by Mak K. Han
“Well, I was going to bring cupcakes, but I guess you beat me to them.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
Harold chuckled. “It's okay. This is my first Strawberry Days in four years. I think I'll just be an observer this year.”
I jumped at the opportunity for conversation. “Four years? Why so long?”
“I've been at college,” Harold explained. “I'd thought of coming back during the summers, but come on, California in June and July? No way.”
California. That explained the bronze tan.
“I thought of going to Calif—” I started to say.
“He's not retiring?” someone exclaimed sharply behind me.
I looked over my shoulder. “Huh?” I glanced at Emily. “What's going on?”
Emily's face had gone solemn. “They're talking about the secret room. According to Mrs. Brooks, Mr. Brooks is pushing back his retirement.”
I turned all the way around. Chester Rutherford was standing, as was Jane Brooks.
“He's hiring a lawyer,” Jane was explaining. “He needs the extra money.”
“A lawyer?” Chester exclaimed. “What the devil does he need a lawyer for?”
“The secret room,” Jane mentioned. Just the mention of the secret room cast a gloomy pall over the previously cheery meeting. “He's intent on getting it blocked off. He's planning to take the city to court over it.”
“You've got to be kidding me.” Chester turned to the audience. “How much longer are we going to let Edward push us around? How much do we really need his money?”
His challenge was met with silence.
“This is ridiculous.”
“Why is Chester so upset? What does the secret room have to do with him?”
The question was aimed at Emily, but Harold answered. “Nothing, not directly. But my dad works at Allied Innovation and as I understand, Chester is waiting for Edward to retire so he can get his position.”
“Wow,” I murmured. “I'd be pretty mad, too.”
“That's the last thing we want,” Harold said with a smirk.
I looked at him. “What do you mean?”
“I hear you were pretty fired up about Edward calling you out the other day. I'd hate to be on the receiving end of that wrath.”
I crossed my arms and frowned. “I wasn't that mad.”
“Relax,” he said. Usually being told to 'relax' made me angrier, but hearing it from Harold actually made me relax. His voice was cool and smooth, like butter. “I'm just teasing you. Tell you what—I’ll get him back for you.”
“Oh? How so?”
“I'll kick his butt. Take him out to the woodshed. Come on, I have to defend your honor, don't I?”
I almost melted. Sure, he was being sarcastic, but the idea of Harold being my white knight was enough to have me weak in the knees. “Okay,” I said. “Go protect little old me.”
“You got it,” he said. He looked up at the meeting, which looked to be dispersing. “It looks like everything is good here. I'm going to head out. Talk to you later, ladies.”
“Bye, Harold!” Emily said with a wave of her hand.
“See you soon.” I turned back to the meeting. “Crap.”
“What?”
“I should have asked him to go to the carnival with me.”
Chapter 10
The library parking lot was a glittering wonderland.
White Christmas lights had been strung up along the edges of the parking lots and tiki torches dotted the pavement. Along the far west side of the lot there were four grills set up, which pumped out pillars of smoke that smelled like cooking meat, charcoal, and barbecue sauce. Along the east side were various awnings and from this side of the parking lot emanated the smell of fresh baked cookies, cakes, candy—and where I was standing—cupcakes.
“Thank you!” Emily said, handing Mr. Shade his change as I handed over a plate with two cupcakes on it. One was chocolate with white frosting and a red heart, the other was vanilla with strawberry frosting and a brown chocolate heart.
As Mr. Shade retreated into the crowd, Alex ran the tent from front to back, restocking the display tray with fresh cupcakes from the large plastic bin in the back. We'd spent the previous night baking them.
Emily turned to us. “We're doing great! At this rate we'll sell out by eight.”
I looked at my watch. It was seven. There were still a few dozen more, so maybe Emily was being a bit optimistic, but just the same we were selling a lot, and we were selling fast.
The crowd around our tent lulled and I stepped out from under the awning to survey the sky. The sun was setting, painting the sky a bright reddish-orange, and I could already see the moon and a few stars coming into view. The parking lot was alight with laughter and chatter.
