She spent the morning going through the closet in her parents’ bedroom, a room which had simply been closed off and never entered since Donna, their mom, had moved out. By the time Elizabeth had to leave for work, she’d packed up all their old clothes for donation and boxed up framed photos, birthday cards, and personal mementos. She didn’t want reminders of Nate’s failed past staring him in the face every day upon his return. He deserved a fresh start as much as anyone.
She showered, bundled up, and then walked the mile to the brewery, keeping to the street, which she always did on winter evenings because the sidewalks were either too slippery to be trusted or buried under drifts of plowed snow.
When she arrived, business was slow at the Sled Dog, a situation she usually didn’t like because it meant the time passed slowly, and with fewer tips. That day, however, she didn’t mind. She still had a bad feeling about what had happened in the stockroom the previous night with Jack, and she wasn’t in the mood to socialize.
Even in her mood, however, she couldn’t help but smile when she arrived and saw Clyde Harrison, the only patron sitting at the bar, planted at his usual barstool. Clyde wrote the Golden Falls Grapevine gossip column for the local daily newspaper, in addition to being a semi-famous mystery writer—and quite the character himself.
In his mid-fifties with a large frame, ill-fitting clothes, and an uneven hairstyle, he came off like an enthusiastic, overgrown child. His hair allegedly was kept trimmed by his wife, Karen, whom Elizabeth had never met and would not have been surprised to learn did not, in fact, exist—although Clyde talked about her often and with great affection. He boasted about Karen’s many skills, such as quilting and canning vegetables, but sadly, he could not count hairstylist among them, for Elizabeth had never once seen him with anything other than the unfortunate bowl-cut.
But because Karen could do no wrong in Clyde’s eyes, Elizabeth suspected he saw himself as a debonair gentleman, forever waving around a pipe he never lit and often wearing a two-sizes-too-small tweed sport coat left over from his grad-school days. He covered his bald spot with a newsboy cap, and his bright blue eyes were his best feature: lively, probing, and curious. Clyde loved to tell stories and he loved to hear stories, and he was without question Elizabeth’s favorite barfly.
He came in most days during the bar’s slow period and had two beers, never more and never less. He often wrote longhand in the notebook he always had with him and hit up Elizabeth for any news. Give me some gossip, he’d say. Give me the scoop. And while gossipy, Clyde was never mean-spirited, which probably counted for his success in his job and longevity in his position. He’d been writing the gossip column in Golden Falls almost as long as Elizabeth had been alive.
“Hey, Clyde,” she said, taking her position behind the bar. “How’s the new book coming along?”
He set his mysteries in a small city in Alaska––not unlike Golden Falls––and they were popular not only with the locals but with the many tourists who visited the city in summer. Unsurprisingly, they featured a goofy middle-aged gossip columnist as the amateur detective.
“Slowly,” he said.
“Need some brainstorming help?” she asked, hoping he’d say yes. They spent many an hour in the late afternoons when the bar was slow talking through Clyde’s who-done-its, and it would be the perfect way to distract herself from her failed love life.
But it was not to be. “Today I’m trying not to think of it at all,” he said. “I’m behind on my gossip column for the week. Speaking of which … nice hair. Can I ask—is your new style the brainchild of Ms. April Flattery?”
Elizabeth laughed. She could tell by the way he asked that he intended to mention it in his column. Nothing was too inconsequential for Clyde’s mention. “Indeed it is, Clyde. ”
“I shall make a note of it.”
“Are you ready for another beer?” she asked.
“I most certainly am.” He sipped the remains of his first and tapped his empty glass on the bar before setting it down. “I heard an interesting rumor involving you, Elizabeth.”
“Oh, yeah?” Her heart started beating fast, hoping it wasn’t about the accident. “What is it?”
“That you changed your hair because you’re infatuated with a certain fire captain by the name of Jack Barnes.”
Aw, geez, she thought. After the previous night’s colossal blow-off, that was nearly as bad.
