by Ami Diane
Ella looked over Rose’s worn recipe card, mentally checking off each step. Next, she inspected the timer and found the source of the problem. It was broken. She felt a small bit of vindication that the snafu wasn’t her fault, but that did nothing for the cookies-turned-rocks.
The smell lingered in the air like a bad guilt trip, reminding her of her failure. She opened a window to dissipate the odor and considered her options. There wasn’t much dough left, maybe enough to squeeze out another dozen. However, she didn’t have time to do that and go speak to Jonas.
Considering she could best help the town by investigating Stan’s murder rather than poison them, she ate a big spoonful of leftover cookie dough, assuaging her feelings, and set the bowl in the fridge.
Next, she used a combination of metal spatula and knife to pry the remainder of the “cookies” from the pans. It seemed unnecessary to set them on cooling racks, but she did anyway.
After she scribbled a hurried note to Rose, saying she’d clean up the disaster when she got back, she ran upstairs to freshen up.
At the last moment, she scooped up her sunglasses. It was still too cold to go out without her sweatshirt, but the sun was bright in the afternoon sky.
She had just enough time to run out to the wind farm, talk to Jonas, and be back in time to get ready for the potluck—if all went according to plan.
The front door shut with a click behind her. Ella twirled her keys around her finger as she made her way to her car. It was so rare that she drove her jeep anymore. Most places in Keystone were close enough to reach on foot and didn’t quite justify hopping in a vehicle. However, Jonas’s wind and potato farm was just under two miles away, and she didn’t have time to jog there.
The town winked past and gave way to stretches of fields. In the distance, she spied the low mountains and brown hills of the Romanian countryside.
About a quarter of a mile before the boundary line, Ella turned left onto a gravel road. The distant contrast of the border reminded her she wanted to map out Keystone’s borders. Perhaps there was an old map in the library she can borrow for such a purpose. Otherwise, she’d have to draw it from scratch, and she may as well just ask a toddler to do it because it wouldn’t look any worse.
The gravel crunched as she rolled to a stop in front of an early American style farmhouse. The towering turbines filled the landscape, making her feel small. Blades as large as her car creaked in a lazy breeze.
A large red barn and an equally large shop stood adjacent to the farmhouse. Ella glimpsed the farmer in the potato field off to her right before he disappeared into the shop.
Ella followed the racket of tools and curses floating out of the open door. She paused over the threshold, letting her eyes adjust as she slid up her sunglasses.
The smell of grease and steel permeated the air, reminding her of Will’s shop but without the smattering of gadgets and partially completed projects. It also lacked that end note of his aftershave.
Jonas leaned over a tractor, its guts exposed for the world to see. His shoulders stooped, not with age, but with an invisible weight of years toiling in dirt.
He started when he saw her. “Who are you?”
He straightened to his full height—all six foot six if she had to guess—barrel chest pulling at his coveralls. At the meeting, he’d looked more Old MacDonald. However, today he appeared a clone of the local mechanic, Lou, with cheeks of grease and toothpick stuck between his lips like a second tongue.
“Jonas, right? I’m sorry, I don’t know your last name.” She stuck out her hand. “My name’s Ella Barton.”
“Good for you.” He wiped his hands over a rag and stuck them in his pockets.
She shifted on her feet, finally dropping her untouched hand back to her side. “Sorry to bother you…”
This had seemed so much easier when she’d practiced it in the kitchen. Her people skills weren’t the best, but she was pretty sure she couldn’t just outright ask him if he’d murdered Stan.
“Did you kill Stan?”
Luckily for her, a rather important-looking part of the tractor fell to the ground with a loud clatter and drowned out her words, giving her a redo.
Jonas cursed and sent a heavy boot into the hunk of metal then bent his ear her way. “What’s that?”
“I heard about your committee to save Twin Hills. I was thinking about joining, but I have a few questions.”
He stared a long moment before saying, “Wink’s the one you wanna ask.”
“Okay, but since I’m here and she’s busy making something for the potluck, can I pick your brain?”
