Twice Baked

by J. C. Kilgrave

  The texts in Patrick’s phone told me he was up to something in town, and the fact that he was here the night Mrs. Hoover was killed-the night I was killed- suggested he might have had something to do with her murder too.

  Was he in cahoots with Amelia? Did they have a falling out after their mother (her biological and his foster respectively) was bludgeoned with that wrench that led to him meeting a similar fate?

  And what was the significance of the wrench anyway? Of all the things that could be used as a murder weapon, why use a wrench? It seemed so needlessly messy, especially given the fact that Ralph worked at an auto garage.

  But maybe that was the point. Perhaps Amelia and Patrick were planning on framing Ralph for the murders once they had reaped whatever reward all of this was about in the first place.

  That would be one heck of a thank you for all that Ralph did for his little brother while they were living on the streets.

  No, that didn’t make any sense. There wasn’t any rift between the brothers, not really. I could see that in the way Ralph spoke about Patrick when I confronted him at the hospital. Looking back, I could see it in his actions when he seemed to blow up in front of Angela, Patrick’s wife, at the younger man’s wake. It must have been quite a blow, to learn whatever Patrick had gotten himself into led to his death.

  Still, it would be narrow minded of me to think that Ralph ended up in Mt Gregor just by happenstance. That would be too much of a coincidence, and Rita Clarke’s father made sure she didn’t believe in coincidences.

  No, Ralph had a part in all of this too, but what? What brought the three step siblings back into each other’s lives and all the way to Georgia at this juncture? Was killing Mrs. Hoover that important to each of them? And, if so, then why?

  I was missing something and, if I was going to lure Amelia out of the shadows in time to catch her before she ran off having completed her job, I was going to have to find out what.

  My fingers absentmindedly brought me back to the webpage that held the picture of the family.

  I stared at it for a long time, at this group of people who were supposed to love each other, who ended up breaking apart in the most heinous and horrific way imaginable.

  What happened to them? What changed after Mrs. Hoover’s husband died that sent them all scattering to the winds? And was there ever a way to stop it, or were these things; Mrs. Hoover’s murder, my death and subsequent return, things that had to happen? Were they put in place by something bigger than any of us and, if so, was this a case I would ever be able to solve?

  I stared at the picture for a long time. After a while, the subjects in it stopped being people. They were images, a collage of facts and observations.

  Mrs. Hoover’s nervous smile, Mr. Hoover’s rough hands, the black ink stain on his shirt, the blue sling on Patrick’s arm that had Ralph and Amelia’s signatures on it in black Sharpie, the bangs that hung down almost over the little girl’s eyes and the long sleeves that all but Mr. Hoover wore.

  I stared at it for so long, sure that I was missing something, that I became afraid that I was going to wait out the Peach Festival. Peggy certainly wouldn’t have taken too kindly to that, but I couldn’t stop myself.

  The answer was here, staring at me, locked away in this picture. Somehow, I knew it. I just needed another minute, just another second. If I kept looking at it, then maybe I’d find the right angle, maybe all of these pieces would fit together, and I’d be able to make sense of this.

  Or maybe now.

  I was about to give up, when I noticed something. Ralph was missing his right front tooth.

  Suddenly, like a piece of a puzzle you found on the floor after thinking it lost, everything snapped together. It all came to me in beautiful clarity. The truth of this family, of the secret it was keeping, of the reasons that it was torn apart. It all opened itself up to me and suddenly, I knew two things; my plan was going to work, and everything was much more dangerous than I’d ever imagined.

  Chapter 22

  When Peggy called me, a few hours later, I was still piecing everything together. Looking at that family photo had unlocked a virtual Pandora’s Box of secrets and taken me down a virtual rabbit hole of online documents, half-truths, and family innuendo that stretched the limits of what I thought I knew about all of this.

  She assumed I had been napping (which probably would have been a good idea) when she told me to “Rise and shine so we can set up for the festival”. I faked my best yawn and told her I’d meet her in the pie shop in ten minutes.

  It came as no surprise me to me that, when I opened my closet, I found a floral print dress (in peach, no less) hanging like some present from Charlie (or whoever sent Charlie in the first place).

  Mayor McConnell gave me a groan as I pulled it out and looked it up and down.

  “I feel your pain,” I answered. “I’m sick of the flowers too.” Tilting my head, I added, “Would it kill him to send me a solid every once in a while?”

  When I made it out to the pie shop, I found that Peggy had loaded a couple dozen pies onto twin rollers that had been decorated with peach tablecloths, ribbon, and a few bowls of fresh peaches on either side just for ambiance.

  Peggy herself was done up in a peach blouse and skirt that fit her so well that it made me ache to be free of my floral print prison. Her hair had a peach bow in it and her lips were adorned with peach lipstick.

  Just looking at her made me smile. She had always been the type to really get into this sort of stuff, and I was happy to see that my untimely demise hadn’t changed that. She deserved to be happy and I was glad she was getting it, even if the identity of that happiness’s recipient was more complicated than I would have liked.

  “You look great. I just love the flowers on you,” she said very politely, though we both knew that, standing next to her, I would look criminally underdressed.

