by A. Gardner
The sound of Joy chomping on another chip reminded me of Wade’s comment about Old Man Simpkins. I wondered if the crunching would have been enough to send him into a rage. Miso rested his head on the top of my shoe while Joy sped through a good portion of our chips and salsa. I sipped on my water some more, saving room for dinner.
“Sorry about the fun run stuff.” Joy shrugged, glancing up at everyone who passed. She touched her hair playfully.
Weird. So weird.
“Another week won’t kill me,” I responded.
“I heard the mayor’s shorts are shorter than one of Pastor Tad’s sermons.”
I almost choked on my water. “You could come see for yourself tomorrow morning.”
“No way.” A slight smile crossed her face as she twirled her new hair some more. “I hate running.”
“Spicy salsa and more water.” Tina had returned with more chips and salsa and a pitcher of ice water. She smiled, setting the food on our table and refilling our glasses.
Tina glanced up at Canyon Street as she poured.
Water spilled over the brim of my cup.
Miso jumped up and I scooted my chair back. Tina froze, her eyes fixated on something in the distance. She shook her head. The smiled was wiped clean off her face. Miso barked, which seemed to upset Tina even more.
“Are you okay?”
“Sorry.” She averted her eyes, only looking at the mess on the table. “I’ll clean this up. Sorry.”
As Tina hurried back inside, my gaze wandered across the street to a man with a bushy beard who was just turning the corner. Miso let out a soft bark.
Ralph.
Chapter 15
The mayor jogged in place, his latest pair of running shorts riding up his inseam as he stretched.
I turned my head. I didn’t get the appeal of showing everything off while bouncing up and down for several minutes. There were no photographers at the Lake Loxley trailhead. But there would be on race day. I took a deep breath and zipped up my fitted jacket. The mornings were still chilly, but the mayor had persevered in the name of fashion.
Patrick was busy helping Clementine at the Hummingbird Inn so Miso and I were on our own. Another day down. Too many more to go. I gazed up at the Rockies and the clear blue sky. The sight was calming, especially when paired with the lake up ahead. I had to make good use of my time. The sheriff could get those test results back and arrest Wade at any time.
“All right, let’s head out.” I waved at the mayor to follow me and started speed walking down the trail. Miso wagged his tail, sniffing around every tall patch of grass. Birds chirped in the distance as the morning progressed and the mayor pumped his legs to keep up with me.
I stared straight ahead.
“I’m prepared this time.” Mayor Millbreck nodded with confidence. “I had some Imodium with my morning coffee.”
“I’m not quite sure your situation calls for an anti-diarrheal. You made it to the bathroom just fine.”
“Always be prepared.” The mayor held up his finger and started jogging as soon as I picked up the pace. “That’s rule number one, you know. If you want to get ahead in this world, you need to stay one step ahead of the game. Have you ever played chess?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now there’s a game that can teach you something,” he continued. “I am phenomenal at the game of chess. Always have been. People forget that it’s all about the king and doing whatever it takes to help him win.”
“Are you the king in this scenario?” I asked, jogging a little bit faster.
“We’re all the kings of our own kingdoms, Essie.” He moved his arms a little faster, still able to hold a conversation—an indicator that he was handling our jog just fine.
“Is that why you backed out of the shootout at the last minute?” I blurted out the question and immediately observed his expression. For a minute, he turned his head and observed the jagged mountains next to the trail.
“That was a personal matter,” he finally answered. “How do you even know about that?”
“It’s true then?”
“It’s complicated,” he admitted. “But, yes. I was supposed to be part of that shootout, and I feel awful about it. It’s horrible what happened to that poor boy. Now I’m going to have to cancel the whole thing. I’ve received several letters and a petition.”
“Did you know Dalton?” My mind jumped back to the mayor’s few minutes hogging the spotlight. He’d acted like he and the victim were best friends.
