Her heart was thumping against her chest. Her blood was pumping so fast she could literally feel it shooting through her veins. She was going to get caught... her and Eleanor both.
"You can put your jacket away later," Mrs. Flanders suddenly called out. "I want to take another shower and I told you I need help with the faucet!"
"Oh, all right!" Mr. Flanders called back.
The two ladies listened with baited breath, neither daring to breathe as they heard the sounds of Mr. Flanders footsteps walking away from the Winnebago. And only when the sounds were gone entirely, and a few seconds after that just to be safe, did they both let go a tremendous sigh of relief.
"Oh my god!" Eleanor exclaimed first, falling against the wall as if she had been standing on her feet for days. "That was... that was..."
"Too close," Constance agreed. "Now come on, let's get out before he does come back." And so they did, slipping out of the Winnebago and into the night with neither of the Flanders' any the wiser.
Chapter Eight
Constance couldn't sleep at all that night. Following her illegal break-in of the Winnebago, and then the near discovery of said break-in as it was happening, she was far too antsy to even consider rolling over and falling asleep. Instead she chose to lie in bed, eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling in thought and deep contemplation.
To be fair, it wasn't even the thrill of nearly being caught red handed by a murder suspect that kept her awake. Rather, it was what she and Eleanor had found in the Winnebago that occupied her thoughts.
So, Mr. And Mrs. Flanders weren't married, and yet for some reason they were pretending to be. If Constance was to guess – which at that point she was in the throes of doing – she would say that the two were brother and sister. With their red hair and pale skin, they looked similar enough. And knowing what she did know, it wasn't that much of a stretch.
But so what? Even if they weren't married, what did that mean? And if Mr. Christie had discovered this fact, was it really worth committing a murder over? There was more to this whole thing, Constance was sure of it. But what exactly? She didn't have a clue.
And it was because of this mental harassment of sorts, that she was unable to sleep.
Ironically, the more she tried to not think about the murder case, the more she thought about the murder case. And this went beyond the Flanders too. She started to think about Mr. Tibbs and where he fit into this, if he did at all – she was going to question him first thing in the morning and kept on playing her strategy over and over in her mind.
She started thinking about Sheriff Nevil too, and his smug face when he learned that she was planning on solving the murder on her own. She would solve the murder as a means to spite him if nothing else.
She couldn't stop picturing the look on Mr. Christie's face just before he died. The way he stumbled into the hotel like the town drunk before falling flat on his face. It sent a shiver up her spine. But it also reminded her to follow up with Sheriff Nevil on the cause of death – if he would even tell her! She'd have to find a way to get that out of him too.
It was all so much and the longer that the night dragged on, the more there seemed to be. The case started out as a molehill but had quickly become a mountain.
Feeling previously unheard-of levels of stress begin to take hold, Constance closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. As she did, she reminded herself that she knew exactly what she was doing. She had read dozens of mystery books and true crime novels. She knew all the ins and outs, all the steps to take. Step one, establish it was a murder. Step two --
Constance's eyes shot open as she sat up in her bed. Like a bolt of lightning striking her where she lay, she suddenly remembered something of utmost importance. In all her haste and eagerness to get started on the case, she had skipped one of the most important steps entirely.
Return to the scene of the crime!
It was step two, the second most important of things that needed to be done before one got underway. Establish a murder had taken place and then go back to where the murder happened. Comb through the scene of the crime with a toothbrush if need be. Double check everything, just in case something was missed.
She was out of bed in a matter of seconds, throwing on her off-colored yellow robe and sliding her feet into a pair of pink fuzzy slippers. As she did so, she shook her head at her own foolishness the entire time. She had tried to establish motive without even looking over the crime scene first.
What an amateur! As it was her first ever case, she was willing to forgive herself on this one occasion. Lucky, she was the only one that need know.
***
Constance pulled her robe in tighter around her body as she hurried around the front of the hotel and toward the side alley that was wedged in beside The Lone Peak. It was nearing midnight and the wind was as ferocious as ever, making for a very chilly evening. Usually Constance wouldn't dare be caught outside on such a night either – especially when considering what she was wearing – but she was far too excited to worry that. Her blood was pumping, and she was positively giddy; she just knew that she was on the verge of a breakthrough of some kind.
Now, the reason she was outside of her hotel and not inside where the body of Mr. Christie was found, was because she wasn't going to the place where the victim had died, but rather where he was murdered.
Eustace Burrow's The Loner bar was the last place that Mr. Christie was before dying. It was presumably there that he was poisoned – although this was yet to be confirmed – and thus it was there that Constance was headed. She would slip inside, take a look around and keep an eye out for anything...suspicious. A murder had taken place there not two days previously, so surely there had to be something.
As mentioned, The Lone Peak Hotel sat right next door to The Loner. What hadn't been mentioned yet is the significance of this, or at least as far as Constance was concerned. As both establishments sat right beside one another, they shared a narrow alleyway. This alleyway featured a couple of trashcans, a stray cat or two, and a backdoor exit to both buildings.