  I guess some things never change.

  “Thank you,” I answered. “In that case, you should be getting your money’s worth of them.”

  She gave me another smile and then instructed me on what to do. She went through the pie shop’s event routine; something that was completely unnecessary, given that I had helped her draw it up. Of course, there was no way she could have known that.

  We’d roll the carts out to the booth she’d set up east of the diner. We angled it sideways, so that when people picked up their pies the backdrop would be of our little shop. Never let it be said that Peggy let a marketing opportunity get away from her.

  When the contents of the tables got down to about forty percent (I was never to let it get below forty!) one of us would rush the half a block back to the shop, load up some reserve pies and haul tail back before things got too out of control for the other one.

  There was a fireworks display at 8:00 pm sharp. That was when things would slow down for us. It was also when I’d be able to put my plan into action.

  Peggy had generously offered to man the booth while I took in the fireworks show. You know, since as far as she was concerned, I had never seen it. I accepted, of course. But I knew the whole time that I wouldn’t see as much as sparkler, let alone an explosion in the sky.

  I had already been in contact with Darrin today. We’d take the fireworks show as a cue, meet at a preordained rendezvous spot, and finish this once and for all.

  People had already started filtering into the main strip as Peggy and I stocked our booth; a peach bundle of ribbon, confetti and handmade signs that was so ornate that she must have been working on it for months.

  “This is unbelievable,” I muttered, taking it in.

  “This is Second Springs,” she answered, misunderstanding my meaning.

  It was true. The town was in its Sunday best tonight. Every man I saw walked around in peach jackets and matching hats. Every woman I saw wore peach dresses and sported hairdos that told me Crystal’s Hair Palace must have actually had a waiting list for once.

  It was good to see that. Seconds Sprin
gs was my home, even if it didn’t know that. These people were my friends, even if most of them would be introducing themselves to me tonight. And there was no doubt that it, and them, had been through a rough patch.

  This festival had been meant to be a distraction from the ho hum of small town life. But what it turned into, I could now see in the faces of citizens as they walked by, was a fervent defense of it.

  Second Springs was special, and someone had come in here and tried to take that. Not once, but twice. They had killed me, me; they had killed Mrs. Hoover. And now they had come back to do it again.

  This was Second Springs’ way of telling them that they wouldn’t stand for that. They wouldn’t let this person take away what made them special.

  And maybe that was why I was back now, to make sure that that didn’t happen.

  The festival started the way all important things in Second Springs did, with Mayor Merna Myers flipping the switch that turned on the fountain beside Second Springs’ namesake second spring. The other spring had dried up over fifty years ago so, technically, this was our only spring. But it would always be ‘second’ to us.

  I was a nervous mess for the next hour as the Peach Festival got underway. No surprise, our pies were a hit and, as I helped Peggy hand them out, I was introduced to Father Mulligan, who baptized me, Mrs. DeLuca, who was my 7th grade homeroom teacher, and Adam Lansby, who-embarrassingly enough, gave me my first kiss in 4th grade behind a set of bleachers that now sat in the distance.

  Of course, none of them recognized me. I was a completely different person as far as they knew, even if I didn’t feel like it. There was a huge part of me that wanted to jump on top of this table and shout who I was to the heavens. I just wanted to let go of all the secrets, and be me again. But I knew better than that. Telling my secret to Darrin Dash had gone just South of horribly, and besides, the person I used to be didn’t exist anymore. She had been lost to a set of steps and a man with big hands and a gravelly voice.

  And she wasn’t coming back.

  I found myself falling into a groove, shaking hands, handing out pies and telling people how glad I was to meet them.

  “Hopefully,” I would say. “We can get to know each other better in the future.”

  Of course, that didn’t seem very likely. If I didn’t make good on this plan, then Darrin was very likely going to make good on his threat to toss me out of Second Springs on my ear. And if I did, well that would mean that I had fulfilled my unfinished business here. I would ‘move on’. Whatever that meant.

  I shook my head slightly and kept a smile plastered across a face that I still only barely recognized. I couldn’t think about me right now. There was too much at stake, too much blood that needed to be answered for.

  I saw my father in the distance. I wanted to talk to him, to-with more than anyone else- tell him the truth. Of course, there were a whole slew of other reasons I couldn’t tell him.

  He was having such a hard time moving on. My death had cost him his job. I couldn’t let it cost him his sanity too. He needed to heal, to move on. And he would never be able to do that if he knew his daughter was trapped in the body of a stranger.

  So when he nodded at me, I nodded back and let him move along. The pies would have wreaked havoc on his blood sugar. So at least I could let myself believe that he was keeping his distance because of that and that it didn’t have anything to do with me.

  My nerves fluttered up even more as the sun went down. 8:00 pm was looming, which meant that the fireworks that would serve as my cover were only minutes away.

  Pulling off my apron, I turned to Peggy. “I’m going to go stake out a good spot if that’s okay.”

  “Of course,” she answered, smiling. She had worked really hard for days now, especially during these last few hours. But her hair was no part flatter, her smile was no wider, and her lipstick wasn’t even close to smudged.

  She lived for this, and you could tell it by looking at her.

