Color rose in my cheeks. I had been in those woods too. Aiden and I spent many an afternoon there in high school planning our future together; a future we’d never have now.
“Well, what about fingerprints? ” “ I stammered, changing the subject. “Did you dust the wrench for prints?”
“It’s clean. I do know how to do my job. Ms. Redoux.” Sheriff Dash answered.
“I suppose that means you’re investigating the ties between this murder and the death of the senior here two years ago?” I glared at him.
If this guy was going to replace my father, I was going to make sure he earned it.
He stared at me for a beat too long. Then, taking another sip of coffee, he said, “We’re investigating all possibilities at the moment.” He stood. “Including new residents who just so happened to show up on the very night this heinous act took place.”
“Don’t go accusing my newest employee of wrongdoing, Darrin,” Peggy said.
“Sheriff Dash,” he corrected.
“Peggy’s right, Sheriff. Rita was with us when Patrick was attacked. There’s no way she could have been involved,” Aiden answered.
“That doesn’t mean she won’t have to come and make a report about what happened as well as answer a few questions,” Sheriff Dash turned to me. “Don’t worry, they will too.” He motioned to Peggy and Aiden. “Now, can I trust you to come into the police station at 10 A.M tomorrow or do I need to escort you myself?”
“You wouldn’t even know where to find me,” I answered.
“I was the best detective in the whole of Washington D.C., Ms. Redoux. I think I could figure it out.”
“I guess we’ll see,” I countered, staring him right in the baby blues.
“Ten o’clock then. I’ll bring bagels.” He nodded at Peggy and Aiden. “Try to get some sleep guys. Things are all taped off out there, and the area should be squared away by morning. But just to be safe, why don’t you refrain from opening too early. Out of respect.”
“Of course,” Peggy said.
“And Ms. Redoux, I assume you like blueberry bagels?”
“How did you know that?” I asked.
“Best detective in D.C.” he grinned, and then he strode out.
^
That night was anything but restful. Peggy showed me to the furnished room in the back building; which, to its credit, was a complete studio with mini kitchenette, a sitting area, and a bed that pulled out from the wall. There was even my own private bathroom, albeit one that was separated from the rest of the studio with a thin curtain. But hey, dead girls can’t be too picky these days.
Still, I didn’t sleep much. I must have come across the only dog in the world that was afraid of the dark, because Mayor McConnell absolutely refused to let me turn the lights off, barking up a storm any time I tried.
It likely wouldn’t have made much difference though. My mind was spinning from the events of the day. Add that to the fact that I just didn’t feel comfortable in this body (which is just as irritating as you’d figure) and I tossed and turned half the night.
When 2 am rolled around, with Mayor McConnell giving me the stink eye, I finally gave up the fight.
I pulled myself out of bed and powered on the laptop that was inside one of the suitcases Charlie gifted me along with the truck.
My heart sped as I waited for it to boot up. Once the browser was open, I went to work.
Part of me always felt like a cop, though Dad refused to even entertain the idea.
“It’s just too dangerous,” he’d always tell me. “You’ll get yourself killed. Why not just get a regular job and stay safe?”
Well, joke ’ s on him, isn’t it?
After losing his daughter on a pie run, he’d likely reconsidered his stance on that. But it didn’t matter now. I was where I was, and I was going to do what I had to in order to make sure that whoever was killing people in Second Springs never got to lay a third wrench beside another victim.
I googled ‘Wrench, Murder, Second Springs’. But nothing about my death came up. Mrs. Hoover did show up about halfway down the page. Apparently , they’d found her body a few minutes after they found mine. She was in the bushes beside her house. She had likely hidden there when someone broke in and she never saw the blunt object that struck the back of her head coming.
My death was ruled an accident, though talking to Peggy told me everything I needed to know about what the people around here thought of that. No evidence didn’t mean no crime. Any sheriff’s daughter could tell you that much.
With my finger hesitating a bit too long over the tap pad, I clicked the link that led to the article on my murder.
Thankfully, there was no picture of my body; just the old photo I took the day I placed third in the Second Springs Annual Junior Talent Competition.
If I’d have known that was the picture they were going to use, I’d have done something other than tap dancing.
This wasn’t doing me any good though. This information was public, and public information got combed through by people every day. If the answers lay in this, then someone would have solved these murders years ago.
I needed to get into the police database, where the good stuff was. Hopefully Dad’s account was still active.
My mind touched on what Sheriff Dash had said about his retirement earlier, but I shook that off. I couldn’t let myself get bogged down in that right now. There would be plenty of time to deal with that after this murder was solved. And besides, I couldn’t manage to work up the nerve to see Dad just yet. Just the thought of what he had been through broke my heart. A stranger bawling in his arms was probably the last thing he needed.
I tried logging into his account, something I had done countless times in my old life. But the screen read ‘Not a Known User’.
Sheriff Dash must have erased him from the system when he took over. Still, I had one more chance.
If Dwight was still working with the police force, his name would be in the system. And, though I wasn’t privileged to his password, that guy was about as hard to read as a Dick and Jane book.
