“I overheard them arguing with each other,” Dwight said. “They said it looked like he had been given an overdose of something.”
“That’s what the wrench was about,” I said, tugging on Sheriff Dash’s arm to get his attention. “It wasn’t a warning. It was a diversion. They wanted to get us out of the way so they could take care of Ralph.” My eyes narrowed. “They didn’t want him talking.”
“He’s not taken care of yet,” Sheriff Dash said. “The doctors are still working on him. Maybe-”
But no sooner had the words left the sheriff’s mouth that a torrent of doctors came walking slowly out of the room. They didn’t have to say anything. The looks on their faces were all I needed to see to know what happened.
So much for pumping him for more information. Ralph had just been murdered. No wrench required.
Fire danced along Sheriff Dash’s eyes, and Dwight settled into his crosshairs. “Who went into that room, Dwight?!” He yelled.
“No one!” Dwight stammered. “I didn’t see anyone!”
“And were you here the entire time we were gone?” Sheriff Dash asked through clenched teeth.
“Yes,” he answered. “The whole time. Except…” His eyes went wide and drifted down to his hands. “I thought you guys might want some coffee when you got back.”
Sheriff Dash leaned closer, so close that his and Dwight’s eyes were nearly touching. “If you ever got the idea that I was considering rehiring you, rid yourself of it.” He swatted at Dwight knocking the coffees out of his hands. The splashed against the floor, staining it brown. He pulled back. “Now get out of my crime scene.”
Dwight pursed his lips and blinked hard. He nodded curtly and moved past the sheriff toward the elevator.
“Dwight,” I said, my heart breaking, not only for Ralph, but for Dwight too. Since he was a little boy, this was all he’d ever wanted. And I was watching it all fall down at his feet.
“It’s okay,” he shook his head, his voice cracking. “It’s for the best maybe.”
He walked to the elevator and boarded it.
I turned back to Sheriff Dash, this time it was my turn to give him an accusing look.
“Don’t start with me, Rita,” he said, lifting his hand as if to stop me before I began.
“You were hard on him,” I said.
“I said don’t start,” he repeated. “That man in there was our only lead.”
“Our?” I asked, stifling a grin.
He narrowed his eyes at me. “Don’t press your luck. We’re back at square one.”
I shook my head, this time letting my grin show. “Not exactly.”
^
“They’re brothers?” Sheriff Dash asked, staring at me from behind the desk of an office in the hospital that the administration was kind enough to let us use for the time being.
The Dalton police department were in the middle of going over the wreckage of my (or, I suppose Charlie’s) truck, and they didn’t necessarily need an out of town sheriff cramping their style.
Not that we were aching for things to do or anything. Ralph might have taken a turn for the grave, but he left me with a helpful bit of information, one that Sheriff Dash was having trouble wrapping his head around.
“They were,” I answered in a tone reverent enough to show respect for the newly deceased. “At least that’s what he told me.” I bit my lip. “He also told me that Patrick loved Mrs. Hoover.”
Sheriff Dash’s brows shot up as if independent of his face. “What is that supposed to mean?”
I circled around the room, settling in front of him. “Patrick was in Second Springs the night Mrs. Hoover was killed. When I brought that up to Ralph, he assured me that his brother would never hurt her.” I nodded. “And I believe him.”
“I do too.” He answered as h is e phone beeped.
Okay, so he surprised me with that answer.
“Really?” I asked.
“Don’t look so surprised,” he answered, looking up from his screen. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re sort of on a roll.”
I stifled a smile as he continued, typing on the desktop in front of him. “I had a few officers search the auto shop in Mt. Gregor. They didn’t come across anything too suspicious. The owner had no idea where Ralph lived and it turned out he wasn’t much of a pack rat where his job was concerned. But they did find his prints and it turns out we just got a hit. I knew there was a reason he was paid under the table.” He turned the screen toward me so I could see a mug shot of a teenage boy with a bad haircut and a document. “Meet the kid who grew up to be Ralph. His name was Carter Weston.”
