"I heard that it was Eustace," Gustavo continued in a nonchalant manner. "It was his bar after all. And everyone knows that you two don't get along. No doubt he wished to frame the hotel, and have it closed down."
Constance turned back to Gustavo, scrunching her brow over this comment. She had suspected Eustace early on, but only for a moment. Not only did she not think him to be a murderer, she couldn't imagine why he would murder a complete stranger passing through town. In truth she felt a little bad for him – as one shop owner to another – as his bar had been closed down and he was out of work until this whole thing was taken care of.
"I don't think so," she responded simply.
"Oh well." Gustavo let go a deep sigh as he settled onto his buttocks. "From what I have been told, Mr. Christie was a bit of an... how do you say in English? Not a very nice person. Maybe the less of him in the world, the better?"
"From what you were told?" Constance queried. "I heard he told you to your face that he didn't like your spaghetti bolognese?"
Gustavo's face dropped and went white. "What? No, no, not at all," he spoke quickly, sounding flustered. "He didn't... he was fine with it."
"That's not what Eleanor told me." Indeed, on the same day that he arrived, Mr. Christie had ordered the famous dish and sent it back. What apparently ensued was a yelling match which Constance only missed because she was somewhere else.
"Oh, well, maybe – yes, I mean, yes he didn't like it. But I do not mind," Gustavo continued in the same haphazard manor. "What do I care what one ignoramus thinks of a meal I know to be perfect beyond compare."
"It's okay," Constance chuckled as she tried to calm the chef down. It was endearing really, his sudden panic as if he were on trial. "I don't think you killed him over a bad sauce —”
"You know who I think it really was," Gustavo was saying as if he hadn't heard. In such a state was he that he had completely dropped his Italian person. "That Mr. Tibbs was his name, yes. I saw the two arguing and it sounded not so friendly. Not one bit."
Constance was about to tell him again to calm down, when she paused. "Wait, you were in The Loner that night?" How come no one had mentioned that?
"No, no," Gustavo shook his head. "In the alley. Eustace must have left the gate open for when I went to take the rubbish out I saw the two in a heated..." Gustavo stopped talking. His eyes popped open as if he had only just realized what it was that he was saying. "I mean yes, at the bar. I saw the two at the bar."
"No," Constance smiled and waved her finger. "You said you saw them in the alley, arguing. What was it about?"
"Did I?" Gustavo forced a laugh. "I say so many things. I don't think it was... it was in The Loner. You know my English is poor and I often confuse my words." He then slapped his hands on the ground and pushed himself up. "I really have to be... yes, I need to be going."
Before Constance could stop him, Gustavo was gone, powering from the make-shift kitchen and across the grounds like his butt was on fire.
Constance didn't bother going after him. Rather her mind was racing as she tried to comprehend what she had just been told... and more importantly, what it meant! Gustavo had seen the two men in a heated debate before the bar! Obviously, they knew each other before their arrival at the hotel, that was now undisputed. But how did they know each other? And what were they fighting about? And also, and this was something that Constance had never even considered, how did the chef fit into it? Maybe he didn’t? Maybe he was just confused, or worried he would get pinned with a murder he didn't commit?
It was all very confusing and went a long way toward transforming what was a simple murder into a mystery the likes of which Constance could not have imaged. Where she thought she was solving a one-thousand-piece puzzle, it was a ten-thousand-piece behemoth. And worse than that, she didn't even have the box with the picture on the front to help her.
Her mind was spinning, and it was because of this, that she stood up from her hiding spot without a thought as to why she was hiding in the first place. And no sooner was she on her feet, was her name being called from across the park.
"Constance!" The unmistakable voice of Sheriff Nevil called. "What are you doing?!"
Constance froze to the spot, refusing to move as if doing so might make her invisible to the surely approaching Chief of Police.
"I was looking for you," he continued. She could hear him getting closer. "I didn’t even think to check inside of the oven.”
Putting on a very fake smile, Constance slowly turned around. Indeed, Sheriff Nevil was headed right for her. “Rog,” she said pleasantly. “What a lovely surprise.”
He grinned stupidly as he reached the other side of the kitchen. He leaned over the bench, “I have something I need to tell you.”
“You do?” she asked slowly. She was sure it was going to be another vain attempt at asking her out. If she had any money on her she might just have bet on it.
“Yes, seeing as you’re so interested in the case of Mr. Christie, I thought you might like to know that we’ve made an arrest.”
“You’ve what?” Constance gasped, showing an appropriate level of shock to what she was feeling. Who could they have arrested?
“Yes,” Sheriff Nevil beamed, looking delighted in her response before suddenly becoming serious. “We needed to show we were doing something. Denver are breathing down our necks as it is. So, we arrested Eustace Burrow. Surprised, eh?”
That was possibly the understatement of the century. So surprised was Constance that she didn’t even try and make haste from the make-shift kitchen and the Fair as soon as she had learned this information. She was so surprised in fact that she happily remained planted where she was, listening to Nevil list off the reasons why Eustace could be the killer.
