Beignets and Broomsticks

by J. R. Ripley

  ‘I know. I ID’d the license plate,’ he replied. ‘Did either of you drive it here?’

  ‘No, we came together.’ Brad stuffed his hands in his back pockets.

  ‘In that car?’ Highsmith pointed to Brad’s vehicle.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Did either of you see someone in the vicinity riding a small motorbike?’

  ‘No,’ I answered. ‘Why?’

  ‘There are some tracks around. It could mean nothing.’

  I hadn’t noticed.

  ‘A dirt biker, maybe?’ suggested Brad. We did get a lot of them buzzing around the hills.

  ‘Nope. The tire treads are wrong. I think we are done for now.’ Detective Highsmith clicked his pen open and closed.

  ‘There is one more thing I think you should be aware of, Detective,’ I said.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I found a burnt document in the ashes of the fire.’ I pointed at the campfire ring. ‘It’s some sort of SEC financial statement concerning ASK Financial Services. You can see it there on top that rock.’

  Brad’s brow went up.

  ‘You shouldn’t have touched it, Ms Miller. This is a crime scene.’

  ‘I didn’t know that at the time, Detective.’

  His mouth went flat. ‘Right. What’s ASK Financial Services got to do with this?’

  I lowered my chin. ‘Why don’t you ask VV that question, Detective?’

  Highsmith’s face darkened. ‘I have to get back but I am going to want to talk to both of you again, get your official statements, OK?’

  We both nodded readily.

  ‘Fine. You can both go. And Ms Miller, I was going to bring your laptop back to you today. It’s on the front seat of my car. Help yourself.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘No fingerprints?’

  ‘Just yours.’

  I was afraid of that. ‘What about the tea?’ I asked as Highsmith distanced himself from us.

  He paused and turned. ‘What tea?’

  ‘The tea that Nancy drank. Were there any fingerprints on that cup?’

  ‘Only hers and Rob’s.’

  I raised my brow ever so slightly. ‘Is he a suspect?’

  Highsmith pointed toward the tent with the pen clutched in his right hand. ‘I’m walking over there. If, when I get to the tent and turn around, you two are still here …’ He paused for effect. ‘I’m holding the two of you on suspicion of murder.’

  He turned his back on us without waiting for an answer.

  ‘Is he kidding?’ griped Brad, balling up his hands. ‘Who does that guy think he is?’

  ‘A man with handcuffs,’ I said. ‘Come on, let’s go!’ I hurried around to the passenger side of Brad’s Honda and hopped in.

  Brad jumped in and started the engine.

  ‘Wait!’ I threw open my door.

  ‘What is it?’

  I didn’t stop to reply. There was no time to waste because Highsmith, curse his long legs, had nearly reached the tent.

  I threw open the door of Highsmith’s car and grabbed my laptop. I clutched it to my chest and ran as fast as I could. I practically threw myself inside Brad’s car.

  As I balanced the laptop on the dashboard and Brad put the little car in gear, I saw Detective Highsmith staring at us from the edge of the tent.

  We had made it by the skin of our teeth. It was a good thing too, because I didn’t look good in handcuffs – they made my wrists look big.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Brad dropped me off at my apartment. I had walked to work that morning knowing he was picking me up.

  ‘Do you want to come in? I could order a pizza.’

  ‘No, thanks. I’ll take a raincheck. I need to get back to my desk.’

  I couldn’t help grinning. ‘Don’t tell me, you’ve got a story to write.’ Herman’s murder wouldn’t be big news – after all, he was just some crazy treasure hunter in the eyes of the world – but it was news.

  He nodded. ‘Before one of the big papers beats me to it.’

  I exited the car and hovered at the curb with my hand on the window. ‘Any thoughts on who might have slashed his throat?’

  ‘No.’ Brad’s wrists hung over the steering wheel. ‘It wasn’t the same MO as Nancy’s murder.’

  ‘My money is on Alan Klopton, Gary Busby and Stephanie Headley.’

  ‘You think all three of them did it?’

  ‘All three, one, two out of three. Take your pick. Personally, I say start at the top: Alan Klopton, president and potential killer.’

