by J. R. Ripley
The hypothetical body might have been removed after the last time I was here. That would explain the smaller mound. But why move the body now? And whose body was it?
I turned at the sound of running footsteps.
“Amy?
I clutched my chest. “Channing! What are you doing here?” I shoved the gold chain in my jeans pocket.
“I thought I’d get in a morning jog down by the lake. You’ve got me scheduled to open the store this morning, remember?” I did. Channing adjusted the white sweatband wrapped across her forehead. She had on sneakers and a loose two-piece jogging suit. Her nose pinched up as she asked, “Why are you all dirty?”
“Where’s Ross?” I asked. “Have you seen him?”
“Not this morning. Why?”
“There’s no time to explain,” I replied. “We need to get to the house. I have to use your phone.” I hadn’t thought to bring my phone or my purse.
“Follow me.” Channing turned quickly and started up the path. Along the way, I told her my suspicions about Ross. “I only met him when he arrived here. He always seemed so quiet, shy even,” she said.
I repeated what Derek had said to me. “People aren’t always what they seem.”
Channing veered to the left. “You really think he murdered some man and buried him out here and then killed Mrs. Hammond?”
“My guess is that Bessie came snooping around out here and Ross found her. Who knows? Maybe she saw something she shouldn’t have. I don’t know who the other man he killed might be.” I rubbed my hands along my pants. “I’ll let the police figure that one out.”
We reached the house. Gus’s pickup truck was nowhere in sight. “Where’s Gus?” I whispered.
“He’s at the diner. Moire gave him a lift.”
Channing pushed open the front door and motioned for me to come inside.
“Where is everybody?” The house seemed so empty, devoid of presence and sounds of any kind. Though Channing switched on the light in the entry, it was one of those weird Edison-type bulbs and gave off little useful light.
“Like I said, Gus went to work at the diner. Jean is crewing with Captain Harrow. The others are having a ceremony for Lana,” explained Channing.
“Oh?”
She tossed her headband on the table beside the stairs and shook out her hair. “Annika is all into that Wicca stuff. She’s got the others down at the far end of the lake. She swears there’s a black willow there that’s sacred or something.”
“Why didn’t you go?”
“It seemed sort of sacrilegious to me. I don’t go much for all that magic stuff.”
“Like widows in the lake?” I said.
“Exactly,” replied Channing. “I was raised Church of England. Mummy would be appalled by all this business. She considers it witchery, and if there is a widow in the lake, it seems to be more a curse than a magical blessing.”
I told her I was beginning to agree.
“I don’t have a cell phone. We can use the telephone in the kitchen.” Channing started back.
I glanced up the steps. “You say Ross is with Annika and your other roommates?”
Channing paused in the doorway. “Yes. Why?”
I gnawed at my lower lip. “I’d really like a look at his room. Which one is his?”
“Top of the stairs to the left.”
“Dial 911,” I said. “That will get the local emergency operator. Tell them to contact Chief Kennedy and get him out to the McKutcheon house right away. Tell them it’s an emergency.”
Channing promised and I climbed the stairs.
The room Channing had indicated as Ross’s was the room where the mysterious murder had occurred. Coincidence? I didn’t think so.
I stepped inside. With the morning sun coming in, there was no need to turn on the lamp that still sat on the floor as it had the first time I’d been in the room. A single twin mattress rested beside it, covered with a tangle of bedclothes.
The telescope I had previously seen in Gus’s room stood against the window. I pressed my eye to the glass. I could see all the way to Birds & Bees from here.
Had Ross been watching me? The thought made me feel uncomfortable and dirty.
A small, battered red suitcase rested against the wall. I opened it and peered inside. A couple pairs of jeans and several T-shirts, socks, and underwear. He seemed to live a simple existence.
There was little more to see in the sparse room. I moved across the hall. This was Annika and Dominik’s room. Two separate beds with a crooked nightstand between them. Channing had said they were brother and sister.