“Totally not true,” she said, feeling her cheeks redden as she filled a pint glass of Musher’s Beard Brown Ale for him. “I don’t know where you’re getting your information, but it’s wrong. Can’t a woman change her hair without it meaning anything?”
“Mmmhmm,” he said, seemingly not dissuaded by her denial. “I also heard you described that certain fire captain as …” He paused to check his notes. “Ah, yes … dreamy.”
“Damn it,” Elizabeth said, laughing. “You’ve been talking to Claire Roberts, haven’t you?”
He took a sip of his fresh beer. “Claire is one of my best sources of information.”
It didn’t surprise her at all that Claire and Clyde were in cahoots. Claire knew everyone and everything happening in Golden Falls, so Elizabeth imagined they shared plenty of juicy conversations.
“Did Claire mention that she also finds firefighters dreamy?” she asked, hoping to get Clyde’s attention off herself.
“No, but I did witness Andrew Blake kissing her on the dance floor at the Pioneer Hotel on New Year’s Eve, just before midnight.”
Andrew Blake was a retired firefighter who owned the Golden Touch Barber Shop on Main Street. He was silver-fox handsome and had been on the cover of the annual charity firefighter calendar ten times. He also served on the city council, as did Claire.
“Well, there you go,” Elizabeth said. “Put that in your gossip column.”
“I already did,” Clyde said.
“Oops, sorry!” Elizabeth laughed. “I must have missed that one. But, hey, don’t you think they’d make a striking couple?”
“So would you and Jack Barnes,” Clyde said.
“Well, that’s not going to happen,” she said. “He pretty much shot me down last night.”
“Ooh! Details?”
“I promise you none will be forthcoming. I feel like enough of a fool without my romantic rejections appearing in the Grapevine.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “Jack never did much date local women, anyway.”
“Who does he date?”
“You know how he and Tom Steele take all those fancy adventure trips? I hear they sow their wild oats while off on those. I think they’re heading to France next.”
“I see.” Feeling grim about that bombshell, Elizabeth couldn’t help imagining Jack flirting with seductive, glamorous, red-lipsticked French women. “What else do you know about Jack?”
“I know he’s very well-respected, both at the fire department and around town,” Clyde said. “Word is he wants to run for mayor someday. He and his father are estranged and have been for years, although he did visit Bruce when he was in the hospital recently. I know his first wife took off on him in the middle of the night, along with the contents of their bank account.”
“His first wife?” Elizabeth said, unsettled. “Does that mean he’s got more than one ex-wife?”
“No, just the one,” Clyde said. “And this was way back, shortly after high school.”
“Clyde, your beer’s on the house today if you promise not to write anything about Jack and me in the Grapevine,” she said.
“You’re trying to bribe me with beer?” he said, in a faux-indignant tone.
“Yes, I am,” she said. “Is it working?”
He winked at her. “Maybe.” Then the bank of television screens over the bar caught his attention. “Oh, look. There’s your father on the news.”
Elizabeth cringed when she looked up and saw Channel Eight displaying Nate’s old mug shot with the caption, Coming up at five. Corrupt cop to be released.
&nb
sp; “Aw, great,” she said. “They figured out he’s getting released soon. I suppose you’re going to write about that, too.”
Clyde gave her a sympathetic look. “It’ll be the biggest gossip this city has seen in years. How could I not?”
She sighed. “I know.”
As the TV went to an advertising break, the brewery door opened and Bruce Barnes—Jack’s father—stepped inside.
“Well, speak of the devil,” Clyde said. “We were just talking about you not more than three minutes ago.”
Bruce went over to Clyde, and they shook hands. “My ears must have been burning. How’s life treating you, my friend?”
“Can’t complain,” Clyde said.
Bruce turned to Elizabeth and smiled. “And how are you, Elizabeth?”
“Fine, Mr. Barnes, thanks for asking. Can I get you a beer?”
“Sure,” he said. “I’ll take an Anna’s Amber, please.”
“Coming right up.” Elizabeth poured his draft. “So what brings you in today, Mr. Barnes?”
