by Meg Macy
I also swallowed two aspirin, hoping it would ease the throbbing at my temples and near the back of my head. And behind my eyes. Ugh.
“Oh! You look—nice.”
Maddie had stopped cold in the hallway. Her slinky taupe coat covered a classic little black dress, worn with an eighteen-karat-gold rope necklace, tottering black heels, and a black clutch. Silent, she smoothed a stray wisp of her dark hair and led the way to the car. I could tell she wasn’t happy with my outfit choice. We were running late, though, and I didn’t want to change. But I insisted on driving, despite the fog of pain blurring my vision.
Not a great start to an evening of fun.
Maddie didn’t say a word even when I stopped in front of the hotel. “Go ahead inside and I’ll park in the back lot.”
My sister slammed the door, which confirmed her mood. Sighing, I found a spot behind Fresh Grounds. Scrabbled in my purse for an allergy pill and came up empty. That aspirin wasn’t doing anything. My whole face throbbed. I knew I wouldn’t last long tonight.
When I caught sight of Jay Kirby in the hotel lobby, clad in a snazzy dark suit, my heart sank to my shoes. Not that he didn’t look great clean-shaven, with his unruly light brown hair slicked back. His wild tie made me smile, though. I recognized the Tasmanian Devil cartoon character holding carpentry tools—what a fun pattern. Although his citrus aftershave was subtle, my eyes burned.
I forced a smile. “Um, sorry about this. Maddie didn’t exactly give me much warning about dinner,” I said. “She wouldn’t take no for an answer about coming tonight.”
“Kip railroaded me, too.” Jay winked. “Food’s good here, even though I’d prefer a burger at the pub. Or a Ham Heaven sandwich. Maybe we can do that some other time. I’d like to show you my studio, if you want to see my carvings.”
“I would, thanks. We’d better go in.”
Jay escorted me into the hotel’s dimly lit dining room with its mahogany tables and tan leather barrel chairs. Very few diners wore casual wear. I felt awkward and out of place. Being a Saturday night, and with so many other women dressed to the nines, I should have turned around and left. Feeling self-conscious, I sat on the chair Jay pulled out for me. Maddie squeezed my hand. That helped. Maybe she wasn’t mad after all.
“Hey, Sasha,” Kip O’Sullivan said with a welcoming smile. “Glad you joined us. I heard the party was a big success.”
“Yeah, but I have a killer headache,” I said. “Sorry I won’t be much company.”
Jay touched my arm. “You’re great company.”
Maddie looked fabulous, complementing Jay in elegance, while I matched Kip’s casual garb of a denim jacket, jeans, and a golf T-shirt. He sported stubble on his jaw as well, which lent him a boyish air. Kip grinned at the waiter.
“Let’s start with your best champagne. We’re celebrating,” he said, although Maddie protested. “Jay’s sign is a knockout, and our sculptures will be, too.”
“But we don’t need a fifty-dollar bottle of champagne.” Despite his objection, she insisted on a less expensive Brut. “Once we finish our bears, we can splurge.”
“Did you two find an accordion for the Polka Bear?” I asked.
“We did! Score—only forty bucks at a Salvation Army store.” Kip leaned back in his chair, clearly pleased. “I say we duct-tape the straps onto your bear’s paws.”
“You can’t be serious.” Maddie groaned. “That’s bound to look silly.”
“It’s stronger than anything. Paint it and nobody will notice, trust me.”
“At least it works,” Jay said with a grin. “The accordion, that is.”
“I’ll figure out later how to attach it to the bear.” Maddie thanked the waiter who finished filling the last flute. “Okay, how about a toast?”
“To the Polka Bear,” Kip said. “May it stand long and prosper.”
“And to the Hippie Bear,” she added with a smile. “You really need to finish the paint job, though. I know it isn’t easy making it look tie-dyed, but get it done.”
“Jay hasn’t even started his,” Kip said.
“I have, too. Got the bear and the paint. Just need to finish a carving that’s due.”
“Never mind,” Maddie said. “We’ll all get them done on time. Right?”
They clinked their glasses, which sent spikes of pain into my face. While I was glad for the progress on their sculptures, I could only manage a sip and then set my flute down. “Where will your bear be set up, Mads? Remind me.”
