by B. T. Lord
The inn was built with local oak logs, roughhewn and tightly packed to resemble a ski chalet. A large veranda went around the inn where, during the summers, the guests could sit in wooden rockers and look out over Waban Pond.
Climbing the steps, she entered the inn and found it quiet, except for the ticking of computer keys. The counter, made of a flat, highly polished piece of oak, stood at the entrance. Behind it sat Wally’s wife Brenda, furiously typing away at her laptop. Short, pencil thin, with a quiet, shy voice, flyaway brown hair, and glasses that were forever slipping down her long nose, she was the complete opposite of the flamboyant Wally.
“Hi Brenda,” Cammie greeted, as she came up to the counter. There were brochures everywhere advertising fishing and hunting trips, Twin Ponds’ and Wally’s main source of revenue during hunting and trapping season.
“Oh, Sheriff, how are you?”
Brenda was a nervous flutterer. Her hands fluttered, her voice fluttered, her head fluttered. Cammie wondered if being married to such a big, booming man whose personality could suck the air of the room would cause any woman to become a flutterer.
“I’m fine, Brenda. How are you?”
“Oh, busy, busy, what with all these reporters staying here.” Brenda leaned over the front desk towards Cammie and lowered her already barely audible voice. There was no one around to overhear them, but Cammie nevertheless bent over until their foreheads were almost touching.
“I’m so sorry about the troubles in town,” Brenda whispered as she nervously pushed her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose. “I know you’re only doing your job despite what people are saying.”
“Thank you, Brenda. You’re the first person to actually say that to me.”
“It’s true. I know you’ll find the real murderer.” She clicked her tongue. “I never thought I’d ever live to see a murder committed right here in Twin Ponds. Why, we live here so we don’t have to deal with that sort of thing.” She pushed her glasses up again.
“Unfortunately, murder can happen anywhere. Tell me, do you have an Edward Paltrow staying here?” She provided a quick description and Brenda nodded.
“Oh, yes, yes. I know who you’re referring to. He’s that reporter from Chicago. Strange little man. Never walks anywhere. He’s always running here, running there. It’s exhausting just to watch him.” She twittered nervously, as if she’d said too much, but felt the need to say it anyway. “Yes, he is staying here. In fact, I believe he and Wally are in the bar, even as we speak.”
“Thank you.” Cammie turned to leave when Brenda called her back. She was fluttering more than usual. Not once, but three times she anxiously pushed her glasses up.
“You don’t think he has anything to do with what happened to Eli, do you? Oh my, that would be terrible. A murderer staying at our inn!”
In an effort to stave off a possible panic attack on Brenda’s part, Cammie smiled reassuringly.
“I just want to ask him about Eli’s time in Chicago, that’s all.”
Brenda’s head went up and down. “Oh yes. That makes sense. It must be someone from Eli’s past who did such a terrible thing to him. I can’t imagine anyone from Twin Ponds committing such a heinous crime.”
Cammie gave her a quick nod and walked through the lobby, past the stone fireplace that Wally himself had constructed and into the bar, whose windows on one side of the long rectangular room looked out over snow covered Waban Pond, and the several sheds set up for ice fishing.
At the end of the bar sat Eddie. He had a half filled glass of beer in front of him. Behind the counter stood Wally, who, taking advantage of the opportunity, was regaling the reporter with one of his more colorful hunting stories.
“It took me a minute to realize that instead of me tracking the bear, the damned animal was tracking me! I came upon my own tracks and wouldn’t you know, the beast’s paw prints were right next to mine. He’d double backed on me. Oh hey, sheriff! Good to see you.”
“Hey Wally. Hello Eddie.”
Eddie slowly turned and glared at Cammie. She took the seat next to him.
“Can I get you anything?” Wally asked.
“A glass of water would be nice.”