From the fact that it was his establishment where it happened, to the possibility that it was the drink served by Eustace that did the killing, he was the most likely suspect. It didn’t help either that Eustace was also largely disliked around town – oh sure, not to the same degree that Constance disliked the man – but most agreed he wasn’t a very nice person.
As such, an arrest was made and the wheels in the investigation were finally turning. But was it the right arrest? Constance wasn’t so sure.
Chapter Eleven
Constance couldn’t shake the feeling that the wrong arrest had been made. In fact, she was sure that it had been. What was even more frustrating was that she was pretty certain Sheriff Nevil knew Eustace to not be the killer. He even said so himself, that the arrest was purely for show as a means to lift some pressure off his back.
Now, let it be known that Constance had no love for Eustace whatsoever, and had the circumstances been any different at all she would have gotten giddy at the thought of him sitting in a cold, dark cell all alone. But things weren’t different and when considering what had recently come to light, Eustace rotting away in a cell was the last place that Constance wanted him.
Constance was still in the throes of working her way through the mystery solving playbook, and in that she had found herself stuck on what was perhaps the most important step of all: establishing a motive. She had interviewed the suspects and snooped where she was able, and a motive was yet to be found.
But this didn’t dishearten her in any way. On the contrary, she felt invigorated by the very idea that with every stone she turned over, she was one step closer to finding said motive and thus solving the murder. The most recent stone she turned for example highlighted the fact that Mr. Tibbs and Mr. Christie knew each other.
Where an argument in a bar could have been passed off as a drunken dispute between two strangers, a previous argument in a deserted alley all but sang to the world that these two men were acquaintances and knew one another before they arrived at The Lone Peak.
But how?
Constance couldn’t stop thinking about when Mr. Christie first arrived at the hotel. Wearing that yellow raincoat, staring down Mr. Tibbs like he hated the man. At the time Constanc
e had just assumed him to be in a bad mood on account of the rain, and for Mr. Tibbs’ reaction to be a natural one – how else would you act when a crazed man glared daggers at you from across the room? But now she wasn’t so sure.
Unfortunately, the one man that might have been able to settle this for Constance was locked up behind bars. Surely Eustace heard what the argument was about. Surely, he could shed some light on the problem. Surely a quick chat with him would provide the motive that Constance was after.
“I don’t understand why you don’t just go down there and talk to him?” Eleanor mused as the two ladies sat in room NO.5. Eleanor was doing her usual trick of running a dirty rag over the furniture, and Constance was watching with distaste.
“He’s a murder suspect,” Constance pointed out. “They don’t just let you walk in and have a chat.”
“Too bad,” Eleanor said. “Eustace can probably tell you exactly what was said that night.”
“I know!” Constance exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air as she did. “I know that!”
“And you can’t just ask Sheriff Nevil?” Eleanor pressed. “Or better yet… how about I ask.” She offered a wicked grin and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what was on her mind.
“Be my guest,” Constance challenged.
Eleanor’s face dropped. “He’s not my type. And besides, he has eyes for you and you alone. One short probe from you and he’d spill his guts.”
“Well I’m not doing it.” Constance crossed her arms rightly. She had considered asking Sheriff Nevil to divulge what Eustace overheard in the bar. And if not, to let her see the barkeep. But as soon as the thought crossed her mind, she gave it the boot. She wasn’t that desperate just yet.
“There is one other option...” Eleanor began with a sly smile.
“Which is?”
“We break in.” Eleanor shrugged as if the suggestion was the most normal of things.
“You can’t be serious?”
“Well, why not?” Eleanor dropped the rag on the floor and sat on the bed by Constance. “You need to speak to Eustace. You know where Eustace is and the only thing stopping you is four walls and realistically a single guard that you can probably talk your way around. Honestly, Constance, I thought you were serious about this whole thing?”
With her speech done, Eleanor stood back up, scooped the dirty rag back off the floor and made for the door. She didn’t so much as turn around and say goodbye on her way out either, as if to emphasize how ‘disappointed’ she was in Constance’s lack of daring-do.
Constance frowned to herself as she watched Eleanor disappear through the door and into the hallway. The terrible cleaner was right of course, if Constance wanted to speak to Eustace, she was going to have to make it happen, rather than sitting around and wishing for it to be so.
And just like that, Constance felt a new spark ignite her body. How she was going to break into the jail, she wasn’t sure. But that didn’t worry her too much. After all, Constance always had been rather good at planning.
***
The Modest Peak police station was typical as far as small-town police stations went. A square shaped, brick building, it wasn’t large in size or audacious in design. To walk through the front doors would be to walk into a waiting area and front desk. Behind the front desk was where the offices were located, and to the side and around the back were the holding cells. There were four holding cells in all, but only one was occupied.
As Constance and Eleanor powered down the sidewalk toward the police station, Constance felt even more alive than she had that night the two ladies had broken into the Winnebago. That was small time compared to what they were about to do. That was child’s play.
They were literally on their way to break into the police station!
“You know what you have to do?” Constance affirmed for perhaps the tenth time with Eleanor.
