Bear Witness to Murder

by Meg Macy

  Elle gasped at Matt’s morose announcement. “Dad will help you get through this,” I said. “Our sales were nonexistent after Will’s murder, but we recovered. You will, too. Dad can loan you whatever you need to help pay rent, bills, or payroll. Families stick together.”

  “Thanks, Sash. Hey, you two little monkeys—”

  Both Matt and Elle hurried after the girls, who’d slipped between adults to get a closer look at the unveiling. The sculpture stood between the Silver Scoop and the Pretty in Pink bakery, both popular shops with visitors. Amy Evans had already removed the cotton sheet; the Bling Bear, painted bright pink, also wore a white satin gown worthy of the Oscars’ red carpet. Sparkling blue crystals had been glued to simulate a waterfall over the fabric. Everyone oohed and aahed, pointing to the blond wig styled in an updo covering the bear’s head, topped by a tiara. False eyelashes and painted red lips on the face brought more life to the sculpture.

  The artist, Zoe Fisher, balked at a photo, however, despite Dave Fox’s persuasive hints. He finally posed a group of children with the Bling Bear instead. Celia and Cara hammed it up, posing to show off their unicorn shirts, sparkly bracelets, and teddy bears.

  “That design is so cool, Zoe,” Maddie said. “I thought you were covering the bear itself with crystals. Kip told me you glued a heart shape on the chest.”

  She nodded. “I did, but the rhinestones kept falling off. Hot glue wasn’t gonna cut it. That’s why I used the dress, but it’s so heavy! I never thought I’d get it over the bear’s head. It took three of us to manage.”

  “I love the wig. And congratulations,” I said. Zoe thanked me and turned to another admirer who had a question.

  After Maddie, Jay, and I examined the sculpture from all angles, we made our way west on Kermit Street to Main. Past La Mesa, the crowd threaded through the small patch of birch trees to reach Theodore Lane. Jay eyed the weathered picnic table and crumbling cement.

  “Didn’t the council want to open this street up to through traffic?” he asked. “Now that there’s a restaurant, it might help. Two of them, if you count the tea room.”

  “Yeah, I wish they would. An easy fix, too,” I said. “People wouldn’t have to turn around and drive back to Kermit Street.”

  “Wasn’t this restaurant a former carriage house?”

  Maddie nodded. “Dad tripled ours in size to make the factory when he renovated. Flambé was rebuilt from the foundation last winter and opened in early May.”

  The restaurant’s floor-to-ceiling windows faced the street. Brazilian cherry hardwood covered the floors, reflecting light from the Tiffany-style chandeliers. A French-Canadian chef, Christophe Benoit, had established a menu based on Provençal cooking. Despite its small size, the restaurant proved a big success. My family had dined there recently, and everyone loved the food. I’d enjoyed the fresh flatbread studded with olives most of all, plus the array of honey and pear tarts, chocolate ganache macarons, and butter cookies.

  Amy Evans stood chatting with Benoit now along with his sous chef, Gus Antonini. Both men had muscular builds, dark curly hair, and mustaches. Benoit’s aquiline features set him apart from Antonini, however. Cissy Davison parked her car on the street; four-inch heels clattering, she rushed to join her fiancé. She looked like a movie starlet in a sexy black dress and a wide-brimmed beribboned hat.

  “—need a bigger parking lot,” Benoit was saying, “especially now that the tea room is near. They close at three. We open at four, so there’s not much overlap.”

  Holly Parker appeared at his elbow and poked up her glasses. “I heard the Queen Bess’s owners will offer Sunday brunch. That’s gonna cut into your business.”

  His left eyebrow raised an inch. “That is news, indeed.”

  “Can’t be true,” Gus Antonini said with a frown. “I spoke to Arthur Wentworth three or four days ago. He never mentioned hosting a Sunday brunch.”

  “They’re booked solid for a month,” Maddie said. “I doubt they’ll want to open on a Sunday, since they’re so busy the rest of the week.”

  “Booked solid?” Holly scoffed. “I doubt that.”

  “You’re wrong. You shouldn’t spread rumors—”

  “The waitress told me that today,” she interrupted my sister. “You’d think one of their employees would know the latest plans. Not some neighbor selling teddy bears.”