“Coming right up. I’ve been telling Eddie about the great outdoors up here in northern Maine. You’ll never find anything like it, I don’t care where you go. I’ve hunted Alaska, Bluegrass Country, the Rockies, and nothing compares to right here, isn’t that right, Sheriff?”
Cammie wasn’t a hunter and had no stomach for the sport. Although she could be run out of town for doing so, she wasn’t above going quietly into the forest during hunting season and telling the deer and turkeys and moose to get the hell out of Dodge. She wasn’t sure they understood her, but it did seem hunters never had much luck in the woods on her side of town.
“You’re the hunter, Wally,” she remarked diplomatically.
“And a damned good one, if I do say so myself. Just look around at the walls to see if I’m lyin’.” His roaring laughter rang throughout the silent inn as he placed the glass of water in front of Cammie. “So what brings you out here today? All them reporters are in town, except for old Eddie here.”
“It was Eddie I came to see actually.”
Wally looked from Eddie’s morose face to Cammie’s and back again. Comprehension dawned on him and he gave her a quick jerk of his head.
“Well, it’s time for me to get my butt over to the computer in my office and start paying some of those bills. Can’t keep putting off the inevitable.”
He turned and walked out of the bar, his heavy hiking boots clomping on the smooth wood. When he was gone, Eddie took a long gulp of his beer.
“So you’re here to harass me some more?” he asked.
“I’m not harassing you. I just have a couple more questions to ask.”
“And what if I don’t want to answer them?”
Cammie shrugged. “That’s your prerogative. We can talk quietly in this beautiful, quiet setting, or you can answer them before a grand jury. It’s up to you.”
“Christ, your boyfriend must be an incredible lay for you to try and pin this on someone else.”
A moment later Eddie was on the floor, his jaw bruised and swollen from the right cut Cammie had delivered. She calmly sat back down on the barstool and looked down at him.
“You assaulted me!” Eddie screamed.
“You walked into a door. And if you ever say anything like that again, you’ll be walking into more doors. Understood?”
“Jesus H. Christ! First that fat Santa at the restaurant and now you. This isn’t the Wild West, you know!”
“No, this is the backwoods of Maine. Now, I suggest you sit your sorry ass back down on this stool and answer my questions.”
Cammie knuckles were aching, but it was a good ache. Maybe later she’d regret it. Then again, maybe not.
Eddie eyed her warily, but seeing that he was alone, and doubting anyone would come to his aid anyway, he quickly got up and regained his stool. He gingerly moved his jaw back and forth.
“You’re lucky you didn’t break my jaw.”
“You’re lucky I didn’t break your head,” Cammie snapped. “So tell me about Eli and your wife,” she began, beyond trying to gently segue into the subject.
“What about them?”
She looked up at the ceiling and mentally counted to five. She then fixed her gaze back onto the weasel’s face.
“Honestly, Eddie. Do you really want me to answer that? Do you want me to describe the trysts? The ambition of Miss Weathergirl of East Bumfuck, Illinois who saw a chance to get into the big leagues and thought Eli was her ticket?”
“You’re talking about my wife, you know.”
“Who slept with Eli for what – 3 whole weeks? At least you can feel good about the fact that was a record for Eli, so your wife must be something special.”
“Who you been talking to?” he demanded.
“Someone in the know. So, why didn’t you div
orce her? Or her you?”
“Ever heard of love?”
Cammie snorted. “Oh yeah, right. Let me guess. Love for you is a tall striking blonde on your arm that makes all the guys around you drool with envy. While love for her is you getting her a gig on daytime Chicago television. And they lived happily ever after. Yep. Sounds like true love to me.”
“For your information, Sheriff, we do love each other. People make mistakes in marriage. I forgave her for her transgression, a transgression that she regretted very much, by the way. We recommitted ourselves to our marriage, and it’s been wonderful ever since.”
Cammie decided to change tactics. “Tell me again when you arrived in Maine?”
He blinked at the sudden change, then shrugged. “The day after the news hit of Kelley’s death. Just like every other reporter who’s here. It was tough getting a rental, I can tell you. We must have cleaned out Bangor’s car rental lots.”