I typed in his name.
Bingo!
Typing at the password bar, I wrote Helen, his mom’s name.
Incorrect! Two more failed attempts will result in your account being locked and reviewed.
I’d better be careful. So I typed the next one, hoping his password was Atlanta-Falcons, his favorite sports team. I don’t know why guys are so fixated on naming everything after the teams they like, but it was a surefire way to make sure none of your personal information ever stayed safe.
No luck though.
Incorrect! One more failed attempt will result in your account being locked and reviewed .
Here we go. Last chance. I’d better make this one count.
I stared at the screen for a beat, thinking about Dwight and about the kind of person he was.
A smile slid across my face as the answer came to me. I typed it quickly across the pad.
Bubblegum, the name of his Siamese cat.
I wasn’t even a little surprised when the site opened up to me.
I love you Dwight, you wonderful, predictable man.
I got to work, starting the business of digging around the police department’s secure server. But then something strange happened.
The screen went out of focus and-when it returned all the information was replaced…by a virtual blueberry bagel.
It spun around as a light jungle played from the speakers.
Then underneath, a message that absolutely had to come from Sheriff Dash typed itself underneath.
Don’t forget 10 AM sharp ;)
Sincerely, the best Detective in Washington D.C.
I slammed the laptop shut, sighing and shaking my head.
But also, I was a little impressed.
Chapter 6
Morning came early in Second Springs. It always had, at least since opening the pie shop. After all, those crusts don’t brown themselv
es and people don’t like to wait for their sweets around these parts.
But Sheriff Dash (the cocky troublemaker that he was) told Peggy not to open the doors too early today. Turns out murder puts a foul taste in people’s mouths. And-since she believed me to be a brand new employee and not the co-founder that I actually was- I wasn’t in any position to try and convince her otherwise.
So, while I rose with the sun like always, I didn’t have much to do but sit around and feel sorry for myself. Luckily for me, I had a lot of ammunition in that particular barrel.
I marched down to the pond. Mayor McConnell was apparently the type of dog that liked to sleep in, because he growled at me when I tried to rouse him.
Some partner in crime he was!
I didn’t need him though. I knew where I was going and I knew what I was going to do when I got there.
The infamous second spring of Second Springs. The first one dried up sometime in the 1920s, but this was flowed ever faithfully toward Dalton. I used to it relax and clear my mind all the time. I did it when Dad finally told me about the day my Mom died. I did it right after Aiden proposed. Why, I did it just two weeks ago, when-
Wait. That wasn’t two weeks ago. It may have felt like that to me, but to everyone else, two whole years had passed.
It was like going to sleep and waking up in some sort of alternate universe. Everyone was the same, but they were different somehow. And-though I felt the same- I was the most different of all.
I leaned forward in my bench, looking at my reflection in the flowing water.
Who was this woman? The red hair, the full cheeks, the seemingly endless parade of floral clothing. Had she been a person? Had this body belonged to someone else before or had it been custom made for me?
I had so many questions, and absolutely no one with any answers.
“You should take a picture. It’ll last longer,” a kid said from beside me.
I jerked a little, startled that he had managed to get this close without me hearing him. He was a dark haired kid of about twelve on a bicycle with snot coming out of his nose and scratched up knees. Obviously the rough and tumble sort.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, blinking.
“You should keep some other things in mind too, though I doubt that you will,” he said, wiping his nose with his sleeve.
“What? ” I asked, twitching my mouth to the side.
“It’s just, you’re definitely the stubborn type, Honeybean.” The kid rode around me in a circle.
“Ch-Charlie?” I asked, furrowing my brow.
“Didn’t take you as long as I thought it would.” He settled in front of me, grinning with two missing teeth.
“Well, you don’t look the same,” I answered.
“I never do,” he said.
“Neither do I, apparently,” I said, glancing at my reflection again. It was strange knowing that the old man who drove me to Second Springs was now speaking to me from the mouth of a twelve - year - old boy. But hey, my dog used to be the mayor and I used to be dead.
Strange things abound.
“What can I help you with , Charlie? , ” I asked as he started circling me again.
“Wrong question,” he said in a sing song voice.
“Okay, what can you help me with?” I asked.
“Still not right,” he said, pulling to a stop in front of me. “I’m not the one who needs help, and neither are you.” He turned his head and looked behind him.
A woman sat on a far off bench with her hands clasped at her waist, looking at the ground.
“Her?” I asked.
“To start with,” he answered, and then darted off on the bike.
“Charlie!” I yelled, but I knew he wouldn’t stop. Because, as stubborn as I was, he was equally as mysterious.
Walking over to the woman, my head began to fill with questions and concerns. What was I going to say to her? How was I going to explain myself?
Hey there, I’m the former sheriff’s dead daughter reincarnated and that little boy I was just talking to was my spirit guide. He said you might need my help. Also, no, craziness does not run in my family.
“Is this seat taken?” I asked when I got near enough to the woman.
