by Laney Monday
“No, no.” Jessie shook her head vigorously. “Not bad about Bonney Bay! Better!” She tapped the words on the flyer at the top of the stack in her hand. “Better! Better is good!”
Gunter shook his head. “Better means it’s not good enough now.”
I took Blythe’s elbow and backed away from Gunter. I did not want to be in the middle of a small-town political debate. Especially considering I couldn’t, in good conscience, side with either one of these candidates.
“I feel bad!,” Pete Feldman, the owner of Blackberry Inn, said. “I want to feel better about Bonney Bay.”
The formerly happy picnickers broke into a cacophony of conflicting shouts. “I feel good about my town!” and, “I don’t. Just look at what’s happened! Three murders!”
Beside me, Herbert Random spoke up. “But, the mayor—the mayor can’t prevent those sorts of crimes from happening again. And the mayor certainly can’t control your feelings.” His voice was a little shaky, maybe with age, maybe from nerves. It was hard to say. “Only you can do that, for yourself.”
Though he was loud enough, he spoke so slowly, he took so long to get it out, it didn’t sink in right away what he’d said.
Blythe and I met eyes, and I knew it had hit her the same moment it hit me. Not bad, Mr. Random. Way to speak the truth. His thoughts were pretty good. Too bad he had such a hard time expressing them.
I don’t think more than a handful of people heard him. There were a few affirming nods in his direction, but for the most part, his words were lost in the argument. Maybe Herbert Random would make a decent mayor, but he sure was going to need a lot of help to have any hope of getting there.
I watched some of my judo kids play soccer for a few minutes, then headed back toward the picnic area. I still hadn’t seen Sammi and Katie, two of my best students. As some of the oldest kids I had, they had become leaders, especially among my day campers. They were supposed to be here, and I was starting to get worried about them. Katie was younger, but Sammi was the reckless one. Usually Katie managed to keep her out of trouble. Had Sammi dragged her into something?
As I looked for the girls, I spotted an odd pair, apparently having a heated discussion in the shadows of a couple of big evergreen trees. Not my girls, but Gunter Hatton and Dina Hermiston. Why would those two be arguing? I slipped behind a tree before they could see me and edged closer, until I could make out the words behind the tone of dissent.
“I won’t support you, Gunter, and I’ll see to it that no one else does, either. It will be impossible for your campaign to get off the ground without any donations. Take my advice and pull out now.”
“And what sweet, grandmotherly advice that is, Dina.” Gunter’s words dripped with sarcasm and bitterness. “You may think you’re still powerful in this town, but in the end, you’re just a helpless old woman. Perhaps you need reminded of that.”
“Are you threatening me, Gunter Hatton?”
“Me? Would I do that? Threaten a sweet old lady who’s done nothing wrong—except, of course, to threaten to ruin my campaign.”
“It’s not just your campaign I’ll see ruined. I’m not dead yet, Mister Hatton.”
Dina Hermiston briskly walked away, and Gunter stormed off in the opposite direction. Wow. Things were really heating up in this election.
I neared the picnic area and saw Katie standing on the edge of the group, alone. She checked her phone, then looked around hesitantly, circling around the tables filled with food. Where was Sammi? Why hadn’t she walked down here with Katie? Maybe she was supposed to meet her here instead for some reason. Man, I hoped those two weren’t fighting. Katie stepped away from the food line, back toward the entrance. Oh, crud. She was going to leave.
I jogged over to her.
“Oh, hi, Sensei Brenna.”
“I was wondering when you’d get here, Katie. You’ve got to try the potato salad. It’s amazing.”
“Really?” Katie perked up.
“It has black olives in it.”
“Ooh.”
I knew she’d be sold on black olives. Katie loved them. Whenever Sammi brought pasta salad to camp for lunch, she gave Katie all her olives.
“Go on, get your plate. You can sit with me over there.” I pointed to an empty spot at a nearby table.
“But…didn’t you already eat?”
“Of course, but it’s time for round two.”
I moved along the opposite side of the table and filled my plate, then went to sit back down. I rose and waved. “Katie!”