“Bruce, please. We’ve talked about this before.” Tall and lanky, with graying brown hair and brown eyes, Elizabeth could definitely see his resemblance to Jack. “I just stopped in to let you know I’ve got a part on order for your Bronco. It should be in later this week, and my guy will get it installed just as soon as it arrives so you can have your car back ASAP.”
Her mouth dropped open. “You’re working on my car?”
Bruce looked surprised. “You didn’t know?”
“No, Jack just said he had a guy who’d fix it. He didn’t mention it was you.”
“Oh, I’m not fixing it,” Bruce said. “I have a friend working on it. How do you know Jack, anyway? I wasn’t aware that the two of you knew each other.”
“Oh, I just, ah … we don’t,” Elizabeth said, giving Clyde a quick look. “And I certainly never meant for you to spend your time—or your money—on me. You’ll make sure to tell me what I owe you, right?”
“Sure, but it won’t be much,” Bruce said. He accepted his pint of beer and took a drink. “The part’s not too expensive.”
“I want to pay your friend for his time, too.” When Bruce shook his head that it wasn’t necessary, she added, “I insist. You’ve already done so much for my father.”
Clyde leaned into the conversation, always the curious writer. “Can I ask what he’s done for Nate Armstrong?”
“No, you cannot.” Bruce gave Clyde a stern former-police-chief look. “You can mind your own business is what you can do.”
Clyde chuckled. “But it’s literally my business not to mind my own business.”
Their conversation stopped when the music came on for the five o’clock news, and then Cassie Holt, the pretty new reporter for KFLS, came on the air with her usual serious expression. Elizabeth knew her the tiniest bit, as Hayley had introduced them at a Singles Night event when Elizabeth was bartending. Cassie also came into the brewery regularly with Cody Bradford, her firefighter boyfriend, and always made a point of saying hello.
On the television, Cassie announced, “Golden Falls’ most notorious ex-cop is soon to be a free man. Nate Armstrong, a former police lieutenant convicted of federal obstruction of justice, will be released on parole in three weeks. At the time of his arrest, he was also under suspicion for the disappearance of half a million dollars that had been in police evidence, although he was never formally charged for that theft and the money he was suspected of taking has never been recovered. Armstrong will have served a seventeen-year term at a federal penitentiary in Oregon. No word yet on whether he plans to return to Golden Falls. Calls to his family asking for comment have not been returned.”
“They never called me,” said Elizabeth, but then she dug into her purse, rummaged for her cell phone, and immediately saw two call attempts from Cassie. “Oh. Well, I guess they did.” Feeling a rushing headache coming on, she narrowed her eyes at Clyde. “And no, I don’t have a comment for you, either.”
“There was lots of gossip involving your dad’s arrest,” Clyde said. “I wasn’t allowed to print most of it, but I should find my old notebooks and see what’s there.”
“No, you shouldn’t,” Bruce said, his tone harsh. “The Armstrongs have been through enough, and Nate’s paid his dues to society. You should leave well enough alone.”
Clyde took a sip of beer and eyed Bruce. “If I recall correctly, you weren’t even in town when that whole thing went down. You were down in … Texas, was it?”
“What of it?” Bruce said.
“Nothing,” Clyde said. “I just remember that it was a hard year for your family as well, what with your wife passing away.”
“Yes, it was.”
Elizabeth busied herself wiping down the bar. Bruce’s whole body had tensed since engaging with Clyde, and his voice was brittle. Clearly, it was a difficult time for him to recall.
“And your son left the police force right around then,” Clyde continued, adding to Elizabeth, “Did you know Jack Barnes started his career at the police department?”
“No,” she said, wishing Clyde left her out of it. “I didn’t.”
“You need to mind your own business,” Bruce said, and it came out as more of an order that time.
“Freedom of the press, friend,” Clyde said. He took an imaginary puff on his pipe. “If you’ve got a problem with that, I suggest you take it up with Alice Abbott.”
“Maybe I will.” Bruce took a last drink of beer and then set his half-full glass on the counter. He extracted a ten-dollar bill from his wallet and set it on the bar. “Elizabeth, I’ll be in touch about your car.”
