by A. Gardner
“Hey, you tried.” I took a deep breath. It had been hard to focus on my clients, especially the mayor, who cared about nothing else than looking like a rock star athlete at his charity fun run. He was disappointed when he found out that Patrick would no longer be attending.
“If you tell me it’s the thought that counts, I might lose it,” she muttered. “This isn’t a Brownie meeting.”
“Brownie meetings are nothing like this.”
“You know what I mean.” She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. The airy influence of her blonde hairdo was fading fast. It wouldn’t be long before her pessimism took full control of her brain again.
“For one, those little eight-year-olds can bake up a storm,” I teased.
“Yes, but are they old enough to chop lettuce?” Joy flipped a strand of platinum hair over her shoulder.
“They’re old enough to open a can and dump it in a bowl,” I responded.
Joy scowled.
Miso trotted to the door with his tongue hanging out just as a light knock vibrated from the other side. Joy breathed a sigh of relief and opened the front door. Wade came striding toward the kitchen with a six-pack of beer in one hand and two pizzas in the other. The smell of sausage and pepperoni filled my apartment and made Miso crazy. He did everything in his power to jump up on Wade.
“Easy there.” Wade turned his back, trying to create a barrier between Miso and the pizzas.
“If Mrs. Tankle is downstairs, you better believe she’ll be up here in a few minutes to see what’s going on,” I commented.
“She could do with a little exercise.” Wade opened a can of beer and slurped it down like he had minutes to consume everything in his sight. “Besides, this is supposed to be a celebration. I’m not going to jail.” He held up his hands in triumph.
“I’m so happy for you, babe.” Joy wrapped her arms around him.
“Thanks, I’m just glad I figured out Emmett was screwing me over all along before it was too late.” He eyed the pizzas next. I grabbed Miso’s collar and pulled him to the living room to settle down.
“We don’t know the whole story,” I chimed in. “Are you really convinced that Emmett Brewer broke into your house, stole your hunting rifle, and then sniped some random bartender in the middle of a Wild West shootout?”
“Well, when you put it that way, it sounds a bit weird.” He shrugged, shoving a piece of pizza in his mouth. Grease dripped down his forearm.
“At least use a napkin,” Joy said, watching him devour a whole piece before sitting down with a plate of his actual dinner.
“I hear Charlie is furious,” Wade continued. “I’m a little nervous to go to work now. At least I have Eddy there to soften any blows. She’s going to make us scrub toilets this week for sure.”
The image of Emmett dropping his gun and running from Cydney had stuck with me. It didn’t seem like the sort of thing a killer would have done. The Brewer family had a good reputation in Bison Creek. They’d brought just as many tourists to the area as the Pinecliffe Mountain Resort. Why risk it all?
“Joy was furious too when you were looking at life in prison,” I pointed out.
“That’s because I wasn’t guilty.” Wade took a swig of his second beverage. “Why are you so anxious to put me behind bars? I thought you were on my side.”
“I am on your side,” I replied. “Something doesn’t feel right about all of this. Emmett Brewer isn’t the usual shady type, and he’s lived in Bison Creek his whole life.”
“Maybe that kidnapping business messed him up in the head?” Wade paused before eyeing another slice of pizza.
“What?” Joy sat at the table with an empty plate. Her attempt at a healthy spinach salad seemed to have messed with her appetite. Or perhaps it was the comparison to horse crap. “Oh, right. I wasn’t even born yet, so I don’t know much about it.”
“I only know the rumors,” Wade said quietly. “It’s not something Emmett has ever mentioned. I mean, I wouldn’t either if it had happened to me. I think he was like eight years old or something. The men who did it were caught and ended up in jail.”
“Why did they do it?” I held Miso back as he lunged forward at the sight of sausage and pepperoni on their way into Wade’s mouth.
“Money?” Wade took a bite, continuing to talk as he chewed. “Isn’t that what it’s always about?”
“It wouldn’t hurt you to take a breath.” Joy glared at him with a look of disapproval. “Essie, you better grab a slice before it’s all gone.”