The exit in The Lone Peak was located in the kitchens and to step out of it and into the alleyway was to find oneself face to face with the exit from The Loner. They were literally that close. Even better was the fact that a few years earlier, Eustace Burrow had insisted on putting a fence up at the front of the alley, complete with lock and key. Consequently, only he and Constance could enter said alley, which in turn meant that the back door to his bar was almost always unlocked.
As the kitchens were locked at night, and Gustavo had an annoying habit of going home with the keys, Constance was forced to enter the alley from the front. She did just that, unlocking the fence and slipping in behind it. She then doubled her pace to the end of the alley where she was sure to find the door in The Loner open for business.
It was with a sinking heart when she reached the door, only to find it locked up tight. She cursed Eustace Burrow for this, as if he had done it on purpose. That was despite the fact that The Loner had been forced to close since the murder, and he most likely had nothing to do with it. Really, Constance just enjoyed blaming Eustace whenever she was able.
She was about to give up and call it a night, when she decided that wasn't good enough. So what if one of the exits were locked? Surely, there had to be another way in. As such, she hurried back down the alley, locked the fence behind her and proceeded to scout out the front of the bar instead. It was lined with a series of windows, so maybe she could nudge one of them open?
As she was doing just that, with her robe pulled in tight and her slippers on nice and snug, a voice suddenly spoke from behind her.
"Nice night for it, wouldn't you say?"
Constance had to keep herself from screeching to the heavens as she spun on her heel to see who had sneaked up behind her and caught her in the act of breaking and entering – she really needed to be more careful!
The moment she saw who it was, she rolled her eyes and stood a littl
e taller. Despite how she was dressed, and despite what she had been caught doing, she told herself then and there to stand tall and not let herself be bullied.
"Sheriff Nevil," she said with dignity.
"Just Roger, tonight." He wore a satisfied grin as he indicated to the civilian clothes he was sporting.
Constance frowned when she spied the clothes. No doubt it meant she would be dealing with the boyish, cocky and all too eager to ask her out every chance her got, Roger Nevil.
"Roger," Constance corrected with the same level tone – as if she hadn't just been caught trying to break into The Loner. "What are you doing here?"
Sheriff Nevil kept the same self-satisfied smirk on his face as he assessed Constance. He looked to the pink fuzzy slippers first, and then to the off-colored, yellow robe, before finally settling on the window behind Constance, the one she had been trying to pry open. "Just going for a walk," he said simply. "It really is a lovely night."
"At midnight?" Constance accused. She pulled the robe in tighter. "And you just happen to be passing my hotel? I may be younger than you – don't," she warned when Sheriff Nevil opened his mouth to reply, "But I wasn't born last Sunday. You're following me."
"Are you really trying to turn this around on me, Constance?" He laughed. "Impressive, I have to say. But let's not pretend that I didn't just catch you trying to break into The Loner."
"I..." Constance's mind buzzed as she tried to come up with an adequate excuse. "Eustace borrowed some things from my kitchen last week and I was just getting them back."
"In the middle of the night? Through the front window?" Sheriff Nevil pressed. He was still smirking, which Constance chose to read as a good sign. At least he wasn't angry.
"He usually leaves the back door open for me, but he's gone and locked it for some reason."
"I locked it," Nevil confirmed. "And the front door too. Crime scenes are usually hot-spots for local riff-raff to loot and vandal. Although I would have never thought you'd be the one I'd catch red handed... and dressed so smartly too."
"All right," Constance started. "There's no need for —”
"Pointing out how ridiculously you're dressed? Or the fact you tried to break into a crime scene in the middle of the night?"
Constance pursed her lips. She considered responding with a bit of her famous wit, or maybe even some mirth? But instead chose to say nothing. She had after all been caught red handed and figured that maybe it was best to let the Sheriff show all his cards before she revealed her own.
"I know why you're here," he continued when Constance said nothing. "You really do think you can solve this case, don't you?" He put his hands on his hips and shook his head in disbelief. Again, he didn't look angry, but rather amused. This infuriated Constance to know end.
"What makes you think I can't?" she snapped before she could help herself.
Sheriff Nevil opened his mouth to reply, only to hesitate, as if thinking on what he was going to say. "It's not that you can’t," he said carefully. "It's just that you don't have the resources. When I interview perps, they have to answer my questions. With you they can just close the door."
"Who have you interviewed?" she asked quickly.
"Everyone," Sheriff Nevil responded without hesitation. It was said in such an obvious manner that it almost seemed like it wasn't worth saying at all. "All your staff, and the few guests. There was that Australian backpacker, the young married couple, the lawyer —”
"Lawyer?" Constance cut in. She didn't know of any lawyer.
"Mr. Tibbs," Sheriff Nevil said. "A divorce lawyer I think. All the way from New York if you believe that?" Constance slunk back, a smile on her face as she did. She knew the Sheriff well enough to know that when he got talking, he rarely stopped. "He and Mr. Christie had a drink at this very bar together. Got into quite the little argument too if Eustace is to be believed..." He broke into a smile as he bit his tongue.
"Really?" Constance asked, unable to stop herself from beaming. "And this argument was about?"