He looked at her like she’d sprouted a second head. “Why’d you wanna go an’ do a thing like that for?”
“What—no. It’s a figure of speech. Surely you’ve heard it before? I don’t think it’s that new. When are you from? I’m not a freaking zombie, if that’s what you’re thinking. Although, could you imagine? Braaains and all that.” His eyes took an extra slow blink, and she cleared her throat. “Never mind, doesn’t matter. I just meant, mind if I ask you some questions?”
His jaw worked back and forth, then he spat a brown substance on the ground that she hoped was chew. Her stomach turned, and she refused to let her eyes linger where they wanted.
“Fine. Shoot.”
“Right. I definitely don’t want the turbines on the hills, but I need convinced that there’s a better way. Have you guys come up with alternatives to meet the energy crisis? Why not solar panels? Or expand the wind farm into the southern fields?”
“There’s no energy crisis.”
Ella blinked at him. “Wait, what?”
Another wad of brown tobacco landed at her feet with a splat. “Ain’t no crisis. No need to expand. I don’t know why that cow pie told everyone that.”
“But—”
“Look, I did the calculations, myself.” The word calculations came out with extra syllables. “This farm outputs more than enough energy to cover the whole town’s needs nearly twice over.”
“Then why did he want to expand?”
“Ya got me. Probably ‘cause he siphons off the equivalent of whole street block o’ houses.”
Ella absorbed the information. “Wait, how do you know how much power he used?”
His skin shaded purple and red, and he spat again. “Never you mind that.” He puffed out his chest as he towered over her. He reminded her of a not-so-gentle giant, one best left unprovoked.
She took a half-step back. There was still one question she needed to ask. “Did you know Stan’s death wasn’t an accident?”
“I heard. So?”
“Where were you the night of the storm?”
“Here. Alone.” His voice dropped to a dangerous growl. “What are you? The sheriff?” She shook her head, taking another step back, abutting into an old combine. “If you’re askin’ if I’m happy he’s dead, then yeah, I am. I ain’t sorry to see him gone. But if you’re askin’ if I killed him, the answer’s no. I didn’t have the pleasure. Wish I would’ve, though.” A brown wad left his lips with enough trajectory to close the distance between them. It landed on her shoes.
She grimaced. “I just washed the mud and manure off these. Thanks.”
He growled.
“Welp, nice talking to you. I’ll just be—yep.” Ella booked it to her car.
As she reached her door, loud clanking sounds and swearing floated out of the shop. She let out a breath, knowing he wasn’t coming after her.
Her hand froze on the door handle when she remembered the gunk on her shoes. She really didn’t want to get that crap in her jeep.
A few yards away was a dismantled engine on blocks next to a woodshed. Several old rags lay in a pile on top. Ella glanced at the shop then swiped a rag and used it to get the mutilated tobacco off of her shoes.
Bile reached up her throat, and she dropped the rag onto the engine block. Maybe she hadn’t felt brave enough to stand up to the behemoth, but at least now, he’d be wipi
ng his own stained spit over the engine next time he worked on it. A small victory, but it made her feel better.
As she turned to leave, her eyes snagged over a worn path through the field. It began behind the woodshed, meandered past the large white turbines, then disappeared towards the distant lake.
She looked back at the woodshed. Leaning against the rusted corrugated metal was an old fishing rod. Bits of bait, possibly earthworms, clung to the hook and still looked fresh. At her feet were deep boot tracks in the hardened mud.
Most of the residents in Keystone fished the lake, hence the strict regulations on quantity. It wasn’t abnormal.
But what she suddenly remembered gave her pause. Jonas had been the fisherman out on the lake the morning she and Will had discovered the body.
It was probably nothing, a coincidence. Nothing more. He’d probably arrived a few hours after Stan had been killed, so the likelihood he’d seen something was slim. And if he was guilty in any way, why hang around the scene of the crime?
Still, something in her gut wouldn’t let it go. Out of all the townspeople to be out on the lake fishing the day, it had been Jonas.