“Thanks so much,” she said, worried about the change in his mood.
“Well, that was interesting,” Clyde said after he’d left.
“I’m sure it was a hard time for him,” Elizabeth said. “With his wife dying and all.”
“I’m sure,” Clyde said. He was quiet for the next few minutes, writing in his notebook.
Elizabeth checked the clipboard to see who was on staff that night, what kitchen items were out of stock, and what the drink specials would be. She’d been dreading going into the stockroom because of what had happened in there with Jack, but she couldn’t put it off any longer, as business would pick up soon once people got off work.
Sure enough, as soon as she stepped inside, she had to pause and catch her breath. All she could think of was how they’d been shirtless, her breasts seeking the comfort of his strong chest. She thought of the way he’d kissed her, too—urgent and wanting. Maybe someday she’d be able to look back on the memory and laugh, but that day, it just made her sad.
Coming back, she felt Clyde’s eyes on her as she approached.
“I won’t write anything about you and Jack Barnes,” he said.
“Good, because there’s nothing to write.”
“I might very well have to write about your dad, though,” he said.
Elizabeth sighed. “I know.”
He studied her closely. “Do you think he did it?”
She shrugged. “He pled guilty. So it’s not really a question.”
“Not to stealing the money, though—and, in fact, he was adamant that he didn’t.” Clyde paused. “Like I was saying before, there were some interesting rumors at the time.”
Elizabeth had no interest in rumors. She had no interest in revisiting that time, none at all.
“Half a million,” he mused, puffing on his empty pipe. “Did your dad ever admit to taking the money since going to prison? Mention where it was hidden, maybe?”
“Have you seen my house, Clyde?” She wiped down the bar in front of him. “I’ve got a leaky roof, broken windows, a cracked foundation, and the list goes on. If my dad took that money, we sure never saw any of it.”
“Well, don’t forget I’m a mystery writer,” he said. “And in my stories, the criminal’s never the guy that everyone suspects.”
“I know, but this is real life,” Elizabeth said. “
And Nate was found guilty in a court of law.”
“But not for stealing the money,” Clyde reiterated. “Which means maybe half a million dollars is still out there somewhere. Now there’s a motive for murder. I should make this the plot of my next mystery.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Elizabeth said.
Clyde arched an eyebrow. “Why not?”
“Because I know my dad, and I don’t want him to get any crazy ideas.”
13
“Jack? Can I see you for a minute?”
It was Fred Moran, the fire chief, who stopped by Station One once every shift. In his late fifties, the stocky Chief Moran sported an over-the-top handlebar mustache, which some people speculated was designed to draw attention away from his unwanted balding. Jack generally found him to be a fair and dedicated chief who had his firefighters’ backs, although he did sometimes play politics.
“Sure, Chief. We can go into my office.”
Jack saved the incident report he was working on from an earlier medical call and led the chief into his captain’s office, which also served as his bunkroom. He noticed that Chief Moran was carrying a manila folder with him, and Jack didn’t like it when the chief closed the door behind him and sat down at Jack’s desk, in his office chair, leaving the small side chair for Jack.
Dang it, Jack thought. It had been a few days since he and Troy Garrett had gotten into it at the Sled Dog, and Garrett had been walking around with a smug grin all shift. Tom had mentioned it to Jack, and he’d been feeling uneasy ever since, waiting for the hammer to drop.
Here it was.
Jack took a seat. “What’s up, Chief?”
Moran eyed him. “I was looking through some of your reports, and one of them concerns me.”
“Oh?” Jack said, telling himself to stay calm. “Which one?”
As if he didn’t know.
The chief opened the folder. “Single-car accident. Highway Thirty, January 7, 4:02 a.m. You remember it?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“Elizabeth Armstrong,” said Moran as he flipped through the two-page report. “Any truth to the rumor you disregarded protocol so she could avoid talking to the police?”
From The Ashes (Golden Falls Fire Book 3) Page 9
