by Ritter Ames
Sam sent him a tiny smile of encouragement.
“Meanwhile, remain calm and…” He paused. “Have some cake?”
It was rare to see Rupert at a loss for words. Sam touched his hand as he turned away from the crowd.
“You okay?” she asked.
“The poor woman. One must empathize, even when it’s someone we didn’t actually know.”
Sam nodded. Her gaze fell to the stage area near the cauldron. “Rupert, did you pick up your book?”
His head snapped around, following her stare. “No! Oh, god, it’s gone!”
Before she could stop him, he had leaped onto the platform and marched over to the cauldron. The EMT, who seemed to have taken charge of watching over the area, reached out but couldn’t quite grab Rupert. The nervous conversation in the room screeched to a dead halt.
Rupert seized his moment. “The book—the witch character was holding a book. Has anyone seen it?”
Sam looked over the crowd. Blank stares, confused glances among themselves. She saw Kelly and Scott hovering at the far side of the group, near the store’s front door. Jen, in her elegant Cleopatra gown, was talking quietly with Riki, who still wore her big striped hat.
“I must ask again,” Rupert said. “Has anyone seen the old book that was on this stage a few minutes ago?”
No one responded and, despite the EMT’s efforts to herd Rupert from the stage, the big man walked behind the cauldron and to each end of the platform but found no sign of his book. How on earth could someone have killed Darlene, snatched the book, and gotten away so quickly? Sam wondered. The lights had been off for a minute at most.
To her relief, red and blue strobes flashed at the front windows as a cruiser pulled into the parking lot and stopped behind several of the parked cars. She recognized Rico, one of Beau’s deputies. He spoke into his shoulder mike, gave a little tug at his accessory-laden belt and strode toward the door. All attention went that direction and a pathway through the crowd automatically opened as Rico entered.
He picked Ivan out of the gathering, spotting the owner behind the sales desk. “This is your shop?”
Ivan nodded.
“Sorry for the damper on your party, but we need to keep everyone inside.”
Ivan nodded again. Sam noticed he always had a meek way around law enforcement. It had taken him more than a year to be able to say hello to Beau.
Rico spotted Sam and Rupert near the stage, where Dracula-medic stood guard over Darlene’s body. Despite the heavy makeup, the deputy recognized the EMT and greeted him by name.
“Glad you were here, Phil. Tell me what happened.”
The recount seemed accurate to Sam, what she heard of it, as Rico took down the basic who-what-where information. She found herself watching out for her own little brood—Kelly and Scott hovered near the back of the crowd, joined now by Jen and Riki. Most everyone talked quietly amongst themselves, disinterested in food or drink. Rupert kept pacing the back of the store, sending glances toward the shelves of books, perhaps hoping to spot his missing one.
“What was it about the book?” Sam asked him in a low tone. “I know that’s what is worrying you.”
He shrugged. “The volume purported to be a book of spells. Initially, its battered appearance caught my attention—something I could photograph and supply for the artwork on my newest book cover. When I purchased it I envisioned something of use in my writing research, thinking it might have definitions of things such as witch’s bane or some such. I’m working on an historical novel set in Romania and thought it might provide me with some ideas. I’d no idea anyone else would know anything about it, nor would they care.”
“But it seems Darlene did care.”
“In the minutes before the play started I had handed it to her and she was on her side of the ‘wings’ hungrily paging through it as though there were something of vital interest to her.”
“I wonder what?”
“I’ve no idea.”
SEVEN
DEPUTY RICO’S QUESTIONS were becoming a bit pointed, Sam thought, as he turned his attention toward Rupert.
“How close were you standing to the victim when the lights went out?” Rico’s pencil hovered over his notepad.
“At that moment I was stage left, awaiting my cue, which was the line ‘A sound?’ The witch had heard a sound from the forest and I was to appear, just in time to be overtaken by the spell she had said over the cauldron.”
“Let’s talk in terms of Darlene Trawl and Rupert Penrick, rather than the acting parts you were playing.”
“The facts remain. Darlene was to recite a given line, and I was to step onto the stage. But everything went dark before my foot actually touched the boards.”
“Sam, you said you were at the front of the store, near the cashier desk, and Ivan operated the light switches from there, right?”
“Yes, but Ivan moved to the food table as soon as the play started.”
“So, since he wasn’t within reach of the switches at that moment, how did the lights go out?”
“I’m not sure. In my shop there are electrical switches near the back door to the alley. This store must have the same, but I don’t think anyone was back there. It’s Ivan’s stock room where he keeps extra books and cleaning supplies. You’d have to ask him.”
Rupert was on his way to the stock room the moment she said it, and Rico took off to chase him down. The lights flicked off and someone shrieked, but the room lit up again immediately.
“—probably destroyed fingerprints,” Rico was saying as he led Rupert back by the cuff of his voluminous jacket.
Rupert looked somewhat chastised but there was a glint of satisfaction too. “The back door was standing ajar,” he said to Sam. “It has to be how the killer came and went and how he controlled the lights.”
Rico fixed him with a stern stare. “Do not touch another thing, and do not go wandering around.” He seemed a little overwhelmed at having to control this many people and this large a crime scene on his own.