  “You’re done such a good job today, Rita,” she said. “I’m so glad you showed up here.”

  “Me too,” I answered, looking at my best friend in the world and stifling the urge to throw my arms around her. “I’m gonna go.”

  I didn’t like lying to her. I didn’t like lying at all. But this was bigger than me and her, bigger than any of us. And, with the volunteer fire department readying the festivities, I didn’t have much time to get Darrin and I in place.

  I met the new sheriff behind the playground, a place I knew better than I had any right to in this body.

  He was already there when I showed up. No surprise, given how prompt and no nonsense he was. Still, as I caught sight of him, his sandy hair glistening against the rising moon and his eyes brighter than I expected, I couldn’t help but think that part of him was enjoying this.

  “Are you ready?” I asked, smirking at him.

  “I’ve been here for ten minutes,” he shot back. “I think the question is, are you ready?”

  “You know,” I started. “Sometimes I feel like it’s the reason I was born.”

  He glared at me.

  “Is there a problem?” I asked.

  “More than a few,” he answered with his arms folded over his chest. “But at the moment, I’m trying to decide whether I find your veiled innuendo and enthusiasm charming or just infuriating.”

  “My money’s on a little bit of both,” I answered. “Now come on. We need to get going.”

  I started westward, toward our destination. “Don’t be so nervous,” I said, looking back at Sheriff Dash. “This is all going to work out.”

  “Do I look nervous?” He asked, his brows shooting upward questioningly.

  I grinned at him. “You look like you’re on a rollercoaster heading straight up. I just can’t tell whether or not you’re going to enjoy the fall.”

  I ducked through a tear in the playground fence that had been there for at least ten years and cut through the old Sampson yard. Darrin followed a few steps behind.

  “Only one way to find out,” he answered.

  “I think I like you more than I should,” I chuckled, moving through darkened yard in a near sprint.

  Darrin kept up with me easily. “Let’s see how you feel about me after tonight,” he answered.

  We both slowed down as our destination came into view. “Why are we going here anyway?” He asked.

  “Because,” I said, a shiver running up my spine. “This is where it all started.”

  Chapter 23

  I stared at the steps I had tumbled to my death from with apprehension. Mrs. Hoover’s house was in the distance, much like how it had been the night I died. I didn’t want to go there. I didn’t want to set foot in that house ever again. The person who killed me was connected to that crime scene somehow, and yet I still hadn’t brought myself to set foot in it.

  So why was I doing it now?

  Simple. Because I had no choice.

  After Mrs. Hoover’s untimely demise and a respectful amount of mourning time, her house was sold to Scott Walker and his new bride Samantha; who had been high school sweethearts alongside Aiden and me. Seeing as how they ended up actually married and both of them are still breathing, I’d say they were the more successful couple.

  Of course, that was neither here nor there.

  The real reason I was interested in this house tonight was the same reason that Amelia, the villain in our little story, would also be.

  Because it was empty.

  The entire town was at the Peach Festival tonight; Scott and Samantha included. I gave them both slices of pie not an hour ago, and I had little doubt that, at this moment, they were snuggled up in each other’s arms watching fireworks go off in the sky.

  I heard the boom of the latest bit of pyrotechnics and turned. Green and blue sparks lit the air. I looked to Darrin.

  “Amelia is looking for something. Something that she believes is inside that house. It’s why Patrick and Ralph died. It’s why Mrs. Hoover
died. It’s very likely why the sheriff’s daughter died. I shook my head. “I have no doubt that she’ll take this opportunity to try to find it. You’ve taken me this far, and if you want to be a lookout for me, I’ll totally understand. Following me inside that house constitutes breaking and entering, and I wouldn’t blame you if that was a line you didn’t want to cross, being the sheriff and all.”

  “I appreciate the concern, but it’s unnecessary. I don’t cross ethical lines,” he explained.

  “That’s very ‘John Wayne’ of you, but it will only be true if we part ways here.” I answered. I wanted him to come inside. I wanted him to see what was about to happen. Given that I had just told him I was basically a walking miracle, his perception of me was reasonably skewed. I didn’t want to leave any room for doubt. Still, I wouldn’t let him compromise himself. I had lived with my dad long enough to know how important honor was to a man of the law.

  “Unless, of course, I ran all of this by Mr. and Mrs. Walker and got their consent to go inside their home.” He smiled and lifted a silvery flash of metal from his pocket. “Along with the keys to their front door.”

  “You told them everything?” I asked, my eyes widening.

  “I told them enough,” he answered. “That I was following a lead that was connected to what was going on around town, a lead that may or may not pan out. And I told them I needed to use their house for official police business.”

  “And they didn’t ask you any questions?” I balked.

  “Believe it or not, Rita, people around here do trust me. Now let’s go.”

  This time it was Darrin that took the lead.

  He moved down the steps spritely, with no way too know the kind of turmoil I was going through as I descended them slowly behind him. Each movement nearly spurred a panic attack. Each foot trembled as it moved in front of the other.

  “Are you afraid of heights or something?” Darrin asked, looking up at me from the bottom of the steps, the place where my body had fallen dead two years ago.