Evanee sucked in her breath and flew across the shop to the other side. He was at the back door!
“Ms. Woods,” said Lane Dawson, his voice completely clear now. He was inside her building!
Evanee sank to the floor next to a display of jam jars and hoped he hadn’t seen or heard her.
Whitley rushed over to her side. “You didn’t lock the back door?”
Evanee held a finger to her lips. Her heart throbbed inside her chest and pulsed in her ears making it next to impossible to hear any sounds that Lane was making. She should’ve called the police!
“Ms. Woods! I need to have a word with you.”
“Go away!” hollered Evanee. She was pretty sure she hadn’t been this scared in her entire life. “I’ve already called the police. They’ll be here any second.”
“What I have to say will only take a second. And you can come out. I’m not going to hurt you!”
“Breaking and entering is a crime, you know,” she snapped.
“It’s not breaking and entering when you left your back door unlocked.”
Evanee frowned. She had no idea if that was true or if he was making it up. “W-well, then it’s trespassing at the very least.”
“Fine, then I’m trespassing. My apologies, now come on out so we can have a conversation like rational adults.”
Evanee’s spine stiffened. He was completely ridiculous. “Rational adults!” she bellowed as she jumped to her feet. She could see him now. The moonlight streamed in from a window, casting a spotlight on his curly blond hair. “You obviously aren’t a rational anything. Breaking into my shop? Scaring the living daylights out of me? What kind of a man does that to a single woman living alone?”
Lane opened his mouth to speak and then suddenly snapped it closed, exhaling a breath through his nose. “Crap, you’re right,” he grunted. “Well, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Well, you did!” Evanee hollered at him.
He grunted. “I wasn’t thinking clearly. I just—”
“Obviously you weren’t thinking clearly,” Evanee cut in. “Now you need to leave!” She pointed at the door behind him, where her bonfire still burned out on her patio.
Lane walked to the back door and then turned around. “Look. Can I please have a word with you outside? I promise I won’t come back in. It won’t take long. If you called the police, I’m sure I’ll be leaving with them when they get here.”
Evanee sighed. She didn’t want to go out there with him, but she also was curious about what he had to say. Because, after all, she’d committed to working to solve his mother’s murder. “I’ll give you one minute to explain yourself, and then I’m going inside!”
“Fine,” he said through clenched teeth. He went outside and walked around to the other side of the fire.
Slowly, Evanee followed him out. She glanced over at Whitley, who was watching her with big eyes. She was trying to signal to her to go upstairs and see if between her and Esmerelda, they couldn’t somehow signal the police with her phone. But Whitley didn’t seem to get the message telekinetically. With her hands on her hips, trying to look tougher than she felt, Evanee stood in the doorway, tapping her foot and looking out across her fire at him.
“What do you want, Mr. Dawson?”
“I wanna know why you felt it was your place to question my father about my mother’s death.”
Evanee’s jaw hung open. She let out a little guttural sound from the back of her throat. “Uh!” Her brow furrowed. “I didn’t question your father about your mother’s death!”
“Bull!”
“I didn’t!” she countered angrily. “I simply asked him why he quit firefighting! I didn’t say a single thing about your mother’s death!”
“You might not have said a thing about it, but you implied it. You think just because we’re farmers, we aren’t intelligent enough to know when someone’s digging for information or sticking their nose in where it don’t belong?”
“I never said you weren’t intelli—”
“Because we know! We’ve been dealing with people like you for the last thirty-five years. But those people were actual residents. They were here when it all went down. They knew my mother or they knew my father, and because of that they think they know what really happened and they think knowing them gives them a legitimate reason to get involved, but it doesn’t!” He shook his head. “And I don’t know why, but I’ve always expected better out of the flatlanders ’round here. I always figured it wouldn’t be any of their business what happened to a woman in this town over thirty-five years ago. But then here you go, trying to prove that assumption wrong.”
