by Blair Merrin
“I have questions,” Sharon tells him. “And you have answers. We can do this here, or we can do this down at the police station.”
“Alright!” he shouts. “Alright, I did it. I stole the stupid necklace.”
Sharon looks at me. I look at her. Dash looks confused.
“Huh?” we all say.
“Isn’t that what you’re here for? Maximoff told the police I stole from him?”
“What? No,” Sharon answers. “No, that’s not it at all. We came to ask you questions about Anna.”
“Oh.” Chad stares at the floor and shakes his head. “Yeah. I heard about that.”
Sharon pinches the bridge of her nose. “Hang on. One thing at a time. What are you doing here on a Sunday while Maximoff is doing his community service?”
“And more importantly,” Dash cuts in, “the day after your girlfriend was killed?”
“Look, no one is as broken up about Anna as I am. I had to find out about her from my downstairs neighbor. Nobody called me. Nobody came to tell me. We’ve only been dating a couple of months; half her family didn’t even know about us.” Chad sighs. “As far as Maximoff goes… while I was doing the renovations on his kitchen, I found an old necklace that had dropped beneath a floorboard. It looked expensive. I took it. Later he found it in my toolbox. He told me he wouldn’t report it to the police if I put in overtime on the weekends.”
“Anna called you yesterday morning when she left her meeting with Pete,” Sharon states. “The phone records show it was only a three-minute conversation. What’d you two talk about?”
Chad hangs his head. “The reason she was dropping the kids off to him so early is because the two of us were supposed to go away for the weekend. My uncle has a cabin up in the woods. But Maximoff was making me work, and I couldn’t tell her why. She got angry. Then she said she was heading up Indian Head Road, and that she was going to lose reception, and she hung up on me. That was it.”
Sharon and I share a look, and I know she’s thinking the same thing as me. If Anna called Chad right after leaving the gas station and headed up Indian Head Road, where she was shot, that means she was killed at 6:37 in the morning.
“And where were you while you were on the phone with her?” Sharon asks.
“I was just getting here,” Chad answers. “You can ask Maximoff, he was… well, he was passed out. But I was here.” Realization seems to dawn on him and his eyes get real wide, like a frightened rabbit. “Wait, am I a suspect?”
I shrug. “You do seem like the jealous type, Chad. We overheard you at Bonnie’s giving her grief about Dash.”
“No, no, no,” he says quickly. “Look, I’ll be the first to admit that I get jealous. My last woman I was with, we were engaged, and she cheated… I have trust issues. But I’d never murder anyone, I swear it!”
“Well, he swore it. I’m sure that’s good enough, right?”
“Cassie, don’t make fun of the suspects,” Dash says quietly.
“I didn’t kill anybody!” Chad shouts.
“Do you own a gun, Mr. Holland?” Sharon asks him.
“A few, yeah. Lots of people do.”
“Any that fire nine millimeter rounds? And don’t lie. We’ll know soon enough.”
Chad blanches. “Well… yeah. One. But it’s permitted and everything. Completely legal.”
“Sure, ‘cause legal guns can’t kill people,” I mutter.
“Cassie,” Dash warns.
Sharon puts her hand on her chin for a long moment. “Dash, powwow,” she says. She and Dash retreat a few paces. I follow, of course, and the three of us huddle up.
“I don’t think I should cut him loose. Seems like a flight risk,” Sharon whispers.
“Agreed,” Dash says. “We could hold him on the theft he admitted to, maybe Maximoff will press charges.”
“Plus he was a jerk to Anna,” I chime in.
“Alright,” Sharon says, turning to Chad. “Sorry, pal, but it looks like we’re taking a ride.”
CHAPTER 11
So, remember that serious conversation I mentioned? It happens on the ride back to the police station. I ride with Dash (because it’s illegal to ride in a police car while there’s a suspect in it, or something like that) in his midnight blue El Dorado, a car that I would have thought was compensating for something but actually turns out to be a pretty sweet ride.
“Strange that you somehow ended up getting involved,” Dash remarks casually.