Through the house’s thin walls, I could hear Channing on the phone down in the kitchen. Sounds of a cat mewling mingled with the sound of her voice. Was she having trouble convincing the police to come investigate? Maybe I should have telephoned them myself. I should go talk to whomever she was speaking with.
First, however, I wanted a better look at Gus’s room. Nobody’s perfect. There had to be something incriminating to be found—if not linking him to Bessie Hammond’s or Lana Potter’s death, then something related to his nefarious business dealings or the death of his wife. I wasn’t asking for much. A signed confession would do.
Moving up the narrow hall, I stopped outside a door I thought might lead to the attic. I was pretty sure Lana had been living there, or at least using the room in some fashion. That had to have been her that I’d seen peering out at me the night I’d come for dinner. Definitely worth a look.
But it wasn’t a doorway to the attic, only another bedroom. I stepped inside. The curtains were drawn and the room was dark. I flicked on the lamp atop the six-drawer dresser. A brush, comb, and mirror had been laid out on the dresser as well. There were also several makeup bottles. A double bed sat angled in the corner. A white shirt hung over a chair that matched those in the dining room. This had to be Channing’s room.
I turned to go. I didn’t want her to think I’d been spying on her, too. Turning to leave, I spotted a tweed suitcase tucked behind the door.
My mouth went dry. The luggage tag attached to the handle read: CC. I fingered the tag. A barely legible London address was handwritten between the lines.
CC were Channing Chalmers’s initials. But was Channing Chalmers Cece? Had I misunderstood the Garfinkles when they’d mentioned JJ and his wife, Cece? Had she really meant the initials CC?
Quietly, I slid the suitcase from behind the door. I unlatched the suitcase and opened it. The contents consisted of nothing more than an assortment of clothing, mostly heavier outerwear, including a scarf, a beanie, and a pair of black leather boots.
I discovered a slim, burgundy-colored British passport beneath a stack of frilly undies. I sucked in a quick breath. Drummy! I remembered now. Channing had told me that she had been raised in Australia and loved woodpeckers. There were no woodpeckers in Australia. She’d also mentioned being raised in the Church of England faith. I was reasonably sure the Church of England no longer existed in Australia, having changed its name to the Anglican Church of Australia, or something like that. I flipped through the passport’s pages. There wasn’t a single entry for Australia. Not only was Channing not a resident of Australia, but she had likely never been there.
I covered the passport back up and I was about to shut the suitcase and return it to its place, when I noticed a small photo album tucked into the side pocket. Printed on the cover in scrolling gold lettering were the words Wedding Album.
I removed the album carefully and flipped through it. There were several photos of castles and some foreign-looking town that I didn’t recognize but that appeared to be Germanic. There were several other photographs as well. These showed Channing and a man, locked closely together and smiling for the camera. One had clearly been taken in a municipal building and showed a smiling official, the man in a brown sports coat, and Channing, CC, dressed in a simple A-line white dress and a delicate shoulder-length veil on her head. A wedding ceremony.
I thought
I recognized that man beside her or at least his nose. If I was right, this was JJ Garfinkle.
The Garfinkles had told me that JJ had gotten married somewhere in Europe—Austria, if I remembered correctly.
I thought hard. Maybe it hadn’t been a smaller man whom I had seen fighting with a larger man. Maybe, just maybe, it had been a woman. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to picture what I’d seen that day. It might have been Channing fighting with JJ Garfinkle.
It would explain so much. Like Channing’s mentioning a woodpecker in Australia, and how she happened to be jogging by the old cemetery just as I was poking around.
Was Ross O’Sullivan her accomplice? Someone had to have helped her move the body. She couldn’t have done it alone. Unless she’d carried him in a wheelbarrow maybe . . .
Channing had been in Birds & Bees when I was talking to Chief Kennedy about digging up the goat at the cemetery. I suddenly realized she had also been present the time I’d asked what had happened to Bessie’s camera.
At the time, he hadn’t found it. But not long after my very public conversation with him, he told me he found the camera down at the lake. Why hadn’t he found it earlier?
