I didn’t envy her position of being both Creighton’s sister and my friend. I also didn’t feel sorry anymore for Mirabelle’s snootiness toward Creighton.
“Is this about the murder?” Chester said.
“It’s police business,” Creighton repeated.
“I see,” Chester said.
“Look, I’m going to go back to the station, and you and Jodie can come in together when you’re done here,” Creighton said, attempting to be gentlemanly again, but it didn’t work this time.
No matter what, Creighton was a police officer first. It was unlike him to behave any way but authoritatively. I wasn’t sure whether to be interested, bothered, or slightly honored that he was giving that persona a brief rest so I wouldn’t feel weird about being taken in by the police in front of family members, a long-time customer, and a cute guy who, by now, was probably wishing he’d never let me rescue his copy of Tom Sawyer.
However, I was mostly nervous. No matter who the police personnel were, no matter if they were friends or old boyfriends or just people you knew, being asked to talk to them regarding official business was nerve-racking.
Jodie looked at me and nodded, her eyes both pained and stern. She was not happy, but she was also a police officer first. I suddenly wondered where her and Creighton’s partners were.
“Of course,” I said to Creighton and then to Jodie. “Can I have a few minutes?”
“Yes. Just go with Jodie when you’re ready,” Creighton said.
“Does Clare need an attorney?” Chester asked.
Creighton shrugged. Jodie said nothing.
“Excuse me, I need to make a phone call,” Chester said before he turned and took long, fast strides toward the back, his dress-pant-clad legs still reminding me of an elegant dancer.
“Wait a minute, Creighton. You don’t think Clare had something to do with the murder?” Mirabelle said. “That’s preposterous!”
Creighton sent Mirabelle a sad smile but he didn’t say anything. He looked at me again and said, “Just go with Jodie. I’ll talk to you when you get there.”
“Okay,” I said reflexively as I watched him make a quick exit out the front door.
After we dated, my relationship with Creighton had been full of strife and sarcasm on my part, attempts at apologies and then anger on his part. The cheating had occurred almost two years ago now, and recently I’d sensed that maybe I was finally getting to a place where I didn’t want to be sarcastic or punch him in the face every time I saw him. I wasn’t sure whether that was forgiveness finally creeping in or not, but it had been nice not to have such a fiery ball of anger in my gut. Even with his official invitation to the police station, that gut fire didn’t ignite fully, but I doubted I’d be forgiving him today.
Jodie nodded at me again and then moved to the front of the store and pretended to look at our display of African animal note cards. Jodie barely did e-mail; I doubted she’d ever sent a handwritten letter to anyone, but the African animal cards being of interest to her was more believable than if she’d gone to the baby animal note cards.
Mirabelle sidled up next to me. “It’ll be okay, Clare. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried,” I lied. “Can I take the typewriter outside for you?”
“You want me to drive you out of here? I’d do it.”
Thank goodness for Mirabelle. “No, but thanks though. I just wondered if you’d like a hand out to the car.”
“No, I’m going to go bother Chester a bit,” she said. She put her hand on my arm and pulled me farther away from everyone else, closer to the sidewall where the baby animal note cards did, in fact, reside. She lowered her voice and said, “I stopped by to talk to you. I remembered where I got the typewriter.”
“Where?” I said, glad for something to distract me from Jodie’s sour observations of the cards up front.
“From the newspaper. The editor, Homer Mayfair, sold it to me.” Mirabelle said.
Homer Mayfair was a legend, at least in Star City, maybe in the whole state of Utah, but I couldn’t confirm it. At one time though, people from all over the world might have heard of him. It was during his time as editor at the local small newspaper, the Star City Brilliant (meant to refer to a star’s brilliance, not anyone in particular’s intelligence level, and we had to explain that far too often), that our town became famous for our mining successes as well as Homer’s run for mayor in the early 1970s. His campaign tactics had been noisy and obnoxious and garnered the attention of national media, particularly when he used his peg leg (a real one, just like pirates used to wear in the olden days) to get the sympathy vote. He hadn’t won the race, but lots of people who’d never given us much thought ended up hearing about Star City and its perfect snow. Our ski resort saw its first big bump of winter visitors. Things had been crazy busy ever since, and among locals the credit was often given to Homer’s peg leg. Or “To Homer’s Peg!” as it was toasted in local bars on the eve of resort opening day.
I thought Homer was still alive and I was pretty sure his leg was still wooden, but he didn’t get out all that much, so the story of his legend hadn’t been extended much past the 1980s. I knew he’d at one time been friends with Chester—pretty good friends, I thought.
“Thanks, Mirabelle,” I said. “I appreciate the information and your support. I’ll be fine. Go on back with Chester. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Will do. Yes, you’ll be fine, Clare. Don’t let Creighton or Jodie bully you into anything.”
I smiled. “They won’t.”
After Mirabelle walked away, I chose to tackle whatever Jimmy and Marion needed next.
“You okay, sis?” Jimmy asked.
“I’m fine, but what’s up?”