“Not really.” The mayor shrugged and kept jogging. “You know, my advice is to forget about it. It was a terrible accident, and it will never happen again.”
“What if it wasn’t an accident?”
The mayor slowed his pace and eventually stopped. He clutched his sides, taking control of his breathing. I stopped and pulled Miso’s leash back toward the mayor’s resting spot. He kicked aside a pile of dirt as he stared down at his shoes. When he finally looked up, any friendly expression he wore had been erased.
“Not an accident?” He narrowed his eyes. “Before you go around spreading rumors, let me tell you what would happen around here if it wasn’t an accident.”
“Sir, I just meant—”
“No,” he interrupted. “Let me spell this out for you, Essie, because I know you’re in cahoots with the sheriff.”
I waved a hand. “No, I’m not.”
“Say what you want,” he responded. “I haven’t stayed mayor all these years by being ignorant. I had nothing to do with that poor man’s death, and if word spreads that someone was murdered smack dab in the middle of Canyon Street in broad daylight, do you know what that would do to our numbers?”
“Uh . . .”
“It would tank them.” He hit his fist against his palm. “Tourism would die down and eventually dry up. Businesses would close. Bison Creek’s population would slowly dwindle down, and then what would we be? A ghost town.”
And you can’t be mayor of a ghost town.
“I’m only interested in facts, Mayor,” I said. My patience was starting to bubble to the brim of what I could handle. I knew things about the mayor that would spread like wildfire if they ever surfaced at Mrs. Tankle’s book club.
“Well, keep those facts to yourself.” He cleared his throat and abruptly broke into a jog.
I didn’t know how much more of him I could take. And his defensiveness gained my attention even more. Booney had said the mayor backed out because he feared the liberals would challenge him for firing blanks out of a pistol for fun. And then a man died.
Was it a coincidence or did the mayor know something else?
Had he really cheated death out of luck?
I knew the answer to that. Mayor Millbreck was a man of many talents. I knew that too well. He was an expert secret keeper who had been tangled in a web of espionage once before. I rolled my eyes, hoping the mayor wasn’t involved in this one.
Who was I kidding, though?
He probably was.
Chapter 16
Murray scratched his chin.
“Donuts for days,” he stated. “That’s what the kids are saying these days.”
I pushed the box of warm donuts from the local bakery across his desk. Miso jumped up, and I stood in front of him so he wouldn’t paw the corner of another glazed one. It was Thursday afternoon, and I knew Cydney and the sheriff would be out making pre-weekend rounds.
I had Murray all to myself.
“Are you growing facial hair?”
“Mom doesn’t like it,” he replied. “I think it gets rid of the baby face.”
“Baby face?”
“Yeah, apparently I have a baby face.” Murray shrugged and lifted the lid of the donut box. A wide grin spread across his face. “Listen, Essie, can I ask you something?”
“Does it involve white dresses and lots of cake?”
“If I don’t screw it up,” he answered. His hand hovered over a few donuts and then stopped. “I really shouldn’
t.”
I raised my eyebrows, almost at a loss for words. “Seriously? You’re turning down free donuts?”
“I need to pay more attention to my waistline.” He smacked a hand on his gut.
“What am I supposed to bribe you with now?”
“How about sound advice on how to woo a lady?” he suggested, scratching the thin layer of stubble on his chin again.
“Who is she?”
Murray blushed a shade of red that nearly matched his hair.
“Uh, I can’t tell you that.” He took a deep breath and pushed the box of donuts aside. “On second thought, forget I ever said anything.”
“Okay.” I nodded. “How did you meet?”
“Uh . . .” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“You have met, right?”
“Yeah,” he immediately replied. “I’m not some kind of stalker weirdo. I have spoken to this woman.” He exhaled loudly. “And the thought of her walking into the station right now makes me want to yak. Is that love?”
“Sure.” I wrinkled my nose, trying not to picture it.