I propped my hands on my hips and breathed in deeply. The smells of food. The ethereal light. The sounds of the Strawberry Shores townsfolk laughing and talking. The night was perfect.
And then we heard the scream.
At first we thought it came from the library. It was high pitched and ear-piercing. Looking around at the horrors on everyone’s faces, you just knew that everyone heard it. An uneasy hush fell across the crowd. Jane Brooks rounded the corner of the library—the side with the woods—which had been raked and cleared in the previous days. “Someone call 911!”
Harold pushed his way to the front of the crowd, phone in hand. He didn't need to call, however, because Dr. Tracy raised his hand. “I'm a doctor! What's wrong?”
The crowd parted for Dr. Tracy. “It's Edward!” Jane cried. “He's dead!”
The townsfolk fell into line behind Dr. Tracy. We all headed around to the backside of the library. I pushed my way to the front of the crowd with Emily and Alex The three of us stood at the entrance to the secret room watching as Dr. Tracy pushed his way through the caution tape.
Sure enough, there was Edward, lying in the secret room. An empty red Solo cup sat on the ground beside his hand. Nearby lay an empty bottle of rat poison.
“Stand back,” Dr. Tracy said, raising his hand to keep everyone at bay. He pressed his pointer and middle finger against Edward's jugular and did a few chest compressions. Then, he set his head against Edward's chest.
“Is he going to be okay?” Jane asked.
Dr. Tracy looked up at her. “I'm afraid he's dead,” he said solemnly.
Silence swept across the crowd. The only noise was that of Sheriff Caldwell's voice, which grew louder as he moved toward the front of the group. As he eased his way past me, I picked up the distinct odor of whiskey.
“Everyone back away!” Frank said, raising his hands. He glanced over his shoulder at Edward. “This is now a crime scene.”
Chapter 11
We sat in my living room.
I didn't have a fireplace, so there was a fireplace screen saver on my television. We all had wine. Emily sat in my armchair wrapped in a blanket, her legs folded under her. Alex lay sprawled lengthwise across the couch in boy shorts and a t-shirt, her milky white legs stretched out and her bare feet propped on the arm and crossed at the ankle. And I sat on the other couch.
It had been two days since the carnival and no progress had been made.
A dark cloud had fallen over Strawberry Shores. The three of us had tried to combat it with a slumber party, but as the night settled in and the wine took effect, we were helpless to resist it. The remnants of a hurricane had come up to Strawberry Shores from the southwest and outside, the wind howled and rain battered the siding.
“Who do you think killed Mr. Brooks?” Emily asked quietly. She was holding her wine glass with both hands and when she spoke, she spoke into the glass, muffling her voice.
“It's hard to say,” Alex said. “There are a lot of people it could have been. Mr. Brooks wasn't very popular.”
“Well, at least now we know what to do with the secret room!” Emily said, her voice rising. Her optimism was ill met. She went back to her wine glass.
“Some are more li
kely than others,” I said.
Alex contorted her body so she could look at me. “How do you figure?”
I shrugged. “Look at the days leading up to the carnival. Everyone was pretty annoyed with Edward, but there were a few who were really smoking at the ears.”
“Like who?”
“Well,” I set my wine glass down so I could count with one hand. “For one, there was his wife. She was already at the end of her rope with Edward. Finding out he was going to be pushing back retirement probably didn't help matters.”
“She knew he'd keep being stressed out,” Alex continued. “Plus the court case with the town probably would have made it worse. Maybe she decided to take him out of the picture before that happened.”
“Right. Then there's Chester Rutherford.”
“Hm?” Emily leaned closer. “What does Chester have to do with anything?”
“Edward was a manager at Allied Innovation. Chester was lined up for the job. From what I understand, he's been waiting for that job for a long time. Edward was planning to push back his retirement, which meant Chester would have had to wait even longer.”