Evanee’s heart sunk. She’d reopened an old wound. The fact of the matter was, she felt bad for Lane growing up without a mother. And if his father was innocent, she felt bad for him too. Having to live his life where the whole town thought he was guilty couldn’t have been easy. And now here she was, causing them both pain all over again. She wanted to disappear into a black hole.
“I’m sorry, Lane,” she whispered. “I wasn’t trying to be nosy like that.”
“Of course you were,” he sneered. “Women are always nosy like that.”
“I’m not,” she promised. “I swear. It’s just that…”
“Just that what?”
“I heard about her death yesterday,” she admitted. “An old woman in town that knew your mother told me about her. They were close, I guess.”
“And so you decided to go after my dad and make him feel judged all over again? You don’t think he feels judged enough even after all of these years!”
Evanee held a hand up and took several steps across the patio to stand behind her little love seat. “I didn’t mean to make him feel judged. I’m sorry for that, I really am. You can tell him I said that. I tried to tell him myself, but he didn’t believe me…”
“Of course he didn’t. We know what the townspeople all believe. It’s all bull!”
“Lane! Will you just listen to me for a minute? You came to hear what I had to say for myself, and I’m trying to tell you. But I can’t talk if you keep cutting me off!” she snapped.
Lane’s mouth opened up and then promptly snapped shut again. He swept his hand in her direction as if to say, Go ahead.
“Thank you.” She nodded. “As I was saying. I heard about your mother today, and my heart went out to her. And to you,” she whispered. “The old woman who told me explained that her case was still unsolved. She did tell me that many in town think your father was the one who set the fire.”
Lane’s finger shot out towards Evanee. “He wasn’t!”
She held her arms out to settle him down and remind him that she had the floor. “Yes, I’m sure that’s what you believe.”
“It’s not what I—”
“I’m not saying that you’re right or wrong,” she interjected. “I’m just saying that’s your version and the town might have another version. I wasn’t trying to place blame or judgment on your father. The fact of the matter is, if he’s innocent and has been blamed all these years for a murder he didn’t in fact commit, then I feel horrible for him. That’s no way to live your life! And if that’s how you grew up for the last thirty some odd years, I feel bad for you too!”
“We don’t need your pity, Ms. Woods.”
“This isn’t about pity, Lane. This is about what’s right and wrong. Now, I don’t know much about mystery solving or detective work or cold cases, but I have this need to solve this case for your family.”
He let out a bitter laugh. “Solve this case for my family? What gives you the right to get involved in something you don’t know the first thing about?”
Evanee shrugged. She couldn’t very well tell him that a talking cat and a woman who had popped out of a snow globe were what had made her want to get involved. “Can you wait right there for a second?”
“We’re not done with this conversation.”
“I know, I know. I just want to show you
something. Wait right there?”
The fire between them crackled and popped, sending sparks of fiery flakes into the air. Reluctantly, Lane nodded.
Evanee rushed inside her shop and over to the counter, where the dress Priscilla Pankhurst had sewn for Lane’s mother still hung. She took hold of the hanger and rushed back to the back door. She held it up for Lane to see.
He pointed at it. “You want me to look at your party dress?”
“It’s not my party dress,” said Evanee. “At least, not originally. Originally it was your mother’s party dress.”
Lane’s head tipped sideways. His eyes squinted. “What are you talking about?”
“I found this dress recently. At a local flea market. I bought it to wear for the Renaissance Festival. When I got it home, I found that it had been custom-made by a local seamstress. Today I went and paid the woman a visit. That’s when she told me about your mother. She made this dress for your mother to wear to the Renaissance Festival over thirty years ago.”
Lane’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me.”
Evanee shook her head. “I’m not. That’s what set my whole interest in the case into motion. I felt like some divine force, if you will, was calling me to investigate.”
“Look. I don’t know who you think you’re foolin’, but my mother’s death is none of your concern. You riled my dad up tonight and I won’t stand for it. Now you just keep your nose outta our business and we’ll be alright. You got it?”