Cammie dug into her pocket and withdrew a piece of paper. She put it on the counter and slid it towards him.
“Do you care to tell me what this is all about then?”
Paltrow picked up the paper and scanned it. Cammie watched him carefully. She had to hand it to him. His face remained neutral. But she saw the telltale sign of nervousness as his jaw muscle moved up and down.
“Looks like flight info to me,” he said, pushing the paper back at her.
“And you don’t recognize it?”
He shook his head. “Should I?”
“Considering you were on that flight, which left Chicago on November 3rd at 9:40 in the morning and arrived in Bangor at two in the afternoon, I would think you might remember it.”
“You can’t prove I was on that flight!” he protested.
“No, but we can prove you rented a Toyota Camry at Bangor International at two twenty pm on the afternoon of November 3rd, which just happens to be two days before Eli died. Care to explain, Mr. Paltrow what you were doing here while you were also supposedly covering the Hawks/Bruins game?”
Paltrow licked his lips nervously. “I don’t have to answer any of these questions, you know. I can call my lawyer right now.”
“By all means, call him. But as I told you earlier, you can talk to me now, or we can do this in front of a grand jury. This way is quiet. The other way is very public. And could be detrimental to your wife’s career if word got out she was sleeping around with a sports legend. Kind of makes her sound like a groupie, doesn’t it?”
Paltrow gulped hard, then turned to his beer. In the next instant, the beer was in Cammie’s face and Paltrow was fleeing the room.
Cammie immediately jumped from her stool, slipped on the spilt beer on the floor and went down. She felt her ankle twist beneath her.
“Wally! Brenda! Stop him!” she cried out as she struggled to her feet. A shot of pain coursed through her ankle as she hobbled as quickly as she could out of the bar. By the time she got to the entrance, Brenda was staring in amazement out the front door.
“He ran out there, sheriff,” she replied, trying to be helpful.
Cammie didn’t stop. She hopped out the door and saw Paltrow sprinting across the parking lot. “Halt!” she yelled, struggling to get down the front steps without landing on her face.
With Paltrow’s head start, he was able to reach the Toyota and scramble inside. He smashed it into drive and gunned it out from his parking spot. Cammie hopped down the middle of the lane, a small part of her brain wondering if he would stop. He wasn’t going to hit her, was he? He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.
Oh shit!
She flung herself into the nearest snow mound as Eddie sped past her.
“Son of a bitch!” she yelled in frustration. A few moments later, she felt someone come up behind her.
“Jesus, Sheriff, are you okay?”
It was Wally. She pushed his hands away in frustration as she flailed about. Finally, she managed to get to her feet.
“What happened?” the burly man asked as Cammie got her cell phone out and hit the speed dial.
“Paltrow took off on me while I was questioning him.”
“Now why he’d go and do a stupid thing like that?”
“Because maybe he has something to hide?” She put weight down on her left foot and let go a string of epithets. Her ankle was throbbing.
“Help me towards my Explorer, will you Wally?” she asked. He put his brawny arm around her waist and carried most of her weight as they hobbled towards her vehicle.
“Well, I’ve got his clothes and laptop. If he wants them back, he’ll have to go through me,” Wally informed her. Just as they reached the Explorer, she reached Emmy on her cell.
“Emmy, put out an APB on Edward Paltrow. You have the information on the vehicle he’s driving and what he looks like. He just took off from the Timberwolf Lodge, probably heading towards Route 4.”
She flipped shut her phone, and was about to climb into the Explorer when she noticed an incredulous Wally staring at her.
“What’s the matter with you?” she snarled in irritation.
He leaned over, sniffed at her parka and shook his head sadly. “This case must be getting to you. I’ve never known you to drink on duty.”