I peered closer. This kid was young, no older than 16, but I could see the makings of Ralph inside of him, and it made me ache a little.
“He was a criminal?” I asked, pulling back from the screen.
“Not really,” Sheriff Dash answered. “He was arrested for some low level shoplifting in ’95. Other than that, his record is clean.”
“This doesn’t make any sense,” I answered. “I’m missing something. I have to be.”
“You are,” Sheriff Dash answered. “But I’m about to give it to you.” Sheriff Dash turned the screen back toward him and started typing again. “Turns out he was stealing food. Want to guess why?”
“His brother,” I said, piecing everything together.
“Right,” he said. “Turns out Patrick’s real name was Steven Weston. He and his brother were 9 and 14 respectively when their parents were killed in a hit and run. They were separated by the foster system but, three months after their placement, Ralph found Patrick and they took to living on the streets.” Sheriff Dash looked up at me. “But the arrest brought light to their situation, and the pair were put in a foster home in Philadelphia, this time together. They spent the next five years being raised by the Frazier family. Molly Frazier, the foster mother, changed her name a few months after her husband died.” He turned the computer screen back toward me. “I’m going to give you three guesses as to what her new name was, but something tells me you won’t need it.”
“Mrs. Hoover,” I mumbled, looking at an old family photo of a younger Mrs. Hoover, her now deceased husband, Patrick, Ralph, and a chubby blond girl who was undoubtedly Amelia- the daughter Dwight thought I was.
The boys were standing right in front of Mrs. Hoover. Amelia sat perched in her arms. For his part, Mrs. Hoover’s husband looked out of place, off to the side and uncomfortable.
I guess not everybody likes having their picture taken.
I squinted, peering at the photo and taking it all in. Mrs. Hoover had been Ralph and Patrick’s foster mother. This was all connected in ways much deeper than I’d imagined.
Looking up at Sheriff Dash, I set my jaw and said the statement I had been waiting forever to utter.
“I know who the killer is.”
Chapter 18
“What do you mean?” Sheriff Dash asked me with narrowed eyes. “We barely have a handle on what any of this is about. Whoever killed Ralph cut the feed to the security cameras in that section of the hospital first. So how could you possibly know who the killer is?”
“It’s obvious,” I answered, plopping down on the desk in front of him.
“Really?” He asked, leaning back in his chair and eyeing me up and down. “Perhaps for you. But I’m afraid you’ll have to enlighten the rest of us mere mortals.”
“Look at the picture, Darrin,” I said, pointing to the screen. “Everyone on that screen has been murdered, all but one.”
“The little girl?” He asked, looking from the screen, to me, and back again.
“Amelia,” I answered. “Except she wouldn’t be a kid anymore. She’d be a grown woman and, if I’m worth my salt, a murderer.”
“Are you trying to get me to arrest you, Rita?” He asked, standing and folding his arms over his chest.
“Um…I feel like I want to say no.” I furrowed my brows.
“You just told me you were hired by Amelia Ho
over,” he said. “You said it was the reason you came here in the first place and now you’re telling me that you think she’s the killer.”
“Oh, right,” I murmured. “My bad.”
“Rita, if you don’t start-”
“Okay, I lied to you. I’m a liar, but I’m also good at what I do.” I stood to meet him. “You have to admit it. What I’m telling you, it makes a lot of sense. You have to listen to me.”
“Oh, I am listening to you,” he answered, bridging the gap between us. “Who are you, Rita Redoux? Really, who are you?”
I closed my eyes and held my breath. It had come to this. To solve this mystery, to move on the way I needed to, I was going to have to come clean.
“I’m her,” I answered. “I’m the reincarnated soul of Rita Clarke.”
He stared at me for a long moment, narrowing his eyes as if he was trying to decide on just how crazy I was.