Sam took him aside. “Beau has deputized me on other cases. I can help if you like.”
He gave her Miss Marple outfit the once-over and clearly wasn’t wild about her suggestion, but he didn’t have a lot of options until more official help arrived.
“We’ll need to search the alley and the back room for evidence. For now, though, the best we can do is secure the area to be sure no vehicle drives through and no person has access. Can you come up with a way to do that?”
“Sure.” Somehow.
She recruited Scott and Kelly and they rounded up a variety of trash barrels and cardboard cartons from Puppy Chic and the bakery, plus a couple of barricades from a power-company project nearby, and used their finds to form rather creative stacks at each end of the alley. When Beau arrived they could add official yellow tape but for now this would suffice.
Halfway through the job, Sam’s costume was binding her armpits, constricting her chest and the lace collar had rubbed a raw spot on her neck. By the end, she was ready to strip it off right there in public.
“I’m changing clothes,” she told Kelly as she unlocked the door to her shop. “If Rico asks, I’ll be back in a couple minutes.”
Relief was immediate once Sam had her normal black pants and white baker’s jacket on. Screw the costumes—Halloween had lost its magic for her this year. She took her first deep breath of the evening and walked back to the bookstore.
Her hand was on the doorknob when a vehicle arrived behind her. Beau. Thank goodness.
She waited as he emerged from a squad car, not his normal department SUV.
“Naked guy still got your car?” she teased.
“Thankfully, no. Two of our men stopped him about six blocks from where he took it. But, ugh, don’t even get me started. The man was drunk as a skunk and, well, let’s just say there are cleanup issues before I’m getting in that vehicle again. In fact, this might be my year to request a new one.”
“E
ww—I’m not even going there. Picture me with my fingers in my ears saying la-la-la-la.”
He tilted his head toward the bookshop. “So, what happened here? A murder at a party? Are you okay, Sam?”
She swallowed the emotion that hit when he expressed concern. “I’m doing okay. Rico kept me busy. As far as the crime itself, it all happened so fast.”
She told him about the play and the witch and the book, how the lights went out and about the thumping sounds in the dark, the pool of blood around the body. “I don’t even know yet what killed her. I didn’t see any sort of weapon nearby—not that I wanted to get very close.”
“I’ll call in the crime scene tech. Most of tonight’s action around town hasn’t been quite this violent, and I think she’s free.” He placed the call. Before they went into the shop, Sam filled him in on the open back door and how they had blocked the alley.
“Let’s see what we got,” he said, setting a gentle hand on her back as they walked into the bookstore together.
Shock had clearly set in with some of the guests, while others were pacing impatiently and griping that they wanted to leave. They had other, more fun places to be. A cloth had been draped over the body and the guests studiously avoided the stage area and back of the room. They’d also abandoned the food. Not so much the liquor—the level in the punch bowl was down quite a bit.
Beau quickly divided the guests into groups based on a few astute questions. Members of the Chocoholics group, those who knew Darlene Trawl best, were asked to remain; those who had been nearest the stage were also held back for a few more questions. People who had never met the victim got away with only having to leave their names and contact information. Immediately, it thinned the crowd by more than half.
Sam felt the shift in focus. No longer was it a milling crowd of impatient ghouls and ghosts. Those who remained had more specific reasons to be concerned—they could be considered suspects.
EIGHT
THE SAME SET of questions, asked more than a dozen times—Sam was impressed with how well Beau handled it, staying alert and yet distancing himself from the tiny dramas which played out with nearly everyone there. After the initial weeding-out of guests, she left Beau and Rico to handle the interrogations.
Lisa, the crime scene investigator for the department, was nearly finished doing her bit. An autopsy would be needed, naturally, but she immediately pointed out a stab wound so close to the victim’s heart it almost certainly had to be the cause of death. Once Darlene Trawl’s body had been taken away by the medical investigator’s office, Lisa finished examining the stage area and moved on to the alley behind the building.
Beau’s questions, knowing a sharp weapon was involved, turned to costumes and accessories. Which characters carried a knife or sword? Were they all accounted for now? Had anyone seen such a weapon either before or after the stabbing? While the men asked their questions, she prowled around the shop, wondering if the book might have been quickly stashed on a shelf somewhere.
“I haven’t found it either,” said Rupert, coming up beside her. “Somebody wanted that book awfully badly, didn’t they?”
“One thing I’ve learned from Beau is not to guess at motives until a lot more facts are known.”
She pictured the moment before the room went into darkness, with Darlene the witch holding the book. Then it hit her—originally, Zoë was to play the part of the witch. Her best friend could have been the victim if all had gone according to plan. Her hands suddenly began to shake.
“Sam? You okay?”
She nodded absently and Rupert moved on.
Why take a chance on murdering someone so publicly, she reasoned once she forced herself to think logically. If the killer only wanted the book, he or she would have used the darkness as cover and snatched it or simply found a time when it was easy to break into Rupert’s home and take it.