Although Jace and the other snowplow operators did a decent job clearing the roads after the snowstorm, a driver still needed to be cautious. There were slippery spots and ice built up under the sheen of snow that still covered the roads. As Cammie raced down the road, she prayed there wouldn’t be another car headed in the opposite direction on the narrow road. With Paltow in an obvious panic, an accident wouldn’t be out of the question.
However, by the time she reached the wide intersection, she hadn’t seen any sign of Paltrow’s Toyota. Taking a left led to Route 4 which would take Paltrow towards Houlton, and eventually Bangor. A right led to Twin Ponds. She took a left and continued down the road, angry at herself for allowing Paltrow to get away. The Explorer reeked of the odor of stale beer, and the ache in her hip where she hit the snow was beginning to match the painful throb in her ankle.
It wasn’t often Cammie put on her siren, but this was an emergency. With the blue light flashing, she saw the wondering looks of townspeople in their cars heading in the opposite direction. By the time she got to Route 4, she still hadn’t seen him. Nor had she seen any tire tracks telling her he’d pulled off the road into the woods. Which made her wonder. Had he headed towards Twin Ponds instead? He hadn’t had that much of a headstart. And with the speed with which she’d been driving, she would have certainly caught up to him by now if she’d been heading in the right direction.
She drove all through Twin Ponds and its surrounding neighborhoods, but it was as though Paltrow had vanished into thin air. By the time she got back to HQ, she was angry, frustrated and in dire need of a painkiller for both her hip and ankle. She managed to get out of the Explorer and hobble in through the back door. There she met Rick.
“Shit, I knew it! I just knew it. Someone took a poke at you,” he said as he noticed her limping towards her office.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she snapped. “I just want to sit down and forget this day ever happened.”
As she passed by him, he sniffed at her jacket. “Whoa, this case must really be getting to you.”
Her growl made him back off.
He followed her into her office, and watched as she plopped down in her chair, leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Taking off her gloves, she tossed them on her desk.
“That rotten, lousy, weasly son of a bitch tried to run me over,” she said in a voice that betrayed her frustration and anger.
“Was this before or after you hit him?”
Cammie opened one eye and saw Rick pointing to her swollen and discolored knuckles. She quickly shoved her hand into her pocket.
“I accidentally slammed the door on them.”
Crap. That was the same excuse Eli had given her when she’d noticed his knuckles swollen and discolored. She sighed, that
familiar ache wrapping itself around her heart.
“This should cheer you up then.” He sat himself down in the chair opposite Cammie. “After Emmy put out that APB you ordered, she went back to hunting on the computer. And guess what she found? A registration made out to one Edward Paltrow for a Beretta handgun, 38 caliber.”
Cammie immediately sat up. “That’s –“
Rick grinned. “You got it. The same caliber that killed Eli.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Rick asked, the concern plainly evident in his face.
“Definitely. Might as well put those hounds out there to good use.”
She’d placed a phone call to Mayor Barnes, then washed off the beer from her parka, covering up any lingering odor with some of Emmy’s light, flowery perfume. She squared her shoulders, gritted her teeth against the pain in her ankle, and walked out the front door right into the horde of reporters. Immediately questions were flung at her, cameras went off and it felt as though she’d stepped into a den of lions with a pork loin tied around her neck. She waited for the first burst of insanity to subside before she lifted her arms and asked for silence. It took a few minutes standing in the numbing cold before the reporters finally quieted down enough for her to begin speaking.
“A new person of interest has emerged in our investigation. I cannot disclose any details as of yet, but I can give you the name of the person we are seeking.” She waited for the suspense to build, then making sure she wasn’t smiling, announced, “If anyone has any information regarding Edward Paltrow, sportswriter for the Chicago Telegraph, including his whereabouts, we ask that you contact the Twin Ponds Sheriff’s Department immediately. We are offering a $5,000 reward for his apprehension.”
There was a stunned silence. Then all hell broke loose.
“—Eddie Paltrow? Did he kill Eli Kelley?”
“—What do you have on Eddie?”