Katie found me with her eyes and smiled in relief. She took a big step toward me, just as a stray soccer ball came hurtling through the air, straight for her.
“Look out!” I cried.
Katie looked. Right into the ball. It met her face with an awful thwack of vinyl on skin. Katie’s plate flew into the air as her head snapped back. A great, big, buttery ear of corn on the cob bulleted in an arc behind her and struck Mrs. Morris, the eighty-year-old widow of Bonney Bay’s most beloved mayor, right in the eye.
4
Laughter and chit-chat instantly turned to gasps and shrieks. “My glasses!” Mrs. Morris cried. “Oh! I can’t see! Help!”
Women surrounded her, dabbing melted butter off her face with colored napkins and murmuring assurances.
Oh, Dear God. That woman was lucky she was wearing glasses, or she might’ve lost an eye.
Katie collapsed on the grass, spattered with starchy peaks of potato salad and surrounded by smashed salmon and tattered biscuits. A black olive slid slowly down her cheek. She made a choking sound, scrambled to her feet, and broke into a run.
Who kicked that stupid ball? Dang it. Katie! I wanted to shout after her, but I caught myself. That would just embarrass her even more, wouldn’t it? What should I do? Find the kid who kicked that ball and give him a good scare? Make sure Mrs. Morris was going to make it to ninety? Grab Katie and—and what?
I glanced around desperately for Blythe. Emergency! Emotional Intelligence required! I’m the first to admit I’m a little impaired in that area. Blythe is my go-to girl for kids in meltdown mode. But I didn’t see Blythe anywhere. The last time I’d seen her, she’d been talking to Luke the Cutie over by the drink cooler. There she was! On the other side of the log barriers separating the grassy park from the sand and pebbles of the beach slightly below.
With him. With her sandals in her hand, laughing and scampering through the surf. Really? I was on my own with this one. Katie was too far away to see me embarrassing her now, so I took off running in the direction she’d gone. I lost track of her for a moment, then spotted a figure in the distance, darting through the shadows of the stately evergreen trees that covered the grassy area further up the park. That had to be her, running toward the bathroom, but I didn’t think I’d ever seen Katie move so fast.
The outer bathroom door slammed shut just before I reached it. I pulled it open and peered under the stall doors. There were only a couple of stalls, and Katie’s purple canvas shoes were easy to spot. I could hear her suppressed sniffles. It just about broke my heart. I decided to give her a minute. To calm down, you know? And maybe I needed a minute, too. This kid was making me soft.
After a while, I said, “Katie? Katie, I know you’re in there. You can’t stay in there forever. Come on, it smells terrible.”
I’m telling you, it really did smell bad. The floor was covered with a sandy sort of mud, probably from the kids willing to brave the ocean water. Frigid currents kept Bonney Bay’s waters from warming up much, even on a beautiful August day like this.
“Yes, I can!” Katie shot back.
“Come on, you wouldn’t do that to me.”
“Yes, I would!”
“You’re going to start smelling like a toilet if you stay in there too long.”
“I might as well. I feel like a toilet!”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at that.
“I don’t want to be Klutzy Katie anymore,” she sobbed. “I thought I was done be
ing Klutzy Katie.”
What could I say? I couldn’t promise her she’d never do anything like this again. Poor Katie just seemed to have a knack for bumping into things, tripping, ruining ballet recitals, dropping things…pegging innocent, helpless elderly ladies in the eye with corn…
Her coordination on the mat had improved dramatically. I didn’t know why she kept having these mishaps. In the end, she was probably just going to have to learn not to take them so seriously. But how do you tell that to a ten-year-old? Would I have wanted to hear that at her age? Come on, if I’d just taken a hit like that and flung my lunch all over everyone, at my age, I’d want to sink right into the toilet bowl, too.
Speaking of toilets, the smell was really getting to me. I needed some air. I pulled open the door.
At the sound of it swinging open, Katie said, “Sensei Brenna?” in a small, choked voice.
I paused. “You ready to talk?”
“No!”