“Now doesn’t seem like the right time, but I have to get to work and I wanted to have this discussion before I went,” Jimmy said. He sent a sideways look toward Seth, then glanced at Jodie and took a few steps so that he was directly next to me, with his back to both of them.
“Is the murder the reason you need to talk to the police? I’m worried,” Jimmy said. He was a nice-looking man with blond hair, a baby face, and naturally dark eyelashes that clashed with his blond hair but highlighted his blue eyes.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Clare. I didn’t think he’d get so freaked,” Marion said.
“What’s on your mind, Jimmy?” I said.
“Do you think we ought to install more security, perhaps hire an armed guard?”
“He’s out of control, Aunt Clare,” Marion said.
“I’m not. This is not just about you, Marion, this is about Clare and Chester too,” Jimmy said. “If the police want to talk to Aunt Clare . . .”
“I’ll be fine, Jimmy. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Of course you haven’t, Clare. I know my timing is bad, but maybe that’s because I’m simply too late. We should have taken care of this years ago.”
“It’s okay, Jimmy. You’re a parent; you should be worried about Marion’s safety and well-being. Marion, that’s what parents do. We’ve made sure the cameras are working better, but we’re not going to hire any guards, armed or not. Though I can’t guarantee that nothing bad will ever happen here again, I think we’re over the scariest part. You know things are typically pretty quiet.”
“I do, but, Clare, someone was killed.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Dad, come on, leave it alone. Aunt Clare and Chester will make sure I’m safe.”
“Oh! Do you think Marion should quit working here?” I said.
Jimmy just looked at me, his mouth in a straight line.
“You know,” I continued, “I don’t think Marion should quit, but it might not be a bad idea to take some time off until we figure out what’s going on.”
“Really?” Marion said, clearly hurt that I’d sided with Jimmy
�
�It hadn’t occurred to me, Marion, but your dad might be right. We have no idea what happened. Take a few days off and we’ll see if we find out more. Jimmy, I get it. I get your concerns. I’m sorry Chester and I didn’t think about it first. Chester walked her home, but maybe Marion shouldn’t be here right now. I’m sorry, sweetie, but I’ve got to side with your dad on this one.”
Normally I found Jimmy’s overprotective ways aggravating, and though he might be overreacting a little, I agreed that better safe than sorry was the correct choice this time.
Marion’s pretty face fell along with her wide but trim athletic shoulders.
“Everything would’ve been fine,” she said.
“Go lift weights or run or whatever it is that you do to look like you look,” I said. “Better yet, ask a boy out or something.”
“Clare,” Jimmy said with a sigh.
“Sorry, but you know what I mean.”
“I do,” Marion said. “I don’t like it, but call me when I can come back.”
“Of course,” I said, the image of the dusty banister coming to my mind, but only briefly. Jimmy was right: Marion should take a few days off. The dust would still be there.
Trying to keep a balance between teenage dejection and grown-up acceptance, Marion marched out the front door, following the same path that Creighton had taken, however, she and Jodie had a quick friendly word before she left.
“The police want to talk to you?” Jimmy said again.
“It looks that way.”
“Do you know something that will help them solve the murder?”
“I don’t think so, but I’ll find out when they ask me the questions.”
“Fair enough. I know Chester is probably getting you an attorney right this second, but I can help find one if you need me to.”
“I’ll let you know. Thanks, Jimmy”
“And thanks about Marion. I know you think I’m out of control, but I really appreciate your support on that one,” Jimmy said.
Though he was older and his forehead permanently creased, his baby face made him look younger than me. Even in my late-teen years I’d often been mistaken for the older sibling, but the mistake had never bothered me. Before he’d become a dad, he’d been a great brother—caring, kind, and only a little overprotective of his baby sister. He was still a great big brother, but all his energy was geared toward his dad role, which was the way it was supposed to work.
“My pleasure, and though your reactions are typically over the top, I’m with you on this one. I have no idea what might happen next around here.”
Jimmy hugged me tightly. He smelled like a floral-scented body wash. Marion must have done the shopping recently. After the hug, he filed out of the store too. He and Jodie smiled at each other but they didn’t chat.
“Hi,” Seth said as I stepped toward him. He’d been holding some No. 2 pencils and rearranging them in the cup. He put them on the shelf against the wall, in a square space above one of the carved doors. “I’m sorry about contributing to the crowd this morning, but I thought it would be rude if I left. Or you might think I’d let a silly police officer or two scare me away.” He scratched the side of his head and looked at me with amused eyes. His hair was brushed but still messy. He didn’t have his glasses on, but his T-shirt and jeans were both clean, wrinkle-free, and void of any clever slogans or declarations.
“Actually, if everyone hadn’t been here with their own agenda, it would have been a good time to introduce you to some of them. Maybe next time,” I said.
“Sounds good. In fact, I’m so certain that you will be set free after your time with the police that I was wondering if I could get your number since I failed to ask for it last night. And when I have your number, I’m going to call you and see if you want to go out to dinner again sometime soon.”
I laughed. “I’d be happy to give you my number.”