“This is why I bought two, Joy.” Wade continued chewing despite the death glare emitting from his wife’s face.
“How long did they hold him captive?” I asked.
“Not long.” Wade sunk his teeth into another bite of cheesy pizza. “A day or two. The Brewers didn’t mess around. I think they paid the ransom and then the police caught the guys.”
“Sad.” I tried to settle Miso by scratching his favorite spot behind his ears.
“Yep,” Wade agreed. “It’s too bad things had to end this way.”
“If all of this really is over,” I added.
Joy hit the kitchen table hard enough to steal my attention. “There she goes again. The negative attitude drains me, sis. Seriously. You have no idea.”
“I have some idea.” I avoided eye contact. I knew it would only add to her rising temper.
“We’ll just have to wait and see what happens,” Wade interrupted, studying Joy’s expression. He was just as familiar with her fiery flare-ups as I was. “Someone will talk. Let the rats rat out the other rats.”
“Dog eat dog,” Joy muttered.
Miso tilted his head and whined.
Wade was safe for now, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t have to answer to the involvement of his hunting rifle. The sheriff and his deputy knew things that the rest of the townies didn’t, including me. And then there was the thing that bugged me about all of it. The key. That key that had been hidden inside the Santos family’s sugar skull would bug me until the end of time.
My stomach churned as I watched Wade gobble down another slice of pizza.
It was an unsettling feeling—the feeling that I might never know the truth.
Chapter 26
“Martha says these make my calves look like toothpicks.”
Mayor Millbreck stood at the starting line wearing sunglasses with a multicolored rainbow lenses. Paired with his metallic-looking shorts, they made him look like he was visiting Bison Creek from a distant planet. I cringed as the mayor bent over to stretch some more.
“That’s because they do,” Martha muttered, keeping a subtle smile on her face. The two of them had arrived at the mayor’s charity event together. They were even holding hands when they walked from their car toward the crowd of people waiting for the race to start.
The crowd included a couple of photographers, two of whom had been hired by the mayor, and Booney from the BC Gazette. The mayor waved and smiled so much that I was sure his cheek muscles would be just as sore as his legs in the morning.
One race and you won’t have to deal with the Millbreck duo anymore.
“Be a darling, Martha, and hand me my water bottle,” the mayor said.
“So you can wipe away the spray tan you had done last night?” she murmured. “I told you that was a stupid idea. You’re going to have bronze sweat stains.”
More like orange sweat stains.
“All eyes are on you, dear.”
Martha flashed a toothy grin and handed her husband a water bottle that matched the rest of his outfit. I zipped up my jacket, wondering how the mayor would fare on a blistering Friday morning without the proper athletic wear. Frankly, I didn’t care. I had much more pressing things on my mind.
“Essie, how is Patrick?” Martha asked, making small talk as soon as the cameras came closer. I turned away from them, clutching Miso’s leash as tight as I could before my knuckles turned white. “I hear he’s going home soon.”
; “Yes, but he’s looking at a good six months of recovery,” I answered. And that was putting it lightly. The truth was that Patrick’s doctors had already advised him to cool it on the snowboarding for at least a year to prevent further complications.
Patrick hadn’t listened to a word.
The previous night when I visited him at the hospital, he’d launched into a story about how he was going to recover in time for winter. He’d even promised a few of the nurses a season pass to the slopes on Pinecliffe Mountain if he managed to pull it off. I didn’t know whether to be supportive or worried about his unrealistic expectations. Either way, he had a project to keep him busy all summer.
“He’s an athlete,” Martha commented, looking her husband up and down. “Unlike some of the men in this town, he’s fit enough to pull it off. He’ll be just fine. Heaven knows he has the discipline to get through it.”
“Thanks, Martha.”
“It’ll give this town something else to talk about.” Martha readjusted her tracksuit bottoms. She’d planned on power walking the course with a few of her gal pals. “I’m sick and tired of the Brewers. All I hear is Emmett this and Emmett that. All day long.”