  I grabbed my laptop off the floor of the car. ‘Why else would there be a copy of an SEC financial report on ASK Financial Services at a treasure seeker’s campsite?’

  I didn’t really think he was looking to hire ASK as his financial consultants. And it seemed like every time something bad happened, somebody from ASK was around.

  ‘If it was important, wouldn’t the killer have taken it?’ Brad countered.

  ‘I suppose you’re right.’ I was getting tired of questions with no answers.

  Brad took off, promising to check in with me tomorrow. I dragged myself inside, showered and changed into a pair of comfy jeans and an old ASU sweatshirt.

  I fed C2 and had a large pizza delivered to myself. I didn’t plan to eat the entire pie. I’d save the cold leftovers for breakfast.

  When the pizza arrived, I carried the box to the coffee table in front of the sofa next to my margarita glass and pulled out a warm, gooey slice – fresh mushroom, onion and garlic. Garlic, one of the perks of being single.

  While I ate, I powered up my laptop and did a little internet snooping.

  Two hours of fishing, four slices of pizza and a margarita and a half later, I closed the laptop in frustration.

  Not a single bite. Not even a nibble.

  I’d found nothing interesting on ASK Financial Services. Whatever they were about, they hid it well.

  It was late. I squeezed the pizza box into the fridge and went to check that I had locked the front door. Two murders in a matter of days had me seriously spooked.

  I picked up Jakob Waltz’s wrapped painting. I’d been meaning to take it to the café and fill the hole in the wall. I yawned and unwrapped the package, curious to see what he had for me this time.

  It was a colorful landscape that captured the beauty of the surrounding red rock countryside. I set it carefully on a kitchen chair and turned off the lights.

  I headed to the bedroom, then paused. Something tickled at the back of my brain. I returned to the kitchen, turned on the light and gazed at the painting for a long moment.

  There was something oddly familiar about it. I scanned the sky, the trees and the rocks. That was it. My finger rubbed gently against one particular rock.

  I had seen that rock the day Brad and I had driven out to the Sacred Church of Witchkraft. I remembered it because it had reminded me of a cactus itself. I had mentioned to Brad how it looked like someone had actually carved a giant cactus out of the mountainside.

  Jakob had painted that scene. That meant he had been near the Sacred Church of Witchkraft.

  Wait. My heart skipped a beat. I studied the painting, the angle of the strokes, the brushwork. I was no expert but at first glance it seemed to me that maybe, just maybe, Jakob had also painted those canvases I had seen in the church’s headquarters when Brad and I had met with the headmaster and headmistress.

  Was Jakob one of them?

  Was he their hired killer?

  I laid the frame gently on the kitchen table and stared at it. Was I staring at the work of a vicious murderer?

  I sat at the table. Nancy and Jakob knew each other. Nancy and the three suits from ASK knew each other. Suryavayu claimed that the church had hired Nancy to do some sort of write-up about the church for them. It looked like Jakob was affiliated with them as well.

  I gasped, remembering now the recently sold painting of Jakob’s that I had so admired. He told me that he had hired a hot-air balloon so he co
uld see and sketch out the scene he was trying to capture and then paint it.

  I slipped my cellphone out from my purse and looked at the time. It was late but I took a chance and dialed Brad’s number. If I was wrong about Jakob, I didn’t want to damage his reputation with false accusations. He’d been in trouble with the police more than once already. He didn’t need any more bad publicity.

  On the other hand, if I was right, and Jakob was the killer, I wasn’t about to face him alone.

  The phone rang and rang. Finally, I heard somebody on the other line pick up.

  ‘Hello, Brad?’

  ‘Hi, Maggie. What’s up?’

  ‘Do you remember that new painting that Jakob Waltz brought to my apartment?’

  ‘The one for consignment in the café, sure. What about it?’ I could hear Brad typing in the background.

  ‘I opened it.’

  ‘Is it any good?’

  I took a breath. ‘More than good. I think it could be a key to Nancy Alverson’s murder.’

  ‘How’s that?’

  ‘I think Jakob might have killed her.’

  The sound of typing ceased.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Do you remember that rock we saw that I said looked like a giant cactus?’