  “Okay, ladies, chill.” Amy Evans raised her voice. “We’re ready to unveil our last sculpture in the Bears on Parade.”

  “Minus the Hippie Bear,” Maddie muttered under her breath.

  “The artist who came up with the original design could not clear his schedule to undertake the work. Zoe Fisher, who had already undertaken the Bling Bear, was gracious enough to help at the last minute. The Maître D’Bear signifies service and hospitality.”

  Amy signaled Gus, who pulled the cotton cover with a snap of his wrist. Dressed in a black tux and tie, the bear had painted dark hair and a tiny mustache; a silver tray balanced on one paw, and a white towel was draped over one arm. The bear’s feet had also been painted to resemble shiny black shoes complete with laces and white reflections. Everyone clapped, and Zoe gave a little bow before she stepped back. She refused to be photographed again.

  “It’s wonderful,” Maddie said. “Congrats, Zoe!”

  Dave Fox posed the two chefs in front of the bear for a camera shot. Cissy draped herself along one side, mugging as a sultry vixen. Holly snorted in disgust.

  “Talk about stealing the spotlight, when it’s all about the bear.”

  I ignored her and turned to Jay. “I’d like to see more of Zoe’s work. She’s so talented.”

  “The gallery’s listed in the Bears on Parade flyer,” Maddie said. “Zoe started working on this bear first, thinking it would be easier, but those shoes took a whole week to paint. Those reflections are tough to get right.”

  “Wow, two bears,” I said. “That’s a lot of work.”

  “Mayor Bloom’s her uncle,” Holly said with a smirk. “That’s why they asked her. No other artists are related to any of the committee members.”

  I changed the subject. “Have you found anyone to replace Gina?”

  “No. But Flynn Hanson replaced her.” Her acidic tone stung. “Fast work, dumping Gina, and then dating a television weather girl.”

  “A weather forecaster,” Maddie shot back.

  “What do you know? That Polka Bear was so lame, I’m not surprised someone cut a strap on that accordion,” Holly said, her eyes gleaming. “Bet you think I did it, Sasha.”

  “Did you?”

  “I don’t care if she did.” Maddie turned her back on Holly. “Jay, are you really going to Kip’s to see if his bear’s ready?”

  “Yep, planning on it. Come on, let’s go.”

  Jay, Maddie, and I skirted the crowd and walked toward the Silver Bear Shop & Factory. I kept quiet, listening to them chat about the hard work they did for their bears, and breathed a sigh of relief once we reached our driveway.

  “What is with Holly Parker?” Maddie suddenly asked. “It’s not enough to bad-mouth Zoe, so then she starts in on Flynn!”

  “I only hope Cheryl keeps him out of my hair,” I said.

  Jay slid an arm around my waist. “I have to agree. How about we meet at Ham Heaven tomorrow, after Kip and I deliver the bear. I’ll text you.”

  “That sounds good. They close at eight, remember.”

  He kissed me and headed to his truck, parked by the bank. Maddie tugged my sleeve; we both watched Holly speed-walk in the direction of her shop. Head down, arms pumping, she let the door slam behind her. My sister dissolved in giggles.

  “Too funny. She looked like the Red Queen, didn’t she?”

  “Never mind her.” Once I let Rosie out, I pushed Maddie onto the porch swing and sank beside her on the padded seat. “I hope you won’t shoot the messenger, but I’d better tell you what Cissy Davison said. About Kip.”

  Maddie listened, eyes widening, while I exp
lained everything. She let out an audible “huh” before lapsing into silence. The swing creaked back and forth while I waited her out.

  “I figured you might want to know,” I finally said. “I’m sorry. I really like Kip—”

  “Yeah, I know. So do I.” She squeezed my arm. “The red flags were there, in plain sight. Maybe I’ve known all along that something was wrong, but couldn’t put a finger on it.”

  “You need to give him a chance to explain. All that information was unsettling, and some of it might not be true.”

  “Yeah. I don’t know if I should drop all this on him tonight, though,” Maddie said, and stood. “But I’m dying to know if that’s why he can’t finish the Hippie Bear. Plus I’ve got to make sure that Jay succeeds. Abby’s my friend. She’s counting on that sculpture, and so is everyone who contributed to the GoFundMe account.”