“That’s what I thought.” He sat back in a daze as Miso made another attempt to jump up on his desk for a mouthful of powdered sugar.
“Have you asked her out?”
My question was enough to yank him out of dreamland.
“Of course not.” He frowned. “You must be crazy.”
“That’s kind of the next step,” I said. “This process goes a lot smoother when the person you like knows you’re interested. If you really like her, ask her out for coffee.”
“Or—”
“Don’t invite her over for cabbage casserole night,” I instructed him. “You might also want to dial down on the comments about Sharla. It’s great that you love your mom but your date doesn’t need to know that she still packs your lunches and does your laundry.”
Murray opened his desk drawer, pulled out a piece of paper and a pen, and began scribbling frantically.
“Don’t mention Sharla,” he said out loud. “All right. What else?”
I took a deep breath. I wasn’t the best person to ask for dating advice. I hadn’t dated much in high school. I wasn’t very secure about myself. I wasn’t a charmer like my sister. All I had were good grades. Those realities had spilled over into most of my college years. Even after dropping thirty pounds and making peace with who I was, it had still been hard for me to reel in a guy I liked.
I flipped through an index in my head of every woman I knew in Bison Creek who was single and around my age. There weren’t many, and the tiny list in my head included Ada Adley. It can’t be Ada Adley. The sheriff would have a heart attack.
“Show her that you’re interested.”
Murray automatically shuddered.
“I don’t think I can—”
“I don’t mean ask her out right away,” I clarified. “I mean, talk to her. Figure out what she likes. See if you can find something the two of you have in common.”
“You lost me when you said I had to talk to her,” Murray said plainly.
“That’s what you do on dates. You talk. It’s not that bad. You talk to me all the time.” I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. Murray had always been a bit awkward—a lone wolf in the limited pool of male specimens in the area. But I’d never seen him so insecure about it.
“I’ve known you since we were kids,” he replied. “It’s different.”
“Well, when was the last time you went on a date?”
Murray immediately looked away. “Um . . .”
“You have been on a date before, right?” I slowly nodded, hoping he would say yes.
“Duh.” He narrowed his eyes, but his answer wasn’t so convincing. “I’ve been on plenty.”
“Okay. I’m sure you’ll figure out a clever way to get this girl’s attention.” I moved the conversation along, not wanting to feel even more nervous. Dare I ask if he’s kissed anyone besides his mother?
“That’s easy for you to say.” Murray looked me up and down—something he’d done on quite a few occasions. “All you have to do is walk into a room, and the guys line up for you.”
“See, you are good at dishing compliments.”
“I can see why Patrick finally came to his senses,” he added.
“Looks can be deceiving, Murray. I get insecure all the time, especially around Patrick. I mean, it took over fifteen years and a near-death experience to get me to tell him how I really felt. We never got together in high school because I was too afraid just to be myself.”
“Oh.” Murray tilted his head. “I guess I never thought of it that way.”
“The woman you like has insecurities just like you,” I continued. “I think all you can do is be honest and not be offended if she doesn’t reciprocate.”
“Logically, it all makes sense.” Murray took a deep breath and returned to obsessing over my donut delivery. “A donut-loving cop is who I really am, so . . .”
“A donut-loving cop who likes to help out his friends,” I said. “And right now I need all the help I can get.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” Murray skipped the powdered sugar–covered donut and went straight for a chocolate glazed one. “Dad doesn’t tell me much on account of my big mouth, but I do know that those tests came on the bullet that killed Dalton Digwood.”
Dillweed.
“And?”
“I’m sorry, Essie.” He took a large bite, leaving a smear of chocolate glaze on the side of his mouth. “The bullet came from Wade’s rifle.”
I smacked my hand against the desk.
“Shoot.”
“Dad told Cydney he was going to let the evidence marinate. Whatever that means. I guess he’s got a few more loose ends to tie up before he makes an arrest.”
“Just enough time for one last camping trip,” I muttered.