It had only been a few days, and Emmett was still in the hospital. His family lawyer had already released a public statement claiming that Emmett was innocent, but that didn’t stop the townies from speculating. Until a formal trial convicted Emmett of murder, gossip surrounding the Brewer family was fair game.
Joy darted from the registration table to the refreshment stand. She wore a long-sleeved tee with the resort’s logo on the front, her platinum hair tied back in a bun. I’d always thought she looked like a different person at work. In many ways, she was. Joy smiled and greeted a few participants as she headed toward me. She slowed her pace a few times to stare up at the sky. Storm clouds loomed in the distance, but the forecast had promised clear skies all morning.
“Mayor.” Joy nodded. “Mrs. Millbreck, nice to see you.” Joy grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the cameras. Miso trotted along behind me.
“Take a breath,” I whispered. “Everything looks great. You’ve got all the food, all the joggers, and good weather. The course has been marked, and the mayor’s entourage is ready to take a thousand pictures and videos, provided he doesn’t get an embarrassing case of the runs.”
“I know that.” She cautiously pointed toward the parking lot. “It’s just . . . well, look.”
The sheriff, Cydney, and Murray all walked toward the registration table, and they didn’t look like they’d be entering the race.
“Security?” I shrugged. “Maybe they want to donate?”
“I don’t think so,” Joy muttered. “When have you ever known Sheriff Williams to be the neighborly type?”
The answer to that question was never.
“Take a deep breath,” I suggested. “You’re stressing about things you don’t need to stress about.”
“Will you help me out and go see what he wants?” Joy asked. “For some strange reason I don’t care to know, that man kinda listens to you.”
“Okay,” I agreed.
A morning breeze blew through the crowd. An arch fashioned with blue and white balloons swayed at the finish line. Miso wagged his tail uncontrollably, sniffing every runner who passed. I had to yank at his leash when we passed granola bar wrappers and empty sports drink bottles.
“The nerve, am I right?” Mim Duvall stopped in front of me wearing a Meat is Murder T-shirt. “To think some people still don’t understand what littering does to the planet.”
“Are you talking to me or Miso?”
“Very funny.” Mim shook her head, glancing down at Miso. Yep. Miso.
I walked past Mim, waving hello to Clementine and her daughter, Daisy. Both of them had been starting off their mornings with a brisk walk around Canyon Street. I smiled at a few more of my regular clients before reaching the sheriff. His arms were crossed, and he observed the crowd like he was trying to pinpoint a kernel of corn in a sea of peas.
“Sheriff, what brings you here?”
“Ah, the gatekeeper,” Cydney said. His hair was gelled and parted to one side, and his face was cleanly shaven.
“Not now, Cyd.” The sheriff held out a hand. “We don’t want to cause a scene.” His gray mustache was extra shiny, and there was a damp spot near his shirt pocket like he’d spilled his morning joe and then wiped it clean.
“Then why are you here?” I asked.
“Running is a spectator sport,” Murray chimed in, smiling widely so that his two front teeth stuck out more than Cydney’s cocky attitude. “We’re here to clap for the winner.”
“A five K is child’s play,” Cydney scoffed. “The only prize these people need is a pat on the back for getting their butts off the couch.”
“I’m not clapping for you then,” Murray muttered.
“Hey, just butt out.”
“There you go with the butts again,” Murray replied.
The sheriff touched his shirt pocket—an old habit.
“Will the two of you pipe down?” The sheriff scanned the crowd.
“Looking for someone?” I narrowed my eyes and let them wander from participant to participant. Most were dressed in similar gear with numbers pinned to their shirts. I looked along the trail beyond the starting line. The race started at Lake Loxley, wound around a portion of Pinecliffe Mountain, and ended on Canyon Street.
“Dad got a tip that—”
“Murray,” the sheriff stopped him. “Please.”
“What’s the matter?” he responded, scrunching his freckled nose. “Do you need to vape?”