  My sister stooped to plant a kiss on Rosie’s muzzle and then headed to her car. Squinting against the last rays of sunlight, I watched her drive to the corner of Kermit Street. A solitary bicyclist pedaled, chain clanking, across Theodore Lane. Once Maddie’s car vanished, I headed inside for a late supper. Crackers and string cheese, since we had yet to do a grocery run. Rosie wolfed her kibble and then watched my every bite. I held up a sliver of mozzarella.

  Rosie sat up, paws waving. “Aww! Here you go, baby.”

  She scarfed it down. I switched the TV on for a Monk rerun, loving his idiosyncrasies, from even numbers to phobias, and the little details he picked up that seemed oblivious to everyone else. That reminded me of something. About Gina.

  Before I could wrestle with that, my cell’s ringtone jangled with the Peanuts theme. Uh-oh. “Hey, Mads. Everything okay?”

  “It’s gone!” My sister sobbed, hysterical, and gasped for breath.

  “What’s gone? What do you mean—Kip’s bear?”

  She garbled something I couldn’t make out and then hung up. Another call beeped on my phone. Maddie’s phone must have lost the signal and she’d redialed. But instead, Mary Kate’s voice blared in my ear.

  “Sasha? You’d better get over here to Fresh Grounds.”

  Chapter 21

  What was going on? Mary Kate hung up before I could reply. My worries shot into overdrive. I glanced at Rosie, who was calmly chowing down the rest of my crackers and cheese. Onyx meowed, arching her back, her silky black fur all aquiver.

  “Oops.”

  I dumped a can of wet food onto a plate for her and raced out to the parking lot. Rushed back to snatch my car keys from the ceramic dish by the door. Then I drove, tires squealing, all the way to Main Street. Stomped the brakes in front of The Birdcage. The vintage lamppost’s globe was broken. When had that happened? Shadows stretched everywhere except around the bright lantern Mary Kate held in her hand.

  “Where’s Mads?” I asked.

  “Inside, with Garrett. Take a look at what she found.”

  No wonder Maddie had lost it. I stared in horror at what was left of the Polka Bear. The accordion lay on the ground, keyboard smashed, taped straps still attached to its broken paws. Parts of the bear’s head, the arms, torso, and legs were scattered on the sidewalk, between the building and the street’s curb, the fiberglass pieces shiny with brightly colored polka dots. The base remained intact with jagged bits of the bear’s feet.

  “We already called the police.” Mary Kate’s apron had streaks of white flour across the black fabric. She pushed a strand of her reddish blond hair behind one ear. “I was in the kitchen prepping for tomorrow’s bread. I had the music on loud, so I didn’t hear anything.”

  “I wonder how they—”

  A squad car screeched to a halt across the street. Officer Hillerman climbed out, the radio microphone in his hand, answering the dispatcher. Officer Adam Shook, the village fire chief’s son, stalked over to the smashed bear.

  “What the hell?” he said. “I knew fiberglass cracked easily, but this is totally smashed.”

  “That’s why we called.” Mary Kate moved the high-beam lantern closer. “I hope you can figure out who did this, and if someone saw or heard them.”

  “We’ll try, ma’am,” Officer Shook said, and started searching the area.

  Mary Kate eyed me, mouth open in shock. “‘Ma’am,’” she hissed. “I feel eighty all of a sudden. We can’t be that much older than him.”

  “At least six years.”

  Hillerman brought a camera from the squad car and snapped photos of the damage. Too restless to stand idle, I crossed the street and examined the Starry Night Bear in front of the Time Turner. It looked untouched, its white stars dim. I crossed back and searched the cement around the flower shop, the hair salon, The Cat’s Cradle, and Fresh Grounds. Nothing caught my eye. Heartsick, I fetched a flashlight from my car and started over.

  “Damn. Something’s gotta be here.”

  I circled around the row of shops to the parking lot where I’d found Gina’s body. The crime scene tape was long gone, and none of the lamps here had been smashed; pools of light illuminated the rough gravel. I searched behind each shop, wondering why the local police hadn’t conducted regular patrols of all the bear sculptures. But Silver Hollow didn’t have the same level of crime as larger towns, though. And the cops had enough to do.

  At the corner of Archibald and Main, I spied a trash can. I inched my way forward, checking the sidewalk, and then glanced inside to view the contents.