“Very funny,” he answered. “If you’re a reporter or an FBI agent or something, I wish you’d just tell me. You’re right. For whatever reason, you are good at this. But I’m not going to be able to work with you if I can’t trust you, and I’m not going to be able to trust you unless you tell me the truth.”
He walked passed me toward the door.
“But I am telling you the truth!” I said, grabbing his arm. “My name isn’t Rita Redoux. It’s Rita Clarke. I know everything there is to know about this town because I was born in it. I know these people because I grew up with them. That’s why I have a connection to these people and this place. It’s why I want to solve this case so badly. Because it’s mine too! I was murdered the same night Mrs. Hoover was. The person who killed her very likely killed me and, unless I can solve this murder and bring the person responsible to justice, I’m not going to be able to move on.”
He glared at me, his eyes wide. “You actually believe this, don’t you?” He pulled his arm away from my grip. “You have two days to get out of town. That’s more than enough time to get your affairs in order. If I catch you in Second Springs after that, I’m arresting you for obstruction of justice.”
“That old song and dance again?” I asked, shaking my head.
“The only reason I’m not hauling you into custody right now is because you’ve actually managed to help this investigation.” He pursed his lips. “That woman’s murder nearly tore this town apart. Mrs. Hoover was bad, but Rita Clarke was a young woman. She was the sheriff’s daughter and a light to this place. Now I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but having you running around besmirching her memory isn’t something this town needs and it’s not something I’m going to allow.” He opened the door. “Two days Ms. Redoux. Don’t let me catch you after that.”
He walked through the door and disappeared down the hall.
“That didn’t go well, did it?”
I turned to find a large woman with curlers in her hair sitting at the desk. She was in a bathrobe filing her nails with an aloof look on her face.
“I know, Honeybean. Maybe if you tell him that your dog used to be the mayor, he might actually believe you.”
“Very funny Charlie,” I answered, closing the door. “I really could have used the whole ‘magical appearing’ thing a few seconds ago. It would have hard for Darrin to deny evidence like that.”
“Oh, it’s Darrin now?” Charlie- in the guise of this woman- looked up at me smirking. “Isn’t that cozy.”
“Shut up,” I answered. “This is a mess.”
“I told you what would happen,” Charlie answered. “I told you no one would believe you.”
“What was I supposed to do?” I asked. “My back was against the wall.”
“Don’t look at me.” Charlie shrugged. “I never told you to tie your lies in with that Amelia girl.”
“Is she the killer?” I asked.
“How on earth would I know?” Charlie asked.
“I thought you guys knew everything,” I answered. “Are you looking down at everything that’s going on or something?”
“You’re giving me too much credit. I’m not God. And even if I was, this your mystery. Giving you the answers wouldn’t work, no matter how much I might want to.”
“So why are you even here?” I asked. I was starting to get more than a little upset.
“I already told you that. I’m here to guide you, Honeybean.”
“Well, you’re not doing a very doing a very good job, are you?” I huffed, crossing my arms.
Just then, my phone buzzed.
“You should pick that up,” Charlie answered. “You have some pies to bake.”
Looking down at my phone, I saw a text from Peggy.
Oh, don’t worry about little old me. I suppose I can finish the prep for ALL these pies BY MYSELF…
People who didn’t know Peggy would assume that this was a joke. At most, they might consider it gentle nudging toward a certain direction. But, having grown up with that girl, I knew that what I was looking at was actually the closest thing Peggy would ever get to chewing me out. A day of solo pie prep had pushed my former best friend to her near breaking point.
Buy why would Charlie want me to see this? Certainly whether or not I did a good job at the pie shop fell way down on the list of things I needed guidance about. Some stupid peach festival had to come second to actually solving these murders.
And that was when I realized that it did.
Charlie’s little comment was meant to spur an idea inside of me, and once that idea came to life, I winced.
“There we go,” Charlie said, the nail file still in hand and reading my expression. “I knew you had it in you.”