"Well damn," he shook his head to himself as if only just realizing what he had been doing. "I really need to learn to keep my big mouth shut. In my defense, it's hard to concentrate with you in that delightful robe of yours."
Constance's lips tightened as she double checked that the robe still covered her full. "Anything else you care to share? The married couple, for example. What if I was to tell you I might know something about them that would blow this case right open?"
"I would tell you that to hold back such information was tantamount to obstruction of justice."
"I didn't say I did know something," she responded wryly. "I simply said I might."
Sheriff Nevil continued to smile as if the whole thing were a game. He tilted his head to the side and his eyes looked to the sky, as if thinking on something before looking back to Constance. "I'll tell you what? It seems to me that we both have a vested interested in this case, wouldn't you agree?"
"I might," Constance said with caution, not sure where exactly the Sheriff was going.
"So how about this? The two of us can go out to dinner one night —”
"Goodnight, Sheriff," Constance said flatly, turning around as if to make back toward the hotel.
"-- and you can tell me what you know, and I'll tell you what I know," he finished as if he hadn't been interrupted. "That's a deal if I've ever heard one."
About to storm back to the hotel, Constance bristled at the remark and turned back to face the Sheriff. Gosh darn he got her mad sometimes. "You are unbelievable," she scolded him.
"Why thank you."
"You know what I mean," she snapped. "A man has been killed and you're trying to use it to get a date."
"Woah," he held his hands up as if in defense. "I'm trying to solve a crime here. If I happen to get a date out of it... well, I’ll just call that a silver lining."
Constance glared at the Sheriff, unable to share in his sense of amusement. As annoying as he was when he was wearing his uniform and in 'Sheriff' mode, it was infinitely better than the flirtatious horn-bag she had to deal with in the moment.
Without a word, and not really seeing the point in giving him one, Constance spun back on her heel and made for the front of the hotel.
"Good night, Constance," he called out to her in a jovial manner. "My offer will remain open until I solve the case. Just so you know."
She shook her head in disbelief as she reached the door, making sure to keep the scowl on her face, just in case he possessed the ability to see through the back of her head. And when she did walk through the front door, she even closed the door extra hard, as if this might go some way in signaling her lack of interest at his offer.
Once she was inside however, and free from the eyes of the Sheriff, Constance broke out into a smile. The smile had nothing to do with the offer put to her by the Sheriff, for he had a habit of asking her out every week and really what he had just done was par for the course. Oh no, the smile was for the information he had accidentally gifted her.
The first juicy piece of evidence came in the form of Mr. Tibbs' profession. The man was a divorce lawyer and as unimportant as this might seem, it practically screamed 'too much of coincidence to be nothing,' when paired with the information she had learned about the Flanders. What the connection there was though, she still wasn't sure. But surely it was something?
The second piece of evidence that the big mouth chief of police had given her was that of Mr. Tibbs and Mr. Christie's argument shortly before the murder took place. Again, how all of this fit into the larger picture, she had not a clue. But tomorrow was a new day, and one in which she planned on questioning Mr. Tibbs about a great many things.
Oh sure, Constance had failed in her original plan to see the inside of the bar and look over the scene of the crime. But as she made her way to bed she decided that this wasn't as important as she had originally thought. Another piece of the puzzle had fallen into place and the larger picture was slowly being rev
ealed.
As she disrobed, stepped out of her slippers and climbed into bed, Constance was quite sure that finally, she was going to get some sleep.
Chapter Nine
"I'm confused," Sydney said as she reached through her glasses frames and scratched her eyeball. "Am I the good cop or the bad cop?"
Constance came to a sudden halt, forcing both Sydney and Eleanor to pull up short lest they walk into the back of her. They were at the top of the stairs and she was kind of lucky that the two women didn't barrel into her and send her tumbling. "We've been over this," Constance said slowly and surely. "You're neither of those things."
"So... I'm the good cop?" Eleanor pursed her lips and put her finger to her mouth.
"What?" Constance exclaimed. "No! And you're not the bad cop either! We've been through – were neither of you listening?"
They both shook their heads dully – Sydney because she was a little dull, and Eleanor because she looked less than enthused by what they were about to do.
Constance grimaced to herself as a means to contain her annoyance, which was slowly bubbling to the surface. She then took a deep breath and got about explaining what it was that the three ladies were about to do.
The previous night had been a success as far as Constance was concerned. Where she was always going to interview Mr. Tibbs today, before she managed to talk her way around Sheriff Nevil, the only thing she had to go on was an awkward exchange when Mr. Christie first arrived in the hotel. She remembered that moment clearly too, and although it was bizarre, it hardly constituted a motive for murder.
But Sheriff Nevil had put his foot in his mouth and confirmed that Mr. Tibbs and Mr. Christie had gotten into an argument at The Loner shortly before Mr. Christie wound up dead. Sheriff Nevil didn't say what the argument was about, but at least Constance now had a line of questioning to follow.
But it wasn't going to be as simple or easy as walking up to the young lawyer and asking what the scuffle was in regards too. Where Sheila was more than happy to talk, and Mr. Flanders was more or less tricked into speaking, Constance was sure Mr. Tibbs was going to require something a little different.
Murder at the Lone Peak Page 7
