of bulbs and the scrawny, skeleton of a Christmas tree in the corner that made Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree look like it belonged in Rockefeller Center.
“Miss Barton?” Sheriff Chapman sat in his rickety swivel chair, his cowboy boots resting on his desk.
Ella started. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there. I was just admiring the whole Nightmare Before Christmas vibe you have going on.” When she caught his puzzled expression, she explained, “I know that reference means nothing to you, but trust me, that joke was hilarious. Well, not hilarious, per se, so much as… funny? Actually, let’s go with marginally funny.”
“Miss Barton, is there something I can do for you or did you come in here to hear yourself talk?”
“Hm? Oh, right. That.”
She slid around to the other side of his desk, dropped into a wooden chair, and propped her feet on his desk alongside his boots. Glancing sideways at the jail cells, she said, “Kinda nice being on this side of the bars, am I right?”
His steel gray eyes narrowed as he slid his feet to the floor and leaned forward. His chair creaked under him.
“Right, right.” She couldn’t stall any longer, hoping for a lightning flash of inspiration. She’d just have to play it straight.
Ella slid her boots off the desk, as well, noting she left behind scuffs of dirty snow that were quickly forming puddles. With a sheepish grin, she ran her sleeve over the mess, only smearing the sludge instead of it actually soaking into the fabric.
Chapman cleared his throat.
“So,” she began, “I know what weapon killed Erik.”
He leaned back, a gesture for her to continue.
“When I found out that he’d been killed by a bullet—” she winced.
“How’d you hear that I reckon?”
“Small town and all that.”
“Hm.”
“Anyway, it wasn’t like I wasn’t guessing that—“ she wasn’t “—because at the scene, you’d mentioned something about the blood spatter being off, remember?”
“I remember.”
“So, when I heard about the bullet in his cranium with no exit wound, I found that strange. It’s unusual, isn’t it? At least in my day it is.” Her eyes fell to the gloves still on her hands. She slipped them off. “So, Wink, Flo, and I decided to see if we couldn’t narrow it down, see which make and model of firearm could’ve killed him.”
“Normally, I’d say that seems unlikely, given the broad range of weapons available. You’d have to have a large stock to be able to test various guns… but then, I know who you’re friends with.” He folded his fingers together. “So, you found it?”
“Yes. We tested it on a watermelon. It was the only one that didn’t leave an exit wound.”
“You’re failing to take into account other variables, as they say.”
“I know it’s not ideal, not knowing the wind speed and such. But we think we know what distance the killer fired from.”
“Oh?”
She pulled out her phone, telling him about the broken branch, the amount of snow on it matching that on the body, then showed him the picture.
“I see.” He put his boots on the desk again and tugged at the ends of his handlebar mustache, curling it around his fingers. “I see,” he repeated, quieter and to himself.
“Do you know what a Winchester 73 looks like?”
“Can’t say as I do.”
“Right, of course. It’d be after your time.” She fidgeted with a fingernail. “I saw one before today. In Leif’s cabin that day we went to tell him about Erik.”
“That so?”
She nodded.
His eyes turned inward, and he lapsed into silence.
“I just thought you should know. Mind you, we didn’t test every weapon in Keystone, so it’s possible there’s another that would give a similar result. And like I said, it wasn’t a scientific test by any means. But maybe… I don’t know, maybe you can match a bullet fired from his gun to the one found in Erik.”
“Might see what I can do.” He massaged a gray five o’ clock shadow along his cheek as he seemed to consider saying more. “Asked around. Turns out, several witnesses saw Erik and Leif having it out at the bar.”
“They were arguing? Do you know what about?”
He shook his head. “No one could understand them. But they said Leif was fit to be tied.”
“Did it turn violent?”
“Nothing crazy. A few fists were thrown. Lou said at one point one of ‘em brandished his ax but didn’t use it.”
“He say which one?”
“Naw. It’s Lou. Couldn’t tell one from the other.”
“You sure he wasn’t seeing double of one of them?”
Chapman’s mouth twitched. “Wouldn’t put it past him. That mechanic loves a bottle more than most mothers love their children.”
Ella didn’t argue the point. “Are you coming over tomorrow?”
“What’s tomorrow?”
“Christmas.” She left out the “duh” but kept it in her tone.
“Don’t think so. When you get to be my age, gone through the things I have, the holidays are just another day. I’m in my twilight years, my third act, as they say.”
Ella studied him, his gray hair above gray, weary eyes. A man in a drab, gray room. King of a crumbling castle in a gray world.
A piece of her heart broke off, and she’d never before wished for color more than in that moment, to breathe life into his gray kingdom.
“Why are you looking at me like that? I don’t want your pity.”
“No, of course not.”
The chair scraped across the floor as she rose. When her hand clasped the knob on the front door, she paused.