“So you think Chester got rid of him?” Emily asked. “He gets a promotion and does the town a favor at the same time?”
“Exactly. Then there's Harold.”
Alex and Emily sat up. “Harold?” They asked in unison.
I nodded. “It's a hunch, but Harold promised me he'd get Edward back for the way he treated me that day we found the secret room. Plus he's afraid of mice, so it makes sense that he would have rat poison.”
“Harold? Afraid of mice?” Alex looked at me incredulously. “I don't believe it.”
“Trust me, I know it,” I said.
“How do you know it?” Alex asked.
“I just do.”
Alex kept scrutinizing me. Emily didn't notice, because she saved me.
“I don't think it was Harold. I think you just want him to be a suspect so you can think about him. I think you like Harold.”
I scowled at Emily. “I'm just saying. Okay, next is Susan. Do you remember a few days back, when Edward gave her a ride home, and people were saying she'd spent the night with him again?”
Alex and Emily nodded. I told them about the conversation we'd had at the library.
“She said that?” Emily asked.
“Yeah, verbatim. She was angry. Maybe she decided to get back at Edward. She waited until everyone was distracted at the Carnival and lured him away. But I don't have any proof.”
“Hmm,” Alex said, sitting up. “So that's Mrs. Brooks, Chester, Susan....”
“And Harold,” I added. I quickly regretted it.
“That reminds me,” Alex said, gazing intently at me. “How do you know Harold is afraid of mice?”
“The other day, while I was showing him the secret room. He freaked out when he saw a mouse. I suspected it.”
Alex shook her head. “No, you don't suspect it. You know it. You've done this a few times since you've moved here. You'll say you know something—and you say it with certainty. You don't suspect, you know. How?”
I tried to stall for time by sipping my wine, but Emily was fully engaged in the interrogation. I was under Alex's harsh scrutiny. It was time to tell someone. What's the worst that could happen?
I took a deep breath. “I know because under certain circumstances, I can tell when people are lying.”
Alex frowned. “Can't we all?”
I shook my head. “Not like this. About ten years ago, I was driving home one night in a blizzard. My car went off the road and I hit an electrical transformer. I was fine, I thought. A plow passed by and towed me out. Over the next couple of months, though, I started to find something—sometimes when people lied to me, I heard a static noise in my head. At first it wasn't consistent. Then, I started to realize—it only happened when there was a radio nearby. I figured it out one day while I was driving with my ex, Gerald. I asked him where he'd been the night before. And I knew he'd been out with another girl—her name was Samantha—I just wanted to hear what he had to say. And he said he'd been out with a guy friend. And I heard the static, because the radio in the car was on. I asked which friend, and he said one of his friends' names, and the static got louder. Then I asked him if he wanted to stop at a restaurant for lunch, and he said ‘yes.' The static disappeared because he was telling the truth. That's how I knew that robber didn't have a gun. There was a radio in the gas station. I asked him if he had a gun, and when he said yes, I heard the static. Right then, I knew he was lying. That's also how I know Harold is afraid of mice. There was a radio nearby when I asked him, and he said he wasn't afraid of mice. When he said that, I heard the static.”
Alex stared at me for a moment. “Laura, that sounds completely bonkers.”
I shrugged. “Fine. Whatever.”
Emily wrapped herself in her blanket and plodded over to me. “I'm not so sure, Alex. Laura—what am I thinking right now?”
“That's not how it works, Emily.”
Alex threw her hands up. “Fine. Let's test it. Where do you have a radio?”
I pointed to the kitchen. Alex shuffled into the kitchen, grabbed the radio, and brought it back. She turned it on and then sat on the coffee table before me.
“Okay,” she said. “Ask me something.”
I rolled my eyes. “What's your name?”
“Alex. Come on, something you don't already know.”
I chewed it over for a moment. “What's your middle name?”
“Francine.”
Static.
“No it isn't.”
Alex furrowed her brow. “Okay, maybe that was an easy one. It's actually Juliet.”