“Oh-kay. I just need to step out for some fresh air. I’m not going anywhere. Are you sure you don’t want to come out here with me?”
“No!”
Grr.
A college-age girl walked in as I exited, her trendy purse clutched to her side. She caught a whiff of the bathroom air and gave me an accusatory look. Fantastic. I shook my head and turned the corner of the small bathroom building, seeking some shade and some fresher air. I stopped cold. A pair of feet stuck out from behind the building. They were still. So still. One foot wore a shiny pink pump. The other was shoeless.
The missing shoe lay a few feet away. I’d seen that powder-pink color before. With a knot in my chest, I took a step closer, leaned forward, and peered around the corner. Navy blue skirt, pale pink blazer—Dina Hermiston. I knelt down and touched her wrist. There was no pulse. Her skin was cool to the touch. She was gone. Her eyes were wide open, lifeless. There was no obvious sign of foul play, though there was blood around her head and neck. The only thing out of place was her shoe, but I made sure I didn’t touch anything else, just in case.
My heart raced. With shaking hands, I got out my phone. Not again. Dear God, not again. Will or 9-1-1? Will was my 9-1-1. I wasn’t afraid to admit that. I wanted him here. Taking a few seconds to text him wasn’t going to hurt Dina Hermiston. Nothing was going to hurt Dina ever again, the poor woman.
Come Quick, I texted Will. Found Dina Hermiston behind the bathroom at Brightside. Deceased. Calling 9-1-1.
5
“Sensei Brenna?”
Oh, No. Katie. I wheeled around and darted back toward the door, just in time to catch Katie by the arm as she ran out.
Katie looked at my face and her puffy, red eyes widened. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. Just…why don’t you go back inside?”
“Back in the bathroom?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to smelling like poop?”
“Katie, just go.”
“What’s wrong? Something’s wrong.”
I hesitated. “Yes, something’s wrong. There’s something you don’t need to see.”
Katie looked at me quizzically. Her poor little face looked like one big, red welt. It was hard to tell where the effects of crying ended and the marks from the ball’s impact began.
What was I doing? She was going to find out that there was a dead woman behind the bathroom. Everyone was going to find out. I just didn’t want to tell her. I was a big weenie.
“Do you know Mrs. Hermiston?”
“The lady who used to volunteer at Cherrywood Elementary?”
“Um, I don’t know.”
This was even worse than I’d thought. I didn’t just have to tell Katie someone died, I had to tell her someone she knew had died. Mrs. Hermiston had lived here a long time. I didn’t know her before today, but she must have a long history, a lot of people who knew her from the many things she’d been involved in over the years.
Maybe Katie was thinking of someone else. “Older lady? Wearing a pink blazer today?“
“Yeah, that’s her. She volunteers to help the music teacher.”
So much for hoping. “Katie, I’m sorry, but I found Mrs. Hermiston. She’s dead.”
Waves of confusion and shock rippled over Katie’s already battered face. “But—are you sure? Shouldn’t we try to help her?”
She moved to try to get past me, but I held her back. I shook my head. “It’s too late.”
Katie’s red face paled. I put my arms around her. “Just stay here with me, okay? I’m calling 9-1-1.”
Will was the first one on the scene. I saw him sprinting toward me, Blythe, and Katie, and my heart warmed. I’d had Katie call Blythe on her phone and tell her to meet us outside the bathroom right away, while I stayed on the line with 9-1-1.
“Brenna?” Will asked.
“Over there.” I pointed behind the bathroom.
Will hurried toward the pink shoe and the lifeless form of Dina Hermiston.
The sound of sirens approaching, the flashing lights on the street in front of the parking lot, and the sight of Will running straight for the bathrooms at full speed, without so much as a hello, or a pause to grab a cookie, alerted the salmon bake attendees that something of interest was going down. Picnickers migrated in our direction, with the soccer-playing kids taking the lead.
Will came back around. “Keep them back,” he told me. “Keep the kids back. Keep them all back.”