My guess was that Channing had kept the camera for some purpose. Who knew? Maybe she intended to pawn it for a few bucks. It was an expensive-looking camera. Then Channing heard me mention to the police that it was missing. She must have decided it would be better that the camera be found than to allow its disappearance to raise questions.
Channing as the killer also explained why the body was suddenly moved. She heard me tell Jerry I’d been digging at the cemetery. Maybe she, perhaps with the collusion of Gus and Ross, decided to move JJ’s body in case I got curious again. Had Dominik been in on the murder, too? Had he goaded me into digging up the grave, knowing I’d stop once I came upon the dead goat?
Were all those men so enraptured of Channing that they’d do her every bidding? Including murder? The way Frank had agreed to murder Cora’s husband, Nick, in The Postman Always Rings Twice?
Channing Chalmers was beginning to look like a very determined and very dangerous woman. She was right downstairs.
And we were alone in the house.
I tucked the album back where I’d found it. As I did, my eyes fell on the beanie tangled up with her clothes. If there had been any doubt in my mind as to the girl’s guilt, this blew it away. One of the two people I’d seen fighting in the window that day had worn a gray beanie. I’d bet my life on it. And maybe I just had.
The skin on the back of my neck bristled. I had to get out of the house. I closed the suitcase and slid it back behind the door. I took a breath to steel my nerves, then tiptoed from the bedroom and headed for the stairs. Once outside, I’d jog to civilization and get help. I inched down the stairs, not wanting to alarm Channing.
I heard her voice drift up. “Say you have an emergency.” There was a pause. “That’s enough. Stop talking and get here. Now. I don’t know how long I can keep her from getting suspicious. She thinks I’m calling the police.”
I heard the sound of the phone being placed back on the hook and started back up the steps.
“Amy?”
I froze, my hands on the railing. “Hi, Channing.” I looked over my shoulder at her, trying desperately not to show my emotions. “Did you manage to get through to the police?”
Channing tilted her head. “I think we both know the answer to that.” She pulled her right hand from behind her back. It held a steak knife.
This was not the time for words. Looking madly about, my eyes landed on a heavy painting near where I stood, halfway up the stairs. I grabbed it and threw it down at her.
The painting crashed into her head and I scrambled up the steps as she tumbled down. Glancing left, then right, I realized I had limited options. I decided to take a gamble. I could hear Channing screaming bloody murder.
I slammed the door to Ross’s room, as loudly as I could. Then I crept behind the door to Annika and Dominik’s room and held my breath.
Channing screamed like a banshee and I heard the sound of her heavy steps as she raced upward. I didn’t dare look. I squeezed myself against the wall.
Channing threw open the door to Ross’s room and ran inside. “Aha! What?”
I eased from behind the bedroom door where I’d been hiding and took the stairs two at a time. Not a good idea. I fell and tumbled head over heels to the ground. My shoulder slammed against the floor and I cried out in pain. Looking up, I saw Channing practically flying down the stairs toward me!
What was the woman? Part witch?
I was in trouble and I knew it. There would be no cavalry to the rescue. I had to figure a way out of this myself.
I scrambled to my knees and ran blindly to the big sitting room with the fireplace at the opposite end. As Channing burst through the entryway, I gripped the iron poker from the brass stand and waved it wildly through the air.
Channing shouted. She came at me on the left and I moved to the right. Unfortunately, I didn’t move far enough. She lunged across a wingback chair and I felt the tip of the blade tug at my sweater. Channing cursed like a fishwife.
More to scare her than with any expectation of producing results, I flailed the poker wildly in the air. I didn’t know how long I’d be able to keep it up. I was already winded and in no little pain from my bounce down the stairs.
Channing lunged and I watched as the serrated blade darted toward my abdomen. I jumped and swung at her arm with every ounce of energy I had left.
I missed her arm but hit her a good shot on the shoulder. Channing cried out and tumbled. The knife flew from her hands. We both watched as it skidded across the floor.