Back in her car, Ella turned the engine and pulled out her phone. Her thumb swiped across the screen as she added Jonas to her list of suspects.
CHAPTER 16
ELLA dropped a large duffle bag at her feet, and it made a thunk.
Jimmy eyed the bag. “What’s in there?”
“Something to give me an edge this time.”
He looked like he wanted to ask more but changed his mind. His hand ran over the top of his head as most men’s did when their hairline had begun time’s receding march. It was slicked sideways in a deep part and looked as if it wouldn’t budge in a hurricane.
Ella fussed with the tray of cookies in her hand. At the last minute, she’d decided it would be better to show up with the jawbreaking treats than empty-handed.
Standing by the desk, Jimmy hollered for both Flo and Rose, saying that if they didn’t hurry, all the good food would be gone. Ella snorted at his understatement.
While he paced, Ella checked her reflection in a smokey mirror near the door. She couldn’t get over the soft curls and lighter feeling of her new hair.
Soon, Rose’s heels clicked over the floor, and she paused under the crystal chandelier, using one hand to adjust a fur stole wrapped around her shoulders while the other balanced a strawberry and celery gelatin mold. It wobbled dangerously, and Jimmy rescued it before it fell. As he turned around, Ella caught him making a face at the dish.
“Probably should’ve let it fall,” Ella murmured when he drew near. In a louder voice, she said to Rose, “You look gorgeous.”
Ella glanced down at her own sweater, feeling underdressed as usual. Those from the 1950s tended to dress up more for events, even menial ones. She’d long given up trying to compete with them.
The three of them stood in the entrance hall, Rose tapping the toes of her heels and Jimmy’s jaw twitching.
Ella sighed, walked over to the staircase, and yelled, “Goodbye, Flo!”
“Leave and you don’t get any of my lemon bars,” she threatened, materializing at the top of the grand staircase. A tray full of lemon bars teetered in her hands as she descended.
Ella frowned. “Honestly now, when did you even make those? I was in the kitchen half the morning and never saw you.”
“What were you doing in the kitchen?” Flo asked, concern edging her voice. She spotted the tray in Ella’s hands.
“Chocolate chip cookies,” Ella said. “Well, just cookies, really. And not cookies, so much as, ‘cooked’.”
Flo’s eyes reflected the warm glow of the chandelier, looking entirely too diabolical. “Oh, excellent idea. Weapons that look like food. We can toss ‘em like ninja throwing stars.”
Ella pursed her lips.
The scent of lemon wafting off Flo’s bars made Ella’s stomach ache with the memory of the previous day.
Flo bent her head close, her voice dropping to a very loud whisper. “Did you bring the—”
“Over there.” Ella jerked her head towards the duffle bag by the front door.
“You clear on the plan?”
“Yes.”
“‘Cause if you’re not—”
“I got it, Flo.”
“What plan?” Rose asked. “What are you two scheming?”
“Ain’t nothing to concern your pretty little head with—good God in heaven.” Flo had just noticed the gelatin mold in Rose’s arms. Jimmy slipped behind his wife, shaking his head in warning.
Ella hefted the duffle bag over her shoulder, and the foursome departed.
Flo shuffled down the sidewalk beside Ella. “You try any of Wink’s lemon squares? Bet they taste like dog sh— ”
“Flo!” Rose admonished.
The old lady shrugged, her thick glasses sliding down her nose with the movement. She snorted. “Probably spent all day to get them just right. That’s her problem. She overthinks things. Makes it too complicated. This,” she said lifting the dish in her hands, causing one of the bars to slide off and hit the sidewalk, “only took me an hour, and it’ll still taste better.”
“I don’t know. Wink’s bars were pretty good.” Ella took sick pleasure in watching Flo’s skin turn purple.
“You’ll be eating those words once you try mine.”
Ella’s stomach turned at the thought of eating anything lemon flavored, now regretting her comment.
Trailing behind Rose and Jimmy, Ella’s thoughts turned to Stan and the mysterious skeleton. She’d decided that after the dust settled tonight and everyone sat down to eat, she would do as promised and update Sheriff Chapman on what she’d learned so far.