Static.
“No it isn't.”
“Georgia.”
“Nope.”
“Christine.”
“Nope.”
“Dawson.”
“Nope.”
“Jade.”
“Bingo. Alex Jade Shade? You must have tortured your parents for that one.”
Alex's face reddened. “It's my mother's maiden name. Okay, a few more questions.”
Alex had more than a few more questions. She had about a hundred. They all went about the same as the middle name interrogation. Every time she was lying, I knew. Every time she was telling the truth, I knew.”
Finally, an hour later, Alex retreated to the sofa, defeated. For the first time ever, I saw Alex speechless. Emily, convinced after about three questions, had lost interest and dozed off in the recliner about twenty minutes earlier.
“Wow,” Alex said finally. “It's true.”
I nodded.
“So why not just line up the suspects and ask them if they killed Mr. Brooks or not?” she asked.
“I'd thought of that,” I explained. “First, I'd have to get them all near a radio. Then, suppose it's none of the people we suspect? What, am I going to ask everyone in Strawberry Shores? And suppose I do ask everyone in Strawberry Shores. Then what? I know who killed Mr. Brooks, but I have no way to prove it. Even if Sheriff Caldwell put me through the same round of questions you just put me through, he'd assume it was some kind of trick. The fact of the matter is, there's no way 'psychic testimony' is going to hold up in a court.”
Alex rubbed her eyes. “I see your point. Still, there has to be something you can do. Sheriff Caldwell is useless. He's usually too drunk to bust teenagers for skateboarding. How's he going to solve a murder case?”
“I'm not looking to be a hero,” I said.
“No, maybe not,” Alex pressed. “But still. You have something special. You have a gift. You—”
A loud bang cut Alex off mid-sentence. Emily screeched and sat straight up in the chair. She looked around in a daze, wisps of blond hair floating in front of her eyes. “What was that?”
I jumped to my feet. I had a sneaky suspicion. I crossed the room to the window and looked down. The bulkhead doors had broken open—the bang was one of the doors strikin
g the siding. “It's just the bulkhead,” I called over my shoulder. “It's fine. I'll have to call to have it fixed. Until then, let me run downstairs and jury-rig it.”
I left Alex and Emily up in the living room as I started for the basement, intending to secure the bulkhead door with a pair of bungee cords. As I descended the steps, however, I got to thinking that maybe Alex was right.
Maybe I could help out.
Chapter 12
What are you doing here?
It was the question I started asking myself the instant I stepped onto library property. Most people my age were in downtown Strawberry Shores on a Saturday night, but here I was skulking around the library, trying to gain access to a crime scene.
Alex's words had stuck with me all day. I'd worked from 9:00 AM to 2:30 PM—the library closed early on Saturdays—and I'd hoped to get Susan near a radio so I could talk to her about the case, but Susan hadn't worked today. Eager to get a jump on the case, I went with the next best option: explore the crime scene.
I stood in front of the library. To the left was the wooded path, which had been cleared and illuminated with spotlights. I didn't want to loop around the library that way—suppose someone walked or drove past and saw me sneaking around? It probably wouldn't end well.
So I went around the right-hand side, the side with the swamp and the embankment. I tucked my flashlight into my belt and stuck to the wall, keeping a close eye on my footing. Once I eased my way along the embankment, I took out a flashlight.
The rear of the library was lit up with more spotlights, but the field was surrounded on all sides by trees, so I wasn't too worried about being spotted. I paused for a moment in the corner, listening intently in case someone like Sheriff Caldwell was inside the secret room.
Silence.
I crept around the corner of the library and turned the flashlight on, taking care to watch the beam so nobody would see it. Then I ducked under the crime scene tape and into the secret room.
The secret room was deathly silent. There was a chalk outline on the floor where Mr. Brooks's body had been, and a little red flag identifying where the rat poison had been found. I shined the flashlight around the room. It looked like those were the only clues Sheriff Caldwell had found, as there were no other red flags.