“I know. Lay it on me. I’m irresponsible, and shouldn’t stick my nose in other people’s business, and, let’s see… oh, I’m going to get myself hurt one of these days…”
“Yeah. Pretty much all that.”
I blink at him. “That’s it?”
He shrugs. “I can’t tell you what to do and what not to do. I’m not the Chad type. All I can do is hope that you stay safe and keep me informed, and ask for help if you need it.”
Huh. Guess I got off pretty easy.
“Well, at least get me up to speed,” Dash asks. So I fill him in on what we’ve discovered so far in the case. We arrive back at the police station at about the same time as Sharon, so the four of us—her, me, Dash, and a handcuffed Chad—enter together.
Turns out Pete is there too, giving a statement to Phil, and when the two men see each other all hell breaks loose.
Pete leaps up from the chair. “You murdered my wife, didn’t you, you lousy no-good—”
“Me?” Chad shouts back. “I’m not the jilted ex! You had every reason to—”
Sharon holds Chad back by the chain of the handcuffs and shoulder, while Phil grabs Pete around the chest to keep him from advancing.
“Don’t think Anna and I didn’t still talk. I know all about you, you jealous, controlling schmuck!”
“At least I treated her like a woman, and not a possession, you chauvinist pig!”
“That’s enough!” Phil roars. Sharon drags Chad back to one of the holding cells while Phil spins on Pete. “Take a walk, Pete. Cool down a bit. Come back in a few minutes.”
“I’m fine,” Pete grunts, his face bright red.
“Take a walk,” Phil says forcefully.
Pete scowls, but does as he’s told. Must be something harkening back to their old football days or something. He storms out of the station, making a big show of yanking the door open hard.
“Can’t we just say they both did it and be done?” I mutter. “Seems better all around.”
Phil turns sharply on us. “And you two! Cassie and Dash. Why am I not surprised? Why is it that when something bad is going down, I find you in the middle of it?”
“I asked them to help,” Sharon says suddenly, returning from the rear of the station. “I didn’t want to go after Chad Holland alone.”
Phil raises an eyebrow, likely fully aware that Sharon would have no trouble taking a suspect in on her own. “Why didn’t you call me or Tom?”
She shrugs. “They were closer.”
Phil chuckles, though I sense it’s of the sardonic variety. “This job is going to kill me,” he mutters. “Alright. Someone tell me something good.”
“Well…” Sharon starts. “According to the phone records and security footage, Anna’s time of death was 6:37 a.m.”
“That’s oddly specific. But the coroner pegs it around that.”
“Which means Pete’s out,” Sharon says, and I definitely hear the disappointment in her voice. “He was at the Gas N’ Guzzle until 6:38.”
“And this Chad fellow claims he was at Maximoff’s place right around then,” Dash adds. “We’ll have to confirm it with neighbors or anyone that might have seen him, but there’s no way he could have gotten up to Indian Head Road at the same time and then gotten to Maximoff’s that quickly.”
“Right,” Sharon agrees. “Unless he can be in two places at the same time.”
“Or he was going the other way,” I say.
Everyone turns to look at me.
“What’d you say?” Phil a
sks.
“Unless he was going the other direction. The phone call between Chad and Anna dropped because she was losing reception on Indian Head Road, right? And Anna was shot by someone going the opposite direction, presumably from a car. So if Chad was driving up Indian Head Road from the opposite way, they likely would lose cell reception at the same time. If he didn’t slow down or stop, and just kept going, he could have gotten to Maximoff’s by, what, 6:40, maybe sooner?”
Everyone stares at me for a while. I mean, it’s just a theory. I don’t think it was that hard to come up with.
Dash nods his head slowly. “That… makes sense.”
“Alright,” Phil says, “then what’s his motive?”
“Besides being a world-class jerk to her?” I ask.
“Yes. Besides that.”
“Jeez, I don’t know. You guys are the cops, not me.”
Sharon laughs a little, but it fades quickly at Phil’s sidelong glare. “Okay,” he says. “Dash, you’re on the case with us starting now. Talk to Anna’s family. Find out if anything’s been amiss with her lately, regarding Pete or Chad. Or anyone else, for that matter. Sharon, get the records on Pete’s guns, and Chad Holland’s, if he owns any. Cassie…” He looks at me for a long moment. “Go back to your shop.”
