That didn’t make any sense. Dwight had always been a hard worker. Even with Dad gone, there was no way he’d do less than his best without a very good reason.
“That’s neither here nor there though,” Sheriff Dash answered. “The wrenches found at the crime scene and the Angela’s house were traced back to this garage. And, since I know for a fact you haven’t hacked any of our computers, I want to know what you’re doing here. How did you make the connection?”
Grimacing, I pulled Patrick’s hidden phone out of my pocket and handed it over.
“It was hidden in the bedroom air duct,” I admitted. “This was the only number on it.”
Sheriff Dash stared down at it and then back up at me. “And you were just going to withhold evidence?”
“Until I figured out what it meant,” I answered.
Sheriff Dash closed his eyes and slid the phone into his pocket. “What am I supposed to do with you?” he asked. “This is a punishable offense, Rita. Are you expecting me to just forget it?”
“I was kind of hoping you might,” I muttered.
“Then give me a reason,” he answered. “I don’t want to arrest you and I don’t believe that you’re responsible for this. But you’re here for a reason and you know more than you’re saying. If you can’t be honest with me, then I’m afraid you’re not leaving me with any other choice but to assume the worst.” He moved toward me. “So tell me, Rita. Tell me the truth.”
And suddenly, I wanted to. I looked at Sheriff Dash with his knowing eyes and cocky smile, and I didn’t see the annoyingly smug officer who had replaced my father or the troublesome policeman who got in my way at every turn.
I just saw the man. And, like it or not, he was a good one. He was just trying to do his job, trying to bring justice and peace back to the town I loved.
Could I really fault him for that?
But, at the same time, could I really tell him the truth?
No. He’d never believe me, especially since I had no proof other than my knowledge to back me up.
Other than my knowledge…
“I’m a psychic,” I said, nodding my head.
He stared at me for a moment. “Put your hands behind your back,” he said, pulling a pair of handcuffs from his jacket.
“Okay, I’m a private eye,” I said, throwing my hands in front of me. Yeah, that made more sense. “Mrs. Hoover has a daughter named Amelia. She hired me to dig into her mother’s murder and the whole thing led me here.”
“A private investigator?” he said, looking me up and down. His eyes narrowed as he took me in, and the cuffs weighed back and forth in his hands. Was he actually buying this?
“You don’t particularly look like any private eye I’ve ever seen, but that would explain a lot. Do you have any credentials?”
“No. What I mean is, not on me. I have them back in Second Springs, but you have to believe me. That’s why I’m so involved in this, because I have a huge payday coming. There’s absolutely no other reason for it.”
“I assume this Amelia person fed you information as well,” Sheriff Dash asked.
“Through Dwight,” I answered. “That’s why I was invested in whether or not he was still employed. He was my liaison.”
Wow. All of this really did make sense.
“And you took a job at the pie shop to preserve your cover?” He asked.
I nodded. “I had no idea how long any of this was going to take. Plus, I make a mean apple crumble.”
“I need you to pack your things and leave,” Sheriff Dash told me flippantly.
“What?” My eyes got wide. “But I told you the truth.”
Well, not really. But still…
“And that’s why I’m not arresting you right now. But I can’t have some private eye running around my crime scenes, even if she was hired by one of the victim’s family members.”
“But you have no idea what you’re doing!” I blustered out before I could stop myself.
“What is that supposed to mean?” He asked, readying his cuffs again.
“Nothing,” I answered. “I’m sure you’re great at your job. You were, after all, the best detective in Washington D.C. or whatever. But I’m good at what I do too. Good enough that we ended up at the same place, even though I don’t have access to all that fancy police equipment and jurisdiction perks.”
“Perhaps,” he answered. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I have a job to do.”
“I can help you with that job,” I answered. “We can work together. You just need to trust me.”
“If you want to be a police officer, I’ll get you a brochure to the academy. Otherwise, I’m gonna need you to stay out of my way. And, for you at least, that means getting out of town.”