My heart sank as I tugged Miso’s leash and pulled him back outside. My fears had been confirmed, and now Wade had even less time than he’d thought. His freedom was hanging by a thread and my efforts to learn the truth about who had stolen his hunting rifle to snipe Dalton the bartender weren’t good enough.
I started down Canyon Street toward the Painted Deer. Miso walked ahead of me, pulling his leash. I knew I needed to work on his walking skills but I couldn’t bring myself to think of anything else but the look on my sister’s face when the town dubbed her husband a murderer. Even with her new hairstyle, I didn’t know if she would be able to take it.
My mind raced all over the place, starting at Oso Cantina when the shots were fired and ending with my latest encounter with Mayor Millbreck. I couldn’t think of a single reason anyone would have wanted Dalton the bartender dead short of him harboring a deadly secret of some kind. On the other hand, there were several reasons someone would have wanted the mayor dead. Maybe he had been the intended target all along?
As soon as I reached the staircase leading up to my apartment, Miso stopped and sniffed the sidewalk intensely. His head jerked up, and he barked. I glanced up the stairwell. There was no one at my front door. Something tapped my shoulder.
My heart pounded.
“Sorry, dear, didn’t mean to scare you.” Mrs. Tankle appeared right next to me holding her latest read. From the title, I gathered that the book was all about writer’s block.
“Geez, Mrs. Tankle,” I breathed. “You should think about announcing yourself or wearing a bell or something.”
“I put a bell on Bing once, and she clawed it off and left it on my pillow.”
“Creepy,” I muttered.
“What’s the matter, dear? You look like you’re lost in thought.”
“Oh.” I glanced up and down the street. Telling Mrs. Tankle what I was really thinking was a last resort. I didn’t want the whole town knowing. “I was thinking about the weekend. I’m going camping.”
“Camping,” she repeated with a smile. “You and Patrick alone in a tent.” She raised her eyebrows.
“My sister will be th
ere too,” I added.
“Okay.” She lifted her chin and clutched her book a little tighter. “But I know how relationships go nowadays. I’m not as old as I look.”
“Still having trouble with your plot?” I looked down at her book, desperate to change the subject.
Mrs. Tankle sighed. “I’m losing my muse. Or maybe it’s Mabel’s ice cold voice that runs through my head every time I turn on my computer. It kills my mojo.”
“I’m sorry. I wish I had some good advice for you.”
“Perhaps a change of scenery?” She held up a finger as she’d had an epiphany. “A weekend in the wilderness ought to do the trick.”
“Oh . . . I . . .”
“Relax.” She chuckled. “I won’t weasel my way into your personal life. You have fun on your camping trip.”
“Thanks.” I smiled in return and headed up the stairs.
“Oh yeah, he was up there knocking again.” Mrs. Tankle raised her eyebrows.
“Who?” I stopped mid-step and Miso yanked me forward. I grabbed onto the railing for balance.
“The man you’re not seeing on the side.”
Chapter 17
Patrick pulled up to the Painted Deer bookshop in a truck.
“What do you think of the new ride?” He hopped out and grabbed my bags.
“I think you’ve just become the new town handyman,” I teased him.
“You’re the one who told me to get a summer hobby.”
Miso wagged his tail and jumped as soon as Patrick was close enough to provide a safe landing pad for his paws. A bell chimed in the distance, and Mrs. Tankle appeared on the sidewalk with a crooked smile and a cup of tea in one hand.
A light breeze rolled through Canyon Street, and I’d been grateful for the clear, crisp morning. My jog with the mayor had been unusually silent and my half day at work had seemed to drag on for hours. All I could think about was the sheriff and Wade’s camping trip. I’d rushed home to finish washing and packing my favorite pair of hiking socks.
“You two watch out for bears,” Mrs. Tankle warned, observing my backpack and other camping gear. “And make sure to bundle up tonight. The weather report looks sketchy.”