I stick my lip out a little bit.
“And let me know when something falls into your lap, as it tends to do.” He grins a little as he says it.
“Sure thing, Chief.” I give Dash’s arm a squeeze and head out of the station. Being dismissed isn’t a terrible thing, since it is a Sunday, and I’ve left Mom all alone at the store.
As I walk through the reception area on my way out, I see an older woman sitting there patiently. I know who she is, but this is the first time I’ve really gotten a decent look at her. She’s mid-sixties, wearing red lipstick and an angora sweater. Her hair looks like she recently got a perm. How odd, I think, that someone would doll themselves up for a trip to the police station.
As I pass her, I nod slightly to her in greeting, and I swear that Pete’s mother shoots me a tiny, satisfied smirk.
CHAPTER 12
I head back to the shop, as Phil suggested. I don’t know what to think about the case, but I do know that I’m glad to be with someone like Dash, someone who values my opinion and sees me as an equal. Someone who listens to me and doesn’t try to rein me in (unless it’s for my own good, based on my predilections). I think that women have come a long way in the last century or so in a lot of ways. But then I think about someone like poor Anna, and the winners that she chose, and it gives me pause. The only thing I can hope is that as time goes on, the world produces more Dashes and fewer Chads and Petes.
That woman’s smirk irks me too. I don’t believe I’ve ever met Pete’s mother, or actually spoken to her, but there was something in her smirk that was at least a little disarming to me. It could have been that she was trying to smile politely and that’s just how her face looks. I don’t know.
I get back to Miss Miscellanea to find Mom drowning in customers. And by “drowning,” I mean there’s like eight tourists wandering around the store. Mom is a great employee for a secondhand shop—she could sell ice to an Eskimo—but multitasking is not her strong suit. I jump into the fray, help her out, and in short time we get everyone taken care of and out the door.
“I guess tourist season came late this year!” she proclaims when the shop is once again empty.
“Mom, why don’t you go grab some lunch up at Bonnie’s?” I ask her. “You look a little frazzled.”
“That sounds wonderful. Would you like me to bring you something, sweetie?”
My stomach growls intensely, and I realize I haven’t eaten yet today. “Yes, please. Bring me two of every animal,” I declare.
She gives me a weird look, but grabs her purse and heads for the door. Before she goes, she says, “Oh, did you hear about that poor girl they found up on the hill?”
“I heard, yeah.”
“Such a shame. What is the world coming to?” She leaves, the bell on the door tinkling as she does.
See, when I was a teenager, I didn’t like to tell my mom when I was involved with a boy because she’d get all up in my business about it, with mom-quotes like “I hope you’re being safe” and “you know they’re only after one thing.” Things aren’t much different for adult Cassie, except now I don’t like to tell my mom when I’m involved with things like murder cases because she’d get all up in my business with mom-quotes like “I hope you’re being safe” (not being murdered) and “you know they’re only after one thing” (murdering people).
I guess we’ve come full-circle, in a weird way.
She comes back about a half an hour later with a Styrofoam container filled with deliciousness—crispy chicken-fried steak smothered in creamy country gravy, flaky biscuits, and homemade mashed potatoes. Again I find myself wondering how in the world Bonnie is managing this all herself, but instead of asking questions I take my food into the back office and wolf it down, and for those few minutes I forget all about the murder. I can hear tourists meandering through the store, asking Mom where those amazing smells are coming from. Mine! I think sourly.
The afternoon goes by without much incident, other than me checking my phone every three minutes or so waiting to hear something from Dash. Folks come and go, most of them buying something, others just browsing, but all of them making some sort of mention of “that girl they found on the hill.” Word has traveled fast, even among the non-residents, and everyone seems to think I know something about it (which I do) that I’m willing to divulge (which I’m not).
Dusk settles in before I hear from Dash, but rather than call me, he shows up at the store, looking exhausted.