“Near Fresh Grounds,” she said. “I hope Garrett and his staff won’t complain about shoveling the sidewalk by hand. The snowplow might not be able to squeeze in between the bear and the shop. Remember those huge Christmas lantern barrels a few years ago?”
“Oh yeah.” Jay laughed. “Remember how one barrel turned over?”
“And sparks set the poinsettias on fire in front of the flower shop. Mayor Bloom stomped them out before it spread. Good thing he happened to be there,” my sister added.
“I heard the owner of Flambé sponsored a bear.” I rubbed the bridge of my nose, aware of a nearby woman’s overpowering perfume that wafted my way. “What about Holly Parker? I’m curious if she’ll have one displayed in front of Through the Looking Glass.”
Kip choked on champagne and coughed hard. “God, I hope not. She doesn’t care about the arts. It’s criminal how she came here to compete against your shop.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I said.
A waitress suddenly appeared. “Is everyone ready to order?”
Maddie chose broiled salmon, while Kip asked for prime rib. When I decided on the lake perch, Jay ordered the same but with mashed, not red potatoes. Over the salad course, the three of them bantered about the Oktobear Fest, volunteer problems, and Amy Evans’s frustrations. Once the fish arrived, I struggled to hide my discomfort. Every burst of laughter in the room sent blistering pain through my head. I couldn’t eat much.
“—our next trip up north,” Kip was saying. “Last year you caught the biggest walleye, an eighteen pounder. We’ll have to go back to that spot again.”
“Actually, I’d like to try Long Lake this year,” Jay said.
“Too many other fishermen, in my opinion. It’s Garrett’s turn to choose, remember. Hope he doesn’t want to go up to Lake Gogebic. Too rustic for me.” Kip pushed away his plate. “Not that I need a fancy cabin, but that one time, a black bear visited our campsite! Digger made it worse when he left out his stupid potato chips on the picnic table.”
“What? He only wanted a snack.”
“Him and his junk food. Bears can smell seven times better than dogs. I’ve told him a hundred times to leave all that stuff at home. I swear, we’d all have been dragged out as a main course if not for Matt waving an ax and then spraying that bear. Saved our hides.”
Jay laughed. “I had an air horn, too.”
“About as loud as your snores—”
Despite joining in the fun, Maddie glanced at me several times in concern. The guys kept trading good-natured insults for what seemed like hours, given my discomfort. I pushed my plate aside. Jay finally touched my arm, looking concerned.
“Are you okay, Sasha?”
“Bad migraine.” I rose to my feet. “Sorry, but I need to call it a night.”
“That’s too bad,” Kip said. “Can’t you take an aspirin or two?”
“Let her go,” Maddie said in my defense. “It’s been a long day for us both.”
“You’ve been so nice, Jay,” I said. “I’m sorry to ruin the evening.”
“No need to apologize. But I’m walking you to your car.” He led me through the now crowded restaurant. I swayed a little on my feet, eyes half-closed against the bright streetlamps outside. Jay noticed and pulled me in the opposite direction instead. “I’m driving you home. My sister Lauren suffers from bad migraines, so I totally understand. Ends up in the hospital if she doesn’t get meds in time.”
“But my car—”
“
Fetch it tomorrow. This way you’ll get home sooner. And safer.”
“I’ll be okay,” I said, but glaring headlights speared my eyes. “Ow! Oh.”
Jay slid an arm around me. “Come on, we’re nearly there.” Soon he boosted me to the passenger seat in his truck. I kept my eyes closed while he drove. Jay walked me to the porch, unlocked the door, and then planted a light kiss on my hair. “You need a dark room and some sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“Thanks.” I stumbled into the kitchen. Rosie emerged from her crate with a few sharp barks. “Shh! Please, sweetie. Jay’s gone already.”
She must have sensed my pain. Rosie nudged my leg and stayed by my side, patiently waiting, while waves of nausea threatened. I groped inside the kitchen cabinet for prescription meds, took a dose with water, heated the microbead wrap, and slung it around my neck. Once Rosie returned from a last trip outside, we headed to bed. I stripped and crawled under the covers, grateful that Rosie cuddled behind my back. Her warmth was a comfort. I rode out the worst of the pain until sleep overtook me.