“But—”
“Now, I know I said I’d go when the police got here, but considering they haven’t showed up yet and I’ve already said my piece, you’re welcome to just send ’em on over to Lane Dawson’s place when they finally decide to show up.”
Stunned that Lane wasn’t even remotely interested in his mother’s dress, Evanee swallowed hard. “I didn’t call them,” she whispered.
He tipped his head at her. “Well, I appreciate you saving me the bail money, then. I’ll be out of your hair now. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Ms. Woods.”
14
Even though she didn’t teach yoga classes on Saturday mornings, Evanee was still up early, starting coffee and arranging her bakery order in the case. Now, dressed in charcoal leggings, her favorite baggy cream-colored cable-knit sweater, boot socks and her black riding boots, Evanee ran the espresso and latte machines while Gemma took orders from the small horde of silver-haired women gathered at the front counter. She poured freshly steamed milk into a mug already filled with two shots of expresso, then added some white mocha syrup and stirred while simultaneously adjusting the dial on another machine. For a solid hour that morning, it was Grand Central Station during rush hour, and just one more not-so-subtle sign that fall was finally upon them.
When the rush died down and all the women had their drink of choice and their cream-cheese-stuffed pumpkin snickerdoodles or their apple spice streusel muffins, Evanee leaned her bottom against the counter and took a quick sip of her own pumpkin spiced latte. She rubbed her arms. “Brrr, it’s so cold in here this morning.” The chill of the morning had seeped in through some of the cracks of the old building, and in that moment, she wished she had a fireplace inside to save on her heating bills.
“Maybe if someone would turn the heater on!” said Gemma with a chuckle.
“It’s too early to turn the heat on. No heat until trick or treat,” she recited. Evanee was nothing if not efficient, and if she turned the heat on now, she’d be forced to leave it on until spring.
“I’m shocked none of the ladies have complained about the temperature yet.”
“I have a feeling they’re all just as cost-conscious as I am. This place costs a bundle to heat, Gem. You have no idea.”
“Maybe we oughta get Wade Davis down here. He could put in a wood-burning stove for us. That’d help a lot.”
“Hey, I love the smell of a wood-burning stove as much as the next girl, but just who exactly is going to do the wood chopping around here? You?”
Gemma’s eyes sparkled as she grinned. “Maybe you could have your yoga class chop wood. That’s gotta be good for the core.”
Evanee giggled. “I can hardly see those girls chopping wood. You’re a hoot, you know that, Gemma?”
“Good morning, ladies,” said a voice on the other side of the counter.
Evanee turned around to see Priscilla Pankhurst smiling back at her. “Priscilla,” said Evanee, staring at the woman with a wide grin. “You came for coffee?”
“I did. After you left the other day, I realized I missed having coffee with all the girls. It’s nice getting to visit with the ladies.”
“It sure is! Well, welcome! What can I get for you?”
“Oh, I’ll have a just a plain old cup of coffee. Unleaded, please. I can’t have caffeine anymore. It makes me jumpy.”
“Sure thing, one decaf coming up!” said Gemma.
“How about a treat? The chocolate chip scones are amazing,” said Evanee.
“Oh no, dear. Just the coffee is fine.” Priscilla set her purse down on the counter. She reached inside to retrieve her wallet and was reminded of something inside. “Oh! Evanee, I thought you might be interested in this.” She pulled out a rolled-up newspaper and handed it to Evanee.
Evanee was curious as she unfolded the paper to see that it was the small town’s weekly newspaper, the Stoney Brook Gazette. On the front page in big bold print, it read An Unsolved Murder, Thirty Years Later. The paper was dated Thursday, September 19, 2013.
Evanee sucked in her breath. “This is about Rachel Dawson?”
Priscilla nodded. “You can have that one, I picked up a second copy when it came out. But if you want to go even further back, I’ve got more. You’re welcome to stop over to the house anytime and look at those. You know, the original ones from 1983. The case was mentioned a few times in ’84, and every once in a while after that. I kept anything I noticed.”