“Hey, Inspector Clouseau,” I greet, making a mental note that I’m running out of fictional detectives to call him. I remind myself to Google some later. “You look terrible.”
“Please, don’t sugarcoat it.” He grins briefly. “We’re getting nowhere fast with this.”
“Lay it on me.” I go to the door and flip the Open sign to Closed. Technically there’s another fifteen minutes until closing time, but I’m just as tired as Dash looks, and frankly, it’s my shop. I can close when I darn well feel like it.
“Alright.” He settles into an antique rocking chair near a curio display. “Pete’s mom, Patricia, backed him up on his story. Says that Anna twisted his arm, he went into the gas station, came out, and they all left together—her, Pete, and the kids.”
“What do the kids say?”
Dash shrugs. “We don’t know. Pete won’t let the cops question them. He says it’s too traumatic; they’re really broken up about their mom.”
“Rightly so.”
“Totally. But we’d need a subpoena from a judge to get around parental consent, and Phil’s not sure it’s worth it, considering the security footage and the clerk’s testimony.”
“What about the guns? Did Sharon find out anything interesting?”
Dash rolls his eyes. “Yes and no. Both Chad and Pete owned guns that fire nine-millimeter rounds.”
“Owned? Past tense?”
“Pete sold his pistol less than two weeks ago at a pawn shop in Arborton, along with a bunch of other stuff, to help pay for the divorce lawyer. He still had the receipt, so we tracked it down and Phil took it into evidence. Chad’s gun was locked in a storage facility with some old furniture and hand-me-downs a few miles north of here. They keep logs on everyone who comes and goes; Chad hasn’t been there in more than a month. The gun was safely inside. Still, we grabbed that one too.”
“What good would that do?”
“When a gun is fired, the barrel leaves marks on the bullets called striations. Think of them like fingerprints, but for a gun. Forensics can fire a bullet from each gun, take a look under a microscope, and with any luck, see if either matches the bullet that was dug out of the tree at the crime scene. If that bullet is any good, that is.”
“Huh. I had no idea that was a thing.”
“I’m hungry. You hungry?”
“Facts first. Then food.”
Dash sighs. “Okay, okay. I went and talked with Anna’s sister this afternoon, named Bethany. Turns out she was Anna’s confidant; she told her all sorts of stuff about both guys. The whole divorce mess with Pete stemmed from him being a total mama’s boy. At first it seemed sweet, that he was so close with his mom, but eventually it got out of hand. The mom was just always around, and it pushed Anna away. Chad, on the other hand, is a head case. Anna wasn’t allowed to talk about Pete, or any past boyfriends, around Chad or he’d fly off the handle, even in public. Apparently one time Chad and Pete crossed paths and Chad threatened to kill him.”
“So they’re both lunatics, in their own special way. Phil ought to reconsider just locking them both up. Oh, maybe together in one cell. I’m sure they’d work it out.” I grin, but Dash doesn’t. “Sorry. Not the time, I guess. That’s a lot of new info, and no new leads, huh?”
“Zilch.” Dash hangs his head. I can tell that today has been discouraging.
“Alright, tell you what. Why don’t you head down to Tank’s and grab us a table, and I’ll finish closing up here.”
“I can wait for you.”
“Nah, go on ahead. It’s Sunday evening; it’s going to be busy, I’m sure.”
Dash doesn’t argue any further. Poor guy looks like he needs some food and a long nap. He gives me a hug and heads out the door. I lock it behind him, turn off half the lights, and start sweeping up. As I’m pushing the wide broom across the hardwood floors, my foot comes in contact with something soft and large and I trip, sprawling on my hands and knees.
“Xerxes!” I shout angrily. The huge Persian cat lies beneath the rocking chair that Dash was sitting in. He flicks his tail once, eyeing me unsympathetically. “One of these days, cat, one of these days…” I trail off. Behind Xerxes and the rocking chair, beyond the wide storefront windows, I see a thin woman with silver hair walking briskly past Miss Miscellanea.
She glances over her shoulder quickly, as if she’s being followed, and quickens her pace. I recognize her. It’s Pete’s mom.