It was a chilly night with a ferocious wind to boot, but the two ladies were dressed casually – and in Eleanor’s case a little provocatively. Where Constance was dressed that way because her blood was pumping, and she wouldn’t have felt cold were she dipped in an ice bath, Eleanor’s was because it was an integral part of the plan.
“I know, I know,” Eleanor said dismissively. “If you’re sure you can get me that far, I can take care of the rest. That much I promise.”
“Oh, I’ll get you there. Don’t worry about that.” A confident smile broke out on Constance’s face as she again thought on what she was about to do. And not just on what she was going to do, but what it meant. After the night was through, they could very well know who the murderer was and why. It was thrilling!
They reached the police station and paused, both double checking that everything was as it should be. The lot was empty, indicating that the majority of the officers who were on duty had gone home and as Constance peered through the glass sliding doors and into the building, she spied the single clerk behind the desk. Another smile.
“Ready?” she asked.
“Ready,” Eleanor confirmed.
And with that, the two ladies walked through the front doors and into the reception of the police station. They were so darn casual about it too that one would never guess they were about to do something highly illegal.
Really, the plan wasn’t as sinister as it might have sounded. Yes, the two ladies were about to attempt a break-in of sorts. And yes, it was technically against the law. But they weren’t pulling out guns and demanding that they be led into the holding cells to speak to Eustace. Oh no, what Constance had come up with was far simpler and more effective than that… assuming that it worked.
It started with her observation of the police office. One night of watching was enough for her to come up with a plan. She noticed on that observation night that come 10pm, the majority of the officers went home for the night – Sheriff Nevil included. Left to guard the station and answer the phones were two raw cadets who looked like they wanted to be anywhere but there. One watched reception and one watched the holding cells.
In that respect there were two obstacles that Constance needed to get past if she were to have a private, unseen, word with Eustace. Call her overconfident, but she really didn’t think it was going to be a problem.
“Stanley Small!” Constance beamed as she and Eleanor walked into the waiting area of the police station. “Lovely to see you again!”
Stanley Small was a child in Constance’s eyes. At nineteen years of age, with a round baby face, bright blue eyes, blonde hair and a million little freckles sprinkled across his cheeks, he was adorable in the way that a grandson or nephew was adorable. He also happened to be the officer on duty.
“Ms. Aberfield,” Stanley Small said with surprise. “It’s nice to ah, see you in here, ah again.” Constance had stopped by the previous night for a little chat with Stanley. She had known the young man for years, as well as his entire family. That was why she knew what she did, and also why she was certain that this first obstacle wasn’t going to be a problem.
“It is, isn’t it,” she continued on pleasantly as she and Eleanor reached the reception desk. When the two did, they leaned on it in a casual manner, as if their presence there was the most natural thing in the world. “And how is work tonight?”
Stanley Small rolled his eyes and smiled a dorky smile. “The same as last night. Boring.”
“I’ll bet it is,” Constance chuckled along merrily. “But even with a dangerous criminal locked up? Surely that brings some excitement with it?”
“Dangerous...” Stanley Small frowned for a second as he worked to catch up with Constance. “Oh!” his eyes popped. “You mean Eustace? He ain’t no dangerous criminal. To tell you the truth, I don’t even think he done it.”
“Quite.” Constance pouted her lips and did her best to make herself look ‘grandmotherly.’ She wasn’t that old yet – and don’t let her catch you saying otherwise – but a boy Stanley Small’s age had odd notions to what a grandmother looked like, and
Constance was sure that he thought of her as such. Usually she would hate this, but tonight she planned on using it to her advantage.
“Stanley,” she began. “You probably know that me and Eustace share a little business together? What with him running the only bar in town and me the only hotel.”
“I guess so,” Stanley Small shrugged.
“Well I must be losing my marbles, what with my age and all, because I can’t for the life of me remember which way is up. I’m doing my taxes right now and need to ask Eustace a small little question concerning patrons and numbers. He’s always had a head for that and I was hoping... wondering… praying really that you might let me duck on back there and say hi?”
“Ahhh, we’re not supposed to let anyone in to see him,” Stanley said vaguely, as if he wasn’t even too sure of the rules.
“Oh, and I don’t expect you to break the rules,” Constance continued softly, pretending to be shocked by the very notion of such a thing. “That’s why I’ll be in and out before you even know it. How about you pop to the loo. That way you didn’t see a thing.” She blinked her eyes at him, smiling as a grandmother would to their niece or nephew.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Aberfield, I truly am, but I can’t —”
“Now, Stanley,” Constance said with more resolve, her tone no longer soft and cordial, but firm and hard. “Do I need to remind you of last winter when your extended family came into town? Your mother was up in arms and ready to pull her hair out until I offered them room at The Lone Peak, free of charge.”
Stanley grimaced. “Yes… but...”
“Perhaps I can call your mother right now and remind her? Or ask for the bill even? That one cousin of yours – Big Pete you called him. He ate enough for five and clogged two toilets.”
“I don’t… that wasn’t...” He was starting to break, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.
Murder at the Lone Peak Page 9