  “Jackpot.”

  Using a scrap of corduroy fabric I’d tucked inside my purse, a sample of what we had bought for the prize bear’s lederhosen, I retrieved a long metal pipe that had been tossed into the trash can. Marked with several scrapes and dents, too.

  Then I flagged down Officer Hillerman. “Over here! And look at this.” I pointed to a crumpled pair of latex gloves on the ground. “I hope there’s fingerprints on the pipe, even if they used those gloves. Or maybe there’s skin cells or a hair left inside.”

  “Probably not, but thanks,” he said. “Our lab isn’t that technical anyway, like on TV. Too bad we didn’t get a photo of the pipe inside the barrel.”

  I bristled at his subtle reprimand, but let it go. Hillerman took the metal piece over to Officer Shook, who whistled low. They conferred for a few minutes, heads together; I marched into Fresh Grounds, not willing to wait. Garrett mopped the floor in back. The scent of bleach almost overpowered me, but I held my breath until I could tolerate it. Muted music played overhead. It seemed odd being in here without the usual fragrances of coffee and pastries.

  No crowd, either, except for Maddie, Mary Kate, plus Abby and Amanda Pozniak, who all gathered at a back table. Amanda pulled out another chair for me. My sister let out a long breath, shuddering a little. I felt horrible for her.

  “I’m so sorry, Mads. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Yeah, this sucks.” She sniffed. “It’s art. I mean, I know kids can be mischievous, but they took it way beyond that.”

  “Malice, pure and simple,” Abby said. “They waited for the right time, when all of the shops were closed. Broke the streetlamp, too. Probably didn’t know Mary Kate was in here, too, but that was pure luck.”

  “But why?” Maddie kept shaking her head. “Why my bear?”

  “The police will find out,” I said. “I found a pipe they must have used—”

  “Hey, we heard some loud bangs earlier,” Amanda cut in, and nudged her sister. “We thought a truck backfired on the street, remember. I peeked outside to see if a delivery truck had left something at Mary’s Flowers, or The Birdcage.”

  “We didn’t see anything, though,” Abby said. “The noise had stopped by then.”

  “Did you happen to see someone on a bicycle?” I asked.

  “I did, yeah. Out the front window, after we checked the back door. We saw him ride past on the street. And about five or ten minutes later, Maddie called us over here.”

  “Damn. I might have seen that guy, too,” I muttered to myself. “We’ll have to wait and see if the
cops find any evidence.”

  Maddie wiped her eyes and sniffed. “I can’t redo the Polka Bear, it’s too late. Completely worthless. All that money wasted, too.”

  Both police officers entered the shop. “We have a few questions for you, Ms. Silverman,” Hillerman said. “And your friends, of course, but let’s start with what time you arrived, and what you saw first. Take your time.”

  They all took turns answering, while Hillerman wrote the information. Officer Shook questioned Garrett in the kitchen. My mind kept returning to the bicycle. Jay’s sister had seen someone skulking around the Jack Pine Bear before riding away. Could it have been the same person? What if he’d smashed the Polka Bear, hopped on his bike, and tossed the pipe in the trash? Then rode around to Church Street, where Abby saw him through her shop window, and down Kermit. Crossing the road where Maddie waited in her car.

  I’d seen him, too. Or was it a woman?

  I kicked myself for not watching where the cyclist had gone next. Why would a teen have targeted only Maddie’s bear? They could have damaged multiple bears around the village. But Holly Parker had good reason to take revenge.

  “Did you check all the other bears?” I interrupted Hillerman, who shrugged, and then turned to Abby. “Can you describe the person you saw on the bicycle?”

  “Sure.” She laced her fingers together. “Dark coat. Jeans. White sneakers, I think. They caught the light, that’s why I noticed. And a hat. Baseball cap.”

  “Man or woman?”

  Abby shrugged. “Could have been either, I guess.”

  “Wearing glasses?” I asked.

  She closed her eyes, clearly concentrating. “I couldn’t tell. Head was down, and he or she rode fast along the street.”

  “What bicyclist?” Hillerman waited, his notebook ready.

  “The one who probably smashed my sister’s bear,” I said. “Even if he or she’s innocent, they were around, close enough, when it did happen. So they might be a witness.”