The look on Will’s face—he was calm, he was professional, but I knew there was something really ugly behind him. Something I hadn’t discovered. Something I had no desire to see. No. It couldn’t be. Not another murder. No way. I wanted to shake my head, but instead I nodded quickly and turned to face the gathering crowd.
“Give officer Riggins some space, please!”
“But, is someone hurt?” David Marillo said. “Who is it? Do they need help?”
I swallowed hard. “No. The best way we can help right now is to stay back.”
“Thank you, everyone. Just step back a bit,” Blythe ran over to me. “Brenna,” she whispered. “How did she die?”
“I’m not sure.”
I looked at Will, and then I knew for sure. It was murder.
Blythe and I sat in Will’s den, exhausted. He handed us drinks and settled on the big, sectional couch beside me. Chloe jumped up and wriggled in between us. She lay with her head in my lap and her tail in Will’s.
“That’s what I get, Chloe? Your hind end? For all the years I endured your slipper-chewing and your puppy puddles?”
Chloe rolled her eyes backward toward him, then nuzzled my hand.
“Wow. That’s loyalty,” Will said.
“Sorry, Will,” I said. Chloe’s tail thumped in Will’s lap.
Oh, to be so innocent, so oblivious to the nastiness in the world. It really wouldn’t be so bad to be a spoiled chocolate lab like Chloe.
Outside, the sun was setting. It had been a long day, not of picnicking and volleyball playing, but of dealing with a crime in our midst. Dina Hermiston had indeed been the victim of foul play. She was eventually taken away in an ambulance, and the police roped off the scene and called in the forensic lady from the county.
Mrs. Hermiston’s children and grandchildren were all a mess of tears, grief, and confusion. The salmon bake would’ve ended early, but everyone had to stick around to give the police their information. Some of us, like me, the unfortunate discoverer of yet another body, had to give official statements. It had been a very long day.
Sammi, whose mother had insisted she clean her room before she could go to the salmon bake, had finally arrived, only to discover that she’d missed all the excitement. She’d stayed around to lend Katie some moral support, and Will had given them both a ride home once they were free to go. Sammi had plans to sleep over at Katie’s house and nurse her back to health with pink bubblegum-flavored ice cream.
“Has Gunter been arrested?” Blythe asked.
I’d made a lengthy statement abou
t Gunter Hatton’s argument with Dina, less than ten minutes before I found her body.
Will shook his head. “Alibi. He has an alibi.”
“Really?” I said.
“Well, you saw him and Mrs. Hermiston part ways. She was still alive. They were headed in opposite directions. And witnesses can account for his every move after that. People saw him heading back to the picnic tables. That’s where he was, up until everyone saw the ambulance coming and realized something was wrong.”
“Sometimes witnesses are mistaken,” Blythe said.
“Do you really think he did it?” I asked her.
“I don’t know. I guess it would just be nice to know who did it and be done with it.”
“Trust me,” Will said, “I know exactly what you mean.”
“So,” I dared to ask, “what was the murder weapon?” From my angle, I hadn’t seen any obvious wounds.
Will stared into his glass of soda. “A meat thermometer.”
“A what?” Blythe and I said at the same time.
“Are you sure?” Blythe’s hand went to her heart.
Will tapped the side of his neck. “Oh, yes. It was still there. Right here. I’ve never seen anything like that. It looked like she just had a heart attack or something, but when I looked close, I saw some blood under her head and neck area. It could’ve been from her hitting her head when she collapsed, from natural causes, but I turned her head, and there it was.”
“What kind of person does that?” I said.
“To a helpless old woman!” Tears came to Blythe’s eyes.
“Someone very angry,” I said.
I couldn’t help it. My wheels were already turning. It couldn’t have been premeditated long ahead of time. I mean, a meat thermometer? Not only was that a gruesome way to kill someone, it wasn’t exactly the ideal murder weapon. Unless…what if the killer was just trying to throw the police off by choosing such an outrageous method? Could it be possible that really wasn’t what killed her? She could’ve been killed by some other means, and the whole scene staged. Surely there would be an autopsy and the police would find out, if that was the case.