“Aw, that was sweet of you to think of me Priscilla. Thank you. Yes, I’d love to read this. And I might even take you up on your offer to read the rest.”
“Anytime.”
Gemma slid Priscilla’s cup of coffee across the counter.
Priscilla tried to pay, but Evanee shooed her away. “You can pay for the next one. This one’s on me.”
“Thank you, dear.”
“My pleasure.”
The old woman walked away, and Gemma looked at the paper curiously. “What’s with you and the Dawson family all of a sudden?”
Evanee lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe my curiosity about that fire is getting the better of me.” She glanced around, making sure that none of the old women nearby were listening. “Hey, now that we have a minute, I’ve gotta tell you about the craziest thing that happened to me last night.”
Gemma wrinkled her nose. “Do I really wanna know?”
“Yes! You’ll never guess who showed up at my front door late last night, pounding and hollering and raising a big ruckus.”
Gemma’s face sobered. “What? Who?”
“Lane. Dawson.”
“I’m sorry, Lane Dawson did what?!” Gemma looked appalled.
Evanee pointed at the front door. “Yes. It had to be almost nine or ten last night. I’d gone to bed super early, but couldn’t sleep, so I got up and the girls and I went outside and started up a fire. We hadn’t been out there long when out of nowhere, I heard someone at the front of the building going wild, hollering and banging and whatnot. So I went inside to sneak a peek at who it was, and lo and behold, Lane Dawson was pounding on my front door!”
“You’re kidding? Lane did that?”
“Yes! Scared me silly. Of course, I didn’t have my phone to call the police. I’d left it upstairs.”
“Well, Lane wouldn’t have hurt a fly,” said Gemma. “He’s a sweetheart.”
Evanee made a face like she’d just been told that the devil wore white on Sundays. “Gemma, that man is no more a sweetheart than Ted Bundy was.”
“Well, now you’re just exaggerating.”
“I’m not, Gemma. He came here literally freaking out. When I didn’t answer the front door, he went around to the back door and let himself in!”
Gemma’s mouth opened in surprise. “He didn’t—”
“He did, Gemma! I told you, the man’s nuts. He lost it. I mean, who does that? Who lets himself into a place like that?”
“There has to be some kind of explanation…”
“He was angry because of the conversation I had with Steve yesterday when he came to deliver the gourds.”
Gemma looked confused because, when Evanee had come back inside from speaking to Steve the day before, she’d been so upset that she’d made a beeline for her loft and hadn’t come back down to face Gemma until she’d gotten her emotions under control. Then she’d splashed cold water on her face and reapplied her makeup.
“I don’t understand. What happened with the conversation between you and Steve?”
“I just asked him why he wasn’t a firefighter anymore.” Evanee said it quietly, mostly because she didn’t want the ladies having coffee to overhear, but also because she was somewhat ashamed at how that whole thing had gone down.
“Evanee! You actually asked him why he wasn’t a firefighter anymore? That’s terrible! You know perfectly well that his wife died in a fire. Why would you ask him something like that?”
“I was trying to be subtle. I told you my curiosity’s gotten the better of me. I wanted to know more about Rachel’s death, and I thought maybe if we could get on the subject of him hanging up his fire hat, then maybe I could get him feeling comfortable enough to talk to me about her case. But it backfired. I guess I stuck my foot in my mouth, as usual. But I didn’t mean any harm by it.”
“Well, I can see why Lane came over here all upset, then. His dad’s been through a lot in this community. Lane’s very protective of him.”
Evanee swallowed hard. She felt a lump rising in the back of her throat. She hadn’t meant to cause any problems. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I just messed up. But Lane didn’t have to come over here and scare me like that. I thought he was going to hurt me.”
Snow Way Out: A Mystic Snow Globe Romantic Mystery (The Mystic Snow Globe Mystery Series Book 2) Page 10