Her only answer was to nod no, still looking at the ground.
I settled beside her, straightening my dress and trying to think of something to say.
“I’m Rita. I’m new in town.” I extended my hand, but she didn’t take it. “If you don’t mind me saying, you look sort of down.”
“I’m Angela and, no offense Rita,” the woman said. “But I came here to be alone.”
“Of course,” I stammered. “I’m sorry. I’ll get out of your hair.”
I stood and starting walking away.
Sorry Charlie.
“Why’d you come here?” She asked from over my shoulder.
I turned. “I told you, because you look down.”
“No.” She shook her head. “Why’d you move here? You said you were new. I just don’t understand why anyone would come to this place.”
“It is sort of quiet around here,” I conceded, walking back toward her.
“My husband loved that; the quiet,” she said, tears filling her eyes. “He loved all of this, and I loved him. So I came here.” She wiped a fresh tear from her cheek. “And now he’s dead.”
“Patrick…” I muttered, my mouth dropping.
“You knew him?” Angela asked, her eyes widening.
“I sort of worked with him,” I answered. “I was at the shop last night.”
“You saw him?!” Now the tears came hard and heavy. “Was he in pain? Did he suffer?”
“I don’t think so,” I answered, trying to comfort her.
She shook her head. “I begged him not to come here. We were happy in New York. I was a couple of years away from making partner at my law firm.”
“New York?” I asked. “I thought you guys were from Philadelphia.”
“Please,” she snorted. “Patrick hated the Phillies. We were New York born and bred. We were childhood sweethearts, you know. I remember the first time we ever saw each other, in that awful place. We were barely old enough to know what love was, but we knew we had something special.” She shook her head. “And now he’s gone.”
“I’m so sorry,” I answered. I was about to push just a little harder, try to get information on the ‘awful place’ she was talking about. But she wasn’t quite finished yet.
“I begged him not to come here!” She repeated. “He visited here when we still lived in New York and he lost his mind. He kept talking about how affordable everything was, how quaint the town was.” She gritted her teeth. “And I told him he was crazy. I mean, how quaint can a place be when two people are killed on the night you visit?!”
“What did you just say?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. Patrick was in town for a visit on the same night Mrs. Hoover died, on the same night I died. That couldn’t be a coincidence.
“The police only count one of them as a murder, but what does that matter? Who knows what they’ll classify Patrick’s death as?”
“But if-”
“I’m sorry,” Angela stood quickly. “I have to go. I just want to get this memorial over with and get out of this town.” She stopped, looking at me with glassy eyes. “You should come.”
“I didn’t really know him very well,” I admitted.
“Still, I think he’d have liked you. I know I do.”
She brushed past me before I could press her any further, not that I was even sure I would have. That sort of hurt didn’t need any pressure applied. Besides, there were other ways to get the information I needed.
My phone- a burner that I bought this morning at the general store- buzzed in my pocket.
A text from Sheriff Dash flashed across the screen. There was no need to ask how he got my number, not unless I wanted to hear the whole ‘best detective in D.C.’ spill all over again.
It’s ten minutes aft
er ten,it read.You have five minutes to get here unless you want me to start getting suspicious.
“Like you weren’t already,” I muttered, and headed toward the police station.
Now the fun was really about to begin.
Chapter 7
Walking into the Second Springs Police Department should have felt like coming home. I spent so much of my formative years inside these four walls. I lost my first tooth playing around in the drunk tank. I broke my arm swinging around on the cell bars. Aiden even picked me up for the prom here. In what must be every teenage boy’s worst nightmare, he strode in with a pink carnation for me only to find my dad surrounded by pistols and backup. I knew this place. It was my second home. Only it wasn’t anymore.
From the instant my feet (my new feet anyway) first graced that black and white tile, none of it felt right.
All I could see were all the changes. The way the coffeemaker sat on the right side of the room instead of the left, the new layout of the desks, the fact that the name on Dad’s door now read Sheriff Dash; it all tugged at my insides and hurt.
“Hey Ester,” I said instinctively as I walked through the door. It was good to see that my dad’s receptionist had kept her job, but I bristled when I realized there was no reason for this me to know her name.
Thankfully, didn’t seem to hear me. Staring at me for a moment and finally saying, “I think they play in Denver next week, but their relief pitcher is on the disabled list.”
Luckily, some things never change.
“Good of you to finally show up,” Sheriff Dash said from the other side of the room, sipping coffee from a mug that read ‘Mondays are for Winners’.
“Would you believe me if I said that I forgot?” I asked, begrudgingly moving toward him.
“Not likely,” he answered, taking another sip. “I’m a pretty good judge of character and you don’t seem like a very forgetful person to me. Why, I bet you even remember the two sugars I take in my coffee.”
“Three,” I corrected him. “But I’m sure you knew I’d know that.”
He smirked at me. “Well then, now that we both know what each other know- at least as far as coffee is concerned- how about we step inside my office and get that deposition out of the way?”
Twice Baked Page 4