  ‘Yeah. So?’

  ‘There’s a rock just like it in this painting.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Brad sounded dubious.

  ‘I’m looking right at it, Brad. I think Jakob killed Nancy.’

  ‘A lover’s quarrel?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I replied. ‘Maybe. I remember that there were several paintings in the office of the high priest and high priestess at the church. I think Jakob painted those too. I don’t know how I missed it before, but the style is similar to say the least. He could be working for the Sacred Church of Witchkraft. And if Nancy was writing some exposé about them—’

  ‘I don’t know, Maggie …’

  ‘There’s only one way to find out. Talk to him. Now.’

  ‘Now?’ Brad’s voice rose. ‘I’ve got a story to write.’

  ‘Think about it,’ I teased. ‘If Jakob is the killer, this could be an even better story.’

  Brad grunted. That meant I was right and he knew it. ‘Fine. Give me a few minutes to wrap things up and I’ll come get you.’

  ‘I’ve got my bike. Tell me where he lives and I’ll meet you outside.’ I could use the fresh air and the exercise.

  Brad looked up Jakob’s home address and I wrote it down on a scrap of paper.

  I bundled up and left through the patio. Jakob’s modest home was a mile or two from my apartment. The streets of Table Rock were laid out mostly in a grid fashion, so I had no trouble finding the place.

  There were several lights on inside the modest house. I rolled to a stop beside the thick trunk of a wide-canopied oak. Straddling my Schwinn, I watched from the relative safety of the shadows.

  The curtains were drawn. I could see Jakob moving about inside. A minute later, he stepped out carrying a suitcase. He popped the rear hatch of an old-model SUV in the gravel driveway. He threw the suitcase in the back then returned indoors.

  Was he leaving?

  I glanced at my watch to see the time. Where was Brad? If he didn’t show up soon, Jakob could get away.

  I bit the inside of my cheek in frustration. I stared at my watch. The minute hand went around two more times and that was all I could take.

  I was going to have to go in alone, knowing that Brad would be right behind me.

  Or so I hoped …

  I rolled onto the sidewalk and lowered the kickstand. With trepidation, I started up the sidewalk. Jakob’s house was a cream-colored cottage with a shingled roof and a narrow, covered front porch.

  I mounted the steps and knocked.

  I heard light sounds from inside and a TV playing in the background.

  The front door opened and Jakob stood there. ‘Ms Miller, what are you doing here?’ He wore paint-spattered jeans and a dark blue, long-sleeved turtleneck shirt. Leather moccasins covered his feet.

  ‘Brad and I wanted to talk to you.’

  ‘Brad?’ Jakob’s brows pushed together and he looked past me.

  ‘Brad Smith, the reporter from the newspaper. The one who interviewed you. Brad’s meeting me here. He’ll be along in a minute.’

  I wanted Jakob to know that upfront and I wanted to make that very clear.

  ‘What do you guys want to talk to me about?’ Jakob thrust his hands in his front pockets. A strong smell of paint mixed with smoke wafted past him.

  ‘Nancy.’

  Jakob’s mouth tightened into a thin line.

  ‘Can I come in?’

  After a moment’s hesitation, Jakob stepped aside. ‘If you want.’ He motioned me inside.

  The door opened up into a cramped living space with a low ceiling. A black woodstove sat in the right corner. A white fan hung in the middle of the room. Beige carpet, worn and dirty, ran from wall to wall.

  A futon loveseat was pushed up against the wall. Jakob walked to the TV on the coffee table facing the futon and turned it off. The table held a remote control, several empty beer bottles and an ashtray. A pair of stuffed green duffle bags leaned into the corner. The frame of an easel protruded from the opening of one of them.

  ‘Going somewhere?’ I asked.

  ‘Huh?’

  I pointed to the bags.

  ‘I thought I’d get out of town for a couple of days. Take a break. Get away from … everything.’ Jakob fell onto the chocolate-colored futon mattress and indicated that I should sit in the solitary dining chair in the front window.

