“You twisted my arm.”
“I did not, and you're welcome.” They inched up with the moving line. “Any luck with finding your firearms?”
She shouldn’t have asked him. His good mood plummeted and his smile fell into a frown. “Not a single lead. Whoever was in our house didn’t leave any clues behind, not a fingerprint, not a follicle of hair.”
The line was moving quickly and soon Kate stepped up to the counter and ordered four slices of cheese pizza.
“I only want one slice, remember?” he asked.
Sheepishly, she said, “I’m eating for two...”
“You’re going to eat three slices?”
“It’s not unheard of,” she groused, as they stepped aside for the next customer.
As they waited for their pizza, she asked, “Have you heard of Harold Fink?”
“No, who’s that?”
“He’s a rock climber,” she explained, but Scott didn’t immediately understand the connection, which to Kate had seemed glaring. “He would’ve had nylon cords just like the murder weapon.” Her husband didn’t seem enthralled by her discovery, so she added, “He smells like car oil, just like Maxwell explained.”
“He what?”
“Maxwell didn’t tell you that his attacker smelled like he worked on cars for a living?”
“No, but just because this Harold Fink character does, doesn’t mean he’s a killer.”
“It means he’s worth looking into,” she insisted.
One of the employees behind the counter set their pizza slices near the condiments and Kate began sprinkling a mountain of parmesan cheese on hers, while her husband hung back and stared. When she finally stepped aside, holding her plates, he remarked, “Are you sure you don’t want more cheese?”
“Oh, you be quiet,” she smiled. She wanted to insist to her husband that he ought to interview Harold. Maybe a mere conversation could intimidate the guy into coming out with the truth.
But just as she was about to argue as much, Scott told her, “I have a special song prepared.”
“For tonight?”
“Yeah, what do you think? Of course for tonight.” He led her to one of the picnic tables and brushed snow off the seat for her. As she sat, biting into one of her slices, he added, “I wrote it for you.”
“You did?” she said, her mouth full of pizza. “That’s so sweet.”
“I hope you like it.” He shrugged and broke off a chunk of crust from his slice. “I’ve never written a song before.”
As he went on to explain the types of songs he liked best and how he drew from their composition in order to compose her song, Kate spied Clara entering the amusement park with Harold Fink. They were arm-in-arm and after surveying the crowd, they wandered toward the bandstand.
She had a gut feeling about this. Something told her that Harold was behind the murder as well as the attempt on Maxwell’s life and the break-in at her house, but she couldn’t for the life of her fathom why.
According to Bradley, Harold Fink came to town a few months ago and was heavily focused on Clara, courting her and spending as much time as possible at Bean There. He wanted to get out of his line of work as an automotive mechanic and had suggested he take over the baking at Bean There, essentially replacing Cookie Halpert who had been killed a number of years back. How Harold had known about Cookie piqued Kate’s interest, but the fact of the matter was that the string of murders back then had been heavily publicized. Harold had gone to the library several times to check out books on both cooking and business management, and though Bradley hadn’t mentioned any stories about Mrs. Briar giving him a hard time, it wasn’t difficult for Kate to imagine that she had.
It was nagging at Kate, however, that the attack on Maxwell had greatly muddied the waters. Bradley hadn’t mentioned that Harold knew Maxwell at all. And the crimes just didn’t add up. If they did, Kate would’ve been insistent with Scott that he should look into things immediately. But as it stood, she was too far from the truth to demand anything.
How were Mrs. Briar and Maxwell connected? That was the real clincher. Who would need to kill both of them? And why? And why would that person then trespass into the police chief’s home and steal guns?
Looking back at all the murders she had solved over the years, Kate couldn’t deny that the current one was the most convoluted. It just didn’t add up.
Dean’s voice boomed over the PA speakers, alerting the crowd that the band would begin in five minutes. Scott shoved the last bit of pizza crust into his mouth and began collecting their paper plates. As he threw them in a trash bin, Kate hoisted herself up from the picnic table.
“Can I say break a leg?” she asked him, as they walked hand in hand toward the bandstand.
“Knock ‘em dead?” he suggested.
After giving him a kiss at the bandstand stairs, she told him to knock ‘em dead and then found Maxwell and Gillian at the front of the crowd.
“So you got the night off?” Kate asked her, as Dean began his opening remarks from the stage.
“Yes,” said Gillian quietly. “Amelia hired this new girl, thank God. I’ve been pulling doubles since Thanksgiving. It was long overdue.”
Kate smiled at Maxwell who looked both elated and nervous enough to puke, and then turned her attention to Dean. Behind him the band was picking up their instruments and getting ready to start their first set.
She couldn’t take her eyes off Scott. As he glided his guitar strap over his shoulder, a time warp enveloped Kate. He looked just like he had in high school when he used to play with his band. They had been dating at the time, and who would’ve thought that one rocky marriage later, Kate would end up marrying her high school sweetheart. She had never been happier and as soon as the baby arrived, she knew her life would be even better.
Dean shouted, “Rock Ridge, give a warm welcome to The Law!” and backed away from the standing microphone, clapping and giving Scott room. The crowd broke out into excited applause.