“You know, the third act’s never over until you’re in the grave. And even then, there’s always an encore.” She faced him. “For all the grief you give Flo and Wink, you could really learn something from them.”
With that, she left him to his dull thoughts.
Some people, she decided as she trudged through the snow, lived a paper existence and were satisfied. But she didn’t think Chapman was one of them. No, something whispered in her that he turned away from life, avoided happiness, to punish himself. How sad such a life must be, and how overlooked forgiveness was.
CHAPTER 20
BY THE TIME Ella reached the inn, she could barely see two feet in front of her. The front door burst in, knocking the coat tree against the wall. Struggling, she closed it and whipped off her hat, combing her fingers through her disheveled hair. The lights flickered overhead, and she eyed them warily.
After unraveling herself from her snow gear, her stomach led her to the kitchen. It was well past four o’clock, and she felt as if she could eat the entire contents of the refrigerator.
Finding left-over baked trout with lemon and dill, she served up a portion and slid it in the oven to heat up. She definitely missed microwaves.
Pouring herself a cup of cold coffee, she added cream and ice cubes then pretended it was a latte from her favorite coffee shop back home.
After tugging on an oven mitt, she pulled the trout out. As she was turning off the dial, the lights quivered again then winked out altogether.
Ella stood in darkness. Wan light from the dying winter day filtered through the picture window above the table.
Grabbing her food, she fumbled around the island and used one hand to guide herself down the hallway.
Fortunately, the inn had several fireplaces, so there’d be no want for warmth and light. Well, maybe some lack of warmth as not all of the hearths were enough to heat every corner of the ginormous manor.
Back in the entrance hall, Jimmy bent under the check-in desk, rummaging through the dark shelves.
“Looking for a light,” he murmured.
Ella took a bite of trout that flaked off in her mouth, then she set the dish by the banker’s lamp, with its iconic emerald shade and golden base, and flipped on the flashlight app on her cellphone.
“Well, I’ll be…” His expression went from impressed to dubious as it usually did around any of her “gadgets.”
Together, they rifled through the dusty shelves. Several minutes later, they had a small collection of flashlights, but only two held batteries with enough juice.
Ella already suspected the answer but felt the need to ask anyway. “I don’t suppose you have more batteries?”
“Unfortunately, no. Can’t afford them. Rose went down to the basement for some kerosene lanterns. Looks like we’ll be roughing it a while.”
At least the power had gone out before absolute darkness had settled in—and after she’d warmed up her food. The ambient light from the windows cast the hall in dim blue, just enough to perceive shadowy silhouettes.
“I’m actually surprised we’ve had electricity as long as we have,” she said. “Didn’t think the reserve power would last.”
“It didn’t. Will got a few turbines moving again.”
Ella smiled to herself at the inventor’s resourcefulness. She’d yet to hear of something he couldn’t fix.
“Chapman assigned volunteers on them around the clock. My guess is they either lost the battle, not enough manpower, or it’s a downed power line.”
Leaving Jimmy to figure out the lighting situation, she felt her way back through the south corridor to deposit her empty dish into the sink. She used her phone to illuminate a path back to her room so she could wrap Rose’s present. She had no paper with which to use nor bows. Short of wrapping it in a plastic Walmart bag she had in her suitcase, she figured she could wrap a handkerchief around it and use a piece of yarn to tie a bow.
Already, the cold air crept through the single pane windows in her room and made her skin prickle. If they didn’t get the power back on, it was going to be a night for layers and cuddling with Fluffy.
She rustled through the chest at the foot of her bed and pulled out an old blanket that smelled of mothballs and years. Slowly, Ella pinned the blanket over the window, hoping it would stave off the onslaught of the draft.
She turned a slow circle, looking for anything to use as wrapping paper. If she had to, she could run down to the parlor for some old editions of Keystone Corner as a last resort, but she preferred to find something less DIY.
A scratch came at her door followed by a soft cry. Ella greeted Fluffy as she cracked open the door. The feline’s body pushed aside the door, and his tail crooked high above his head.
Making a beeline for the four-poster bed, he leaped onto the soft mattress and instantly rolled onto his back, his large belly spreading wide. She chuckled and buried her fingers in his thick fur before scratching under his chin and behind his ears.
Her eyes drifted to the dresser in the corner and all the odds and ends clustered on top. Her fingers froze as she wondered why it hadn’t occurred to her before. Pulling away from the cat, she earned a glare from his large green and hazel flecked eyes.
Her knees scraped over the floor as she got on all fours and rooted around under the bed, reaching into the shadows until her fingers located her suitcase. It and two other pieces of luggage, along with her backpack, were all she had of her old life.
Digging through the mess of dirty clothes, portable Bluetooth speaker, and books, she located the small jewelry box she used for traveling. It was one of those cheap, blue velvet boxes she’d taken the pillow lining out of.