  I sat. The walls were covered with original art. All Jakob’s work, by the looks of them. He was good. Against the wall stood several overstocked bookcases with books of all sizes piled in every possible space. Most were art books, design and history.

  Beyond the living room was an Arizona room, a small glassed-in patio on which I could see several easels.

  To the left there was a hall that I pictured leading to a couple of bedrooms and a bath. I could see the tiny galley kitchen to the right. A black backpack leaned in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room.

  Jakob leaned forward, his elbows pressed against his legs. ‘What’s this about Nancy? What did you want exactly?’

  I glanced out the window, hoping for a sign of Brad. There was none. The street was quiet. ‘I took a look at that painting that you brought me the other night for the café.’

  ‘Is there something wrong with it? Don’t you like it, Ms Miller?’ He began to rise. ‘I can pick out something else, if you like.’

  ‘No.’ I waved for him to sit. ‘It’s nothing like that. The fact is I thought I recognized it.’

  Jakob’s brow furrowed deeply. ‘Recognized it how?’

  ‘There was a rock in the background, one that looked like a cactus.’ I watched Jakob’s eyes as I spoke for telltale signs. ‘I saw a rock formation like that. It was near the Sacred Church of Witchkraft.’

  Jakob’s hands clenched.

  I glanced once again out the window for Brad. What was keeping him? ‘Do you know it?’

  Jakob jumped to his feet and I gasped. He paced from the futon to the Arizona room and back again. ‘Yes. I know it. So?’

  ‘Do you know Alan Klopton?’

  ‘Who?’ Jakob looked at me from the other side of the coffee table.

  ‘Alan Klopton, Gary Busby and Stephanie Headley. They are with ASK Financial Services.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of them.’

  I couldn’t tell if he was lying or not. He clearly looked troubled. ‘They work for the church. At least, I think they do. What about you, Jakob? That rock formation is on or near the church. Do you work for them, too?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t work for anybody.’

  ‘I saw some of your work there,’ I pressed. ‘In the high priest’s office at the church. Your work is unique.’ I hoped my hu
nch was right. ‘I recognized several of your paintings.’

  Jakob stared at his hands for a minute before speaking. ‘OK, so I did some paintings for the church on commission. I admit it. It’s no crime.’

  He stood and began pacing once more. ‘The pay was good. As you may have noticed, I’m not exactly rolling in dough, Ms Miller.’

  ‘Was Nancy working for the church too?’

  ‘What?’ Jakob shook his head. ‘No. I mean, I don’t think so. Why would she?’

  ‘From the way Nancy talked, she didn’t like those people at all.’

  ‘Did you know Nancy was being paid by them?’

  ‘No.’ He seemed genuinely surprised.

  ‘Do you know a prospector named Herman?’

  ‘No.’ Jakob went to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of beer. He popped the cap with an opener screwed to the wall.

  He raised the bottle to his lips and chugged half of it down his throat. ‘What’s with all the questions, Ms Miller?’ Anger had built up inside him. ‘Huh? Do you think I killed Nancy? Is that what this is all about?’

  I glanced nervously out the window, wishing that Brad would pull into the driveway. And the minute he did, I was going to kill him.

  ‘Of course not,’ I said to calm him. ‘After all, the police questioned you. You have an alibi, right?’ I stood and inched my way closer to the front door. ‘Where was it you said you were the night Nancy was strangled?’

  I knew that Jakob had told Brad that he had been home that night. But Jakob had also been in the vicinity of Nancy’s apartment near the time of her murder. He’d certainly had the opportunity to commit murder.

  Like he did now. That was an uneasy thought.

  Jakob’s bottle was clenched in his fingers as he stepped toward me. ‘This is crazy.’

  His arm darted toward me. I leapt backward, hitting the bookcase.

  ‘You want a beer?’

  I gulped. ‘N-no.’ I picked up several books that had fallen to the floor and laid them haphazardly on the nearest shelf.

  ‘Look, you want the truth, I’ll tell you the truth.’

  I held my tongue, giving him free rein.

  ‘I was young. I got in a little trouble.’

  ‘Trouble?’

  ‘Small stuff. A few fights. A couple of buddies and me borrowed a car. I sold some weed to friends.’