“Hey,” the old man who owned the place came walking out of the back room. His face was wrinkled and squinty, and his mouth was twisted impatiently. “Can we get on with this?”
“I’ll be with you in a second, sir.” Sheriff Dash glared at me. “The lady and I are just finishing up here.”
“Well hurry up, will ya? I gotta pick up the little lady in a few. If we don’t get to Chuck’s Chicken Palace by four, we miss the early bird special. Do I look like I’ve got ‘full price chicken’ money?”
“In a second, sir,” Sheriff Dash answered.
“It’s always the same,” he answered. “I knew I shouldn’t have hired a Phillies fan.” He started toward the back room.
“What did you say?” I asked, sidestepping Sheriff Dash and walking toward the old man. “A Phillies fan.”
“Yeah,” he shook his head. “The National league. Ya can’t trust it.”
“No, not the team. The fan,” I said.
“Ralph, the guy who almost turned ya into an oil spot? Yeah, he liked ‘em. But what do ya expect from a Philadelphia boy? I honestly shouldn’t have been surprised that he ended up being a criminal. Serves me right for paying under the table.” He looked past me to Sheriff Dash. “I’d appreciate you forgetting you heard that.”
“Focus!” I said, turning from the old man back to Sheriff Dash. “He’s from Philadelphia.”
“So?” He asked, walking closer.
“That’s where Patrick claimed to be from,” I answered, remembering that Angela said they had actually come from New York. “It’s all connected.”
“What’s all connected?” he asked.
My eyes got wide as the pieces snapped into place.
“Sheriff Dash, get ahold of your people. We have to find Ralph!”
“They’re looking,” he answered. “The make, model, and tag number of the car he left in have been sent out to three states.”
“No, you don’t understand. He’s in danger,” I shook my head. “I was wrong. He isn’t the murderer. He’s going to be one of the victims.”
Chapter 14
“You’re not making any sense,” Sheriff Dash said, walking toward me and staring like I had just slipped salt I to his sugar bag. “Ralph-which I suppose is what we’re calling him- almost killed you earlier today. Why would he do that unless he had something to hide?”
I shook my head. “Maybe the killer isn’t the only one with secrets.”
“Rita, you’re – -“ “
“Just hear me out,” I answered. “Peggy told me that Patrick was from Philadelphia, just like Ralph. But his wife said he was from New York, that he had grown up there.”
“So you think he lied about being from Philadelphia?” Sheriff Dash asked, folding his arms in front of him.
“No, I think he lied about being from New York.”
“He lied to his wife, but told his boss the truth?” The Sheriff looked justifiably suspicious.
“Maybe he told everyone in town the truth and kept it from his wife. It is easier to keep a secret from one person than from a town full. And she told me herself that she never interacted with people here. Maybe Patrick figured she’d never find out.”
“But why lie about something like that
at all? ” “ Sheriff Dash asked. “It seems unnecessary. And it certainly doesn’t prove Ralph is in danger.”
“Not by itself, it doesn’t. But when you take into consideration the fact that Patrick was in town the night Mrs. Hoover was killed, and that the wrenches used in both murders are exactly like those found in Ralph workplace – —“ “
“Then it points to him being a suspect not a potential victim.”
“Except he can’t be the killer. I watched him drive away from Patrick’s house minutes before Angela was attacked. Even if he doubled back, he still wouldn’t have had time enough. And why then? If he wanted to kill her, he could have done it when they were alone together outside.” I shook my head. “No, I think he was trying to warn her. He and Patrick are connected to what happened to Mrs. Hoover somehow. And now that he saw Patrick had been killed because of it, he wanted to stop his wife from suffering the same fate.”
“Then why would he try to run you over?” Sheriff Dash asked sternly.