The next morning, I rolled over and checked the clock. Almost seven? A miracle for me to wake that early, although it had to be long before ten last night when I crashed. Rosie didn’t budge, so I padded to the bathroom. I looked terrible; puffy eyes, my hair sprouting in all ways, but at least the migraine had receded. I splashed cold water on my face and brushed the tangles out of my hair. Rosie, who was far worse about mornings, stretched and yawned. After donning jeans, a light sweatshirt, and sneakers, I lifted her off the bed.
“Lazybones. Come on, outside with you.”
Together we tiptoed past Maddie’s suite, where I could hear her light snores. Thick fog swirled beyond the kitchen windows, but Rosie didn’t mind. She vanished into the grayness a few feet beyond the porch railing. I blinked in confusion, peering at the empty spot where my car usually stood on the driveway. Dang. I’d forgotten about leaving it behind Fresh Grounds.
“At least Rosie won’t mind a walk.”
First I filled her bowl with kibble and then raided the fridge for a glass of orange juice. The thought of muffins at Fresh Grounds made my stomach growl, but I couldn’t wait that long. A toasted bagel slathered with peanut butter was my breakfast go-to when short on time. Rosie dragged her leash across the tile, so I fetched a doggie doo-doo bag and buckled her harness. She wriggled in excitement. At last we left the house, careful due to the fog.
The village clock struck the half hour while we walked down Theodore Lane. I heard a car’s rumbling muffler ahead of us, probably on Kermit, and hurried past Holly’s corner shop. Once across the street, Rosie led the way to the Sunshine Café; the fog parted, showing Uncle Ross’s vintage pale blue Oldsmobile parked at the curb. He always drove the car in the village Memorial Day and Labor Day parades, chock-full of teddy bears, but never offered anyone a ride if he could help it. My uncle cussed a blue streak if any speck of dirt marred the leather seats, and he routinely checked the polished fenders for any scratches or nicks.
I caught sight of his grizzled beard and cap through the window. Mayor Bloom sat with him at the counter. Dad and Gil Thompson usually joined them for coffee and the café’s popular French toast, but they hadn’t yet returned from up north.
Past the half-hidden brick library, I cut through a stretch of blacktop to Church Street. It wasn’t easy navigating in the denser fog. Rosie nosed her way through the narrow alley between Abby Pozniak’s antique shop and Blake’s Pharmacy until we emerged into the mist-covered graveled parking lot. Shadowy forms that loomed in our path turned out to be parked cars, a Dumpster, and a mailbox. I stepped cautiously over the stones.
“Ouch!” I’d hit my shoulder on a lamppost that appeared beside me. I peered at each parked car in the uneven lot. At last I found mine and unlocked the door. Rosie’s whining suddenly turned into loud barks. That meant trouble.
“What is it, girl?” She wouldn’t budge, so I followed the leash hand over hand.
I found Rosie guarding an inert form on the ground, right beside a blue MINI Cooper. Was it Holly Parker? My heart jumped into my throat. The jacket’s hood covered her head. I stood gaping, frozen in place. My brain couldn’t register for several minutes. Letters sparkled in the dim light on the hoodie’s pale pink fabric. THINK, that was clear enough to read, but PINK was darkened by a mottled brown stain.
So was the knife hilt embedded in her back.
Chapter 6
I sat inside my car, still trembling. Rosie whined beside me. “Sorry, girl. You’ll have to wait for breakfast. We can’t go home yet.”
Panicking, I dialed Mary Kate’s number for the second time. No answer again. She might be getting ready for church, or taking a shower, or walking their dog—her one chance for fresh air and exercise. Maybe I should knock on the back door of Fresh Grounds. The weekend staff must be inside, although the music they played while getting ready to open would probably drown out any sound unless I pounded on the door. My hands still shook. I dialed Garrett’s cell number instead, and felt better at the sound of his voice.
I blurted out what had happened in a rush of words. “Yeah, called 9-1-1 already—”
“Sasha, listen to me—don’t touch anything. I’ll be right there.”