“You could have just told me and saved us both the whole song and dance,” I said.
“That’s not how it works, I’m afraid,” Charlie answered. “Like I said, not my pig not my farm. But I’m happy to see you finally on the right track.”
And I was. This interaction had given me an idea. I knew how I was going to catch Amelia Hoover, but I was going to need Sheriff Dashes help.
Oh yeah, and Peggy was going to kill me...
Chapter 19
The ride back to Second Springs later that evening was uneventful. Sheriff Dash had sent Officer Dunberry to escort me back, seeing as how my dusty red truck was still technically a crime scene. And, while I knew Officer Dunberry well enough to keep a conversation with him up way longer than the amount of time it took to go from Mt. Gregor to Second Springs, he didn’t know me. At least, not this version of me anyway. So I stared out the window and thought about all that was going on.
It took about thirty seconds of that to drive myself crazy. So, instead of dwelling fruitlessly on the pieces of this ever growing puzzle, I decided to be active about it.
To that end, the smartphones of two years in the future (Hey! It was the future for me) proved really good at that.
“4G,” I murmured to myself as I typed on my virtual keyboard.
What I could find out about the Frazier family through Google didn’t do much to answer my questions. They all seemed very normal. Sure, Ralph and Patrick had been through a trauma or two in their earlier years, but all in all, the clan seemed to be pretty picture perfect.
Though she stopped short of actually adopting the brothers, turned out Mrs. Hoover was an awesome foster mom. So good, in fact, that the boys lived with her even after aging out of the system.
Things took a turn after her husband’s death. The obituary read cancer, which was tragic.
What was more tragic was whatever caused the break within this family. After her husband’s death, I couldn’t find out much about the Fraziers, even Amelia. I was missing something. Something about this man’s death transformed this family. They went from loving and loyal to ready to kill each other.
And where was Amelia? She had already succeeded in ending every member of her family. Maybe she was off celebrating her victory somewhere. Or maybe not. Angela had also been attacked. What if she was next? What if Amelia’s hatred went
deep enough to put Patrick’s widow in danger too?
I shook my head and minimized my browser. I wasn’t going to get to the bottom of this tonight. If I was going to find out the truth, then I was going to have to confront it head-on. And that meant I was going to have to ask for a favor.
We slid into the Second Springs town limits a couple hours after nightfall. Sheriff Dash instructed Officer Dunberry to escort me to my apartment behind the pie shop. But, when I saw a police car backed into Dwight’s old speed trap spot, I grinned and gave him different instructions.
“You can just pull over right here, Edgar,” I said.
He narrowed his eyes at me. “And how, pray tell, do you know my Christian name, little lady?”
Gah, I’m so bad at this.
“You look like an Edgar,” I answered. Hey, it was worth a shot.
For his part, Officer Dunberry rolled his eyes, but didn’t slow down.
“I was told to take you home, and I’m figuring that’s what I need to do,” he said.
“I can respect that,” I answered, eyeing the car. “I just wonder what Sheriff Dash is going to think when you deliver me with a broken arm.”
He narrowed his eyes and glanced over at me. “What are you getting at?”
“Well,” I answered. “I don’t suppose it necessarily has to be a broken arm. It could be a twisted ankle of a bruised shin bone. What happens to you when you jump out of a car going this fast anyway?”
Officer Dunberry peered over at me. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would,” I responded, opening the door and feeling the whoosh of cool air rush in.
“You close that door right now!” He said, gritting his teeth. But he didn’t slow down.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” I said, inching toward the open door. I looked down. The dark road sped beneath me, all concrete and dust. Could I really just jump? We had to be going thirty miles an hour. A broken arm would likely be the least of my worries if I landed wrong. But that was the beautiful thing about being me. I knew Officer Dunberry, and I knew what that look on his face, sweat and trembling lips, meant. I wasn’t going to have to actually jump out of this stupid thing. I was just going to have to convince him that I would.
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