Out of harm’s way.
Channing looked up at me, eyes filled with hatred and hurt. She shrieked and I flinched. But instead of attacking me, she scurried to her feet and ran for the door.
After watching in shock for a moment, I found myself chasing after her, and I wasn’t sure why. It definitely was not a good thing, but I couldn’t seem to help myself.
I ran out the front door, tripping over the cat that had come to see what all the commotion was. The cat yelped and took off toward the woods. Channing was out in the yard and jogging down the rutted drive.
I caught the rumble of an engine racing closer. Channing ran toward the sound. I kept running, too, but Channing was younger and faster.
A second later, the white pickup shot around the blind corner, its backend slipping out as its rear wheels fought for traction. Before I could open my mouth to shout out a warning, the pickup slammed headfirst into Channing.
The poker I’d been clinging to for life, fell to my feet as Channing’s body went hurtling a good twenty feet or more. The driver of the pickup slammed on the brakes mere yards from me.
I drew back, expecting Gus to come and finish me off. But it was Jean Rabin who flew from the pickup. He ran across the uneven ground and threw himself on Channing. “Ma bichette! Ma bichette!” Tears rolled down his cheeks.
I didn’t know what the words meant, but I knew the sentiment. Then I noticed the sound of another vehicle. I reached for the poker once more, determined to defend myself.
A small car sped noisily into the clearing and stopped inches from my feet. I closed my eyes and dropped the poker.
It was Derek.
32
“How did you find me?”
Derek smiled and pulled a pair of binoculars from the passenger seat. “Your binoculars. You left them on the window ledge. When I woke up and you weren’t there, I went looking for you in your bedroom. That’s where I found the binoculars pointed across the lake. I couldn’t help looking.” He kissed me. “And I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.”
Derek explained how he’d sensed some commotion in Ross’s room and decided to come see what I was up to. “And I’m glad I did. I figured you might be getting yourself into trouble.”
I couldn’t resist a small smile. “Trouble doesn’t begin to
describe it.” My ears perked up. “Is that police sirens I hear?”
Derek nodded. “I called them on the way. Knowing you, I had a feeling we might need them.”
I fell onto his chest and sobbed.
Derek lightly lifted my chin and looked into my eyes. “Are you okay?”
I nodded yes. He looked over his shoulder. The sounds of Jean’s distraught cries pierced the air. “I’ll be right back.” He pushed his car door open wide. “Sit. Wait for me.”
I slumped behind the wheel and watched in stunned silence as Derek crossed over to where Jean sat cradling Channing’s limp body in his arms. Derek placed two fingers on her neck and shook his head once. He patted Jean on the shoulder as Chief Kennedy came screaming up in one police car and Officers Sutton and Reynolds in another. An ambulance appeared moments later and squeezed past them.
Derek walked back to the car and rested his arms on the roof with an accompanying sigh.
My eyes were filled with tears. “Is she—”
“Yes,” Derek said, his voice heavy. “She’s dead.”
* * *
The rest of the day was a blur that included a trip to the emergency room. Derek had noticed the blood on my sweater first. I hadn’t even realized I’d been stabbed. It was really nothing more than a prick between the ribs, but he, and even Jerry, had insisted that I have it looked at. That and a few bruises.
I had a few stitches and was good as new, though the scar may stay with me the rest of my life. At least I was alive.
Derek stayed with me the entire time and drove me back to Birds & Bees in his car. He lifted me across the store’s threshold. “Shall I carry you upstairs to your bed?”
Mom cleared her throat and I blushed at the sight of her. “Please,” I whispered, “not with my mother watching.”
Derek nodded and set me down in my chair. “Hello, Mrs. Simms.”
I pressed my lips to his ear. “I’ll take a rain check.”
Kim and my mother smothered me with kisses and attention. Kim had even bought a bouquet. “Floyd and Karl called to say they’d be stopping by later, if that’s okay?” announced Kim.