Scott leaned into the mic and said, “This first song is dedicated to the love of my life. You might know her as Mrs. Fix It, but to me she’ll always be Mrs. York.”
Laughter erupted and when Scott strummed the first chord, everyone fell silent.
As The Law began playing an upbeat song that made Kate blush, Maxwell turned abruptly to Gillian and whispered something that Kate assumed was a sweet nothing until he began weaving his way to the edge of the crowd.
Kate returned her gaze to Scott, but couldn’t ignore the bad feeling rising in her chest. She glanced over in the direction Maxwell had taken and found him starting through the snowy darkness, nearing the edge of the forest.
“Where did he go?” she asked Gillian, who only shrugged and resumed bobbing to the song.
“I love you, Kate!” Scott shouted from the stage before the chorus of the song picked up again.
She smiled and waved, but when he launched into the catchy tune, she began shuffling through the crowd after Maxwell.
As she neared the forest, she scanned the darkness.
Soon she locked her gaze on his silhouette through the trees, but he wasn’t alone. It took her a moment to realize a woman was facing him. They looked as if they were arguing, and then the woman whipped a gun from her coat pocket.
Scott’s gun?
Was that Clara?
Keeping in shadow, Kate neared a tree trunk and peered out at them, but she wasn’t close enough. She couldn’t hear what they were saying. Shuffling to the next tree, snow kicked up into her boots and she realized that without a crowd of people all around her, it was downright freezing. She peered out again and was able to overhear pieces of their strained argument.
Clara said, “I’ve got nothing against you, kid.”
“You’ve got nothing against me, but you tried to kill me?”
“That wasn’t me and you know it,” she insisted.
“But you're helping him. You’re an accomplice,” he argued, his voice cracking with fe
ar. “Why? Why are you doing this?”
“I love him,” she said easily. “He reminds me of someone I used to love very much.”
Kate knew exactly whom Clara was referring to. Clifford Green had been the local bad boy some years back and Clara had engaged in a secret affair with him. Ultimately, Clifford was murdered, a tragedy that wasn’t entirely surprising given his rough lifestyle. Why was Clara attracted to these types?
“That guy from the coffee shop?” Maxwell demanded. “That’s who you’re doing this for?”
“I’m not doing anything,” she countered.
“Just holding me at gun point,” he snapped. “Why does he want me dead? Why did he try to strangle me to death?”
Clara pressed her mouth into a hard line and then said, “If he wants to clue you in, he will. It’s not for me to say.”
“I’ve never done anything. No one has a reason to kill me.”
“Oh, come on now, Maxwell. If that was true you wouldn’t have agreed to meet me in the woods like we are.”
“Just because Mrs. Briar liked me, just because I was probably the only person in town she actually enjoyed being around, doesn’t mean I deserve to die.”
Clara snorted a laugh. “All you had to do was get her out of her house. That’s all. And you wouldn’t.”
“That was you?”
“No,” she corrected and again insisted she was only helping.
“I didn’t even pay attention to that note, and it was months ago,” he said, thinking out loud. “Your boyfriend wanted me to get Mrs. Briar out of her house, why?”
“For her gun collection.”
“Why?”
“Harold wanted guns, but as you can see, he managed to get his hands on others.”
“Why not just buy guns?”
Clara glared at him and Kate sensed she was about to reveal something, but before she understood what was happening, she felt the hard barrel of a gun digging into her back.
The man behind her said, “You should’ve stayed at the party.”
Chapter Eleven
“You did this for guns?” Kate demanded. “You killed Mrs. Briar for some gun collection?”
Harold threw her down into the snow and Maxwell immediately rushed to help her up. Kate’s heart was pounding. Adrenaline surged through her veins.
As her assistant lifted her to her feet, she asked, “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you mention you were close with Mrs. Briar?”
“Because every time I did people looked at me like I had two heads.”
Harold aimed his gun at Kate’s head. “Shut up.”
But she wouldn’t. “You threatened him with a note?”
“Thanks for making it so easy for me to get what I wanted,” he said smugly.
“What do you even need guns for?”
“That’s my concern. Not yours.”
“And you couldn’t simply buy them?” she pressed.
“Shut up!” he yelled, cocking the gun fast with his thumb. “It’s a new business venture.”
“Laundering weapons?” she guessed, staring at him in disbelief before glancing at Clara. “Your life is over, Clara. Do you get that? You’re going to go away to prison for a very long time for this.”
“No, actually,” she said. “My life isn’t over. Yours is.”
Would she really do it? Pull the trigger? Could she? How long had Kate known Clara? How many times had she stopped in Bean There, asked about the barista’s day and shared with her about her own life?
Would she really risk the sound of a gunshot with thousands of people standing not fifty yards from where they were? Did she love Harold so much that she’d take Kate’s life?
Kate didn’t think so.
Without hesitation, she bolted, sprinting as fast as she could, Maxwell calling after her. It wasn’t until the forest got darker and darker that she realized she was running deeper into the woods and not away from it.
She leapt over snowdrifts and ducked under branches in a chaotic dash for safety, vaguely aware that she hadn’t heard gunfire, though the sound of boots stomping through the snow wasn’t too far off.