He hung up. I didn’t get a chance to tell him the police had arrived, lights flashing, but without sirens. Thank goodness. My teeth chattered, more from shock than the chilly air. Once I’d cracked open a few windows for Rosie, I met Officer Bill Hillerman in the lot. Digger Sykes joined us, his patrol car blocking access to the street; his navy uniform looked wrinkled, and keys jangled with every step. At barely five-six, he always made me feel Amazonian.
“Figures you’d call this in.” Digger smirked. “Where’s Maddie?”
“Probably in the shower by now,” I said, since the village clock struck eight.
“Sykes, get the crime scene tape.” Hillerman directed the younger man to stretch the yellow barrier tape around the parking lot’s perimeter, and then walked me over to Holly’s body with a long sigh. “Explain in your own words how you came to be here. Keep it simple and straightforward. Take your time.”
I drew a deep breath, steadying my nerves, and then plunged into how I’d needed to retrieve my car. “—left it here last night. I usually take a walk with my dog. It’s so foggy this morning, though. I didn’t see the—this. Not at first. I mean the body,” I added, keeping my eyes averted. “Holly Parker. She opened Through the Looking Glass not that long ago, the toy and bookstore. At the corner of Kermit and Theodore.”
Wan sunlight cut through the lingering wisps of fog, which increased visibility. While Hillerman jotted in his notebook, Digger sauntered toward the body and then knelt. I stared in shock when he reached for the knife hilt.
“Hey, is he supposed to touch that?”
“No disturbing the crime scene, Sykes,” Hillerman barked. “You know better than that. By the way, I called the County Sheriff for assistance.”
Digger scrambled to his feet. “Why? We don’t need help. I stood right next to Detective Mason at that press conference last month, and he took all the credit for solving Will Taylor’s murder. I know as much as he does about how to conduct an investigation.”
“I doubt that. You just trampled any footprints.”
“Sasha already did that.”
Hillerman ignored him. “What time did you find the victim, Ms. Silverman?”
“Sometime after seven thirty. I think.”
I watched Digger amble around the lot with restless energy. Hillerman asked several more questions and wrote up everything I said. By the time he finished, a small crowd stood gawking and whispering. Garrett Thompson shoved past Digger Sykes with a sharp word and hurried to my side along with Mary Kate; she draped a light blanket over me and pressed a cardboard cup into my hand. Garrett opened my car’s door, grabbed Rosie’s leash, and then hand-fed her some kibble from a plastic bag.
“We had to drop the baby off at Elle’s
before we could come,” Mary Kate whispered in my ear. “I knew you’d need your favorite Mint Mocha espresso, too.”
“Mmm.” I sipped, grateful for it and my friends’ presence in the face of another tragedy. Murder, for the second time. I shivered hard.
“Did you call Maddie?” she asked.
“I meant to, but then the police arrived.”
“I’ll call her. Garrett, check on staff at the shop,” Mary Kate added, and then opened her cell phone. “Make sure to bring the officers some coffee, too.”
He departed with a nod while Hillerman returned to his patrol car. Digger approached me, wary, an odd gleam in his eyes. “Second time you found a dead body, Sash. This proves you’re a magnet.”
“That’s not fair—”
“Officer Sykes!”
Hillerman beckoned him over. I didn’t appreciate the way Digger spread gossip around the village, about me or anyone else. More cars arrived. I was relieved seeing the familiar SUV from the County Sheriff ’s Department and the burly figure of Detective Mason. Not in uniform, but in a Tigers jacket over jeans and a T-shirt, his light brown hair mussed. He never failed to remind me of an overgrown teddy bear wearing wire-rimmed glasses and carrying a cardboard coffee cup in hand. But he wasn’t always warm and fuzzy in his manner.
The detective ignored my halfhearted wave and headed straight for Hillerman and Sykes, who were talking to a rotund man in a golf shirt and twill pants. His light jacket read DEPUTY MEDICAL EXAMINER on the back. Technicians swarmed out of another SUV; one donned latex gloves and snapped photographs of the scene from multiple angles. Two others searched the ground in silence. The onlookers near the alley chatted louder. More people joined them.
At last Detective Mason walked my way, his notebook open, a pencil in his fingers. “Ms. Silverman. We meet again.”
“Detective. Too soon, in my opinion.”
“I have to agree.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “You reported the victim as Holly Parker, is that correct? When did you see her last?”