She wasn’t overly confident he’d arrive at the same conclusions she had or look into Dot or Jonas more than he probably already had, but at least she could sleep knowing she’d kept her word.
Also, she hoped if she shared information, he’d be more inclined to return some of his own. Maybe give her any details Pauline had discovered, like who the skeleton was, or if they’d found fingerprints other than Will’s on his boat.
“Look alive,” Flo said.
Ella looked up, surprised to find they had arrived. The old church overflowed, spilling townspeople onto the grass in the cool, evening breeze. Outside, makeshift tables covered in white tablecloths sat under a large oak tree. Its golden leaves shook like the sound of rustling paper.
“Quite a crowd tonight,” Jimmy said.
“Must be them new folks,” Flo grunted. “The Romans.”
“The Romani?” Ella suggested.
“That’s what I said.”
“You literally didn’t. You’re talking two entirely different cultures.”
Jimmy and Rose climbed the steps then looked back when they noticed Ella and Flo weren’t following.
“You all go ahead,” Flo called out. “We’ll be in in a minute.”
“Alright, but don’t miss the call,” Rose cautioned, referring to the moment someone would announce it was time to eat and the town stampeded to the tables.
When the innkeepers disappeared inside, Ella dropped the heavy bag and set the cookies on a table. “Alright, time to get our game faces on.”
“Huh? What a stupid saying.”
“It’s not stupider than ‘look alive’. Now, I’m almost scared to ask, but what munitions did you bring?”
A coy smile played on the older woman’s face. “Something that’ll clear the room.”
Dread spread through Ella’s chest. “Son of a nutcracker, you didn’t bring your bear spray, did you? I thought Chapman confiscated that.”
“‘Course I didn’t bring it. And he had no right taking that.”
“Are you sure you’re not from a different time period? Napoleon Bonaparte’s, perhaps?”
While she’d been talking, Ella had unzipped the duffle bag and retrieved Jimmy’s old football gear. The shoulder pads and helmets little resembled what
Ella had seen on TV in her time, but they’d serve their purpose tonight.
Her fist punched her own shoulder, testing the armor. A second later, Flo handed her one of Ella’s burnt cookies.
“What’s this for?”
“Told you,” Flo said, slipping a couple into her hair. The beehive swallowed them, concealing the weaponized treats perfectly. “They’ll be great throwing if need be.”
“Let’s hope we don’t need to.”
They squeezed through the crowded double entry doors. Inside, the church nearly burst at the seams with all the extra bodies.
They hadn’t made it five feet from the doors before Wink pounced on them. “Where have you two been? Sal’s getting ready to make the announcement. You remember your assignments?”
“I’ve got pork chops and baked potatoes,” Flo said, her expression set in earnest.
Ella was getting several strange stares, most of them focusing on the football helmet. “Uh…”
Wink jabbed her arm. “Ella, come on now.”
“Right. I’ve got Betty’s casserole and…”
“Dessert, fur brain,” Flo hissed. “You got dessert.”
“That’s pretty broad. Anything more specific? Like cake or cookies or—”
Wink’s hands went to her hips, and she turned on Flo. “I thought you explained it to her.”
Without waiting for a response, she said to Ella, “You grab whatever you can get. Sally’s going to be guarding the table.”
“Right, the little girl in the pigtails.” Ella winced, remembering the kid from her first potluck.
“Don’t be afraid to throw one of your cookies at her,” Flo said.
Wink blinked. “You brought cookies?”
“Well—”
Someone towards the pulpit tapped a microphone, and the room fell silent.
“Alright, look alive,” Wink said. Flo shot Ella a smug look.
Ella gave a sloppy salute that went unnoticed. “Aye, aye, Captain.”
Sal’s greasy voice filled the room. “Alright, ladies and gentlemen. It’s great to see everyone and see so many new faces…”
A large group of the Romani travelers clustered in a back corner, standing about, trying to figure out what was going on. She felt sorry for what they were about to witness.