Ella dumped the contents on top of the dresser. Next, she found scraps of lace inside the hope chest where she’d gotten the blanket. Folding them over, she created a pillow for the charms to lay on. Carefully, she placed them on top, admired her handiwork, and shut the lid with a snap.
By now, her fingers and toes were popsicles. She scooped up Rose’s present and pulled Fluffy away from the bits of ribbon he’d been chewing on.
Carrying both down the stairs, she went to the parlor. The tree looked drab with the power out, but its scent still permeated the air with Christmas.
She deposited Fluffy on the fainting couch then placed the present on top of another wrapped in newsprint. Jimmy’s lazy handwriting scrawled Rose’s name in an arc across the top. Ella frowned at the gift, knowing it held another gelatin mold.
She dropped a couple of logs onto the dying fire and watched sparks fly from the embers to dance in the air. Her thoughts turned to Erik’s killer and the break-in at the diner. So far, she’d been unable to find a connection between the two incidents. The Viking had no ties to Grandma’s Kitchen nor the pies bake. If they hadn’t been busy fleeing Leif, she would’ve checked his footprints in the snow.
Pulling out her phone, she added the new information about the murder weapon. Next, she added both Leif and Edwin to the suspect list. She didn’t really think the old boarder was involved, but he did have access to the make and model of gun that could’ve killed Erik.
Her mouth turned down, staring at his name. He also had access to the inn. Beside his name, she added, shoe size?
Shoving the phone back into a pocket, she ruminated more on finding a connection between the vandalism and Erik’s murder. Nothing had been taken from either crime scene, so it couldn’t have been covering up a robbery.
Ella’s breath caught in her chest. Actually, that wasn’t true. Maybe nothing had been taken off Erik’s person that she was aware of, but something had been stolen nearby. Mrs. Faraday had mentioned that someone had been breaking into the greenhouses and stealing food.
Maybe that was the common thread between the two crimes: food. However, the pies had been destroyed, not eaten or stolen.
Would someone really kill for such a thing? If they’re desperate enough, they would. But if that were true, wouldn’t the food bank also have been broken into?
Ella squinted against a building headache and shelved the matter for the moment. Across the room, Fluffy had grown bored on the sofa and taken up batting one of the ornaments on the tree.
She shooed him away. His stomach swept from side-to-side as he scooted to the edge of the room before plopping onto a rug. His large eyes locked onto the ornament, his tail swishing.
She heard the front door open, and voices bounced down the north hallway. As she stoked the fire, Rose, Jimmy, and Will ambled in. Her stomach fluttered when the inventor flashed her a wide smile, showing off a dimple in one of his cheeks.
Her hands flew to her hair, taming the curls as best she could. Wearing a beanie half the day in snowy weather had done frizzy wonders to her coif.
�
�Look who’s spending Christmas Eve with us,” Rose crooned, her eyes dancing at Ella.
“Thanks, Cupid. Could you be any subtler?” She turned to Will. “I apologize for her behavior.”
Will slipped off his fedora, brushed the snow off, and laid it on an end table. A lock of chocolate hair fell across his forehead. “When you’re one of the few bachelors in a small, confined town, you get used to it.”
“Well, I’m glad you’ll be spending the holiday with us.”
Jimmy clapped a large hand on Will’s back, chuckling. “Didn’t have much choice, though, did you?”
Ella frowned. “What do you mean?”
Will stuck his hands in his trousers and stared at the ground. “I had a small mishap with my fireplace.”
“What kind of mishap?”
“There was a fire.”
“Oh.” Ella paused. “I fail to see how that’s a mishap.” She pointed at the flames licking the wood in the fireplace beside her. “Kinda what they’re for. Fire.”
“Thanks, Prometheus. Not this kind. The fire was in my chimney. And past the hearth. And a little on the roof.”
Ella’s eyes widened. “What? Are you okay?”
“Everything’s fine. I closed the damper then crawled onto the roof and used the snow to put out the flames.”
“Creosote buildup?” she guessed.
He nodded, ducking his head. “It should’ve never happened in the first place. It was my neglect that caused it.”
Rose paused from where she’d been fussing with the low-hanging ornaments, the ones Fluffy had been messing with. “Don’t you go blaming yourself. You’ve been busy keeping this town running. Some things were bound to fall through the cracks.”
Ella attempted to lighten his mood. “So, what you’re saying is, you’re not here for the pleasure of our company, so much as avoiding freezing to death, is that the sum of it?”
Some of the tension left his face. “Basically. It was either you lot or the Spielmans and their nine kids.”
“You hear that, Rose? We beat out the Spielmans. I’m flattered.”
“You should clean your flue every so often,” Jimmy said, sounding every bit the decade older than Will that he was. “And burn hotter fires.”