“So that’s what you’re into now?” I took a deep breath. It explained the extra smidgeon of patience, minus the smoky scent.
The sheriff looked at Murray and Cydney. “I have a stressful job and a wife who has made nagging one of her hobbies.”
“I won’t tell Mom you said that,” Murray said.
“So, is Dalton’s case closed?” I continued. “Is Emmett Brewer really your man?”
The sheriff cleared his throat, glaring in Cydney’s direction. Cydney hung his head. I couldn’t imagine the sheriff had been too pleased with him after what had happened on Pinecliffe Mountain, although I hadn’t been there to see the whole thing play out. Miso had, though.
“I have business to take care of, Essie. You keep an eye out. Take care of yourself.” The sheriff patted my shoulder and walked onward into the crowd of runners.
The mayor stood at the starting line wishing his competitors well and showing off a little too much skin for comfort in his tiny running shorts. I took my place near the back of the crowd, keeping Miso close to my side. The race was no different than my usual morning runs, but my heart pounded when the start gun was fired. A plethora of unpleasant memories ran through my head as I forced my feet to move forward.
I looked over my shoulder.
The sheriff lingered at the registration tables.
What was he really searching for? Who was he really searching for?
I had a pretty good idea because it was the same person who had been popping up ever since Dalton was shot. My eye focused on the evergreens and aspens in the distance. He was good at hiding, and he knew Bison Creek like it was his mistress. The knots in my stomach went hotter and hotter until they turned into flames. The games. The secrecy. Ralph’s mysterious key.
I was tired of them all.
The run progressed, and so did my pace. I passed Martha and her posse on their power walk. I even passed Mim and her sheepish attempt at protesting the use of non-recyclable materials such as foam cups at the drink stand while running for a good cause. Double whammy. When I got closer to the front of the pack, I searched for Mayor Millbreck, knowing that he was the fish who’d made the biggest splash. I was confident that he would be jogging and taking selfies simultaneously and I needed a good laugh.
The mayor was nowhere to be found.
Miso sniffed the side of the trail,
and I glanced over at a group of trees near a quiet spot of Lake Loxley. The leaves rustled in the wind, making my chest feel like a giant block of ice. I’d had no idea trees could be so beautiful and so deadly at the same time.
Miso yanked his leash.
A glimmer of silver flashed through the crevices.
“I wish Patrick was here,” I muttered, slowing down to a light walk. “He would get a kick out of this.”
Miso barked.
“Yeah, I’ll tell him all about it, but this sort of thing is way funnier in person,” I continued.
Miso barked another reply.
“Okay, let’s help him out. Remind me to ask him how he gave his cameramen the slip.”
I steered Miso off of the trail and toward the mayor’s hiding place. Chances were he was relieving himself in the trees and trying to come up with reasons why he’d fallen behind. They were excuses I was dying to hear. I approached the cluster of trees with caution, making sure I wasn’t followed.
“Sir, is that you back there?” I called out.
After a few seconds of silence, the mayor responded. “Has Martha walked by yet?”
“Nope.”
“I’m not moving until that she-devil is out of eyesight,” he replied as quietly as he could. “Oh, why did this have to happen to me on race day? I took my special meds and everything.”
I looked up and down the trail and out at the lake.
“You couldn’t have picked a spot a little further away from the other runners?”
“I didn’t have time, Essie.” More leaves rustled as he changed positions, pressing his back up against a tree trunk. “Come to think of it, Martha made me breakfast this morning.”
“How nice of her.”
“No, it’s not nice,” he said. “It’s just plain evil.” He poked his head out so that I could finally see his face. His eyes darted to the trail.
“You two and your games.” I sighed.
“Get back here.” The mayor reached for my arm. “Someone might see you. Martha might see you.”
“Gross. I’m not going to—”
A hand yanked me into the trees. Miso sniffed the dirt. Beads of sweat had formed on the mayor’s forehead. His cheeks were rosy, and I was glad to see that his pants were on. I wrinkled my nose, studying the ground where I’d already stepped.