Suddenly, she felt out of breath. She had no choice but to ease her pace to a jog. Looking over her shoulder in hopes of seeing how close Harold was, all she saw were the shapes and shadows of the woods. She stopped and braced against a tree trunk with both hands, catching her breath and scanning the forest.
Without warning, her entire belly tightened and a terrible stabbing pain hit her. She keeled over, willing herself not to scream, and began sucking air quickly through her teeth as if oxygen would ease the pain.
After a moment, it subsided and her ability to think returned. If she could jog in a wide arch, she could make it back to the amusement park and get Scott or Detective Kilroy or any number of police officers in attendance.
Digging deep and promising herself that this would soon be over, she drew in a lung full of wintery air, snow falling all around her, and began jogging.
But she didn’t get farther than five steps before the stabbing pain returned and this time when she keeled over, she let out an agonizing cry.
“You can run, but you can’t hide,” yelled Harold from the shadows and it was just the motivation she needed to start off running.
Or so she thought...
She took one heavy step after the next, holding her stomach and praying that the baby would be okay. She nearly lost her balance, and she fell sideways against a tree trunk to catch her breath.
She took another step and then another, fighting the pain and reminding herself that getting back to the crowd would be the only way to save her baby. If Harold caught up with her, if he got a clear line of sight and shot, then both her and her unborn child would be dead.
She kept moving, one foot in front of the other, but all of a sudden she felt hands grasp her shoulders and she fell forward into the snow, screaming out, “Help!” on her way down.
Kicking and clawing at the snow and yelling, she fought, but he was too strong. He flipped her over, pinning her, his cold hands clamping around her throat.
“Don’t do this,” she said softly. There was no air.
“I have to,” he said. “It’s what I do.”
As Kate’s world went dark, she heard a gunshot in the distance and Maxwell sprung to the forefront of her mind.
Chapter Twelve
The sound of a blaring siren brought her back into consciousness. As Kate’s eyes popped open, an incredible pain tightened around her stomach that she was all too familiar with.
Contractions.
Her eyes darted around and she realized she was in the back of an ambulance. Two medics were sticking needles in each of her arms, as the ambulance bounced with the snowy terrain.
Scott grabbed her hand, but one of the medics urged him back.
“Kate! You’re okay!”
“Where am I?” she asked, even though she knew. “Why am I in an ambulance?”
“Ma’am,” barked one of the medics. “You can’t sit up. Lie back.”
She did, so Scott stood over her so that she wouldn’t have to strain to see him.
Before she could ask another question, the band around her stomach tightened again, this time the pain was so great that she screamed, curling into a ball and vaguely aware that the medics were remarking to one another how much time they had.
“No,” she told them when the pain eased off. “I’m not due for another two months.”
“We can’t fight nature,” one of the medics told her. “And the baby wants to come now.”
Kate locked eyes with Scott, who looked just as terrified as she felt. “Is my baby okay?”
“We don’t have the equipment here to answer that, but we’ll be at the hospital soon.”
Scott demanded, “Can’t you drive any faster!”
The driver called over his shoulder, “The roads are a mess, Sir!”
“Maxwell!” She blurted out, bolting upright, but they only f
orced her onto her back again. “Where is he? Is he all right? I heard a gunshot.”
Scott squeezed her hand and explained, “He saved you.”
“What? What do you mean? What does that mean? Is he okay?”
But he wouldn’t answer her except to say, “Maxwell provoked Clara into firing her weapon and if he hadn’t done that, no one would’ve known you two were out there. We came running. We arrested Harold Fink and Clara. It’s all over. You need to rest now.”
Kate felt tears streaming down her face, as the ambulance swung a left hand turn and came to a stop moments later.
“We’re here,” said one of the medics, who crouch-walked to the back of the ambulance, opened the doors, and jumped out, while the other rolled the gurney Kate was on.
It wasn’t until they had expanded the gurney wheels and began pushing her toward the emergency room entrance that Scott jumped out of the ambulance and jogged after them.
“Scott!” She called out, as another contraction hit her. “Where’s my doctor?”
“She’ll be here soon,” said a medic, who let go of the gurney, while a number of nurses swarmed around her.
The next thing she knew she was shrieking in pain inside of the delivery room. “Can’t you give me something?” she demanded. “Something to stop the baby from coming?”
“You’re too far along,” said a nurse before setting an oxygen mask over Kate’s nose and mouth.
She felt immediately relaxed as the air flowed up her nose so she slapped it away. She didn’t want to be knocked out for the birth of her baby.
What would this even mean? She couldn’t have her baby eight weeks early. It would be detrimental to the health of both of them.
Dr. Willard rushed into the room and began instructing Kate on what she needed to do and Kate refused until Scott barreled through the doors and took hold of her hand.
“It’s going to be okay,” he told her. “You can do this.”
“But it’s too soon,” she breathed, as another contraction hit her.
An hour later, Kate had given birth to a premature baby girl. After cleaning the baby up and swaddling her in a pink blanket, the nurse allowed Kate to hold her.
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