“That’s good news.” Seth looked back at Jodie, who smiled and waved at him. “I have a confession.”
“Uh-oh. Okay.”
“I’m staying in an apartment just across from your place. For some reason I thought it might be weird to tell you that last night, but now it feels weird that I didn’t.”
I remembered his perplexed smile when I told him where I lived. It made more sense now. “Oh. Well, as confessions go, that one’s not bad.”
“There’s more. I spied on you and saw the bartender stop by your house.”
“That’s a little weirder, but not bad.”
“I wonder about your relationship with him, but it’s none of my business. Should I just step back? He could probably beat me up with one hand tied behind his back.”
I laughed again, and it felt good to release a little nervousness. “No, he’s a family friend, I suppose, but he probably wants me to have his grandchildren, a task I won’t be taking on. Yeah, he wondered who you were and why I had so many questions about his family, and ultimately why I didn’t just go up and talk to him in person. Actually, I wonder the same thing too. I made a big deal about nothing.”
“I see. Well, I’d love to have the answers to all those questions myself, but I feel like it’s too soon to be that nosey. Anyway, I have a cool thing at my place I’d like to show you.”
“Really?” I said.
“Yeah, it’s a geode. It’s very pretty.”
I was surprised by how I was suddenly very interested in seeing Seth’s geode.
“How about I call you later?” I said.
We exchanged numbers, and Seth was the next one to leave the store, he and Jodie sharing wary smiles. They’d probably like each other when they got to know each other, but I couldn’t be sure.
Once he was gone, Jodie sauntered toward me. Her steps were unusually light, which was how I knew she was nervous too and not pleased about what was about to happen.
“What the hell is going on, Jodie?” I said.
“Clare, you were here all night when that man was killed.”
“So?”
“We have to ask you some questions, and it should be done in a police setting. I’m sorry. You have to know how sorry I am.”
I kept the look on my face as disagreeable as possible. She somehow took that as an agreement.
“Good,” she said. “Come on and let’s just get it over with.”
I walked to the back and told Chester and Mirabelle I was leaving. Chester was on the phone, the landline attached to the wall with the stretched and kinked cord now dirty from spending its life in the same space as so much ink. He put his hand over the mouthpiece and told me that his attorney would meet me at the station. He also told me I shouldn’t say one word until the attorney arrived. He offered to come with me, but I told him to stay at the store. He wouldn’t rant and rave like he probably wanted to with Mirabelle sitting in a chair with her cup of coffee, which was good for everyone. Mirabelle told me again that I would be fine. I hoped so.
As I turned to leave the workshop, something started to claw its way up from my subconscious. There was something about Mirabelle . . . I turned around again and saw her sitting with her legs crossed, her coffee mug perched on her knee. She wasn’t looking my direction now, her gaze focused on the steaming cup.
What was it, what did my subconscious want me to pay attention to? It was something to do with Mirabelle, but I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what. It wouldn’t come clear. I stood still and looked at her for so long that Jodie finally said something.
“You coming, Clare?”
“Yeah,” I said absently. “Yeah.”
As much as I didn’t want to, I went with her.
11
The Star City police station broke tradition with the town’s older architecture. The station, located at the bottom of the long Main Street hill and then over two curvy streets, wasn’t far, because nothing was far in Star City, but walking back up the hill
when I was done would be more a hike than a leisurely stroll back to work. I hoped Jodie would give me a ride. The station had been built in the early ’90s, its angular, sloping but not peaked roof topped with dark green tiles. The rest of the small structure was also angular and had been a source of contention when it was built. People had thought it was too modern. Now it was just too ’90s.
Jodie wouldn’t say more except that neither she nor Creighton would be questioning me because we were all friends, or at least had once been. We just knew one another too well. I didn’t listen closely to her official explanation.
“Will I be put under arrest?” I asked as she pulled into the long but skinny parking lot.
“No,” she said. I wished I’d heard a little more confidence in her voice.
“I probably will be advised by my attorney not to answer anything, don’t you think?”
“Possibly.”
When she parked in her self-awarded space by the front door, we got out of the Bronco. Jodie pulled open the station door and let me go in first, but once inside she walked past me, her heavy footsteps having returned as we made our way down the hallway.
“In here,” she said as she pulled open another door.
The light was bright and the walls were a drab gray, making the room immediately unpleasant. However, I’d been in it a time or two when I wasn’t under suspicion of murder and I’d stopped by to pick up Jodie on our way to lunch or dinner or something else more fun than police business, and it hadn’t been so bad then.
It wasn’t a big room, but it was one of the bigger ones in the building and the spot where six cops, Jodie, Creighton, their partners, and two other officers had their desks.
Creighton stood up from his chair and met us halfway across the room. “You won’t be questioned by one of us,” he said.
“I know. Jodie told me.”
“You don’t need to worry about this,” Creighton said, his tone friendlier than it had been in some time.
“Got it,” I said.
Even though Creighton was a lot bigger than Jodie, they had matching angled shoulders. I’d never noticed the genetic trait before, but as I followed them, I saw how their right sides were both slightly lower than their left ones.
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