“For the same reason you didn’t trust me. I showed up when all of this started happening again. He must have figured that I was connected and that, when I saw him, I had found him out. He wasn’t trying to kill me. He was trying to protect his cover.”
Sheriff Dash’s phone rang and he shot me a finger, turned and answered it.
That was fine by me. I had other things on my mind, like proving my theory.
“Sir,” I said, moving toward the owner of the shop. “Can I get some information on Ralph?”
“I already gave everything I had to the cop,” he snarled. “Ain’t much though. I told ya, Ralph was under the table. The tax man’s hard on folks like me.”
“But what about fingerprints? He worked here, he must have left some behind.”
The old man scoffed. “Sweetie look for whatever will get ya out of here. That’s all I care about.”
“That won’t be necessary, “Sheriff Dash said from behind me.
He was off the phone when I turned to whine at him. “But we could use the Intel to find out his connection to all this.”
“You can ask him yourself.”
My eyes lit up. “You found him?”
“More or less. He wrapped the car around a telephone pole two hours outside of town,” Sheriff Dash answered. “He’s being airlifted to Dalton. I’m going there now to question him. I’d tell you to stay put, but something tells me you’d just show up there anyway. Plus , I’m interested to see if your little story pans out. So you can ride along, if you’d like. “
“Ride?” I asked, grinning. “I’m driving. ” “
^
The two hour ride from Mt. Gregor to Dalton felt much less like a deposition than I expected. When I agreed to come along with Sheriff Dash, I expected he’d spend asking me probing questions, and I’d spend the time making up answers and hoping they’d stick.
But that wasn’t what happened at all.
We took my truck because it turned out the car Ralph nearly flattened me in belonged to Sheriff Dash himself. Much like me, he had gone to the auto shop to do some digging around (even though he insisted I refer to it as ‘investigating’) and knew that showing up in a squad car would blow his cover quicker than-Well, quicker than I did.
Mayor McConnell was in the back, sitting up with his tongue wagging in the air. I guess he was getting the hang of this whole ‘dog’ thing. And, for his part, Sheriff Dash stared out the window was he wasn’t busy taking calls from his underlings and from the police force in Dalton, who were tending to this matter until we got there.
It might have been his baseball cap and casual wear ‘disguise’, but Sheriff Dash looked more at home in my dusty red truck than I’d have ever imagined. He wasn’t fidgety. He wasn’t nervous. He wasn’t much of anything really.
I got to thinking. I bet there’s an interesting story there. There had to be a reason why the self-proclaimed best detective in all of D.C. would take a job in a one horse town like Second Springs, even if it was a sheriff position.
But now wasn’t the time to think about that. I had an entirely different set of questions that needed answers; answers that only Ralph could provide.
Of course, getting him to provide them was going to be the difficult part.
I surprised myself when I spoke first. I just couldn’t take the silence anymore.
“Do you like it here?” I asked, clutching the wheel as I sped over a particularly rough pothole in the road.
“Here on the highway?” he asked without looking over.
“Here in Second Springs. Or there in Second Springs rather,” I clarified, realizing we were no longer in the small town where I had, much like Will Smith, spent most of my days.
“That’s an odd question,” he answered.
“Is it?” I asked, my eyes darting over to him. “It seemed like a perfectly mundane thing to me.”
“For a regular person, sure,” he answered. “But you’re not a regular person, are you Ms. Redoux. You’re a detective. And here you are asking me how I like the town I’ve found myself in. You might as well be talking to me about the weather.”
“Well, maybe I just won’t talk to you at all,” I said, clutching at the steering wheel.
Sheriff Dash chuckled loudly. “Don’t be like that. I’m just teasing you. Second Springs is a fine place. It’s a little quiet, but the people are amazing and it’s the perfect place to raise a family."
“Oh” I said, straightening a little. “I didn’t realize you were in a position to think about that kind of thing.” The temperature of my cheeks rose a few degrees, which was ridiculous.