There was something more to this whole puzzle and Sam couldn’t quite wrap her mind around it. The fact that it was almost ten p.m. and she’d been on the go since five this morning didn’t help. But to go home now… she knew she wouldn’t sleep as long as Beau and many of her friends were here. She needed to be doing something. Standing around and watching Beau do his work made her feel like a useless fixture in the room.
She thought again of her theory about Zoë. To be on the safe side, she pulled out her phone and called her best friend’s home number. Darryl answered and said Zoë was feeling better but had gone to bed early. Sam recapped the bookstore events with as little drama as possible, while making the point that they didn’t yet know for certain if Darlene Trawl had been the intended victim. Someone could have assumed Zoë was the person inside the witch’s mask.
“What are you saying, Sam? Do we need to be watching for some unseen enemy?”
“I don’t know, Darryl.” Sam couldn’t think of anyone on earth less likely to have an enemy. Her concern felt almost ridiculous. “Just be aware, I guess. If any of your guests are acting weird or a stranger comes around…” It sounded lame.
He thanked her for her concern and asked Sam to keep them posted on the investigation. Hopefully the killer would be found quickly, he said.
Most likely, Rupert’s idea that the crime was somehow centered around the book was correct.
Sam saw Beau across the room where he had gathered the book club members. Being the group who knew the victim best, they might shed light on something from Darlene’s personal life. Sam decided to listen in. She borrowed a small notepad from Ivan’s desk to jot down impressions, not trusting her memory with details this late in the evening.
“Eight of us,” said a blond woman in a blue Victorian dress with a purple ostrich feather on her hat. “I suppose I’m the unofficial leader. We take turns choosing the book we’ll read each time but if no one has picked one, I do it. I also take responsibility for scheduling the meetings and contacting everyone if there’s a change of plans.”
“So, Mrs. Pritchard, you can tell me if anyone from the club is missing tonight,” Beau said.
Sam recognized Amy Pritchard as an occasional bakery customer.
Amy looked around the six people gathered nearby. “Lila Bayles couldn’t make it—a head cold, I think. She’s in her eighties, so the idea of her sneaking back here and attacking Darlene is ridiculous.”
A couple of the others, including Riki, snickered at the suggestion.
“Harry Taylor isn’t here. I don’t know why. He normally comes to every meeting unless the chosen book contains too much romance. He’s mostly fond of thrillers with plenty of action and a bit of gore, not that we choose those often.”
“But Harry is another iffy choice,” Riki said. “The man has to be seventy and he walks with such a limp I hardly see him sprinting out the back door.”
A younger member, male, with longish brown hair dressed as Sherlock Holmes spoke up. “Riki’s right. Harry might have personality issues—he’s a total curmudgeon—but I don’t see him in a physical attack.” He sent a moon-eyed smile Riki’s direction.
“You’re Pete Winters, right?” Beau asked. “I’ve asked everyone else, but didn’t get the chance to talk to you yet—did your costume include any type of sharp object, such as a knife?”
“As Sherlock Holmes? No! The worst he would carry would be an opium pipe—but there’s no way I have that either.” Flustered, he began to over-explain.
Beau seemed to be studying the voluminous overcoat Pete wore, wondering what the pockets might contain. But surely the man could not be so dumb as to flee out the back door and then come back without dumping the bloody knife first—Sam read Beau’s thoughts as well as if he’d spoken them aloud.
When Pete’s protests subsided Beau turned to the man standing behind Amy Pritchard.
“I’m Alan Pritchard,” he said. “The man behind the boss here.”
He patted Amy’s shoulder and she drew back slightly. Alan made a very polished Max DeWinter with his dark good looks and perfectly tailored tuxedo of th
e era.
“I attend book club meetings occasionally but I’m not really a regular. The book has to grab my interest.”
“He misses the whole spirit of the Chocoholics Unanimous, which is an avid love of chocolate,” Amy said, not bothering to look up at her husband.
Sam, who had been writing all the names on her notepad, noted the dismissive attitude between them.
“What about Keith? Where is he right now?” Pete Winters asked.
“Mr. Trawl was taken home before his wife’s body was removed,” Beau said. “I’ve sent another deputy to be with him. Was Keith also a member of the book group?”
“At times,” Amy responded. “I invited him personally in the beginning.”
Some ripple passed through the group. Sam couldn’t quite decipher it, but realized she might chalk that up to her own weariness.
No one seemed to have much to add, and after a couple of clarification questions Beau told them they could go home. Sam caught Ivan’s eye. The poor bookseller looked exhausted. What a bad turn his party evening had taken.
NINE
SAM OPENED HER eyes Sunday morning to full daylight in their upstairs bedroom, delighted at the unusual sleep-in. Then the memory of their later-than-normal evening and the reason dampened her good mood.
“Wow, nine o’clock,” Beau said, rolling over and taking her in his arms.
“I don’t know how you do it,” she said. “Dealing with murder, the victim, her family, the suspects. And then you wake up cheerful and ready to do it again.”
He set a gentle kiss on her temple. “Well, first off, we don’t have a whole lot of murders in Taos County. Luckily. If I worked homicide in a big city, I’d burn out real fast. Last night was your first time as an eyewitness. That had to be hard. I wish I could rewind and let you have a carefree evening at a fun party.”