“I’m not,” he answered. “Not anymore anyway.” He shook his head. “My wife was gunned down outside of our apartment building a few years back. I didn’t think too highly of the city after that. My boss back in D.C. suggested I take a job with less penchant for stress, and he knew the mayor here.” He shrugged. “So here I am.”
“Investigating a murder,” I said softly. “So much for low stress.”
“It’s funny how life works out, isn’t it? This is exactly the kind of place Marie wanted to move to after we got married. She begged me to put in for a transfer, but I just kept telling her that I needed to be where the action was.” He shook his head. “I didn’t realize what was important back then.”
“I’m sorry,” I answered, fighting the urge to pat his hand.
“Look at that. You’re a better detective than I thought,” he grinned.
“No,” I answered. “I wasn’t trying to-”
“I know that,” he said. “Just like I know that you’ve had your share of losses too. Don’t worry, I won’t ask you about them. I think that’s why we get along so well, because we have the important things in common.”
“We get along well?” I balked. “That’s news to me. I thought our entire relationship was arguing, backbiting comments, and you pretending to be serious when you threaten to throw me in jail.”
“Oh I am serious,” he smiled. “I was definitely considering throwing you in jail. Still am, if I can be completely honest.” He slid further into his seat. “Doesn’t mean I don’t like you though.”
Chapter 15
Hamilton Medical Center was much bigger than anything we were used to in Second Springs; where the clinic and Dr. Thompkins took care of everything from a case of the flu to a broken ankle. But for things like what had just happened to Ralph, it seemed even the hospital in Clear Lake wasn’t prepared.
That said a lot about what the severity of his injuries must have been.
I pulled into the (three story!) parking structure, circling my way up before I found a spot halfway up the second floor.
When Sheriff Dash and I got out of the truck, wiping embarrassing bits of excess dust off us, Mayor McConnell hopped out of the back too.
“Uh, I’m not sure that’s going to work Mayor McConnell,” I said, looking awkwardly over at Sheriff Dash. “I don’t think they’re going to allow us to go inside with a dog
.”
Mayor McConnell cocked his head and looked at me, as if to say ‘so what?’
“Well,” I cleared my throat. “You are a dog.”
He huffed, shaking his head and continuing past me toward the hospital.
“Hey!” I said, circling in front of him. “I’m serious. We’ve got work to do here. Now I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to stay put.”
He stared at me again and, if his silence had words they would have been ‘What do you think I’m here for then?’
“Is that right?” I asked, reacting to his stare. “I couldn’t get you off the floor when Patrick died, and suddenly you want to be the New Age Scooby Doo? I don’t think so.”
His silent stare continued.
“Fine,” I sighed. “Why don’t you make a couple of laps around the perimeter and see if you can spot anything out of the ordinary?”
Mayor McConnell nodded and trotted off, paws clicking loudly against the concrete.
“Seriously?” Sheriff Dash asked, looking from me to the dog and back again. “What if he just wanders away?”
“Oh, he won’t,” I waved it off, starting toward the hospital. “He’s just a showoff. The truth of the matter is that, for all his bluster, I’m beginning to think he’s really just a softie.” I chuckled. “He’s even afraid of the dark.”
“Just like his namesake then,” Sheriff Dash answered, keeping pace with me with his hands in his pockets.
“What?” I asked, looking over at him.
“I assumed you named him after Mayor Colin McConnell, the 19th century politician,” he said, keeping pace with me as we exited the parking structure and headed toward the main building.
“Um, sure,” I answered. “Though I’m surprised you knew that.”
Mostly because even I didn’t know that.
“Well, I’ve always had an interest in the great crimes of history. It’s what stoked me into the police force in the first place. And it doesn’t get much darker than Colin McConnell, does it?”
My eyes darted back and forth and I quirked my mouth to the side. “Oh, definitely not. It’s so epic,” I lied. “Especially that other part. You know, that part.”
Twice Baked Page 9
